#spectral scribbles

He frowned. Over the past few days, that box had grown to become his dearest friend; Patton scarcely went anywhere without bringing it along. They had bonded! Something about throwing it out so carelessly, like nothing more than a worthless object... it just rubbed — 

“Achoo!”

Rubbed him the wrong — 

“Achoo!”

Frown deepening, Patton mentally added 'replace tissue box' to his ever-growing list of things to do.

Gosh, if only Logan were here. How much simpler managing the mindscape would be with one of those handy-dandy schedules the logical Side always seemed to have on hand (pun intended)! Patton had tried to write up a few of his own in Logan's absence, but it just wasn't the same. 

So here he was, stuck struggling to remember everything at once. Tidy the living room. Wipe down the counters. Hang the laundry out to dry. Patton ticked the items off one by one on his fingers as he ran through the familiar list. He was forgetting something, wasn't he? Replace the tissues. Wash the dishes in the sink. Make sure the others are drinking enough... Aha, that was it!

Patton was a little wobbly as he made his way into the kitchen, but managed to fill three glasses of water without once coughing into any of them — at this point, that was a win in his book. The hard part would be delivering them to the others.

At first, he tried carrying the cups on a makeshift cutting-board-turned-serving-tray. It took about two steps to realize that wasn’t going to work. His sense of balance was already poor enough when he wasn’t also dealing with a nasty cough, full-body chills, and a headache intense enough to make the room spin. “I may be a glass half full kind of guy, but sometimes you just gotta know when it’s time to drop it,” he said (out loud for some reason), followed by a solid minute of giggling.

Wow, he thought once he’d recovered enough to form coherent thoughts again. I am really out of it today.

Having now washed his hands of the water puns — nope, try again. 

Having now gotten the water puns out of his system, Patton was ready to try a different angle. He left two cups on the table this time, opting instead to use both hands to carry just one. There’d be less spillage that way. For sure, it would take much more energy to make the trip up and down the painfully long spiral staircase (a result of Roman’s whimsy from a time when they were all more spritely) three times instead of one, but he couldn’t imagine an empty drinking glass would do anyone any good. 

Besides, Patton was willing to do just about anything if it meant helping the other Sides recover faster.

--- --- ---

The first trip he managed with relative ease; Patton entered Logan’s bedroom to find him sound asleep, as expected. Tiptoeing so as not to disturb his slumber, Patton quietly set the glass of water at Logan’s bedside table, where he’d be sure to see it if — when — he woke up. 

In the corner of the room, something began to buzz. Patton let out a tch when he saw what it was: an alarm clock that had apparently fallen off the bookshelf to bury itself deep into a pile of discarded clothing. Really, Logan — you’re still trying to get work done? In this state? He hurried to shut the alarm off before its muffled ringing could register in Logan’s illness-addled brain. Silly duck’s going to exhaust himself if he’s not careful.

The last thing Patton was expecting was to be unable to even locate the alarm. What had looked like nothing more than an innocent pile of fabric from across the room soon revealed itself to be an absolute mess of a garbage heap. The wrinkled polo shirts and ties were only the surface of the problem (literally); underneath them hid all manner of odds, bobs, hammers and tongs, metal scraps and fizzled-out lights and pages upon pages of crumpled-up notebook paper. Whatever this project of Logan’s was, it did not look simple.

Nor did it look at all organized, in fact, which was quite a contrast to Logan’s usual love of the methodical. It appeared the sickness was taking its toll.

Giving up on the alarm clock search for a moment, Patton peered around to spot even more things that were just slightly out of place. A book out of place on the shelf. A tie clip left on the dresser. A corner peeling off of the crooked periodic table poster on the wall. And, at the foot of Logan’s bed, several small cardboard boxes that hadn’t been tucked away. 

Patton squinted at the boxes. Thick black Sharpie lines were scrawled into the side of each one, labels for them all. One, he could identify as ‘Green LEDs’; the others were harder to see from where he was, but he was willing to bet they were storage boxes as well.

Just then, the alarm clock abruptly stopped ringing, prompting Patton to glance back down at the pile he was trying to sort through. A flash of colour caught his attention: a bright green sticky note. Patton unfolded it to see ‘don’t forget to sort the supplies’ scrawled hastily across the paper, with the last few letters in ‘supplies’ trailing off as if Logan had barely managed to scribble out his message before falling into bed.

Well, while Patton was here, perhaps he ought to lend Logan a hand. Separating stuff into boxes seemed easy enough, right? And this pile must be a tripping hazard. With that in mind, Patton got to work. 

Excruciatingly slow work. There was enough junk in that one pile to last Logan a lifetime, it seemed. Still, figuring out which little pieces went in which box did get easier over time, so he kept at it. 

Eventually, everything was in its place but the shirts and ties, which Patton folded and left on the ground for Logan to organize as he pleased when he was feeling well enough. That’s better. Clutter-free, just as Logan likes it.

Then, with that taken care of, Patton had to come face-to-face with an unpleasant truth: it was time for him to brave the stairs once more. 

On a regular day, he’d bound down two steps at a time, maybe even slide on the railing if he was feeling particularly energetic. Today, on the other hand, it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other, clinging to that same railing the whole way. 

The brief feeling of pride when he finally reached the bottom was quickly swallowed by the realization that he still needed to run (or rather climb) that gauntlet twice more. 

Patton grabbed the second cup of water with a groan. Let’s get this over with.

--- --- ---

The door to Virgil’s bedroom swung open with barely a whisper. Inside, rows and rows of cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling between the door and where Virgil lay fast asleep — a veritable horror that would usually send Patton away screaming, but these days he was almost too tired to care. Covering the rim of the cup with the palm of one hand, Patton carefully picked his way through to Virgil’s bed, where he could at last drop off his cargo. 

He meant to leave immediately after that, not wanting to spend even a second longer than necessary lingering in the surely spider-infested room. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far.

Patton’s hand was on the doorknob when it happened: without warning, Virgil began thrashing around in bed, violently enough to make Patton jump. Beads of sweat were breaking out on the poor anxious Side’s upper lip and forehead, the latter creased tightly in his distress, the former trembling in a silent scream. As Patton watched, Virgil’s movements grew more and more frenzied — bed sheets weaving between his legs, back arching, fingers clawing at some invisible foe...

Within the same instant, Patton was back at Virgil’s side. “Hey, hey, hey,” he comforted, “it’s okay. You’re safe. Papa Patton’s gonna protect you from the nasty night terrors, alright?” As Patton continued to make soft, soothing sounds, he gently took one of Virgil’s hands between his own, rubbing protective little circles with his thumb. “Shh. I’m right here. Shh.” 

Jeez, he’s really burning up . The temperature of Virgil’s hand alone was through the roof — no wonder he was so feverish. Still, Patton didn’t let go of that hand until his kiddo had fully calmed down.

Now what? As badly as he wanted to just get out then and there (the sooner he was away from the cobwebs, the better), Patton couldn’t very well abandon Virgil like this. Paternal instincts kicked in; before he even knew what he was doing, Patton had taken hold of the mess of blankets tangled at Virgil’s feet and was methodically fluttering it out until the fabric was smooth again. That taken care of, he gave the blanket one last swish before settling it oh-so-lightly overtop of Virgil’s sleeping form, tucking the edges in snugly to make sure the fit was more secure this time. A quick fluff of the pillows around Virgil’s head, and he was done. 

Satisfied at last, Patton stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was difficult to look away, really — Virgil, a shock of pale skin against the mountainous backdrop of dark blankets and pillows, seemed years younger in this state. Softer somehow. Especially without the usual eyeshadow darkening his eyes or the brooding expression darkening all his other features, he looked… vulnerable.

“Sleep tight, kiddo,” whispered Patton as the door clicked shut. 

Turning away, Patton breathed a sigh of relief. Two down, only one to go.  

--- --- ---

At first, Patton had hoped Roman would forgive him for saving the royalty for last. 

By the time he’d stumbled down and up the stairs again, though, Patton wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself for making himself take that trip three times in a row — he was just about ready to keel over on the spot. About halfway up, he’d been seized out of the blue by a coughing fit that took a lifetime for that to pass. 

Ironically, his symptoms only went downhill the higher he climbed. What began as a faint ringing in his ears eventually grew loud enough that he could hardly focus on anything else, and the more Patton tried to will away the dark spots crowding at the corners of his vision, the more persistent they became.

But the weight of the glass of water clasped securely in his hands had remained mostly unchanged throughout the entire hike. Still full. The water… is that really what I was doing? It seemed such a small thing now, to be at the root of all this misery.

But no — he couldn’t start doubting himself now, not when he was so close to being finished. Patton shut his eyes tight and gave his head a firm shake. That managed to clear away some of the dark spots, at least. Good enough.

“Okay… okay. I can do this,” Patton panted, sounding to his own ears even less confident than he felt. Yet still he pushed onward, determined to finish what he’d started. 

Every step felt like wading through a sea of molasses. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Right foot — no, left — no — 

Who am I kidding? I can’t do this.

In the middle of the hallway, Patton stopped, feeling an all-too-familiar tickle beginning to form in the back of his throat. No, no, no, no, no... He wasn’t sure he was capable of handling a repeat performance, especially not while he was still coping with the aftershock of the last one. Swallowing hard, Patton tried to force the cough down and keep moving.

It didn’t take long to figure out that ignoring the situation wasn’t going to be an option for him. The tickle was unbearable. Maybe if I could just clear my throat, Patton conceded, just lighten the pressure a bit…

That was all the permission his body needed. The thought had barely finished forming when the figurative frog in his throat came leaping out, doubling Patton over into one of the most painful hacking coughs he’d ever experienced. His chest felt like it was ripping to shreds. Blindly, he passed the drinking glass into one hand, then threw the other outward, feeling around for a wall on which he could steady himself.

Instead, his fingers gripped something warm. Sturdy, too. 

The coughing momentarily subsided as Patton’s brain struggled to make sense of this new development. His gaze traced down to his hand, which was hanging for dear life onto... someone’s shoulder.

“Thomas? Is that you?” the shoulder said.

Patton did a double-take. Not because a shoulder was talking to him — the shoulder wasn’t talking at all, actually; shockingly enough there was a head was attached to that shoulder and of course it was the head that had spoken really — but because the voice was so familiar, and yet its owner had no business being out and about right now. 

“...Roman?” Patton tried, tentative (his vision was still hazy).

“Roman,” the voice repeated, equal parts ponderous and absent-minded. “Huh, that’s a funny word. Roman. Roman.” Rolling the R’s: “Rrrroman. Rrrroamin’ the halls… stalking the halls, for the thrill of the kill. She’s the apex predator! Jungle rrrr-royalty! Watch out, everybody — this kitty’s got clawwwws.”

Yep, definitely Roman. 

Poor guy was rrrr-raving, though. Seeing his friend like this was just enough to snap Patton out of his own feverish state. In alarm, he exclaimed, “Roman, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting!” 

“Who, me? Oh, so I’m the Roman. What are you, then? Floman? Wait, no I’ve got it — Snoman!” Roman giggled hysterically at his own joke before suddenly breaking into raucous song. “Frosty the snowman...”

“Okay! Okay, okay, shh, okay,” interjected Patton, trying to speak over the singing. “Roman, you’ve got a lovely voice, but you’re sick right now , kiddo, you understand? And you’re going to hurt that voice and the rest of your body if you don’t take care of ‘em. So do your favourite snowman a favour and drink this for me.”

Patton tried to hand off the (somehow still mostly-full) glass of water to Roman then, but instead of taking it, Roman just stared in a mixture of confusion and fascination.

Patton sighed. “Alright, plan B. Sit down.” Keeping his grip on Roman’s shoulder firm, he carefully settled Roman down to the ground, back against the wall. 

A crooked smile. How long has it been since the last time I said this? 

“Here comes the airplane.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Roman’s own mouth opened obediently. Patton raised an eyebrow. Huh. I wasn’t expecting that to actually work.

Not that he was complaining. Sip by sip, he coaxed the water into Roman until the glass was empty, Roman’s clouded-yet-curious eyes peering up at him through lidded lashes the entire time. When he was finished, Roman made grabby hands. “More.”

“I can’t, bud, I’m all out.”

“More,” Roman insisted, voice scratching painfully. 

He’s probably been coughing that poor throat raw, too, hasn’t he? Patton realized. Figures he’d want more water. With a fond sigh, Patton gave Roman the now-empty glass. This seemed to placate him; as Patton helped him to his feet, he continued to hold tightly to the drinking glass as if it were a lifeline.

“I’ll bring you more for real once we get you to your bedroom,” promised Patton as he slung one of Roman’s limp arms over his own shoulder. Guiding Roman one step at a time, the two slowly hobbled back in the direction Roman had come, the thick silence occasionally punctuated with a sudden outburst which Patton quickly shushed. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, but Patton could feel the sick Side’s body shivering against him all the way. 

The short walk still proved exhausting to Roman, apparently; already half-asleep by the time they arrived, Roman didn’t waste any time dropping off into dreamland. Patton was left with the unenviable task of wrestling all of Roman’s many duvets, blankets, comforters, and accent pillows into some semi-functional-looking arrangement. 

As he did so, the mental image of Virgil caught in the middle of an awful night terror kept flickering through his mind. A twinge of guilt. While I’ve been over here feeling sorry for myself over a silly little cold, Patton realized, these three have been way worse off. Roman couldn’t even remember his own name! And Logan… Logan’s still working himself down to the bone. I should have realized sooner. I should have taken better care of them. Should have, should have, should have.

But I didn’t, did I?

Patton rose to his feet, gently pulled the empty drinking glass out of Roman’s grasp (who mumbled an incoherent protest, but let go without much resistance). Maybe it was silly to have gone through so much trouble just to make sure his three little sleepy-heads drank something, but it was what was best for them, and Patton would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Really, he would. He was going to have to at least three times a day, anyway, if he wanted the other Sides to recover anytime soon.

And oh, at this point, he’d really love nothing more. Then and there, listening to Roman’s softly rumbling snores, Patton made a resolution: Whatever the cost, if it helps you, I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you three.

“Hang in there, Roman,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be feeling better in no time.”

--- --- ---

Tidy the living room. Wipe down the counters. Hang the laundry out to dry. Wash the dishes in the sink.

Are the others still asleep?

Vacuum the kitchen. Sort the bookshelves. Prepare dinner. Check on Virgil. Check on Roman. Check on Logan.

Did I check on Virgil? Better check again just to be safe.

Power nap. Breakfast time.

Hang the laundry out to dry… no, it’s already out there .

Wash the dishes. Make sure the others are staying hydrated.

Logan hasn’t touched any of his food since yesterday. The others seem to be awake more often, though.

Power nap. Dust the mantelpiece. Power nap.

Shoot, that was definitely longer than a power nap.

Organize the medicine cabinet. Water the plants. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch.

  When was the last time I tidied the living room?

--- --- ---

The strangest part was that Patton wasn’t cold at all. Quite the opposite, in fact; even the slightest of movements left him sweating nowadays, to say nothing of his twice-daily trips and up and down the stairs. Patton hadn’t had time to check his own temperature or anything, but was fairly certain he knew what the thermometer would tell him: burning up (and burning out).

So how come he couldn’t stop shivering?

Maybe I should ask Logan, Patton thought, before remembering that was out of the question. Sure, the others were doing much better recently, but Patton's promise had been to nurse them to full health, hadn't it? They needed their rest. He could handle a little shakiness in the meantime. 

Besides, it was probably just jitters from all the coffee he'd been drinking. After that time he'd accidentally slept through an entire afternoon, Patton had been fueling up on caffeine so as not to risk a repeat performance.

Speaking of which. He peered over the rim of his empty mug. Time for a refill. 

As he half-walked, half-stumbled into the kitchen, Patton mentally sifted through his list again. Had he washed the dishes after lunch? 

No sooner than the thought occurred to him, he could swear he could hear the kitchen faucet start to run; the sound of plates and utensils clinking soon followed. Patton's brow furrowed. He couldn't afford to be going insane right now — he didn't have the time.

Unfortunately, it seemed that was exactly what was happening to him. How else but a hallucination was he supposed to explain seeing Logan standing at the sink, rinsing off dishes that he could have sworn he'd already done?

Before Patton could react, Logan glanced up. He blinked. "What are you doing here, Patton?"

Patton's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Were hallucinations supposed to be able to talk? I must be really far gone.

Perhaps the craziest thing of all, though, was the fact that Patton decided to talk back. "I think that's my line," he said without thinking.

Logan frowned. "I don't understand. We're not recording a video right now. To refer to our off-camera lives as if they were part of a pre-written dialogue simply does not make sense, unless I've been deeply misinformed for the past thirty years."

Okay, never mind. This was definitely the real Logan.

But then... that didn't make sense, either. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"'Supposed to be'...?" Logan turned the tap off, frustrated. "Alright, really. How have I been operating as a functional part of Thomas for so long without ever once hearing about this script?"

"No, no, there's no —" The rest of Patton's sentence was cut off with a sudden sneeze.

"Gesundheit. Wait, was that my line?" 

Patton shook his head. "There's no script, Logan, it was a figure of speech. I just meant that you need to rest. You're sick!"

"I was sick," Logan corrected him. "I'd hardly say that term still applies to my current state, thanks to you. You've been working so hard to take care of everything in our collective absence; if anyone should be resting, it's you."

Patton was about to argue when another voice cut him off. "Alright, what's all the fuss about?" asked Roman, coming in from the dining room with a feather duster in hand, but stopping short upon seeing Patton. "Pat! I was wondering where you went."

"Living room," was all Patton managed to get out.

"Ah, of course, silly me! Look, thank you so much for all you've done. Why don't you go lie down now? I believe Virgil's still feeling a little under the weather, but Logan and I can take it from here."

Patton stared, trying to spot anything that might give Roman away as a fake produced by his addled imagination, but there was nothing. And oh, it was so tempting, the idea of finally getting to relax. He imagined his bed, feather-soft after so many nights of sleeping on the couch; his collection of stuffed animals just waiting for him to come home. How lovely it would be to just curl up and drift away...

Then Logan winced. "Patton, I beg your pardon, but where did you put the Advil?" he asked. "I checked in the medicine cabinet but couldn't find it."

Just like that, Patton's dreams of dreaming were gone. 

Logan and Roman still needed his help; it would be selfish to abandon them now. No matter the cost, he'd promised, I'd do anything for you three.

His mind was made up. 

Feigning innocence, Patton smacked himself in the forehead. "Ah, shoot," he said. "I think I must have left it in Virgil's room. Here, I'll go get it."

Roman immediately spoke up. "Oh, absolutely not. It's time for you to go to sleep, Padre. You go to bed; I'll get it."

"That's awfully kind of you, but I'm the one who asked." It was Logan this time, his words still a little stilted as he ground them out from behind what was most likely a headache of some sort. "It would be irresponsible of me to not go myself."

"Oh, come on, calculator watch, you're in pain!"

"Not so much that I've been rendered unable to fend for myself!"

"Guys, please stop fighting," Patton tried to shout, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. Yet somehow it did the trick — two sets of apologetic eyes turned to look at Patton. "Look, at this point I kinda feel like it'd be simplest if you just went together and that was the end of it."

Logan looked like he was about to argue, but Patton shot him a stern look and his mouth shut meekly.

"Great, glad we're all in agreement then. Come on." Without waiting for an answer, Patton turned and hustled both of them up the stairs. Come on, come on, come on... It was excruciating, but he had to make it look like this was no sweat if his plan was going to work. 

The fact that Logan and Roman both had to take a break at the top only solidified Patton's resolve. If he'd had any doubts before, they were long gone now, replaced with one concrete goal: Get them somewhere they can rest.

"Alright, off to sleep I go," said Patton once he was satisfied that Logan and Roman would both hear it. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime."

"Oh, and would you do me a favour? Could you please close Virgil's door when you're in there? I think there's a bit of a draft in the hallway and I don't want Virgil to get any worse." Which was the truth. (So what if everything else he'd been saying wasn't?) With that, Patton disappeared into his room.

He didn't go to bed, though — even though every bone in his body was screaming for him to. Instead, he pressed his ear against his wall and listened. A click, the shuffling of feet, and then another click as the door closed.

Patton didn't waste any time leaping into action then. Fast as his legs could carry him, he grabbed a chair and jammed it under Virgil's doorknob. A second chair soon followed, as well as a stack of boxes and a small table. He could hear a muffled commotion beginning inside as Logan and Roman realized they’d been barricaded inside. 

The doorknob rattled. Patton ran.

His feet moved fast, but his thoughts were faster still, and with every step they grew more and more muddled. Had he really just done that? Maybe this is going too far. 

On the other hand, Logan and Roman were only slowing down their own recovery by trying to “help out”. Patton had been handling things just fine by himself so far, after all; why try to fix what wasn’t broken?

He needed a distraction.

Luckily for him (or unluckily, depending on how you wanted to look at it), there was never any shortage of things to be done around the mindscape. For one, he still hadn’t prepared that chicken soup he’d been meaning to. No time like the present.

Again to the kitchen, as if in a dream. He just kept finding himself back here, didn’t he? 

Patton tried to grab a large stockpot off the shelves and nearly hit himself in the face. 

This thing is so much heavier than I remember, he thought, grunting. With a considerable amount of exertion, he lugged the pot over to the sink, then leaned against the wall to catch his breath as it filled up with water. Maybe I could close my eyes for just a second...

Patton woke to an overflowing stockpot and the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Ignoring a splitting headache — he’d dealt with plenty of those over the past few days, one more was hardly going to faze him — Patton leapt to his feet to turn off the tap. A groan. He couldn’t believe he’d been careless enough to let something like this happen again. 

Lamenting the waste but left with no choice, Patton tipped the pot over and watched its contents swirl down the drain. Once that was finished, he carried the pot out of the sink, took a step, and immediately stumbled. Funny — the room was swirling, too.

Gosh, his head was killing him.

He’d probably hit it against the counter just now, maybe bit his tongue by accident too. At least that would explain why, after setting the pot of water on the stove to boil, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember what came next.

What would Martha Stewart do? he wondered. Add vegetables? 

Vegetables seemed as good a guess as any. Celery, and garlic, and probably carrots too, except Patton did not care much for those and would rather keep the carrot-to-soup ratio to a minimum. He pulled one out of the fridge anyway, if only to fool himself into thinking he was doing the right thing.

Patton gripped a stalk of celery, preparing to chop, except suddenly the stupid shiver was back and the blade of his chopping knife slid off the stupid dumb vegetable and nicked his own stupid dumb idiot finger, and had those little red dots on the cutting board always been there? How come his finger hurt so much, too?

Patton gritted his teeth. Perfect. Just nifty. This was exactly the kind of stupid-dumb-idiot moron-thing he needed to deal with right now. 

Maybe, just for today, it’d be easier to break the vegetables by hand instead. 

With that thought, he tried to slide the knife back into its holder, but fumbled. In slow motion, the knife slipped out of his shaking hands; a loud clatter rang out as it fell to the floor, sharp blade narrowly missing chopping off one of his toes.

For several seconds Patton just stared, heart threatening to pump out of his chest but brain a little slower on the uptake. 

Then, to his own surprise, he began to laugh. 

All the confusion and adrenaline and exhaustion and hysteria of the past few days crashed together in an instant, and Patton couldn’t do anything but stand there and take it. He laughed until it hurt to breathe, until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, until he had to grab onto the stovetop to support him in case he passed out for lack of air — he couldn’t stop. The pot was boiling over. He couldn’t stop. 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought someone might have been calling his name. Maybe it’s God, Patton’s feverish mind rather unhelpfully supplied. Maybe my time has finally come. That would explain why, the next time he blinked, it was suddenly as if he were looking down at himself from above. He watched as shaky laughs turned to desperate breaths turned to hacking and coughing and choking, turned to not breathing at all. He watched as already-pale skin turned even paler. Eyelids fluttered shut. Fingers released their iron grip, and knees buckled.

Three indistinct-yet-familiar faces came running down the stairs just in time to see his silently swaying body go crashing to the ground, and that was the last thing Patton got to watch before everything went very, very dark.

--- --- ---

Someone was snoring.

This was unexpected — first and foremost because Patton was sure he would remember inviting any of the others for a sleepover — but not entirely unpleasant. Lulled by the gentle rumble, Patton snuggled deeper into his blanket’s warm embrace and tried to reclaim the nice dream he’d been having a moment ago, even though he could tell he’d already been asleep a long time. He felt more refreshed than he could ever remember feeling.

Was today some kind of holiday? In his drowsy state, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember the date. Ah, well. Either it was, or it wasn’t — and if it wasn’t, surely Logan would be coming by any second now to wake him up and make sure they stay on schedule. Patton couldn’t think of any other reason why he would have been allowed to sleep in for this long, let alone with a mystery person in the same room to boot. 

Speaking of… who might that be? 

Patton opened his eyes, but for a moment wasn’t quite sure that he had. His surroundings appeared just as dark as the insides of his eyelids. Add that to the list of unexpected things: had he not slept in, after all? But then why did he feel so well-rested? And what was this mystery person doing in his room in the middle of the night?

Sluggish though his brain was, Patton cast aside all hopes of sleep then in favour of trying to remember what might have happened yesterday to lead to this strange set of circumstances today. Memories started coming to him in bits and pieces then: a bright green sticky note marked with bold Sharpie lines, a veritable maze of cobwebs and clawing hands, the weight of an arm around his shoulders…

Oh, goodness. 

This was no holiday. Patton had slept for far too long. 

How long, though? How long have I left the three of them to fend for themselves? Patton wondered, fighting frantically now to extricate himself from the grip of the same sweat-soaked blankets he’d earlier been clinging to. He had to get out there, had to get back to work… Another memory stopped him short: he’d locked them into Virgil’s room. 

Patton sat bolt upright. I locked them into Virgil’s room!  

He regretted the abrupt movement less than a second later. A searing sensation shot through his left hand, which he’d instinctively used to push himself up, and the previously-dull ache in his chest was flaring up to match. At the sudden pain, Patton couldn’t help but let out an inadvertent yelp.

It was only after the snoring stopped that Patton remembered there was someone else here, too. 

He barely had time to process the thought before the mystery person was on their feet, probably on high alert. Patton’s good hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if silence would somehow render the mystery person unable to find him in this tiny enclosed space.

A hushed voice.

“Are you… awake?”

In the dark, Patton blinked. “Virgil?”

His mind was racing a mile a minute trying to keep up with all these new revelations. Why was Virgil in his room? Why was Virgil asleep in his room? Why was Patton asleep in his room, instead of out there making dinner like he could have sworn he’d been doing before? No, that last one was silly — it was clearly past dinnertime, if the darkness surrounding them both was any indication.

Still. Why was Virgil in his room?

Patton opened his mouth, unsure where to start but desperately needing to put a voice to some of the confusion. Before he could get even a single word out, though, Virgil cut him off.

“Oh my g — Patton, you’re back!” Virgil said, volume rising in his excitement. “You’re back, you’re — you’re talking to me!” 

Patton’s intelligent response: “Uh. Yup.”

“I — sorry, I just... I can’t believe you’re finally awake. You really scared me there.” Virgil’s voice was a little quieter now. “Scared all of us.”

“What do you…?” Patton paused as the full implication of his friend’s words set in. “Virgil, how long have I been sleeping?”

The silence went on for just a second too long before Virgil spoke, this time the quietest of all. “A little over a week now.”

Patton’s mouth went dry. 

No way. Was that even possible?

“Yeah, you were out like a light. Roman was maybe a second away from stabbing you just to get a response.” Virgil swallowed hard. “Hell, Pat, for a moment I almost thought you… weren’t gonna wake up at all, you know?”

“Gosh, Virgil, I’m sorry,” was all Patton could get out. 

“Hey, no, don’t be,” Virgil hurried to backtrack. He huffed out a laugh; too shaky to be convincing, but Patton appreciated the effort. “Ugh, just listen to me going on like this. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you in the first place. You’re here now, aren'tcha?”

“I guess,” said Patton, slowly at first. “But why did it have to be here specifically?” 

“What?”

He gestured at the door (or in its general direction; it was still too dark to see clearly). “I should be out there, Virge! I should be helping! It’s like you said, I’ve been asleep for more than a week while all of you guys were worrying over me. All I ever wanted was to make this stupid fever easier on you, and look how that backfired —” 

“Hey, I’m gonna stop you right there. Look at me.”

Patton sniffled. “I can’t, it’s pitch black in here.”

“...right. One sec.” As Virgil spoke, Patton could hear him busily fumbling around trying to find something. 

Moments later, a flood of daylight assaulted his senses, bright enough to blind him (or at least give him a killer headache, but what else was new?). Patton shrieked like a thing possessed.

“Virgil, what the heck? I thought it was midnight or something!”

“Nope,” replied Virgil, returning to what Patton could now see was a folding chair set up next to Patton’s bedside. The same chair he’d used to block the rest of the Sides into Virgil’s room, Patton realized with a guilty start. “4:00 PM, according to that clock above your bed. You’ve just got really nice light-blocking curtains in here. D’you think you could hook me up sometime?”

“But you were asleep!” 

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting here for some time. My hibernation instincts kicked in.” That just raised even more questions, but Virgil waved them away. “Not the point. Now look at me.”

Patton looked. What he saw was an exhausted, unnaturally pale young man with eyeshadow several shades darker than usual. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Someone who cares about you just as much as you care about them, Patton,” was the reply. “Listen, while Roman and Logan and I were sick, you took responsibility for everything. You were juggling so many things at once, and honestly it’s kind of unbelievable that you managed to go for as long as you did without dropping any of them. But the truth is, that’s just not healthy. You ended up overworking yourself so much, you literally passed out because of it. Not to mention what happened to your hands.”

“My hands?” Patton repeated. “What do you…?”

The rest of his question died on his lips once Patton looked down. His brain must be even hazier than he’d thought, because once he saw the fresh white gauze carefully wrapped around both palms, he had no idea how he’d managed to miss them. 

Patton didn’t quite understand until another memory pushed to the surface: him clinging to a heated stovetop, boiling water spilling over the sides of a stockpot. 

Suddenly, the burning pain he’d felt when he’d pushed himself up earlier made a lot more sense.

But something still didn’t add up. “Who’s been changing my bandages?” Patton asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

Virgil’s silence only confirmed his suspicions. 

It was him. Of course, it was him.

“Doesn’t matter,” the anxious Side finally said. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s your turn to rest. You deserve it. Let us do the work for a change, okay?”

“But —”

“No buts. Or else I’m gonna get Roman and Logan in here, too.”

“You don’t need to —”

“Too late, I’m already doing it.” Never once breaking eye contact with Patton, Virgil leaned out the door to shout downstairs. “Hey, losers! Patton’s awake!”

“What?!” Roman’s voice distantly shouted back.

“Virgil, really, I’m not worth the trouble — ”

“And he’s talking bad about himself!”

Logan this time, at near-’falsehood’ levels of volume: “WHAT?!”

A loud crash, as of a dinner plate shattering. Patton winced. No time to worry about that now, though; he could hear urgent footsteps threatening to pound right through the stairs if someone wasn’t careful.

Logan was the first to arrive. The huffing and puffing stopped short, as did his movements, once he caught sight of Patton sitting up in bed. 

“Patton, I…”

Despite everything Logan might say to the contrary, behind his thick glasses, dark eyes brimmed with all manner of emotion. For once in his life, the eloquent Side appeared to have been rendered speechless. Silence stretched for an instant.

The instant didn’t last long. 

Next thing either of them knew, Roman was blazing into the room, recklessly shoving Logan aside in his quest to reach Patton and envelop him in the most bone-crushing bear hug he’d ever received. 

“Woah,” wheezed Patton. 

“Oh, thank Madonna,” was Roman’s response, sobbed out into the nape of Patton’s neck as he squeezed even tighter. Patton let out a squeak.

“Hey, Roman? This is great and all but you’re kind of crushing me so if you could loosen up just a bit so I could breathe thatwouldbe great — ”  

“Right, I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, but just in time, Roman released his still-fragile friend. Down went Patton, breath coming in little wheezes that would be almost comical if it weren’t for how uncomfortably familiar they felt.

Roman opened his mouth to continue his thought. Logan shot him a glare. “At least wait until his lips are less blue,” he hissed.

“No, it’s alright,” Patton managed to say. “Go ahead, Roman, don’t worry about me.”

A sigh. “Hate to break it to you, but I think it might be too late for that.” Roman seemed uncertain of where to put his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re okay. You wouldn’t believe how relieved I am! But still, we were all so worried about you.”

Taking care not to disturb the bandages, Patton pushed himself back up to a sitting position so he could give Roman a sympathetic look. “Aw, Ro.”

“Would you mind if I… hugged you again? Gently.”

In response, Patton opened his arms. And oh, Roman hadn’t been lying — this time, he embraced Patton gingerly, his touches if at all, as if Patton was a delicate butterfly and even the slightest pressure would snap one of his wings.

His heart broke. Did Roman not know how safe he felt in the creative side’s arms? Yes, he’d seen those arms slay dragons, but he’d also seen them weaving flower crowns and adding finishing brushstrokes to paintings and bringing nectar to hummingbirds, and all manner of equally delicate things. 

Don’t worry, Patton wanted to say. I trust you.

But Roman pulled away before he had the chance.

“I really am glad to see you awake, Patton,” he murmured into Patton’s ear, thumb still softly tracing circles on Patton’s shoulder — until, without warning, his grip tightened and Roman pulled back to look at Patton with an intensity he’d never seen before. 

“Roman?”

“Listen to me,” Roman demanded in response. His eyes seemed to be boring right into Patton’s. “Don’t you dare do that again. Ever.”

Patton’s forehead wrinkled. “Do what?”

“Prioritize our health at the cost of neglecting your own.” Although quiet and controlled, the sound of Logan’s voice momentarily startled Patton; the logical Side had been patiently standing off to the side for so long, they’d all forgotten he was even there. “Patton, I appreciate that you were only trying to help, but there is a fine line between selfless and self-sacrificial. And you crossed it.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Patton, lips twisting off to the side in an uneasy frown.

But Logan wasn’t finished. “You may have thought you were doing us a favour by refusing to allow us to assist you. But at that point, when we were clearly in a better condition than you, your actions only put all of us at risk.”

“Hey, teach? Maybe dial it back a bit?”

Logan didn’t appear to have heard Virgil. He absently pushed his hair back with one hand, which then rested on the back of his head. “Do you know how frightening it was to see you reduced to a — a heap on the floor? Do you realize what could have happened had Roman’s sword not been strong enough to chop through the barricade you made at our door?”

“Logan,” Virgil repeated, more firmly this time.

 “Your job is to serve as Thomas’s Morality.” Both hands were buried deep in his hair now. “You can’t do that if you’re — ”

“I’m sorry,” Patton breathed.

Logan caught himself, glanced over to see Patton wearing an expression Logan could only describe as being akin to that of a kicked puppy. Oh, no.

“I just… you all were so much worse off than me. The only one who could even get out of bed was Roman, and if you’d seen him wandering around like I did, not even remembering his own name, you’d be worried too!” Patton drew in a breath, gingerly pulling his arms in towards his body and refusing to look at the already-worried faces his friends wore around him. “It felt so selfish, the idea of taking a break while you three so obviously needed help.”

Above his head, Logan glanced at first Virgil, then Roman. Someone ought to say something. But seeing as both Virgil and Roman appeared to be struggling for words, that someone ought to be —

He heaved a sigh.

— him.

Taking care not to jostle Patton too much, Logan lowered himself down onto the mattress and laid a hand on Patton’s back, right where he himself had often felt the moral Side’s comforting touch after straining his eyes on a laptop screen late into the night. Patton flinched a bit, but didn’t pull away.

When he spoke, it was with a voice gentler than any of them had ever heard Logan use. “It’s never selfish to ask for help.”

On the other side of Patton, Logan felt rather than saw Roman nod. “I’m with Pouty McSpecs over here,” he said, perhaps trying to lighten the mood a bit. “As the late, great Ms. Frizzle once said: Do not be afraid to ask for help. Nobody gets through college on their own.”

Logan blinked. “That... was Michelle Obama.”

“Yeah, there were so many things wrong with that statement I’m not even gonna try and unpack it all,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m pretty sure it was the Friz.” Roman shook his head. “Anyway, not the point. You see what we’re saying, right, Patton? You won’t be able to take care of anyone if you’re not properly taking care of yourself first.” He gestured to Patton’s injured hands. “I mean, all this for a bowl of broth?”

“Not the time, Princey.”

“Sorry.”

“Speaking of time.” Virgil rose to his feet with a stretch. “I think it’s time for us to leave you be. You still need your rest.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off with a yawn so long he couldn’t remember what he’d meant to say by the time it was finished. Already-flushed cheeks grew even redder with embarrassment.

“I rest my case.” He turned to the others. “Come on, I’m pretty sure someone’s got a shattered dinner plate to clean up.”

Roman flinched. “Ah. That.” 

“Yeah, that. Let’s move!” As Virgil shooed Roman and Logan out of the room, he snuck one last glance back at Patton, who had a lopsided smile on his face, crooked in the most genuine of ways, as if biting back a laugh as he settled himself back down under his bedsheets and snuggled in tight.

Something fluttered in Virgil’s chest. Warm, it felt, and light and fuzzy and — and inexplicable, until he realized: it was the first time he’d seen Patton smile in weeks.

Patton was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“Sleep tight, pops,” whispered Virgil as the door clicked shut.

 --- --- ---

A/N: i set out to write a 2k vent fic in a day and ended up writing this exclusively in half-hour chunks over the course of three weeks. whoops. but i mean, here we are — and here you are, having read all the way to the end, so… leave a comment maybe? :’)

“Just making sure.”

Next to Patton, Valerie shovelled a spoonful of chocolate pudding into her mouth before giving Patton a big grin. “So what had you so distracted there, Mister Plato?” she teased, poking the plastic spoon in Patton’s direction.

“Oh, you know… just thinking,” was the vague reply, delivered offhandedly as he glanced at the empty spot beside Sloane. Contrary to his previous protest, he still seemed distracted. “Where did Corbin go?”

“Bathroom, I think. Or maybe he just got tired of waiting for you to tell us what you were thinking about,” said Valerie, tossing any semblance of subtlety out the window with a raise of her brows. There was an expectant lull in the conversation as the two friends waited for Patton to fill them in. When it became clear that he wasn’t about to, she turned to Sloane with a roll of her eyes. “Guess we have to figure this out on our own. Hmm, let’s see. What new factors have entered Patton’s life recently that could be distracting him this much?”

Sloane caught the meaningful lilt in his feisty friend’s voice without missing a beat. “Well, I can think of at least one thing. One person, to be precise.” He tapped his chin with another fry, pretending to think hard. “What was his name again?”

“Leonard? Liam? Maybe Luke? Something with an L. Cute tutor guy, right? The one with the swoopy hair and —”

“And dreamy eyes —”

“Okay, alright, fine! Enough!” broke in Patton, red as a tomato. “First of all, his name is Logan, okay? Which I know you know — Sloane, he’s in the same grade as you, for crying out loud!” 

Sloane, to his credit, at least had the decency to pretend to be sheepish, even if his best efforts couldn’t mask the impish gleam in his eye. The same could not be said of Valerie. “So you were thinking about him!” she said, triumphant. “Damn, I’m good.”

“Um, actually, no. For once.” The tips of his ears had begun reverting to their regular shade for a moment, but now the bright red glow returned, twice as strong as before. The words hanging on Patton’s lips couldn’t get out fast enough. “I mean, don’t get me wrong — I’ll be the first to admit that he does have just the cutest hair and eyes, and he’s super smart, which is obviously a plus, and it’s so adorable the way that he’s always adjusting his glasses and necktie as if they’re not already perfectly in line with the rest of his outfit — hey, speaking of, have you noticed how you never see him wear the same necktie twice? Where is he even getting those things from? D’you think he might have some kind of secret necktie stash or—?”

“Patton. Breathe.”

“Right, okay, sorry, I... yeah." Patton clamped his lips together as he sucked in a huge breath through his nose, grateful for the timely reminder. What were we talking about again?

“You’re still avoiding the question,” supplied Valerie. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. If it’s not thoughts of cute necktie tutor guy distracting you, then...?” 

“Oh! Well, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this to you guys yet, but there’s this one really nice guy who works at the library where Logan and I meet up for our sessions. His name is Virgil. Super sweet guy, really cool nails.”

“Aha!” Valerie leaned forward. “So Logan’s getting some competition now, is that it?”

Patton laughed freely at that. “Oh, no — ha! — no way. He’s, like, twenty years old; pretty much the same as Roman, probably. No, we’re just friends. At least,” he added, furrowing his brow, “I think we’re friends. He seems pretty shy, though, and we’ve only really talked twice, so maybe he doesn’t actually consider me a friend yet?”

“Acquaintances, then.”

“Sure. Close acquaintances. Anyway, we were having a pretty nice chat while I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up from my session yesterday. He kind of fell asleep halfway through, but —”

“Back up,” Sloane interrupted, “fell asleep?” At Patton’s nod: “Sheesh, man. I thought you said he was this ‘super sweet person’.” He made little air quotes with his fingers as he spoke. “Checking out mid-chat doesn’t exactly scream sweetness. You’re sure you’re not just too nice to realize his true colours or whatever?”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t jump to conclusions yet. I was just about to get to that. See, the poor guy had an absolutely exhausting day yesterday. He told me all about it after his, uh, energy crash. Because I invited him to, not because he just decided on his own to go ahead and dump his worries on me,” Patton added as he saw Sloane readying another protest. “But, see, here’s the thing: I don’t think that the whole streak of bad luck was the only reason for Virgil’s stormy mood yesterday. I mean, maybe I’m just overthinking, but both times I’ve talked to him so far, he’s just had this kind of… permanent tiredness. Not as in I-want-to-take-a-nap tired. This feels way deeper than that. Almost hollow.

“You should see the way Virgil carries himself. His shoulders are always curled in, for one, like if he makes himself smaller, the empty whateverness inside of him will get smaller too. And he keeps his hands really close to his chest when he’s not typing or knitting or something, like he always needs to be ready to shield himself from someone trying to reach in and tear that hole any larger. And he never smiles without ducking his head a little, as if...”

Noticing for the first time since he’d begun his strange monologue how blank his friends’ faces had grown, Patton trailed off sheepishly. 

“You know what? Never mind,” he dismissed. “I didn’t mean for that to get so heavy. Sorry. Um, so yeah.” Patton shifted in his seat uncomfortably he continued while he turned to address Valerie, who was so lost that her eyes were fixed on a point above Patton’s head as she tried to understand.

“Patton, if I may…”

Oh, wait. So that’s what Valerie was staring at! Hearing the new voice join their conversation, Patton turned around with a delighted smile. “Corbin, you’re back!” he cheered, all thoughts of holes in chests disappearing to the back of his mind as he leapt to his feet to greet the new arrival.

“Oh my g— you’re just as bad as Sloane,” grumbled Corbin in response before sliding back into his spot next to his boyfriend. Contrary to the studious disinterest he’d been feigning at first, Corbin couldn’t resist giving Sloane a quick but affectionate smooch on the cheek. He waited until his arm was wrapped securely around his boyfriend’s shoulder before continuing, the sting of his words somewhat dampened by the way Sloane was already nestling into the crook of his arm, almost purring in contentment. “Seriously, do none of you have any chill? At all? I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Sure, but I missed you!” Patton said with a pout.

“Looks like you didn’t miss my pretzel sticks,” shot back Corbin, gesturing to the now-empty container in the middle of the table. “That was basically full when I left!”

“Sorry, Corbin,” chorused the three friends, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 

“Yeah, yeah, save it. Anyway,” continued Corbin, turning to Patton, “I couldn’t help but overhear your desperate plight.”

“He means he was eavesdropping.”

Corbin lifted an eyebrow at his boyfriend’s interruption. “It’s not eavesdropping if I would have been a part of the conversation in the first place anyway!”

“Mm, not how it works.”

“You shush or I’m taking this arm away.” Taking Sloane’s protesting whine as a sign of surrender, Corbin returned his attention to his cousin. “Patton, I totally get where you’re coming from. I think that this library guy just needs a friend.”

Patton’s forehead creased. “A friend? But I’ve already been trying to be his friend!”

“Yeah, but… look, obviously, it’s great that you’re already spending time with this guy —”

“Virgil.”

“— sure — spending time with Virgil after your sessions. Super thoughtful of you. But honestly, you know as well as I do that half an hour of small talk twice a week is hardly enough time to really get to know someone.” Corbin idly messed with Sloane’s hair as he spoke. “Not that I don’t think those half-hours are helping — I’m sure they are! I just… you said that he’s older than us, right?”

Still listening attentively, Patton nodded. “A few years.”

“Well, then, maybe you could try introducing him to someone else around the same age. Someone with a little more control over their own schedule than a high school student would have. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Uh… sure do.” Patton did not.

A fact which did not escape his cousin’s notice. Corbin exhaled. “Alright, here’s the thing. It’s not that I doubt your ability to befriend someone older than you. I know you, Patton, you could probably make friends with a rock if you put your mind to it. Actually, scratch that — you have made friends with a rock, haven’t you? Remember Percy and Pierre, your ‘twin’ pebbles from when you were in, what, grade two?”

In spite of himself, Patton laughed. He remembered, all right. “Pretty sure I might have paid more attention to the well-being of those rocks than I did to myself.”

“Okay, yeah, see? That’s my point exactly. You’re a really friendly, caring, all-around great guy — impossible not to like. But if I’ve learned anything from all those post-secondary preparation lectures they make you attend in twelfth grade, it’s that uni students’ schedules and high school ones don’t always mix; they might be busy in the mornings and evenings with classes and work, but have most of their afternoon open, or vice versa. It’s a mess.” Corbin shrugged. “Hey, if anyone could make a friendship thrive under those weird hours, it’s you. But I still think it might be a better idea to find someone who’s around the same age as this Virgil guy.”

While Patton thoughtfully processed his cousin’s suggestion, the table lapsed into comfortable silence for a spell. Across the table, Valerie finished the last of her chicken and rice. It was as she was screwing the lid back onto her thermos that a question appeared to hit her. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Valerie had to give voice to her curiosity: “Hey, Corbin, it seems like you really know what you’re talking about. If it’s alright to ask, why is that? Are you speaking from experience, or...?”

She trailed off as both she and Patton noticed the worried expression Sloane now wore. He shifted on the cafeteria bench to glance up at Corbin. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” he murmured.

“No, it’s fine.” Corbin punctuated his words with another bite of his apple, which he took his time chewing, carefully formulating his answer before swallowing to speak again: “When I first entered ninth grade — so, two years ago, you and Pat would’ve still been in seventh — I was... going through a bit of a rough patch. That was around the time my dad packed his stuff, and a few weeks later, my mother started to drink. A lot more than she should have, probably. 

“Patton, you might remember that we weren’t at the family reunion that Christmas. That’s because neither of us were in any shape to go to a party; things had gotten really messy at home, to the point where I was skipping school almost every day to make sure she didn’t — uh, to take care of her.” Corbin rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Long, long, long story short? First semester of high school was not a great time.”

Valerie blew out her cheeks. “That... sucks, Corbin. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Things got better.” Down came Corbin’s hand as he glanced at Sloane, whose head hadn’t moved from Corbin’s shoulder since he sat down. The moment his eyes fell on his boyfriend’s face, it was almost as if Patton could see his walls coming down, too. “And believe it or not, the improvement began in History class, of all possible places.”

“Our teacher’s seating plan put us next to each other.”

“I was trying to get some dramatic buildup going there, but… yeah, basically. My home situation was a little better by second semester, so I started coming to class more often. Sloane moved from Clivesdale right around the same time. As luck would have it, he wound up next to me for homeroom. The fresh transfer and the kid who never came to school. Probably the only thing we had in common besides a similar desk arrangement was the fact that neither of us had any friends, though not for lack of trying on Sloane’s part.”

“I baked cookies for everyone my second week there! Cookies, and no one besides Corbin even tried one!”

“Dang, so that’s how your whole love story began? Cookies?” quipped Valerie. “Those must’ve been some good baked goods.”

Corbin snorted. “No. I mean, yeah, they were good cookies, but it would have taken a tray a day to break through the angst-barriers shielding me from the rest of the world back then. No, it was that dumb A Moment in Time project. You know, the one where you and a partner have to prepare a full-length presentation to ‘transform the classroom’ and ‘take your peers back’ to a decade they assign you?”

Patton nodded. He remembered it well. 

“Man, I have no idea where they come up with this stuff. Anyway, the point is, being the only ones in the class who had no pre-established connections with any other classmates, the two of us were kind of forced to partner up through process of elimination.” The last of Corbin’s apple slices gone, he paused to slide the container back into his lunchbox. 

Sloane picked up the narrative where he’d left off: “I ended up inviting Corbin over to my house, I think about two days before the deadline? I told him it was to put some finishing touches on our Swing in the Roaring Twenties poster, but honestly, I just wanted to get to know him a little better.”

“We both knew it was an excuse—”

“He never suspected a thing.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Not a clue. Nada. There’s a reason they call me Sloane the slick.”

“No one calls you that,” insisted Corbin. “Besides, I knew all along. Our posters had been done for a week.”

Sloane gave Corbin a playful nudge. “Then why’d you agree to come, hmm?”

“I guess... because a part of me didn’t hate the idea of having a friend,” Corbin had to concede. “Actually, I’m not sure what I was expecting to get out of our little meeting, but a total mental breakdown at a near-stranger’s house definitely wasn’t it. Took both of us by surprise. I’m… still not entirely sure why it happened.” 

Patton had his suspicions; he’d met Sloane’s mother before, and she was the epitome of sweet and affectionate. His voice softened. “Aw, Corbs.” 

To his surprise, though, Corbin smiled. “There I was, a snivelling mess on the carpet of a guy who until then had been a friendly acquaintance at best, but instead of judging me or getting uncomfortable, Sloane just… sat with me. Listened. And eventually, gave me comfort when I was ready for it. That’s where this quote-’love story’ began, Valerie — having someone to lean on was so helpful in getting me through the rest of the year, and by the time my mom finally cleaned up her act, our relationship had long since moved from partners in History class to, well, partners in just about every other sense.” 

“Corbin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Sloane added. “Man’s witty, sweet, and so easy to talk to it’s stupid. All I really wanted after transferring here was a casual friend or two. Corbin turned out to be way more than that; he’s been my rock. My loneliness-b-gone, know what I’m sayin’? Nothing can mess with my funky flow when he’s around.”

“Hey, Sloane?” 

“Yeah?”

The corners of Corbin’s eyes crinkled affectionately. “That didn’t make any sense.”

***

By the third time the lead on the tip of his pencil snapped off, Patton could no longer ignore the voice in his head telling him to just give up for the night. He pushed his homework to the side and closed his eyes in a lazy attempt to calm the headache that had been steadily growing over the past half hour. This effort — if you could even call it that — proved futile; the image of the trigo-whatsit cosine graph he’d been staring at moments before was burned firmly in his mind’s eye. If he focused hard enough, he could even make out a colourful impression of the curvy lines faintly floating against the dark backdrop his eyelids provided. 

Patton yawned, wishing he hadn’t left his math homework for last. Talk about not making sense.

The bizarre pseudo-graph starting to psych him out, Patton opened his eyes back up with a yawn. His gaze landed on something bright blue: the cat-eared case of his phone, lying face down on the other side of his little desk so as not to distract him from the homework he was supposed to be doing. 

Fat lot of good that had done him. He’d been eyeing the thing all evening. 

Try as he might, Patton couldn’t get his lunchtime conversation with his friends out of his mind. Corbin’s story in particular had given him a lot to think about regarding Virgil’s predicament, and it hadn’t been very long after when Patton realized he knew exactly what to do. The answer was blindingly obvious in hindsight, really. 

Admittedly, he had yet to actually act upon his “master plan” — he’d been pushing the thing aside in favor of trying to make sense of his math work for most of the day. But now that Patton had, er, selflessly decided to sacrifice the completion of said work for the greater good, nothing was left to stand in his way.

Except possibly a lack of cooperation, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.

After the briefest of internal debates, Patton’s hand reached out to make contact with something bright blue. Moments later, the brightness of a phone screen lit his features from below:

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): rooo

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): romannnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): roman my mannnnnnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): Sorry I was just watching the clock change from 7:59 to 8

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): What can I do for you pattington bear?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:00pm): ooh new nickname :DDD

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:01pm): anyways i just wanted to ask a question for science reasons

le-petty-prince (8:01pm): Well that sounds completely normal and not at all suspicious even the slightest amount! Ask away, O Vaguely Cryptic One

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): you ever wish you had friends

le-petty-prince (8:02pm): ???

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): wait no that came out weird let me try again

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:03pm): “how would you like to add a new friend to to your already existing large roster of many cool and awesome friends” <<< pretend thats what i said the first time pls

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:07pm): u still there?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:12pm): hello?

When a few more minutes of waiting yielded no response, Patton’s brow furrowed. What if he had accidentally offended his older brother? 

Just as he was seriously starting to worry he’d blown it, though, his phone vibrated in his hands:

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Sorry. Back. Monet says hi

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Anyway!! Im intrigued!

With a sigh of relief, Patton tapped out his instinctive response:

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:21pm): hi intrigued im pat ;))

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Funny

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Now call me crazy but something tells me there was a little more than ordinary curiosity motivating this Friend Roster Expansion hypothetical

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): science reasons, roman, i told you

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): ..but yeah also another less sciencey thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): well i guess he could be sciencey? V was playing minesweeper last time we talked which seems like a smart-people kind of game but idk where exactly it would fall on the spectrum of scienciness

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): To be fair, its gotta take great courage to play minesweeper in public. Whoever this V person is, I deem them worthy of my respect

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:24pm): i assure you it was a very cool and respectable thing

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): In that case, I would be honoured to meet such an indisputably Cool Guy

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): !!! YESS

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): ok so i was thinking you and V could maybe meet up over coffee or something? theres this one really cute place that opened up recently, best cronuts youll ever taste <33

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Ngl cronuts sound EXQUISITE right now

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Why dont you send me their contact and I can try to schedule something, say next week?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:26pm): ooh uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): thats the thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): i kind of dont really have any of V’s contact info BUT!! he works at the library so i’ll see him on friday and i can set up a time and place for you two then!!

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Hmmhm

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Funky circumstances but I trust your judgement! If you like V this much then Im sure he must be a real grand guy, I cannot wait to meet him!!!

le-petty-prince (8:29pm): Oh shoot sorry I need to go, Ive got a date to get ready for. Im super into this though so we can work out the details tomorrow, capiche?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:29pm): caposh~

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:30pm): be safe!! dont have TOOOO much fun ;)))

le-petty-prince (8:33pm): Pfft. Bye dingus

***

“I just don’t get it!”

“Heard you the first time, bud,” quipped Valerie through a wry smile and a bite of celery. “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t… I don’t know, misinterpret something?”

“Yeah, I — no! Maybe?” Patton first tossed his phone onto the cafeteria table, then his hands into the air, frustrated. “I just don’t know why the sudden change in heart, Val. You know?”

“Who knows?”

“I know!”

“Okay, no. Press pause.” All eyes at the table turned to Corbin, who in turn was squinting through his glasses at Patton. “Guys, I’m barely following. Could you maybe explain what’s going on one more time?”

“Alright, you remember how I was telling you about Virgil yesterday? Lonely librarian guy? And you told everyone your and Sloane’s backstory and recommended I play friend-Cupid and all that jazz, right?” At Corbin’s nod: “Well, I tried it with Roman, and everything seemed to be going just peachy last night. He seemed really excited! But now all of a sudden… well, here.” Patton retrieved his phone to show his tablemates the messages. “Look.” 

le-petty-prince (11:12am): As I was saying though: I do hate to rain on your parade but to be frank I think Im uhh

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Good? Friendwise I mean

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Real sweet of you to reach out though

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:13am): wait what? really??

le-petty-prince (11:14am): Sorry there are just so many complications

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Im unbelievably busy these days, for one

le-petty-prince (11:15am): So so busy

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Student life, man. Busy with college

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Essays and stuff

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Look frankly I hardly even get to see my other friends anymore, if I went through with this the chances are pretty good that Id meet him for cronuts or whatever this one time and then never find time to hang out with him again

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Which just seems boorish. It would probably do more harm than good for poor V frankly

The last text appeared as Patton’s friends were still reading; with a frown, Valerie handed Patton’s phone back to him. “He is acting kind of weird.”

“Right? I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” Patton looked up at his friends apologetically. “Is it okay with you guys if I text at the table today?”

An indifferent shrug was his response. “Go nuts, man.”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:17am): hey ro? can i be straight with you for a sec?

le-petty-prince (11:18am): Good luck with that

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): -_-

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): no points for the gay joke today, however tasteful it may have been. serious business here

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): roman, what changed your mind really?

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Huh

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Wdym

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Didnt I just say? Haha

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): mm i dont think you did

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): you keep talking about “complications” and youre using the word “frankly” a lot and i know for a fact that you only ever use those words when youre hiding somethin

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:21am): nice try though!! but i did grow up in the same house as you did so im gonna need you to give it another go

le-petty-prince (11:22am): I dont know why youre being so weird about this pat

le-petty-prince (11:23am): I mean sheesh maybe I really am busy okay?

le-petty-prince (11:23am): And for the record that maybe is actually a resounding REALLY

le-petty-prince (11:23am): Look see I didnt even say anything to do with frankness that time! Absolutely zero traces of frank in this honest fellows messages right now

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -___-

le-petty-prince (11:24am): Frank? Whos that? Dont ask roman, he wouldnt be able to answer you!!

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -_______-

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Okay sorry youre right Im done

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Seriously though I dont understand how this warrants such a fuss? I just thought it over some more and realized it would actually be a bad idea to meet V for aforementioned reasons, et cetera et cetera. Why does that have to be such a big deal

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i…

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): okay youre right i dont really know

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i guess this is just a really quick turnaround and it doesnt seem like something youd typically do??

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): i mean you were all for it yesterday. you said, and i quote, “I cannot wait to meet him!!!”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): THREE exclamation marks and all!!! 

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): besides, maybe college is busy but theres no reason you should be any busier now than youve always been and

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): whew. sorry for being pushy. i didnt mean to sound like i dont respect your choice, ig im disappointed is all :(

le-petty-prince (11:29am): No thats ok

le-petty-prince (11:30am): Ill tell you what. You said youd see V on friday right? And todays thursday.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): yeah..

le-petty-prince (11:31am): So hows this: Ill think it over some more during rehearsal this evening, and if I have another change of heart Ill get back to you tomorrow.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:31am): !!!!!!!!

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Its still not a yes!! 

le-petty-prince (11:32am): But… consider me solidly in Maybe territory.

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Capiche?

***

The majority of “tomorrow” had come and gone, and Patton still had yet to hear from his brother. 

He’d been glued to his phone all day, checking his messages with a near-obsessive frequency in hopes that Roman might text him to say he’d come to his senses after all… but as Patton buckled into the passenger seat of his mother’s tan SUV on its way to the library, he had to admit the odds were getting pretty slim. 

His mother, misinterpreting his solemn expression, shot him a quizzical glance out of the corner of her eye. “I thought you said the tutoring was going well.”

Before Patton could answer her, a quiet chime sounded from within his backpack — barely audible, but Patton’s ears had been piqued for it all day. Instantly, he scrambled to retrieve the bright blue source of the sound, perking up as he saw the screen was already illuminated. As Patton read over the contents of the notification, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Yeah,” Patton said out loud, addressing his mother with his words even as his fingers were already moving to type out a reply to someone else. “Tutoring’s great.”

le-petty-prince (3:44pm): Ah, what the hell. Im in.

***

A/N: me, rushing in more than a month late, starbucks cup in one hand and this update in the other: HEY GUYS DONT FORGET TO LIKE COMMENT AND RING TH -- wait where did everyone go

for real though, i'm so so sorry about how long this mediocre chapter took to go up!! this was the first chapter that i HADN'T finished the rough draft stage of during nanowrimo, and i huuuugely underestimated how long the unfinished portion would turn out to be. couple that with this weird writer's block that's been following me around wherever i go for a little over three months, and, well... you'll end up with this ^^; thank you so much for sticking with me though, and i hope it was at least semi-worth the wait?

[next chapter]

General: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas @fandersfic-patton @fandersfic-roman @fandersfic-logicality @fandersfic-prinxiety

From the moment he’d opened his eyes that morning, he knew from the silence in his dorm room that something was wrong: he’d slept in past his alarm. A lot. Though he hadn’t even stopped to entertain the notion of breakfast before leaving, Virgil ended up almost forty-five minutes late to his morning class (which of course just had to be all the way on the other side of campus) -- which would have been a bad enough start to the day on its own, but things only had only gone downhill from there. 

After finally showing up to said morning class, huffing and puffing all the way, Virgil realized that in his rush he’d forgotten to pack his textbooks and pencil case into his bag. With no options left, he was forced to ask the moody-looking girl sitting next to him if he could borrow a pencil and share textbooks for the day. The girl let him have the supplies without any argument, but after burning under the heat of her glare for the rest of class, Virgil almost wished he hadn’t asked.

Virgil figured that things should start turning around for him after lunch, though. After all, if there was one thing he could rely on to never let him down, it was food. 

Right?

For lunch, Virgil bought a sandwich as usual from the sketchy-but-cheap on-campus kitchen that he and many other JMSC students got most, if not all, of their meals from. He barely got a single bite in before his teeth hit something hard. Wanting to know what he’d nearly chipped his tooth on, Virgil peeled apart the sandwich to see a long fake nail that definitely didn’t belong to him. 

“Agh!” Virgil dropped the sandwich with a yelp. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew…” He was hungry, but not that hungry. 

Still, he had already paid for the sandwich, and the last thing he wanted was to have to buy another — he was already living on a very fragile budget as it was. He briefly debated taking the sandwich up to the kitchen and asking for another one, or at least for his money back, but the thought of marching right into a possible confrontation made his stomach turn even more than the sandwich had.

Instead, Virgil dug around until he found some dusty candy in the bottom of his bag, probably left over from one of those overcrowded college fair things that he had been unfortunate enough to get caught up in during his first month back at school. He sighed. Better than nothing. Those tacky hard candies ended up the closest thing resembling lunch that Virgil ate that day.

Things went from “bad” to “just freakin’ awful” during his afternoon commute to work. All the running around without having had anything to eat but a handful of candy all day had taken its toll; Virgil was exhausted. So much so that, when he boarded the bus at last, he immediately sat down on the first and only empty seat he saw… without stopping to wonder why, in a bus as packed as the one he was currently on, there were even any empty seats in the first place. 

He recognized his mistake the moment the seat of his pants touched the chair: it was soaking wet. Virgil jumped up immediately, praying that the dirty liquid he had just sat in was only melted snow and nothing worse than that.

When Virgil finally arrived at the library, his pants had at least dried, but his dignity wasn’t quite so easily fixed. And then came the last straw — as soon as he got to the kids’ section, which he always spent the beginning of his shift tidying up, he was greeted with the sight of many, many picture books that had been ripped off of the shelves and scattered carelessly all over the floor. A few loose pages pulled free from book bindings had been crumpled up and thrown into the mix as well. It looked like a miniature tornado had raged its way through the area, and worst of all, there was nary a parent nor a child in sight to take responsibility. 

Now Virgil, at last finished cleaning up the section and painstakingly taping pages back into books where they belonged, wanted nothing more than to sink straight through his cushy desk chair and into a thousand-year-long sleep. Heck, a light nap would do. 

No way was he going to add “get fired” to the ever-growing series of unfortunate events that kept coming at him, though, so instead he settled for the knowledge that he ought to be catching a bit of a break now. Around this time of day, Virgil usually didn’t have much to do; most patrons had either already left for lunch or would just now be coming in — thank goodness. Cheering up a little at the thought, Virgil began rummaging through his black tote bag to find his knitting needles, ready to unwind both his yarn and his thoughts at last.

Ten seconds later, he realized that he’d forgotten his needles at home. 

Virgil’s head dropped to his desk perhaps just a little too hard. Why does the entire universe hate me? 

To be fair, this was probably for the better anyway. With all of the rotten luck he’d been having today, he would probably have ended up dropping a full row of stitches, or stabbing himself through the finger with one of the thin metal needles, or something equally as ridiculous and outlandish and exactly the kind of thing that he might do. At least this way he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself with his own stupidity any further, right?

Dropping his tote back down onto the ground, Virgil sighed as he resigned himself to three or four hours of boredom. The tips of his fingers tapped out an aimless rhythm against the smoothly polished surface of the library desk he sat behind. There wasn’t much else to do, besides listen to his stomach’s occasional rumbling complaints as he tried not to fall asleep where he was (whether from hunger or boredom, he wasn’t quite sure). 

Maybe the library computers have Minesweeper or something installed on them. Probably not — Virgil was half-convinced the monitor on his desk could be dated back to the prehistoric era — but it couldn’t hurt to check, right?

***

“No! Argh!” Virgil whisper-yelled, collapsing back in his chair with finality. Pixelated letters blinked on the screen in front of him, their red colour so needlessly bright it was almost insulting: Game Over — Try again? In response, Virgil moved his mouse to click the x in the upper-right corner of the window where he’d just had Minesweeper open for the past hour or so. “Okay — I’m done. Get out! Don’t you make me play your stupid game, or see your stupid face, ever again ,” the frustrated young man threatened, jabbing an accusatory finger at his dinosaur computer. 

Virgil was very aware that what he was saying didn’t make an ounce of sense, since it was hardly like he had anything else to do until someone came to ask a question or check a book out… but at this point, he was so beyond caring about making sense anymore. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear him —  

“Um, Virgil?”

“Ah!” exclaimed Virgil, starting in his seat. He looked away from the computer to see Patton Foley standing in front of him, eyes widened in concern. “Ah,” he said again, much quieter this time. Virgil must have gotten so engrossed in his game that he hadn’t heard the tell-tale whoosh of the doors opening and closing when Patton entered. “Patton. I, uh, didn’t see you there. How’re you doing?” he greeted the boy, mentally crossing his fingers in hopes that by some miracle, Patton hadn’t heard him talking to his own computer just now.

No such luck. “Virgil, what’s wrong?” Patton wanted to know, ignoring Virgil’s question in favour of asking one of his own. “You seem really upset. Are you feeling okay?” 

Virgil nodded, began to give an awkward thumbs-up over the desk, thought better of it, and brought his hand back down. “Oh, yeah, totally okay. The okay-est. I was just... getting heated over something dumb, is all.” Desperate to end the conversation as soon as possible, he made a show of squinting at his wristwatch, accompanied by an exaggerated gasp as he flapped a hand at Patton to shoo the boy into the next room. “Oh no, you’re going to be late to your session! You’d better hurry, Pat!”

“Wait, what? I could have sworn that I was, like, twenty minutes early, last time I checked.” Patton glanced up at the analog clock mounted on the wall behind him and studied it for quite some time before giving up and admitting, “I can’t read that thing. Still,” he continued, putting his hands on his hips with an unimpressed stare, “I don’t believe you.”

“Wh — about the time?”

“No. Well, I guess that too. I mean, you’re not even wearing a watch —” Patton gestured at Virgil’s wrist, which Virgil, cheeks aflame, only now recognized was indeed bare — “but that’s not what I meant and you know it. You look like, um… just like a raging...” His hands gestured vaguely. “How do I put this in a way that doesn’t make me sound mean?”

“Gee, thanks,” mumbled Virgil. “That bad?”

“Sorry. But, uh, yeah. It just seems like you’ve had a rough day, you know? Like, obviously you’re tired ’cause of how you’re all slumped over, and frustrated ‘cause you keep trying to keep your fists from clenching, and —”

A loud, unhappy growl suddenly interrupted Patton’s list of concerns. Either a) someone was about to be mauled by a bear, or b) after having barely eaten a thing all day, Virgil’s stomach had decided to bite back. 

Both Virgil and Patton knew perfectly well which of those two options was the correct one. 

Without another word, Patton reached into his backpack and pulled out a sealed zip-lock bag filled with assorted nuts — cashews, almonds, peanuts, and more, plus what looked to be a few semi-sweet chocolate chips and raisins thrown into the mix. After looking Virgil sternly in the eye, he tossed the bag onto Virgil’s desk. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing,” said the boy as he did so.

A moment passed while Virgil processed, staring blankly at the trail mix. Okay, thanks for showing me your food, I guess, he almost said — then all of a sudden the tired man was fully awake as he realized that Patton wasn’t showing, but rather giving.

“Wait — hang on, no no no no no! Patton, I can’t take your stuff,” protested Virgil. He grabbed the bag of trail mix and thrust it back in the general direction of where Patton had been, but when he looked up again he saw that Patton was not standing where he had been at all. The oddly paternal boy had apparently anticipated that Virgil would argue and was already walking towards the next room. 

Without missing a beat, Patton argued, “Why not? You obviously need it way more than I do.” He tilted his head with a curious stare. “You’re not allergic to nuts or anything like that, right?”

“Well, no, but —”

“But nothing. Come on, Virgil, eat. You’ll feel way better after, I promise.” Satisfied, Patton turned to walk away.

“Patton!” Virgil stood up, still holding out the plastic zip-lock bag. “Come back, Patton!”

“Uh-oh, no can do,” chirped Patton with a shrug, widening his eyes. “I’m going to be late to my tutoring session, remember? You told me so yourself.” His expression of mock-innocence melted into a mischievous grin. “Talk to you later, Virgil!”

Pretending not to hear Virgil’s spluttered protests, Patton rounded the bend and disappeared from sight. It quickly grew apparent that he wouldn’t be coming back, at which point the librarian was left with no other option but to sit back down, assorted nuts in hand.

Still, Virgil wasn’t admitting defeat yet. It didn’t matter how much the boy insisted; as far as he was concerned, the contents of this little bag still belonged wholly to Patton, and to Patton they would return at the end of the boy’s tutoring session. He wasn’t that hungry, anyway.

Rather unceremoniously, Virgil dropped the plastic bag on his desk next to the computer monitor, then tried his best to turn his focus elsewhere. It wasn’t long before he found himself eyeing the Minesweeper shortcut —

Nope, never again, Virgil reminded himself.

Perhaps he would just… go re-shelve some books. Yes, that was a good idea. There were self-checkout terminals for a reason, anyway; Virgil didn’t always have to be sitting behind his desk. And when he’d finished shelving, he could go check to ensure all the books were aligned properly, fix up some of the displays, clean out his desk drawers… 

Hastily, Virgil set up a little card on his desk to read Back Soon. Once that was done, he got to his feet, for once in his life glad for the busywork. At least it’d be a nice distraction from, well, everything else.

All too soon, though, the chores were finished and Virgil was sent firmly back to square one. Not to mention, after his trip through the library’s several floors, Virgil was even more hungry than before, and suddenly the meager portion of trail mix seemed a much more tempting treat. He could almost hear the semisweet chocolate chips calling his name. 

Perhaps he’d been a little hasty in rejecting this delicious donation that Patton had so freely insisted on giving him. Besides, wasn’t it rude to turn down a gift? 

Maybe, Virgil pondered, I could just have an almond or two…

***

True to his word, Virgil had only had two almonds. At first.

Then he’d had two more.

Then some cashews, a couple of pecans, a handful of raisins, some chocolate chips…

Before Virgil knew it, the plastic bag was empty — but his stomach was full, or at least full- er . And though he did feel a little guilty for having finished the entire bag, there was definitely a notable decrease in crankiness as well. Patton hadn’t been kidding, it seemed.

The clock now read 6:11; Virgil was sitting up straight, comparatively attentive, watching carefully to see when (if?) Patton would be coming back to retrieve the bag he had left behind. His and Logan’s session should have ended just over ten minutes ago, assuming that Logan was still as precise with his schedules as Virgil had always known him to be, so Virgil expected to be seeing the cheerful boy any moment now…

Aha — there he is. The first thing Virgil saw was the tip of a familiar scuffed sneaker, untied shoelace flopping forward. The rest of the shoe’s owner soon followed, the boy’s face breaking out into a goofy grin the second that he saw Virgil. “So? Did you eat?” 

In response, Virgil held up the empty bag, sheepish. “Couldn’t help myself. Turns out, you were right; I feel way better now. Thanks so much, Patton.” Then, after a moment’s pause, “Seriously though — you didn’t have to give that to me. My well-being is none of your responsibility. You know that, right?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course I do! But just because I don’t have to do something doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t , you know? And there was no way I’d have been able to stomach the thing anyway, after seeing how hungry you were and knowing that I could have done something to help. It’d be like that time I was on the swings in second grade and...” As Patton chattered on, he quickly began to veer off-topic, moving from peanuts to playgrounds to everything in between. The conversation jumped around so quickly that Virgil found himself mentally backtracking in the conversation more than a few times to try and figure out how they’d gotten there. 

And yet, all the while, the ever-present smile on Patton’s face never wavered for a second — and before long, Virgil caught himself smiling back. In spite of (or perhaps because of) the lack of substance the boy’s sentences held, the carefree jumps from topic to topic were a more than welcome distraction after such a long day. 

It was so much better than the typical small talk Virgil was accustomed to having to deal with, too: instead of constantly stressing over saying the right thing, all Virgil needed to do was nod along with an occasional “mhm” or “I see”. Patton could handle the rest. The boy didn’t seem likely to run out of things to talk about anytime soon.

And thank goodness for that, because Patton’s voice, chipper and energetic though it was, was... oddly relaxing, too. A round, rich, mellow sort of warmth lingered behind the boy’s every word, and Virgil could almost feel himself sinking into it. (He’d describe the tone as “fatherly” if he’d ever experienced that kind of fondness from his own father before, but alas.)

As Virgil’s focus shifted from Patton’s words to the strange warmth, a feeling he could only describe as a sort of golden glow began to collect in a swirling haze at his core before spreading outwards to fill his entire body, from the tallest hair on his head to the very tip of his littlest toe. As it spread, the dark, angry tension from a rough day’s work simply melted away, replaced with this delicate brightness that left his whole body feeling several pounds lighter, but for one little bit:

As the rest of Virgil’s muscles relaxed, his eyelids began to grow awfully heavy.

***

“…gil! Virgil, wake up!”

Virgil’s head lifted with a jolt, blinking blearily as a fearful face swam into view. Still half-asleep, he watched as its expression changed from concern to relief the instant its owner saw that Virgil was coming to. 

“I’m sorry!” the wide-eyed boy was exclaiming. “I know you’re tired, and I totally would have let you keep sleeping, except you’re still at work and I don’t want you getting fired!”

At that, Virgil’s mind quite suddenly cleared. The world seemed to come into focus as his dark eyes darted around to take in his surroundings, only then realizing where it was that he’d found himself. 

Suffice it to say, this was not Virgil’s dorm room. 

“Oh, sh—” 

Virgil hastily pushed himself off his desk, silently praying that he hadn’t drooled on the fancy wood. This was unbelievable — he had fallen asleep at work, before it was even seven, in the middle of a conversation. What must poor Patton be thinking? Virgil opened his mouth to apologise. Couldn’t think of a good way to start. Closed it again, deciding that all the words in the entire library wouldn’t be enough to describe the shame and humiliation he was feeling right now. 

Instead, he settled for thanking Patton profusely for waking him up before someone else had noticed and told his boss. First the snacks, now this — the List of Ways that Patton Foley Has Saved Virgil’s Skin would only continue to grow, it seemed.

Patton acknowledged Virgil’s gratitude with a tight nod and an uncharacteristically mirthless laugh. “Jeez, I can’t believe it,” he said, echoing Virgil’s own sentiments at first, but catching the librarian off guard with his next sentence: “I actually managed to bore you to sleep, huh?” 

“Hang on, what?” If Virgil hadn’t been fully awake before, he definitely was after hearing that. 

“I mean, my parents always told me it was bound to happen someday, but I always figured they were joking, you know? I never thought it was actually possible.” Patton gazed ponderously at the wall behind Virgil’s head. “Wow.”

“Wait — come on, Pat, that’s not —” Virgil shook his head as he struggled to get the words out. “Don’t you even think about blaming yourself for this. You weren’t boring me at all, I promise! I’ve just — I’ve had a really long day. Nothing against you.” 

The words were true, but Patton still seemed doubtful. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Virgil explained how the combination of the quiet library, the stress of the day, and Virgil’s own lack of nourishment was what had caused him to fall asleep just now — not, as Patton had apparently assumed, a lack of interest in their conversation. “To be honest, the trail mix you gave me was just about the first thing I’ve eaten all day, so —”

Patton’s brows shot up at that. “The first thing?” the boy interrupted, seeming incredulous. “Virgil, I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself, but I didn’t realize it was that bad! No wonder you fell asleep — I don’t think I’d have been able to make it past noon running on an empty stomach like you!”

“Yeah, well,” shrugged an unconcerned Virgil, “it’s not like I make a habit of it or anything. Today’s just not my day, I guess.” He glanced away as he finished speaking, pretending not to feel Patton’s intense gaze on him. A brief pause.

Of course, Patton was the one to break the silence. “Virgil.” Voice equal parts gentle and firm, he continued: “What exactly happened to you today? Besides not eating breakfast or lunch or dinner, obviously.”

“Um. Well. It was just... one of those days, I doubt you really want to hear —”

“Gonna stop you right there.” Patton’s hands were back on his hips. “I’m asking ‘cause I care. Just tell me what’s wrong, okay? Get everything off your chest and you’ll feel way better.”

Had it been any other day, Virgil probably would have resisted much more. The whole getting-everything-off-his-chest thing didn’t come naturally to him; doing so always felt uncomfortably like he was dumping his problems onto other people to solve, which (at least in his mind) only increased the amount of stress in the world. 

On this particular evening, however, Virgil was simply too tired to put up a fight — and the truth was, the over-worked, under-loved young man really did need someone to vent to. 

A treacherous, albeit not entirely unwelcome, thought: Maybe just this once?

Patton remained insistent. A handful of halfhearted protests later, Virgil caved.

Well… to some degree.

The truth: although his mental health had always had perhaps more than its fair share of highs and lows, he seemed to be seeing less and less “highs” lately. That wasn’t to say they weren’t there — it wouldn’t be fair for Virgil to claim his entire month had been terrible — but they were definitely starting to seem fewer and farther between. 

It seemed likely that all of this frustration had been building up inside of him for a while, then. At the root of it all? Virgil wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had something to do with the event that had occurred around the same time as his mental health had first begun deteriorating again: he had been on his way home from work one day when he was hit with a sudden, inescapable, unspeakably intense sense of loneliness. 

He had been living independently for almost two years, but that day must have been the first time it registered in Virgil’s mind just how on-his-own he truly was now. Having moved out of his hometown to pursue a degree while almost everyone else in his graduating class had settled into the trades, working at the library and attending his classes were pretty much the closest thing to a social life Virgil had. Around campus, he barely had ahold of anyone’s name, let alone their friendship, and spending time with his parents for fun was a laughable notion.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky — at least he got plenty of time to unwind by himself, right? Still, even the shyest, most introverted person of them all would wither without the company of other people from time to time, and Virgil was no exception. And although the brief time spent chatting with Patton last week had been nice, the boy was so much younger than he was and there was only so much that the two could talk about sitting in a library for thirty minutes at the end of the day. 

The fact was, Virgil craved a real friend. Just one. Was that so much to ask?

All this and more was going through Virgil’s head, but fortunately, he was just awake enough to exercise a little self-control and keep those particular thoughts to himself. Patton had invited him to rant, yes, but the poor boy had already done more than enough for Virgil that day without having to put up with deep-rooted insecurities and desires suddenly coming out of left field to boot. 

So instead, Virgil absently relayed the day’s misfortunes, laying the blame on that which seemed like the most immediately obvious source of distress. Did it help? A little bit. But in the silence that followed, the weight of words unsaid pressed heavy.

Finally, Patton broke the hollow silence with a “Wow.” Despite Virgil’s efforts to water down the stress of the day, he seemed stunned. “That is… a lot. All that bad luck in one day? Sheesh, I can’t imagine...”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, well. You know. At least the world seems to be done throwing things at me for now,” he said, making an effort to sound much more unconcerned than he actually felt; the waves of pity he could feel emanating from Patton were starting to smother. Sensing Patton wasn’t convinced, he kept going: “Plus, you came along to give me chocolate chips and have a chat… and didn’t even ditch me when I accidentally crashed in the middle of it all. If that’s not a sign that things are going to get better, then I don’t know what is.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, though. There must be something else I can do,” mumbled Patton.

“Hey, forget it.” Virgil waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Really. You don’t control what happens to me, right? This was never your mess to fix in the first place.”

“I guess…” Patton’s expression remained pensive; his eyebrows knit together, his mouth puckered loosely, his nose slightly scrunched so that its many freckles were drawn into a tight formation. He was thinking hard — but what about? Virgil opened his mouth to ask. 

Before he had the chance, though, Patton’s eyes flitted to the window as the boy caught sight of something. “Oh,” he said, breaking out of his thoughtful trance in an instant, “I think that’s my mom’s car.” Patton shifted the backpack straps on his shoulders. “Sorry, Virgil, I gotta go. It was really nice talking to you again!” 

“See you around, then,” replied Virgil, waving a two-fingered salute as he watched Patton begin strolling to the glass doors. “Don’t forget to — uh — wear your seat belt, or… whatever.” That was a thing that responsible adult figures said, right?

Patton, to his credit, went along with it. “Don’t worry, I will. I mean, I won’t. Or… gah, words can be tough! ” He gave a good-natured laugh before clarifying: “ What I mean is, I’ll wear the seat belt. Thanks, Virgil!” 

As sudden as that, the boy was gone, and with him went almost the very last scrap of Virgil’s leftover energy for the day; the doors having swung shut, Virgil’s eyelids were threatening to follow suit.

But — no, no, he couldn’t fall asleep again. After all, he wouldn’t have Patton to wake him up this time. There must be some other distraction Virgil could leverage, at least for a little bit…

Out of the corner of his eye, a weary librarian caught sight of a tempting-looking Minesweeper icon, vivid and bright on his dusty computer screen.

***

[next chapter]

General: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas​

Someone is coming. These are the words that keep him rooted to his spot. He waits, not just for any old someone, but for one who will sit next to him and take his hand and shield him from the rain, or at least from feeling it. One who will finally make him feel something besides rain. He waits for someone purple.

Instead, he gets someone grey.

The newcomer seems to come from nowhere. “Mind if I sit?” he asks, and slides into the empty spot on the bench without waiting for an answer. He knows none will be forthcoming.

Indeed, Patton doesn’t so much as turn his head to acknowledge the grey man. The two sit in silence for some time.

“They’re not worth it, you know,” Virgil finally says.

He receives no response besides the howling of the wind, but presses on anyway.

“Whoever you’re waiting for. They’re not worth your time. I mean, how much of a selfish prick do you have to be to just leave someone stranded in this weather?”

If the words bother Patton, he doesn’t let it show. It’s almost like he doesn’t hear Virgil at all. Undeterred, Virgil tries again.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re still here. You must have something better to do than sit around and wait for someone who’s obviously not going to show up. You deserve better, anyway. This person, they’re fickle, and — and slow, and they could never, ever deserve that patient heart of yours.” Virgil stops to kick at a pebble near his feet. It doesn’t budge. He frowns.

And suddenly he’s angry, angrier than he’s ever been, and before he knows it words are spilling out of his mouth faster than he can stop them, faster than the raindrops can fall, even though he knows that not a single one will reach Patton’s ears.

“Why can’t you just move on? Find someone who might actually make you happy, instead of letting you down again and again? You could have your pick of anyone — anyone in the world, really, because how could anyone ever resist that sweetness of yours — and you just had to pick the one who’ll never be enough. They left you behind, Patton!” He’s shouting now, and he doesn’t mean to, and it scares him how loud his voice is getting but it scares him even more how good it feels. “They’re not coming back; not today, not ever. The sooner you realize that, the better. They’re not! How can you expect them to? They’re —”

With a shuddering breath, two things break: a voice, and a heart.

“They’re dead,” Virgil whispers, having screamed himself hoarse. His words are gravelly as they are grey. “I’m dead, Patton. And you know, all of this would hurt so much less if you could just leave me behind, too.”

Patton says nothing.

***

On the first day of tenth grade, many months ago, Patton had shown up to class wearing a brand-new shirt, his favourite lucky sneakers, and the biggest smile that any of teachers had ever seen.

He’d been chatting with some upperclassmen earlier that day, a small gaggle of eleventh and twelfth graders — all of whom had expressed sympathy upon finding out that Patton’s homeroom teacher was to be Mr. Mitchell this year. “Poor you,” one girl had said, pulling a face. “My friends all tell me that he’s a really strict marker. I heard half the class had to retake their exams last year.”

“Yeah, and he picks favourites,” her friend had chimed in. “So you’re gonna want to make sure he likes you early on. Otherwise, you’re gonna be in for a hell of a nightmare year.”

But Patton had refused to let his optimistic smile falter. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad!” he’d said cheerily. “Thanks for the warning, though. I’ll keep it in mind.”

And he had — nightmare or not, Patton always liked to try and bond with his teachers. What better way to start than by showing up to class early? One of the first to arrive, Patton had considered himself lucky to be able to take a seat at the front of the room.

If only he’d had the sense to keep his butt in the chair.

While the other students were trickling in, Patton figured he might as well take this time to get to know his new teacher a little better. Despite what the girl and her friend had said, Mr. Mitchell didn’t seem too scary. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, thirty-five at most, and the way he carried himself almost reminded Patton of his father.

The girl’s warning the last thing on his mind, Patton had made his way over to the classic wooden teacher’s desk at which Mr. Mitchell sat, holding a plastic bottle of something colourful that he took a few sips out of every now and again.

“Hi, Mr. Mitchell, what’cha drinking?”

Much to Patton’s dismay, a look of annoyance had instantly crossed his teacher’s face. He tensed. Uh-oh. That can’t be good.

“What are you.”

“Huh?”

Mr. Mitchell sighed heavily before speaking again, exaggeratedly enunciating every syllable, as if explaining a painfully basic concept to a foolish toddler having trouble keeping up. “Your statement ought to have been what are you drinking, not whatcha drinking.”

Patton should have quit then and there, should have apologized and turned around and sat down before he could dig himself any deeper. Maybe then, homeroom might have at least been bearable this year. But what did he do instead?

With a chuckle: “Oh! My bad! What are you drinking?”

Mr. Mitchell’s response was to put down his bottle and steeple his fingers, studying Patton carefully and all the while saying nothing. When he finally spoke, it was with a question of his own. “Young man, what is your name?”

“Um — Patton?”

“Well, Patton —” the boy in question barely suppressed a shudder at how bitter Mr. Mitchell managed to make his name sound — “I’m not sure why you, a student, are behaving in such a familiar manner with me. A teacher. In this class, you speak only when spoken to or when answering a question. There are no other instances where I should ever hear your voice.” Mr. Mitchell picked up his plastic bottle once again, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. “Now, I suggest you return to your chair. Class will begin shortly, and I will not hesitate to mark you as late if you are not fully seated when the bell rings.”

“O-oh. Right. Sorry.”

A moment later, he was back at his desk, gripping the sides of his chair just a little tighter than usual. Patton took a moment to steady himself. Don’t overreact, Pat. He wasn’t about to let his first day of tenth grade be tainted with this negative encounter. So you guys got off to a bit of a rocky start, big deal. He’ll probably forget about this before you know it. Comforted by the positive self-talk, Patton’s grip loosened, and he breathed easy.

…that is, right up until he messed everything up again .

As promised, the bell rang only a few minutes after Patton’s failed attempt at making friends. Without missing a beat, his teacher stood to deliver a (probably obligatory) welcome speech, seeming quite bored the entire time he was speaking — which, as far as Patton was concerned, was a-okay. Bored was better than angry, after all. Mr. Mitchell went over schedules, covered classroom expectations and school rules, dedicated a few minutes to the whole “you’ve got to be responsible now that you’re not freshmen anymore” spiel… pretty much a carbon copy of what teachers last year had told Patton, if he swapped out “freshmen” with “middle schoolers”.

It didn’t take long for Mr. Mitchell’s words to begin blurring together; Patton simply wasn’t the kind of student who could just sit still and listen for an hour and a half. But tempted as he was to tune out entirely, what if Mr. Mitchell said something important, and he missed it? He just needed some kind of outlet for his energy, then he would be able to focus much better.

A notebook and some pencils were already out on his desk; a habit that he’d carried over from last year, when none of his teachers had ever objected to him doodling in class. So when he grabbed a pencil and idly flipped his notebook open, his mind barely registered the motion — it was almost second nature at this point. Patton’s hands moved of their own accord, aimlessly scribbling shapes into the margins of a fresh, blank page. His own eyes drifted down to his page from time to time, but his focus stayed all the while on his teacher droning on at the front of the classroom. It was a harmless, idle action, offending no one.

Or so Patton thought, until for the second time that day, he heard his new teacher call his name in a manner that hardly suggested harmless.

“Patton Foley,” came his teacher’s voice, startling Patton into dropping the pencil he’d been doodling with. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Patton’s notebook quickly flipped shut. “Y-yes?” Though he kept his gaze on Mr. Mitchell, he could feel his ears beginning to burn as he grew uncomfortably aware of many more sets of eyes all staring at him.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

Mr. Mitchell’s voice was so cold that Patton could almost feel sharp icicle tips nudging up against his skin. Patton shrank inwards, sure that they would pierce in him a thousand tiny holes if he let them. “I — er — nothing.”

“Sir,” his teacher added harshly.

Patton bit his lip. “Nothing, sir. ”

“Is that right. It didn’t look like nothing from over here. To me, it looked like you weren’t paying attention.”

“I was paying attention… sir. I promise. It’s just easier for me to pay attention when I give my hands something to do,” Patton tried to explain.

But Mr. Mitchell wasn’t buying it. Slowly stalking over to where Patton was seated, it seemed almost like he was enjoying this. “There’s no need to worry. After all, I’m sure that you must have been working on something of immeasurable importance, for it to have taken priority over the very first class of the year. So.” He eyed Patton’s notebook. “Care to show me what you were doing?”

“Um, uh… yeah, of course, sure thing.” Patton nervously opened the notebook up to the page he’d been drawing on. It was covered with tiny hearts and stars and houses, those little boxes with the triangles for a roof and two windows and a door, and with smiley faces, a few of those manga-styled eyes that everyone learns to draw at some point in their lives, with half-erased failed attempts at hands of completely unreasonable anatomy… he had simply let his fingers do what they wanted, and it showed. Usually, Patton didn’t mind messy doodles, but under the careful scrutiny of Mr. Mitchell, he suddenly found himself embarrassed. From his teacher’s point of view, it must have looked like some kind of stormy monster made of pencil graphite and eraser shavings had come and gone, leaving behind crinkles and rips everywhere it touched.

“Interesting. Mr. Foley, I must say, this does not look like ‘nothing’ to me. It seems that you were too preoccupied with your fine arts to be worrying about the words of an inconsequential teacher like myself. Is that correct?”

Patton shook his head nervously. “Not at all, sir. I’m… I’m really sorry, I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think. ” Mr. Mitchell grabbed the notebook. “Clearly not. Come find me after school and I may return your precious drawing book if I deem it necessary. I believe that we need to have a nice, long discussion about classroom etiquette, since I’m sure you didn’t hear the behavioural rules that I laid out earlier, did you?”

Though Patton briefly debated arguing, the fact of the matter was that he had somehow managed to make Mr. Mitchell mad twice in about twenty minutes. The last thing he wanted to do was make that a third time. No, it would be better to keep his head down and co-operate. “ ‘kay,” Patton mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean… yes, sir.”

Mr. Mitchell stayed standing, staring at Patton for just a little while longer, mouth twisted with distaste, perhaps searching for something else to point out to further hammer his point home. Patton wished he would just go away already. Then again, he was starting to figure out that the universe didn’t really feel like granting his wishes today.

“Fix your posture. Slouching is indicative of a lack of respect,” Mr. Mitchell finally griped. Then, apparently finding nothing else, he tightened his grasp on the notebook before carrying it to the front of the room and starting again to drone on and on about classroom rules, voice resting at a steady and certain monotone.

On the first day of tenth grade, many months ago, Patton had never been quite so happy to hear a dismissal bell ring in his life.

***

That day, Mr. Mitchell had apparently made up his mind that Patton was going to be a troublesome student, and since then, he’d refused to even entertain the notion that he could ever be anything but. The freckled boy had long since given up on trying to convince his teacher otherwise, choosing instead to just be as polite and un-disruptive as possible in the hope that his teacher would someday grow tired of tormenting him. He was starting to think that the day would never come, though.

Ah, well. Better get this over with. Patton steeled his nerves and opened the dreaded door.

Not even a second later, his English teacher materialized in front of him with arms crossed and lips pressed together. “Mr. Foley. Your shoelace is untied. Show some respect for the school’s dress code, can’t you? You ought to be thinking about presenting yourself in a more appropriate manner when you enter my classroom.” He sighed dramatically, as if personally victimized by the loose bit of cord. “Don’t be so careless tomorrow. Tie your shoes and have a seat.”

Patton gritted his teeth, biting back hot speech. To argue would only give Mr. Mitchell another item to add to an ever-growing list of failures and shortcomings. Rather than grant his teacher the satisfaction, Patton patiently did as he was told, then sat at his front-of-the-room seat without complaint. This pointless nitpicking was nothing new, but knowing that didn’t make Patton any less vexed. If anything, his frustration was only building with each day.

He often wondered, if he’d only acted differently back then, would things be different today? If he’d focused on blending in instead of standing out, would his teacher have left him alone?

The bell rang, interrupting Patton’s thoughts. Within the same second, Mr. Mitchell was on his feet and starting the day’s lecture.

Time to pay attention. Or at least pretend to . Pencil at the ready, Patton opened his notebook (which he now used exclusively for taking notes) and tried not to think about how slowly the seconds were ticking by.

***

"Patton! Man, am I glad to see you,” gushed Sloane, thumping a brown paper bag down onto the lunch table and sliding into the seat next to Patton.

“Hey, good to see you too! How was second period? Geology, right?” Patton greeted his older friend with a hug. 

“Yeah, about as good as talking about rocks for an hour and a half can be. I’m so jealous that you get to have Home Ec while I’m stuck in science class,” was Sloane’s groaning reply. “I’ve missed you so much, Pat!”

Patton’s older cousin Corbin sighed, sitting down on the other side of his notably peppier boyfriend. “Sloane, chill out. We literally eat lunch with Patton on the daily.” He pulled out his lunch as well: an apple, some pretzel sticks, and a ham and cheese sandwich cut diagonally with no crust (Corbin had been eating the exact same thing every lunch of his life since grade school).

“Okay, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still be excited to see him! Patton gets me, Corby.”

“Why would you call me ‘Corby? It doesn’t shorten anything, my regular name has the exact same amount of syllables.”

“Nicknames are cute, though!” Patton piped up, defending Sloane.

“Yeah, exactly! See, Corbin? This is what I’m talking about — he totally gets me! Like, I love you and all, but I need Patton to keep me safe from your influence or I might actually become a reasonable person, you know? No one wants that.”

Corbin considered that, taking a bite of his apple as he reflected on Sloane’s words, then suddenly melted. “Okay... you’re right. You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t ever change, alright?”

“Woah, break it up, lovebirds,” laughed a voice from behind Patton. Three heads turned in unison to greet the newcomer.

“Valerie!” greeted Patton cheerfully, scooting over to make room for his longtime friend. “I thought you had jazz band today?”

“It got cancelled,” Valerie replied, sitting down and somehow taking out almost half a slice of pizza in one bite. “Some kind of scheduling conflict or something — I think Mr. Brussels is on a field trip with his class? It’s alright, we sound fine. Except maybe the trumpets, but they wouldn’t have improved with the extra rehearsal time either way, so...”

“I’m glad you have time to eat with us again, then,” said Corbin. “You’re so busy with your extracurriculars all the time that I sometimes wonder if you ever even do eat.”

“Says the guy who does debate team for five hours after school every single day,” Valerie shot back, stealing a pretzel stick.

“Touché.” Corbin sat and watched his container of pretzel sticks not-so-slowly disappearing into Valerie’s stomach, as was bound to happen whenever she spent lunch with them. Encouraged by Corbin’s apparent indifference, Sloane and Patton grabbed a few, too. 

As the four friends comfortably lapsed into aimless laughter and chatter, Patton felt himself relax. There was food in his stomach, half of the school day was already over, and he was surrounded by people he loved. Nothing could go wrong! Nothing could stress him out!

“Oh, Patton, I forgot to ask. How’d your English quiz go?”

...Perhaps he had spoken too soon. Patton hoped his long, heavy sigh was answer enough.

“That bad, huh?” sympathised Valerie. “Don’t worry, Pat. It really isn’t your fault. Mr. Mitchell’s just a… just a massive fire-breathing jerk!”

Patton had to laugh despite himself. “Funny that you should call him fire-breathing, Valerie. It fits. My brother Roman’s started calling him Dragon Witchell, did you know?”

“Oh. My goodness.” Sloane’s eyes widened in delight. “Patton, your brother’s a genius. We have to start doing that.”

“Um, actually, I’d rather just… not. Talk about him, I mean. Or talk about English class at all anymore, to be honest,” was Patton’s quiet response. “It’s not a big deal, honestly. And I don’t think I should blame Mr. Mitchell. He’s just… got a stricter teaching style than I’m used to.” At his friends’ vehement protests, Patton only shook his head. “Seriously, can we please just drop it?”

Seeing that the discussion was heading nowhere, Corbin was the first to give up, inquiring instead after Patton’s recent tutoring session. “That was this past Friday, right?”

“Oh — yeah!” Patton grabbed the offer immediately, grateful for an opportunity to change the subject. “Yeah, that was great. I was really nervous that my tutor and I wouldn’t get along, but things didn’t turn out too bad! He’s so, uh…” Patton trailed off as he realized he didn’t know what to say. The truth was that he and his tutor hadn’t gotten along, but Patton didn’t want to make his friends any more worried than they already were. “He’s so dedicated to his work, you know?” were the words that Patton eventually settled on.

“That’s fantastic, Patton,” replied Corbin. “See, what’d I tell you? There was never anything to worry about. The tutoring program at our school is really great at matching students and tutors; I’m not really sure how they do it, but I don’t think there’s been a single time that a tutoring match hasn’t worked out —”

“Getting a little passionate there, Corbin,” Valerie said. “Your inner nerd is showing.”

“No, let him talk. I don’t mind.”

Which may have been a lie. Patton knew that Corbin hadn’t meant any harm by his words, but he couldn’t help but think: if all the other tutor-to-student matches had worked so well, how come he was the exception? Maybe it’s a sign that I can’t really learn anything after all, Patton thought miserably. 

Then he caught himself. What was he doing, wallowing in self-pity like this? There were plenty of positives to focus on, too, weren’t there? Like…

“You know… Logan’s actually, uh, really cute,” Patton admitted. 

The reaction from his friends was immediate — Valerie and Sloane both squealed, Sloane’s voice somehow even higher-pitched than their group’s resident first soprano, and even Corbin couldn’t stop a smile from stretching across his face.

“Patton, have you, like, got a crush on him?” Sloane sang out, an intentionally annoying twang creeping into his voice. Patton gave him a light shove in response.

Valerie bounced in her seat. “Oh my gosh, you totally have a crush on him!” Her voice was just loud enough to attract the attention of some kids sitting at nearby tables.

“Valerie, not so loud!” Patton hissed. Still, despite the awkwardness of the situation, the freckled boy found himself laughing along, his friends ooh- ing in the background. “I just… I think he’s kinda good-looking, that’s all! I’m just — I’m just saying, I… Corbin, a little help?”

But Corbin seemed, for once, immune to Patton’s puppy eyes. “Sorry, Pat. You’re on your own with this one.” With a shrug, he rose to his feet to go throw out his apple core, conveniently abandoning Patton with the other two friends, who were now taking turns peppering Patton with questions.

“Wait! No! Don’t leave me!” Patton made a grab for the back of Corbin’s jacket, but missed. He could only watch as Corbin, snickering, dropped the apple core in the school’s green bin before leaving the cafeteria entirely — surely waiting just outside the cafeteria doors for Sloane, as the two of them were never far apart, but still far enough away to allow Corbin to escape the rapid-fire inquisition that Patton was trying his best to fend off. 

“So does he have dimples like the last guy?”

“Valerie! You can’t just ask something like that!”

“What? I’m curious!”

Patton groaned. “Corbiiiiiin…”

***

Hours later, Patton groaned again. Maaaaaath.

The second half of the school day had proven just as exhausting as the first. After being set free by the lunch bell, he’d gone straight into struggling through Math class, then nearly fell asleep in History. Now, home at last, Patton was tiredly trudging his way through a worksheet that seemed to have no end. A glass of water or a year-long nap or a hard surface to bang his head against would be ideal right about now.

In other words… Monday.

Staring blankly at the swirling mess of numbers before him, Patton picked up his eraser for the umpteenth time that night. Or tried to — the tiny stub of rubber slipped right out of his tired grasp. Patton let it fall, too tired to care. 

This was ridiculous. Patton’s Math teacher couldn’t be more different from Mr. Mitchell; she was fantastically kind, immeasurably patient, and on occasion would even give out candy to her students. It wasn’t difficult to see why Mrs. Lauren was everyone’s favourite. 

So what on Earth was she doing teaching the blandest, bleakest, boring-est subject of them all? 

Though Patton would never outright say so, there were few things he hated more than doing math. Not even Mr. Mitchell was as bad. Of course, it wasn’t Mrs. Lauren’s fault. It was just that he’d never really understood… well, anything past simple addition or subtraction, to be honest. He’d tried to memorise his formulas and times tables and digits of pi —  honest, he had! 

But try as he might… 

It was during middle school that Patton began falling farther and farther behind (or, at least, that he began to really notice). Throughout lessons, he’d jumble his numbers, mix up place values, accidentally drop a digit here or there, forget how to tell positives from negatives. You name it. Most of the time, he even struggled with figuring out the time of day; the numbers displayed on digital clocks meant nothing to him, and Patton couldn’t for the life of him tell you the difference between a minute and an hour anyway. One was longer than the other, but which one was it? How much longer? As for using analog clocks to tell time... might as well use owl dung, for all the good it would do him. Although Patton had eventually managed to figure out how to read analog clocks in theory, it would take him so long to muddle through the numbers in his head that by the time he figured out what was being displayed on the clock face, so much time would have gone by that he’d have to start all over again from scratch. 

That was the case for most mathematical concepts, actually. Technically speaking, Patton did know his formulas well enough. The issue was applying them. Problems that were apparently simple to his classmates took Patton forever to even figure out how to approach , let alone solve. As for double-checking his solution? Forget it. Working through the problem just once was already one time too many.

For sure, Patton had come a long way since grade school. But it got difficult to look on the bright side when his progress was so slow, so agonisingly slow, and he was so far behind the rest of his classmates — let alone the speed at which Roman had picked these same subjects up.

He did have help, though. To her credit, Mrs. Lauren’s kindness was almost enough to make Math class tolerable. Once she’d noticed how much Patton was struggling, she’d started going out of her way to check in on him after lessons and spend as long as necessary explaining and re-explaining tough concepts that he hadn’t grasped the first time around. Though she did assign lots of homework, Mrs. Lauren genuinely cared about her students and was always ready to drop everything and help one out.

...A fact that Patton was all too aware of. He hadn’t hesitated at first to ask for help when he needed it, but that had changed once he’d realized he was the only one doing so. Yes, other students would swing by the teacher’s desk from time to time, but Patton spent so much time there he might as well switch spots with her. With all the extra work he was constantly forcing upon her, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being a burden on his kind teacher. It didn’t help when Mrs. Lauren started suggesting that Patton look into the school’s tutoring program. She was very gentle about it, but Patton knew she was just trying to politely get rid of him. He asked less questions after that. 

None at all, in fact.

Until one day after class, clearly concerned, Mrs. Lauren pulled him aside to ask if something was wrong. “It seems like you’ve been holding back recently” had been her exact words — not entirely a what’s wrong with you , but Patton could read between the lines well enough. 

He nearly told her the truth. Stupid idea, right? Something told him saying he was avoiding her so she wouldn’t get worried about him would be counterproductive, to say the least. 

So instead, Patton told Mrs. Lauren what she was surely hoping to hear — he hadn’t been asking for help because he didn’t need help. Her teaching had been incredibly useful, Patton assured her; he was getting faster at picking up lessons and better at holding onto them, and that was why he hadn’t been checking in as much lately. 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw the soft creases in his teacher’s forehead disappear, her lips un-purse, her shoulders relax. The sight was almost gratifying enough to make him forget he’d just lied to his favourite teacher’s face.

Almost.

Although... he had told the truth, to an extent. All Mrs. Lauren’s teaching and extra help had been incredibly useful. He was learning faster, and he did understand some basic concepts better. But his implication that he understood everything couldn’t be further from the truth, and as time went on Patton came to really regret his lie of omission. 

Especially since Mrs. Lauren eventually came to see right through it. As his grades plummeted, Mrs. Lauren asked him again and again if he was sure that he didn’t need any more extra help. And yet, despite all the evidence to the contrary, Patton continued to tell Mrs. Lauren that everything would be just fine, that he really could do this on his own, that her offers were appreciated but unnecessary, that she must be tired of needing to hold his hand and walk him through classes. 

(When Mrs. Lauren gave up at last, Patton couldn’t decide whether he should be relieved or disappointed.)

After he got his midterm marks back, though, it became clear that at the rate he was going, there was no way that he’d be able to catch up with the rest of the class by the end of the year. But asking Mrs. Lauren to resume their unofficial one-on-one help sessions was out of the question after how vehemently he’d refused all her previous offers. At this point, his situation couldn’t really be described as up the creek without a paddle anymore; no, he’d been given heaping armfuls of perfectly good paddles, and his response had been to light first them and then his own boat on fire. 

He needed Math help. That much was for sure. But if not from Mrs. Lauren, then who? 

The answer had come to him just before winter break, when he’d suddenly remembered Mrs. Lauren’s suggestion that he look into finding a tutor. Why not, after all? As outgoing as he was, he’d never been one for clubs — that had always been more Roman’s thing — meaning he’d have more than enough time on his hands. And though Patton wasn’t too keen on the idea of willingly subjecting himself to even more math , he knew that he’d need to put in the extra work if he wanted to pass the course. It was either work with a tutor or continue trying to figure it out on his own. 

The more he thought about it, the more sure he felt. He could probably even get some English help while he was at it; according to the school’s official website, Sandford SS had an abundance of tutors with a wide range of subject mastery to offer. The school apparently went to great lengths to create good student-tutor matches, with almost 100% success rates; students very rarely requested to switch tutors, the site told him. Patton had to admit that he was a little skeptical of that last part — he didn’t need to be a genius to know that 100% was a pretty hefty claim — but it had provided some comfort to know that at least the school wouldn’t just slap him together with someone at random. 

After tentatively bringing the idea up at the dinner table one night, Patton’s parents had responded with enthusiasm (maybe too much enthusiasm, actually, but Patton tried not to think about that). His father had loudly announced his support without missing a beat; his mother had taken a more subtle approach, first asking Patton a few questions, but still agreeing just a little too easily. Clearly, Patton had not been the first in his family to think of tutoring.

After spending a handful of days discussing the how’s and when’s and where’s, Patton’s parents gave him the okay just before winter break to visit Sandford Secondary’s tutoring office, which turned out to be filled with wonderfully warm-hearted students and staff alike. One merrily smiling upperclassman named Emile offered to contact the Foleys via email over the break. 

Although perhaps a little eccentric, Emile was exceptionally kind and patient. He walked Patton and his parents through the entire process, answering questions along the way and explaining things that they hadn’t even thought to ask. To make sure Patton was properly matched, Emile was even willing to meet up with the Foleys in person and conduct a quick get-to-know-you interview. All in all, things were going well.

Emile’s last email came two weeks before winter break. The subject line: Great news — your match has been finalized! It was only then, faced with the knowledge that there would be no going back now, that Patton started getting nervous. What if he and his tutor didn’t get along? What if his tutor thought he was stupid? What if it turned out that even tutoring wasn’t enough to fix Patton’s broken brain?

The very first conversation he’d had with his new tutor, which had taken place over text, had been friendly enough but did very little to ease Patton’s concerns. Remembering Emile’s assurance that students and tutors typically got along very well, Patton had greeted his tutor as if speaking to an old friend:

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:21 pm): heya!!

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:21 pm): is this logan?

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:21 pm): i’m patton

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:22 pm): your new student :)

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:24 pm): super duper pumped to meet you!!!! emiles been saying lots of great stuff, looks like you really chamred him lololol

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:24 pm): oops *charmed

mycroft-er-jam (2:26 pm): Hello there. Yes, you’ve reached Logan Berry. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Patton. I look forward to meeting you face to face during our first session. Speaking of which, we ought to arrange a time and location now. My schedule is flexible; what works for you?

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:27 pm): uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:27 pm): honestly im not really too busy either?

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:27 pm): lolol

mycroft-er-jam (2:29 pm): Hm. I see. Perhaps it would be more effective for us to establish how many times a week you’d like to meet before we get into the specifics.

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:30 pm): yah sure!! :)

mycroft-er-jam (2:38 pm): ...So?

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:38 pm): oh

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:39 pm): wait

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:39 pm) : were you asking ME

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:39 pm): sorry! let me go check w my parents

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:43 pm): ok does 2 a week sound ok? maybe tuesday and friday?

mycroft-er-jam (2:45 pm): Yes, I believe that will work out just fine for me. Do you happen to be situated near the Sandford Main Public Library? I would like for us to use that location as a study space if possible, on account of its optimal volume and lighting conditions. 

mycroft-er-jam (2:46 pm) That said, if you had another place in mind, I would certainly be open to hearing your suggestions.

TheJollyJollyFoley (2:46 pm): no thats good :)

The rest of the conversation had gone by in a similar fashion; strictly business. By the end, Patton still knew next to nothing about his new tutor. He attempted chitchat several times in the following days, but Logan never once responded unless it was to answer a question.

Patton had to admit that he’d been hoping that Logan would be a little more friendly in-person; it was part of the reason why he himself had been so loose-lipped during their first session — he was still hoping he’d have a chance to coax out the student-tutor bond that Emile had promised. Alas, nothing. In fact, it was probably safe to assume that Patton’s tutor already hated him at this point.

Ugh, and the whole thing wouldn’t be quite so painful if it weren’t for how painfully cute Logan was. Miserably, Patton buried his head in his hands. There’s no way I’ll be able to look him in the eye tomorrow.

Wait.

Tomorrow?

Logan had assigned him homework for tomorrow, hadn’t he?

Patton jolted upright, fumbling to snatch his pencil back up before tearing through the math worksheet as quickly as he could — which, to be fair, wouldn’t have been very fast at all if it hadn’t been for him giving up on the last few questions and scribbling numbers at random. I can redo them during lunch anyway , he told himself, knowing full well that he wouldn’t. As soon as he was finished, he stuffed the worksheet into his binder, pulling out a fresh sheet of lined paper in its place. 

Patton chewed at the end of his pencil as he tried desperately to recall what Logan had said on Friday. A page… single-spaced, he believed. Or was it double? No, single. 

A single-spaced page of what, though? Something to do with learning goals… Yes! Short-term and long-term learning goals, that was it! 

Now, where to begin? For a short-term goal, perhaps he could say he wanted to improve his grades by 10% by the end of the school year. Ambitious, but broad enough to apply to both Math and English, killing two birds with one stone.

Long-term turned out to be a little trickier. For Math, he supposed he ought to focus on understanding the concepts that gave him trouble — really understanding, so he could actually know what he was doing instead of just plugging numbers into formulas and hoping that they would work. 

As for English, he wasn’t so sure. Patton had long suspected that one of the biggest factors bringing down his English mark was his own rocky relationship with Mr. Mitchell, but how could he work that into a long-term goal? Maybe he should just focus on the Math for now; he could figure out the rest after a few more sessions.

That is, assuming Logan could stand to stick with him for that long. Patton tried not to think about the alternative as he put dull pencil to paper and his even duller mind to work.

***

[next chapter]

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It was true, though — Logan had been walking on sunshine for weeks in anticipation of this moment. How could he not? Today was the day of his first-ever session in his new tutoring job; a day he’d spent long days and longer nights preparing for. Logan had even gone so far as to create and rehearse a script that contained everything he intended to say, word-for-word. Every detail he could think of, he had planned, all the way down to the exact outfit he’d wear — a freshly-ironed black polo paired with his best blue necktie was the perfect way to passively say, this young man means business. Knowing how crucial a good first impression would be to their overall success, Logan had done everything in his power to ensure that today’s session would run perfectly. It had taken every second that he could spare (and quite a few that he couldn’t), but he didn’t mind. After all, Logan had been completely convinced that all his efforts were bound to pay off in the end.

Oh, what a fool he’d been.

You see, it was only once Logan was watching this unsettlingly energetic thing come careening around the corner did he realise that in all of his careful planning, he’d forgotten to factor in one major variable: the student himself. And a single glance was all it took for Logan to realise that his mistake would cost him dearly.

Not only is he late, he’s completely out of breath. And he’s not even bothering to hide it… just look at that gaping mouth, Logan’s narrowed eyes had immediately observed. Smudged glasses, uncombed hair, grass-stained sneakers — one of which is untied, mind you — oh, and now he’s gone and sent books flying everywhere.

So much for first impressions, I suppose.

With the introduction of this new limiting factor, the future wasn’t looking too bright, to say the least. But if there was one thing that Logan’s extensive collection of award-winning science fair projects had taught him, it was to never waste time trying to control the uncontrollable. So, notebook clutched in one hand and tenaciously holding back doubts with the other, Logan had launched with great determination into the script that he’d practiced so many times before.

It took all of five minutes to grind that determination into the dust. Every single time he paused for breath, the freckled boy seated crookedly in front of him would take it as an invitation to start chattering away at a speed that would give even the most accomplished of auctioneers a run for their money. Poor Logan could hardly keep up with his student, let alone settle him down long enough to get through even the first paragraph.

Finally, he had been forced to abandon his perfectly-crafted script in favour of a much less elegant approach: a simple and to-the-point list of questions. Though it physically pained Logan to abandon the result of so many tears shed and sleepless nights passed, he’d rather finish things the “alkali way” (or, as the cool kids preferred, the “basic way”) than never finish them at all. And if he’s going to talk anyway, Logan reasoned, I might as well give him something productive to talk about. Surely then we’ll be able to stay on-topic.

No such luck. Logan’s first question got no more than a noncommittal shrug before Parker — or was it Patrick? No, he was quite certain that the boy’s name was Parker — was off again, running his mouth a mile a minute, dropping awful puns and grammatically incorrect sentences all over the previously pristine carpet. The poor librarians would have some cleaning up to do later.

Okay, so plan B didn’t work either. Nothing to worry about, though, Logan pretended to believe. I’ve still got twenty-four letters to get through.

To be fair, Plan C was really more of a coping mechanism than an actual step-by-step plan. A surprisingly effective way of releasing pent-up stress and frustration, this longtime favourite involved imagining, in vivid detail, the source of that frustration being slowly and painfully fed into a running wood chipper.

What?

Some might think this cruel. Logan preferred to call it merciful; after all, at least he was limiting his vengeance to the hypothetical realm. An added bonus was that, in the interest of ensuring the utmost accuracy, it had compelled him to familiarize himself with the inner workings of wood chippers. So really, Plan C was a win-win for all parties involved.

As you might have guessed by now, dealing with annoying people never really had been Logan’s strong suit.

Actually, make that dealing with people in general. In hindsight, signing up to work with Sandford Secondary’s peer-to-peer tutoring program had definitely not been the best idea he’d ever had, in that case. Not because he wasn’t qualified — complex formulas and sentence structure he could handle in his sleep. But teaching those same concepts to a student who apparently had no intention of listening, he most certainly could not.

Really, Logan should have known better than to believe that he could ever be successful in any job that depended so much on one’s ability to work with others. Why couldn’t he have chosen something with more facts and numbers?

Facts and numbers were predictable. They always fit neatly into categories of right or wrong, true or false, black or white. Social interaction was so much messier. With no structure, no set of rules, and no procedure to follow, the whole thing was really nothing more than haphazard guesswork, a real-life game of hangman where every wrong word brings you one pen-stroke closer to game over. Bearing all that in mind, Logan had never understood how some people could so easily waltz up to strangers and just begin “bonding” like it was nothing.

And frankly, he didn’t particularly want to understand. Why would anyone choose to while away their life building those fragile houses of cards; vocabulary cards filled with only empty words? Did no one realise that a single misplaced breath is all would take to knock everything down in an instant? Why waste time trying desperately to convince your peers that you’re worth their love, when you could instead be hard at work earning their respect? In Logan’s experience, relationships of any kind — romantic, platonic, even familial — were always sloppy at best when built on love. Respect, on the other hand… respect was real.

This attitude, by the way, was an entirely objective worldview that had nothing to do with the fact that Logan didn’t exactly have many romantic or platonic relationships to choose from. Correlation, not causation.

Besides. Not that he cared.

Taking a deep breath, Logan forced himself to focus back on the session. (That makes one of us, he couldn’t help thinking.) Speaking of empty words… Parker, or Patrick, or whatever-his-name-was, had somehow been ceaselessly talking about corn for —  Logan checked his watch — over seven minutes now. They were getting nowhere, fast.

If Logan allowed the boy to keep this up, the two of them would end up leaving the library having accomplished absolutely nothing at all. That simply would not do. His student’s attitude may not be ideal, but he’d be damned if he let his own standards slip because of it.

After taking a brief pause to collect himself and his thoughts, Logan stood abruptly, causing the freckled boy to cut himself off mid-sentence.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved to stare out the large windows framing the section of the library where the two of them were seated, so that his back was turned and his face was hidden from the other boy.

Then, voice dripping with contempt, he spoke.

“Let me make one thing clear. I am not here to make friends, and neither should you be. I am here to teach, and as of yesterday, I was under the impression that you are here to learn. However, your behaviour so far has led me to believe that perhaps I was mistaken. For once in my life, I find myself praying that I will be proven wrong.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of merry tomfoolery you were expecting from our session today, but I do know exactly what I was expecting, and exactly what I have prepared for you. And since you clearly do not seem interested in steering this session anywhere productive, I suggest that you hand the reins to me and do exactly as I instruct from here on out. I have prepared a rigid agenda for how we will be spending this time together, and I intend to follow it. I expect you to do the same. Be aware that this agenda includes absolutely no icebreakers; we can’t afford to waste any more of our valuable lesson time, especially not on childish games.

“Starting right now, you will answer my questions so I can develop a plan for what we need to accomplish, and you will answer them without distraction. When you are not answering questions, you will hold your tongue like your entire future depends on it. Because it very well might. Is that understood —” just in time, he suddenly remembered the boy’s name — “is that understood, Patton?”

The following moment of quiet, the first one since Patton had stepped foot in the library, was answer enough for Logan.

“Good. I trust this will not be a discussion that we will need to have again, then.”

With that, Logan returned to his seat, carefully scrutinizing Patton once more to see if he could spot any differences. He didn’t need to try too hard. Patton’s transformation was so drastic, it was almost…  

Unnerving. The vigor from earlier had all but disappeared — thank goodness — but with its departure came a distinct dullness to the eyes framed in those round-rimmed glasses. And where Patton had previously been nearly falling out of his seat with barely contained energy, he now slumped inwards as if the words that Logan had spoken were actually physically crushing him.

At the sight, Logan couldn’t help but feel the tiniest glimmer of guilt. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to lay the scolding on quite so heavily. What if I overdid it?

A second later, Logan remembered he didn’t care.

Excellent. This shall be ideal. The brief moment of weakness over, Logan settled back down into the library’s comfortable couch. “What are your academic strengths?” he read off his notebook.

“Uhh, I’m… nice, sometimes. I guess.”  

Logan let out a deep sigh. A wood-chipper-shaped silhouette flickered in the back of his mind.

Most likely seeing his teacher’s disapproval of the vague answer, Patton hurried to add, “I mean, I can be pretty patient when it comes to worksheets. It always takes a really long time for me to finish my homework, so I… kind of have to be, you know?”

“Hm. Is that it?”

“That’s all I can come up with right now. Um, sorry.”

“I see.” Pencil scratched across paper as Logan scribbled down (a paraphrased version of) Patton’s response. In the otherwise unbroken silence, the sound grated loudly against Logan’s ears. He hurried to finish so he could move on to the next question. “Academic weaknesses?”

This time, Patton’s answered without even a moment’s hesitation. “Focus. Organization. Time management. Anything related to math or numbers, really. I’m not good at taking risks. My work is always sloppy and hard to read. It takes me a long time to wrap my head around new concepts.” He rattled off one item after another, a strange mix of confidence and detachment, almost as if reading off an invisible script that he’d already recited — or heard recited to him — many times before.

Logan wasn’t sure what to say to that. Here was another reason he hated socialising; people always had this odd tendency to hyper-fixate on what needed to be fixed rather than what they already had going for them, a tendency that Logan couldn’t imagine was healthy or even at all helpful. There’s so much beauty mixed in with the bad, and yet you choose to ignore it all? Worst of all, these senseless “social blinkers” meant that Logan had no chance of getting an accurate idea of Patton’s actual strengths and weaknesses. There was no way that every item on that list of shortcomings that Patton had just blazed through could actually apply, right?

Logan decided not to push the question, though; experience had taught him that calling others out on their poor logic didn’t often end well. I’ll just have to figure that part out myself, I suppose. Instead, he adjusted his thick glasses, wrote down one or two items from Patton’s list of weaknesses, and read aloud the next question.

And the next, and the next. They were really tearing through the conversation now; Patton’s answers seemed to get shorter and more succinct with every second that passed. Not that Logan was complaining. In fact, he was nothing but grateful for Patton’s newfound intense focus. It seemed his brief speech had done the trick.

Sooner than expected, a quiet trill interrupted the two of them. He checked his phone to see that his alarm had gone off. The session was over.

Had it really been two hours already? It had felt like so much less than that.

Shutting off the alarm, Logan turned to face his student. “Well, that marks the end of our session. I… appreciated your cooperation, Patton. We may have gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but your focus in the second half of the session was sufficient to convince me that we won’t have too many problems from here on out.”

This time, Patton said nothing at all, settling instead for a wordless nod.

“Next week, I will have worksheets prepared for you. In the meantime, your homework is to write me a page, single-spaced, telling me a little bit more about short-and long-term educational goals. Full sentences only, please.” Logan flipped his notebook shut. “I look forward to reading your writing for the first time,” he lied.

In response, Patton picked up his backpack and started to walk away. He only made it about three steps, though, before turning back and opening his mouth. Logan waited.

The words never came. After the briefest of pauses, Patton’s mouth closed, lips pressed firmly together, perhaps to suppress whatever he’d been wanting to say.

As watched the child disappear around the corner, a thought arose unbidden:

For some reason, Patton seemed so much smaller leaving the library than he had looked when he was entering.

***

[next chapter]

A/N: Okay. Even though it's only chapter two, I have a LOT to say. Most of this is about the fic in general rather than the chapter, so... it's LONG. I'm sorry. In the interest of not putting you to sleep, let's speed-round this.

The first chapter of AAmour was the very first thing I ever wrote for the Sanders Sides fandom. I based that chapter almost ENTIRELY on a oneshot comic by @the-pastel-peach.

Two months later, I was planning for NaNoWriMo 2018 (a challenge where authors write 50k in 30 days). Long story short, I decided that I'd like to try finishing AAmour.

I didn't.

I did hit 50k, but I only made it to chapter ten. I still want to finish this thing though, so I've decided to edit and post what I already wrote, one chapter a month, and then write the second half of AAmour during NaNoWriMo 2019.

I'm already late with this first chapter because my dumb brain decided I needed to do a complete rewrite a week before posting, but in the future I'd like to post a chapter on the first day of every month.

Almost everything after chapter one is my own work. I say "almost" because I picked @residentanchor's brain a lot during the planning phase.

So yes, I may still be writing a high school AU, but this is no longer @the-pastel-peach​'s high school AU. Besides Logan's last name (I couldn’t resist -- the pun game was too strong) and the first chapter, any similarities to their version of the AU are completely coincidental; in fact, I've barely looked at theirs because I didn't want to risk any subconscious copying.

Also heeeeyyyyyy this is my 200th post that’s pretty nifty--

I think that about covers it. Thank you so, so much for reading -- both the chapter and my ridiculously long author’s note!! See you soon, lovelies. Take care <3

General tag list: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide

AAmour tag list: @romanticsanders @thatrandomautist @thelowlysatsuma @mirror2thespirit @pokii-jonas