And a stunning conclusion! If you miss the beginning, you can find it [here] and if you need a refresher pt2 is [here]! Are we ready for some happy endgame Analoceit?
Summary: The number Three is a tricky concept to learn. Virgil walks into a party and tries anyway.
It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical.
He picked up a few things from Wit Protect: crippling anxiety, a willpower to hold grudges far longer than an average person, and a healthy dose of masochism.
Because he just had to ask didn’t he? Couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, couldn’t keep his tongue in his head and the words in his throat and the smile off his own stupid fucking face. There’s something wrong with him, that much is obvious. Because he asked and expected Logan to punch him, expected Dee to kick him, expected all their friends to jump between them and shout at Virgil to get out and go away and never to come back again.
And he still had asked. And waited for that pain that tore deep into his chest and ripped apart his fragile little unlovable heart.
He had asked.
Virgil Storm walks into a party, forgets, for a moment, how to count and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend.
1 + 1 = 2
Logan + Dee = a happy couple
And Virgil had no right to be coming in and ruining that.
(Like he ruined everything else too: ruined Mom and Dad’s marriage as a happy little accident, ruined Dee’s life by just up and leaving without an explanation, ruined the first and second safe locations because he couldn’t remember a stupid name, ruined, ruined, ruined.)
Virgil had come back to town a week before school started. He had been sick the entire week, feeling feverish every time he stepped out of the house. The park had been updated, so the swings that he and Dee had played on as kids were replaced with new ones that didn’t screech when someone used them. The bakery his mom and him used to visit before school was now a coffee shop and the pastries weren’t as good. The old man who ran the grocer in town had a stroke and so his nephew ran the place now.
The Watertower was a new color. The library had a new statue outfront. The paint studio was boarded up.
Their treehouse was decrypted.
Virgil had walked alone with his hood up and he had been terrified of running into someone who remembered him.
He felt like a kid again: keeping his curtains drawn because that meant that no one would come peeking at him to see what he was. Keeping his curtains drawn because he didn’t need any friends.
Keeping his curtains drawn and wishing someone would come anyway.
Last time it had been Dee.
(Dee’s house is different too. Looks like his mother gave up on that vegetable garden.)
Dee who should hate him, Dee who would hate him, Dee who had a perfectly good and fine life without Virgil in it again.
Which Virgil knew, because he had a heart attack when he heard that laughter outside the library, that unforgettable laughter that preened and danced in the air like some kind of fairy to enchant all that heard it. Because he’s heart had stopped when he saw Dee standing there, amidst a group of people, of friends that Virgil didn’t recognize, smiling so very brightly, arms linked together with the others to prove that he belonged with them. Because his heart shattered when he watched Dee lean over and kiss another boy right on the lips.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could hate Logan Ackroyd.
But the guy is just...fucking perfect. Its a different kind of perfect than Dee is. Dee is a magician who could make the sadness disappear, who could pull reasons to keep fighting out of his sleeves, who could turn a sniveling pathetic little kid into a lovesick teenager who thought he knew what the hell “forever” meant.
Logan’s not like that. He’s cold hard facts, with no time for those who don’t want to listen. He’s a preacher and Virgil didn’t realize he wanted to be at the front of the audience until its too late. He’s the teacher that makes him write an essay in class and then gives him a fucking gold star because he managed not to fuck it up too bad and somehow Virgil still thinks about it late at night, guiltily enjoying the pleased feeling in his chest.
Virgil wants to hate him, because Logan was everything he wanted to be: smart, collected, happy, with Dee.
He shouldn’t have come back. When Agent DW placed the folders in front of him after his dad’s trail was completed and all the guys trying to kill them had been jailed, and when she had asked him if he wanted to stay in Bumfuck, Wherever with the name Andy, or go back home as Virgil…
Virgil Storm walks into a party and thinks that if he’s ever called Andy again he’ll commit murder and join his father in jail.
Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it awful?
Logan and Dee should hate him. He breaks everything he touches.
Why had he asked to kiss Dee?
Because he knows he doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t deserve a place there. He doesn’t want a place there.
He doesn’t want-- not like this.
Not where Logan has look from the sidelines, or Dee has to watch Virgil take this good, happy thing him and Logan have and crush it. He doesn’t want something like this, if it means one of them ends up in tears.
1 + 1 = 2
That’s what his teachers told him.
Virgil already left once. Virgil already took himself out of a relationship once, removed himself from the problem, erased his own existence from the variables.
Its a word problem and Virgil knows this one well: Logan is the oranges and Dee is the apples and Virgil can pick one, or the other, or none. And even though he’s a Starving African Orphan he knows picking one is going to leave the other to rot away and he won’t-- doesn’t-- fucking can’t--
Maybe it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss? Its a reach, Virgil knows because he’s never been good at goodbyes and he fucked up the only ones he got: a paper note really? A roll of his eyes as his dad was carted away? A two fingered salute to Toby who had still be reeling from the idea that Andy was a work of fiction that he had been hanging out with for seven years?
Dee had deserved a goodbye.
Virgil had put his tongue in his mouth instead.
He’s a masochist (who liked ripping his own heart out again and again and again).
Virgil Storm walks into a party and now he’s still sitting there as reality comes careening back on him, a tsunami to drown him, a bag to suffocate him, a guillotine to decapitate him.
Because Virgil hadn’t thought about consequences and Dee had pushed him away before fleeing the scene and Logan had to sit there and watch. And the world feels like its too small, and the air feels like its too thin and Virgil feels like he just threw himself through a glass window into a freefall waiting for the ground to smash the rest of him to bits.
Dee ran off.
And Virgil is staring at Logan.
Roman is punch drunk out of his mind, laughing as he stares at the billions of pictures he just took. Remus is slung right over Patton wheezing with his joy. Patton has tears streaming down his face and pink cheeks and happiness glowing off him. Emile is trying to spin that stupid bottle and Remy is fighting over it with him.
And not one of them seem to be aware of what just happened. Virgil’s not sure a single one of them could tell him where they are, what their names are, who he just kissed.
But Dee ran off.
And Logan is staring at Virgil.
“I--”
He means this. He means this more than anything. Why can’t he say it? Apologize, damnit.
“Go,” he whispers, not even sure that he can be heard over Remy’s stupid music.
Because Dee ran off and Virgil is here and Virgil isn’t going to make Logan choose like this. In a decision between his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s colossal fuck up of an ex, there isn’t even a choice to be made.
Shouldn’t be a choice to be made.
Logan is blinking at him.
Logan is walking towards him.
Logan is grabbing his hand.
“Come on,” Logan says.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and he’s still trying to figure out how to do math.
Because 1 +1 = 2 and Virgil learned that when he was six fucking years old when Dee had knocked on his door and demanded at Virgil come out and play with him, and then again when he was ten when he was so scared of graduating elementary school and Dee held his hand the whole time, then again when they were twelve and Virgil slammed their lips together while they were in the back of that Movie Theater before he could chicken out.
Dee + Logan + Virgil does not equal 2.
Virgil knows this. He knows that Logan knows this, because he and Logan share their Calculus class and have cursed out their homework together many times. If Logan can do three digit multiplication while drunk, he should be able to see that 3 is more than 2 and one of them needs to go.
Its pick and choose and and and
And Logan’s hand is tight around his, warm like an open flame, and strong like someone who knows what he is doing. Because it is Logan Ackroyd and Virgil’s only known him for a handful of months but he’s the most put together person he’s ever met, the person that never lost sight of what he wanted before, the person who always had a solution.
The person who had invited Virgil to sit with them at lunch and then refused to let it be awkward when everyone else had whispered was that a smart idea, Logan, don’t you know who this is? Don’t you know what he did? Don’t you know what he is to Dee?
Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could tell anyone why he kissed his ex.
But he doesn't know why. The bottle had landed on him and Dee had just looked so smug about getting Logan out of the game and someone had to take him down a notch, didn't they? Someone had to defend Logan's honor?
But wait thats not right, because this was a game and it was fun until Virgil forgot that he left Dee without a warning and then showed back up just to threaten this relationship that he and Logan have. He doesn't have a right to kiss anyone, not Dee, not Logan.
He tries to dig his heels into the carpet, tries to wretch his hand from Logan's, tries to stop the world from spinning so much.
He thinks that maybe the universe is laughing at him. What a ridiculous notion, thinking that Virgil can stop ruination before it comes.
Logan drags him down the halls of Remy's house right after Dee, and finds the bathroom empty with the lights on and the door open and the toilet filled with vomit.
And the window open.
And, oh.
Dee jumped out a window to get away from Virgil, didn’t he?
"Come on," Logan says.
Virgil stumbles after him: back out the bathroom, back down the hall, right past the party and straight for the front door.
"Be Safe!" Patton yells after them (followed by a delighted shriek when Remus presses a multitude of cursory kisses into his neck).
Virgil Storm walks into a party and Logan Ackroyd drags him right out of it.
It seems so stupid, doesn’t it? Logan taking Virgil with him, holding his hand, being a steady center of calm while Virgil just wants to cover his ears hunch his shoulders and scream until the memories of Dee are gone and he stops….fucking… trying to… fucking ruin… This. Them. Here. Now. Whatever.
The city is so big now, bigger than when they were kids: Virgil doesn’t know where Dee would have gone in a disgusted panic, in a horrified frenzy, in whatever it was that Virgil had made him feel. At one point it might have been their fucking treehouse, the movie theater backlot, the icecream aisle of the grocer staring at the stupid fucking popsicles. But Virgil doesn’t know Dee anymore, doesn’t know this town, doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Dee could have gone anywhere to get away from him.
Except that he’s just on the ground next to Remy’s mailbox, one hand clutching the grass, the other a fistfull of hair and shaking like all of his bones were trying to leave his skin at once.
Its cold, Virgil realizes a second later. Its cold because its December and they’re outside wearing jeans and T-shirts and not a single coat between the three of them and its night so of course its fucking cold--
Logan plops onto the ground next to Dee, narrowly missing the mailbox and Virgil tumbles down after him.
There are over seven billion people in the world, Virgil knows this, but somehow all he can do is count the ones in front of him.
1, 2, 3.
Dee, Logan, Virgil.
It doesn’t equal 2. Can’t equal 2.
And Virgil still loves the feeling of pain, loves tearing his heart apart, loves watching Logan be soft and Dee be happy because he’s not and won’t ever be necessary for them--
“I--” Virgil says just as Logan cups Dee’s face with one hand. The other is still weaved between Virgil’s fingers like some sort of knot project. Virgil tries to let go-- he does-- but Logan just tightens and squeezes and does not let him let go.
Dee is shaking and crying and Virgil thinks that anyone who ever said that someone is beautiful when they cry is a fucking idiot. There was nothing pretty about see him in the moonlight leaking tears like a garden hose and covered in snot and curling on himself like his own arms are the only things stopping him from shattering apart on the lawn right now. There’s nothing gorgeous about the way his eyes are puffing up and his make up is smearing and his breaths are short and fleeting and fully of incoherent apologies.
There’s nothing heart warming about seeing him sobbing.
“Breathe with me,” Logan commands. “Dee, Inhale with me. One… Two… Three--”
Dee shudders. And tries and tries and tries but every breath is choked and wet and rattling.
And Virgil.
Virgil has no right to be doing this, but he flings his chest against Dee’s back and presses against him because pressure had always been one of the things that Dee liked when he was not-okay. How could Virgil forget, when so many of their days in that treehouse included him and Dee lying on one another musing with each other’s hair or scrolling on their phones or soaking in the silence?
Dee’s breath shudders, stops, and then he inhales. Logan counts steady as a metronome, steady as a time passing, steady as the Earth turning.
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2
Dee stops sobbing and his shaking decreases and his hand loosens on his hair just enough for Logan to reach up and untangle his fingers.
“You’re doing good,” Virgil whispers in Dee’s ear, because that’s what he needs to hear isn’t it? That’s what Virgil wished someone would say every time he crammed himself in his closet and willed his lungs to just fucking work when his Mother didn’t know or care or understand what was going on.
Logan counts. Virgil whispers. Dee breathes.
1, 2, 3
Logan’s hands are holding them both. Dee is leaning back against Virgil like he’s the shield between Dee and insanity and Virgil isn’t sure why he’s still there and can’t remember how to leave.
“I think…” Logan starts which is almost comical because when doesn’t he think? “I think we need to talk.”
“Talk,” Dee repeats, hoarsely. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Yeah,” Virgil says.
They don’t say anything.
Virgil knows what he needs to do. He knows that he needs to pull back, needs to untangle himself from Logan and stop draping himself over Logan’s boyfriend and go back into the house to get his coat and shoes and maybe a blanket for the other two before he starts that trek back to his apartment. He knows that he needs to go because he doesn’t belong and he needs to call Agent DW and get her to find him another place to live again because-- surprise-- he ruined this one too.
Virgil tries to shift back, but Dee follows him.
“Don’t--” Dee croaks.
Virgil stops moving. Because Dee sounds so fragile, because he never sounds fragile, because its was Dee.
“Please…” Dee whispers, “Please don’t.”
And, well, Virgil is a masochist who hates himself. What other option does he have than to stay and await for the speech of telling off that Logan is preparing?
Virgil’s seen Logan tear into people, he’s seen Logan put people straight, he’s seen Logan stand on tables and slaughter the morons who dared go against him. He and Dee had that in common: their words were weapons and they knew how to use them.
“I--” Virgil says, “I’m--”
Sorry? Not Sorry? Sad? A fuck up?
“Did you mean it?” Logan asks.
And Virgil’s chin is on Dee’s shoulder and the cold breeze blows straight through him.
“Virgil,” Logan says patiently impatient, “Did you mean it when you kissed Dee?”
Virgil knows what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say. What he needs to say.
“It was a goodbye kiss.” “It was an apology.” “It was part of the game.” “It wasn’t meant as anything.” “No, I didn’t.”
“You fucking liar.” Dee growls at him, miserably. (Aren’t they all miserable right now?)
And really what did he expect? Dee knew him better than he knew himself.
“Virgil.” Logan says.
“God, Fucking Shut Up!” Virgil snarls, “Both of you! Shut Up! Stop Asking Me if I Liked Kissing My Ex!”
“Did you?”
“SHUT UP!”
“That’s not an answer!”
“Fuck Your Answer!” Virgil throws back, and maybe its the hysteria talking because his voice is louder than he meant, louder than it should be with the three of them so close they are touching to keep warm. How can Virgil cover his ears and block out the sound of Logan’s accusing voice without pulling away from Dee or letting go of Logan’s hand?
“Why Does Anyone Need an Answer?” Virgil snarls, “What Does it Matter At All? You’ve Got--” He chokes because of course he does. And isn’t that an answer all by itself? “You’ve Got--”
Seven years ago, Virgil had entered Witness Protection with his mother when his father agreed to testify against the “shady organization that promised him big money to help put Virgil through college”. Seven years ago, Agent DW showed up on his doorstep ten minutes before he was set to meet Dee at the bus stop and took his phone from him. Seven whole fucking years ago, Virgil Storm was ripped out of time.
And things are different now: Dee is different, the town is different, life is different.
And Virgil feels like he’s playing the longest game of Catch-Up since Captain America himself. How can he belong when everyone around him is years and miles beyond what he remembers?
“You’ve got each other,” Virgil says, finally, miserably.
Dee can’t turn to look at him, but Virgil can feel the way he’s tensing and closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see the way that Logan is staring at him.
1 + 1 = 2
“What’s wrong with three?”
Three? Its a prime number, its an odd number, its one more than 2? And bad things come in threes don't they? A man, a woman, and the son they didn't want; a treehouse, grape popsicles, and a movie theater that sells overpriced candy; a party, a bottle, and a kiss that's still tingling on Virgil's lips.
So Virg startles a laugh. What else can he do?
(Leave, let go and leave and never come back.)
He blinks back a sting behind his eyes, one he's familiar with-- dontcrydontcrydontcry-- and suddenly right in front of him is Logan.
Logan, whos eyes swim with galaxies in them, who's pale skin drinks in the moonlight and glows like a lighthouse to bring him home, who's voice is a tremor in the night, a general with the power to raze countries. Logan, who's so close Virgil can see through the fog of their breaths and feel his warm exhales on his nose and cheeks.
Virgil breath catches in his throat. He can see each individual eyelash on Logan's face. Surely that must be because Virgil is still clinging to his boyfriend--
"I want to run an experiment," Logan's lips move smoothly, softly, barely more than necessary and Virgil can see his tongue flicking around the alphabet soup of syllables.
Logan leans closer. Virgil stays still, transfixed on those lips, and pressed against Dee's shoulder. This is a mistake, isn't it? Maybe Logan hit his head on the Mailbox and now he thinks Virgil is Dee and he doesn't really mean this at all and they need to take him to the hospital before he dies of bloodlo--
Logan's nose is touching his. "May I?"
And whatever sound Virgil makes is pitiful, and pathetic, and embarrassing, and a "yes, please."
Logan kisses him, is kissing, kissed him. Virgil finds a new meaning in the term "seeing stars" because right then his eyes are dazzled with sparkling diamonds and bursts of colors. It does something to him, makes his heart race and leap into his throat, makes him lurch forward because its not enough, he's not close enough. Logan’s fingers twists around him and Virgil thinks that he should be freezing but his palm is clammy. And his other arm snakes around Dee’s waist before he can even think about what he's doing (does he ever think?).
Logan kissing him, and Dee leaning into his touch and Virgil thinks he died and somehow ended up in heaven.
This--
Oh.
This is 3.
One more than 2.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and somehow ends up kissing his ex’s new boyfriend, too.
Logan's pulls away slowly, like a hesitance, like a regret. Virgil thinks he licks his lips, breathing so warmly, looking so flushed-- flushed? Logan's flushed and shy and soft in a way that Virgil’s never blessed enough to see before.
He coughs, weakly, fakely, and Virgil distantly thinks thats his attempt to regain some form of control. "Well. I believe my hypothesis was correct."
"Nerd," Virgil croaks. "God fucking ner--"
Dee's lips are on his by some magic-like contortion because Dee's back is still pressed into Virgil's chest squeezing all the air from his lungs and last time Virgil checked humans weren't supposed to be able to do that.
"Do shut up," Dee whispers into Virgil's mouth.
Virgil thinks that if he died this isn’t such a bad way to spend his whatever’s-next.
(Dee’s learned new things, Virgil realizes, because he kisses differently now than he had back when they were twelve and so fucking stupid.)
Dee’s mouth moves off Virgil’s lips, dashing across his cheeks and peppering him with featherlight kisses. If Virgil wasn’t so absolutely out of it he might have been annoyed because that was Dee, kissing his fucking freckles and Virgil had worked to hard to cover them with concealer--
Then Dee turns around and drags Logan by his fucking tie into a kiss of their own with Virgil in a front row seat. Virgil’s always enjoyed theater but this is something more: being this close, feelings both of them just inches away-- thats a show he thinks he wants to come back to again and again and again and--
Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that insane?
A week ago, a day ago, twenty minutes ago, this sight would have Virgil’s heart shattering right down the middle and stomping on the pieces and crying because even though it hurt like fucking hell this is what he wanted for them: he wanted Dee and Logan to be happy and safe and, and, and yeah he wanted them to be together too.
But right here, right now? He’s a part of this, and his heart does this stupid- fucking- jump thing when he watches them and his jaw hurts because he’s smiling so damn wide.
God, when was the last time he smiled like this?
He’s feeling some stupid emotion and its so nice and warm and safe that he doesn’t think he can even describe it with actual words (he’s always been a math person anyway). How does anyone describe this feather-fragile feeling, this cocktail of emotions, this atomic bomb of Need that causes him to hold on to all of this when he knows every other person he knows would tell him to let go?
This is something breakable.
And Virgil doesn’t know if it will be him that breaks or if it will be this… thing that he thinks came out of nowhere.
But he’s a masochist and he wants to find out.
“So,” Logan says between gasps for air, “Three?”
Dee laughs and blows a column of white condensation into the air. “Three, definitely.”
1 + 1 + 1 =/= 2
Virgil always thought that math was overrated anyway.
“Three,” Virgil says and it tastes like grape popsicles. Isn’t that weird? Virgil hasn’t had grape popsicles since that summer seven years ago. He misses that taste.
He sends a squeeze to Logan’s hand and Logan squeezes back. He hums into Dee’s neck and Dee laughs like he’s going to cry. Its the three of them together and who would have thought this day would come?
“Uh…” A fourth voice speaks up and Virgil squints up into the yellowed flashlight that’s rolling over the three of them. Its a guy-- must be one of the neighbors, though who knows why he’s out so late at night. “You three okay? I heard some yelling earlier....”
Virgil laughs at him, at them, at the universe. Dee’s shaking, too, something wonderful to learn and feel next to his heart.
“Should I take that as a no?” The man asks.
“Uh, no, Mr. Sanders,” Logan says but he’s grinning like he just achieved immortality. “I mean, yes! But not like--”
“I kissed two boys,” Virgil says, “And I really like them both.”
“Moron,” Dee laughs again.
The man, Concerned Neighbor, Mr. Sanders, looks somewhere between amused and confused. He shifts his weight, glancing beyond them, towards the house. (And Virgil doesn’t need to turn to know that fucking Remy is watching them from the windows.)
"Well you three should get back inside," the Concerned Neighbor says and Virgil gets the feeling he should be embarrassed, but honestly? Who gives a fuck? "Its cold out here."
Right.
Because its the end of December and its nearly ten oclock and jackets were quite literally the last thing on any of their minds.
Oh god what if they got pneumonia from this?
“Unlikely,” Logan says, straightening his tie. “Most likely one of us will contract a common head cold and then transmit it to the other two through an abundance of close proximity to each other.”
“Yes and that sounds completely awful,” Dee says wriggling around as he tries to get up. Virgil lets him go briefly, but snags the back of Dee’s neck before he can go too far. Dee squeaks in a way that is adorable.
“STORM! You fucker! Your hands are fucking ice cubes!” Dee bucks away and punches him in the shoulder before sprinting toward the door with a sharp little smile on his face.
And Virgil runs after him, pulling Logan along because he doesn’t want to let go at all. Its ridiculous. Its silly and hilarious and laughable and, and, and.
And they catch up to Dee right on the door step, bathed in the multicolored lights of the party where Logan gets a chance to snag Dee in a hug and Virgil--
Virgil Storm walks into a party and gets to tell everyone how he kissed both his boyfriends.
Virgil randomly turns into a toddler one day because he's so stressed and toddlers arent stressed
Deceit looked down in his arms, sighing in relief as Virgil finally fell asleep. It was a surprise to all when they found a baby in Virgil’s room, his hoodie covering him up. They soon saw it was Virgil himself, mostly from the eyes and the way he seemed to cling onto his hoodie. None of the light sides knew what to do as Virgil wouldn’t stop crying.
Logan tried talking to him, Roman tried telling him stories, even Patton tried to calming him down. Nothing would work. They soon called in Deceit and Remus to help out, and before they knew it, Virgil was holding his arms out for Deceit.
Deceit had taken him, shocked that Virgil did it again. The others were confused as to why Virgil was a baby, the blame about to be turned in Roman.
“He does this when he’s stressed,” Deceit explains before it can happen, “Something must’ve happened for him to react like this. Since babies don’t have anything to stress about, he does this. He should be back by tomorrow.”
“So what now? We just take care of him?”
“Obviously. We can’t just leave him alone.”
“Movie night?”
“I guess, yeah. Remus, please beha-“
Roman shut up as he saw his brother coo at Virgil and take over on holding him. They watched how Remus talked with Virgil as if nothing, and how the baby would smile and clap it’s tiny hands. Deceit looks over and just shrugs.
“Remus is a natural with baby Virgil. Virgil isn’t very fussy when a baby, just don’t give him broccoli and all is good.”
And that is how they spent their day. Roman conjured up baby toys and a play mat for him, moving everything around with Logan. Patton made baby food with Deceit, listening to his advice on what Virgil liked and didn’t like. Remus made sure to entertain Virgil as they prepared everything, setting him down once it was ready. A Disney movie was set in the background for noise, which caught Virgil’s attention and was clapping along to the songs.
“Food is ready!”
If someone told either of the sides that they would all come together because Virgil turned into a baby, they would’ve laughed. But now, they were together, watching a movie as Patton fed Virgil. Virgil just looked at everyone and smiles, playing with his toys. Night soon came around and Logan sees Virgil struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Maybe it’s time for him to sleep,” Logan speaks up as he picks up Virgil slowly, laying his head on his shoulder but Virgil got fussy.
“I’ll take over,” Deceit says and stands up, taking Virgil from Logan and laid him in his arm. “I’ll lay him in his bed, and don’t worry, it’s fine.”
Deceit hums as he walks upstairs and walks into Virgil’s room, seeing it for the first time. Sure, he saw how the living room was, but never his bedroom. He chuckles at the many posters and how he kept up the purple and black aesthetic. He looks down at Virgil and sees him yawning and whining.
“Calm down,” He chuckles and shakes his head, “You’re really a fussy baby. I’m still surprised you wanted to be with me.”
He sits down on Virgil’s bed and gently rocks him in his arms and sighs. He closes his eyes and keeps rocking Virgil, hoping he would sleep quickly. Of course, as soon as he opened an eye to see, Virgil was still awake.
“Of course you want a lullaby or song,” Deceit sighs and tries to think of one, humming and then nodded once he had one in mind.
“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly/Lavender's green/When you are king, dilly dilly/I shall be queen//Who told you so, dilly dilly/Who told you so?/'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly/That told me so,” Deceit sings to him smoothly, stroking his cheek in small circles with his thumb. He stands up and slowly paces around with him, “Call up your friends, dilly, dilly/Set them to work/Some to the plough, dilly dilly/Some to the fork//Some to the hay, dilly dilly/Some to thresh corn/Whilst you and I, dilly dilly/Keep ourselves warm,” Deceit watches him yawn and closes his eyes, making him smile fondly at the sight,
“Lavender's green, dilly dilly/Lavender's blue/When you are king, dilly dilly/I shall be queen,” He lowers his voice into a whisper as he moves to lay Virgil in the middle of the bed, being slow and gentle, “Who told you so, dilly dilly/Who told you so?/'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly/That told me so.”
He looks down at Virgil as he sleeps, pressing a small kiss on his forehead. He was happy, inside, to have been able to care for Virgil at least once more. He turns on the night light, placing two pillows at his sides, walking towards the door. He looks back once more, turning off the main light.
“Goodnight, Virgil. Rest well,” He whispers, shutting the door behind him.
I assume you mean roceit? I've never seen the ship name be princeit so I hope this is what you wanted ^^'
"No, Jay..." Roman voice was quiet as he lifted up his hand to cover janus' own. He spoke softly, almost whispering at this point. "Please...you don't need to wear the mask around me. You know how much I love to look at your beautiful face. And yes, even your scars." The prince reached forward to gently kiss janus' scarred and burnt cheek.
He could feel Janus exhale slowly...only to inhale then he nodded. Gradually the other lowered down the mask that digitally hides his burnt side of his face. Then his soft eyes looked up to him and he swallowed.
"Okay... For you."
Send me a word + a ship and I'll write a 3 sentence short fic based off it!!!
It was Christmas night when the fight started. Father never really was too kind. Janus fled the house when it got loud. So loud...- anyway. He slid his back against the cold, unforgiving door.
The 16 year old pulled out his mother's phone, and dialed 911. The woman on the other line promised that thing would be put in jail.
He didn't believe her.
He hung up the phone. Then, he was poked in the arm. He looked up to see a boy he knew from school, Logan. He was holding something. Janus grabbed it. It was a lemon wrapped in a tiger print bandana, with a note.
