#anyway i hope he gets food poisoning and has to get a fucking doctors note for it :)
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anyway i have been feeling like garbage all day bc i vowed yesterday that i would take a mental health (+ period cramps) day after i cried during my shift yesterday and anyway i called when i woke up and the fucking new manager picked up and was like “okay well just bring a doctors note to your next shift :)” and like this is the second time i’ve called out ever since i started the job at the end of may which is maybe still too often but like he doesnt know me and my other managers LIKE me lmao like i am a person who is terrified of skipping things its not something i DO unless i need to. and i Needed this i know i did. did i say i was sick to my stomach? yes. am i having a bad stomach time for real today? also yes. am i going to GO TO THE DOCTOR FOR THAT? no. is it literally policy to stay home if we are throwing up or have diarrhea? yes. (did i have a job interview this morning and want to go home and rest? also yes.)
anyway it absolutely fucking ruined my mental health day so thats fucking karma i guess on top of the guilt i already had over screwing my coworkers over. also i spent all afternoon running errands for my mom who has covid so like. idk. would be great if the birth control im on to make my period symptoms less bad actually Did That.
#anyway i was like oh i wasnt planning on going to the doctor im just sick to my stomach but i will try :)#anyway i hope he gets food poisoning and has to get a fucking doctors note for it :)#theyre literally not allowed to require that#for one day off.#yes it was the day before my weekend but that wasnt by choice???#every time i think about it my stomach drops i hate this guy. hes like barely 20 years old like shut up dude#like i techincally have earned sick time but i didnt. ask to use it?? idek how that works. the one other time i called out i didnt get paid#and thats what all the info about the policies is about#not being able to come to work bc youre sick just. happens. like dont pay me whatever you dont get screwed at all!!!#r.txt
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Hello, how are you today? Remember to drink water if you haven’t already! 💛
if you are okay with it and feel comfortable writing it. (also no rush at all, I get it’s exams week and stuff) but could I request some fluff head cannons with Hitoshi Shinso and Shoto Todoroki (separately) with an s/o who is sick with like a stomach virus or food poisoning. Them maybe comforting the s/o or something? Idk, you do whatever you feel best.
I’m sick right now and currently feel like trash so some fluff would be nice. Also, just love your writing!! 💞 hope you have a good day/night
their s/o contracted a stomach virus
character(s) : todoroki shouto, shinsou hitoshi (bnha)
legend : [Y/N = your name] gender neutral, quirk not mentioned
headcanon type : fluff, comfort (x reader)
note(s) : ahh i know what that feels like and thats why i avoid eating out alot, since my stomach starts aching really quickly, even if i JUST ate :( anyways, thank you for waiting! the last week of school was really busy for me today, i spent the entire day filming my project 💀 also, theres not that many nuances here, so i hope that’s okay
➽───────────────❥
todoroki shouto
i can’t really say that shouto would know what to do at first, since shouto almost never gets sick
maybe a few times during his childhood, and during that ONE occasion when he was 12, he tried making soba— when he didn’t know how to
besides the point, man stays healthy; in topic condition. it’s important, if you’re training to be a hero.
so, when he finds out that you contracted a stomach virus / food poisoning, he doesn’t exactly know what to do
sure yeah, he could visit you for emotional support— but he wants to help you feel better.
it wasn’t like period cramps (if you get those)— he has heard that heat can help you cope with those, and he could always help with his left side
in actuality, food poisoning / stomach viruses are nowhere near that💀
you were nauseous, practically camping in the bathroom— since whenever you’d try to get up, and do your tasks for the day
you’d feel a sense of dread in your stomach, and you’d bolt back to the bathroom.
really, shouto hates seeing you like that, looking like death knocked on your window that very morning— skin burning to the touch, even though you felt cold
so, what does shouto do? he goes to fuyumi— since she has helped natsuo get over a case of food poisoning on two separate occasions.
she, luckily has all the remedies available, but still recommends that he should take you to a doctor, if you don’t feel any better.
he returns with water, and an electrolyte solution— and helps you take them, even going far as to fetching a straw for you
holds your hair back when you need to puke, if you have short hair— he’ll make sure to remove everything that’s obstructing your way
carries you back to bed, since you can’t walk without being nauseous. but, if you want to stay in the bathroom, he doesn’t mind
he’ll just bring pillows and blankets to the bathroom. an easy fix!
the class notices that shouto’s been in and out throughout the entire day, and they secretly wonder if he’s a part time nurse 💀
shouto disagrees, saying he’s just caring for his sick s/o, and wishes everything for them to be well again (which makes all of them aww)
bonus : bakugou throws a specific broth recipe at shouto, when shouto came to him for a recipe (since you were feeling a bit better, thanks to him)
the blond stating that “if you’re gonna give them broth, make sure you don’t fucking food poison them again. i won’t be responsible if that idiot doesn’t come to school for a month.”
shinsou hitoshi
frowns when he sees that you’re not present at homeroom— let alone when you don’t give him a heads up on your absence.
he doesn’t think too much of it at first, thinking that he’d just visit you during lunch
oh, and speaking of lunch— there was a sudden wave of UA students that contracted food poisoning / stomach viruses, after a substitute cook cooked for yesterday’s lunch
and because of that thought, it suddenly dawned onto him that you might be sick too
when the second period ends, hitoshi excuses himself to the bathroom, and RUNS to the dorms— absolutely worried for you
when he goes to your dorm, his suspicions were proven to be correct.
looking ill is an understatement, you’re half dressed in your uniform, and completely passed out on the floor— skin slick with sweat
“Y/N?” he calls out, absolutely concerned — which is given, considering your state at the moment
“are you sick? what happened?” he nudges you awake, not exactly sure of the severity of your state.
and when you’re awoken from your sleep, you bolt to the bathroom— falling onto the bathroom floor as you throw up
hitoshi stands near the door way, slightly wincing at your gagging— his heart clenches at the sight of your pain
hitoshi, finally deciding to do something, approaches you “it’s okay,” he comforts, his gentle hands brush against your back
and it feels like a while before it finally stops, and he grabs some tissues when you flush the toilet
“on a scale of 1-10, how sick do you feel?”
“12.”
alarmed by your answer, he momentarily leaves to fetch you some water— going as fast as he could
he comes back, and helps you drink water— and he figures that he should help you get into something more comfortable
of course, his thought process is cut off when you start feeling nauseous again— and the idea of brainwashing the pain away comes into his mind
but of course, it doesn’t work that way. because the sickness would come back if he switched off his quirk
after helping you into comfier clothes, this is when he decides to get recovery girl (who has been busy, considering the wave of sick students that were ill)
who, luckily— managed to make some time for you, which he will be grateful for.
will wipe the remains of your throw up off your mouth, the idea of it being gross doesn’t bother him in the slightest
and he’ll clean your mess if you accidentally get some on the floor— yeah. man doesn’t care at all
though he can’t brainwash the pain away, he will brainwash you to sleep, or take the electrolytes prescribed to you if you hate the taste
hitoshi didn’t care that he had aizawa questioning his whereabouts during the second period, since he was doing everything to make you feel better
and he most definitely didn’t mind babying you so,, he’s less than peeved
when you do feel better, he will tease you about how you were relying on him the entire time.
but the insomniac here would do it again in a heartbeat <3
#bnha imagines#bnha x reader#mha x reader#mha imagines#bnha x y/n#bnha fluff#todoroki shouto x reader#todoroki x reader#todoroki imagines#todoroki x y/n#todoroki headcanons#shinsou fluff#shinsou imagines#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou x y/n#shinsou x reader#shinsou headcanons#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#mha fluff
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Poison: Part One
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word Count: ~1.8k
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.
Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take
"What is food to one is to others bitter poison." - Lucretius
Cases involving children are never your strong suit. The last one with Billie Copeland was just so hard, you’re not sure if you can be involved in another one--that is until you learned what this case is really all about. Yes, there is a child involved, but the bigger picture has a much larger scale than children.
You have to remind yourself that you need to focus on the case and not on Spencer. It shouldn’t even be a hard thing to do, but something happened between you two when you took him to the bookstore right next to your apartment. After checking out a couple of books, and after Spencer had read virtually all of them, you decided it was kind of late and that you needed to get home. The store was closing very soon anyway, so Spencer opted to walk you home.
When you got to your door, he decided to give you a kiss on your cheek, but you moved your head at the last minute. He accidentally got the corner of your mouth, and that messed up his whole thing. Based on his reaction to your mouths almost touching, you know he can’t be that interested in you. If he were, then he would have just kissed you right there and then. Instead, he stuttered a goodbye and left.
You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Does he like you? If so, then why won’t he just kiss you? If he doesn’t, then why does he agree to go on these dates with you. Whenever you two go out, you clearly state that this is a date, and he doesn’t say anything that dismisses that idea. Sometimes, you just wish you knew what was going on inside that big brain of his so you can dejumble it and tell him what the fuck is going on. You’d do it now, but you have a case that needs your full attention.
Apparently, a man and his son were driving down the road one night when the father pulled to the side of the road and got out. He walked into the woods, the son followed after him, and the father beat him almost to death. The son is in the hospital undergoing critical care while the father is in the psych ward. You’re not sure how it happened or why, but you know that it did. Hotch and Gideon got hold of the interrogation video sent over by the New Jersey Police Department.
Detective Hanover is the person who is going to be in charge and is also the person who you will be working with the entire time you’re in Jersey.
“State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up,” the detective says and shows Jack Fisher, the father of Eric Fisher, a picture of his unconscious body. “He's unconscious and has four broken bones. He's gonna be in the hospital for a month.”
“I didn't hurt my son,” Jack sighs.
“Do you remember removing the tire iron from the trunk?”
What, he used a tire iron? You gasp softly and put your hand to your mouth as you continue to watch.
“No! No!”
“What's the last thing you remember?”
“I picked Eric up from school on Friday, for the weekend. Who would do this?” he cries softly.
Hotch ends the video there and addresses the entire briefing room.
“This happened two days ago in Beechwood, New Jersey. Mr. Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until eighteen hours later.”
“The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last twenty-four hours. The hospital called the CDC, then the CDC called us,” JJ finishes.
“So, a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?” Derek wonders.
“They each received ten to twenty times the normal dose.”
“That’s enough to kill a small child,” Spencer informs.
“Or cause a grown man to try and kill him with a tire iron apparently,” you sigh.
“Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma. This is from the hospital's security footage the same night Fisher lost it,” JJ explains and uses the remote to put a different video on the screen.
It’s of the hospital that is in complete chaos. People are shouting, pushing, yelling, and apparently, having seizures. One man is on a stretcher, and he’s clearly on something. The doctors around him try to push past the madness of people to get him to a room while the nurses have their hands full of scared and angry patients. This wasn’t a spike or an overdose…
“These people didn’t get spiked. They were poisoned,” you reveal.
“Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was seventy-eight. She ran out into the middle of the road, and she was hit by a car. She was DOA,” JJ reveals on the plane ride over to New Jersey.
You’re sitting next to Spencer in one of the seats that are super cramped so that they can fit four of them in on either side of a small table. You’re sitting by the window, so essentially, Spencer is blocking you in. He’s not a big person, but because you have romantic feelings for him, it feels like a fucking trap.
“The other potentially fatal case is nine-year-old Brittany Canon. She fell out of a treehouse and fractured her skull. She's in a coma, but the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it,” Hotch says.
“How do you wanna handle the press?” Gideon asks the liaison.
“We still don't know how these people even got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet.”
“How is it possible that none of these people knew how they got poisoned?” Derek wonders.
“None of them remembers anything about the day it happened,” you say and gesture, but your hand brushes up against Spencer’s leg.
You blush and mutter an apology, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He looks at you and blushes as well, but he is better at hiding it than you are.
“These people were so messed up; it's made it difficult for local PD to retrace the victim's steps.”
“So, we need to go on precedent. We know there are four types of poisoners who target multiple victims,” Gideon starts.
“There's the true believer--the political terrorist/religious cult. There's the extortionist--the product tamperer that holds the business hostage in exchange for money. The prankster--it’s usually a younger offender who doesn't mean any harm, and it's basically just a big practical joke to them. Then we have the avenger--someone with a personal vendetta who chooses poison as their weapon,” you explain the different types of offenders.
“We need to find out as quickly as possible which type he is. Because with the exception of the prankster, all these types commonly test their poison on a small scale before appearing at a larger attack.”
“Then, let's hope this one was just a prank,” Derek scoffs.
"I suggest we split up the victims and see if there's a pattern to the victimology,” Gideon suggests.
“Most of them are still in the hospital. I'll call local PD to meet us there,” Hotch confirms.
“I'll check the lab reports. Maybe there's a clue to the unsub's motive in the specific nature of the poison he used,” Spencer calls dibs.
“I can't imagine anybody could want this to happen.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll head to the hospital with you. The kid may not be able to tell the doctor anything, but I certainly can. I’ll be able to see what really happened if his mother allows it.”
“Good,” Gideon nods once. “We need all the answers we can get.”
The hospital is buzzing with panic, fear, sadness, and grief. Many people are dying in this hospital, and to someone like you, you’re not sure you can be here for much longer. Hotch, Gideon, and the rest of the team don’t really understand how this all affects you. Normal people like the ones on your team see this hospital for what it is. They see people grieving and people crying, but they allow themselves to be separated from their emotions. They can walk into a loud crowd and tune out all the conversations and emotions without even thinking about it.
Not you. You’re completely different.
You walk into a crowd, and you’re overwhelmed by not only the physical sensation of people all around you, but your mind is also crowded. Your mind goes into overdrive as it inspects each person to make sure they are not a threat. To make sure that they are who they say they are. A normal person can see a kid walking down the street and not know they are kidnapped while you are able to determine that.
You walk into this hospital, and every single emotion of every single nurse, doctor, patient, and family member immediately go to your shoulders. Someone can be dying on the very top floor, and you’d feel how sad their family members are as they watch their beloved ones slip away. There could be someone in the next room receiving bad news, and it’ll be like you’re receiving the same news. It’s not fun living with your abilities, and you’ve caught yourself wishing it would all just end. However, you think about everyone you’ve saved, and it somehow all makes it okay.
“Detective Hanover, Beechwood PD,” the detective that was on the surveillance tape introduces himself to you, Gideon, and Hotch.
“Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Gideon and Agent Y/L/N.”
“Thanks for coming down on such short notice. The doctor said he may have permanent brain damage. I've never seen anything like this,” he sighs and looks at Eric, the little boy who was beaten by his own father.
“Well, let's hope we can help him.”
“Have you had a chance to review the victim's files?”
“We're especially interested in talking to the boy's father,” Gideon says.
“We'd like to get a sense of why he turned violent while the lab analyzes the specific nature of the LSD he was dosed with. we'd like to get our own sense: was it the drug itself or was there something else going on? Hopefully, that can give us a little bit of a window into the motive of the offender,” Hotch explains.
“He's in the psych ward.”
“Well, we'll keep it short,” Gideon replies.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll meet up with you two. I’m going to talk to the mother,” you offer, and Hotch just nods.
wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!
@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @paulaern @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @abitchforjay @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @spencerreid-mgg @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @reidemandweep @prophecyflame @happynekochan1
#poison#series rewrite#criminal minds series rewrite#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#cm#cm fanfiction#season 1 episode 13#s1e13
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11 - Aizawa
Kaori Shinsou has always been fascinated by people's minds. She is one of the best students in her Criminal Psychology course at U.A. and - being the lucky girl she is - her professor is not only one handsome dude, but is also working on the case of the serial killer Stain - a case that has been going on for years. As she is about to become Professor Aizawa's TA during the next term, a lot of other interesting cases start popping up all over the country...
AU, OC x Aizawa
Trigger warnings: nothing really?
(possibly incomplete, if you’d like something added, please let me know)
The city's ours until the fall
(Halsey - New Americana)
Shouta Aizawa did not enjoy having lunch in the cafeteria. The place was loud, there were always a bunch of annoying kids around and people would just randomly approach him and talk to him, when all he wanted was some peace and quiet. But with all his injuries right now, he didn't really have the energy to prepare some lunch at home, before he left in the morning. And the lunch in the cafeteria was insanely good, so that somewhat made up for everything else.
He was sitting on a table with a bunch of other teachers, not because he wanted to, but because there was no table available where he could sit on his own. And sitting with one of his students would just be plain weird.
At the moment Yamada and Kayama were having a heated debate about whether Kombucha tasted good or not and whether it was worth trying for the health benefit. Kayama was absolutely in favour of it and was showing off her home-made Kombucha that she had brought to school. Yamada had never tried it and was convinced it couldn't be healthy AND good.
At the moment Kayama was forcefully trying to get Yamada to try some of her Kombucha. Yamada protested wildly, which was unfortunate for Aizawa, as he was sitting right next to him. He was keeping a close eye on him, just so he could dodge any accidental attacks from Yamada.
"Oh, come on! At least try it! One tiny sip?" Kayama asked. Aizawa gulped down some orange juice. He had to switch to that from coffee. The doctors told him to stay away from alcohol, caffeine, nicotine and anything else for at least two weeks. Which wasn't too bad, because in two weeks they would have the U.A. Sports Festival, which was a big thing within the national police force.
A lot of people from different divisions across the country came to see it and to scout out people for internships later on. Of course anyone who was not in basic training (or really athletic and in some other course like Criminology) would have a rough time trying to intern with the actual police force. A lot of the other people just turned to forensic laboratories, prisons, courts and so on to get their internships done.
Aizawa had done his one-week internship at a prison during his first year. Thankfully he had been able to kick ass during his second year and had started working with the local Naruhata police department. That's where he and his best friend Shirakumo had been spending most of their days away from university. Aizawa smiled a little, as he remembered his friend, but the smile quickly faded.
"What do YOU think, Shouta? Should he try it or not?" Kayama asked, taking him out of his thoughts. Aizawa glanced at Yamada who was shaking his head dramatically while grimacing.
"I don't really care, Nemuri. Why do you need him to drink it so badly?" he replied with a shrug.
"I made it myself and I'm proud of it! Plus, he's never even tried it and keeps saying that it'll taste bad. I just want him to try, before he'll start judging." Kayama said and sighed melodramatically.
"Why don't you try it then, Yamada? It hasn't killed Nemuri so far, it most likely won't kill you." Aizawa suggested, hoping to be left alone. He wasn't going to be so lucky. Yamada was shaking his head violently.
"Nuh uh. She's a toxicologist, dude, she could be telling me anything while trying to poison me. And she'd be getting away with it, too!"
"I can't believe you're accusing me of trying to poison you! Yamada, we've been friends for how long now?"
"Maybe you're just playing the long game, who knows..."
Aizawa sighed. His head had started hurting again and he really couldn't deal with the two of them arguing about petty shit like that right now. He grabbed the bottle out of Kayama's hands, opened it and took a big sip. He gulped it all down, as he put the bottle back down on the table.
It was nasty. It smelled foul and a bit like vinegar. And it tasted just the same, with a slight hint of sweetness. It took everything out of Aizawa not to make a weird face. And all that just because he wanted Yamada to suffer just as much as he did. If he drank the stuff, Yamada would have to, as well.
"How... how is it?" Yamada asked, giving him a worried look, as if Kayama had actually been poisoning it. Aizawa shrugged again.
"It's alright. You should try it, I think you might like it." he replied, knowing full well that Yamada would trust his judgment without questioning. Aizawa seriously didn't know why Yamada would still trust him, but maybe he was just one of those people that simply didn't learn.
Yamada grabbed the bottle, still eyeing it suspiciously, but finally getting over himself and taking a sip of it. It took a while to hit him, but then he quickly put the bottle down and pushed it away from himself.
"This tastes like ass! What the fuck, Shou?" he exclaimed. Aizawa grinned a little. Sure, Yamada was his friend, but it made him kind of happy to see him suffer right now. He was coughing and drinking loads of water to get the taste out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I know. It's really not my thing, Nemuri, and I think that one has been standing for too long. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get some more orange juice, because that was truly disgusting." Aizawa said, as he got up with the glass in his hand. Kayama was shaking her head.
"You all just don't have taste..." she mumbled and packed away her Kombucha again. Yamada looked disappointed.
"I can't believe you've done me dirty like this, Shou." he said. Aizawa shrugged and gave him a wide grin.
"Again, I have no idea why you still trust me, Zashi. Anyway, I'm off to get something to drink and then I'll probably take a nap before my next lesson, so I'll see you all later." he replied and walked off.
I passed a few tables with students, some of them I knew. There was one table with a group of first years in basic training, their names were Todoroki, Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida and Asui. It was incredibly obvious that Uraraka was crushing hard on Midoriya. How he didn't realize it was completely beyond me.
At another table there was Nishiyama and her entourage. She always had a crowd of people around her and most of them kept changing all the time. Nishiyama was probably the true drama queen of this university. Most people who weren't stuck in high school anymore were not paying much attention to her, thankfully. She was a pain in the ass, but Aizawa had to admit that she usually had very good grades, although that was probably due to her learning all the notes by heart just before the exams.
The last table he passed was literally right beside the place where all the drinks were. Aizawa recognized Kaori Shinsou and her brother. Kaori was picking at her food, as if she wasn't hungry. She probably felt sick due to the painkillers. Aizawa felt a little pang in his heart, seeing her with the bandages around her forehead, knowing that it was his fault, because she was trying to save him.
Her brother looked like he had just seen a ghost and was whispering to her. I could see Kaori raise an eyebrow and give her brother an amused smile.
"What, you mean Pikachu?" she said loudly. Her brother looked around in a panic and then quickly gestured for her to be quiet.
Aizawa who had been watching this exchange was wondering who they were talking about. There was only one person he knew and he would describe as Pikachu and that was Denki Kaminari. He somewhat doubted that Hitoshi Shinsou knew Kaminari. From what he knew they had little in common, except that they were both first years. Well, it wasn't really his business anyway.
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and squinted at it. There seemed to be a few tiny bits in it, probably because someone had been swirling the jug and not letting it settle properly. Shouta Aizawa absolutely hated bits in his orange juice. Or any juice, to be fair. Things he was drinking or eating should be one consistent texture. Anyone who said otherwise was a potential psychopath.
"Well, forget about your crush on coffee boy for a second and let's talk about the plan for this evening. I've had this desire to watch Aristocats all day, are you with me?" he heard Kaori ask. Aizawa stopped squinting at his orange juice and froze. He loved that movie. It was one of his favourite childhood movies. It was his guilty pleasure whenever he felt stressed out or sad or overwhelmed by life and work and everything else. And no one - no one - could ever know about it.
"Yes! Absolutely! We haven't watched that movie in ages!" Hitoshi Shinsou exclaimed. Kaori laughed.
"I know, right? We should just get all wrapped up in blankets, get some nice, fancy ice cream and watch that movie. It's even raining outside, it's the perfect day for that. Plus, you can take your mind off the Sports Festival for once."
"Let's do it."
Shouta Aizawa decided he had been creepy listening in on his students' conversation for long enough. He took his orange juice and made his way back to the table with his colleagues. It looked like he hadn't missed much, since Yamada still seemed to be complaining about the Kombucha. What a fucking nerd.
#inside your mind#shouta aizawa#shota aizawa#aizawa#aizawa fanfiction#fanfiction#aizawa x oc#quirklessau
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where you lead, i will follow
previous chapter / chapter nine / next chapter
start from the beginning!
ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?
warnings: hospitals, needle/ivs, coughing, fever, sick stuff, pneumonia, arguing, classism, pregnancy scare (in a flashback), mentions of dysphoria, death mentions (only mentions, don’t worry!) please let me know if i’ve missed any!
pairings: moxiety, logince
word count: 22,124
notes: hoo boy this chapter was a DOOZY and i’m v curious to know how it’s gonna go over, so, fingers crossed y’all like it!
virgil hates hospitals. well, arguably, patton hates them more, he always hates going to the doctor even if it's just for a check-up, but the fact that patton is alone back there and delirious and in a place he's afraid of without anyone who knows him to comfort him kind of makes virgil want to put his fist through a wall, so he doesn't think about that, and instead he keeps pacing this stupidly tiny waiting room, clutching his hoodie, not even putting it on properly, because he'd given it to patton when he started shivering and shaking and succumbing to his chills and not breathing a word of complaint about the cold he must have been feeling and virgil had given him his hoodie and patton had sniffled and looked at virgil like he'd made everything okay, so he can't put it on until everything's okay again. right? (it makes sense to him.)
he keeps thinking about patton. not even worrying about him, though there's plenty of that, but memories keep flashing through his head, and it's almost unbearable, to think about patton happy and healthy when the memory of patton lying on his face in his dark house is right there and virgil left him, he left him—
("i've figured it out," patton says triumphantly. he's twenty-two, and virgil's twenty-eight, and logan's freshly six, on his way to the diner to meet with patton after school, when he'll decide if he wants to stay and do homework at virgil's or go with patton to the inn.
"figured out what?" virgil asks, amused despite himself, seeing how smug and satisfied with himself patton is right now.
"The Hugging Problem," patton says, and his grin grows wider. "i've figured it out."
ah, yes. The Hugging Problem. it had been discussed between virgil and patton so often that it warranted the capital letters. The Hugging Problem was that logan had decided he was a big boy now, and didn't need hugs or comfort, even when he was upset and clearly really, really needed a hug and some comfort.
"you did?" virgil says, intrigued despite himself. "how?"
patton taps his finger to his lips, grinning. "that'd be telling."
"patton," virgil whines, "you can't just tell me you have a solution to The Hugging Problem and not tell me what it is—"
"well, i can't just tell you the solution to The Hugging Problem," patton says conspiratorially. "i'll show you. when he needs it.")
"virgil!"
virgil pivots, then, to see logan, in an exquisite, bespoke, expensive suit, rushing toward him, face drawn and tight and worried.
"is he—?"
virgil's already shaking his head, crossing his arms tight over his stomach. "no news. they took him back there to run some tests, or get the fever down, or both, but—"
logan's nodding, and then brushing past him, immediately, to the welcome desk, staffed by a nurse or at least a someone in scrubs.
"excuse me," logan says, voice threaded through with a sense of authority that reminds virgil so strongly of the first time he met emily sanders that it sends a chill up his spine, "my father's been admitted here, patton sanders, would you happen to have any information on him, a room number, maybe, or what tests are being run on him?"
the nurse checks something, glances at virgil (who'd filled out patton's paperwork when they'd gotten there, and he knows all of patton's insurance info because virgil helped him set his up back in the day and virgil's been his emergency contact since that time patton thought he had appendicitis but it was really just a terrible stomach ache because he got food poisoning from al's pancake world) and nods.
"i'll have someone check on that for you," she says, in the tone that means maybe, eventually.
"do," logan says tightly, and comes back toward virgil. virgil reaches out and carefully squeezes his shoulder. for some reason, he feels like something is missing. he dismisses that thought, because the something is probably behind the doors he's forbidden to cross into, it’s the something that he just left behind and he can't—
"hey," he says, and squeezes again. "look at me."
logan looks him in the eyes—tormented and worried and anxious in a way a kid never really should have to be, ever.
"your dad's gonna be fine," he says, trying to make his voice sound gentle, but with some kind of authority.
"you can't know—" logan begins, adam's apple bobbing.
"logan," virgil says, holds both his shoulders now. "look at me. i'm saying that. me, who always thinks every worse scenario is one thousand percent guaranteed to happen. i am. and patton's gonna be okay."
logan takes in a shuddering breath. "but—you're panicking."
"i'm always panicking," virgil says softly. "and i'm panicking right now because we don't know what's going on, not because i think there's any chance of something happening to your dad."
logan surveys him for a few seconds, eyes sweeping up and down his face, staring into his eyes, and virgil's expression must present the answer he's looking for because he relaxes, just a little, slumping into virgil's touch, and virgil knows better than to pull him into a hug right now so he just compensates by squeezing his shoulders a little harder before letting go. logan's arms cross in front of his stomach, too.
"not because i think anything's—going to go wrong," logan says, haltingly, "but... dad has a will, doesn't he?"
"yes," virgil says cautiously.
logan licks his lips nervously, before he says, "if something—if dad didn't—look. i'd want my guardian to be you."
virgil's arms drop from where they're wrapped around his stomach, and he turns to face logan more fully, mouth hanging open in awe, just a little.
"it has to be you," logan says. "if something happens."
"nothing's happening."
"i know," logan says, and he sounds like he really does know it, the way he knows nellie bly had her pencil confiscated from her in blackwell's and was told she never brought one, the way he knows anne royall blackmailed president adams into an interview by catching him skinny-dipping, the way he knows the new york times printed, the day after the launch of the apollo 11, a retraction of an article about no rocket conceivably leaving the atmosphere and reaching the moon. just fact. "just... so you know."
virgil swallows past the sudden lump in his throat.
(—dead on his feet, even as patton pushes a mug of (plain) coffee into his hands, leaning against the counter.
"thanks for helping me with him," patton says wearily. "i love him, he's so smart, he just gets so... nervous. you know?"
"i know," virgil says dryly, and patton winces a little. virgil waves it off. "and you don't need to say thank you, anyway, not when it comes to helping logan. i'll always try and help him. i know he's yours but—" barely a pause, and then, a sleepless tumble of a confession—"i always thought he was a little mine, too."
patton doesn't take offense. he just smiles, a secretive little thing, and takes a sip of coffee.
"well," patton says. "of course he's a little yours. you're a little ours too, you know.")
"yeah," virgil croaks, and clears his throat. "yeah, okay."
"good," logan says stiffly.
"right, good," virgil echoes.
they'd probably stand there saying "good" "good" back and forth and back and forth until a nurse finally appeared to wave them back into patton's room if it wasn't for the burst of noise a good way down the hall.
"but why can't i see him?!"
"they're running some tests."
"well, we would like to meet this doctor who's testing him."
"you will."
"some strange man is working on our son, we have a right to meet this person!"
"you will."
"and i want to see the room you're going to put him in."
"you will."
"and stop saying 'you will,' put together a proper sentence, for god's sake!"
"ma'am, sir, please just wait here."
—and a harried nurse leads emily and richard sanders into the waiting room.
oh. great. just what he needs. patton's fucking parents.
(—patton's eighteen, virgil's nearly twenty-four, and logan's nearly two, and patton has given logan over for virgil to babysit for a while with a written list of instructions and a packed bag, and virgil's only a little terrified, partially because logan's never spent the night at virgil's before without patton there and partially because logan is pre-emptively putting the terrible in 'terrible twos' and partially because patton got his top surgery today and he's being looked after by his parents, and virgil certainly has some Opinions after hearing about the way patton was raised and the environment that surrounded him until he ran away to sideshire.
everything's going fine until virgil realizes that logan's favorite jupiter toy isn't in the bag.
he has seen the meltdowns logan has without that thing. he needs to get it. he can only really hope that the room's empty and he can go right in, go right out, and logan will be reunited with his toy and no one will be any the wiser.
fucking alas.
he walks into the room juggling logan and the duffle bag and the spare key maria gave him, because patton had panickedly rented a room rather than let his parents have any idea about him living in the poolhouse, only to walk in to two very finely-dressed people turning from the bed where patton's lying to see the door.
"papapapapapapapapapa," logan babbles happily as soon as he sees patton, reaching out and opening and closing his chubby little fists, as if to say to virgil hand me over immediately! and virgil can't help but smile a little at the sound of it. logan's been doing this thing lately where he adds thirty more syllables to a word than is necessary, if he's excited about it. it's real cute.
"who are you?" demands the woman suspiciously, the woman who must be patton's mother. patton looks nothing like her. or the tall man with the tie on, who must be patton's father.
"virgil danes," virgil bites out. "i'm babysitting logan, just need to grab a toy of his, so. i'll be right out of your hair."
"oh, well, that's not necessary," emily says briskly, walking forward and holding out her arms expectantly. "we can look after him."
without thinking, virgil shifts so that he's more clearly between her and logan, so that she would have to step around him to grab logan. her eyes narrow.
"yeah, well, patton told me to watch him," virgil says. "so i'm gonna watch him."
"papa," logan says, and tugs at virgil's hoodie. "virgil, papa."
virgil winces. "i know, kid, sorry. he's taking a nap right now, okay? we gotta be quiet. shhhh."
logan frowns at him. if there is one thing he doesn't like (the things logan doesn't like are very numerous) it's being told to be quiet. which is fair, really, virgil doesn't like it much either.
virgil spies the jupiter toy, half-hidden under the wardrobe, and goes over to grab it, handing it over to logan, who takes it with a pacified, cheery little babble and immediately sticks it into his mouth. god, virgil dreads the day a toy won't work as a distraction for him anymore.
"don't be ridiculous," emily tells him. "he's our grandson."
"no offense, lady," virgil says, "but you could be the queen of england. patton told me to watch him, so i'm gonna watch him. end of story. besides, patton's going to be a handful medicine-wise and i don't particularly trust you very much anyway."
"i beg your pardon?!" richard says, flabbergasted.
"consider it begged," virgil says. "and to be perfectly honest, knowing you're patton's parents doesn't endear me to you, like, at all, knowing what i know, so."
"how dare you," emily snarls.
"yeah, i'll dare, because your son is one of the best people i've ever met, and you don't seem to understand that whatsoever—")
virgil's violently yanked from his reverie when emily starts up, again.
"my great-uncle founded this hospital! his portrait is hanging in the lobby, go look, it's right above the sign that says 'founder!'"
"holy shit," virgil says, and quickly steps between emily and the nurse that she's harassing. "i'm so sorry about her, seriously, you're doing a great job and any news whatsoever would be appreciated, please ignore her."
the nurse spares a look for emily, gives him a grateful look, and they hurry off.
"ignore me?!" she fumes. "ignore me?!"
"yeah," virgil says, pivoting, "i know you're pretty good at ignoring any of your kid's boundaries, but you also seem to like flooring over them without any regard for his welfare, so i'm sure treating people like they're actual people instead of like they're scum beneath your shoe is gonna be a great big moral dilemma for you. i'd say i live in hope that you'll let people be on their own, but you seem to have a lot of trouble letting people exist on their own terms, so."
oh shit. okay, so, he's started it. fuck. patton's gonna hate that.
"how dare you speak to my wife in that way," richard begins indignantly, puffing himself up like a bullfrog.
"yeah, i got plenty for you too, buddy," virgil begins heatedly, but he sees a flash of a brand new, costly suit, and forces himself to fucking cool it, jesus christ, "but that's not helping right now, none of this is helping, i get that i snapped and i'm a hypocrite, my bad, but can we put aside tearing each other apart the way i know we all want to until we know what's wrong with patton?"
virgil punctuates it with a very significant glance toward logan, who was not old enough to retain and remember the first round of this particular throwdown. emily seethes, richard glowers, but they cluster off together, in their own little corner.
emily reaches to make logan a part of that, make it sanders family vs random diner outsider, but quicker than a flash and slicker than oil, logan slips from her grasp and goes to stand at virgil's side. sideshire vs grandparents.
and suddenly, virgil's brain catches up to where logan's made the logical leap. patton has a will. he must have outlined who logan's guardian or guardians would be in case of his untimely demise. and since patton asks him whenever he involves virgil in anything legal—being made an emergency contact, for example—and he'd definitely ask virgil before penning him down for something so significant without so much as virgil's say-so.
and if virgil wouldn't be logan's guardian...
"and for god's sake, don't harass them for doing their jobs," virgil can't help but tack on, and turns to look away from—them.
("—virgil, did you, um?"
"yeah?" virgil asks, struggling to hand over logan, the duffle bag, and patton's to-go order of hot cocoa/coffee without spilling or dropping anything or anyone. logan's really mostly squirming to get back to his dad, anyway, and patton quickly takes him before he can squirm himself straight to the ground.
"i just," patton says, and frowns, shifting logan so he's on his hip. "i thought you came over when i was recovering. i dunno, it was probably an anesthesia dream, or something."
it wasn't, virgil thinks, but, well. what good would that do? he dressed down patton's parents, they tried to dress him down back, patton had cracked his eyes open enough to, in his drugged haze, coo at logan, who bopped him softly on the nose with a closed, slobbery fist, before virgil booked it before the sanders' shouting could wake patton up permanently. what good would it do to tell him all that? he'd hate that he was being argued over, anyway. so virgil just makes sure that everything's all handed over and doesn't say anything about it.
"you recovered all okay, then?" virgil says.
patton puffs himself up proudly. "yep," he says happily. "all cleared to work and lift logan," he tilts the hip with logan on it, trying not to wince, as logan has started tugging his hair, "as long as i'm careful about it."
virgil smiles. "good."
"it is, isn't it?" patton says, looking down at his own chest, finally flat without any help from a binder, and virgil reaches out to clap his shoulder. logan takes the opportunity to start babbling for attention at virgil, tugging his hoodie sleeve, as if virgil hasn't been waiting on logan's every whim for the past three days.
"lookin' good, man," virgil says, sincere, and patton beams at him. it just solidifies the belief virgil's had since the first night he met him: that patton's parents don't deserve him.)
"patton sanders?" a nurse calls, and, identically, all four of them advance on him.
"we've gotten the fever down to a point where seizures are less of a concern, but he's still pretty out of it," the nurse says, brusque. "he's in a test room right now, but we'll take him to his room shortly. we've run an x-ray and we're waiting on those results and some culture results before we—"
"pneumonia," logan says hollowly. "you think it's pneumonia."
virgil hadn't known what any of it could be, hadn't even remotely thought to prepare himself for it, but it still hits him like a blow to the chest.
("—they could give you some medicine to keep that fever down," virgil says. "make sure it isn't anything worse."
"virgil," patton says patiently, "it isn't anything worse."
"how do you know?"
"because i just feel sick, not like i'm at death's door," patton says, and sneezes into his kleenex. "crummy but not crumbling—")
i am literally never listening to your refusals about going to a doctor to see if it's anything worse ever again, virgil thinks, half furious, half scared-out-of-his-mind. left him, you left him, something in his brain hisses at him, accusatory, he’d left patton and now he’s in the hospital with fucking pneumonia—
"it's the most likely result, but it hasn't been confirmed yet," the nurse says. logan sways a little.
"can we see him?" virgil asks, putting his hand on logan's shoulder again, trying to steady him.
"we're still running a test, but once that's done—"
"well, can we see his room, then?" emily says.
the nurse gestures them forward, and virgil's about to follow when logan swivels to face him, eyes wild.
"i need to do something," he says.
"do what?" virgil says stupidly.
"i don't know, anything," logan says, clearly about .05 seconds from tearing his hair out. "get coffee or make phone calls or do something that isn't just—standing here."
"okay," virgil says, getting it, a little. logan's not exactly patient, virgil's known this for years, and logan's about as well-suited to fretting as he is to smiling and demurring during a debate (that is, not at all.) "okay, um—you got your phone?"
logan nods.
"call some people at the inn and let them know that patton's gonna be out sick for a bit. after that, get some—" he nearly says coffee but he takes stock of himself and how fast his heart's racing and also remembers half of patton's favorite drink and can't, "—tea, peppermint, preferably. and then go get a paper."
logan's brow creases in confusion, and virgil tries for a smile.
"every morning at breakfast, your dad's been complaining you're not there to interpret current events for him," virgil explains. "he likes it when you do that. maybe get something with a comic section, he likes those."
logan breathes, shoulders slumping a little with the relief of a series of set tasks. "okay. got it."
"right," virgil says. "i'll text you the room number as soon as i've got it, okay?"
logan nods, and sets off at a brisk pace down the hall, woe betide anyone who gets in his way.
virgil picks up the pace so he can catch up, and spots the nurse, who bustles after him, looking even more harried.
"where's...?"
"your in-laws are currently seeing to it that your husband gets the room with the good view," she says, and virgil shakes himself.
"oh, he's not my—"
then something catches up to him and he realizes that if they think he's patton's husband, he'll have the same family visiting rights as the rest of them.
"—uh, i mean, sorry. yeah. how long until they bring him back?"
"very soon," she promises. "i can appreciate that this is hard for you, sir."
you have no idea, virgil thinks, catching onto what kind of wrath emily sanders might bring down upon this hospital if she realizes that the nurses think her son's married to someone without the right pedigree or a summer house by the coast or an aspiring career as a senator or something.
"thanks so much for all your hard work," virgil says instead.
emily sweeps down the hall, nearly bowling over some poor man on a gurney.
"we've secured him the room but those pillows are completely unacceptable," she declares. "i'm going to see if i can find him some down ones and some slippers, richard is ensuring the room stays private—" she frowns, as if realizing he's the sole member of her audience right now. "where's logan?"
"he wanted to be useful, so he's going to get his dad a paper and call some people," virgil says. "is patton in the room yet?"
"they're bringing him back very soon, which is an incredible indefinite timespan," emily says. "i'll be back."
off she goes, and virgil thinks down pillows?! with only a slight amount of hysteria. he turns back to the nurse. "which room?"
"202," she says, and he texts logan the room number on the way there, and—
oh, huh. it does have a nice view, all lit up at night like this. there's no bed in the room, though, which virgil thinks is kinda weird, and richard's standing silently at the window, which virgil thinks is also kinda weird.
virgil coughs awkwardly to announce his presence.
"oh," richard says, "it's you."
"uh, yeah," virgil says.
"emily went to get pillows."
"i ran into her on the way here," virgil says, and offers, "logan went to get some tea and a paper, i can text him if you want coffee, or something."
"oh," richard says. "thank you, but no. that won't be necessary."
("—dad wants to take logan to some kind of take-your-kid-to-work-day thing next week, so i'm guessing we'll probably be in here for an early breakfast before i drop him off."
virgil spins patton's plate so that his untouched pile of leafy greens is now directly in front of him. he hopes that logan's eating whatever balanced meal isadora prince has decided to cook up for her son and his new bestest friend without too much complaint.
"what, seven’s just the right age to be introduced to the thrilling world of the insurance business?"
"i guess," patton says with a shrug. "i dunno, dad's always been very—" he adopts a sterner facial expression. "go to work, come home, read the paper, go to bed kinda guy. whereas i, you know. snuck out the window as soon as he was distracted."
virgil hands patton his fork. patton rolls his eyes and obligingly stabs his salad.
"he lives his life the way he thinks he's supposed to," patton says. "worked hard, bought a nice house, provided for my mom. very by-the-numbers guy and i've never been good at numbers. think it gave him the shock of a lifetime that i ended up, well. the way i am."
"but you get along with him better than your mom?"
"dad's disapproval tends to be a lot less shouty than mom's," patton says, with a little sigh. "but yeah, i guess i get along with him better than i get along with my mom.")
"your meatloaf was quite good."
virgil startles, grabbing for the hoodie he's tied around his waist like it's falling to cover for it.
"oh," virgil says, remembering logan's phone call that feels like a century ago. back when patton was healthy enough to pop by the diner and he was conscious and before virgil left him alone when he was sick. "um. thanks. i guess."
richard peers at him. "i know we've met before all this, but i can't quite recall when."
"uh," virgil says. "i mean, i egged your car."
("—oh. it's you."
virgil's spine stiffens, and he turns from where he's been handing over a coffee at the stall of the town-wide easter festival.
"yep," virgil says to emily and richard fucking sanders, who have parked their very fancy car right over there and have decided to come to his stall. "it's me. is there a particular reason you're here, or...?"
she sniffs. "patton said to meet him and logan by the gazebo." she gestures to the gazebo, just to the right of his stall, where the railings are lined with pastel wicker baskets of fresh-painted eggs are waiting to be hidden for all the kiddos to run after and hunt.
"right," virgil says. "well. i've got work to do, so."
"we can wait," richard says.
they wait for about a minute.
"so, you're still acquaintances with my son," emily says, and virgil scoffs without meaning to.
"if you mean we're best friends, sure," virgil says, stacking cups and wondering if he should send one of the part-timers back to the diner to get some more. "then i'm acquaintances with your son."
"don't you think that logan should have a," richard says, casts a discerning eye over virgil's stall, "a better role model?"
virgil, calmly, sets down his cups, and says, "what do you mean by that?"
"well, it's all well and good he comes by the diner sometimes," richard says. "but don't you think he, well."
"don't i think he what?" virgil asks, interlocking his fingers and calmly, calmly presses outward, cracking his knuckles.
"don't you think you might influence him to a, well," he says, "substandard way of life."
virgil's blood's roaring in his ears. "substandard," he repeats.
"well, patton's has done an all right job with him so far, but logan certainly has enough negative influence on that side of things," richard says.
"what, you think patton is a bad influence?" virgil asks disbelievingly.
"when it comes to certain delinquent behaviors, yes," richard says. "he has a history."
delinquent. virgil wants to grab him by his fancy bowtie and yank him close and and choke him, how could he possibly think that patton, whose idea of a fun past-time is walking rescue dogs at the local shelter, is a bad influence?
"so," virgil says, "let's get one thing straight. you know nothing about me, and you know nothing about the influence that patton has on logan, because logan's a good kid and patton is a good man."
virgil's eyes slide to the nearest pastel basket. almost as an afterthought, he snags the handle, which has a pretty ribbon woven around it.
"but you know what? you think i'm some kind of devil on logan's shoulder, pushing him to become a delinquent? i can show you fucking delinquent."
before he can even think, he has two of the eggs in his hands, and with an aim he didn't know he possessed, he lobs them both straight for their fancy, fancy car.
they smack and shatter against the windshield with a satisfying thwack. they aren't quite as messy as regular eggs, being hardboiled, but the paint smears, and the egg remnants litter the trunk of his car, and virgil can't help but laugh at the looks on their faces, and he grabs another egg and throws, and again, and again—
"cool!" logan shouts, from where he's emerged from the prince studio, roman in tow, and patton stares, slack-jawed, and it startles emily into wailing into action.
"richard—richard, stop him, richard—!")
"oh," richard says. "oh, dear me."
virgil's not sure what richard's going to say—i'll send you an old receipt for the cleaning, how did such a delinquent continue to be friends with my son, what kind of example are you setting for my grandson—when the door opens, and there's a rattle of wheels, and—
and there he is. there's patton.
the absence of a bed makes sense now, because they're wheeling him in on one—he's all tucked into too-white, too-starched sheets, with a feeble little blue fleecey thing tossed over the top. he's wearing one of those hospital shirts with the blue dots, and he has on an oxygen mask and an iv and one of those things that clamps down on his pointer finger, and he's—
"is he okay?"
virgil's somehow right beside the orderly, staring down at patton's face. when had he moved?
"he's out of it, right now," the orderly says patiently, "he'll be groggy when he wakes up."
"when's that going to happen?" virgil asks, voice a bit too high-pitched. "the tests? did the tests end up—?"
"the doctor's going to have to tell you that, i'm just the transport guy," the orderly demurs, parking patton's bed and checking on his iv and god, patton looks so pale, so small, the bags under eyes massive, his skin too pale for comfort with the only exception being the flush of his fever high in his cheeks, sweating, his his curls tousled and somehow flatter than usual.
"when's the doctor coming?" virgil asks, digging his fingernails into the hoodie at his waist to keep himself from reaching out and touching patton, from getting in the orderly's way.
"i'm not sure, but she'll come right to the room when she gets here," the orderly says, and, with one last check of patton's vitals, he's off, and virgil—
"i'm going to go find emily and logan and tell them he's here," richard says, and virgil just barely manages to tear his eyes away from patton's face to look at him.
richard looks—faint, he guesses, would be the right word. pale and unsettled and spooked, generally. virgil guesses he understands—if he had to see logan or roman in a hospital bed, he'd be pretty spooked, too.
and not in the way he likes to be spooked. not in the fun halloween way of spooking. the genuinely really fucking scary kind of spooked.
"right," virgil says, and turns back to patton's bed, staring at him. he wants to push his hair back. he wants to hold his hand. he wants—
"i'll, um, i'll be here."
you weren’t, the voice in his head rumbles, you weren’t here, you weren’t here, now look at him—
(and now we hit rewind to see what logan has been doing in the hospital. in a tv show this would be cut scenes, but this is a fic, so. you're getting it in a big chunk.)
logan, meanwhile, has skulked the halls of the hospital. he has been successful finding various newspapers with a funnies section (six separate editions, actually) and successful in finding virgil's tea, but it's—
well, it's the phone calls that are giving him trouble.
see, first he called michel, who's the... you know what, logan's not fully sure what michel does at the inn, he just knows that he's the one who presents dour disapproval to any troublemaking clients and employees who aren't quite up to snuff. he's the bad cop to patton's good cop. michel, unsurprisingly, does not answer. logan really doesn't know what he expected.
then he calls sookie st. james, who's the chef at the inn, and waits impatiently for her glad tidings of a good holiday and at her "how's it going?" he says "dad's in the hospital with pneumonia," and then he has to try to comfort her, which is... something he's Not Good At.
then he calls drella, the harpist, for most of the reason that drella is the only person at the inn scarier than michel, and somehow michel picks up her phone, which is something he doesn't want to contemplate, so he hangs up immediately.
and then...
"you've reached roman prince. i'm so very sorry that you're going to have to settle for my recorded dulcet tones, but leave a message and you'll get the live rendition soon."
"um, hey," logan says, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "i know that you're—that you're probably at the first show of the nutcracker. i nearly forgot that it's still thanksgiving. good luck on all that, by the way, not that you need it, i'm sure you're doing wonderfully. or, well, by the time you listen to this, i'm sure you did wonderfully, but, um, i—"
he takes in a deep breath, glances around to ensure the hallway behind him is still empty, and presses his forehead against the wall.
"dad's in the hospital," he says, and his voice wobbles, just a bit. "i—my dad's in the hospital, roman. they think it's pneumonia. virgil found him on the floor and he couldn't breathe and i just—" he forces himself to breathe.
"i just—dad's going to be back at the room any minute, but i haven't seen him, and i just. can't. so i'm calling people as an excuse not to. which is—foolish. i'm going to have to see him eventually. he'd be confused and upset if i just refused to see him. and it's foolish that i'm leaving you such a long message at all, but i just... i don't know. i don't know, roman."
i don't know what's happening, he doesn't say. i don't know what happened to him, it was a cold, i don't know what happened when he was unconscious, i don't know how he's going to recover, i didn't know until virgil called me, how could i have possibly not known?!
i need my best friend, he doesn't say. i need you. i want to hear your voice.
what he does say is, "but, um. call me back, whenever you can? you can tell me all about the performance, and i... i don't know what i'll do."
i don't know what i'm doing right now, he thinks to himself in a kind of hiss. what benefit can come from this?!
"sorry," he blurts out. "i'm—apologies. i know you can't do anything about it. i—i'm going to hang up now. bye."
logan removes his head from the wall, "accidentally" spills virgil's tea, and goes to find him a new cup. as well as a snack. and maybe another newspaper.
just. just to be prepared.
(and now we're back to a hospital room where virgil's dragged a chair by patton's bedside, and sits hunched over and staring and worrying the sleeve of his still unworn hoodie between the fingers of one hand and holding patton's hand in the other, pressed against virgil's chest, and he waits and waits and waits to see if he'll wake up. patton doesn't do much more than wrinkle his nose and make soft snuffling noises in his sleep and try to knock off his oxygen mask.)
there's the sound of footsteps behind him, and virgil doesn't turn to look.
"has the doctor come yet?" richard asks.
"no, not yet," virgil says, squeezing patton's hand. they've never actually held hands before, he doesn't think. he wishes this was happening under a different circumstance. it's kind of funny and kind of terrible, when he thinks about how he's known patton for sixteen goddamn years and has only ever held his hand once.
"richard, i've gotten joshua on the way," emily says, and then they fall into talking about joshua, who is—god, virgil doesn't know, some kind of family doctor or physician or something, but if this joshua dude is going to be able to help patton virgil is absolutely ten thousand percent for joshua getting here, go joshua, go rich people stuff, as long as patton recovers as quickly and painlessly as possible.
patton has fluid in his lungs right now. or something. virgil's not super clear on what pneumonia actually does, but he's pretty sure fluid in the lungs is part of it, and he does not want that for patton. he doesn’t want patton to be here, in a hospital bed, right now. he wants a time machine to be able to go back and slap himself for leaving patton when he was so clearly sick.
virgil's fully resigned to whatever rich people nonsense has gotta happen for that to no longer be anything close to what's going on with patton's health. god, virgil should really learn more about this. which—
virgil turns enough to see patton's parents. emily has set two pillows on a counter, but they're standing close next to each other, still in their holiday best, and virgil feels absurdly out of place in his jeans and t-shirt and abandoned hoodie. he asks, "have either of you seen logan?"
they exchange looks—one of those Married Couple looks that is so clearly a conversation that no one else in the room can understand—and richard says, "i believe he was going to find some more newspapers."
something in virgil's brain wars with leaving patton alone with these people, the way it did fourteen years ago, or leaving him at all, when the last time virgil left him it turned out like this, but the same thing wins out that won then. the same someone, really.
he clears his throat, getting to his feet. he squeezes patton's hand, hard, before carefully lying it back down on the mattress.
"i'll get him," virgil says. "just—let me know if there's any change. text logan or something."
"right," emily says, and virgil walks out of the room, trying his hardest not to glance back at him over his shoulder.
he doesn't succeed.
...
patton's nose. has something. on it. he snuffles experimentally and when that doesn't move it, he reaches to move it himself.
"oh, for heaven's sake," a familiar voice tuts, and a hand closes around his wrist.
patton blinks, and narrows his eyes. ugh, it's so bright.
wait. it definitely hadn't been bright the last place he'd been. he'd been... home. hadn't he? he'd been home. he'd been hot and it had hurt and he'd wanted hot chocolate and he'd been home. and he's not now. so where is he?
he tunes in with the rest of his body, then. head like a bowling ball, chest like a whole rack of bowling balls is resting on it, thoughts... for some reason not really able to keep a thread. or keeping too much of a thread. bowling balls. weird. he's so sweaty and uncomfortable that he figures he'll give himself a bit of a pass on making much sense, though. it's probably the cold medicine. oh, a cold shower sounded wonderful, get him all nice and cooled down and get rid of all this sweat and—
ugh, he's so... icky.
"oh," the voice says, startled, "oh, richard, he's waking up!"
and patton swivels his head a little to squint at where his mother is standing, his father bustling in to stand beside her.
"where?" patton rasps at his parents, and his mother sits on the edge of his bed, wide-eyed.
"you're at st. luke's," his mother says. "joshua's on his way, so is the doctor here, and dr. reynolds, you remember her."
gosh, joshua plus dr. reynolds plus the hospital for a cough? that seems kinda excessive.
"mkay," patton murmurs, and closes his eyes again.
"patton, do you think you can lift your head at all?" his mother asks. "i found you some decent pillows. they're not down, but they at least give a little."
ooh, pillows. patton likes pillows. virgil keeps joking that he collects them. virgil doesn't understand interior design. they give pops of color.
there's a cool, moisturized hand at the nape of his neck, though, urging him up, and ouch that rack of bowling balls on his chest, before he's settled back onto the nice new cool pillow.
"better, yes?" his mother asks, and patton hums sleepily. he's ready to go back to sleep. sleep sounds awesome.
"and one more time."
ouch oh ooh nice.
"now if we could just find you some different sheets," his mom says.
oh. these sheets are kinda nice, though. a bit stiff but not bad. he doesn't wanna move. and if she gets him new sheets he's gonna have to move.
"s'okay, mom," patton murmurs.
"maybe you could get dava to bring some from home," his dad suggests.
"s'really okay," patton says.
"oh, of course," emily says. "why didn't i think of that?"
"don't need new sheets," patton tries to insist.
"they're completely unacceptable," emily says.
oh, now she's done it, patton's gotta open his eyes now.
"the sheets are fine," patton says, a little louder, or he tries to, because he breaks down into coughs when he says fine, harsh and loud, and patton tries to sit up or curl on his side but that same cool hand's at his shoulder, fluttering nervously, before he sucks in a breath and there's that pain in his chest that's been there for the past—however long?—and patton tries to catch his breath.
"—call button must be broken or something—"
"m'okay," patton wheezes.
"don't be ridiculous," richard says.
"i'm not," patton says. "m'an adult, i can handle it."
"it's the fever talking," emily says. "they really don't have that down, whatever that nurse said, feel how warm he is."
a different but still-cool hand, dry and wrinkled, rests on his forehead.
"i don't have a fever," patton sulks.
"you were at risk for seizures," his father says.
sounds fake, but okay.
"i really am okay," patton murmurs, eyes slipping shut again.
"no," emily tells him. "no, you are not."
"i'm fine," patton says, and yawns. "you can go home, you don't have to deal with me anymore."
there's a silence but it doesn't feel like the end of a conversation. patton doesn't wanna open his eyes again, though. he's so tired. but he can't go to sleep yet. but he really wants to. so he'll just let his eyelids rest. that'll work. right? he'll just keep his eyes nice and closed and explain it and they can get on home.
"fine?" his mother repeats, strangled.
"it's just a cold," patton mumbles.
she sighs, irritated. "patton—"
"know we fought last week," patton says, trying to talk as loud as he can without risking a cough, or without having to breathe too deep. "and m'sorry i made life so hard on you then, n'm'sorry i'm such a disappointment, an' i'm'sorry i took logan away, an'—"
"oh, patton, hush," his mother says, sounding a little strange. "it's hardly the time for all—"
"and i'm sorry, okay," patton insists, cracking his eyes open, because that's important, "m'sorry i can't fix it. but m'an adult now and i can handle things and stuff. so you don't gotta stay jus' for a cold."
"young man, you have pneumonia," his father says gruffly.
"oh," patton says, startled. "do i?"
"well, we're waiting for the doctor to confirm it."
"oh," patton repeats, quiet. pneumonia. that's not good. that's always the illness that kills people in old timey books. that's the illness that they always look out for when things go bad for old people. that's... that sounds serious. really serious.
that's scary.
"patton?" his mother asks, sounding slightly alarmed, and patton tries to inhale a shaky breath, and then another one. he might be panicking, he thinks.
"i—" he swallows, hard, and says, "is logan okay?"
"what?" she asks, distracted. "yes, of course. he's getting some newspapers and some tea."
"are you sure?" he asks, because logan has to be okay—logan has to be okay. logan's got to be taken care of, he has to be okay.
"yes, of course i'm sure," she says.
"you have to make sure he's going to be okay," he insists.
"he's fine."
"logan's—logan always acts fine, that's his default state," patton says. "but he always hides his emotions. so he'll always get snappy, and sometimes you just have to let him let off steam, and sometimes you kind of have to poke him into it, but after he rants for a while it helps calm him down enough that he can talk about what's really bothering him and—"
"patton," she says, awkwardly, a little helplessly, and patton swallows hard.
"he always overworks himself," he tells her intently. "so you gotta lure him out with new books, or an opportunity to shred the courant or just a newspaper or a publication in general, or a trip to a planetarium or a museum, preferably a science one but if he goes with roman he likes art ones too, or you gotta sit him down with a crofter's jam sandwich and tell him to take a break, because he always ignores it if he needs a break, because he thinks he's a lean mean study machine who doesn't need to do fun things, but he does, because he's—"
"patton, you don't need to tell us all this—" his father tries to intercede.
he ignores him. they need to know these things about him, in case patton isn't in a place to take care of him, they need to be able to take care of him.
"—i know that you know logan pretty well, especially over the past couple months, but i think that virgil's the best source on all things logan, especially if he's ever confusing or if he's moping or needs anything, so if you're ever lost, and i know you've had your differences, but virgil knows logan just about better than anyone else, except me, and virgil's always happy to help logan, and sometimes logan just needs to talk to someone who isn't related to him so he'll usually go to virgil or roman and that's a-okay, because they're his best friends, and you have to make sure that he gets to stay in contact with them because i never ever want logan to feel lonely or unloved, never ever ever, and if i die—"
"patton, stop!" she snaps, and patton shuts his mouth, immediate, shrinking into his pillows as she looms over his bed.
"now," she says, "there may be many things happening in this hospital tonight, but your dying is not one of them, am i clear?!"
"i—"
"no!" she snarls. "i did not sign onto your dying when i became your mother, so it is not going to happen. not tonight, not for a very long time. i demand to go first. of all the things you have done to us, you will not put us through burying you first, do i make myself clear?"
patton stares up at his mom, and oh. oh, this isn't just scary for him. this is scary for all of them. and patton freaking out isn't helping things.
"okay," he says, very quiet. "okay, mom. i promise i won't die."
she nods, swallows. "good."
patton reaches over and, hesitantly, takes her hand. her free hand flutters up to her mouth, and his mom looks like she's about to cry, and patton squeezes a little, and closes his eyes. things drop off and go a little dark and blurry around the edges before everything goes dark and blurry and—
...
this hospital is a maze, but it doesn't take him nearly as long as he thought it would to find a mostly-empty hall containing just who he's looking for.
"hey," virgil says, coming to a stop next to him, and logan shudders out of whatever train of thought he'd locked himself into.
"hi," logan says, and passes over a to-go cup. "tea. peppermint, even. i found some newspapers and i called sookie. well, i called michel too, but he didn't answer, and then i called drella, and then michel answered. did you know that was—?"
virgil's already reflexively pulling a face.
"thought not," logan murmurs. not quite as smugly as he might be on a normal day after figuring out some kind of secret.
"okay," virgil says. "well, thanks. they brought your dad back and a doctor's due at any minute."
logan nods. virgil hesitates, before he fiddles with the little heat-protecting cardboard ring on the cup for something to do with his hands.
("—hate doctors, hate them, hate them, hate them," patton says, pulling a face.
"i'm the one going to a doctor," eight-year-old logan eludicates. "and it's just a check-up."
"and i have hated going to all of your check-ups since the time you were born," patton says, ruffling his hair.
"he has," virgil says dryly. "i've heard this series of complaints since your six-week check-up. eat your eggs."
"tell him he could just wait in the waiting room," logan says, but he spears some eggs on his fork anyway. "i keep telling him to stay in the waiting room."
patton looks aghast. "and miss any health updates?!"
"but you hate the doctor," logan says. "wouldn't it be better if you just... didn't? since all of that scares you?"
"me being scared isn't the point," patton says. "it's about me being there for you."
"you don't need to be," logan says.
"yeah, but i want to be," patton says. "that's what a dad does—")
"you can't avoid going in the room forever," he says gently, and logan rears back.
"i'm not," he says.
"it's okay to be a bit freaked out right now—"
"i'm not."
"logan," virgil says, keeping his voice gentle and soft and calm.
logan slumps. just a little.
"thank you for getting tea and making those calls and getting all those newspapers," virgil says, making his voice keep the same tone. "but your dad's in the room now and the doctor's due any minute. i know it'll probably make you feel a bit more at ease to hear what's going on. right?"
logan hesitates, before he nods.
"okay," virgil says. "so. if you really really want, you can wait outside the room until the doctor gets here. we just want to know where you are."
logan nods, and then he follows virgil back, where he comes to a stop just by the door.
("—not scared," twelve-year-old logan sulks at the counter of the diner. "honestly. me, scared."
"well," virgil says, leaning forward on his elbows, "it'd be okay if you were scared of snakes, you know."
"roman's not scared of snakes," he says. "it's not about me being scared, anyway, it's about—"
"why are we talking about snakes?" patton asks, sitting back down in his counter chair.
"tell your son it's okay to be afraid of snakes," virgil says.
"it's not about me being scared, which i'm not," logan says. "i just don't want to hold a massive boa constrictor on the field trip."
"and no one can make you do anything you don't want to do," patton says firmly. "if a teacher bugs you about it at the zoo tomorrow, you tell them i said that—")
"you sure?" virgil checks, and logan only holds out a pile of newspapers for virgil to take in.
he sighs but takes them and goes in, to where emily is sitting on the bed and caressing back patton's hair with—
it shouldn't shock virgil that she's doing it with maternal fondness. patton is her son, after all, but after all these years of seeing their fighting and patton falling apart after each of them, it feels like... virgil doesn't know. it feels like she should be just as stern and cold now as virgil knows she can be.
"he woke up," richard says, and virgil's eyes snap to him, and to the now-definitely-unconscious patton. "just for a little while."
"was he—" virgil struggles to find words. of course something happened when virgil left. of course. but at least this one seems to be a good thing.
"not quite lucid," richard says.
"a bit more lucid than we'd like him to be, you mean," emily says archly, and turns to frown at virgil. "where's logan?"
"just outside," virgil says. "keeping an eye out for the—"
"—but he's going to be here for how long?" logan asks a doctor who comes in with a short little man in a suit, and virgil can't help but take a step closer.
"well," the doctor says to the room at large. "the cultures we took and his chest x-ray came back, and i'm afraid that it is pneumonia. he'll have to stay at the hospital for a couple days to ensure that fever stays down and to get him started on some antibiotics."
"how long?" logan repeats.
"difficult to say at this point," she says. "two or three days, at least, maybe longer if it's necessary. but," she says, and turns to virgil. "i believe you managed to catch him before his condition could have gotten much worse. you certainly brought him in before the fever could do any permanent damage."
virgil does not feel like this is particularly praise-worthy. it had mostly just been a terrifying experience. if virgil hadn’t left patton never would have gotten to this state at all.
"but he'll be just fine," the doctor says. "i'm sure it was a bit of a scare, but once he gets started on antibiotics, he'll be okay."
it's like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief.
"now," the doctor says, "i hear he woke up?"
"a little while ago," emily says, and moves aside a little so the doctor can get a closer look at patton. "he went right back to sleep, though."
"that'll be common," she says. "he'll be in and out of sleep, at varying levels of lucidity—"
virgil sees the flash of a bespoke, expensive suit jacket flutter around the door frame.
("—logan," virgil gasps, and scoops him up into his arms. "oh, my god, we were worried sick about you, you can't just run off like that, buddy—"
logan blinks too-big, watery three-year-old eyes up at him, clutching at virgil's shirt contentedly. "didn't run off."
"yeah, okay, nice try, kid," virgil says, trying to hug him close without looking like he was hugging him close. god, that had been the most terrifying five minutes of his whole life. "when we tell you to stay somewhere and you do not stay in that somewhere, that's running off."
"didn't," logan insists, kicking his bare feet. "i was following—"
"logan!" patton shout-sobs, and rushes over, and before virgil can even make a move to hand him over patton crashes into them both, hugging logan between their bodies, hugging virgil by extension, and—
"oh, my god, honey, you can't do that," patton says, semi-hysterically, pushing logan's hair back from his forehead so he could lean in and kiss him on the forehead. "i was so scared something happened to you, you can't just run away like that!"
"didn't!" logan insists again. "i was following a star bug!"
"star bug?" virgil mouths at patton.
"logan," patton says, high-pitched, "if you want to go follow the fireflies, you gotta tell one of us, okay? something could have happened to you!"
"nothing woulda happened," logan says, and, with all the belief of a three-year-old, "virgil was lookin' after me, i was okay the whole time."
patton lets out a sigh, one of the we're not done talking about this but i'll accept it for now ones, and presses his lips against logan's head again, looking up at virgil as he did, and virgil tries to pretend like logan's absolute faith in him hasn't moved him to the core—)
logan's slumped against a wall, hand over his eyes.
"hey," virgil says, soft, and logan sniffs, standing up straight, trying to pretend like he wasn't five seconds from starting to cry.
"so, um, he's gonna be okay."
"yeah," logan says, and swallows hard, fiddling with his fancy new suit coat.
"they're gonna keep him for a couple days, but he's gonna be fine."
"yeah," logan repeats.
an idea occurs to virgil. a really fucking stupid idea.
("—you might have to see The Hugging Solution put into action today," patton says grimly.
"oh, god," virgil says, freezing and turning from where he's wiping down one of the booth tables. "what happened?!"
"apparently logan found out about the library of alexandria today at school," patton says, "and mrs. donnely called to tell me logan was really upset about it."
"how does a six-year-old even find out about—?!"
"picture book, i guess," patton says with a helpless little shrug. "but, just—play along, okay?"
"uh, okay?" virgil says, but then the door opens and a familiar tiny boy sulks his way to the booth, lip trapped under teeth, probably to keep it from trembling, and eyes watery.
another familiar tiny boy has followed after him, loyally toting two pairs of backpacks.
"hello, mister prince," virgil says, snatching both backpacks and setting them by patton in the booth, where—patton has slumped over, and he lets out an overexaggerated, sad sigh, staring forlornly at the grilled cheese he'd been eagerly eating thirty seconds ago.
"i'm supposta go home," roman says, "but logan was really sad boutta book so i decided to walk him here!"
"well, that's really nice of you," virgil says seriously.
roman puffs up his small chest. "m'bein—shiv-all—shiv-all-rus!"
"wow," virgil says, trying not to laugh. "that's really cool of you, roman. do you want an after-school snack?"
"please!" roman sings, and patton helps lift him into the booth so he's opposite logan, and then sits back down with another long, sad sigh.
"how about you, logan?" virgil asks.
"no," logan sulks in the corner.
"not even a crofter's sandwich?" virgil cajoles.
logan wavers.
"tell you what," virgil says. "i'll make one for you, and one for roman, and if you decide you don't want it, i can send it home with your dad for later, yeah?"
"...fine," logan says, arms crossed, still staring at the wall. patton, mimicking him, crosses his arms and stares at the wall, too.
"i'll let your mom know you're on the way in a bit, roman," virgil says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair mostly because of the tiny squawk of indignation when he does.
by the time virgil comes out with two plates of crofter's sandwiches, patton has progressed to sniffling with his head down on the table, roman petting his hair, and logan looking grudgingly curious from where he's still sitting with his arms crossed.
"okay, i've got two crofter's sandwiches here," virgil starts, but roman looks up at him.
"leave us alone, can't you see he's having a day," roman scolds.
"where'd you learn that?" virgil says, bemused, and roman grins.
"mrs. torres," he says—one of the old women who frequents the studio for sunrise yoga. "did i do it right?"
"you'd do her proud," virgil says, and remembers patton's play along, and pats patton's hair, too. "i know. he's been very sad since he got here."
logan's arms loosen. just a little. "he has?"
"he has," virgil confirms, somber as the grave.
"oh," logan says.
"mr. patton," roman says, still petting his hair, "is there anything we can do?"
"oh," patton says, and affects a mopey look on his face when he lifts his head from his arms. "well... mayy-be. but i don't know if you three would want to."
"we'll do it!" roman declares immediately.
patton sighs, and shakes his head.
"i dunno, it might be a little silly."
"well," virgil says, a little louder, conscious of how logan's staring, "i think a little silly's okay, if it makes you not as sad."
patton nods, and slides out of the booth.
"virgil," he says, and spreads his arms. "can i have a hug? to make me feel better?"
all at once, patton's plan coalesces in virgil's head.
"oh, yeah, sure thing," virgil says, when he realizes he hesitated a moment too long. he opens his arms. "get in here."
patton steps forward, and virgil wraps his arms around him, a little awkwardly—but patton's warm and soft and he fits neatly against virgil, and he smells nice, so it's not like it's the worst hug he's ever gotten. pretty far from it, actually.
he steps back, and pats patton on the shoulder, for good measure.
"did that help?" virgil asks.
"i think so," patton says, and turns. "i might need another—"
patton is very nearly tackled to the floor by a pint-sized blur of white and red and gold.
"isthishelpingmisterpatton?!" roman demands, and patton lets out a little "oof, gosh, you're so strong!"
roman squeezes patton harder, as if squeezing hard enough will get rid of all the sadness in the world.
patton pats him on the shoulder, and says, "that was very helpful, thank you. you should eat your crofter's as a reward."
"okay!" roman says brightly, and clambers back up into the booth.
patton crouches in front of the booth where logan's dropped his crossed arms at last, but is biting his lip even more ferociously.
"can i have a hug?" patton asks him gently.
"you've gotten two," logan sniffs.
"yeah, but i haven't gotten any from my favorite son, yet."
"i'm your only son."
"that too," patton says, and spreads his arms. "so? i'm feeling very upset, and i'd really like it if you gave me a hug right now."
logan hesitates, eyes darting to where roman is stuffing his face and to where virgil is standing. "this is a hug for you," he declares imperiously.
"of course it is," patton says, and as soon as he says it, logan squirms off the booth and straight into patton's arms, wrapping his arms tight around patton's neck and burying his face into patton's shoulder.
"hey, there we go," patton murmurs, shifting a little, and when he's sure roman isn't looking, he winks at virgil, who suppresses his smile the best he can and—)
so it's a stupid idea, but it's the only one he has.
virgil heaves a sigh, and resigns himself to looking like an idiot.
"i'm feeling very upset," virgil says stiffly, and lifts his arms a little. "i'd really like it if someone gave me a hug right now."
logan sends him the world's most withering glare. the effect is slightly spoiled by the way he sniffs, smears his hand under his nose, and looks away.
"i'm not six anymore," logan says, and redirects his glare at virgil. "that won't work on me."
"look, kid, this hug isn't for your benefit," virgil says, lying through his goddamn teeth. "i have had a hard day. i had a big family gathering and then i had to drive home for hours and then i found your dad unconscious on the ground and had to bring him to the hospital, plus i've had to deal with your grandparents. so."
he lifts his arms higher. "i am upset. i would like a hug."
"you're way worse at this than dad is," logan says.
"yeah, i know," virgil says, "you know one way to put us both out of this misery?"
"are you seriously trying to embarrass me into hugging you?"
"i can keep going," virgil bluffs immediately, even though logan knows full well about this social anxiety.
logan sighs, loudly. "fine," he grumbles. "fine, if it'll get you to stop."
so virgil steps forward and wraps his arms around the kid, heart panging—when did he get so big? virgil used to be able to practically hold him in one arm, just the space between his hand and his elbow. and now there's this young man, all gawky and gangly and still growing somehow, it's like he looked down and looked up and there he was, sixteen years flown by, except not really, because time was long, but also kind of really? being a parent person who watches a kid grows up is confusing.
he keeps rubbing a hand up and down logan's back, the way patton does when he hugs people. he's picked up a lot of things from patton, over the years. he couldn't say how many.
"he's going to be fine," logan says, and oh, god, his voice wobbles.
"i know," virgil whispers, and keeps rubbing a hand up and down his back. "hey, i know. i promised he would be, and now we know for a fact he is, right?"
"right," logan says, and sniffs, loudly, and virgil holds onto him tighter.
"it's okay," virgil murmurs. "it's okay, logan. it's okay."
it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, virgil says, choking up himself, vision blurry and then failing as he gives in to the hectic emotion of this whole day, but he keeps talking to logan, and he keeps saying it’s okay, logan, it’s okay and loses track of the amount of times he says it, it's okay, logan, and logan's shoulders shudder and virgil feels his shirt soak through.
"it's okay," virgil murmurs, sniffs, and keeps running his hand across logan's back. "there we go, l, it's okay."
"don't tell him," logan sobs into his shirt.
"oh, hey, i'd never," virgil says, as soft and comforting as he can. "patton can't know that we both lost it when he was out of the picture for one second, so it's our secret, yeah?"
"yeah," logan gasps, and draws back, smearing a sleeve under his nose, sniffing one last time. "yeah. our secret."
"okay," virgil says, and reaches forward with both hands to frame logan's ever-sharpening cheekbones in his hands, losing all that baby fat he'd been born with, swiping the tears off his face before starting in on his own face. "you okay?"
"yeah."
"you sure?" virgil checks, dropping his hands to logan's shoulders.
"yeah," logan says, and swallows, following the tracks of virgil's thumbs with his own hands, as if to make sure that virgil hasn't missed any. "yeah, i'm okay, i'm good. do i look like i've been crying?"
"nah," virgil says. “do i?”
"no. i don't want anyone to know i—"
"hey, our secret," virgil says.
(there is an eavesdropped neither logan or virgil notice. emily sanders frowns.)
"right," logan says, and scrubs at his face one last time. "this week has sucked."
if it was any other day, virgil would have laughed. logan hasn't used the phrase 'this sucks' since he was about nine. as it stands, though—
"yeah," virgil says. "i mean, your dad told me something really smart once, wanna hear it?"
"i have a feeling you'll tell me anyway," logan says, a solid attempt at a joke.
"even though today—or this week, i guess, in your case—has sucked, you wanna know the bright side?" virgil says, remembering patton's words from sixteen years ago, on the night they met. "i'll never have to do today again."
logan breathes, and says, "i never want to stay with them for that long ever again."
"i know," virgil says.
"i hated it there," he says.
(emily flinches.)
"i know," virgil says. "hey, we can tell your dad about the will thing once he's up and at 'em again, if it makes you feel better."
"it would," logan says fervently. "i fully understand why dad ran away now. you can't—you can't let me stay there anymore, virgil."
(emily flinches harder.)
"i won't," virgil says. "i promise, i won't. i mean, i know your dad only did it because it was a last resort kind of situation—"
"i know that too," logan says, and then, quieter, more miserably, "i yelled at him about it."
all virgil can say to that is "aw, kid," and tug him back into the hug.
"i yelled at him," logan repeats, voice waterclogged, like he's about to start crying again.
"hey, i know he's not mad at you," virgil says. "he gets it, you know? he gets that you yelled because you were upset at the situation, not at him. i bet as soon as we walk in there, it's gonna make his day that you're there."
logan snuffles, and virgil draws back so that he can look him in the face. "really?"
"really," virgil promises, and he's been promising logan a lot tonight, but the kid deserves some promises that things would be okay, okay, his dad's in the hospital, because virgil left him alone, it’s the least he can do to help the kid feel better. "you know your dad, he's the softest little puffball we got."
logan snort-laughs, snotty and kind of gross, and wipes under his eyes again. "yeah. yeah, he is."
"you're, like, his whole world."
logan shifts, uncomfortable with so many displays of emotion in such a close time span, but he's saved by his grandfather.
"oh, he's waking up," virgil hears richard say, startled, and virgil claps logan's shoulder.
"you ready?"
logan lets out a shaky breath, straightens his tie, and tilts up his chin—proud, confident, a little arrogant. looking a bit more like himself, then, virgil thinks, relieved. he gestures logan to go ahead of him, and they enter the room to see patton, who turns at the sound of the door opening, and patton—
patton lights up.
his face brightens, his dimples appear in full, he beams—hey, wait, was he supposed to take off the oxygen mask?—and he reaches out both hands for logan, as if logan's still little enough that patton can pick him up.
"hey!" he says. "oh, my gosh, hi!"
"hi, dad," logan says, approaching the bed, and patton's smile doesn't falter as logan takes one of his hands, hovering at his bedside.
"can i get a hug?" patton asks. "just this once."
logan hesitates. "if i hug you, won't it hurt?"
"what's life without a bit of pain?" patton jokes, and then, more seriously, "as long as you're gentle, it'll be okay, kiddo."
logan hesitates, and then, stiffly, bends so that he gives patton the softest, least-squeezy hug he can possibly execute, before sitting at patton's bedside again.
"i've missed you," patton says, picking up logan's hand to squeeze it again, "so much."
logan's lip quirks up, just a little, and virgil's heart feels lighter, seeing two of the people he loves most in the world all together again—all that's missing is an obnoxious teenage dance instructor.
"i missed you too, dad," logan says.
patton's smile is blinding, and virgil's knees go a little weak, to the point where he sits in the chair next to logan.
"okay, so," patton says, and pats logan's hand. "me and virgil have been dying without you to tell us everything that's going on in the world every day, let me tell you, dying."
logan's lips twitch. "don't exaggerate," he scolds.
"we aren't," virgil said. "i told you he'd want to hear you talk about current events, that's why i had you get all those newspapers."
logan rolls his eyes, and patton smiles at him, like logan's done something very charming and sweet instead of just made the quintessential teenage facial expression, and virgil can't help but smile a little, too.
"so," patton says. "tell us all about it. tell us about the news, and about your last couple days at chilton before the break, and how your week's been going, i want to hear everything."
so they listen as logan sticks to the safe and relatively unemotional topic of the news, explaining every headline he can, fishing example articles out of his newspaper pile when he has to, nearly crawling onto the bed in order to fully show the articles to patton. it reminds virgil of when he was little, so eager to investigate the whole world, so eager to show it off to anyone who would listen.
patton, even listening as raptly as he is, is still very sick, so can't help but slip off a little. which means that every time logan will trail off experimentally, staring to see if his dad's falling asleep, patton will start and grumble "m'wake, i'm awake, keep goin', i'm paying attention," and virgil will exchange a look with logan and logan will keep going until patton starts nodding off again.
eventually, logan keeps talking, and talking, and talking, even as he notices patton slip deeper and deeper into sleep until—
"i think he's finally asleep," logan says, hushed.
"i think you're right," virgil says. "good work, kid."
"speaking of sleep," richard says, "perhaps we should consider getting home."
"well, i'm not leaving," emily and virgil say in unison, who both jump and glare at each other.
"me either," logan says.
"you need sleep, you're a teenager, you need more sleep than a baby," virgil says.
"that's actually inaccurate," logan begins.
"okay, well, you still need to sleep," virgil says, frowning. "you should go home, to sideshire."
logan brightens at that, just a little.
what ensues is a solid bickering session: on if logan should go home to sideshire or back to his grandparent's house, on if virgil or emily should stay, on who would take which car and on who would bring logan back to visit if he wanted, and eventually it settled out to—
"bye, virgil," logan says. "thanks for looking after him."
"always do," virgil says. "i texted sarah, she's opening tomorrow, but would you mind swinging by the diner to let people know, just in case?"
"of course," logan says. "i'll even pick up breakfast there before i visit tomorrow."
virgil nods, and gives logan a hug goodnight, just because.
"you're sure you'll be all right?" richard's asking emily, in the background.
"i'll be fine," she says.
"you can call if you'd like me to come back, or if you need something."
"go," emily says, and kisses her husband on the cheek. "i'll look after patton."
richard smiles, squeezes her shoulder, and then logan and richard are gone.
an incredibly awkward silence descends on the hospital room.
emily sniffs, and drags one of the chairs to the opposite side of patton's bed. virgil settles into his—he notes, with slight relief, that his side does not show patton's iv.
"you don't trust me with my own son," she says, coldly, and virgil crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.
"was i too subtle, the first time?" he deadpans.
she sniffs again, and sits up even straighter, looking away from him. for a second, he thinks that might be the end of it, and they'll sit quietly in awkward silence until one of them falls asleep or the sun has risen.
of course not.
"i don't know what gives you the right—"
virgil sighs, loudly, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"oh, my god, okay," virgil says, and leans back in his chair again, worrying his hoodie between his fingers. "there are so many goddamn reasons i don't like you. i have a list in my head that's been sixteen years in the making. do you seriously want me to spend the whole night going through it?"
she arches a brow at him. that is literally all it takes.
"fine," virgil says. "i don't like your smug rich person attitude. i don't like the way you look down at me because i run a diner for a living. i don't like the way you think your privilege is a goddamn god-given right, like you're some kind of medieval king or something—"
"are you quite finished?"
"like i said, sixteen years, don't rush me," virgil says, kicking back in his chair and starting to tick things off his fingers. "i don't like your tacky rich people hair or your tacky rich people outfit. i don't like how you apparently think the bus is for drug dealers. i don't like most of the things you say about people who aren't as rich as you, actually, but that's a whole other thing. i don't like the car that you had that i egged that one time. i don't like how you think having a lot of money automatically makes you better than other people, i don't like the way you treat your son—"
"how dare you," she begins indignantly, loudly, and patton mumbles, shifting in his sleep. they both freeze.
"look," virgil hisses, "i am fully willing to fight with you, we just have to keep the volume low so that we don't wake patton up, clear?"
they both stare at patton for a few seconds. when she's satisfied that patton isn't waking up, she leans forward, and snarls, "how dare you," at a satisfactory volume.
"i dare because you and your husband are shit to him," virgil snarls. back, at a similarly quiet volume. "because you say fucking terrible things to him, and he's sensitive, and soft, and a good man, and he deserves better than you two jumping on him every time you get the chance—"
"you know nothing—"
"i know nothing?!" virgil snaps. "are you fucking kidding me?!"
"no, i most certainly am not!" she declares. "you know nothing about the way our lives have gone, you know nothing about the way our family works, and you have no right to pretend to know."
"oh, i don't?"
"no, you don't!" she says, strident. "it's none of your business how—"
"none of my business?!"
"it most certainly is not!"
"it is when patton shows up crying in my diner!" virgil hisses, fingernails digging into his hoodie. "it is when that's what's been happening after family gatherings with you for years! it's my business because sixteen years ago a kid holding a baby showed up and started sobbing in my diner and decided to stick around town, just because the first place he pulled into someone showed him some goddamn kindness for the first time in months, it is when you're messing with the life of my best friend and our fucking kid—"
"you are not logan's father—"
"look, i might not have contributed anything to logan's dna makeup, but that doesn't change that he's our kid," virgil says roughly. "patton's known that for years and logan has too."
there's a flicker of what might be surprise on her face, before she angrily sets her jaw.
"they're the ones whose opinion i care about, so i don't particularly give a fuck what you think about the fact that i've basically adopted your grandson," virgil says. "and i might not be one of logan's biological parents, but jesus christ, i'd never call him a disappointment, not in a million years. so all things considered, i'm pretty sure that makes me a better parent than you."
patton makes a soft snuffling noise in his sleep, and his head tilts a bit in virgil's direction. virgil tries not to feel too victorious about it.
"you have no idea what he did to us," emily says.
"yeah, i do," virgil says. "i was there. i saw how much it tore him apart. still does."
she stares at him, and says, quietly, "i wasn't just talking about him running away."
oh. virgil leans back a little more. right. patton's rebellious teenage years.
("okay, so, you gotta be careful when you try this, right?" virgil says, holding a shot of vodka a bit like it is a nuclear bomb. "drink it all down at once, then you drink this sprite right after or else it'll feel like your throat is burning—"
patton, freshly twenty-one, only stares at him, amused, and downs the shot like a pro, barely pausing to sip his sprite and grin at virgil, to the cheers of the other attendants of patton's fairly sparse birthday party.
"virgil," he says patiently. "this isn't the first drink of alcohol i've ever had."
"oh," he says lamely. "right."
patton snorts and pats him fondly on the cheek. "maybe when i get drunker i'll tell you all about my various teenage shenanigans."
"will it give me a heart attack?"
patton's grin turns a little vicious. "probably," he says. "i mean, it nearly did for my parents. would you say being a teen parent or riding along with chris when he crashed his porsche two hours after his parents got it for his sixteenth birthday is more heart-attack inducing? or the times i shoplifted from department stores? or my five separate fake ids? or maybe my boyfriend who referred to himself as 'the dragon witch' and got me an honorary place in a biker gang? or—"
"patton, oh my god—"
"i'm just warming up, here, we're not even in the good stuff yet," patton chirps teasingly.
"the good stuff? good stuff as in, like, bible study, right?" virgil says, trying to make it a joke to cover that he's about to hyperventilate, but patton laughs and accepts another shot from maria with a nod of thanks before he can get really into it, and then when he surfaces from that shot he demands the music be turned up so he can dance, c'mon, virgil, dance with me dance with me dance with me it's my birthday you gotta dance with me—!)
"okay," virgil says, "as someone who was also pretty stupid when they were a teenager—"
she narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes in return.
"you cannot seriously tell me you haven't done a few dumb things in life you regret," virgil says. "i hung around some kids who weren't the best influences—we called ourselves The Others, i know, it's stupid—and do i regret a lot of the stuff i did with them? yeah, i do. but i've bettered myself, i've moved on, and i've grown. patton has too."
"oh, he has," emily says doubtfully. "of course he has. suddenly, my eyes are open. you've delivered me nirvana. of course patton is no longer a teenager, why, i must have been confused because he insists on continuing to act like one."
"act like one?" virgil repeats cluelessly.
"it clearly isn't news to you that we and patton argue often."
"yeah, no, it isn't," virgil says. "i mean, patton's defending himself, but sure, whatever."
"through asking logan to treat us like lepers?" she snaps. "that doesn't strike you as immature behavior?"
asking logan to treat us like lepers, virgil mouths, and then, "you think patton asked logan to give you a hard time? are we talking about the same patton and logan?"
"well, why else would he—?"
"because logan is a smart, stubborn kid who hates the fact that patton has to sit through you two bullying him in order to secure money for his schooling, holy shit," virgil says. "because logan picks arguments like florists pick flowers, and if someone messes with one of His People it basically means free reign for him to fight back."
"well—"
"logan's literally a debate champion," virgil says. "you're telling me you think it's more likely that patton, your son, the same patton who didn't want to bother anyone when he came down with fucking pneumonia, that patton, you think it's more likely that that patton asked logan, who once got into a full-on argument with a four-year-old who told him that newspapers were stupid when he was fifteen, to be mean to you. you think that patton asked that logan to pick a fight? seriously?"
she crosses her arms and huffs, and suddenly, it clicks.
"oh, my god," virgil says. "you wanna know what your problem is?! you still think that patton's sixteen."
"of course i don't—"
"no, listen," virgil says, warming up to this theory. "patton runs away, and that sucks, i get it, i'm not arguing that. but the only times you see him after that until pretty recently are, what, holidays? so you don't see him on a day-to-day basis anymore. so you didn't see him grow up and grow up fast. and you still refuse to see him grow up, because he's your kid, and on one level i get that because logan becoming an actual adult scares me a lot, but on the other, seriously, lady, patton's thirty-two. he has a house and a good job and he's getting his degree and he has done a great job raising logan, who is, i think we can both agree, while being incredibly infuriating sometimes, is also one of the best teenagers on the face of this planet."
her nod is really more of a jerk of her chin.
"honestly, if anyone would be telling logan to pick a fight with you, it'd be me," virgil muses.
her eyes sharpen.
"you told logan to—" emily begins, and virgil rolls his eyes.
"no," virgil says, "because when i don't like someone, i don't tell a sixteen-year-old kid to pass on the message for me, god. i'm just saying that if it was between me or patton telling logan to pick a fight, it'd be me."
a pause, a sniff, a "well, that i can believe."
"in the interest of honesty, or whatever, i have been telling patton to not let you into his life anymore for years," virgil says.
the look on her face isn't what virgil's expecting. virgil's expecting her nostrils to flare, her jaw to clench, her eyes to ignite with fury. he's expecting a loud outburst. he's expecting rage. what flickers across her face isn't that.
virgil thinks it might be fear.
why would she be afraid of—oh.
oh, that's why patton won't hear about cutting them out whenever virgil brings it up. that's why patton won't hear about leaving them. because he did it once, didn't he? he did it when he ran away to sideshire.
"he won't listen to me, obviously," virgil says, refusing to acknowledge that he might be saying this to comfort her, but just to establish where they're at, in the fight. because, like, obviously patton wouldn't do that, but she clearly has a skewed idea of who her son is, so.
"but it's a whole routine. you all fight, you upset patton, patton comes to me, i tell him to cut you two out. he makes excuses. you two... i dunno, god, patton apologizes for whyever you chose to fight him, or he at least smooths things over enough so that you guys get together for the next holiday, the cycle starts again." virgil waves a hand. "he gets irritated if i bring it up too much, so i don't. he's entirely too optimistic about you."
she's quiet. virgil waits a few seconds, before he continues.
"and you realize that i'm definitely not the one who'd convince patton about cutting you out, but you know the one person he'd do anything for, even if it broke his heart?"
she's gone a little paler. "logan," she says.
"yeah," virgil says. "logan."
"logan wouldn't," she begins, but falters.
"if you keep fighting with patton like this, he might," virgil says. "logan hates it when his dad is upset. he hates it."
"he hates my house," she says, sharp. "he hates me and my husband."
virgil gawks at her.
"what?" she demands. "weren't you going to throw that in my face? weren't you going to lord it over me that he'd rather you be his guardian than us?!"
"i'm not that much of an asshole, jesus," virgil says. "i didn't—i didn't know you'd overheard that."
"yes, well," she scoffs, and fiddles with some of her bracelets. "when patton woke up, then, he kept trying to tell us how we could better take care of logan. even then he said that if we were at a loss, we should contact you."
"i," virgil begins, and shakes himself. "he said all that?"
"when we told him he had pneumonia, he seemed to be under the impression that he was—" her voice cracks. she does not have to say dying out loud—it's written all over her face.
virgil swallows hard, and looks to patton, slumbering peacefully, the beep of his heart monitor, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. i left him, i left him, and he thought he was dying, he got so sick that he thought he might die because i left him—
"oh."
"he promised he wouldn't."
"he better not," virgil says hoarsely.
"hmph. yes."
"i—" virgil looks at her, then back at patton. "i mean, he's right. i do know a lot in the whole 'care and keeping of logan' thing."
"oh, i'm sure," she mutters sarcastically.
"i could make it a whole lot clearer, lady," virgil mutters right back.
she looks away from him, nostrils flaring.
"i just—look," virgil says. "you realize you have to stop fighting with him, right? all it does it push them both away."
she might be about to say something, but before she can, patton makes a mumbling noise. they both freeze.
patton's head nods down, sharply, before it tilts back up again. he squints.
"virgil?"
"yeah," virgil says, inching forward in his chair, itching to grab his hand again. "yeah, pat, it's me."
"mkay," patton murmurs, and yawns. "s'logan down for the night?"
oh, gosh, virgil hasn't been asked that question for at least twelve years. virgil figures he may as well play along, let patton get back to sleep faster.
"yeah," virgil whispers back. "yeah, he's out like a light."
well, hopefully true, when logan gets home.
"how many stories did it take?"
"oh, you know logan," virgil sighs, remembering how many storybooks logan would tug from his expansive, second-hand collection and stack them in his arms up to his chin, looking up at virgil expectantly, as if to say we both know you're a softie, you're going to read me all these, let's skip the argument, except virgil would pose a slight argument anyways and convince logan to let go of maybe three of them, because logan had always had virgil pinned on that whole softie thing.
"about a million. i made one up for him, too."
"was it about cecil the space pirate?"
"cecil the space pirate," virgil confirms, lips twitching. wow, the things patton's fever-addled brain thought up. virgil's nearly forgotten about cecil the space pirate, one of the only make-believe stories logan continued to tolerate even as he grew older and older and older. virgil's pretty sure that the second birthday story roman ever wrote for logan was about cecil the space pirate.
"mkay," patton murmurs. "i got work in the morning, don't i?"
"nah," virgil says. "nah, you get to sleep in tomorrow, lucky you."
"you'll be at the diner for breakfast?"
"'course i'll be at the diner for breakfast," virgil says. "i own it."
"want waffles," patton murmurs sleepily.
"if you're nice to me," virgil says.
"m'always nice to you," patton slurs.
"yeah, that's true," virgil concedes. "okay. if you're extra nice to me, how bout that?"
patton lets out what might be a giggle, but he's so close to dropping off again that it's hard to tell.
"get some rest," virgil murmurs, and hesitates, before he reaches over to brush patton's hair back. he promised he wouldn't. i’m not leaving you again. "you just go ahead and go to sleep, patton. i’ll be right here."
patton sighs, head tilting a little further into virgil's touch. he's not nearly as warm as he'd been when virgil found him, which is good, but still too warm for virgil's taste.
he can see emily, out of the corner of his eyes, looking a little more relaxed.
"i'm not finished with you, your days are numbered," virgil hisses in her direction.
patton hums at him quizzically, mumbles, "wha'?"
"i said, do you want some water?" virgil covers quickly, smiling falsely at him. it turns a bit more real as patton squints an eye at him.
"you don't gotta fuss 'bout my hydration all the time, you know."
"ah, but fussing's what i do best," virgil says gently, smiling at patton as he combs his fingers through patton's curls in a slow, repetitive motion. "go on, close your eyes again, there you go. go to sleep."
"you don't gotta fuss about how much sleep i get either," patton sighs, but closes his eyes obediently. his breathing evens out, soon enough.
she's silent. virgil's thought about this fight—how it might go, where it might happen, who would win—for years. exactly none of it has gone according to how his brain said it might go. virgil has a lot of opinions on emily and richard sanders and the way they treat their son—on days where they've been behaving themselves relatively well, he thinks they're stuck-up, snobbish assholes, and on days where they haven't been behaving well virgil thinks about the things that patton tells him that they say to him and thinks about how they're something that starts with "emotionally" and ends with "abusive," and how patton would be so absolutely in his rights to cut them off, and he has wanted to fight emily or richard sanders for years. and now it's here.
and now it's... off.
"we want the best for him," emily says.
"that's exactly what he says, yeah," virgil says tiredly, and runs his fingers through patton's curls again. "the trouble is, what you think is best for him and what's actually best for him are two entirely different things."
her lips twitch, with bitter humor. "that's exactly what he says."
and here's the crux of it: "but you don't agree," virgil says.
"no," emily says. her chin tilts up, proud. "no, we don't."
any sympathy virgil has toward her is gone. he kind of wants to reach across patton's bed and throttle her. they're in a hospital, they're in the right place for it.
"why the fuck not," virgil manages to hiss it and not shriek it. she's so close to understanding, so close to actually catching on and getting it and maybe, miracle of miracles, patching up her and her husband's relationship with patton, but now she doesn't get it?!
"because what he thinks is best for him is not the same as what is actually best for him," emily says.
"okay, then, what do you think is actually best for him?" virgil asks, with a twirl of his free hand he realizes with muted horror he probably picked up from roman.
so she lays it out for him. patton getting his degree is all well and good, but he should get it from a "better" establishment. patton being a manager is all well and good, but not in the inn business—if he adds a bit onto his degree, why, he could go into insurance too, and be a manager there soon enough. and patton having a little country home is all well and good, but he should move into a neighborhood more fitting for him—a house that would be closer to chilton. a house that would be closer to her. and, well, if patton stumbles across a few friends of hers—the sons of members of the dar, the kind of sons who have privilege and strong savings and investments and would be able to take care of him, and if they just so happened fit emily's bill of approval to a t—well, that certainly wouldn't be too bad for him, either. and with logan going off to an ivy soon, well, he might get lonely, it would be good for him to have someone, and maybe, just maybe, there could be other little perfect grandbabies on the way, and—
"okay, so, what i'm hearing is," virgil cuts in, "basically, you want to redesign his whole life."
"well, not his whole life," emily says.
"what are you leaving him from the life he's managed to build in this 'donna reed' style daydream, just logan?" virgil says incredulously. "a little small-town summer house he can escape to?"
she blinks at him. "that seems reasonable."
"that seems like patton would be miserable," virgil says.
she looks at him, blank. "why?"
"well, one," virgil says pointedly, "sure, patton's open to having other kids, but the only way they'd be biologically his is if he'd donate an egg. he never wants to be pregnant again, you do realize that's what messed up his brain to the point it did, back then?"
she looks at him, gobsmacked. "and how would you know that?"
(—patton's nineteen, and starting to go on the occasional date, which is kinda weird but patton's an adult and he can do what we wants, and currently he's going slightly steady with one of the businessmen who swings into town every other week or so, and it's going pretty well, or so virgil's heard and thought until patton careens into the diner one night, eyes huge and watery and gasping, and virgil's out from behind the counter before he can even think.
"hey," he says, and "hey—" and patton's face is crumpling up, and no, patton doesn't want to cry in the middle of the diner in dinner rush, so virgil says, "c'mere, c'mon," and puts an arm around his shoulders, trying to shield him from sight of everyone in the diner, quickly getting him through the back and patton bursts into tears as soon as the door to virgil's apartment shuts behind him.
"patton, patton, patton," he says, hushed, and patton, red-faced and crying, just holds out a shopping bag. virgil blinks, takes it, and takes out one of the three identical things that's in there and—
"oh shit," virgil says before he can really temper his reaction, and patton starts crying harder, and virgil curses, dropping the unopened pregnancy test on the ground, stepping forward and opening his arms in invitation and patton buries his face into virgil's chest, sobbing.
"i don't wanna be pregnant again," he gasps. "i don't wanna be—"
"okay, okay, it's okay," virgil says. "it's okay—do you know if—?"
"not yet, i was too—" patton gulps, and croaks, "i can barely afford logan, and i love him so much, but i can't—i can't do that again, i can't—"
"it's really rare for trans guys on t to get pregnant, right?" virgil says gently, and patton sniffs, louder, and nods.
"okay," virgil says. "okay. here's what we're going to do, okay? we're going to sit down on my couch."
they do.
"we're gonna get you calmed down," virgil says. "next, you're gonna drink some water, and you'll take it."
"and if i—?"
"we can talk about your options if the test's positive," virgil says gently. "but take the test first. okay? then we can cross that bridge if we get to it."
patton snuggles harder into virgil, hiccuping, and virgil runs his hand through patton's hair, over and over, until his shoulders stop shaking as much.
virgil gets him some water. virgil waits when patton goes into the restroom. virgil waits as patton comes back, buries his face into virgil's lap and curls up hard, hiding from the world.
"why do you think you're—?" virgil begins.
"i got really bad morning sickness, with logan," patton whispers. "migraines too. and i'm—i just, my period's been irregular since i started t, and it's mostly stopped, but there's been some spotting and i looked it up and that's a symptom too and i—"
"okay," virgil murmurs, trying to mentally sort what each of those might be—summer flu, dehydration, he admittedly doesn't know much about periods so he can't really say much about that—"okay. um. have you guys been, um...?"
"using protection, yeah," patton says miserably. "but apparently that's not very useful when it comes to me, so."
"huh," virgil says. "with logan?"
"condom broke, we think," patton says, and wearily runs a hand over his eyes. "or at least that's the most likely explanation."
"yeah," virgil says, and runs a hand over patton's hair again. he's about to ask patton if he's doing okay, except the timer goes off, and patton lets out a keening, horrible whine.
"i can't look," he whispers. "virgil, could you—?"
"yeah," virgil says, heart in his throat. impulsively, he kisses patton's head. "yeah, of course, i'll look."
he checks the guide. he takes a breath. he looks at all three tests. and then he double-checks them, and double-checks the guide, and he walks out of the bathroom to see patton hugging a pillow to his stomach, hunched over it.
"well?" patton whispers.
"well," virgil says, "i think you have the summer flu, or something, and you should probably make a doctor's appointment to ask about spotting, because you've got three nopes in there."
"oh," patton chokes out, and buries his face in his hands. "oh, thank god."
"yeah," virgil says, and goes over to the couch, hugging patton again. "yeah, buddy, you're okay."
"i just—god," patton manages. "i mean, i want another kid at some point, probably, but i can't—i can't be pregnant again. i can't do that. i mean, i love logan, i love him so much, but being pregnant with him—what it did to my brain, what it did to my mental health, i can't—"
he chokes up, and can't go on, and virgil's heart breaks a little.
"that's totally understandable and you do not have to justify yourself to me, or to anyone else," virgil says firmly. "hey, do you want me to get you a brownie, or something? i think you just put the 'scary' in 'pregnancy scare.'"
patton lets out what might be a giggle, a bit too hysterical to make virgil actually happy, but it's a giggle, nonetheless, and—)
"we talked about it once," virgil says evasively, fingers twitching through patton's hair as if to comfort distress that's thirteen years past. "look, just—none of what you just said would make patton happy, are you serious?"
"i wasn't talking about patton being happy, i was talking about what would be best for him," emily says.
virgil blinks. "i'm not following."
she lets out a long sigh, as if he is being deliberately obtuse. "it would make patton happy if he were able to eat nothing but waffles and pasta and sweets all day. it would be best for him if he ate fruits and vegetables and maintained a balanced diet."
"that's an entirely different thing," virgil says hotly, withdrawing his hand from patton's hair and starting to pick at a loose thread in his hoodie.
"is it?" she challenges.
"yeah, it is," virgil says, "because his life isn't as temporary as a meal. what's best for him in his diet is nowhere near the same way you should treat your life."
"that is where we disagree," she says, terse. "i believe what is best for him is not necessarily what makes him happy. there are procedures put in place, proper plans to be followed."
"doesn't what he want matter to you?" virgil says.
"what he wants is immaterial. sacrifices are often necessary in order to what is right."
virgil stares at her for a few moments, lets her words sink in, lets himself reflect on what following that might have been like, and—
"i am really indescribably sorry for you, right now," virgil tells her, and she sniffs.
"you hardly need to be. i was perfectly happy to follow the life i had set out for me."
virgil stares at her for a few more seconds, and she huffs.
"save your emotions," she says. "i've had just about my fill of them tonight."
virgil snorts. "finally, somewhere we agree," he mutters.
they're quiet for another long stretch of time.
"you genuinely think you know what's best for him?" she says, and virgil starts.
"i," virgil says. "yeah. better than you do, anyway."
"why?" she says, and then, derisively, "because you're in love with him?"
virgil doesn't quite reel back like she's smacked him, which is kind of how it feels, but he does pinch the fabric of his hoodie between his fingernails.
"no," he says. before he can say anything else, she plows over him.
"you look at him like he's a porterhouse steak!" she says, vindictive.
"i do not," he says.
"oh, please, you look at him like he's about to give you a lapdance."
virgil just about chokes on air.
"i do not," virgil insists, "and anyway, that's not what i was about to say, i wasn't about to deny being in love with him, of course i'm in love with him."
she falters.
"i was going to say that me being in love with him doesn't change that i know what makes him happy better than you do," virgil says.
"fine, then," emily says. "please tell me what you think would make him happy."
"his life, now, for the most part," virgil says. "living in sideshire, managing the inn. waiting for logan to get home from chilton, logan telling him about working at the courant, supervising roman and logan sleepovers. i think the biggest change would be if he got along with his parents."
she stares at him for one second. two.
virgil shrugs. "that's what would make him happy," he says simply. "that's what he wants. when he came home from lunch or brunch or whatever it was with you guys and logan and you guys managed not to fight the whole time, he was so happy."
she's silent.
"and i think that's what you want too," virgil says quietly.
she's silent for a long time—enough time for patton to stir again, and, slightly hilariously and slightly heartbreakingly, seems to be stuck firmly in the headspace of logan still being a baby, and virgil soothes patton's mumbled worries about how logan's colic should be acting up by now before patton drops back off again. and by then, emily seems to have gotten control of her emotions again.
"you haven't put yourself into that little scenario of yours," emily says.
"the way we are now makes him happy," virgil says simply. "and that's enough for me."
she snorts. "idiots. the both of you."
virgil snorts a little, too, ducking his head. he rubs his thumb and forefinger against the worn spot on the cuff of his hoodie.
her eyes zero in on it. "did you," she begins, and then, almost suspiciously, "did you make that?"
"oh," virgil says, and awkwardly, "um, i mean, i bought the hoodie. but all the extra stitching and fabric and stuff, yeah. i did that."
"hm."
"i gave it to patton when we were on the way here," falls out of his mouth before he can stop it.
she looks at him a little closer. "you did?"
virgil coughs, awkward, and redirects his glance back to the sleeve he's worrying between his fingers. "he was, um. he had pretty bad chills, and i kept turning the heat up in the car, but it didn't help. and he wasn't saying anything, but i knew he was cold, so i gave it to him, but the orderlies had to take it off before he could go back in the test room, but i—i haven't been able to put it back on since."
his mouth snaps shut, and he's fully aware of his cheeks burning, fully aware of her eyes on him, and he stares even harder at the little imperfect faded oval he's rubbed into the fabric over the years, rendering that section of cuff a shade lighter than the rest of it.
"stupid, i know," he mutters.
she's quiet, for a moment, before she says, "i haven't been able to bring myself to change any of the decoration or furniture in patton's room since he left home."
he doesn't really know what to say to that. it feels like... he doesn't know. if it was any other person than one of patton's two parents, he'd say it feels like an olive branch. but with them, virgil's so used to hearing about arguments and bickering and favors offered with full knowledge they'd be paid back in full later, so it doesn't. it feels like a business deal. or like one of the faeries in the stories that virgil used to read to logan, before he insisted he outgrew such things—the kinds of sneaky wishes that would come back to bite you, in some way. it feels like a rabbit's foot. it feels like a monkey's paw.
"he has a way," virgil says at last.
"he does, doesn't he," she says musingly.
"yeah," virgil says, awkward.
there's another pause, a long stretch of quiet. enough time for a nurse to come and check patton's vitals, update his data, smile benevolently at them both, and leave.
"not that i'm asking your opinion," she says severely. "but your... idea. of how patton would like to lead his life."
virgil looks up, blinking at her. "yeah?"
she lifts an eyebrow at him imperiously. "do you think it's possible?"
"oh," virgil says. "i think—i mean, i don't really believe in you all that much, but patton does, so. if you keep fighting him and don't, like, remove your head from your ass, you're definitely going to push him and logan away, you know that, right?"
she doesn't really respond, and virgil huffs out an exasperated breath.
"look," virgil says. "you know what would patch all this up?"
"what?"
"if you and your husband apologized," for once. "if you and him apologized to patton, he'd forgive you in a heartbeat, you know. because again, he's way too optimistic about you."
"well, i hardly—"
"holy shit, you started it," virgil says. "you always start it. you cannot seriously expect your son, who is bedridden with pneumonia, to put in his usual work of trying to smooth it over between you three, the way he always does. for once, can you please just fucking set aside your pride for five seconds and apologize?"
"what he did—"
"sucked, i know," virgil says impatiently. "it sucks that he ran away, he knows that, he regrets doing that to you the way he did, but jesus christ, it's been sixteen years. he's apologized, hasn't he?"
she barely inclines her head.
"okay, so," virgil says. "can you just see that this is kind of a special circumstance and say the words i'm sorry? just one time. and he'll forgive you basically instantly. even if you don't understand why, just say it, and then you can playact at being a big happy family again."
emily chews at her lip.
...
"you're quite certain you don't want me to stay the night here?"
"i'll be fine, grandpa," logan says wearily as they turn down the street to home, even as something in him delights at being so, so close to home again. "you should go back to your house, in case they need anything. you're closer to the hospital than i am here."
"well," he begins, about to turn into the drive, but he stops the car as the lights illuminate a familiar figure.
"who the devil," he begins, moving to lock the doors, but logan's flinging the door open before he can, unbuckling and nearly skidding on the icy driveway as he speedwalks to the front stoop, where the familiar figure is standing up, shivering.
"roman," logan says, and roman steps forward and hugs him tight, so tight, and logan closes his eyes, buries his face into roman's shoulder where he still smells like hairspray and the stage makeup he hadn't bothered to wipe off his face and sweat, still wearing the massive button-down he wears to cover his costumes while backstage at a show under his big, puffy winter jacket, and logan's home, he's home, and—
"oh my god, i'm so sorry i didn't call back," roman says, and draws back. he'd barely made a cursory smear of a makeup wipe on his face, so his stage makeup remains on his face, smeared with sweat. he still has purple glitter on his eyelids and sharp cateye eyeliner, and smudged, faded lipstick. "i didn't know what to do, i didn't know where you were, i didn't know if you were coming home for the night or not, so i just—"
"logan?" his grandfather calls, and logan turns, still holding roman in his arms.
"it's okay," logan calls. "it's okay, it's just roman. i'll see you tomorrow?"
richard surveys this, frowns, grunts a little, waves in farewell, and gets back in his car. logan opens the front door to the house, nudging roman in ahead of him and flicking on the light, turning back to lock the door. roman barely waits until he's turned the key until he's tugging at logan's suit jacket, and logan turns to face him again, and god, there he is, that's his best friend.
"is your dad okay?" roman asks, frantic.
"he'll be fine," logan says. "i—the doctors said it was pneumonia and he'll be at the hospital for a few days, but they said he'd be okay."
"god, logan," roman says, and reaches to hug him again. logan closes his eyes tight, and leans into it, hard. for once, he won't deny that he maybe needs hugs right now.
they draw back, and logan, a little in disbelief, picks at collar of roman's button-up.
"you came," logan says.
"well, yeah," roman says, like it's obvious. "you were upset, of course i came."
i love you, logan thinks.
"i mean, admittedly, it wasn't like, straight to the hospital, or anything," roman says. "i tried, but i wasn't sure which one, and—"
"i'm going back to visit in the morning," logan says, tentative. "if you'd—if you'd join me?"
"yeah, of course," roman says, and takes logan's hand. he tugs logan into the living room, where the detritus of one of his father's blanket nests is in an armchair. they sit on the couch, where a collection of empty mugs sits on the coffee table. there is so much of patton in this house. logan cannot look anywhere without thinking about his dad.
suddenly, he realizes that roman's been talking this whole time.
"—but oh my god, l, that must have been so scary."
logan wants to deny that it was scary. logan wants to lie. logan wants to say objectively, the risks of pneumonia are relatively low, here are the survival rates and here are the usual methods of treatment and here is what will happen, and here is proof that my dad will be okay, and here are all the reasons why it is illogical to be upset, because he will be okay, and i know he will be okay, because virgil promised he would be okay and the doctor said he would be okay and the family physician said he would be okay, so there is no reason why my brain is still stuck at a point where i should think that he wouldn't be okay, because that is not true, because he will be okay.
instead, logan's lip trembles, and he catches it between his teeth with a groan, pressing his elbows against his thighs and bending to meet his hands, sliding off his glasses to press the heels of his hands against his stinging, hot eyes.
there's a body against him, then, a cheek pressed to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around him again, and logan swallows hard.
"i've gotcha," roman whispers. "i've got you, logan. i'm right here."
and logan buries his face in his best friend's lap, and for the second time that night, he starts to cry.
...
there's a weight on patton's hip.
that's the first thing he's aware of, swimming out of the dark gray sludge of sleep, waking up slowly and not particularly liking it very much. there is a weight against his hip, and when at last he cracks open his eyes, the first thing he does is look to see what it is.
it's a familiar head. the face is mostly obscured by the hair flopping into patton's line of vision, but the hoodie that's been spread out over patton like a blanket and the t-shirt and worn jeans the familiar person is wearing are big enough identifiers that patton doesn't really have to wait for any of his reasoning skills to come back online.
virgil's got a hand close to patton's hand, where it's resting on the mattress, and an arm slung out across patton's stomach, not even pillowing his head. it's as if he'd reached out to make sure that patton would stay put.
patton's heart swells with a nearly unimaginable amount of fondness. he carefully moves the hand that virgil had nearly been touching to virgil's head. his hair, feathery and floppy and soft, is familiar under his hand. the hard curve of his skull is, too. patton doesn't get to touch him very much, but they're familiar anyways. he swipes an admiring thumb slowly down, tracing the line of virgil's jaw.
virgil nuzzles against patton's belly in his sleep. in doing so, a bit of his hair slips, and it reveals a bit of virgil's closed eye, bangs parting like curtains. the ever-present bags look slightly darker than usual. that must be why virgil fell asleep on him. well, patton certainly isn't complaining. as a matter of fact, he smiles, and covers virgil's hand with his own, feeling something in his stomach flutter.
he can go back to sleep, now.
when he wakes again, it's to the clicking of high heels, and a voice he's known all his life.
"—did you say he'd be here, again?"
another voice—familiar, beloved, feels like he's known him all his life.
"logan's text said 9:30, so they're probably just parking and getting up to the room now."
"hmph. or the traffic's acting up again."
huh. he must be dreaming. there is no actual world where his mother and virgil are being so civil.
"look, they said they'd be here soon. with roman, too."
"the dance boy? patton says logan has a crush on him."
"oh, yeah, logan definitely has a crush on him. but patton really likes him, he's practically another kid. he's my neighbor, plus he's logan's best friend, so. logan probably told him about it and roman wanted to come wish him well."
"he was very well-behaved at logan's birthday get-together," his mother muses.
"yeah, he can be a real little charmer," virgil says darkly.
"he's a prince, it's practically in the name that he's charming," patton mumbles, trying to complete the old joke.
"oh, right on time," his mother says, pleased, and patton cracks open his eyes.
his mother's standing, holding a to-go cup of coffee, and virgil's still sitting at patton's bedside, where he dimly remembers virgil being a few times he'd woken up before. his hand's under patton's, and patton squeezes before he can really help himself. he's never really held virgil's hand before—this isn't exactly holding his hand, just his hand over virgil's, but it's close enough that patton's kind of unreasonably excited
"what were you saying?" patton asks, shifting against the pillows, trying to sit up a bit straighter.
"logan, roman, and your dad are all coming," virgil tells him. "should be here any minute."
patton nods, and makes the mistake of looking down at himself, only to suck in a breath and look up at the ceiling.
"what?" virgil asks, alert.
"needles," patton says, strangled. "i can see it, virge. i can feel it."
ivs! are! the! worst! sure, he's a bit more used to needles now because of his shots of testosterone, but with those he can at least aim and then look away and jab himself, and it's over relatively quickly, but he can feel it now and it is Bad—
"oh," virgil says, scrambling, "um—"
"here," his mother says, and patton turns his head away from the arm that has tubing coming out of it, to see his mother holding out her silk handkerchief.
"oh!" patton says, and takes it, carefully draping it over the injection site as much as he can without looking at it, and risks a glance. yes, he can still see the tubing, and feel the iv, but as long as he doesn't move his arm and the handkerchief stays there, he should be... okay.
patton offers a tentative smile to his mom—she's been here, patton knows that, his memories are really fuzzy but he knows she's been here, but patton also knows that they've been freezing each other out for the past week, so. "um, thanks, mom."
she nods, once, and virgil says, "you doing okay, pat?"
"i think so," patton says uncertainly. "i mean, i still feel pretty—bleh."
"the doctor said you probably would be feeling pretty bleh for the next couple days, sorry," virgil says sympathetically. "but you're going to be just fine, patton. you're going to be okay."
a wave of relief sweeps through patton. he remembers, distantly, almost like it's a dream, the suddenly more aggressive and more pervasive fear of dying, but—but if a doctor said he'd be okay, and if virgil says he's going to be okay, then patton's going to be okay.
"okay," patton says, and nods, absorbing this. "okay. um, good."
"uh, so, i think i might go out to the waiting room, wait for logan and roman to get here, if that's... if that's okay."
no that is not okay why are you leaving me alone with her?! patton wants to ask, but virgil's giving him a Look, a it's okay look, so patton lets out a little breath, and trusts him. obviously. it's not even a choice, he just does.
"you can keep an eye on my hoodie for me," virgil adds, flicking one of the sleeves so it folds over patton's lap, and patton looks up at him, blinking.
"you sure?" he says, tentatively running his thumb over a worn little bit of hoodie that he's seen virgil run his fingers over, too. "you never take this off."
"i think i can manage to trust you with it," virgil says, amused. "besides, that way you know i'm gonna be coming back, right?"
patton weighs these options. he fiddles with virgil's hoodie again, runs his fingers over the white stitching, feeling the variance of textures under his fingers.
"okay," patton says. "yeah."
"cool," virgil says.
and then virgil and his mom share their own little Look. patton has literally no hope of unparsing it if he tried—they still aren't fond of each other, obviously, but they look... they look understanding, almost. almost. not quite. but like they've reached some kind of point of agreement, maybe. not necessarily that they entirely agree, but just one point of agreement.
well, that's more than they had, so. patton's all for it.
his mother takes virgil's abandoned seat, and scoots a little closer, crossing her legs primly.
"well," she says, and fiddles with his blanket, pointedly avoiding touching virgil's hoodie, pulling the blanket over him a little more snugly. "how are you feeling?"
okay, so this is... weird. but patton can go with it. at least it's not yelling.
"um," patton says. "not my best?"
her face tightens.
"what?" patton asks in a tiny voice.
"young man," she says. "you were brought into the hospital between having actually collapsed and being on the verge of another one, with a fever so high you could have risked serious brain damage if you continued to refuse to seek treatment, and a case of pneumonia so serious that you have to stay in the hospital for at least three days, and all you have to say is that you don't feel at your best?"
"well, you see," patton says, "i'm really not at my best."
his mother looks five seconds from lovingly smothering him with his own hospital pillow when the door opens, and—
okay, virgil seriously isn't mean enough to leave him to get yelled at while he was bedridden and couldn't escape, right? had he really annoyed virgil recently?
"hello, patton," his father says.
"um, hi, dad," patton says, trying not to fidget, in case it jostled his arm and he had to be reminded about needles again. "are, um. are logan and roman here?"
"virgil took them to get coffee," his dad says.
(actually, virgil is leaning against the wall just outside the door, out of sight of anyone in the room, monitoring this conversation just in case anything goes wrong, and what he said to roman and logan was "here's ten bucks, scram," and roman had wrinkled his nose at him and said "why?" and virgil said "privacy reasons, there's going to be an emotional moment," and logan had declared "gross" incredibly loudly and grabbed roman by the hand and dragged him in the direction of the hospital cafeteria, roman looking a bit too excited about logan holding his hand to really protest, but sure, the sanders' could all think that virgil took the kids to get coffee.)
richard pulls up a chair to sit beside his mother, and patton—patton is very suddenly reminded of the two other times in his life where he had to stay in the hospital for a period of time, when he gave birth, and when he had top surgery.
they were both there then, too.
neither time, though, had they had a fight quite as bad as the one they'd had last week.
"you don't," patton begins haltingly, and twists virgil's hoodie in his free hand. "you don't have to stay, you know."
they look at each other.
"it was very nice of you to drive roman and logan here," patton says to his dad, quietly, "but i don't—you two don't have to stick around, really. i'm going to be fine, and i can patch things up when—"
"we wanted to apologize," his mother says stiffly, and patton's mouth snaps shut.
"you," patton says, and swallows hard. "you, um. you what?"
"we wanted to apologize," his dad says. patton kind of wants to clean out his ears, and ask them both to repeat themselves one more time, or maybe page a doctor, please, because he thinks he might be hallucinating, but—
"we were out of line," richard continues. "i was out of line. i shouldn't have come down on you as hard as i did—for reopening an argument we've had before."
"oh, dad, that's not—" patton starts.
"will you be quiet and let us finish?" his mother says, snappish, and that almost kind of soothes patton, because if his mother's snappish even if she says she's in the middle of an apology it means his parents probably haven't been bodysnatched, so that's good.
"we are sorry," his mother continues, dignified and refined, and not particularly heartfelt, but that's actually kind of okay, because this was already so weird that if his mom started being the emotional one patton would—well, he doesn't know, really, he just knows it would be very strange. "we are sorry that you were upset, and we are sorry that we upset you further."
"please consider forgiving us," his dad says formally, and patton quashes the urge to giggle. please consider forgiving us in the same way he'd say please consider opening an insurance policy with our company to a client.
"yes," emily says. "we are sorry for yelling at you, and for aggravating you when you were clearly upset and needed support, and for—"
she hesitates. she adjusts her jacket sleeves.
"and for putting you down," she says, and makes a slight moue of distaste. "for... bullying you."
patton, who is very uncomfortable, cannot help but laugh awkwardly. "i—i mean, i wouldn't say—"
"what else would you call telling you your reasoning wasn't good enough and saying you were a disappointment?" richard asks wearily, and patton shuts his mouth, directing his glance to his lap. he's fisted virgil's hoodie into a bunch he keeps curled in his free hand, with a white-knuckled grip.
"i," patton says, and swallows hard, trying to stop his voice from trembling. he can't say anything at all, and it reminds him unpleasantly of the argument, where he was lost for words, and he couldn't say anything, and he tried so hard to say something and when he did it wasn't good enough, and he swallows again, trying to search for something to say—
"you did nothing to deserve that," his dad says, and patton looks up, then, and oh. oh, his dad's eyes are... suspiciously shiny. "you did nothing to earn that."
"dad," patton barely manages to say around how choked up he is. the only time he ever saw his dad shed a tear was at his grandfather's funeral—and even then, it had only been a few, before he'd wiped off his face and continued stolidly onward.
"i was being unfair," he says, rigid and unyielding. "i shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you, much less in such an extreme way. i lost my composure."
"yes," emily says. "so. we are sorry that we were upset, and we made it so that you were upset you, too."
it dawns on patton, then.
they're so bad at this. like, genuinely, they're terrible at apologizing. they've hit almost everything on the stereotypical "what not to do while apologizing list." they apologized that he got upset, not for the things they said that made him upset. they've been snappy and irritable, and sure, a little emotional, but he's pretty sure telling the person you're apologizing to to be quiet is also a thing not to do. they've been uncomfortable, not with their past actions, but with the words they're saying now.
but honestly? it's the first time they've apologized to him. so no wonder they're bad at it. baby steps, he supposes, and this is a big one. it's the first one. plus, being bad at being humble and nice is kind of quintessential to the way the elder sanders' are. it's comforting, in a really weird way.
"why are you smiling like that?" emily says suspiciously.
patton smiles wider. "nothing," he says reassuringly.
"well, you're certainly smiling for some reason," she says peevishly. "the least you could do is sit and listen politely without looking like the cat that's gotten the cream, patton, for goodness' sake—oh!"
the reason she's said oh! is because patton's leaned almost all the way off the bed to hug her around the shoulders with his free arm. he sets his chin on her shoulder.
"i love you, mom," he says sincerely.
"oh," she says, and her hand flutters uselessly somewhere along his shoulder blade. "oh, well, that's—how nice."
patton grins even wider, because it's just such a mom thing of her to do, to be so at a loss during an emotional moment. he draws back, and grins at his dad. "i won't hug you, but i hope you know i'm thinking about it."
"it's appreciated," his father says solemnly.
patton settles back on his pillows, cheeks hurting. "i forgive you, by the way," he adds. "if it needs to be said."
"well, good," emily says, self-satisfied, as if she's succeeded in auctioning for a particularly rare piece of antique furniture. or, well. as if she's the cat that got the cream.
"how was it?" he asks, curious. "having logan spend the week over."
richard and emily exchange a glance.
"eventful," emily decides, and richard nods in agreement, before he reaches to take one of the abandoned newspapers from the pile logan's compiled for him, and patton almost laughs.
it doesn't take very long for the kid in question to show up at the door, with a diner owner and his best friend in tow, virgil adjusting the chairs in patton's room, before taking a seat himself.
virgil reaches out and takes patton's hand, like it's habit, before he freezes. patton smiles at him, though, and squeezes back, flipping their hands a little so that he can stare at virgil's hand.
he guesses they must have held hands for the first time last night, when he was too feverish to really tune into it. but he takes the time now to marvel quietly at virgil's hands.
logan and roman start talking about roman's opening show of the nutcracker last night, so everyone else is paying attention to that, and patton's absorbing the information, really, but he's a bit preoccupied with virgil's long, bony fingers, his expansive palm, the way he keeps stealing looks at patton out of the corners of his eyes, like he's checking that patton's alright.
there's dozens of tiny little shiny white burns dotting his fingers, from points where the heat must have leaked through a mitt or he'd forgotten a mitt altogether, or something. there's a longer one, along his wrist. it kind of surprises patton, because he knows how cautious virgil is with heat in the kitchen. he's got calluses and his hand’s a bit sweaty, but warm, and patton squeezes his hand again—an it's okay, an i'm okay, an everything's going to be okay, an i'm really happy you're here right now. a thank you. an i love you.
and virgil squeezes back.
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Grilled Cheese
Para: Grilled Cheese
Who: Vitya Cristo & Monty Prescott @montyprescottjoy
When: June 27th, 2020
Where: Vitya’s apartment
What: Vitya, mid-manic episode, goes grocery shopping for food beyond candy. Monty is waiting, unannounced, in his dorm room. They tip-toe through conversation, yet again, unable to break down each other’s walls. That does not mean boundaries aren’t broken, though...
Triggers: Suicide, Drug use, Abuse, Sexually Explicit
VITYA
Vitya was cursing to himself as he walked to his dorm room. Something processed him that morning, something gripped his gut and it would not go away; Go buy groceries. Vitya never bothered, just eating junk food. he figured, if he wasn't going to live long, why bother taking care of himself? He had no idea how to cook, anyway, so this could be a complete failure. the only guide he had was the 'diet recommendations' his doctor had, buying everything he could find on that list. His wallet was looking thin now. He opened his dorm door, noticing a familiar pair of shoes by it; Monty had let himself in. Vitya didn't mind. It felt... nice coming back to his dorm, knowing someone was there waiting for him. Even if it was Monty, of all people. Now that he thought about it, the voice in his head, telling him to do this, was less his own just telling him to get groceries, but more Monty's voice. 'Eat some real food, asshole' was more appropriate. Knowing the other man was likely in his bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and opened his bedroom door. Unceremoniously, he dropped one of the bags on the bed, the contents of apples, lettuce, and a loaf of bread spilling out.
"Get up. You're teaching me how to cook."
MONTY
Monty had been waiting for Vitya, he was rather surprised when he'd gotten no answer at the door and part of him was worried by that. as far as Monty knew Vitya didn't spend the night with clients so it was concerning to not get an answer this early in the day. It was barely lunchtime. Monty often showed up here without any warning these days and this was the first time there had been non answer. Monty pulled a small tool from his wallet and jimmied the lock, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might see him breaking in but luckily the dorms were quiet because it wasn't quite official move in day yet so only returning students were even on campus.
Monty looked around the dorm as he entered quietly, toeing off his shoes so he wouldn't make much noise just incase Vitya was still asleep. Monty found the apartment empty which made his stomach fall in disappointment. He huffed but decided to wait, after all it wasn't like he had anything better to do than hang around with the younger man for the day. Not that he would admit he wanted to spend the day here, just that he had nothing else going on with no classes to keep him out of trouble at the moment when he wasn't working on his research project.
Monty took a peek in the refrigerator and couldn't even find a beer. He grumbled under his breath about Vitya having finished off the last case he'd left here and flopped down on the bed. He let his mind wander as he laid there and was half asleep, face buried in Vitya's pillow when he was shocked from his sleep by the sound of Vitya's footsteps and a bag of groceries hitting his leg.
"The fuck asshole?" He groused, voice thick with sleep and hair sticking up in every direction. "Where the fuck ya been man? What with the bag attack?" He huffed, brow raised suspiciously at the food that had rolled out of the bag.
VITYA
Vitya couldn't help but laugh to the state of Monty. His disheveled hair, the sleepy tone of voice, the huffing and puffing. "I went shopping. I actually paid for something, for once." He stepped to the edge of the bed, leaning over and petting his hair back, kissing his forehead. "Come on, you're going to show me how to make something." Vitya said, standing back up and grabbing the tossed bag and walking outside the bedroom.
"I was able to grab you a bottle, too. I had to smuggle it out, since you Americans have moronic age gates for that, but I still got it," Vitya said, placing the bags on the table and starting to unpack. An array of healthy foods, fruits, grains, meat, as well as a few bags of candy, more due to Vitya's love of sweets and impulse to buy them. "I have no idea what I am doing with all of this, so I hope you at least know something. I'd rather learn from someone in person than a Youtube video," Vitya admitted, reaching into his left boot and pulling out the bottle of bourbon he stole. He set it to the side, for Monty to go at whenever he wanted.
MONTY
Monty hummed softly in appreciation of the gentle forehead kiss that helped bring him back to the land of the living and batted Vitya’s hand away playfully.
“So you’re telling me ya didn’t just raid a vending machine damn kid what is this a special occasion?” Monty laughed teasingly. He’d never see this much food in Vitya’s apartment and he couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man was finally taking his own illness seriously by actually trying to live a healthy lifestyle.
“I see! The truth is finally out. The prince of poison himself doesn’t know how to cook. that’s why he lives on a diet of candy!” Monty actually laughed out loud, messing with Vitya and using his childhood nickname against him.
“I ain’t exactly master chef ya know. I don’t just eat take out around you, but Nikko did teach me some shit an’ I do have my own famous grilled cheese I can show ya real east an it looks like ya got all the stuff for it. I see ya couldn’t resist ya sweet shit though.” Monty teased as he spied the candy while collecting the ingredients for a good grilled cheese and starting to throw the rest slightly haphazardly into the refrigerator out of habit, not thinking (or more like not allowing himself to think) how helpful he was being by doing it without being asked or forced. “Good call on the bourbon.” Monty moaned eying the label. “Ya got any ice goin in the freezer or do I gotta wait to have a glass of this?”
VITYA
Vitya laughed to himself, shrugging at Monty's question. "Not sure... You're here fairly often, and we always eat, figured I can have something here," Vitya noted, still pulling out various items. He looked at a rather girthy cucumber with a twinkle in his eye. "Thought of you," he joked, setting it on the counter.
Vitya could not control his impulsive laughter, this one making his eyes crinkle, his cheeks turn pink. "Shut up, I was a pampered prick. I never lived somewhere without a personal cook until moving America- Imagine my horror!" he said with both sarcasm as well as self-reflective truth. Feeding himself was hard at first, and that challenge made his diet of candy an easy choice. Nevermind what it did to his emotional state, eating junk all the time. It wasn't the cause of it but it certainly didn't help.
"Well, I am not expecting high cuisine here. You have just... lived more than I have, and if anyone is going to teach me how to be better at this 'feeding yourself' thing, it would be you." There were little butterflies in his stomach as that sentence came out. It was tart to say, sour but sweet. Monty had such a riviting life, of mob hits and gun fights and a brother he would die to protect. To Vitya, it was a far more exciting life than his. His eyes wandered to where Monty was helping him put the groceries away, tossing them inside. Hey, as long as they were edible, he didn't care where they ended up. First step was actually eating them, not organizing them like colors of socks. "Of course I do, Red Bull with vodka demands ice. It's in the freezer," the pointed to the top compartment.
Vitya collected the plastic bags, shoving them under the sink to be used as trashbags later. He grabbed his precious bags of candy and placed them on his desk, having to move some jars of dirty water and ink to give them a spot. He walked back to the kitchen, playfully resting his chin on Monty's shoulder. "So, are you going to make me watch you make the grilled cheese, or are you going to recreate the pottery scene in Ghost?"
MONTY
"Tryin' ta tell me ya sick of take out? Fuckin' sure they can cook more than me, but unless ya highness has a money tree we do need to cut down," Monty cocked his head, and stuck out his tongue in a way that wasn't exactly common with him but he was still a little pliant from sleep in a way that was also unusual so it seemed his guard was down for a change... though it didn't last long as he made his next quip he instantly felt his own insides shatter... "or ya need ta be takin' ya ass ta work more." Monty instantly bit his own lip. There was a time he didn't care about Vitya's job, he understood doing whatever a person needed to do to make money but now the thought of Vitya going out and doing that made him feel sick in a way he didn't understand. Monty turned away feeling himself blush, he never blushed.
Monty only looked back when he saw the cucumber waiving in his peripheral vision and he was finally able to laugh again, to took the produce from Vitya and lewdly imitated the motions of a handjob on the length of it before throwing it into the refrigerator with the rest.
"Fuckin' fine. Grilled cheese it is. It's one-a the first things Nikko showed me, figure if he let me do it you can too, and I throw slices or tomatoes in there so it counts for vegetables or whatever." Monty shrugged off Vitya's comment about having 'lived more'. He didn't find his life something to be proud of something people should be interested in, to him it represented the very worst of his memories and as much as he used his mob connections as a shield; something to terrify others with, it was the thing he was most ashamed of.
Monty looked away from Vitya, keeping his eyes downcast as he moved around the kitchen area collecting a glass, ice, and the bottle of bourbon. He took a deep swig before pouring a half glass and topping it with ice. Monty leaned back into Vitya's body when he hooked his chin on a shoulder, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the younger mans jaw. "If by that ya mean forgettin' the food and going to the fuckin' I ain't complainin' but if ya wanna eat today ya better gimme a frying pan and the bread and butter." He chuckled.
VITYA
"What, and you aren't? There are only so many fucking times I can eat chinese food, or afford to." Vitya joked again, giving Monty the middle finger at him sticking his tongue out. The playful warmth between them froze like Hell in a blizzard, for a split second, when Monty let slip his addendum. Vitya's jaw locked a moment; it had been a long time. His last 'paycheck' was three days before his hospital visit, nearly two months ago. Vitya never said anything, but he was strapped for cash. "Let me worry about that," he said, in a somber tone. The reality was, Vitya knew nothing else. He had no other practical skills beyond sex, but he was having so much fun with Monty, feeling better than he ever felt, both inside and out- He didn't want to fuck someone else. Vitya had to be rational; he needed cash. And he wasn't going to take it from Monty anymore. So, whoring himself out it is.
The tone met in the middle, lukewarm, as Vitya watched Monty pour his drink, feeling the other man's warmth against him made it so tempting for Vitya to let his hands wander, maybe jerk Monty off from behind, but he resisted, for now. He chuckled, returning the kiss on his jaw with a lick up the shell of Monty's ear, biting the lobe and then letting it go. "Alright, hold on," Vitya said, letting Monty go, searching through the cupboards for a frying pan. he eventually found one, handing it to the other man along with the items he asked for.
"Normally I would take you up on the 'skip food, just fuck' thing, but the last time I ate anything was when you were here last, so I figure I better not skip this time," Vitya admitted. It affirmed one thing; his grocery shopping today had nothing to do with Monty coming to visit. Vitya had no idea he would be there today. He didn't buy it for when Monty was there; he bought it for when he wasn't. For when Vitya was on his own, not caught under Monty's eye, who Vitya knew watched him eat...
"Tell you what; once we're done here, I'll blow you. As long as you want."
MONTY
"Fuck, fine, okay, sendin' Nikko ta LA hurt my wallet an' I'm even more on the outs with pops after refusin' ta do a job for him but I should be gettin' some cash at the end of summer for this project I'm workin' on if I get all the fuckin' math figured out. That or we go Breaking Bad in here an' I start cookin' my own shit." Monty laughed dryly. Humour fizzling out as he mentally took stock of his current savings. Yes his graduate program got him room and board thanks to the scholarship prize but it barely stretched beyond the apartment rental. Textbooks and equipment in his field were not cheep.
"Ya know, ya could think about sellin' some of this." Monty gestured to the art littering the room. He actually did appreciate Vitya's art more than he would ever feel comfortable voicing and the thought of Vitya selling that rather than his body was oddly comforting in a way he couldn't understand never mind explain.
A shiver ran up Monty's spine thanks to the heat of Vitya's breath and the kiss in return. A blush raised in his cheeks and he cleared his throat distractedly, trying to refocus himself on the task at hand.
"Fuck Vitya, it's been two full days." Monty sighed heavily, wanting to punch the other boy for his idiocy but not wanting to expose his concern, already berating himself for the words he'd let slip so he kept the anger in check as best he could as he attempted to butter the bread gently so it wouldn't tear it up.
"Al'ight sounds like a fair exchange," Monty grinned, feeling more relaxed as their easy banter set back in. "Want ya ta swallow it too, look so fuckin' hot when ya swallow it down for me, pretty boy..." Monty couldn't help the words slip out as Vitya's lips caught his eye, reminding him of the image that was Vitya's lips red and puffy...
VITYA
Vitya snapped his fingers at Monty, in a small 'told you' sort of way. Monty was stretching himself, too; all the more reason Vitya needed to get back out there and work. Monty at least had a plan, one that involved his career, uplifting himself. It was admirable. His train of thought was interrupted at Monty's suggestion, eyes rolling over the mounds of art he had made. He grimaced. "Really? It's all depressive ramblings and... I don't know, devil worship? That's a niche market if I ever heard of one." He said. In all honesty, Vitya had no faith in his own work. He only chose it as a major so then he could get into this college; it was either that or be homeless, so Vitya chose college.
Vitya could hear the concern in Monty's voice. Instead of give in, he just smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, well... I'm working on it." he spoke softly, returning Monty's concern with a hopeful optimism. A rare form, in Vitya's case, the emotional vulnerability making his heart pound. "It takes a lot, sometimes, just to get out of bed, so the fact I made it to the store and back? I call that a win," Vitya threw his hands into the air, hoping this conversation would end here. He didn't want to talk about his mental health, or his behavior, right now. He wanted to make food with Monty, and ignore the past two days entirely.
"Mmmn," Vitya teased back, licking his lips when they caught Monty's eye. "Oh, I will, if you..." Vitya leaned to Monty's ear again, sliding his hands down's Monty's arms. "...Slide your cock so far down my throat, it makes my body freeze, and my head go all fuzzy-" He cut himself off, stealing Monty's glass of bourbon a moment and backing away, taking a sip before putting the glass back where it was. "Don't get too distracted, " he teased, motioning to the task at hand. "You need to earn it!"
MONTY
"Hey stop thinkin' so hard over there, ya know I can mock up some financial documents for ya, that's how I cleaned up freshman year, been doin' ma dad's taxes an' shit for years, the man's an ass but we know how ta play the system." Monty laughed, he'd never told anyone but Nikko about this and even then it was only recently, after he started college. Yet he didn't question the way he was opening up to Vitya, it just seemed natural and somehow he knew Vit wouldn't snitch.
"Nah man, crazy old collectors go mad for this shit. An' if tryin' ta sell legitimately doesn't work gettin' ya shit inta an established gallery is a scam I could work easy." Monty winked, letting his mind wander down the road of imagination. Even if scamming was part of his horrid upbringing it was something he often genuinely enjoyed. The thrill got his heart racing. Though that could just be from Vitya's proximity... Monty cleared his throat "Got a knife for cheese or did ya get craft slices?" he asked, concentrating more than necessary on the pan heading up and melting the glob of butter he'd thrown in.
"Did someone fuckin' sneak happy pills in ya mornin' red bull? Ain't seen ya this fuckin' optimistic since the idea of havin' my cock up ya ass" Monty teased, but it was soft, almost kind, pleased to see the younger man in a light he wasn't used to. Having someone to connect with, who understood his pain was one of the best things about Vitya, after fucking of course, but seeing him hopeful did something to Monty he hadn't experienced before except with Nikko... it made him proud. But even deeper than with Nikko it also made warmth stir in his belly.
"Fuck..."Monty groaned shamelessly at Vitya's response, that familiar tingling racing through his body, making his dick twitch in response, his head fell back onto Vitya's shoulder and he pressed his ass back against the taller man's dick instinctively.
His body instantly felt cold when Vitya moved away and he had to press his hands hard onto the counter to regain his composure.
VITYA
Vitya shook his head. "Temping, I don't want charity... As nice as your offer is," Vitya added on the end, not wanting to sound ungrateful at Monty's offer. It was kind of him, and Vitya had no idea what to do with that. Vitya had nothing to offer Monty beyond sex, and yet he wasn't asking for anything by offering this to him. At home it was 'Smile for the camera and you get a treat', a concept that Vitya still used to this day with his prostitution.
Vitya laughed for a moment, a air of disbelief on his face. "You would scam my way into a gallery? I went to so many useless galas and balls at art galleries growing up, the people at those were posh and snarky and... gross. You think you can trick that crowd into thinking my depraved, sexual, borderline rancid work is high class?" Vitya reached into a nearby drawer, handing him one of the knives inside. The drawer was disorganized, taking a moment to find it.
"This is just... normal," Vitya said, cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm low, sometimes really low, for a few weeks and then, boom. Really, really high for a few days. It comes in waves. My professors back home would say I was 'manic'," Vitya explained. He had never gone to a therapist, psychologist, nothing. With his physical health being so poor, he hid all he could about his mental health. But with Monty, away from home, feeling more free than ever... He was able to talk about it. For the first time in his life, someone knew he had a problem.
A tingle of power went down Vitya's spine as he watched Monty fumble before him. It made him feel so strong, like he could take on the world, when he had Monty like this. In the palm of his hand... "Don't let the thought of me circling my tongue on your tip distract you too much. Go on, I want to learn how to make your sandwich..." he teased, grabbing a jelly bean from one of his many, many candy bowls and slowly sliding it onto his tongue.
MONTY
“Ain’t like I’d be the one giving ya money, just a few fake documents ta have the school giving ya what ya need.” Monty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to try and scam a huge business like a university. His perception of what constituted ‘a big deal’ was extremely warped thanks to his upbringing. Kindness, selflessness, compassion were things that terrified him as much as if not more than putting a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger but fraud was nothing.
Monty shrugged, continuing to work on the food as if it really wasn’t a big ask. “Sounds easy enough, those bougie pricks are easy ta manipulate, they’re like fuckin toddlers always wanting new entertainment and bein possessive little fuckers.” He laughed. “We’d persuade some hot dude who can pull off that mysterious shit ta play the part of you an’ charm his way into those inner circles with a bit of blackmail and the promise of a small cut.” Monty mused, letting his mind run wild planning a con. It had been a while since he’d done anything more than running drugs and the potential had his mind buzzing.
Monty listened closely to Vitya explaining some of what went on in his head. It was similar to how he felt when he was taking drugs regularly, but those feelings were chemically induced highs and lows not his own brain chemistry and he had heard enough from Nikko to know what Vitya was describing wasn’t healthy or normal but he had no idea what to do or say and it terrified him.
He did the only thing he could think of. He put down the knife and turned into Vityas arms and placed a hand on the taller boys neck, his thumb resting on his sharp jawline and kissing him hard. Not sexually and filled with desire but firm and filled with promise even though he had no idea what he was promising.
“Fuck you!” Monty tried to sound threatening at Vitya’s teasing but it came out breathless almost like a whine and he couldn’t even gather his thoughts enough to care how pathetic it sounded.
VITYA
"And I'm telling you, I don't need it," Vitya said again, this time more firmly. "You already have given me enough money, I don't need you goading the university to give it to me, too." He said, hoping this would be the end of it. Knowing Monty, he would bring it up again, butt hat was for another time.
Vitya snapped his head to Monty, a curious, and fake-offended look on his face. "What, you don't think I could pull it off? I've played The Game before, Monty. I've wowed a crowd or two. Mainly at my father's request, but if I can convince money-hungry dogs that I was, indeed, the perfect son with full intent to take over his business, I can con some art hacks into thinking I'm some bougie personality," Vitya glanced at his art again, pursing his lips.
Vitya was shocked at first, at Monty's sudden burst of affection, but didn't refuse it. He kissed back, with a similar fervor, taking Monty's waist with one hand and his hair with the other. He gripped tightly, wanting nothing more than to strip him down, there and then. It was so hard to resist.
"You really want it bad, don't you?" he whispered, the hand on Monty's waist sliding to the obvious bulge in his pants. "Really, really bad," he continued, sliding his hand up and down. Fuck, this is what Vitya needed! That dominating power, that hold on Monty like a vice. He could get drunk from this... "Be a good boy and finish cooking. Then, whatever you want. You'll be a good boy, right?"
MONTY
"Thought I was payin' for a service." Monty raised a brow trying to read Vitya but he didn't press any further no matter how much he wanted to. To be good at illicit activities you needed at least some level of perception and he'd quickly learned when not to push Vitya if he didn't want it to turn into a fight though he was still more in the dark about this guy than he would like.
Monty laughed. "I've got no doubt the littlest prince could pull it off but do ya want all them jerk-offs knowin' ya face? Aren't ya supposed ta be hidin' from Daddy? Figured ya'd be tryin' not ta draw attention to yaself but whatever we'll throw ya ta the dogs if that's what ya want." He rolled his eyes, feeling as though Vitya was only pushing this to prove a point and he didn't feel like fighting. Monty knew all about trying to be the perfect son but his families idea was far different than the Cristo family.
Monty held Vitya tight, the hand not at his neck was wrapped tight around his waist keeping them close. He let his eyes close and leaned their foreheads together in a comforting, intimate gesture once their lips broke apart. To some sex was intimate, but to him these soft gestures were more than he could bare. Usually.
"Always want you," Monty gasped out, losing himself to the feel of Vitya surrounding him. The taller man was taking over all of his senses and the thought of cooking completely left his mind as he tried to thrust his hips forward to find more friction for his fully hard cock. Vitya had power over him like nobody else and all he wanted to do was give himself over willingly and have someone take care of him in every way. Monty shivered with the words ''good boy" and he whined shamelessly. "Y-Yes." He forced out.
VITYA
Vitya looked at Monty with an unblinking stare, a mile long, navigating the words that came out of Monty's mouth. He broke eye contact a moment, licking his lips. "You aren't giving me more money." There. Final. Done.
Vitya shook his head. "Not really hiding anymore. He paid my hospital bills, sends me these medications he wants me on, but aren't FDA approved. He knows where I am. Why he hasn't come after me... I have no idea. I think he knows if I see him again, I will make damn sure he can't find me..." Vitya stopped, his hands balled into fists as he went on. he let the pressure go, breathing his fury out. "Besides, I don't want some rando claiming my work, even if we pay them."
Vitya continued palming Monty's erection, his wrist changing the angle every few strokes, letting Monty practically hump his hand. "Good. Then," Vitya turned Monty back around, but this time, pressed his chest to Monty's back, lightly grinding his own hard cock against his lower back. His hands were on Monty's hips again, but this time, one went up to play with his belt buckle. "You keep going, and the more you do, the more I do," he said. With the pace of a snail, Vitya started pulling at Monty's belt, slowly starting to take it off. He stopped, just before the last of the belt left the metal buckle. "See? Look what being such a good boy got you... So much closer to your reward."
MONTY
Monty rolled his eyes but dropped the subject, seeing it wasn't worth fighting anymore right now.
He took a moment to absorb Vitya's words on the subject of his father trying to process it. "So no Bratva followin' ya around?" Monty tried to tease, shying away from talking about fathers, it was an uncomfortable subject and he tried to block out the memories of the the last time his father had contacted him because his threats were still hanging over his head and he was both scared and glad his father hadn't yet followed up on the threats. "We'll make ya the perfect little Russian gentleman an' have 'em fawnin' all over ya." Monty chuckled, redirecting his attention to the image of Vitya suited and booted for a fancy party. It was a good image.
All the thoughts of scamming and scheming were driven from his mind as Monty tried his best to move his concentration back to the task at hand. The pan was smoking from the time he had been distracted, usually he was more than capable of preparing the food while the pan warmed but not today. A strangled moan left Monty's throat at the feel of Vitya's hard cock sliding against his ass. He had to clench his fists the stop them shaking from desire before he could turn down the heat on the burner and put together the sandwiches. He layered the cheese and tomato between the bread waiting for the pan to get back to a proper cooking temperature. "More, please...." He whined, trying to buck his hips up to the hands that were so close yet so far. He loved and hated how quickly Vitya could reduce him to begging. Monty Prescott did not beg for anyone. Except for this man.
VITYA
"If they are following me, they are doing a good job keeping themselves hidden," Vitya said, noticing that this was a subject neither of them wanted. Good, this was uncomfortable. Both of them had difficult connects with their fathers, and neither wanted to talk about the details too much. Yet one more thing they could agree on. Vitya smirked and ran his fingers in his hair, rolling his eyes. "You just want me in a suit," he teased.
Vitya watched Monty try so hard to keep it together. He really was doing everything Vitya said, without question. He was trembling, and each little shake made Vitya feel so damn powerful. Vitya kissed and sucked at Monty's neck, watching his hands work. When he whined, Vitya smiled against his skin. He gracefully unbuckled the last of Monty's belt, letting it dangle by the loops. His hands were on Monty's jeans, two fingers sliding up and down the length of his zipper. "Almost there," he whispered, undoing the button and peeling the zipper apart. Vitya's finger's danced over the elastic of his underwear, tracing circles around his confined cock through the thin fabric. "You're doing so well, so close. Such a good boy.”
MONTY
"We could throw a few Cugine on ya see if they find anythin'." Monty mused, though thinking how badly that ended after putting a few young idiots on Sam and it ending with him being robbed and putting him and Nikko on the outs. But it was worth it to protect someone he cared about... wait no he couldn't go that deep... but another thought cut him off as he realised it was too late now...
Monty winked, "Wouldn't say no ta that, bet ya look hot as fuck." He licked his bottom lip teasingly, letting his eyes roam Vitya's lithe body.
Standing there Monty felt completely powerless. Usually it was a feeling he hate more than any other. For his whole life he'd craved complete control because he'd been stuck under his fathers thumb doing things he hated but giving up control to Vitya was freeing. He didn't have to make tough calls and painful decisions because here was someone doing it for him, keeping him safe and steady. He didn't hate this because in the end the things Vitya was making him do were things he wanted to do, he'd just never understood how to ask...
Monty felt completely consumed by Vitya who's body was all over him; fingers, lips, chest, dick. He sloppily threw the two sandwiches into the pan and prodded them with a spatula he'd spotted in the draw Vitya had opened to find a knife so they didn't stick. Monty's body was getting hotter and hotter, every inch of him was tingling with too much not enough as Vitya touched and teased him. "Please man fuckin' touch me" He groaned, letting go of the pan handle and reaching back to fist his hand into Vitya's hair. "Been good, please, more." He keened, wiggling his hips, trying to grind back on Vitya's cock to get him as desperate for more as Monty himself was.
VITYA
Vitya cocked an eyebrow. "No. If I'm in danger, I run. Simple as that. I don't need protecting," Vitya said, in the same tone he uses when he is annoyed. The type of annoyed when someone asks how he is feeling, or if he is taking his meds. It felt like he was being babied, and having wanna-be mobsters keeping an eye on him? No, he'll brave it on his own.
Vitya's heart was pounding. He had this man, who was so loud and strong and independent, around his finger, whimpering and begging for release. He wasn't pushing, either, to get it himself, he was letting Vitya choose when. Vitya sighed on Monty's neck when he grabbed his hair, biting his lip and letting Monty rut against his crotch. The friction of the fabric made it so hard to saw no... But if anything was going to happen, he needed the energy to do so. And that meant eating before getting busy.
Vitya's fingers slid under Monty's waistband, fingers now touching the bare skin of his cock. He was warm, hard, and Vitya could feel Monty quivering. "Shh, shhh," he shushed in Monty's ear, slowly starting to pull his waistband down. "You're almost done, look," Vitya motioned to the food in the pan, cooking away. Vitya's hand coiled around Monty's cock, finally freeing it of it's cloth cage, and with an agonizing slow pace, his hand slid up Monty's shaft. "So hard for me, and waiting so patiently... Can you wait till after I eat? Just a little bit longer, for my mouth on your aching cock?"
The way Monty was shivering had Vitya's head going wild. All the things he wanted to do to the other man became possible realities, and not just his sick, twisted fantasies. And Vitya, being a man of unsound mind, grew a devilish look on his face. "If you wait, like a sweet, good little boy, then I'll fuck you, too," he whispered, his free hand slowly sliding down the back of Monty's jeans.
He made sure to give every opportunity for Monty to stop him, in case this was too far. "Would you like that? Would my good boy wait for my cock in his ass? Will he?..."
MONTY
Monty groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine man, whatever." He groused. Vitya was being rather stubborn tonight and as annoying as he found it, he was rather impressed with his determination and pride. Maybe Vitya would find it in himself to apply those trait to his will to live. Monty could only hope.
Monty felt as though he was quite literally losing his mind the way Vitya was teasing him. It was almost painful. He' never felt need this intense before. It was driving him wild. The praise was doing something he had never experienced before and it was maddening yet wonderful. Part of him wanted to snap and make Vitya stop talking to him like he was a kid but a far louder part of his mind was screaming for more and had fire coursing through his veins.
"Feels so good" Monty moaned when Vitya's finally touched his hard cock. It felt so much better than rubbing through his boxers even it was torturously slow. Monty bit his lip, trying his best not to let any more of those pathetic sounds out but it was a fruitless effort when Vitya began talking again. He should have hated it but he couldn't.
The dirty talk was something that should have reminded Monty of Schuyler, because it always had before now and would inevitably lead him to trying to shut the mouth of whoever he was fucking or make them leave all together, even if he did give himself blue-balls in the process. But right now there was no room in his mind for Schuy, he was completely consumed by Vitya.
Monty's body began to sing at the thought of Vitya fucking him. It had been so long since Mont had bottomed and it made him moan deep and loud, so loud that if it wasn't summer break they'd have neighbours banging on the walls to try to quieten them. "Yes, yes, fuck me, I'll do anything, please fuck me." He mewled, pushing his ass back against the hand moving over it. The word my had come from Vitya's mouth and served to make Monty evenmore desperate. The food was completely forgotten to him.
VITYA
“Yeah? Feels good?”Vitya asked, rhetorically. The shake of Monty’s body gave him all the clues he needed, every whimper a sign that Monty was enthralled with all of this. In fact, Vitya was, too. Most clients would pop in, pop out, end of story. Monty was unraveling at his touch, giving Vitya a burning passion in his gut.
Monty’s sudden moan, his cry of desperation, his begging to be fucked; Vitya nearly did it right there. His ass pushing back against him made Vitya growl in his ear, looking down at the hot stove, then back at Monty. “Fuck it,” Vitya said, turning the stove top off and making Monty put the cooking utensils. His hand was on Monty’s cock, stroking at a fast pace to keep his attention, the other hand coming around to hold Monty‘s chest.
“Listen to me. When I let you go, walk to the bedroom and strip. Get on the bed and wait for me. You can touch yourself, finger yourself, but if you come before I am inside you... Well, you’d be a bad boy. And you want to be a good boy, right?” Vitya spoke slowly. Normally he doesn’t get turned on by his own talk, but this was every fantasy he had been having about Monty since he left two days ago!
He stopped his stroking of Monty’s cock, spinning his finger around the head. He have Monty a few seconds before letting him go. Vitya turned his attention to the forgotten sandwich, deciding to leave it for now and grab an apple out of the fridge. The moment he was done with this was the moment he would follow Monty.
FADE TO BLACK
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BabyDaddy!Cal Pt.11
A/N: Helllooooo :) Ya girl has fully recovered from her food poisoning and whipped this up for you. Now, honestly it’s a bit shorter than the rest, but mainly because it’s a filler chapter. There’s A LOT of drama to come and those chapters will most definitely be longer, plus I wanted to get this out quick for making you all wait so long. So, you know 100 notes and feedback would be lovely. I hope yall love bugs enjoy💕
**WARNINGS**: None
Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty{END}
“Calum!” You giggled loudly as Calum placed kisses all over your face, trying to fight him off the best you could.
You loved moments like these where Calum would be playful and loving instead of the asshole he had recently grown into. After you had left the hospital Calum had been by your side constantly. He hadn’t allowed you out of bed in the past few days and even followed you to the bathroom if you needed to pee or shower. You wouldn’t be out of his sight for anymore than a few minutes before he’d come and cuddle up beside you. He even cooked and cleaned around the house for you without being asked to, and you usually could never get him to do either one.
“Cal!”
“Hmmm?”
“Get off!”
“No, I like giving you kisses.”
“Do you?”
“Mhmm…”
“Well, do you mind giving me kisses else where?” You’d smirk and Calum would pause at your words and would shiver as your hands trailed down his back.
“I uh…”
“Come on, babe, we haven’t done anything in a while. I need you.”
Calum didn’t know what to do. As you kissed his neck all he could think about what happened between him and Nia and how he had betrayed you. He didn’t want to have sex with you anymore. He didn’t want to touch you like that, especially not after he’d touched someone else like that. Not after he had been intimate with someone other than his girlfriend.
“I’m not really in the mood, Y/N.”
“Please, Cal. I haven’t had you since the promo tour. I’m horny.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Can I at least get some head if you’re not in the mood? I need at least that.”
“Y/N, I don’t think I want to…”
“What?!” You shouted with wide eyes.“You don’t want to eat me out?! That’s a first, oh my God!”
“Yeah."He’d laugh nervously."Are you hungry? I can run and get McDonald’s.”
“I’m hungry for something other than food, but since I apparently can’t have that then I want nuggets.”
“I’m sorry, princess. I’ll make it up to you.” He lied before he bolted out of the room.
You sighed and stared up at the ceiling, rubbing your six month belly out of habit. Another failed attempt at getting sex or any other sexual favor from Calum. You knew something was definitely wrong. When did that boy ever turn down sex? His sex drive was higher than anyone you know.
“What the hell is up with you, Cal?” You left the question floating in the air and hoped that you’d soon find the answer.
“Cal, why are you being weird?” Ashton questioned and he knew something was up the minute Calum began to chew on his lip and deny his accusations.
“I’m not-”
“You are and Y/N told me to ask why. She specifically told me that you won’t have sex with her.” He laughed lightly.“ Now, what’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing.”
“Calum, you’re tearing up.” Ashton sighed as he noticed Calum’s eyes beginning to glaze over with tears. Whatever was going on with him had to be major.“Cal-”
“I cheated.” He blurted and Ashton’s mouth gaped open and closed multiple times as he tried to find the right words. “I fucking..I fucking cheated on her and I can’t touch her like that anymore. I already hate myself more than you can possibly imagine, so you don’t have to give me shit about it.”
“I…you…Calum what the fuck? Are you fucking serious?!”
“Nia took advantage of me!” Calum shouted as more tears poured down his cheeks.“I was drunk as hell, but I knew what what was going on! I kept trying to get her to stop but she started- I just..it felt good and I gave in.” He hiccuped.“I regret it so much.”
“Why can’t you just stop doing stupid things for more than a few days? Why is it always something with you two?” Ashton spoke more to himself. “Y/N’s going to kill you.”
“Please don’t tell her.” Calum looked up from his hands.“Ashton, you can’t tell her!”
“Calum, this is something serious okay? She’s my friend, I can’t just not tell her!”
“I’ll tell her eventually,just don’t fucking tell her!” He cried. “I can’t lose her, especially not like this. She’ll hate me and I can’t handle that.”
“Calum-”
“Please!”
The blonde boy could see that his younger friend was truly sorry for what he did. He could see that he had been beating himself up about it, which would explain his sulking around his apartment. The problem was, would you be able to see it?
“Can you not?” Felix would laugh as Connor squeezed his butt playfully.
“Your butt is so nice, babe. The gym really pays off.”
“Stop fondling me in this mall.” Felix chuckled as he pushed away Connor’s hand and pulled him into his side.
The two walked around the mall like that for a few hours, the only time they’d part being when they had to try something on. Connor had suggested stopping in the food court and Felix noticed that he kept eyeing a specific black haired girl sitting and chatting with a blonde.
“Why does she look so familiar?”
“I don’t know.” Felix shrugged as he paid for the Mandarin Express plates they had gotten. “Stop staring Connor.”
“I’m trying to figure out who she is.” Connor grabbed their drinks and continued to stare at the stranger.
“She’s probably nobody. Are we eating here or-”
“That’s that bitch Calum’s cheating on Y/N with!” He whisper shouted and slapped his boyfriends shoulder multiple times.“Y/N looks so much better.”
“Calum’s not cheating on her, and stop being so loud.”
“He is, neither of you want to believe it.”
“Connor-”
“I’m going to talk to her.”
Felix’s eyes widened as his boyfriends pulled up the sleeves on his hoodie and made a beeline for Nia’s table. He couldn’t stop him due to the fact that he was holding their plates of food, so he followed closely behind trying to keep him from saying anything to her. To Felix’s dismay, Connor pulled out a chair and took a seat at their table, giving Nia the biggest fake smile he could muster up. Felix just knew that the lilac haired boy would cause trouble.
“Hello.” Connor greeted and the two girls gave him a weird look.
“Hi…Are you a fan?”
“Oh yeah, big fan.” He lied and held out his hand to shake hers, which she hesitantly shook.“I’m Connor, the best friend of Calum’s girlfriend.”
Felix almost laughed as he watched the girl’s face fall at his words.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh is right. Now, why are you talking to him?”
“He’s my friend.”
“Oh, right. Your "friend”.“ He held up air quotations as he said ‘friend’."Lets cut the to chase. Are you fucking him?”
Nia laughed at this question and Connor had to remind himself that although he was gay, this was a girl and he was still a boy.“Why is this any of your business?”
"Look here, bitch.” Connor glared and Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. Why must he always be so hostile?“Y/N is my best friend. Due to her being my best friend, her business is my business. So, if you’re sleeping with her idiot of a boyfriend you need to let me know right now before I call people to beat your ass.”
“Please don’t call anyone, babe.” Felix sighed, knowing that he was serious. “Answer him, please.”
With a slight laugh Nia looked at her friend who only shook her head and continued to tap away at her phone, not wanting to be apart of it.
“Well?”
“If you must know, sweetie,” she smirked at him,“I fucked him a couple of nights ago.”
Felix’s eyes would widen in shock as Connor leaped across the table and yanked Nia by her hair, causing multiple people to look over.
“You think it’s funny?!”
“You’re fucking crazy!”
“Connor, let her go!”
With Felix grabbing at Connor he eventually let go and picked up his bags and stormed off towards the entrance of the mall. Felix looked at Nia with disgust and gathered the food before following behind his boyfriend. He met Connor in the car and didn’t know what to say as the boy bounced his leg at an alarming rate. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Felix decided to try and calm him down.
“Connor-”
“I fucking told you he was cheating on her! I fucking told you!”
“I know, okay, just fuck. That wasn’t the right way to handle that!”
“Does it look like I care, Felix? I would’ve beat her ass if she wasn’t a girl!”
“I’m glad you didn’t, because I seriously don’t want to bail you out of jail.”
“We have to tell her.”
“No! Oh, God, no!”
Connor would look at Felix in shock as he shouted,“What the hell do you mean 'no’? She’s our best friend!”
“Fuck, I know, but this will destroy her! She’s been to the hospital because of stress twice now and the doctor told her that a third time could possibly be a miscarriage! How would we even tell her that he’s cheating on her anyway?!”
“Felix, I can’t just pretend I don’t know that Calum���s cheating on her!” Connor would cry.“I’m going to feel shitty!”
“Babe,” Felix sighed out, understanding his point on the matter,“I just want her to be happy for once. Ever since Y/N got pregnant she’s been almost miserable and-”
“I know.” Connor would interrupt and run his fingers through his hair.“We’re officially shitty best friends and she’ll disown us.”
“No she won’t.”
“She won’t, but she’ll be really upset with us.”
"Yeah…”
“She’ll find out soon enough though, right? It not like it’ll be a long time before she knows..?”
The two boys stared at the car in front of them in deep thought, not having a clue on what to do in this situation. If they told you then there’s a risk you would lose the baby and wallow in your misery and hatred for Calum. If they didn’t you’d be happy and possibly eventually find out which would have the same effect from the first option. Either way you were fucked and they had no idea on how to fix you before you were broken.
#calum hood#calum hood imagines#calum hood blurbs#calum hood one shots#calum hood fanfic#sugardaddy!cal#babydaddy!cal#5sos#5sos imagines#5sos one shots#5sos blurbs#5sos fanfic#five seconds of summer#five seconds of summer imagines#five seconds of summer one shots#five seconds of summer blurbs#five seconds of summer fanfic#luke hemmings#luke hemmings imagines#michael clifford#michael clifford imagines#ashton irwin#ashton irwin imagines
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EVAK FANFICTION RECS / PART 12
Hi, hello everyone! <3
It’s been a while since my last masterpost and I figured now would be the perfect time to post this anyway since... you know... after today, there will be no more of the real thing. So consider this as a kind of fix-it gift from moi, which you can devour when we’re all sad about the show ending. I would include the cheesy ‘Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened’ quote, but that would be kind of hypocritic since I’m already bawling my eyes out myself, so... yeah. Enjoy these fics at least! :)
Lastly, Skam might be ending, but I promise you we’re not going anywhere... As long as there are fics to recommend, we’ll be here with new rec lists at hand & ready to reply to all your asks/requests!
As always, the list is divided into oneshots and chaptered fics.
My personal favorites are tagged with a “ ★ ”.
Completed chaptered fics are tagged with a “ ✓ ”.
Now, without further ado, all the fics can be found under the cut. Have fun!
*
ONESHOTS:
i could probably just curl up in you. by milominderbinder
Summary: Isak is away at a cabin with the guys when he gets a text from Even. “hey, babe, did you take my favourite hoodie?” He is, of course, outraged that Even would accuse him of such treachery. The fact that Isak is wearing the hoodie at that very moment has nothing to do with it.
take it slowly darling, this time i'm feeling a change by ahana
Summary: The first time he saw Isak Valtersen.
It's Okay to Not be Okay by okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: Isak's thinking about the pieces of paper that Even still leaves him in the morning- about parallel universes and how he writes all these words that somehow are strung together to sound more articulate than Isak could ever make them sound- And it dawns upon him, what all of it means.
when your heart is bleeding, i'm coming to get you by cosetties ★
Summary: uni!au; Isak doesn't exactly expect his hookup from last week to be the love advice columnist at the school newspaper he's working at. He also doesn't expect to fall even harder for him than he already has, which is a shame, really, since Even's crushing on someone else.
i never sleep (‘cause sleep is the cousin of death) by Evenbechbaesheim
Summary: Isak’s just had enough. He can’t fucking sleep. It’s never been this bad, and with the doctors news, he fears it’s about to get a whole whole lot worse.
and now my heart is ready by verlore_poplap ★
Summary: Isak's only eighteen, Even proposes a lot, everybody cries and - surprisingly - no one makes a joke about Isak being a teenage bride.
scream for air to breathe by highpraises
Summary: “Can I fuck you?” Even asks, fingers mapping out the soft skin Isak bares to him, squeezing and kneading as he licks a stripe up his neck. “What else do you think I’m here for?” His voice is quiet and Even grins at him before pushing him back onto his bed. Even never dropped out of Bakka and meets 16-year-old Isak at a party.
the best place to begin by milominderbinder
Summary: It's funny how fast you develop habits when you live with someone.
Where There's Tea, There's Hope by colazitron
Summary: Isak knows how to boil water, he promises. He understands the basic concepts of physics, okay?
and i'm so proud (of being loved by you). by milominderbinder
Summary: Isak's eighteenth birthday is only three days before Oslo's pride parade. To Eskild, Even, and the rest of his ridiculous friends, this apparently makes it the perfect opportunity to combine celebrations.
almost like calling it love by piginawig
Summary: fake dating!au; “I have to go to the party,” he stated. “I have to show him that I’m okay, I’m pre-med with perfect grades and yeah, maybe I’m single, but-“ “What if you weren’t single?” Even said suddenly, biting his lip.Isak choked. “Um, what?” “Like, what if you took a boyfriend to the party?” “I don’t have a boyfriend, Even,” he said, frowning. Even didn’t look deterred. “What?” “I could be your boyfriend.” Isak choked again. “Like, pretend,” Even clarified, and Isak felt slightly sick.
I'd follow you anywhere by reasoniwantyoutostay
Summary: Even bounded up the 4 flights of stairs to their apartment. As he reached for his key to unlock the door he paused. Was that music coming from their apartment? He leaned his ear against the door and then pulled back with a confused look. Maybe Isak was watching TV? But why would he be watching that?
(Drunk) In Love by verlore_poplap
Summary: Isak falls in love at first sight. Too bad he's drunk off his ass when it happens.
The Dials of Life by wordsarelifealways
Summary: Isak has lived with Asperger's his whole life, and without a doubt his least favourite part is the hypersensitive times.
Who, With Pancakes, Is Poor? by colazitron
Summary: When Isak wakes up, it's to a warm, sunny day, and his boyfriend making pancakes. What could be better than that?
take it in your heart now, lover by cuddlesevak
Summary: Isak's date doesn't show up so he calls a cab, and the cute taxi dirver takes him to a lot of places in just one night.
the adventures of stanley the matchmaking parrot by hippopotamus ★
Summary: In which Even and Isak are ridiculously obvious, and Jonas’ wingman skills are second only to a parrot’s.
if you know you're in love and he feel like the one by highpraises
Summary: “Are we going to your place?” Isak asks, when they’ve been driving for just a couple of minutes. “Nah, my parents are home,” He says softly, running his thumb over the ridges of Isak’s knuckles. Isak’s brow furrows and he chews his lip to the side, humming lowly. “So… the car? We’ll park somewhere?” Isak asks, smiling shyly.
home is wherever i'm with you. by milominderbinder
Summary: Everyone seems to assume it's Even who asks first. Even is the romantic, after all; he's the one who does impulsive things, and he's the one who talks about the future like it's inevitable. It only makes sense that he'd be the one to first think up such a seemingly ill-advised idea. But actually, it's Isak who turns around one night when they're cuddling in Even’s bunk bed, Even’s hand twined in Isak’s curls and guitar music playing in the background, and asks, “Do you want move in together?”
La Ritournelle by Tristeza ★
Summary: Isak and Even are exes. A funeral brings them back together.
Forget The World by verlore_poplap ★
Summary: Hence, Isak resigned himself to being the ninth wheel and consoled himself with the knowledge that Even was always good for some solid kush and he'd just light up for four days straight. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded in Isak's head. Yeah. This weekend was going to be fucking awesome.
slid the panties right to the side, ain't got the time to take draws off by highpraises
Summary: A self indulgent (sexual) day in the life of Isak and Even.
Beat that Record by Dutten
Summary: Fuck Jonas. All of this is his fault. Fucking Jonas. Or, the one where Jonas tells the squad about making a girl come untouched more than once and Even gets ideas.
keys to the universe by idontshaveforsher_yesyoudo
Summary: "The day the pride parade takes place is beautiful.” Or, Isak and Even at pride. There's glitter, pan pride and dancing and everyone is happy.
you can keep me up (keep me up all night). by milominderbinder
Summary: neighbors!au; Isak Valtersen has a nemesis, and it's whoever lives above his room at the kollektiv. Every night, all he can hear is loud, endless mystery noises. Has his neighbour taken up carpentry? Trampolining? Raising cats? Whatever it is, Isak is both pissed off and sleep deprived, and it's not a good combination.Unfortunately, most of that anger goes away the moment he meets Even Bech Næsheim. He might be a bit too cute to count as a nemesis.
i fill the tub up halfway then ride it with my surfboard by highpraises ★
Summary: Isak turns his head, and looks directly into Even’s eyes for the first time since he sank into the tub. “You’ll take care of me,” Isak says stupidly. “Yes,” Even agrees immediately. He leans forward and kisses Isak on the mouth, and then adds, “Endlessly.” “Take care of me,” Isak whispers, lids heavy and breaths coming out quicker already.
you're the one i wanna grey with by cosetties ★
Summary: They've only been dating a month, so Isak shouldn't be pathetic enough to miss Even this much when he's only gone for a weekend. They're taking this completely chill, but Isak is starting to realize that he has no chill when it comes to Even.
hey good looking, what you got cooking. by milominderbinder
Summary: “The first rule of cooking,” Even says, looking Isak very seriously in the eyes and handing him a spatula, “Is to always be prepared for anything.” Isak blinks. He accepts the spatula, but considering they aren't even stood in the kitchen yet, he's not particularly sure what he's supposed to do with it. “I feel like that's not the first rule of cooking. Isn't the first rule of cooking probably something to do with not giving people food poisoning or chopping your finger off with a meat knife or something?”
would you do me the honors? by cammm
Summary: Even loves Isak. So much that he's going to ask him to marry him. He gets some of their friends involved to help him make this happen. He wants everything to be perfect. Isak gets a text from Even telling him to come meet him in the bathroom they met at Nissen. Confused, Isak goes. Only, Even isn't there. Jonas is. Which leads him here and there collecting roses and notes at locations that hold memories. Many of the big pivotal moments for Isak and Even are revisited, leading up to an Evak proposal.
Call me when you've broken up with your girlfriend. by kingkylo
Summary: What if Even had never showed up to Isak's place the night of that pre-game? What if Isak learned to move on, and three years later, gets a message from an unknown number. And that number just so happens to be Even.
Home by unsungyellowraincoat
Summary: Eskild visits Isak and Even's home for the first time.
another breath and i'm up another level. by milominderbinder
Summary: They pass the joint back and forth for a little while, mostly quiet, until they've both had enough to start feeling a little buzzed. It's a cool summer evening, not cold but with a gentle breeze washing over them through the open doors, and they have nowhere to be. Nothing is urgent, and right in that moment, they can both just completely chill. Then Even looks up and says, “Wanna shotgun?” Isak’s mouth goes dry.
Hugs Heal All by smilexdarling
Summary: Isak and Even have an argument, so obviously they hug it out the next day like the soft boyfriends they are.
Hold On Tight, It's a Roller Coaster Ride We're On by sugarbeat24 ★
Summary: Isak finds himself in line for a roller coaster because of a bet. He meets Even, who is determined to help him concur his fears and help him win that bet! “And what was the bet exactly?” “That I wouldn’t be able to ride the Top Thrill Dragster without chickening out or throwing up,” Isak grimaced.
city of stars, are you shining just for me? by cuddlesevak
Summary: Isak and Even have sex for the first time and it's an emotional rollercoaster for both of them. One that ends up being the best thing that's ever happened.
i put my make up on, it's friday night and i won't be long by lovedisak
Summary: The first time Isak tries make up is when he's dating Sara. Or, Isak's journey wearing make up.
A cloud of smoke by ForEvenAndEver (yuraxchan)
Summary: “I've made a list of pros and cons of why you should stop smoking, babe.” Isak grabs a paper folded in four conveniently left on the table the night before, clears his throat and looks at Even to make sure he's listening. He is, of course. Although, he looks adorably confused this early in the morning. Isak stares at him for longer than necessary, admiring the view of Even with puffy eyes and his hair in disarray, still rumpled from sleep. Or, Isak tries to make Even stop smoking by using his charms as a distraction.
tell me who the fuck you wanna be by thekardemomme
Summary: In Isak's very, very short life, he's only kissed four people. He hasn't stopped kissing Even.
love must be made, and made new (all the time). by milominderbinder
Summary: After moving in to their new apartment together, Isak and Even go grocery shopping for the first time. Featuring: illegible shopping lists, Even's weird food obsessions, and a conversation about what, exactly, it takes to make a home.
Spaces Between Us by allyasavedtheday ★
Summary: Isak cuddles into him, nosing at Even’s cheek and leaning their temples together. “I think they miss you.” “Really?” he whispers, hardly daring to hope.Isak nods against him. “They asked if you’d want to see them again.” “What did you say?” “I said it’s up to you.” * A fix-it fic for Even's storyline in season 4.
boy, you make me make bad decisions by hippopotamus
Summary: uni!au; In which Isak is way too drunk, way too dramatic, and his ex is making out with someone else.
The Way To A Boy's Heart by GayaIsANerd
Summary: “Stop that, you’re messing up your hair, and we both know how much work that takes!” Isak took his hand and hugged Even from behind. “It’s good! Everyone loves your pasta. You don’t have to impress anyone, it’s just Sana and Yousef. It will be okay.” “Promise?” “Promise!”
Boys of Summer by XioNin
Summary: Even has no idea why he's standing in a room full of pretty, shirtless boys, but he is not complaining.
i won't deny it, i'm not trying to hide it by highpraises
Summary: Even traces his fingers along the choker and Isak digs his nails into his shoulders as Even slips his fingers beneath it, tightening it just enough for Isak to squirm, his laughter dying out. “Even.” “Do you like that?” “Yes,” Isak whispers breathlessly. Or, snapshot fic of Isak and Even's sex life, featuring chokers.
take me over, take me in. by milominderbinder
Summary: Eskild is suddenly waving the order ticket in front of his face, and -- oh. Right there, in the little box on the online order form that says ‘Delivery instructions?’ someone has typed out, send the cute delivery boy. This is why Isak hates online orders. Nobody would ever say something like that if they actually had to call up and ask, but a picture of someone putting that special request had gone viral or something, because now it seems like they get some idiot asking for a cute delivery boy basically every week.
chokers and crop tops by cammm
Summary: Isak wants to surprise Even with wearing a crop top and a choker in bed, so he turns to the people he knows can help him out: Eva, Noora, and Vilde.
He’s too good for me by JulietteGD
Summary: Isak’s reaction to The Video.
somebody in here, it’s your birthday. by milominderbinder
Summary: On the morning of Isak’s eighteenth birthday, he wakes up early – to the sound of someone relentlessly calling his name, the smell of waffles, and the sight of a very beautiful boyfriend, already fully dressed and beaming the crinkly-eyed smile Isak loves so much, with an armful of terribly wrapped presents. It turns out, Even has a few surprises in store.
it’s my birthday and i’ll get fucked if i want to by highpraises
Summary: "Should we go?“ “We can’t go, it’s your birthday.” “I get to decide, it’s my birthday.”
audience of one by verlore_poplap
Summary: The morning after his eighteenth birthday, Isak reflects on his new favorite film, The boy who couldn’t hold his breath under water.
let us cling together as the years go by by sargentblue ★
Summary: It’s been sitting in Even’s front pocket for a while. He could feel the weight of it against his leg throughout the day, and Even feels like it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Isak (or anyone else, for that matter) hasn’t noticed.It’s not surprising, really. Isak is not very observant at the best of times and the only time he really notices if anything is going on in Even’s pants is for very different reasons. Very different indeed. It’s safe to say Even’s a little bit on edge for the duration of the gathering. Asking someone to marry you is no small feat. * (Or: Even proposes on Isak’s birthday.)
meet you under the summer sun. by milominderbinder ★
Summary: Oslo is struck with a heatwave. Even and Isak try a few different ways of keeping cool.
here, on bended knee by thekardemomme
Summary: “So.. You've been hiding a ring for an indeterminate amount of time and your secret was exposed from your friend trying to hijack the sex toy he gave you for use on poor freshmen pledges?” “You really have a knack for making situations sound totally ridiculous, but. Yes, that's the gist of what went down.” Or; Jonas tries to find handcuffs in Isak's closet. Instead, he finds something else.
It’s easy come, never go by LostInAdmiration
Summary: Being a parent was terrifying. It was exhausting and stressful and Isak hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He barely felt like he could take care of himself, so taking care of such a small thing that totally relied on him was truly nerve-wracking. Isak relayed all of this to Jonas during their weekly meet up. It had become more like monthly, since Jonas lived a few hours away from their home town now, and Isak was always so busy. Still, every time they reunited it was like no time had passed at all. Jonas snorted and rolled his eyes as Isak complained. “He’s a dog, Isak, not a baby.”
21 Roses by germericangirl
Summary: Even is thinking of a great gift for Isak's 19th birthday, and what would be better than a marriage proposal?
special collections by kittpurrson
Summary: uni!au; The one where Even is a) a virgin, b) a librarian, and c) hopelessly into Isak Valtersen.
Dundyne, sval by colazitron
Summary: Since it's summer now, Even suggests they get a summer duvet. A double, of course, because sharing is caring. That means a trip to IKEA.
Save the Date by tangledupin_blue
Summary: The proposal. Isak was silently glad there was no balcony or nudity involved. In fact, he was a little surprised by the simplicity of the proposal, after all the grand gestures Even had made in the last few years for birthdays, anniversaries and reunions.
The Way You Say I Love You by piginawig
Summary: All the ways Isak and Even say "I love you". A series of AU drabbles.
The First Rule of Fight Club by HazyCosmicJive
Summary: Isak starts working out at a Gym to relieve stress and becomes smitten by one of the regular boxers.
Don't Wanna Walk Alone by cwtalton
Summary: "I will, you know," Isak says. "Will what?" Even asks, confused. "Marry you."
CHAPTERED:
Rays of Sunshine and Blood by nenela16
Summary: Even sees an angel in the bus and can't stop thinking about him. The angel makes his soul less dark but he doesn't know if it is enough to save him.
You and Me, We're Crazy by wylielx
Summary: mental institution!au; So, he climbed and the realization hit him. A bird was flying over his head and he knew that this would be the only way. He reached the top and smiled as the sun smiled back at him. He spread his arms out and let himself be taken by gravity. His smile faded when another realization hit him. He wasn’t flying. Or, Even checks himself into a mental institution after a fairly bad episode and nothing seems to change until it does.
Drowning in your love by depressed_mermaid_53
Summary: Even is captain of the swim team. Isak and the boy squad join the team. In this universe a pool is a bigger part of their story.
Doctor Patient Confidentiality by skambition ★ ✓
Summary: “Male, maybe late 20s, didn’t carry an ID. Was hit by a car. Broken ribs, lots of internal bleeding, his left hand needs some work, a lot of crushed bones. Punctured lung. His heart frequency shows irregularities, but we’re not sure why. Unconscious. The driver called, he’s in surgery, too.” “Okay, thanks”, Isak said, got his rubber gloves and went into the OR. He was good at fixing people. And he knew it.
Let It Be (All Night) by verlore_poplap ✓
Summary: A collection of (steamy) oneshots in which Isak rides Even, they have honeymoon sex, Even finds Isak's sex toy, there's porn with feelings, dysfunctional dynamics and Even bottoming for the first time. Mostly in that order.
Stars Shine Bright Above Me by bashfulisak ✓
Summary: childhood friends!au; For once in his life, Isak Valtersen knew what it was like to have a best friend. Many, actually. But Even was special to him in a way he didn't quite understand. So many mixed feelings and emotions at once, but Isak being the young boy he was ignored them. When Even has to move a few days before they start middle school together, Isak is crushed and has not the slightest clue how he's going to make it without him by his side. All alone, by himself, the only thing reminding him that Even is out there somewhere is the stars that shine bright above his head and he knows deep down Even is staring at the same sky, but day and night don't matter.
tethered by verlore_poplap
Summary: Isak's sixteen years old when he realizes he's in love with his teacher.
take me to the stars by iriswests ★
Summary: HateToLove!au & friends with benefits!au; Isak thinks Even is pretentious and impractical. Even thinks Isak is arrogant and uptight. They’re not each other’s biggest fans, even if they do happen to have spectacular sex on a very, very drunken night. And Isak doesn’t mean to do it again, but he does, anyway, so now they’re establishing ground rules and deciding that maybe they can keep doing this, no strings attached, no commitments, no feelings, and, most importantly, no need to stop disliking each other. And then it’s not quite that simple anymore.
Out of my reach, but always in my eye line by Anonymous
Summary: Even can read minds, until the day he can't. He can't tell what's so special about that blond boy. It shouldn't be that big of a deal but Even soon finds himself obsessed.
Never knew how much it meant to you by Rosycheeksandfreckles
Summary: “Jeavla drittseck”, I say to the guy who walked into me. Or did I walk into him. Yeah that’s probably what happened. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going”, I say with a smile and the guy smiles back and smirks. “You should be careful with what you say. Maybe you bump into someone who understands you”, he says in Norwegian. And then it hits me. Fuck. Me.
Coffee's For Closers by BeccyTheChopper
Summary: coffee shop!au; Isak is struggling to recover from the mess he made over his crush on Jonas, when he meets a cute and flirty barista.
get you wild, make you leave by Evenbechbaesheim ✓
Summary: Not much is different. Just, Isak and Even meet a few years later than planned, and it isn’t at kosegruppa. It’s at a drug addicts anonymous meeting.
These Mountains To Move by verlore_poplap ★
Summary: soulmates!au; Isak's not even sixteen yet and his life's already screwed. Apparently that Hollywood actor guy-- Even Bech Næsheim-- is his soulmate? Excuse him but... what the hell?!
It's Like Here by sasnill ✓
Summary: Late nights, mountains, creative endeavours, an ever-expanding to-watch list and the future: a quiet weekend.
you're everything, everything by isakbechnaesheim
Summary: “Wait, how does he have normal classes? He can’t hear.” “Isak, you small baby. Could you get any more ignorant. He has an interpreter! Ya know, sign language?” Magnus then proceeds to make a bunch of ridiculous made up hand signals, including some crude ones. Jonas chokes on his beer laughing. “Okay, whatever. Get out of my house you assholes.”
Let Me In by milk_o_vich ✓
Summary: “What are you doing here?” Isak asked, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. Even’s eyes were wide and a little unfocused, flitting over Isak nervously. He was quiet for a long time, rain hitting the pavement outside, and Isak became kind of aware that Even must be freezing in his thin, damp t-shirt. Even pressed his lips together, then said, voice hoarse and quiet, “Can I stay here tonight?”
I'll Never Let Go by lovelyevak
Summary: Titanic!au; Prince Isak Valtersen was boarding the titanic as an engaged man, and well not a happy one for that matter. Even Bech Næsheim was looking for adventure, and better days so he knew gambling away both his and his best friend Jonas's money was the best idea, especially after seeing that beautiful boy get on the ship. They once said the heart is as deep as the ocean, and it was true. They never let go.
Never Have I Ever by Sabeley ★ ✓
Summary: roommates!au & friends with benefits!au; "What's it like to kiss a boy?" "I could show you." Or the one where Isak and Even are roommates who make out on occasion (in a completely platonic way, of course).
All of Your Pieces by lowbutliving
Summary: uni!au; Even’s world is turned upside down in a matter of minutes his first day back at uni. What was going to be an easy year turns out to be a lot more complicated, when he suddenly sees a boy who soon is all he can think about. The worst part of it is, he doesn’t even know his name. Or: Even and Isak are low-key stalking each other, but none of them have the courage to take the first step.
Summer Love by Chips2 ★
Summary: Even has just finished University. He decides to spend summer at his parent's holiday house in the Norwegian countryside where he has been coming since childhood. He knows Isak, one of the locals, who has recently graduated from high school and is spending his break helping his dad out at his kayak shop. Or, two boys from different backgrounds, both embarking on new chapters in their lives who find their worlds intertwined during their holidays and on one particularly hot summer break.
will you share your soul with me? by hippopotamus ★ ✓
Summary: There’s a school camping trip at the beginning of Isak’s second year. He’s not sure why he agrees to go, especially when he remembers how difficult it is for him to sleep anywhere that isn’t his own bed. It turns out he’s not the only insomniac on the trip.
I Would Do It Again by cuteandtwisted ★
Summary: dare!au & uni!au; "I dare you to hook up with him." "What? The blonde guy?" "Yes, the blonde guy." Or Even gets caught up in a dare, and Isak loses a little bit of himself in the process.
Library Science by paytontanner
Summary: Eskild gets Isak a job at the library. Isak knows Even from the school hallways, but he gets to know him when he starts checking out books at the library. And Even is definitely there just to check out the reading materials. And not to get Isak to fall in love.
stay a minute by grinsekaetzchen ★ ✓
Summary: "The leads of Even Bech Næsheim’s new 'Romeo and Juliet' adaption were announced yesterday, with Eva Kviig Mohn taking to Twitter to confirm, ‘Looking forward to playing Julieeeeet’. Her fellow Romeo was announced shortly after to be Isak Valtersen, which his publicist confirmed today. It seems that this will be Norway’s new star-crossed pair of lovers." In which there is a tumblr fandom that is dying every time new information for said version of 'Romeo and Juliet' drops, Even is a beloved director and Isak - well, Isak would just really appreciate it if his mind would stop surprising him with memories at the worst moments possible.
to the bone by cabret ✓
Summary: It’s going to be a grey day, Even thinks. It’ll be one of those. All ash in the wake and none of the fire from before.
now you're covered in the colours by agonied
Summary: The one in which Even sees the world in colours.
safe by cammm
Summary: uni!au & neighbors!au; Isak had never even met Even before, but there he was, pretending to be Isak's boyfriend to get him out of an uncomfortable situation. Is this the birth of something... new? Fresh? Magical?
Things I Yearn to Remember by daigina
Summary: Anastasia!au; In the midst of a revolution, the royal family of Norway is executed. But rumor has it the Crown Prince's body was never found. A decade later, and two poor conmen need tickets out of Norway, where the political climate grows tougher each day, and a whole lof of money. Their answer lies in a poor shop assistant with golden curls a lost look in his eyes.
Gratulerer Med Dagen, My Isak by XioNin ✓
Summary: It’s Isak’s 18th birthday.
Old Money by twentyonetwentyone ★
Summary: Pretty Woman!au; After a series of hardships and childhood trauma, Isak Valtersen is forced into the gruelling world of street prostitution, a nightmare in which he feels completely alone. Even Bech Næsheim is the bored adolescent heir to a billion dollar empire, living in a penthouse and listlessly spending his parents money in attempts to ease the existential despair. When Even pulls up to Isak's corner in the early hours of a dreary Thursday morning, neither of them can expect how similar their respective desires are, despite their vastly different social rankings.
Bassline by riyku
Summary: Isak opens up the email from his editor, skims through it for the tenth time, snagging to a stop on phrases like serial piece and North American tour coverage, boots on the ground and big opportunity. His response is quick and vague, that he'll let her know tomorrow morning, although he's known the answer from the jump. (Or, Isak is a Norwegian ex-pat, fresh out of NYU with a journalism internship, who bags an assignment covering a band from his former hometown of Oslo on their first North American tour. It takes him about three seconds to realize he kinda has a thing for the bass player).
–A
#even bech næsheim#isak valtersen#even x isak#isak x even#evak#evak fanfiction#evak fanfics#evak fanfics recs#evak fanfics recommendation#evak ff recs#skam#skam fanfiction#masterposts
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Goodbye, Dolly
Ocado sent me a 20% discount voucher in the same month that David died. It felt like fate was telling me never to go out again, so I didn’t. It’s not the grief, I joked, it’s the means. He left me the flat and some very successful investments – and honestly when you can have a boneless organic chicken thigh delivered straight to your door, why risk getting your hair wet?
He loved this flat. He used to say he loved me, Barbra Streisand and the flat, mostly in that order, but Barbra and I were interchangeable if I’d forgotten to put the rubbish out or if she really hit that high D5 at the end of A Piece of Sky. It’s a recording, I’d say, she hits the same note every time. Yes, he’d say, but sometimes I just feel it more.
The flat is on the top floor of Ben Jonson House on the northern edge of the Barbican estate in London. It has two rooms, side by side, each with a barrel ceiling. From the inside the rounded white roofs make you think you have more space than you really do. From the outside I like to imagine it looks like two sleeping giants cuddled up under a duvet.
David started renting the flat when he was studying at the Guildhall School of Music, or Downstairs as he always called it. When the owner sold up in the early nineties David had to buy the place because he’d filled it with too many records to move. 1423 records line an entire wall of the living room in orange crate shelves. They are mostly original cast recordings of musicals in all the languages of the countries he visited. Only sixty-seven of them are by Barbra, but she does have her own crate. I got my own crate in 2006. Well, it was a drawer. David was twenty years older than me and everyone assumed I was more in love with his south-facing balcony in Zone 1 than with him, but I would have moved into one of his orange crates under the Hammersmith flyover if he’d asked. Me, David and 1423 records living happily ever after. Or, in the end, about twelve years.
The Barbican estate was built over the wreckage World War II left of this part of London. David loved that it was someone’s vision of optimal living realised on such a large scale, that from a bombsite they thought they could rescue the future. His balcony overlooks the entire complex, the terraces and tower blocks, the mewses and the museum, the Arts Centre and its plazas. From that angle all the odd shaped buildings and covered walkways form an insane Escher print. When I’d go out there to water the plants he would wrap his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, and let his hand trace a path for some new adventure across the cityscape. With all there is, he’d sing in my ear, why settle for just a piece of sky?
Even then I used to think it all depended on the piece of sky you were looking at.
I haven’t been out on the balcony since he died. I’ve barely opened the curtains. Half of the plants dropped their leaves over the side like desperate passengers jumping from a sinking ship. The half that couldn’t reach the edge just curled up on the floor. David left me the flat and the money and the records and the plants, but do you need me to tell you he took away more than he left? Because I can’t be bothered to go into it – actually, that sums it up: David died and I couldn’t be bothered anymore.
***
When anyone remarked on the twenty years between us, and anyone often did, David would rush his hand to his cheek as though he’d been slapped. I was born on the 26th June, he was born on the 27th. There were nineteen years and 364 days between us. It never mattered to me, but since other people seemed so keen on numbers he liked to make sure they got it right.
On my birthday, the first thing he’d do was fling the covers off and crow about how young he felt. On his, the morning after, he’d play the ancient crone. Of all the time we had together, those twenty-four hours in between were often our happiest.
Sometimes we never left the flat. Sometimes we never left the bed. Once, on the day I turned thirty and he’d failed to cook the chicken for long enough, we spent most of it in the bathroom. He claimed it was because he’d heated it on the dying embers of his forties. If you can find a man who makes you laugh after giving you food poisoning, he’s the one.
David’s warmth evaporated time. Today, those same twenty-four hours yawn with their lack of promise. I am now thirty-eight and I’ve woken up alone in our bed for nearly a year. The same bed that it felt so decadent to stay in as the turning of the world notched up another number for me then him. There’s nothing decadent about staying in bed all day when you have nowhere else to be. Or nobody to share it with.
I get up at 7am and shower. I realised quite early on that it was easier to get rid of time at the start of the day. Also, for all of the talk about optimal living, the walls between the Barbican’s flats are thin enough that I know when my bedroom-side neighbour Bianca has had an overnight guest – because I hear her shower going twice, not because she’s a screamer (though the guests sometimes are). With the noise of her, possibly plus one, and Pete and Soph on the living-room side all getting ready for work in the morning there’s really no point in trying to lay in.
I eat breakfast and get on with my Big Job of the day. There’s only ever one. If you don’t work or even leave the two rooms you live in, your To Do list is minimal. The art is to spread it out over the course of the week: one day for cleaning, one day for washing, changing the bed gets a whole day of its own because it usually takes everything I have. One day I throw things in a casserole dish. Everything tastes the same anyway and one bucket of stew will last me all week. That’s unless Soph is away and Pete comes over. But if it runs out I usually eat cereal for dinner. Or nothing.
By 9am everyone in bothering radius will have left the building. If I put on one of David’s records I’m either feeling brave or the exact opposite. Usually I stick to some quiet, measurable task: today I will knit fifty rows of this scarf or today I will read two-hundred pages of Persuasion or today I will open at least three of the letters that continue to get forwarded for David and try to forgive the writer for existing in a world where he is still alive.
At 6pm I heat up my dinner. If any of my neighbours are going to knock to check that I haven’t made their lives awkward by killing myself, it’s usually now. If they don’t, I put on David’s ancient headphones that are attached by a spiralling wire to a radiogram thing on a shelf above the bed. I lay down and listen to a crackling Asian radio station that could be broadcasting cricket scores or prayers, but that completely drowns out the sounds of Pete and Soph making their evening meal together or Bianca laughing into her phone on the balcony as she lights another cigarette. I’d take the sounds of endless morning ablutions over their easy early evening chatter and hopefulness.
It’s meditative, listening to a language you don’t understand. After long enough you can hear the music in it. Music that doesn’t remind you of anyone.
He would’ve been fifty-eight tomorrow.
***
My dad and I get on fine, thanks for asking, though we joke that he threw me out at eighteen. He just wanted me to want more than the generic comfort of middle class Bristol. He stays because it makes mum happy and he loves her. He’s a doctor who wishes he’d been a sculptor or a fashion designer or a maker of anthropomorphic miniature ceramics – it all depends on what documentary he’s watching at the time. I was quite happy pulling up weeds and laying turf for the housewives of Clifton Village, though I was well aware that I didn’t want to lay anything else for them. I applied to art college for him really. And, fair enough, to sleep with someone other than the barman at the Queenshilling.
My mum was more comfortable with my lack of ambition. She called it being an old soul. When they dropped me off at Ravensbourne she gave me a backgammon set and enough tinned soft fruit for a lifetime of untroubled dentures. Following a succession of diabolical paintings and haircuts, a Duke of Edinburgh Award in navigating my way home from a different part of London every other morning - before the advent of Google Maps - and absolutely no backgammon, I graduated and got a job as an estate agent.
The most creative thing I was doing was arranging the pictures of other people’s homes in the window. I told my parents I was having a fabulous time and they believed me. I told myself that too, but it was less convincing.
***
Pete is on my balcony sweeping up rotting leaves and quite a few of Bianca’s discarded cigarette butts. He does this whenever he comes over for dinner since I never go out there now. He has a broom in one hand and his phone in the other, into which I hear him shouting to his wife Soph that he’s about to eat one of Dolly’s famous one-pot wonders. I am Dolly. I am microwaving a five bean chilli I made using only two kinds of beans and the entire last jar of fucks I had to give. I’ve barely moved from the sofa in five hours, but have only been trying to ignore Pete’s questions for the last fifteen minutes.
Pete was already David’s neighbour when I moved into the flat. At the time I had a quiff that my friends used to say was maintained by all the comments that flew over my head. I was twenty-five, I’d been passed around London’s vibrant gay Soho like a tray of unwanted cakes and I was finally getting bored of butching it up and dumbing it down. Maybe it’s different now that kids have to build a personal brand online before they’re old enough to drink, but back when I was fresh meat it wasn’t what came out of your mouth that guys were interested in. I met David in the toilets at the Green Carnation – don’t worry, it wasn’t as seedy as it sounds. We were standing side by side looking in the mirror wearing matching Joe 90 glasses; me tall and dark, him short and bald. He said we looked like Dolce and Gabbana. I looked down at my designer-imposter daps and his wide-fit loafers and said we were more like Dolcis and Garden Centre. When he laughed it felt like someone had heard my real voice for the first time. I came back to the flat with him that night and four months later I lived here.
Dolce having instantly become Dolcis then became Dolly. That’s how he introduced me to Pete. Say hello to Dolly. Pete had been a DJ on the rave scene in the early nineties and still shouted everything inches from your ear like he was trying to be heard over Josh Wink’s Higher State of Consciousness. He smelled so straight and alien, like weed and the hot plastic of a Gameboy. It was the forbidden smell of someone’s older brother’s bedroom and on reflex I stayed silent in case I got kicked out. He looked into the tops of my boxes and asked me if I played backgammon then, with no response from me, reached in and pulled out a Prodigy CD. He waved it triumphantly in David’s face, delighted to finally have a neighbour who might play something other than Color Me Barbra through the wall. David was unfazed. Neither then nor at any time since has there been a CD player in the flat.
Now of course we can instantly play whatever we want to hear on our phones, but Pete and I are both at an age where eating two bean chilli at Prodigy speed could cause intestinal woe for days. He comes in from the balcony and selects a record to put on. It’s Je m’appelle Barbra, the original 1966 Colombia LP. Side two, track six: I’ve Been Here.
We were going to knock on your birthday but the lights were out, says Pete. And on his too. Then, after a deep breath, he tells me that Bianca has told Soph who has told him that she’s been doing some PR for the promoters who put on summer concerts in Hyde Park and that she’s heard that this year Barbra Streisand will be doing one of them and she could get us all tickets and we should go. VIP entry, away from the crowds. It will be the first time she’s performed in the UK for years and might be the last. David wouldn’t have missed it. David would’ve been there in a Fanny Brice sailor suit.
Over on the record player Barbra is assuring us that she is not a frightened dove.
I say I’m not ready.
The record finishes and there’s only static to fill the silence. Pete takes our half-empty bowls and puts them in the sink, where he stands as the whispering record turns and turns and turns and turns.
I need to go Dolly, he says. And I don’t know if I can go without you.
David and Pete had both done a lot of drugs, though it was never part of David’s work like it was for Pete. David travelled – he’d been a singer and then an internationally renowned vocal coach – but when he was home, he was home. Ask Pete if he ended up with a drug problem because it’s hard for a DJ to draw a line between his professional and private life, he’ll tell you that he doesn’t know because he never even tried. He was having a brilliant time and getting paid a lot of money. He got a mortgage for the flat next to David’s in 1999 with the advances from a series of Millennium gigs that he wouldn’t end up playing. Instead he went on what he now calls the Bender Of Destiny. His bookings disappeared. He went from sucking MDMA off a model’s nipple to sucking fag ash from the footwells of Mondeos at a car valeting service. He could barely afford enough speed to get him through the weekend. When he finally got so desperate that he sold his speakers, David knocked on his door. This was years before I'd met David, years before Pete met Soph. At the time they may not have had much in common except a very thin wall, but David was probably the only neighbour in the world who had a problem if you weren’t playing music. Pete’s existence had descended to skirting board level and the flat was basically empty. The highest vantage point was a stack of unopened post. Recently Pete must have fallen off or into or in front of something or someone and there was a dried trail of blood weaving back and forth between the two filthy airless rooms. David sat down on the floor next to Pete anyway and put his arms around him whilst he cried.
David took Pete next door and ran him a bath. He washed his clothes and his bedding. He cleaned Pete’s flat, he cooked for him. He sat with him every night, made him tea whilst he opened all the terrifying post, sorted out his payment plans. He helped him find some furniture, a job at a friend’s recording studio, a reason to go on. He played him the 1964 Original Cast Recording of Funny Girl and the 1970 soundtrack to On A Clear Day You Can See Forever and every single studio album Barbra had ever released. When you can afford your own speakers again we can listen to what you want, David would say, until then let’s have something ageless and evergreen.
Pete gave the eulogy at David’s funeral. I couldn’t speak. He said that David had saved his life. He chose all the music too. People kept thanking me afterwards and telling me how perfect the songs were. I tried to say that Pete had chosen everything but he said it didn’t matter. He took me home and said I didn’t need to explain anything to anyone. I didn’t need to see anyone or speak to anyone if I didn’t want to.
Pete takes Je m’appelle Barbra off of the record player, returns it to its sleeve and its place on the orange crate shelves.
There’s seven months until the gig, he tells me, we’ll start small. He opens the balcony door and steps outside, then he turns back and holds out his hand for me to join him.
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