Stay Here | Wilbur Soot

ix

Now, I've seen a lot in my life, given how I'd been the creator of an entire nation and also the destroyer of said nation.

But there's three things in my past few days of being a dead man that I've learned, three things I was unaware of while alive.

One: the afterworld doesn't exist, but shockingly enough, different universes do.

Two: Soulmates are reckless and shouldn't be a thing.

Three: My soulmate is a dumbass, and her words haunt me every time I look down to my palms.

These things were certainties, yet one thing remains a mystery to my curious and twisted mind.

How the hell is y/n my soulmate?

My heart doesn't skip a beat, my head doesn't fog, the butterflies aren't fluttering... it just doesn't work between us. There's no chemistry, and that's not me trying to be mean.

It just isn't there.

"Hey, Wilbur, be honest, is it that obvious?" y/n stands before me in a pair of pajama shorts, and I see her marking with one glance down, a small smirk playing on my lips.

My focused sight lingers a little longer before I nod, offering up the smile I knew made me look like a cocky piece of shit.

"Looks great doll."

Her eyes roll and she smacks my head, walking off with a huff. My lips mumble out a small 'cute' at the aggressive action, seeing as it hadn't hurt at all.

No chemistry.

No chance.

Not with that woman.

There's just bickering.

I turn back around and slump down on the couch after seeing y/n head off into the kitchen, hearing an unfamiliar sound ring out from the coffee table before me.

My eyes turn to see y/n running back into the living room. I huff, my face scoffing away; like I was in such a rush to grab her phone and answer it.

"Hello? Lea!" Her tone is so different with her friend. Bright, cheery, maybe even a bit humorous.

I couldn't help but frown, thinking of how cold her tone was towards me, though I don't know why that'd bother me.

I'm not any better in how I treat her, except instead of rude and cold, the approach taken is more know-it-all and snarky.

She walks off towards her bedroom, and I pay it no mind. Friends talk to each other all the time; I'm pretty sure they do, at least.

But without trying, my ears catch slight wind of y/n's conversation, not expecting such clear sound since she'd shut herself inside of the bedroom.

Pretty thin walls, I guess there's no privacy then.

"I've been thinking— marking off," When I hear word of markings, my entire body perks up, trying to get closer to y/n's room without being so close that I can't run back to sit down. It was choppy, but I could piece things from the conversation together. "Mhm, it's just— I can't..."

Eyes scanning back to my palms, I read over the words again, something I did multiple times a day ever since their first appearance.

"Yeah, I know. Didn't I tell you— my soulmate? —We hate each other—"

I frown, picking at my dirty and stubbed nails absently while continuing to listen, even though I knew nothing good would come out of it for me.

"Rip my marking off? I've thought about it, yeah."

On that statement, I walk off, going to the bathroom so I could sit on the closed toilet while trying to get away from the voice. Too much talk about me, and most certainly about our so-called status.

I can still smell y/n in the air, her perfume and shampoo leaving a lingering scent from the shower she'd taken a few minutes ago.

I stare off, mind swirling with thoughts of what y/n may do while I'm not looking. How she may try to sever the only tie she has to me by taking off the mark that incidentally bound us.

How is that done anyway? Do you really just rip the patch of skin off?

Looking to my palms again, I know I'm not willing to do such a thing. I'd just wear gloves or paint over it if I was ever pushed so far.

But I couldn't get rid of a thought sticking so surely to the back of my mind.

"Am I really that bad?"

—

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This isn't edited and I'm aware so enjoy it while I'm in school.