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Feuilly is seven years old when he realises he might be different.
It’s a Saturday and he’s in the orphanage playground, watching two of the children from the girl’s dorms fight over an old, extremely tattered book of fairytales. He hears them mention princesses meeting their soulmate Prince Charming, and tattoos that appear on your 18th birthday and shine golden when you find the one, and how everyone in the world has a special soulmate out there, and one day you’ll find them and get married and have children and spend the rest of your life with them by your side.
And finding them is supposed to feel like coming home.
A few hours later, when the book has been abandoned in favour of a different toy or game, Feuilly flicks slowly through it, examining the golden words on the illustrated character’s wrists, the way every story seems to end with the characters falling in love and getting married and living happily ever after. Because, as he’s heard the other children and even the orphanage workers say before, that is simply how the world works. There’s no other way to be. He doesn’t have a choice.
As Feuilly dwells on this, he feels a sickly feeling in his stomach. It takes him a long time to realise it’s fear.
***
He spends his whole eighteenth birthday in a state of near hysterics, waiting for the moment to burn somewhere on his body, the moment when his whole future with a random stranger will be laid out in front of him.
Birthdays in an orphanage were always slightly depressing, but apart from the inevitable weight of his soulmate tattoo hanging over his head, Feuilly has a pretty good day, all things considered. It’s nothing exciting, of course. But he’d always said, when he was old enough to know, that he would leave the orphanage once he turned eighteen.
And as he thinks about his suitcases packed at the end of his bed, and the lease he just signed on a shitty studio apartment in downtown Warsaw, and the new job in a small cafe he’s starting in three days, it’s almost enough to make him forget about the tattoo.
When the glowing light on his digital alarm flashes 11 pm, then 11.15, then 11.45, Feuilly starts to seriously consider the possibility that the universe has somehow heard his prayers, and he doesn’t actually have a soulmate out there. To his knowledge, it’s never happened to anyone before, but he finds the thought doesn’t bother him as the clock ticks closer and closer to the day after his eighteenth birthday, and the tight knot in his chest seems to get looser with every passing minute.
And then, at 11.58, the burning comes. He gasps at the sharp pain in his left wrist, right hand automatically coming up to clench over the space, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks God damn it.
The burning stops, and Feuilly sighs heavily and looks down at the words now etched on his wrist.
Hi, excuse me. Do you have a second to talk about this business’ environmental impact?
For a second, Feuilly just stares at the shining black ink on his wrist in shock. Then, a slightly hysterical laugh bursts out of him. There’s certainly a lot to unpack here- Is whoever his soulmate is doing a science project or something? Just really enthusiastic about the rainforest? Just really enthusiastic about taking surveys?
Feuilly supposes it could definitely be worse. It’s not cruel, it’s not unkind- It’s nice to know that whoever they are, they care about something.
Even so, Feuilly doesn’t fall asleep that night. He lies awake and stares at the black words against his pale wrist, and hopes that whoever they are, they’re happy, and he hopes that he never has to meet them.
***
When Feuilly is twenty years old, he moves from Warsaw to Paris. After two years in the same tiny, shitty apartment, working the same mediocre job, he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he stays stagnant for any longer.
And so, Paris.
He teaches himself French as best he can and moves to the 14th arrondissement, and into a different tiny, shitty, apartment, and starts a different mediocre job in a cafe near the Place Saint-Michel. He understands the irony, of course, but it’s hard to care as he walks along the Left Bank for his seven a.m. shift, watching the sun rise over the Seine.
He wonders, sometimes, if he’s left his soulmate behind in Poland. The words on his wrist are in Polish, after all, but it’s not unheard of for people to find their soulmates in a different country or continent. The universe translates the words, which Feuilly supposes is considerate of it.
Feuilly can’t help but hope that his soulmate is in Poland. He hopes they’re not looking for him. He tries not to feel too guilty about it.
***
When Feuilly finally meets his soulmate, he’s twenty-three years old, and it’s seven-fifteen in the morning, after he’s been kept awake all night by the people in the flat next to him having a very loud party which was still ongoing when his alarm went off at the crack of dawn. He’s bleary eyed and bone-tired, so when he hears the voice say, ‘Hi, excuse me. Do you have a second to talk about this business’ environmental impact?’, he automatically responds, without looking up from the coffee machine, “I don’t know, man. I just work here.”
And then he actually hears the words, replays them in his mind, and promptly drops the milk jug he’s holding in shock.
Milk goes fucking everywhere, all over the counter and the floor and the inside of his fucking shoes, but Feuilly kind of has other things on his mind right now.
He looks up. The man in front of him is tall, but maybe an inch or two shorter than Feuilly, it’s hard to tell with the counter between them, with blond hair pulled back into a messy bun and big dark eyes and a light smattering of freckles across his cheekbones and nose. He’s wearing a dark denim jacket covered in various pins and patches and is holding a clipboard, and looking entirely too put-together for seven o’clock in the morning.
The man’s eyes aren’t on him. His eyes are focused on Feuilly’s left wrist, where his own words are now shining back at him in gold lettering. Hi, excuse me. Do you have a second to talk about this business’ environmental impact?
Feuilly clears his throat. “Are- Are you- I mean, are we-?”
“I think so,” he replies, voice shakier than before, and pulls up the sleeve of his jacket- Where the words I don’t know, man. I just work here, are shining gold against brown skin.
The man, his soulmate, looks up and smiles. “I’m Enjolras.”
“I’m-”
“Feuilly!” his manager comes out of the back office then, and Feuilly grimaces, because he really did not sign up for being chewed apart by his manager in front of his soulmate at seven in the morning.
“What are you doing, Feuilly? Why is the floor covered in milk?” His manager looks from him, to Enjolras, and then she looks down sharply to the words on Feuilly’s wrist, now shining gold. Her eyes light up.
“Oh my God!” And wow, she literally claps her hands and practically jumps up and down, “Oh my God, you found- I see! Oh, take the rest of the day off, this is too important!”
Feuilly sputters incoherently for a moment, but then manages to push out, “I can’t, I- I need the money, I-”
“You can take the day fully paid!” his manager says, all but shoving him towards the edge of the counter, to where the back room is. And Feuilly’s mouth twists in anger, because when he needed a half day for repair men coming to his apartment or a dentist appointment or because he had to go home sick with stomach flu, it was unpaid. But this, this is deemed important enough.
Still, he’s not going to complain about a free day off. He gives Enjolras, who is still standing motionless on the other side of the counter, a tight smile, and says, “Give me just a moment, please.”
He goes into the cloakroom, grabs his jacket and scarf and bag. And well, if he puts his head in his hands and screams for a second, no one needs to know.
When he comes out, Enjolras has stepped outside and is leaning on the lamppost opposite the door, smoking a cigarette. Trying to ignore the wink his manager gives him, because eugh, Feuilly opens the front door of the cafe to join his soulmate.
“So, hi,” he says, a little limply.
Enjolras jolts, as though he hadn’t just watched Feuilly emerge from the cafe. “Uh, hey. Feuilly, I’m assuming?” When Feuilly nods, he stands up a little straighter. “It’s nice to meet you.” He actually holds out the hand that isn’t clutching the cigarette like a lifeline for Feuilly to shake, which he appreciates, even if it is a little bizarre for a first meeting between soulmates. Feuilly’s seen enough public displays of affection to know it’s unusual.
Feuilly takes his hand, which is warm and soft and delicate, and waits for the lightning bolt, the moment where it will all make sense . It doesn’t come.
“You smoke?” he asks, before he can stop himself.
Enjolras nods, taking a drag, angling his head so the smoke blows away from Feuilly. “It’s a nervous habit.” He raises an eyebrow coolly. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I used to do it too.” he replies quickly. He doesn’t add that he quit because smoking is also an expensive habit, and Feuilly can’t afford any of those.
Enjolras huffs a small laugh as he stubs the cigarette out on the nearby bin. “Well, maybe you can help me quit then,” he says, and Feuilly nods, but can’t bring himself to speak, because it’s as good a sign as any; Enjolras wants to know him, wants to be his soulmate. The way Feuilly is supposed to want to, but doesn’t.
“So, uhm,” Feuilly rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck, “I know I was meant to have the rest of the day off to, like, get to know you or whatever, but I actually have some things to do, and my shoes are full of milk, so-”
Something that looks suspiciously like relief flits across Enjolras’ face, but he schools it into a neutral expression, before saying, “Yeah, that’s totally fine. I’ve got to get back to campaigning anyway.”
“So, uh, I guess. Yeah,” God, Feuilly hasn’t struggled so much with words since he first started learning French, “I suppose I should ask you on- On like, a date, or something?”
Strangely, Enjolras’ eyes flash with what looks vaguely like panic, but then he gives a strained looking smile and says, “Yes, I suppose...You should.”
They exchange numbers, make plans for Feuilly’s next day off, and exchange an awkward goodbye, complete with terrible half-handshake half-hug. Feuilly walks towards his metro station, but before heading down the stairs he glances back to the cafe.
Enjolras is still standing in front of it, but he has a hand in front of his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking very much like he just received the worst news in the world.
Feuilly decides not to think about it too much.
***
They make plans to meet at a small, semi-casual Italian restaurant near the Tour Montparnasse, and Feuilly spends the whole metro journey making a solid effort to control the nervous jittering of his legs. He can’t imagine vomiting from nerves would make a very good (second) first impression, but he’s starting to think he won’t have a choice.
He gets to the restaurant, glances inside to see if Enjolras is already waiting for him- He isn’t, so Feuilly shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shuffles where he stands, trying to keep himself warm against the November evening. There’s a department store opposite him, and Feuilly watches two workers assemble a Soulmate’s Day window display, never mind that it’s well over a month away.
Fuck. Is Feuilly going to have to do something for Soulmate’s Day this year? Is he going to have to buy presents and pay for expensive food and wine? He always thought it seemed like an unnecessary gesture. If you truly love your soulmate, aren’t you supposed to show them that everyday, rather than just one day out of 365?
Not that Feuilly has a clue what any of it is supposed to feel like, anyways.
He’s so busy getting wrapped up in his own head that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a voice say, “Feuilly?”
He turns. Enjolras is standing there, arms folded, face half buried in his scarf.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he says, voice slightly muffled, “I had to go to the store.” And yes, Feuilly can see the pack of cigarettes sticking out of his jacket pocket. A nervous habit, Enjolras had said.
“That’s okay,” Feuilly says, “I haven’t been waiting long.” His toes feel slightly like he has frostbite, but he elects not to mention that in favour of opening the restaurant door.
***
As he sits there in the restaurant across from his soulmate, Feuilly still doesn’t understand why he doesn’t feel the attraction he’s been told he’s supposed to. Enjolras is attractive, that’s not a question- the sort of attractive that had resulted in several double takes just when they stepped into the restaurant. Even now, one of the waitresses is staring at him as he peruses the menu.
Feuilly recognises that he’s attractive, but he doesn’t really want to do anything about it. It is something like seeing a pretty bird or a priceless artwork, what’s it to him?
“So,” Enjolras says, jolting Feuilly out of his thoughts, “You’re not French, right?”
“No,” Feuilly confirms, “I’m from Poland, originally. I’ve lived in Paris for two years now.”
Enjolras smiles. “You have an accent.”
Feuilly sighs and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah, I haven’t quite been able to shake it off yet. I’m working on it.”
“No, don’t,” Enjolras says quickly, “I like it. Besides,” he flashes another smile at Feuilly, “I would say my Polish is...less than subpar.”
“I can teach you some, maybe,” Feuilly says with a grin.
“So, what made you come to Paris?” Enjolras asks, folding his arms on the table and leaning closer.
Feuilly bites his lip as he ponders what is and isn’t appropriate, what would be sharing too much or giving too much away. Eventually, he settles on, “I just needed a change. And there was nothing and no one keeping me tied to Poland,” he takes a long sip of water, to try and settle his nerves, “So, I figured why not, right?”
Enjolras nods. A waitress comes to take their order, and Feuilly notes that Enjolras orders the only vegan item on the menu.
“Shit,” Feuilly starts, “Are you vegan? I could have found us somewhere with more options, I wasn’t thinking-”
Enjolras laughs. “Feuilly, it’s okay. You couldn’t have known, relax.”
“Is it an environmental thing?” Feuilly asks curiously.
Enjolras nods again. “I volunteer at an environmental non-profit,” he explains, “That’s why I was so interested in your cafe’s sustainability measures the other day.”
“Ah,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Enjolras says, “Your manager actually had lots to say when I went back later.” He leans closer, and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think she was just being nosy, though.”
“Probably,” Feuilly sits back in his seat, and observes Enjolras sitting across from him.
“Tell me about the non-profit.”
***
“Sirs,” a waiter interrupts a while later, “We’re just making you aware, we close in five minutes.”
As he walks away Feuilly looks down at his watch, and then recoils in shock. “Oh, wow.”
Enjolras frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Feuilly says, still staring down at the time in shock, “It’s just- We’ve been here for four hours.”
Enjolras’ eyes widen, and he laughs a little disbelievingly. “No way. It didn’t feel like that at all.”
It really hadn’t.
They stand, gathering their jackets and scarves before facing the Parisien winter, and Enjolras insists on leaving a substantial tip for the waiting staff as an apology for keeping them so late, which- Feuilly isn’t going to argue with that.
They walk in silence to the metro stop, but it’s not awkward, not stilted. It’s comfortable, after only hours spent in each other’s company. Feuilly wonders why it can’t just be like this, the feeling of two friends hanging out and having meaningful conversations and a good time, without any of the obligations that comes with being soulmates.
Enjolras stops at the top of the metro steps, “What line are you on?”
“Oh, I’m just going to walk,” Feuilly explains, “I live nearby.” He needs some time to think, needs to clear his head- The walk is the perfect excuse.
Enjolras nods, smiles. “I had a really nice time with you tonight, Feuilly.” He actually sounds a little surprised, and Feuilly decides not to question if he should be offended or not.
Instead, he smiles too. “So did I, Enjolras.” He’s surprised to realise that it isn’t actually a lie.
Enjolras swallows. “I’m- I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Feuilly doesn’t know what to say, so he just pulls him in for a hug. It’s not like the weird, awkward hug of their first meeting. It’s real, and genuine, and if things could stay just like this, then Feuilly wouldn’t have a problem with it at all.
That isn’t exactly realistic, though.
He steps back, clears his throat. “Send me a message when you get home?”
Enjolras nods. “I will.”
Feuilly watches him walk down the metro steps, and sighs heavily.
***
“Can I ask you something?” Enjolras asks him three weeks later. They’re in Enjolras’ apartment, watching a documentary Feuilly had recommended, sitting close together on the sofa but not actually touching, which really is just fine with him.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Feuilly says, narrowing his eyes at Enjolras.
Enjolras swallows, looking very much like he’s struggling with his words, which...Isn’t very like him at all. Enjolras always seems to know the right thing to say, always seems to have a controlled grip on his own thoughts. But now, on his own sofa, watching TV with his soulmate, he looks...terrified.
Eventually, the words come out in a rush. “Do you think it’s weird that we haven’t kissed yet?”
Feuilly feels like his heart has dropped to his stomach, and he thinks oh God, it’s happening. But outwardly he simply asks, as casually as he can manage, “Uh. I don’t know. Do you?”
Enjolras shrugs, determinately not looking away from the screen. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?” Feuilly asks, when Enjolras doesn’t elaborate.
Enjolras sighs heavily, turning on the sofa so he’s face-to-face with Feuilly. “I mean, I guess? It’s what soulmates are supposed to do, right?”
“Right,” Feuilly hears himself say, over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. This was inevitable, really. It’s what soulmates do , and Feuilly doesn’t love the idea of kissing but he loves the idea of Enjolras being his soulmate, so Feuilly will try to do it, if it makes Enjolras happy.
Enjolras nods, seems to steel himself, and he looks more like a man going to the gallows than someone about to kiss his soulmate for the first time.
He swallows, licks his lips nervously, and then his eyes are closed and he’s moving towards Feuilly with his burrow furrowed, looking determined even with his eyes closed, and all Feuilly can think is too fast.
“Wait, shit-” Feuilly leaps to his feet, away from Enjolras, but he misjudges his distance to the coffee table and ends up tripping over it, like an idiot, arms flailing wildly as he falls backwards and ends up lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“Oh my God, Feuilly. Are you okay?” Enjolras is half-standing from the sofa, arms held in front as though he had attempted to catch him, eyes wide with concern.
Feuilly stands up, shakes his head slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He stands, folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes, because he doesn’t think he can look at Enjolras while he does this. “But I need to tell you something.”
“Okay…” Enjolras says slowly, sounding extremely confused.
Feuilly sighs, clutches his arms tighter, and the feeling of his nails digging into his skin helps to ground him, and helps him force out the words, “I’ve been lying to you.”
He opens his eyes, and Enjolras is staring at him, a furrow between his eyebrows as he frowns. “What do you mean?”
He swallows. “I-” He decides then, that it’s too hard to say it while he’s looking at Enjolras, and so he closes them again. “I don’t want a soulmate. Or, I guess, I don’t want a romantic soulmate at least. The idea of romance, or being romantic with anyone, kind of scares the shit out of me. And I don’t feel that when I’m around you. And I know there’s something wrong with me and I understand that you’re probably so, so angry and I understand if you hate me but I tried , Enjolras, I really did. And I think you’re amazing and I still want you in my life, but I get it if you feel-”
“Feuilly.” Enjolras interrupts, and Feuilly stops talking.
“Feuilly,” Enjolras says again, “Look at me.”
Feuilly opens his eyes. Enjolras is standing in front of him, very close, and to Feuilly’s absolute shock he’s smiling so widely the skin around his eyes is crinkling. He doesn’t look sad, or angry- He looks elated.
“Enjolras,” he starts, confused, “What-”
“Me too,” he says simply.
“What?” Feuilly repeats, “You too? What do you mean?”
Enjolras actually laughs, briefly covering his face with his hands and then running them both through his hair. “ Me too. I feel the same, exactly the same. I don’t feel romantic attraction to you either. I was going along with it because I thought it was what you wanted.”
Feuilly blinks, and wonders vaguely if he banged his head when he tripped over the coffee table and is hallucinating the entire conversation, “I-We- You don’t?”
Enjolras shakes his head, still smiling. “I don’t.”
“But then,” Feuilly looks down at his own wrist, at the words shining gold, and then back at Enjolras, “Do you think there’s been a mistake? Are we not supposed to be soulmates?”
Enjolras frowns thoughtfully, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows again. After a few moments of silence, he says, “I don’t think there’s been a mistake. I’m not an expert on this, by any means. Before today I thought I was the only person who felt like this,” he looks down, runs his fingers thoughtfully over his own soulmate tattoo as he speaks, “I don’t feel romantically attracted to you. But I still feel a connection. I still want to know you, and I still feel like we have something important.” He looks up at Feuilly then, biting his lip, “Of course, if you don’t feel the same way, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I do,” Feuilly says quickly, and he didn’t realise how vehemently he believed it until the possibility of having his soulmate taken away was presented to him, “I still want to know you. I still believe we’re soulmates. Just without any of the romance stuff.”
Enjolras pulls a face then, and Feuilly laughs, because he looks like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Thank God for that.”
Feuilly grins, then takes a step closer to Enjolras, reaching out and entwining their fingers, so their tattoos are pressed together.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I think the universe might have got this one right.”
***
After the grand reveal that neither of them truly wanted a romantic soulmate, actually being soulmates becomes a lot easier.
Feuilly feels like a massive weight has been lifted off his entire being. Now, there’s no pressure to pretend, no lie to live. He can simply be, be completely himself with no walls up as he gets to know the person the universe has decided he’s spending the rest of his life with.
The universe, he decides, has made a good decision.
Because Enjolras is unlike anyone he’s ever met. Enjolras is kind-hearted and deeply intelligent and believes that everyone on earth is a good person at heart and is seemingly determined to prove it.
Enjolras also laughs himself stupid at ridiculous puns and gets catty when he hasn’t had a smoke in a few hours and can’t even string a sentence together first thing in the morning.
Enjolras listens intently when Feuilly talks about long, lonely years in the orphanage and in Warsaw and Paris, and in exchange Enjolras tells him about warm Provincial summers and finals season in Paris and a kind but extremely overbearing family that would send him into shops, restaurants and various other establishments with a long list of questions in the hope of finding his soulmate as soon as possible.
“That must have been annoying,” Feuilly says sympathetically when Enjolras tells him that.
Enjolras wrinkles his nose. “It was a lot. But they looked after me, all the same. You’ll have to come down to Provence soon, they want to meet you.”
Feuilly blinks. “You told them about me?”
Enjolras frowns, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Of course I did.”
Feuilly smiles, both elated and a little sad. Before he met Enjolras, he had figured the one good thing about not having a family would be not having anyone to disappoint when he told them he didn’t want his soulmate. And now, he has a soulmate, and he loves his soulmate...and there’s no one to tell.
Enjolras seems to read his thoughts, and smiles. And Feuilly swears he hugs him tighter when he leaves, that night.
***
Feuilly nearly mistakes Enjolras for a pile of blankets on the couch. Enjolras has a spare key to his apartment and they are going to a town hall on the new zoning laws later this evening. Enjolras likes to hang out in his apartment when his roommates, who are soulmates, are being excessively soulmates-ly. (They have loud sex. A lot of it.)
“Are you trying to be one with the couch?”
“Actually, I’m trying not to die of hypothermia,” Enjolras says, “Your apartment is freezing.”
Feuilly snorts as he hangs up his jacket. “Yeah. Heating’s broken. Again. This place is a shithole, you knew that already. But hey, my lease ends in a month, and then I guess I get to move to a different shithole. Lucky me.”
“Well, maybe the two of us should live together,” Enjolras says earnestly, looking up from his book.
Feuilly blinks. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras continues, putting the book down. “I mean, my lease is ending, so is yours. My roommates are probably eager to get rid of me. It would be more economical for the two of us to live together. We can get a nicer place that way.” He finally looks up then, and grins at Feuilly, “Plus, it would get my parents off my back. They’re obsessed with the fact that we’re not already engaged.”
Feuilly snorts. “When do you plan on telling them that we’re not ever getting engaged?”
Enjolras rolls his eyes, picking up his book again. “Not any time soon, anyway. Moving in together should hold them off for a couple of months at least.”
“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” Feuilly teases with an eye roll. He flops onto the couch beside Enjolras, putting his head on his shoulder, “You know we can’t hold them off forever, right?”
Enjolras hums thoughtfully as he turns the page. “I guess. But hey,” he wraps an arm around Feuilly’s shoulders, and Feuilly imagines it won’t be long before he falls asleep, “For now, let’s just enjoy each other’s company.”
***
So they move in together, into a small flat near the Canal Saint-Martin. They get an airy two-bedroom apartment and spend countless nights watching TV and movies that one remembers from their childhood and the other hasn’t seen, discussing philosophy and politics and sometimes literature and music late into the night, and sometimes just sitting or lying together in comfortable silence. For Soulmate’s Day, Feuilly buys Enjolras a copy of Polish for Beginners, as a joke more than anything, and he actually tries, bless him (his Polish accent makes Feuilly feel a lot better about his French).
Enjolras wants a cat. Feuilly wants a dog. They compromise and get both, despite their tenancy agreement.
Enjolras gets a job at the non-profit he’d been volunteering at, and Feuilly secures a place on a part-time course at Paris-Dauphine University. Sometimes it’s a tight squeeze, to fit everything into his tightly packed schedule, but Feuilly finds he doesn’t really mind too much.
And sometimes, Feuilly will come back from whatever shift he’s been on, or from his classes, and look around their tiny space filled with books and clothes and evidence of their lives together, and he smiles when he remembers that this is home.
***
They do have one incident though, with the couple who live in the flat a few doors down from them. Previously, they hadn’t exchanged more than a few polite words and smiles, and in this instance, they’d bumped into them in the foyer after coming back from grocery shopping, exchanged hellos and stood beside them in semi-awkward silence while they waited for the elevator.
“Oh,” Enjolras says suddenly, and Feuilly looks down at him questioningly, “I forgot to grab the mail. Give me a second.”
Feuilly gives him a nod, and when he turns back to watch the numbers on the elevator counting down, one of the women from down the hall is staring at him.
He lets it lie for a few seconds, but when she continues staring, he asks in as polite a voice as he can muster, “Can I help you with something?”
She nods to where Enjolras had disappeared back out into the foyer, “Is he your soulmate?”
Feuilly narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he responds hesitantly.
The woman actually snorts a laugh. “Well, you certainly don’t act like soulmates.”
Feuilly opens his mouth, despite not knowing how exactly to respond to that honestly pretty ridiculous statement, but he’s beaten by Enjolras, who has materialised beside him with several envelopes clutched in his hands and a scowl on his face.
“And tell me,” he says, voice calm and cold, “What do soulmates ‘ act’ like?”
The woman opens her mouth to respond, but Enjolras is kind of scary when he’s angry, and Feuilly really doesn’t want to get evicted, so he grabs Enjolras’ arm in one hand and their grocery bags in the other and drags him in the direction of the stairs. It’s only five floors, they’ll be fine-Maybe.
“I can’t believe her,” Enjolras seethes as he stomps up the stairs two at a time, “What gives her the right to pry into the lives of complete strangers? Why does she think it’s in any way appropriate-”
“E, believe me. I know,” Feuilly pants, because he’s trying to keep up with Enjolras whilst also carrying all of their groceries, “But you can’t let stuff like that annoy you.”
Enjolras pauses on the stairs and whips around, obviously to argue, but then the scowl on his face settles into a softer frown.
“Shit, sorry. Here, I can take one,” he reaches out and takes a bag, slotting the mail under his arm.
They walk in silence until they reach their apartment, and Enjolras sighs heavily as they start packing their food away.
“People are never going to understand where we’re coming from, when it comes to this,” Feuilly says, trying to comfort but also not knowing what to say, really, “But like, I remember before. I used to be so lonely, thinking I was the only one like this. At least now we have each other.”
Enjolras gives him a strange look then, all furrowed brow and distant expression. But then he gives Feuilly a tight-lipped smile, and says “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Enjolras remains distracted for the rest of the night.
***
Enjolras comes home from work a few days later looking even more determined than usual. It’s Feuilly’s day off, and he’s spent it doing boring, adult things like laundry and going for a jog and attempting to cook a chickpea curry, because if Enjolras has to make his own vegan meals he’s going to spend the rest of his life eating undercooked pasta.
“Hey,” Enjolras says as he swoops into the kitchen, giving Feuilly a squeeze on the shoulder and bending down to scratch Mai, their cat, behind the ears, “That smells good.”
“Thanks,” Feuilly says, and when he looks up Enjolras is still standing beside him, almost quivering with anticipation.
“You’ve got a spring in your step,” he remarks warily.
“So,” Enjolras jumps to sit on the countertop beside the stove, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Feuilly says, biting back a smile. When he looks up from the saucepan, Enjolras is giving him an unamused stare.
“Feuilly.”
“Sorry, sorry, please continue.”
“So, neither of us feel romantic attraction right? Even though we’re soulmates, we never wanted that, with each other or anyone else, right?”
Feuilly narrows his eyes. He has a pretty good read on Enjolras, can practically finish his sentences at this point, and even he has no idea where he’s going with this. “Yes?” he says warily.
“But that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other, right? And that doesn’t mean we’re not soulmates, right?”
Feuilly turns the stove off so he can turn to face Enjolras properly, folding his arms. “Where are you going with this, E?”
“I’m thinking,” Enjolras continues, a familiar gleam in his eye that he normally only gets when thinking about his next campaign or when he’s about to beat Feuilly at Mario Kart, “That we’re not the only ones.”
Feuilly blinks. After a moment, he says slowly, “Go on.”
“There are eight billion people on the planet, Feuilly, there’s nearly seventy million people in France. It’s not possible that we’re the only ones who experience this. There must be more people like us out there, I’m sure of it.”
Feuilly nods. “I mean, obviously. But what do you want to do about it?”
Enjolras looks up, gives Feuilly a small smile, eyes still gleaming. “I think we should find them.”
“Okay,” Feuilly turns, grabs the first notebook he sees and tears a page out, grabbing the pen sitting beside it. He turns back to Enjolras and leans his elbows on the countertop next to him, pen poised over the paper. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, obviously we want a degree of anonymity at first,” Enjolras starts. He slides off the counter and starts pacing back and forth around their kitchen, “We need to protect our own identities until we know this isn’t going to backfire on us, as well as anyone who happens to contact us-”
“Maybe an online forum?” Feuilly suggests, writing down what Enjolras says.
“Perfect,” Enjolras beams at him, “Then, maybe once we’ve reached out to people, gathered some interest, we can think about in-person meetings if people are willing. We can talk about how our understanding of our soulmate relationship goes beyond the need for romantic love, and see if anyone else feels the same-”
“And why stop with our understanding of our soulmate relationship?” Feuilly adds. His handwriting is now nearly illegible on the page, but that’s okay. Enjolras can type it up later. “You said it yourself, we’re only two people. Neither of us knows what else is out there. There could be people with multiple soulmates, people with no soulmates at all, people who have met their soulmate, and they aren’t suited for each other. The network could be massive, if we can just-”
He looks up then, and sees that Enjolras has stopped pacing and is now just staring at him, a soft smile on his face. “What?”
“I just-” he smiles wider, “I’m really glad you’re in my life. I’m really glad I get to do this with you.”
Even after all this time, Feuilly doesn’t know how to respond. So instead, he simply straightens up, steps towards Enjolras, and pulls him into a hug.
Enjolras hugs back- always determined, always fierce- and it feels like coming home.