This took way too long to write, but here it is. This is my soulmate au, that ended up being over 4k somehow. I hope you all enjoy it, it was fun to write.

Here's the prompt: Anything you draw/write on your own skin appears on your soulmate's. Anything that gives away true identity - ie; address, full name - feels like a burn, and is immediately blurred.

Reviews Replies (it's been so long):

some bottled storm- Ace certainly was... interesting. Still glad he's dead though. Yes, his sister is a massive lesbian! I love her, even if she didn't do much. Thanks!

Anyway, hope you enjoy and all characters belong to their rightful owners.

He remembered jumping the first time it happened. He'd been four, and he'd looked down and saw something on his arm. Something that made him frown. "Mama!" he called, "Aster wrote something mean on my arm!"

"I did not!" the eight year old huffed, glaring at his younger brother. He put the marker down and walked over, "What does it even say!"

"Uhhh…" Tristan narrowed his eyes in concentration, sounding out the word, "Ssss… St-ooo-pid… Stupid!"

"Wh-why'd you write 'stupid' on my arm?" he asked Aster, obviously hurt.

"I didn't!"

"Jesus, both of you are stupid," Jaida snapped as she walked over. She grabbed Tristan's arm, "Oh great, you have a soulmark."

"S-soulmark?" Tristan looked up at his mother with wide hazel eyes, "Whoa, what's that?"

"It's…" Jaida groaned, "It's from your soulmate." She looked bitter, "The person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with."

"What?" Tristan's eyes widened, "I-I…" There was someone out there he could spend his life with. "But I just want to spend my life with you, and Aster, and Mali, and Sophie."

"Even if she did bite me in the arm yesterday," he huffed.

"Yeah, well they're not everything," Jaida seethed, "Okay? They're just a lie. Someone you're supposed to spend your entire life with-"

She scoffed, "That's only if you find them."

"I-I will!" Tristan's eyes widened with determination, "I p-promise. I'm going to find them one day."

He saw Aster fiddling with his arm one day. "Aster, why are you writing on your arm?"

"I'm writing to my soulmate," the older boy responded with a glare.

"Oooo, what are you writing?" Tristan tried to see. He was only nine though, and not tall enough to peer over his brother's shoulder.

"None of your business," Aster seethed, pulling his arm away. He chuckled faintly as he read whatever his soulmate had written. Tristan was baffled, he never saw Aster laugh.

"What do you think my soulmate will be like?" he whispered, eyes full of wonder. He bet that whoever they were, they were nice, and would love him forever.

His brother scoffed and handed him a pen, "Ask them yourself."

Tristan looked at the pen in awe. He clicked it, and immediately froze. What would he write? He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his soulmate. Then, his own arm started to tingle.

"Hi? This feels dumb, you're probably not even going to respond. My sister said I should write something though."

Tristan blinked and his heart quickened. He slowly wrote across his skin. "Why wouldn't I respond?"

"You rarely do."

"You make me nervous."

"Really? Because I thought I was supposed to be your other half or something. Think I already have a half, even if she won't stop writing her own stupid soulmate. So, now that you're finally responding, anything you want to know? I'm pretty great if I say so myself."

"Arrogant much?" Aster scoffed, peering over Tristan's shoulder. He moved his arm away defensively. Although his soulmate did seem rather full of himself. He smirked slightly as he wrote his question.

"Are you a princess?" He somewhat hoped his soulmate was beautiful. A kind princess, like the one in his story book… That would be wonderful. It was unlikely, but he could ask.

After what seemed like forever, he got a response. "No, that's stupid."

Disappointment flitted across his face. He pouted. "It's not stupid!"

"I'm not a princess! Now my sister's laughing at me!"

"Sorry." He smiled, he had two sisters! He wondered if Sophie and Mali would like his soulmate and her sister. "What's your sister like?"

"Annoying."

He huffed. "That's not a very nice thing to say!"

"I've been told I'm not very nice."

"You have to be nice!" He frowned, writing with more force than he meant to. It hurt his arm.

"Why?"

"Because you're my soulmate."

"I don't exactly have a choice in the matter."

"So? I'm sure we'll get along fine!"

"I don't want to be stuck to someone for the rest of my life! My sister's already enough!"

Tristan looked at the message, somewhat hurt. He glared at his arm. "You're stuck with me even if you don't want to be! So… favorite color?"

"You're stubborn. And yellow."

"I've been told that before, but you seem to be also. And mine's blue."

"Blue? Really?"

"Always has been." Tristan smiled as he wrote it. Maybe his soulmate wasn't so bad- even if she wasn't a princess.

He let out a sigh. No one to sit with at lunch… again. He pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Mali had made him and wrinkled his nose as he took a bite. There was too much peanut butter and not enough jelly.

He looked around at the kids smiling and laughing and wished he could have something like that. Someone who… really just… cared.

He looked at his arm again and started to write. "Hey."

"You know, you write to me a lot at this time."

"I'm at lunch, I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!"

"Uh, okay?"

Tristan thought for a moment. Despite the fact that his soulmate was supposed to be the one to understand him, he was very callous. "You need a name."

"I can't tell you, you know the rules."

"Yeah, but calling you… 'you' feels stupid."

"Not really? What else should I call you? Sweetheart?"

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Possibly."

"Whatever… Bee."

"Bee? Out of all the nicknames, you pick Bee?"

Tristan frowned, he'd thought it was sweet. "Bees are cute."

"Yeah, well I'm eating a fish sandwich. What if I called you Fishy?"

"Please don't."

"Whatever you say Fishy. xoxo"

Tristan rolled his eyes and drew a sad face on his arm. His soulmate could be a pain.

He looked down at his arm. If there was anything he'd learned in the coming years, it was that his soulmate could be rather fickle. He looked over at the finished pile of homework. Mali was asleep, and Aster was…

Well, no one ever knew where Aster was.

He grabbed the pen off his desk. It was late, and he wasn't sure if his soulmate was up. It was awkward, writing to a stranger. He normally didn't do this.

"Hey," he wrote on his arm, "You up?" He waited for a few moments, until the familiar tingle in his arm came up.

"I wasn't."

Somehow, Tristan could almost feel his soulmate's displeasure. "Sorry! I wanted to talk, or rather write, I suppose… sorry."

"You know, you apologize a lot. Finally contacting me first for once?"

"Figured I should at some point. Since we're supposed to spend eternity together and all."

"You think I want to spend eternity with someone who's handwriting looks like a five year old?"

"First of all, it's 'whose'. Second of all, I'll let you know I'm fourteen!" Tristan huffed as he wrote. That's when he immediately realized his mistake. After several minutes, the angry reply came back.

"What the hell? I have the stupidest soulmate if you think you can just write your age!"

Tristan let out a shaky breath and leaned back against his desk chair. He felt… guilty. He was about to write an apology when he felt tingling.

"You know what? You won't get away with that. My name is-"

He immediately felt blinding pain shoot through his arm, as the name of his soulmate- his tormenter- turned to a big, blistering burn. He slapped at it, tears welling up in his eyes.

His sister ran into the room, "Tristan!" She looked at his arm and winced. "Oof, doesn't your soulmate know better? Mine accidentally did-"

"It was on purpose!" Tristan seethed, gritting his teeth as he gingerly cradled his wounded arm. The burn was already starting to fade, they never lasted long.

Sophie grimaced, "No offense Tristan, but your soulmate sounds like a bitch."

"Hey!" he frowned, but had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Just saying," Sophie sighed, "That was mean."

His hand was shaking, making his script more messy than usual. "My sister said you're a bitch."

"Sounds like she's right then."

Highschool was rough, for him at least. Sometimes he felt like he was all alone in the world. Well… mostly alone.

The bright "Don't suck on your first day!" written across his chest that made him laugh. Sometimes it felt like his soulmate was the only one who really cared.

Not that Tristan had ever met them.

He thought he had once. A pretty, petite girl with glasses, a turtleneck, and a gold-brown braid. She had dropped a book and he'd picked it up and handed it to her, trying to refrain from blushing.

They'd talked a bit, and she was polite. It was off putting, because he knew his soulmate to be coarse and rugged. Maybe they were polite to people when they first met them?

He smiled, hope blossoming. His soulmate was pretty, and beautiful, exactly how he'd imagined. Then a hulking girl had appeared behind her, arms covered in scars and muscles taunt.

"Fi, this guy bothering you?"

"No, uh…" and the girl- Fi, he presumed- had given him a sweet smile, "This is my soulmate, Bridgette."

And that was the end of that.

So, he was here and ready to start school with no idea who or where his soulmate was, where his older siblings were, and wishing Sophie would stop complaining about his acne.

(If he heard the phrase "Have you heard of skincare Tristan?" one more time, he was going to break something.)

He went through the halls, warily clutching his book to his chest. He looked around, the school was so big. However, he didn't realize his sneaker was untied.

He did realize he was falling after he stepped in his laces though.

With horror, Tristan felt himself grabbed onto the closest thing to keep from face planting. He looked up at an incredibly shocked young man. He blinked a couple times. A very attractive young man. "H-hi?" he smiled sheepishly.

"Will you get off me?" the other person said and jerked his arm away, causing Tristan to stumble.

"Sorry," he exclaimed. All he got in response was a scoff. "I'm Tr-Tristan…"

"Brent," blue eyes narrowed on him, "And next time, stay out of the way."

"I said sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't mean you didn't dirty up my shirt!" Brent exclaimed.

"D-dirty up your-" Tristan sputtered, hand clenching into a fist, "Excuse me?" But Brent just shrugged him off and kept walking.

What a prick.

And that was how things began.

"Can anyone tell me what type of sentence this is?" the teacher asked, eyes scanning the class for raised hands. As usual, Brent's was up there first. He smirked and tossed his hair a bit as he met the teacher's gaze.

Show off. Tristan gritted his teeth. He loved English class normally. The only problem was Brent was there. And while he acknowledged Brent was a decent writer, he wished he would stop trying to one-up him.

(Who was he kidding? Brent was a brilliant writer, he would just never tell him.)

"That's a complex sentence," Brent said with all the smug sureness he could muster. Tristan let out a snort and Brent's gaze snapped to him, a glare settling on his face.

"What is it, shortie?" he spat. Tristan winced in his seat, but forced himself to sit up straighter.

"That's a compound-complex sentence," he corrected, earning a pleased look from the teacher, "See, it has two independent clauses and a dependent clause."

Brent turned red, sputtering while Tristan turned back to his work with a small smirk of his own.

It wasn't until after class he was in hot water.

As Tristan walked out of class, he felt a hand grab his shirt. He knew who it was immediately, they'd been in this situation many times. "Brent," he eeped, "Y-you're stretching out my shirt collar."

"What was that?" Brent snapped at him, "Why… why are you always pulling stuff like that?"

"Correcting your mistakes?"

"Making me look like a fool!"

"I don't think I'm the one doing that," Tristan narrowed his eyes. He felt Brent's grip on his shirt tighten and his eyes went wide with fear.

"Yes you are. Remember, you're just a nobody," Brent whispered in his ear, "And you always will be."

Then, he threw Tristan onto the floor, and the blond had to scramble for his glasses. "Prick," he spat.

"Know-it-all!"

"Well, you're a… a… a-a…" he sputtered as he struggled to think of an insult.

"Eloquent," Brent rolled his eyes and adjusted his shirt collar, "Sophisticated? Not a clutz who trips over nothing?"

"A smug jerk! I h-hate you!" Tristan spat, standing up and trying to look taller. He didn't mean that, but in his fury it seemed like the right thing to say. Brent smirked and leaned down to look at him.

"I'm wounded," he deadpanned and gave Tristan a final shove before sauntering down the hall.

Tristan made it to the bathroom before the tears came. He shakily pulled out a pen. The days were always like this. He was alone, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. "You busy?"

"I just got out of class. Why?"

"I just need to talk."

"Alright, go ahead."

Tristan allowed himself a teary smile, gut wrenching as he wrote the next sentence. "No smart remarks?"

"I'm not that awful. Now, what's wrong?"

"I don't have any friends, and this prick keeps being awful to me. He hates me. It makes me so mad, and I'm trying to be calm but… I just don't like him."

"I doubt he hates you."

"He does." Tristan sniffed as he wrote it. He was sure he did. "He's always shoving on me, and making fun of me."

"Well, what happened?"

"I corrected him in class and he went off on me. He thinks he's so suave, it's annoying."

"Wait, what did you correct him about?"

Tristan frowned, thinking that was an odd thing to focus on, but answered nonetheless. "Just stuff about types of sentences, why?"

He sat there, waiting for a response. He waited and waited. He figured maybe his soulmate had to go to class.

He waited until after school. There was still no response. "Hello?"

He looked down, expecting the familiar scratching feeling on his arm that let him know that his soulmate was writing. Nothing came.

"Bee?"

"Hey Brent," Tristan waved at the other boy, "It's… i-it's weird to see you in class this early."

"Leave me alone Leigh," was the grumbled response. He didn't even meet Tristan's gaze. Just looked down and his hands, which had curled into fists.

Tristan blinked and looked away. "O-okay," he whispered, barely keeping the hurt out of his voice. Brent's fists grew tighter and he stood up.

"Don't follow me," he growled, and practically ran out of the room.

Tristan was sure he was imagining things, but he thought he saw the gleam of tears in his eyes.

Concern flashed through him, but he didn't get up. Brent wouldn't want him to comfort him anyway.

"Hey, is everything okay? You haven't written anything in a while."

"Yo, wassup? Sorry, that was… bad."

"Are you ever gonna respond? I'm getting worried."

"This is really rude, you know."

"I don't know what's going on, but please write back soon."

"Hi?"

"The sky's pretty blue today, it's really pretty."

"Are you okay?"

"You don't understand! He said he hated me!"

Tristan's ears perked up for the first time in months. He had withdrawn into himself after his soulmate had stopped writing. He didn't even have Brent to fire him up anymore. His rival in class appeared to almost avoid him.

He should have known that he couldn't have anything good. God forbid someone care about him for an instant. But of course Brent would hate if his own soulmate despised him.

He wiped away a tear and peeked around the corner. He could think about how terrible he was later. Brent was talking to Riley, who let out a sigh.

"Look, I don't know what I would do if Sloane did this to me," she pinched her nose, "You're an idiot, you realize that?"

"I know!" Brent threw his hands up, "Is that all you have to say?" His eyes flicked to the corner and Tristan ducked behind the wall.

"Do you like doing this?" Riley muttered and crossed her arms.

"No, it's killing me," Brent seethed, "But… I didn't know it was him, and I screwed things up and now he hates me! He told me so himself!"

"Maybe you should explain that?"

"No! I… I don't know what to do." Tristan heard what sounded like a sob. Was Brent crying? No, he couldn't be.

But sure enough, Tristan heard quiet weeping from where he was pressed against the wall.

Tristan placed his hand over his mouth and tried to suppress the urge to wrap his arms around Brent.

"Hey… if this is tearing you up so much, just tell him!" he heard Riley insist, "Please, I hate seeing you like this."

"Shut up," Brent snapped at her, and Tristan heard the shuffle of fabric. She had put on her backpack.

"Fine," she huffed, "I'm going because I'm hungry and you're stupid." Footsteps started towards his direction and Tristan panicked. He tried to run.

"Hey, what's that?" he heard Brent yell. Tristan took off, hearing both siblings chase him down the hallway.

Brent grabbed him by the back of his shirt, glaring at him. His eyes were still puffy. "What the fuck are you doing here Tristan?" he snapped.

"You know what," Riley turned and started to walk away, "I'm done. Figure things out, I'm going to lunch to eat with Sloane."

"Riley!" Brent yelled, somewhat helplessly. His sister just waved him off and kept walking.

He turned to Tristan with a snarl, "What did you think you were doing?"

"Y-you sounded upset," Tristan raised his hands up to shield his face, "I-I was worried."

"You were eavesdropping."

"Maybe a little," Tristan looked down, "I-I'm sorry… Can I ask who hates you?"

Brent glowered at him, "Are you stupid?"

"No!" Tristan snapped, "S-sorry I'm concerned! I just-"

"No," Brent cut him off, turning away with extra force, "I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"You're right but-"

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Tristan huffed and looked at Brent, whose face was red from where he was crying. Who underneath all his anger seemed scared. He just wanted to know what he was afraid of.

He gently reached out his hand and placed it on Brent's shoulder, "Talk to me."

All he got in response was a livid blue gaze. "You hate me," Brent spat at him.

"Wait, no-" Tristan shook his head, "No I don't."

"You said you did!"

"I'm sorry!" Tristan exclaimed, "I was angry, and… I didn't mean it. You're… you're not so bad."

Brent was staring at him like he'd grown a a third head. "Tristan, I'm awful to you."

"Yeah, you are," Tristan narrowed his eyes, "But you're not evil, you're just... a pain. And you were just crying, so you're clearly a person with feelings and…" His voice grew soft, "I don't like seeing you hurt."

Brent, to his surprise, laughed. It was a hurt laugh, one that echoed Tristan's own heartbreak over the past months. He blinked in confusion as Brent pulled out a pen and clicked it, then started to write on his arm.

Tristan watched him, until his arm started to tingle and he let out a slight gasp. "You're annoyingly adorable, you know that?"

His mouth was opening and closing like a fish as he felt a blush rise up to the tips of his ears. "B-Brent?" he squeaked, pointing to the other boy with a shaking hand, "You… y-you're my…?"

"Yeah," Brent looked away, averting his gaze. Tristan studied him, still reeling.

Brent was rude and Tristan was very sure that he wasn't very fond of him.

Brent was the person who used to write encouraging messages on his arm that made him laugh.

Brent had been upset because he thought Tristan hated him.

Because…

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tristan exclaimed, watching as the message faded off his skin.

"Tell you what? That I realized the person who had just screamed that they hated me was the person I'm supposed to…" Brent hung his head, "I'm…"

Tristan grabbed his hand, "I-I said I didn't mean it."

"I know but…"

"Why did you stop writing?" Tristan whimpered, "I thought something had happened!"

"I was scared," Brent snapped, "I was scared, and I figured you wouldn't like me anyway-"

"I do like you!" Tristan squeezed his hand, "Okay? You're… y-you're such an idiot. I've been waiting to find you for years and you were right here…"

"I've been fantasizing about finding you since I was eleven," he flushed, "A-and you thought I wouldn't want you?"

"I didn't exactly know that," Brent whispered, his own face turning a light shade of pink.

"Well, n-now you do," Tristan whispered, not letting go. He didn't want to, he was afraid that if he did he would lose this sudden clarity.

He'd heard finding your soulmate was supposed to be magical, something that changed you.

He didn't feel changed, he'd been sitting in the same room as his soulmate and didn't even know it.

But he felt… he felt like he needed Brent. He'd always been a grounding force (albeit an abrasive one).

And maybe that was enough.

"What do we do now?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at where Brent had been thinking for a long time.

Then a few words appeared on his arm that made him laugh. "I don't know."

He looked at Brent, who was smirking and writing something else, and raised an eyebrow, "W-we really should-"

"But, I am going to kiss you now."

"What?" Tristan sputtered, "Brent, I-" He really didn't have time to protest, because Brent grabbed him in his arms and pressed his lips against his. Tristan immediately collapsed into the motion.

Neither of them had obviously done this before. They were awkward, but… something inside Tristan clicked. This was right.

He pulled away, catching his breath, "I-I…" His face was a bright red, and he gave Brent a smile.

"I like you too," Brent grinned and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

"I-I can s-see that," Tristan nodded, taking his hand again. It was soft, and it fit in his like a puzzle piece.

"So I suppose this changes a lot?" Brent turned away, still flushed from the kiss.

"No," Tristan smiled, "Y-you're still the guy who wrote to me when I felt lonely, wh-who was always there… You're kind, and… and you're sweet and funny…"

"And you still have messy handwriting," Brent wiped a tear out of his eye with a laugh, "But I wouldn't trade you for the world."

"If you're not careful, I'm going to kiss you," Tristan warned him.

Brent cocked his head and smirked, "I'll take those chances."

"Alright then," Tristan got up on his tippy toes and kissed him again.

"You're lucky I've been deciphering your scrawl for years, otherwise I wouldn't understand anything you write. But... you're actually pretty good at writing."

Tristan rolled his eyes and looked at the time. "It's midnight, I can't just keep writing poetry on myself."

"Just one more? Please?"

Tristan could practically hear Brent whining in his head and he rolled his eyes with a fond smile. "Goodnight Brent." It felt… good to be able to finally write his soulmate's name.

"Awww, fine. Goodnight sweetheart."

He let out a laugh as a sad heart was drawn on his arm. It had the most pathetic pouty face Tristan had seen and he almost caved in.

But he had the rest of his life to write silly little poems to Brent.

And he would gladly do so for eternity.