Remile Short Stories and One-Shots

Tingling Touch

Oooh yaaayy, it's a soulmate au. I'm kind of obsessed with these so like... if you have any good ones hmu, I will try to write them to the best of my ability.

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Remy Sanders had never actually found his soulmate. In fact, he didn't even have a mark. As far as he was concerned, soulmates were ridiculous, but that didn't mean his heart didn't feel a twang of pain as he watched couples in Starbucks hold hands and share drinks. He stared jealously at the pairs in parks, smiling and laughing and giving pecks on the cheek.
To make up for it, he started using websites and apps to find someone, anyone, just like him, to no avail. He painted his wrist black, trying to make it seem like he was only waiting for his soulmate. Everyone knew anyway. Nothing worked. Surrounded by support, Remy Sanders was completely, utterly alone.

Emile Picani should have been regarded as a completely normal, not alone human being. He didn't have a soulmate either, though. But really, it didn't matter, because the two blackened marks on his pale palms told him one day, eventually, he would find his other half.
For years his dads told him: wait, wait, wait. His time would come. Easy for them to say, Emile would think. They both had marks on one hand each. A simple handshake that rocked their world. Emile? Both hands, both palms, entirely covered, and even Emile, observant and inquisitive, had no idea what kind of gesture he would meet his soulmate in. Emile Picani often felt like he completely, utterly, alone.

         "Oh, someone will come along, just like you. Without a mark. Then you can be together," Remy heard, time and time again. The words rung in his ear like a bell. Like a broken record.
          "Oh, don't feel alone! Your soulmate is out there, waiting. It will take time, young one." Emile was treated with little pats on the head, critical hits to his mind and his heart.

           Years passed. And more years passed. And suddenly the boys weren't boys, they were young men. Still they were told, "Be patient, love takes time." But if there was anything Remy Sanders was not, it was patient. If there was anything Emile Picani was not, it was patient.

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            Emile had just had dinner with his parents, a bright smile visible in his face. Though lacking a partner of his own, he loved to see how even after growing older and raising a child together, his fathers never ceased to be loving and affectionate with each other. It was something Emile craved in his own life, as much as his Dad doted on him, and Papa gave him verbal support (because truly, they were his biggest fans), it wasn't the same. Dad and Papa had found each other in high school. His friends, like Thomas and Val, had both found their soulmates the first week of college.
             Emile reflected upon his thoughts as he sat in the subway station, waiting for the train that would take him home. Home, to his apartment. His apartment, that he shared with no one. He would have spiraled deeper into his thoughts, but the cry of a passing baby jolted him back. Emile gave the mom a soft, understanding smile, and she returned it wearily.

            Remy sat silently in a café, fully engaged in the news story on the television as he waited for his subway train. Typically, he hated the news. It was full of tragic stories, soulmate dramas that probably didn't even happen, and death. Maybe he was starting to sound a bit like his father, but he didn't care. At least his father was right.
            As he stared at the screen, he wondered how his luck, his rotten, rotten luck, had managed to get it together for one day and let him not only drink coffee in peace, but let him watch wholesome news too. Remy really did like it when things didn't go to hell. Especially when kids were involved, he really did like kids, and even without a soulmate he told himself he would adopt a child one day.
            Once the segment ended, he relapsed into a conversation he'd had with his friend Talyn a few days ago.