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Back Pain

Summary: Human AU. Virgil’s back goes out.

CW: Pain, cursing, negative thoughts, self-deprecation

Pairing: PolyamSanders/Lamp/Calm (romantic but not explicit)

Notes: This is pure vent-fic. I wrote most of it two days ago when my back was particularly bad. Most of Virgil’s experience is lifted directly from my own.

Virgil felt it the moment he woke up.

It started as just a twinge in the small of his spine, but he was far too familiar with himself to write it off. Ten years of pain, MRI scans, physical therapy sessions and chiropractor visits (not to mention popping ibuprofen like it was candy) had left him only too aware of the warning signs.

His back was going out.

No, he thought, eyes flying open as he struggled to roll to his side in bed. No no no no no, please, no. Not today.

Today. Fucking today–why did it have to be today? Today, the first day all three of his boyfriends had off together in over two months? Today, when they were supposed to be going out to celebrate Roman getting the part in his play and Logan’s dissertation being approved by his committee? Today, when Patton had traded three weekend shifts with the other pediatric nurses and Virgil himself had rescheduled three major clients at the tattoo parlor?

Why today?

He pushed himself into a sitting position, hissing as the twinge turned into a series of sharp, painful jolts that shot down his spine toward his pelvis. He sucked in a deep breath and tightened the muscles of his abdominal wall, trying to visualize pulling his tailbone in toward his belly button the way the last therapist had told him to. Sandra, her name had been. She’d been all about core strength, insisting that the lack of said strength was at the root of most back problems.

Maybe she was right; maybe not. Virgil himself was more inclined to blame the combination of a long torso and years of sitting hunched over his sketchbook with a pencil, then over an expanse of bare skin with a tattoo needle.

Whatever it was, the scans had confirmed it: his back was fucked, and it was going to stay that way for the rest of his life.

“You’ll have good days and bad,” the orthopedic surgeon had told him, after the first incident. He’d been barely over eighteen, and had been working unloading boxes of food at a grocery store. He’d bent down one day and simply hadn’t been able to stand back up. “If you stick with your physical therapy you can push it to more good than bad, but you’ll probably still have blow outs now and then.”

“There’s…nothing you can do?” Virgil had asked haltingly, staring at the blurred translucent black-and-white film that was his MRI scan. It meant nothing to him, but the multitude of little red circles and scrawled notes were easy enough to interpret.

“We could do spinal fusion,” the surgeon said, but the doubtful air in his voice didn’t instill Virgil with a lot of confidence.

“That sounds kinda serious,” he’d said.

“It is. And there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t make things worse instead of better. Especially since you’re probably not done growing, and spinal fusion could cause all sorts of other problems. I’m far more inclined to stick with more conservative options.”

Those options, as it turned out, had involved trips to the pain management center, referrals to specialists, and half a dozen printouts where crude drawings mapped out the various exercises that were supposed to help him get better.

He’d tried to do them. He really had. But he’d still been in school, at the time, working his way through his bachelor’s degree, trying to hang onto a full-time job and a scholarship at the same time, and when it came down to a choice between half an hour of therapy or an extra half an hour of sleep, sleep usually won out.

Now, ten years later, he was reaping the rewards of those decisions.

He managed to climb to his feet, wincing, but breathing a sigh of relief as the pain faded a little. Standing was easier on his back than sitting, and walking sometimes seemed to make everything settle back where it was supposed to be. Sometimes.

He took a few tentative steps toward his kitchen. It was only six am; Roman and Logan, at least, wouldn’t be up until ten at the earliest, and Patton would be out walking their dog Patches. He wouldn’t hear from them for several hours at least. If he could just down some orange juice and a couple pain pills, maybe lie down on an ice pack for a few hours, he would be good to go, if he was lucky.

He should have known better than to rely on his luck.

“Hey, knock knock!” the friendly voice on the other side of the door woke Virgil from his drug-induced half-doze, and he drew in a sharp breath and jerked slightly–then cried out as the movement sent a sharp stab of pain through his back.

Dammit! the events of the morning came back in a rush, along with a growing sense of dread. He fumbled for his phone, which he’d left on the end table, and peered at it, cringing when he saw the three missed texts and new voicemail alerts.

On our way over! Patton had texted.

Be ready to go, we’ve got a big day! That was Roman.

And I hope you don’t mind the opera for this evening because I couldn’t talk Roman out of it.

Shit. Shit. Virgil glanced at the door and hesitated.

“Virgil? You there?” Roman sounded annoyed. “If he overslept, I swear–”

“Virgil doesn’t oversleep, Roman.” Logan.

“He’s probably got his headphones on. Do you have your key?”

A fumble, then the sound of metal sliding into the lock. Before Virgil could react, the door swung open, and his boyfriends piled in, one after another, looking unfairly gorgeous and brilliantly happy.

Patton saw him first, and his eyes lit up. He bounded over, a ball of energy and enthusiasm. “Hey, wake up, sleepyhead!” he cried, reaching out as though to pull Virgil to his feet. “It’s time to–”

“Don’t touch me!”

Patton halted abruptly, startled, and Virgil cringed as the other two gave him looks of surprise. His voice had been a little sharper than he’d meant, but the thought of the damage Patton could do if he’d tried to move Virgil right now…he barely suppressed a shudder.

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I just…um. My…my back’s…hurting.”

His announcement was met with silence,and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the looks on their faces. Would they be disappointed? Disgusted? Annoyed? Angry, even? It had happened plenty of times before. Not with them, maybe, but he couldn’t count the number of friends and exes who’d found his back to be a terrible inconvenience.

It’s hurting again? It was fine yesterday…

Is it really that bad? Can’t you just take some tylenol?

C’mon, man, you said you’d go to the pub crawl with us! Are you seriously backing out again?

As if it was something he wanted. As if it wasn’t ruining his life, one pain-filled day after another.

“Oh,” Patton backed up a little, hands up. “Sorry.”

“Did you do something to it?” Roman asked, frowning as he moved forward and studied Virgil’s careful position on the couch: stretched on his back, knees bent and feet elevated on a cushion, towel under his back in case the ice pack leaked.

Virgil laughed bitterly, then winced when the effort sent a new spike of agony down his spine. “I existed,” he said. “That’s apparently enough.”

“Oh.”

Logan closed the apartment door then moved to stand at the end of the couch, frowning as well. “Did you take anything for it?”

“Yeah,” Virgil sighed, closing his eyes. “I took ibuprofen and a pain pill.”

“It didn’t help?”

Virgil twisted his mouth into a wry not-smile. “It helped. Some. But…” He trailed off.

“But it still hurts?” Patton guessed.

“Yeah.”

“So…I guess…this means you can’t go today?”

Virgil sighed, opening his eyes at last, and glancing up to see the others shifting somewhat awkwardly, casting uncertain glances at one another. He’d told them about his back problems–it was one of his standard disclaimers, when meeting someone new–but he hadn’t had a blowout like this, not since they’d started dating, and they’d never seen it. For them, it had only been a theoretical.

Apparently today, his body was ready to make it a reality.

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry, guys, but I really don’t think I can,” he said at last, deciding that a straightforward confession would be better than this uncomfortable silence. “You should go ahead and have fun, though.”

“Are…are you sure?” Patton’s voice was soft and distressed. “Don’t you need us to…?”

“I really don’t,” Virgil said immediately. Dammit, he might be a killjoy, but he was not going to ruin their fun. “Seriously, go. Have fun. I’ll…” his voice choked, and he bit back the words that had been trying to escape: I’ll go with you next time.

He couldn’t promise that, could he? There was never any telling when the bad days were going to hit, and even if there were, he certainly couldn’t be assured of a ‘next time’ at all. His part in the relationship was too new, too fragile, and they were only now getting their first taste of what dealing with him was really like. There was a very good chance they would decide it wasn’t worth it. That he wasn’t worth it.

He said instead: “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Okay,” Roman said doubtfully, after a moment. “If you’re absolutely certain…”

“I am,” Virgil said, proud when his voice didn’t waver. He looked up at them and gave them a tight smile. “I’ve got my remote and my TV and my phone. I’m set.”

“Do you need anything else, before we…?” Logan nodded at the door.

“No. I’m good.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Something to eat? Drink?”

Virgil bit back an exasperated sigh, knowing Logan only wanted to help. “If you want to grab me a soda before you leave, that’d be cool,” he said.

“Of course.” Logan moved toward the refrigerator immediately.

Virgil looked up at Patton, who was still gazing down at him with worried eyes, and offered him a smile. “It’s okay, Dad,” he murmured, using the nickname Patton had earned from the other nurses in pediatrics. “Really. I’m used to it.”

“I just…hate seeing you in pain,” Patton said, and Virgil felt a tiny curl of warmth in his gut. Patton always had been the most compassionate of them. Abruptly, Virgil felt his eyes stinging, and he had to blink several times and look away.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Um…Virgil?” Logan had returned from the kitchen. “You’re out of soda.”

Virgil closed his eyes again. Of fucking course. Why not? “Probably just as well,” he said aloud. “It would just make me need to get up and pee, and the fewer times I have to get up, the better.”

“We could run down to the gas station and get you some…?” Roman offered, but Virgil shook his head immediately. He’d already ruined their plans enough; no way was he going to make them start running errands.

“No, don’t worry about it. Really. If I get thirsty I’ll drink water. It’s better for me anyway, right, Pat?”

Patton shrugged and nodded.

“If…if you’re sure you don’t need anything…?”

“I am,” Virgil insisted again. “The best thing for me to do right now is take another pain pill and try to sleep this off. You guys go have fun, okay?”

They glanced at one another again, then Patton sighed, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “We have our phones on us, though. Call if you need anything?”

Virgil nodded, throat tightening again at the soft press of Patton’s lips against his brow. How many more times would he get to feel that? How many more times before they sat him down and had that awkward, shifty-eyed conversation where they admitted that while he was a great guy and all, they just hadn’t signed on for this, so, so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen goodbye?

Roman shuffled over next, leaning down and kissing Virgil’s cheek; Logan didn’t kiss him at all, but leaned over and awkwardly touched his hair.

“Feel better, Virgil,” he said. “We’ll see you soon, okay?”

Virgil closed his eyes and nodded once. “Sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and unconcerned.

But the moment they closed his door behind him, the tears started to fall. He brought his arm up in front of his mouth to stifle the sobs that wanted to escape, and bit down a little to keep himself from shaking with them–that would only hurt him more.

Dammit. Dammit. This was it, wasn’t it? This was going to be his life. One person after another walking out the door, walking away, because he was just too much to deal with. The doctor had told him the situation was only going to get worse. The degeneration in his back was going to continue; tears in the discs would be more frequent, and herniation even more common. Blowouts would go from being a ‘once every few years’ thing to an ‘every few months’ thing, or hell, every few days. People would keep getting tired of him, and they’d keep leaving, because he was too much work. Too much trouble.

And they were right. He was too much trouble. He should stop even trying to connect. What was the point? He’d die alone, probably with an ice pack on his back, and that’d be that.

The dumbest part of all, though? He’d sort of thought this time might be different. When he’d met Logan and they’d become friends, and then he’d been introduced to the others, he’d felt for the first time that these were people with whom he might actually belong. He’d never been in a relationship like this before–never dated multiple people at once like this–but with them, it worked. Their strengths bolstered one another’s weaknesses, and their differences seemed to make them closer to one another rather than driving a wedge between them. It was a perfect balance, and what’s more, his presence seemed to add to that balance, instead of throwing it off like he’d been afraid he would. They’d welcomed him with open arms, and for the last six months, he’d been happier than he’d ever been in his life.

He should’ve known better than to assume that would last.

He sighed, lowering his arm as the threat of sobs passed. But the tears continued to leak down his face as he lay on the useless melted ice pack, tiny little pinpricks of pain chasing each other merrily up and down his spine as he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the mid-morning sun was still streaming through the window when the knock at his door woke him for the second time.

He started awake again, then cringed at the jarring movement, and turned his head toward the door. “Who is it?” he called, thinking if it was a package he’d tell them to just leave it on the stoop. His apartment building wasn’t the best, but he didn’t think he could bear to get up right then, and anything important for the shop would be sent directly to the shop. If the package got stolen…oh well.

But it wasn’t package delivery. “Hey, Virgil!” came a familiar voice from the other side of the door. “Can we come in?”

“Patton?!” Virgil frowned, looking down at his watch. 11:02am. The others hadn’t been gone an hour–what were they doing back? “What’s going on?”

“Can we come in or not?”

“I mean…yeah, come in,” Virgil said, tensing a little. Was this it? Had they left, had a conversation about him, decided he was too much trouble, and come back to break it off officially?

The doorknob rattled, and he heard a muffled curse, then someone said, “Hold this for a second, would you?” before the door finally opened again.

Any thoughts that they might be about to break up with him fled as his brain processed what he was seeing.

“Hey!” Patton was in the lead, and the least encumbered, holding a huge stuffed teddy bear, two bags of carry out from their favorite breakfast diner draped over one arm. His other hand was clutching a bouquet of roses. The teddy bear was holding a balloon heart that said “Get Well Soon!”

“H-hey?” Virgil stammered, as Patton moved in and headed for the breakfast bar to deposit the food.

Logan filed in next, his arms laden with bags from the nearby pharmacy, as well as a 12-pack of cans of Mountain Dew. He gave Virgil a small smile and a shrug.

“You were out of soda,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Virgil thought about asking what else he’d apparently been out of–Logan was carrying several bags–but Roman was walking in next, and Virgil’s mouth dropped open soundlessly.

The actor was carrying what looked like a giant wedge of memory foam, folded over on itself and bound with twine. In addition, he was holding under the other arm a large box that appeared to contain an air mattress and a pump; his bicep was bulging and the moment he was inside, he said, “Oof!” and let the box slide to the floor dramatically. He peered over at Virgil, panting, and shook his head.

“For something that’s supposed to be filled with air, that fucker’s heavy!”

“Potty mouth jar,” Patton said from the kitchen, where he was unpacking multiple Styrofoam to-go boxes. Virgil thought he caught the scent of bacon “That’s three dollars you owe today, Roman.”

Roman rolled his eyes, and flipped Patton off–from behind his other hand, so Patton wouldn’t see–then winked at Virgil.

"Besides, it’s got a pump,” Logan added. He’d deposited his bags by the couch, and moved to the kitchen to put the soda in fridge. “The pump’s not filled with air. And the mattress is made out of polyvinyl chloride, which is also–”

“I know, Logan,” Roman cut him off. “I was going for levity.”

“Yes. And I was going for accuracy.”

“When is that funny?”

“What’s…what’s happening?” Virgil uttered, wondering if he was having a particularly vivid dream. If so, he had to give himself credit: he was dreaming them very in-character.

Roman’s eyes softened, and he closed the apartment door again, then moved to kneel in front of the couch, right by Virgil’s head.

“What’s happening,” he said, “is that our boyfriend is hurting, and we’re here to take care of him.”

Roman’s face suddenly wavered and blurred; Virgil blinked and the tears that had been obscuring him fell from his eyes. Roman’s expression melted into one of sympathy and he reached out, gently brushing the tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“But…but you had…plans,” Virgil managed. This was…this was wrong. This was all wrong. They weren’t supposed to change plans because of him. That would make them get tired of him even faster, if they had to do that all the time

“Yes, we did,” Logan said, moving back toward the couch. He paused to scoop up the bags he’d abandoned before, and moved to kneel next to Roman. “Our plans were to spend the day together, all four of us. We’re here to keep those plans.”

“But…”

“No buts, kiddo,” Patton said gently. He abandoned his work at the breakfast bar and headed over to join the others in kneeling in front of Virgil. “This is where we want to be. With you.”

“I’ve got a few things that might help,” Logan added, reaching into the bags. He pulled out a package of icy hot patches, then a heating pad, then a reusable ice pack–one of the clay kinds that stayed flexible instead of getting painfully hard like ice cubes. “I didn’t know if you preferred heat or cold,” he said. “But now you have both options. Also, this…” he dug out a small black box, “is a TENS unit. We attach the electrodes to your back, and they use tiny electrical impulses to–”

“Logan,” Roman interrupted gently. “That can wait a moment, okay, babe?”

Logan looked abashed. “Oh. Sorry,” he said. Roman leaned over and kissed his cheek, making Logan blush.

“The point is,” Patton said, reaching out to stroke Virgil’s hair, “we’re not going anywhere while you’re hurting. We don’t want to do anything else, not if you can’t join us.”

Virgil stared at him, and then at the other two. Their faces were so open, so sincere. But..

“Guys…this…this is really nice,” he whispered. “But…but this isn’t just a one-time thing. You understand me? This is…this is chronic. Permanent. I’ll have this the rest of my life. And it’ll only get worse. I…” he looked down, squeezing his hands into fists. “I should’ve told you sooner,” he blurted. “I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silence, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, waiting. Would they get it now? Would they realize he was too much trouble to bother with in the long run? It’d be the smart thing to do, and he knew it.

“Virgil,” it was Patton’s voice, but more serious than Virgil had ever heard it. “Look at me.” When Virgil didn’t right away, Patton said, “Honey, look at me, please.”

Virgil swallowed, and opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the eldest of his boyfriends. Patton’s face was trained on his, his expression unreadable.

Patton leaned forward and tilted Virgil’s chin up gently, then captured his lips in a soft kiss. Virgil made a surprised noise in his throat, then kissed back as best as he could from the somewhat awkward angle. When Patton pulled back, Virgil saw his eyes were shining a little with emotion.

“We love you, Virgil,” he said softly. “This isn’t exactly how we’d planned to tell you for the first time–”

“Though we were going to do it tonight,” Roman added. “It was going to be super romantic–not that this isn’t,” he added hurriedly, then shut up, when Patton glared at him.

“As I was saying,” Patton said, turning back to Virgil, “we love you. For real. We’re in this for the long haul, if you are–and for as long as you want to be. We’re not going to run away from this because you have a bad back.”

Virgil stared at him, eyes wide and heart pounding. They..they… “You love me?” he whispered, fresh tears spilling.

Patton beamed, then, and glanced at the other two, who gave Virgil gentle smiles of their own.

“We do,” Roman agreed, reaching up and taking Virgil’s hand. Logan laid a gentle hand on Virgil’s knee and squeezed carefully.

“Yes,” he said, soft and gentle.

Virgil closed his eyes again, fighting desperately against the renewed urge to sob–his back couldn’t handle that. But when the urge passed he did manage to squeak, “I love you guys, too.”

They surrounded him–carefully, gently–and he reached up and embraced them as best he could. For several long moments, none of them moved, except Patton, whose hand continued to stroke through Virgil’s hair.

But finally Logan drew away, and the others followed suit.

“So,” Logan said, reaching up to dab gently at the corners of his eyes. “Now that we’ve gotten that cleared up, let’s talk about what happens next.”

“Next?” Virgil asked.

“Yes. We brought food, for one,” Logan explained.

“From Aunt Martha’s!” Patton interjected. “Bacon extra crispy, just how you like it.”

“And we got a few things from the drugstore, too. As I was starting to say. The TENS unit will send electric impulses into your muscles, so if they’re in spasm it might help them relax.” Logan peered into the bags. “We also got you a back brace. And a lifting belt–it’s adjustable so it can go on over the brace. We can use it to help support you if you need help walking.” He paused, then said, “Um…a lot of the rest of this is just candy. But I thought you might need some chocolate, too.”

Virgil giggled softly, more tears slipping down his face. He and Logan shared an obsession with chocolate the other two didn’t understand. “Thanks, Lo,” he whispered.

“And we also got memory foam,” Roman said, squirming like an eager kid waiting for his turn to show off. “I don’t know if it will help you, but I asked the guy at the medical supply store and it’s the extra firm kind, not the super soft kind. He said firm was usually better for low back pain?”

“It…it is,” Virgil stammered, wondering briefly just how much all of this had cost. He knew, intellectually, that Roman had money–so did Patton, for that matter–but it had always seemed incredible to him, how much they could just drop without even a second thought.

And for them to have spent it on him…

“Good! We can see what it does for you. That mattress of yours is crap,” he added.

Patton swatted Roman’s arm. “Be nice,” he scolded.

“I was being nice. I was thinking his mattress was shit. I said crap. That’s nicer.”

“Four dollars, Roman.”

“Dammit.”

“Five.”

“We also brought an air mattress,” Logan interjected, as Roman pouted at Patton. “That’s not for you, though. That’s for us. We’re crashing here until you’re better.”

“You’re…you’re what?” Virgil was stunned. The other three lived in a house on the other side of town–thirty minutes away–and it was a nice place, huge and well-furnished and warm. It had once belonged to Roman’s grandmother, and he’d inherited it when she died. Why on earth would they want to stay in his dinky little shit apartment, with its poor heating and noisy neighbors and constant, pervasive stench of cigarette smoke?

“We’re staying here,” Patton repeated. “Cindy’s going to look after Patches while we’re gone. We’re here as long as you need us. And once you’re better…” He trailed off and looked at the others.

“We were kind of thinking you might…well…” Roman looked at Logan.

“We were hoping you’d move in with us,” Logan finished for them.

Virgil sucked in a sharp breath, heart stuttering. “Are…are you serious?” he whispered.

“Dead serious,” Roman said firmly. “That’s another part of what tonight was going to be.”

“Even…even now that you know about my back…?”

“Especially now that we know about your back,” Patton said. “Honey, if your back could go out like this at any time, the last thing you need is to be living alone. What if you need help?”

Virgil flushed. “I’ve been dealing with it on my own for ten years, Patton,” he said, not quite sure why he felt he had to defend himself, but absurdly feeling he did. “I can handle it.”

“We know you can,” Roman assured him, squeezing the hand he still held. “What we’re saying is, you don’t have to anymore. We want to help.”

“However we can,” Logan agreed.

Virgil hesitated, studying them carefully. It all sounded good–wonderful, really. But…there was one thing he had to know.

“You’re not just…doing this because you, like…pity me, or something…are you?” He didn’t think he could stand that; somehow, that would be worse than them just leaving.

Logan looked at Roman and nudged him. “Show him,” he said.

“Huh? Oh! Right.” Roman reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box. He opened it, and Virgil saw, sitting on soft black velvet, a shining purple key, attached to a personalized silver keychain in the shape of a thundercloud–Virgil’s first tattoo. Engraved on the keychain were the words, Welcome Home, Virgil!

It wasn’t something they’d have been able to put together in an hour. The key, maybe, but that key chain was a custom job. They’d been planning this already. And no wonder they’d looked disappointed when they’d found out he was hurt–he’d spoiled their surprise.

But…but they hadn’t been upset. Not really. They’d…rolled with it. They didn’t mind. They weren’t mad. They’d changed their plans to accommodate his needs.

Because they loved him.

Virgil closed his eyes and laughed, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. He reached out with shaking hands, and felt someone press the key into his palm. He gripped it tight, holding it to his chest, and though his back was still aching, his heart was full.

“So, is that a yes?” Patton murmured.

“Yes,” Virgil whispered. “Yes, I…I’d…I’d love to.”

The others beamed at him, and Patton whooped, before lunging forward and–carefully–beginning to press tiny little kisses to Virgil’s face. Logan gripped Virgil’s free hand on his, and Roman bent and laid his head against Virgil’s bicep.

“Good,” Roman murmured. “Good. We’ve got space for you all ready. We can figure out how to terminate your lease here when you’re feeling better–”

“It’s a monthly anyway.”

“Even better,” Logan said. He clapped his hands together once. “When you’re better we’ll help you pack–you can just tell us what goes where and we’ll handle everything, and we’ll get you moved. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

“I can…I can help…”

“No,” Patton said firmly. “We’re not going to let you hurt yourself. Not that we think you couldn’t do it,” he added. “But if we can prevent you being in pain, we’re going to try. We’re going to take care of you from now on, Virge.”

Take care of him. How long had it been since he’d had anyone to do that? Since his mom died? Maybe even before, if he were honest–she’d been so sick, he’d been taking care of her at the end. When had he had even one person who wanted to make sure he was okay?

And now…now he had three. Three whole, wonderful people that he loved more than he could understand, and they all wanted to take care of him.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, thinking he might never be able to say it enough times to truly encompass his gratitude. But he knew he was going to try. “Thank you guys so much.”

“Our pleasure,” Logan said. “Now. Let’s figure out breakfast, and then you can tell us how we can help you.”

So they did. Virgil couldn’t sit up easily, so Roman helped him prop himself up on a few pillows and fed him his breakfast–perfectly crispy bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and waffles smothered in Martha’s blueberry syrup. It was messy and delicious and they giggled at each other the whole time, and Roman kissed away any spilled syrup as they went. After breakfast, Patton brought him a new pain pill and helped him lift his head so he could swallow it, while Logan put away the leftovers.

Then they gathered around and listened, as he told them his story–about the scans, the pain, the uncertainty; about the people who looked at him askance, the doctors who thought he was drug seeking until he showed them his MRI scans and medical history; about all the friends and exes who had abandoned him because of it (Roman had looked ready to find them and throw down right then). They’d listened, and the’d looked horrified in all the right places, and instead of pity, there was awe in their faces when he finished.

“You’re so strong,” Roman had murmured, gripping his hand, and Logan and Patton had nodded in agreement.

“And brave,” Patton added. “God, that had to be so scary.”

“It…it was,” Virgil had finally admitted, and closed his eyes when Logan leaned in to kiss his brow, then his lips. Patton and Roman had followed suit.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Logan had murmured. “We’re with you now. We’ll help. You don’t have to do this by yourself now.”

Virgil gave him a watery smile. “Thank you,” he’d whispered.

After that, the day passed more pleasantly than Virgil had ever hoped it could. After he’d told them his story, they’d settled in together to watch movies. When Virgil needed to go to the bathroom, Patton had helped him to his feet and had walked alongside him to the bathroom (they hadn’t bothered with the belt; Virgil could get around well enough at home. But he’d promised to give it a try next time they went out and his back was hurting.)

While they’d been in the bathroom, Roman and Logan had arranged the memory foam on the couch. When Virgil eased himself back down on it, he nearly moaned in relief–the firm-but-pliant padding molded into his body, giving the arch of his spine the support it desperately needed without forcing the rest of him into an uncomfortably awkward position. Roman lifted his legs for him while Logan eased the couch cushion back under his knees, and then Roman laid his legs across it so tenderly Virgil’s eyes stung again.

He was so comfortable after that that he’d dozed for part of the day, but when he woke up, someone was always there beside him, ready to get him anything he needed. They ordered pizza mid-afternoon; Patton had fed him this time, and then he’d taken another pain pill and dozed some more. And when night rolled around, Virgil awoke to the entertaining the sight of the three of them trying to quietly figure out how to set up the huge air mattress they’d purchased. Logan had been scowling at the instructions; Patton had been gently scolding Roman, who was cursing at the pump settings. When Virgil’s giggles had alerted them to his return to consciousness, they’d each given him a sheepish grin and taken turns kissing him hello again.

Once it was finally inflated, the king-sized mattress barely fit in his living room, even with the coffee table moved into the bedroom. Virgil giggled as he watched them try to fit the sheets over the top of it, then grumble about who got to sleep closest to Virgil.

Patton won that one. As the other two slid under the comforter and bickered quietly about who got to be the little spoon, Patton sat on the edge of the mattress facing Virgil on the couch and smiled at him.

“Do you need anything before we go to sleep, sweetheart?” he murmured.

Virgil looked up at him–at his sweetly smiling face–and then past him, at Roman and Logan, who in spite of their grumbling were now cuddled together on the mattress and watching the Disney movie they’d put on the TV (Logan had won the ‘little spoon’ debate). Virgil’s breath caught in his throat a little, but he smiled, and looked back up at Patton.

“No,” he murmured. “I’ve got everything I need.”

Patton’s smile broadened, and he slid from the mattress and knelt next to the couch. He leaned in and kissed Virgil, slow and sweet.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Pat,” Virgil whispered back.

Love you, too.

Author’s notes: Virgil’s injuries and experiences with back pain are, as stated, more or less identical to mine. The main difference is I’ve been lucky to have a support system, first in my parents, then in my best friend and partner, @sanders-sides-thuri, who takes care of me time and again with no complaint. I’m super lucky to have her and she may never know how much I appreciate everything she does for me.

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