id : a rendered digital drawing of virgil and vampire logan from the waist up, seemingly moving in opposite directions. virgil is at the front, with purple hair and cape, leather gloves, white shirt, glowing green tattoos and earrings, and holding a heavy leather book with a shining green gem in the middle. logan is behind them, holding a pocket watch in his gloved hand. he wears a long indigo cape with a high collar, held by skull clasps, a white puffy shirt and a red cravat. he has red eyes and dark hair, looking in virgil's direction with a smile that shows his fangs./end id
trying to go slightly less saturated but i'm actually quite happy with this one and so far it's my favourite for this week!
day 4 @analogicalweek : au and i happily dusted off my old vampire logan sketch and made virgil a necromancer (he accidentally stole my heart whoops) and @5-falsehoods-phonated really did a lovely story from that
day 4: a Pokémon au because i love explore different sides of that universe (although if i do expand on it, expect me to change the designs and maybe the region)
warnings: brief mention of surgery and drugs, mostly fluff, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!
pairings: logan/virgil
word count: 1,758
notes: this is for @analogicalweek and today’s prompt was jacket/jam. this is a sequel to one of my previous analogical week fics (as all of my analogical week fics this year will be) called “parallax.” i hope you enjoy!
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Living together is a strange step, Virgil reflects, as he starts his car and starts keeping a watchful eye on the pedestrian behind him, waiting for them to walk out of his way so he can back out of his parking spot.
It's been two years since he and Logan got together, in a sleep-deprived haze before their astronomy final; the year after, they'd both been in the same dorm, but on different floors. Now, their junior year, when they'd both been talking about the perils of finding both decent roommates and good housing for a reasonable price, Logan in his eternal pragmatism had said well, why don't we move in together? and so they did.
After a lot of hemming and hawing on Virgil's part, of course, and a lot of hemming and hawing on behalf of Logan's parents, who had been concerned about Logan moving in with a boyfriend this soon, and a lot of hemming and hawing on behalf of their landlord, who was shockingly picky with his tenants for a landlord in a college town.
But Virgil and Logan's parents and their landlord had hemmed and hawed quite enough, so Virgil decided to not really think about that part of it anymore. He also doesn't really want to think about anything but the task at hand, at the moment, because driving during snow always makes Virgil nervous.
Well. More nervous than usual.
It's barely even started to snow, really, but it's been so cold all day that it shouldn't be a surprise that it's started to snow. There had been a snowfall of a few inches two weeks back, and the little white snowflakes now are starting to mingle with the grayed-out slush that's clinging to the sides of the road.
Virgil kicks the heating of his shitty old car even higher, thinking longingly of Logan's newer-but-still-used car that at least has seat warmers, and he thinks longingly of his usual comfort jacket that he'd left hanging on the back of his usual chair at their dining table in favor of his ridiculously long, puffy black winter coat. Not that this coat doesn't keep him warm, it's just that his jacket's much softer and this coat is synthetic that rubs against his skin in a weird way.
Virgil inches along at a pace under the speed limit, which seems to make several of his fellow early morning drivers very angry at him despite the fact that it's snowing and therefore the road is about to get dangerously slick, which he grumbles to his unlistening, uncaring car.
It's the ideal drive for someone going slowly, anyways: a lot of lights that go miraculously red and, once he cuts off the main road, a lot of little residential roads with a plethora of stop signs at each and every corner. It gives him enough time to listen to a podcast that he keeps meaning to listen to because Logan had recommended it; it's very brainy, it goes into a lot of obscure, bizarre history, and Virgil decides he likes it very much.
It's a welcome companion to a solitary drive; just him, his junky old car, the snow picking up its downward pace, the groceries sitting politely in the passenger's seat and the floor of his car.
It's also the kind of drive where it's easy for his mind to wander to the various mundanities of their life. Virgil knows he's gotten everything they need in the food department, because he had brought the grocery list they pin to their fridge with a novelty magnet that Roman brought Logan after some vacation, one of those fifties pin-up girls saying I LOST MY VIRGINITY BUT I STILL HAVE THE BOX IT CAME IN, which had been so nonsensical that when Logan first laid eyes on it he nearly had an aneurysm.
So they're set on the food front; Virgil, however, has a basket of laundry that desperately needs to be washed, dried, and folded, which is his least favorite chore. Maybe he'll be able to exchange chores with Logan, who would probably do his laundry if Virgil vacuumed, since that was Logan's least favorite chore. Maybe they should make a day of it, be productive and tidy up the house, even if Virgil knows that they'll probably get distracted by homework or studying or... other things that come with living with your significant other.
Virgil's in the middle of convincing himself that he'll for sure at least start a load of laundry by the time he turns onto their street.
He eases his careful way up their steep driveway, examining it with a critical eye; their house faces west, which means the snow from a couple weeks back had melted away much more quickly than it had anywhere else, but it is absurdly steep, so Virgil likes to keep it as clear as he can to minimize risk of slipping on ice. He parks his car, subscribes to the podcast before he forgets, and checks the weather predictions.
A few inches. Hm. Not super definitive; they'll have to wait and see how bad it actually gets before Virgil even thinks about getting out the snow shovel. Plus it just doesn't seem like common sense to start plowing before the snow's done falling. That seems more like a Logan frame of mind, to wait and do it so their work isn't erased if the snowstorm suddenly picks up.
He gathers up the groceries; it's few enough that he can manage one trip, but also enough for him to struggle with the keys to get into the house, making a beeline to the kitchen, even in his haste noticing the lavender-scented candle Logan had lit last night, the low light filtering in through their east-facing windows. As he enters the kitchen, he can hear the old percolator still chugging away, even though he started brewing coffee before he even left for the grocery store; he can also hear the their ice machine in their freezer starting to kick on.
He settles the bags on the counter and goes about putting things away. Logan has organized their kitchen with a devastating kind of efficiency, an outcome that looks strangely Pinterest-y for the home of college students, but Virgil can't deny that the use of various clear bins and vacuum-sealed containers and immediately discarding the bigger, bulkier packaging makes it much easier to see at a glance what they've got and what they're running low on.
He's in the midst of putting away the last of the groceries when he hears a muffled thumping upstairs, followed by a padding of footsteps, and then feet on the stairs.
He smiles briefly at the sound of it, and he touches the weathered old papers also stuck to their fridge; the very finals that they'd been studying for when they'd held their first star party, when they'd had their first kiss.
He turns away from it just in time to see his boyfriend turning the corner to enter the kitchen, feeling a warmth settle over his heart: a quiet sort of ah, yes, here you are, my love.
Logan stumbles past him, intent on the percolator and the immediate commencement of his caffeination. Virgil catches Logan around the waist, holding him loosely in a hug, pressing his cheek against Logan's shoulder, against the familiar fabric that Logan's wearing, hiding the grin that breaks wider over his face.
Because Logan's wearing his jacket.
Virgil is suddenly glad he'd left his jacket at home, so that he'll be able to see this; it's not the first time he's ever seen Logan wear his trademark jacket, of course, but every time it fills him with such silly delight.
It reminds him of the first time Logan had worn it, the summer after their freshman year, when Virgil was waking up from top surgery with Logan sitting at his bedside him, wrapped in purple and black plaid. Virgil had been hopped up on drugs and looked down at his flat chest and, so overwhelmed with dizzying gender euphoria and his joy that Logan was his, visible to all with his jacket on, that Virgil had immediately burst into tears, the first time he'd wept from happiness in his entire life.
Virgil presses his lips to Logan's clothed shoulder, inhaling the scent of their laundry detergent mingling with Logan, not yet showered for the day.
"G'morning," Virgil mumbles against his shoulder.
"Good," a yawn breaks Logan's words, "morning. Ugh, I should have listened to you to stop working on that paper, yes, you told me so..."
"I did," Virgil agrees, and he reluctantly steps back so that Logan can reach up into their cabinet for a mug.
However, Logan pauses, and he notices the grocery bags for the first time.
"Did you...?"
"Oh," Virgil says, "that's—"
But it's too late; Logan's unearthing one of the last bags that Virgil had not yet unpacked.
The bag that happens to be chock full of every variant of Crofter's preserves that their local grocery store stocked. Apricot, Blueberry Blast, and Concord Grape, along with the three new spreads that Crofter's had released that Logan has not yet had the chance to try: Peach, Pomegranate Power, and Strawberry Banana.
Logan's face is doing something and Virgil almost feels the urge to look away; the furrowing of his brow, the tilt of his head, and Virgil looks down at his socked feet, suddenly finding the rug that they put in front of the sink very interesting. It's getting frayed around the edges. Maybe they should get a new one.
"Virgil," Logan says, his voice very soft and gentle. "You hate driving in this kind of weather."
Virgil scuffs his toe along the floor.
"Snow hasn't gotten too heavy yet," he mumbles.
Logan's hands, cool and dry, cup his cheeks. Virgil meets his eyes.
"Did you go to the grocery store just to get me Crofter's?"
Virgil shrugs. "You wanted to try them." A beat. "And we needed flour. I wanted to make that recipe you sent me last week."
Logan's face softens as he presses his lips together, as if to suppress a smile, and brings Virgil's face to his.
And so begins a morning of quiet companionship, jam-flavored kisses traded back and forth, where dough will get caked under Virgil's fingernails, Logan will devour what must amount to a jar and a half of jam across every flavor Virgil has brought him, and jam smears against Logan's lips that Virgil will kiss away.
