#m writes things

Emile huffed, blowing a dark curl out of his face. “This feels less like a celebration of me coming to the United States and more of ‘torture Emi with good smells for, like, three hours!’”

So maybe he was impatient, but the food on his flight from Argentina had been subpar, and Remy going on and on in the car about the food he planned to cook didn’t help his hunger. Sue him!

“Sugar, the timer’s literally got five minutes left. Can ya wait that long, or am I gonna be left with a withered husk of what once was Emile Picani?”

“I can wait,” Emile grumbled. His boyfriend was lucky that he loved him.

-

When Remy had been describing that they were going to be having a “full southern dinner,” Emile hadn’t realized that he meant a literal feast. There was way too much food for just two people, but that didn’t stop Remy from cooking it all. There was mashed potatoes and gravy, three different kinds of chicken, some sort of rice dish, sweet potato casserole, cornbread, pecan pie, and… puppies? Emile hadn’t quite caught what they were called, but he did catch the word puppies, and that was rather unsettling. Once cut open, however, they seemed to just be some sort of fried cornbread.

Hesitantly, Emile took a small forkful of fried chicken and dipped it in the gravy as he’d seen Remy do and held it up to his face. He was afraid. What if he didn’t like it, and he hurt Remy’s feelings because of it? What if it didn’t live up to expectations? Should he lie and say it was great, or should he tell the truth? Questions swirled in his head, fueling his panic. He was going to–

“Emile!” Remy said, which caused Emile to jump. “Jeez, honey, you gave me such a scare for a minute. I thought you were dissociatin’ or somethin’.”

“I am so sorry–”

Remy shook his head. “No, it’s alright. What’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

“I’m just–” he huffed in frustration at his feelings. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Then… you don’t like it?”

“No, I mean, like, what if I really don’t like it?”

Remy tilted his head in confusion and said, “Em, I’m don’t understand.”

Emile set his fork down and sighed. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings if I don’t like it. You made all of–” he gestured his hands around the table– “all of this just for me, and to dislike it… Wouldn’t that just be terrible of me?”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’re allowed to dislike things. Plus, I like cookin’, and I know tons of people who’d kill for this stuff. None of it’s gonna go to waste, I swear.” Remy reached across the table and cupped Emile’s cheek. “It’ll be okay”

“Okay.” With a significantly larger amount of confidence, he took a bite of the food…

And melted. 

It was so good. Better than Emile could’ve ever imagined. He took another bite. And another. And another, and–

“Babe, oh my goodness, slow down,” Remy laughed, holding onto Emile’s wrist to stop him from stuffing his face. 

“But it’s good! I’ve never tasted anything like it in my entire life!”

A deep blush darkened Remy’s cheeks. “Oh, hush…”

“No, really!” Emile exclaimed. “It’s so flavorful, and the chicken is cooked perfectly so that it’s still juicy, and the potatoes… I haven’t even eaten everything, but I love this, Rem.”

“Thank you.”

Emile giggled and smiled. “You’re welcome! Now, may I please have my hand back so I can continue to eat this delicious food?”

“Oh!” Remy let go of Emile’s wrist. “Course, sugar. Eat up; my mama will have a cow if she sees how thin you are!”

“What? Why? I thought you were, like, getting it on with that fae dude or something.”

Remy screwed up his face good-naturedly. “Ew, no! I’m talking about how everyone else is looking at you.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, you dense fucker. When you aren’t paying attention, they watch you. In a not good way.”

“Shit,” Virgil muttered. “Shit.” Being on the bad side of a faerie was bad, but being on the bad side of this many fae was a death wish.

Remy took his hand and dragged him toward the elevator but was whisked into a tall fae’s arms halfway through.

Crystal blue eyes behind large, wooden glasses and sharp teeth met Virgil’s gaze as the fae murmured, “Going so soon, pretty flower?”

An excuse was on the tip of his tongue, but the truth curse that he’d been given at birth stuffed it down his throat, and he choked out, “My friend...”

“Alright,” the fae sighed dramatically but smiled. “Go on, little iris.”

A dramatic shiver ran through Virgil’s entire being as he stumbled back to a terrified Remy. They weaved through the mess of bodies--both fae and human alike--until the reached the elevator. Remy punched the down button as if it had done something to personally insult him, and they waited in an oppressive silence until the elevator dinged its presence on their floor. 

The two humans scurried inside without much thought, and Virgil pressed the first-floor button quickly. He nearly sagged against the side of the elevator when he noticed two very distinct fae making out in the corner. He bristled, and the faes’ gazes moved up to him.

“A rather ugly bloom isn’t he,” one of them crooned in a sweet voice that didn’t quite match with the harsh words he spoke.

“Gorgeous,” the other said. “I want him all for myself.” Their eyes flicked to Remy. “May I take a little taste of this darling boy you’re courting?”

“We aren’t dating--”

“Oh!” The fae’s gaze landed on Virgil once more. “So you’re free to do whatever I want.”

Thankfully, the elevator hit the ground floor, and the doors opened into an escape for the two humans inside. They all but sprinted out of the elevator and through the large lobby until they were outside in the cold, fresh air. Virgil nearly sighed as it nipped at his exposed arms, having left his jacket tied around his waist in his hurry. He breathed in the scent of early April rain and blessed whatever saint that Remy hadn’t tried to drag him to this club two weeks prior for the twenty-first birthday of the resident emo. 

“What the fuck was going on?” Virgil muttered as he pulled on his jacket. “They were looking at me like I was dangerous. Or fun. God, I don’t even know what they were looking at me for!”

“Beats me, babe,” Remy said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Let’s just go home.”

Leaning out the open window, Virgil craned his neck to view Logan sitting on the porch swing with a thick book in his hands. The rising sun cast the normally serious man in a sweet, angelic glow. He looked so beautiful that Virgil almost felt, as cliche as it sounded, as if his breath had been taken away. Logan was the most important thing in his life, and…

Fuck.

He was really going to do it.

He was going to propose. Now.

Virgil hastily grabbed the ring box from its place hidden in the spices (Logan couldn’t cook for shit, so he would never look there) and trudged his way outside. He waited for Logan to look up from his book to kneel and take out the box from his pocket.

“This isn’t the way I wanted to do this, but you’re so fucking pretty that I have to,” Virgil said. “Will you marry me?”

Logan shot him a confused look for a second before breaking out into a grin. He reached into his pocket and took out his own ring box and his set of flashcards. “Um, ‘Uno Reverse Card?’”

“Oh my god, this is a disaster. We’re disasters…”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Logan laughed as he pulled Virgil into his lap. “I love you.”

I’m not as stupid as you think. I say my words, but I still sink– Forced from thoughts that aren’t “mine to take.” Let me speak for my own sake!

I am not sweet or dumb or soft! I’m a grown adult who keeps morality aloft. You force me out again and again On hard presumptions that I won’t win.

When will you see that I am not Just something to be left to rot? I am important, and I am smart, but you never let me play my part. I am not weak, for I am strong Even though I’m sometimes wrong.

Logan, Virgil, Deceit, Roman, and Remus-- All have taken a shot that went amiss, So why? Why am I the exception When others fell victim to misconceptions?

Just Fuck I don’t even know why I try. I’ll never understand the reason why You stick me in this pit, Where I can’t contribute shit.

I’m at the end of my goddamn rope. You pushed me down a fucking slope, And I’m falling.