Water for a Dead Rose Ch. 1
Hope I’m not too late for the #fandersmeetup! This is my first Sanders Sides fanfiction, and I’m super excited to share it with you all!
It’s set in the soulmate au where you write on your skin and it appears on your soulmate, with an untraditional plot structure. This first chapter is mostly exposition, and it probably qualifies as fluff, but, uh... Don’t get used to that.
I don’t have a tag list, but I can make one if anyone’s interested. @puns-and-patton @eequalsmcscared because they’re running the meetup. It’s also on AO3!
Overall Summary: Roman knows it wasn’t an accident. Virgil knows something isn’t right. It’s the story of a desperate search for a murder plot and a soulmate bond broken by tragedy.
Told with Virgil’s perspective in a chronological format (beginning to end) and Roman’s perspective in a reverse chronological format (end to beginning).
Chapter 1: Phone Calls and New Beginnings
Relationships: Logicality mention, platonic Analogical
Warnings: brief alcohol (Always let me know if I missed any!)
December 31st, 2018. 306 days before.
New Year’s Eve was, without question, Virgil’s favorite holiday. Nothing was quite the same as the night of new beginnings, the night of leaving things behind, and the night of true love, not that the latter mattered to a guy like him. It also happened to be Virgil’s birthday, making it a doubly special night. He only ever spent it with close friends and family, those who he knew cared about him. So, naturally, Virgil was spending it alone this year.
He was currently on his laptop, typing away at the new story he was writing. He really felt like he was on a roll—the tiny community of fans he’d garnered would definitely appreciate what he’d done with the foreshadowing. The hours blended together as the words spilled out of his fingers and onto the screen. It was a pattern Virgil could get lost in for the rest of his life if left to his devices. And with the TV on (open to the Times Square Ball Drop, of course), a cheap beer in hand (which he was now legally allowed to have, hooray) a blanket wrapped around his legs (once soft, now worn) and the tool of his trade on his knees (the laptop), he thought for the moment that it wouldn’t be so bad.
He decided to take a quick break, scrolling through Tumblr. There was plenty of incorrect quotes and New Year’s themed gifs, but none of his favorite writers had posted anything. It was probably because they were enjoying the holiday with friends and family.
He sighed and checked the clock. 11:24. Thirty-six minutes until it was 2019, and thirty-six minutes until it wasn’t his birthday anymore. It would simply be a normal day for a normal 21-year-old.
All of his friends, including his twin sibling and roommate Talyn, were at Dean’s party. And they all knew Virgil would never subject himself to some fraternity thing. The frat guys hated most non-frat guys, let alone non-college guys like himself. And besides, why go to a party and embarrass yourself with your lack of social skills when you could be at home writing?
Yep. Virgil wasn’t lonely at all.
He typed up a few more sentences before closing his laptop with a sigh. Maybe he should at least call someone, just to stifle his loneliness for a little bit. But who did he know that was awkward enough to not—
Wait, duh. Logan. Was that even a question?
And for once he wasn’t going to be busy studying. Virgil was fairly confident that no one studies over winter break.
Virgil went into his contacts and clicked Logan’s name. It rang twice before he picked up.
“Happy New Year’s Eve, Virgil. Can I help you?”
“Sure, Nerd. You can keep me company for a bit.”
“Okay. Is there a particular reason that you are not spending this time at Dean’s—“
“Is there a reason you’re not?”
The two chatted, awkwardly grasping for conversation topics before falling into a rhythm: question, answer, joke, question, answer, joke. They talked about the world, talked about Logan’s major, talked about how stupid in love their siblings were, talked about Virgil’s sketchy coworkers (what was their deal? They always acted like they were plotting something), and talked about… Patton.
“How’s the big teddy bear treating ya?” Virgil quipped, fiddling with one of his hoodie strings.
Logan chuckled. “If by ‘big teddy bear’ you mean Patton, then he’s treating me as well as ever. Things have been smooth for a while now. Can’t imagine it being any better.” Virgil was no social butterfly, but he could read people like a pro, and Logan didn’t sound like his ever-confident self in saying that. Virgil tapped his fingers on his knee.
Neither one said anything for a long moment. Virgil let the silence work its magic, and after a few moments, Logan sighed. “I’m... I’m starting to think he’s better than I deserve. He’s truly wonderful, and generous, and kind, almost overwhelmingly so. I don’t know how to make it up to him.” Logan sounded pained.
Virgil frowned at the couch cushion below him. “Dude. You don’t owe him anything. From what I know about him, he’d be shocked if he heard you say that just now.”
“Feels too good to be true, huh?”
Virgil took a deep breath. “Look.“
“Hard to do over a telephone call.”
“Really, Logan?” Virgil laughed a little, releasing some pent-up tension. “Listen, then. You’re his soulmate. It doesn’t matter who deserves what, you’re literally made for him. Do you love him?”
“Of course. I’m offended you would ask.”
“Yes. As much as I can give.”
“And does Patton know that?”
“If he doesn’t, he’s incredibly dense.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I... When you put it that way, I suppose there isn’t—“
More than a year ago, Logan’s soulmate bond had started working, and the guy it had connected him to was exactly what Logan needed. He was sweet and sentimental, as opposed to Logan’s grounded and logical nature. They complimented one another, gave each other’s lives purpose. The two had rapidly fallen for one another, and had passed their one-year anniversary two months ago. They were the perfect match, as the soulmate bond promised. And Virgil was happy for them, he really was. But it made him wonder… His soulmate bond was still dormant. Virgil had never been much of an optimist, but the more time went by, the more he thought maybe the bond would stay dormant.
“Virgil? Are you still there?”
Oh, right. He was on the phone with Logan.
They continued to talk until Virgil heard shouting from the TV--it was officially midnight.
“Oh, would you look at that. Happy new year, Logan.” Virgil raised his beer and took a sip, an unspoken toast.
The two sat in silence for a moment.
“Hey… You know something?” Virgil said.
“Oh. Thank you. It helps me to talk to you about... Things.”
“You know you can always call me when needed, correct?” Logan’s voice sounded concerned.
“Patton’s been rubbing off on you.”
“No, I mean it. You’ve been rather… Downtrodden as of late.”
“It’s just Christmas blues. Don’t worry your hyperactive brain about it.”
“Christmas blues? I was under the impression that Christmas is a time of joy.”
“Not when you’re spending it alone. Cool it Specs, I’m fine. I’ve got my writing to keep me company.”
“I’m sure you do. But your linguistic passions do not replace real people.”
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Can’t-Hang-Out-I’m-Busy-Studying. And hey, I called you, didn’t I?”
“Relax. We’re having a great time here. Don’t ruin it with another one of your lectures.”
“Remind me why I keep you as my companion?”
Virgil stood up, distangeled himself from the blanket, and started walking to the kitchen, intending to get a snack or something. What did he even have to eat? He really needed to go to the store or something. He poked around for a bit, finally deciding to order a pizza when he noticed a strange prickling sensation on his palm. He ignored it.
“Hey Logan, I’m probably gonna order a pizza.”
“A… Pizza? Will a pizza place even be open at--”
“Pizza places are always open.”
“Did I stutter, Logan? Pizza places. Are. Always. Open.”
“If you say so. I’m assuming you need to hang up so as to use your phone to order?”
“Yep. Nice chatting with ya, Nerd.”
Virgil started to google what pizza place was open—despite what he’d said, he wasn’t actually sure where he’d have to call—and noticed the prickling again. Was that just an after effect of typing the night away? He passed his phone to the other hand and glanced at his palm.
And promptly dropped the phone.
Happy New Year, my soulmate!
Written on his palm in blue pen.
Virgil stared. And stared. And blinked hard, and stared again. It was still there.
When his brain reconnected to his body, he sprinted into the living room, lifting up the couch cushions in search of a pen. When his flailing hands finally found one, he uncapped it. The pen met the skin of his palm.
Looked like Virgil wasn’t ordering pizza anymore.
