#Not that I'm trying to say Phos should have been 'content with what they had' or whatever that bullshit is

[sassyfever]

I see a lot of people say that Phos is the black sheep because they have empathy and compassion that other gems lack; But I absolutely disagree with that, Phos has about the same emotional range as any other gem. Phos is an outlier because they are not content with being complacent and ignorant.

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Ch 2

Chapter: 2/10

Add'l Notes: As usual, fic is like 6 chapters ahead on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter Content Warnings: N/A, ask to tag

Trying a new thing where I force you to read the first paragraph by not including it under the cut 😇

--

Virgil slept soundly and woke up unharmed in his bed. The relative cold of the morning air bit into his face, the only part of him that wasn't buried under his duvet. Still laying down, he wriggled into his hoodie and got up to make coffee. He mentally checked himself over while he waited for it to brew, staring blankly at the French press with stinging eyes. Damn, he must not have gotten all his vampire makeup off. Ah, well. His own absentmindedness was not a curse. Maybe he had escaped unscathed. Nothing hurt, save a normal soreness in his legs from standing around watching the Halloween parade, and a quick look in one of the many ornate mirrors decorating his walls revealed nothing abnormal with his face (well, except for the smudgy remnants of last night's eyeliner).

Despite this reassuring examination, he still spent the morning jumping at shadows. He rode his moped extra slowly and took time adjusting the straps of his helmet to make sure it fit perfectly. He examined the hanging sign ("Mystick Earth: ephemera for all ages") outside his workplace to make sure it wouldn't fall and kill him. He even took high steps on his way to the register to make sure he wouldn't trip over anything unseen.

But nothing bad happened.

In fact, nothing much happened at all until just past noon, when the brass bells on the door jangled and Logan stepped in, wafting the smell of warm bread and something sweet in with him.

Virgil didn't even realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache. "Hi," he said.

"Hello, Virgil." Logan wasn't looking at him; he was focusing on the paper bag hooked around one wrist and the drink carrier balanced in his other arm. "Forgive me for not asking first, but I wanted to surprise you."

"Here, you can set that on the counter." Virgil already knew what Logan had brought: banh mi, pho, and bubble tea from Sunrise, Virgil's favorite café.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil pressed his hands on the counter and levered himself up to give Logan a kiss. He had always known that Logan was courteous and sweet under that somewhat stiff exterior; this wasn't even the first time he had done something kind for Virgil out of nowhere. But Virgil never could get used to being doted on. "Thank you, Logan."

Logan dropped his gaze, one hand coming up to fidget with his tie. "You're quite welcome."

The bells chimed again. Virgil looked up and caught sight of Roman, who had frozen in place. Catching Virgil's gaze, he straightened as though offended. "Well," he said, "I just came by to make sure Count Virgila survived the night, but it looks as though Casanova here beat me to the punch."

Logan turned. "Roman. I hope you've already eaten, because I only brought enough food for two people."

"I can take a hint," Roman said. Virgil raised his eyebrows at him expectantly, but Roman only raised his own eyebrows back, strode over to the counter, and stole a sip of Virgil's milk tea.

"I thought you said you could take a hint," Virgil said.

"I can," Roman said, "but I'm choosing not to."

Logan sighed through his nose and passed Virgil his sandwich. "I see no need to insist upon politeness if Roman is not going to return the favor."

Roman bumped Logan with his hip. "Really, I just came by to make sure Virgil's okay "

The bells jangled. Virgil looked up again, half-surprised and half-annoyed to see Janus, clad in the extravagant tailcoat he had to wear for work, pretending rather transparently to examine the display of tarot card-themed posters by the door. "Hi, Janus," he said, making no effort to hide his annoyance. Maybe this was the curse, to never get any alone time with Logan.

"Let me guess," said Roman, "you're here to check on Virgil."

"Of course not," Janus said, now pawing through the discount t-shirt display. Ugh, Virgil had just finished re-folding those. "Virgil's a big boy; he knows how to handle himself."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil raised an eyebrow. "For all the money in the register, tell me what you came to buy and what you plan to use it for."

For the brief moment that Janus hesitated, Virgil allowed himself to hope that he had gotten one over on Janus. In all their years of friendship, he had admitted to being wrong exactly once. Virgil kept the date saved in his phone calendar and made sure to send Janus a card on the anniversary. But a moment's hesitation was all the satisfaction he got this time; Janus faced him properly, adjusted his tie, and said, "I don't know. I'm looking for a gift for Remus."

"Nice save," Virgil said. "We'll see about that."

"Oh, I don't know why you bother trying to hide it." Roman beckoned Janus over to the counter. "Look with your own eyes: he's fine."

"I combined like five different rituals last night," Virgil said. "And I'm doing another one once I get off work." He had already paid for the bottle and the string, knowing he had a hand trowel somewhere in the depths of his spider-infested shed.

Roman quick-drew his phone from his pocket and had himself posed for a selfie with Virgil almost before Virgil could process what was happening. "Smile," he said. "Patton made me promise I'd send him a picture."

Virgil flashed a peace sign. It was better to just go with it. Despite his bravado, Roman got his feelings hurt easily, and it was never fun to try to bounce back from that. "Are we done now?"

"Pardon us for caring about you," Roman said, sticking his nose into the air. It was such a Remus thing to do that Virgil nearly laughed, but he managed to hold himself together.

"Yeah, yeah, my friends love and cherish me, blah, blah, blah."

"Also," Roman read from his phone, "Patton says to tell Janus to come over soon so they can make cutting boards together."

"He was serious about that?" Janus looked helplessly at Virgil. Ah, yes, Patton had made the invitation last night and Janus, leaning back on social niceties, had agreed. "I thought he was just being nice."

"Nope." Virgil leaned forward across the counter and grinned. "Not only is Patton gonna make you make yourself a cutting board, you're going to enjoy it."

"We'll see about that," Janus said. He shook up his sleeve so he could glance at his watch. "Well, I should get back to Bienvenue. Those suits won't sell themselves."

He turned on his heel and made for the door so quickly that Virgil knew he was forgetting something. Ding. "Wait, but weren't you going to buy something for Remus?" he called.

"Sorry," said Janus, one hand already on the door. "Can't hear you, bye." And he was gone.

Roman bounced on his toes. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two to it, too."

"Thank you kindly," Virgil said, metering the sardonic bite in his tone so that Roman wouldn't get offended.

Roman tipped an imaginary hat first to Virgil, then to Logan, and sauntered out.

"Finally," Virgil sighed. He looked up to find Logan staring at him with evident concern. "What?"

"Are you alright?" Logan asked. "I know you take this kind of thing seriously and I would hate for you to feel like I'm not supporting you just because I don't share your belief."

Virgil couldn't help but smile as an unfamiliar feeling spread from his stomach to his chest. Ah, the warm fuzzies. He couldn't even be mad about the damage to his dark and brooding image. "I'm okay, Lo. I did my stuff."

Logan smiled back: a small, shy thing. "I'm glad."

They were quiet for a moment. Virgil took small bites of his banh mi, careful to keep one eye on the door. It had been an unusually slow day, especially given that it was the day after Halloween. The denizens of Vaillant were superstitious enough that Virgil was rarely idle behind the counter of Mystick Earth. A few groups of people paused by the door, some even going so far as to peer in through the glass storefront windows, but no one came in. Virgil relaxed a little. "How's work? Catch anyone embezzling?"

"Not yet," Logan said, pushing his sleeves further up his elbows. Virgil tried not to stare at the few additional centimeters of skin this action exposed. What was he, a repressed Victorian? "I did notice a discrepancy in the amount we spent on office supplies, but it was only because someone had miswritten a 'seven' as a 'two.'"

"No office drama?" Virgil ribbed him. "Nobody stealing pens or making out in supply closets?"

"Unfortunately, we are a building of professionals." Logan paused, straightened his tie. "The light above my cubicle went out and I had to put in an email to maintenance to get it fixed."

"Man, I could never work in an office," Virgil said.

"Did anything interesting happen to you this morning?"

"Eh, I had someone looking to curse an ex, and I had to explain why that's not acceptable. I won't bore you with the details." Virgil took another bite of his sandwich and bounced the toe of his shoe against the floor. Was he doing this right? It had been so long since his last real relationship, and everyone knew what a disaster that had been. He liked Logan, liked being with Logan, but… Well, maybe he was freaking out over nothing. He just had to remember how to do it right, and then everything would be okay.

"Ordinarily, I would challenge the notion that you could ever bore me," Logan said, "but I do have to leave soon."

"Finish your pho," Virgil said, smiling. "I can tell you later."

They finished eating and Virgil again leaned up to give Logan a kiss, balancing his weight on his hands. His heart wasn't in it, his brain a few seconds ahead. Should he come over the counter and walk Logan to the door? What should he say? ‘I love you’? Should he grab Logan's ass?

"Did you hear me?" Logan asked.

Virgil feet hit the floor, the impact driving tingles up to his knees. "Huh?"

"Just saying goodbye," Logan said.

"See you soon?"

"Let's make plans."

Logan left. Virgil stared at the door for a while, happiness ebbing away into loneliness and doubt. A small, childish part of him wanted to insist that Logan stay. Forget work. They could go to the movies and get ice cream, have a proper date. And Virgil would find some way to communicate just how much he appreciated Logan.

--

Virgil: Thanks for lunch, Lo

Logan: You're welcome

Logan: <3

Virgil hadn't gathered up the guts to respond to Logan's text message yet. It was really pathetic, how a single emoticon heart had him blushing and panicking like a teenager.

He swung one leg over his moped, but kept his weight mostly on the ground. Hating the way his heart pounded, he pulled out his phone.

Logan: <3

Virgil: <3

Before he could freak himself out any further, Virgil got on his moped properly and nearly peeled out of his parking spot. He rode home in silence, shivering a little in the wind chill and dodging potholes.

The sinking sun lit up the thunderheads on the horizon until the whole sky on Virgil's left was blue-gray and luminescent. He stared, admiring the bald cypress and tupelo trees silhouetted against the dying light, until the road turned and faced him toward the darkness. By the time he got home, it was full dark. He parked his moped in the carport and settled in for a lonely evening of curse-breaking.

Virgil wasn't usually lonely. As an introvert with several boisterous extroverts in his friend circle, he usually jumped at the chance for some alone time. But suddenly Logan's absence felt like loss in a way it never had before, and Virgil longed to have him near. Even if he just sat quietly and watched while Virgil put his own spin on constructing a witch bottle.

He went to bed early that night, earlier than usual, unable to stand the emptiness of his old house. Even the creaks and groans, even the ambient sounds of outside, even the ticking of his mantle clock, seemed to fade away into intolerable lonely silence. So Virgil crawled into bed before midnight, clutching his hoodie to his chest.

He didn't sleep well.

Strange visions haunted his dreams, almost primal in their intensity. He was rage, he was fear, he was power. He knew the earth beneath his feet, knew the deep, rich smells of the forest. He knew the moon above. It was bright but waning, pale silver struggling through the clouds that smelled of rain. So unlike Virgil, whose strength was eternal and agonizing and all. He howled.

He woke up all at once, all his senses alight. Even without opening his eyes, it was obvious: He was outside. Not only that, he was naked in the dirt.

He opened his eyes and rolled over, sitting up slowly to examine himself. Clammy soil clung to his exposed skin. He brushed it off with a shaking hand. His nails were stained with it too, all muddy and broken. And he was sore, almost as bad as the time he'd try to go jogging with Logan.

Virgil let the panic wash over him and pulled his legs in close to his chest, wrapped his arms around them. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he had nothing, knew nothing and he was all alone in the woods.

He crested the worst of the attack and clenched his trembling hands into fists, resentful of the adrenaline still ruling him. At least he seemed unharmed; his skin was free of bruises and scratches. He was just dirty. He raised a shaking hand to his left ear, feeling along the back of it for any strange marks. Finding nothing, he checked his right ear. The skin seemed wholly undisturbed, but he would see about that later. Right now, he had more pressing things to worry about than potential alien abduction. For one, there was the matter of his clothes… He got to his feet, covering his groin with his hands despite the solitude. All that surrounded him were the early-morning birdsong and the rustle of the wind in the leaves.

Spinning in a circle, Virgil found a place where branches had been broken and the underbrush had been thoroughly trampled by something much, much bigger than he. With no other leads, he steeled himself and followed the trail. It was difficult going. He had to keep his head down to make sure he didn’t step on anything sharp, and his heartbeat remained sharp and painful and panicked, beating out what-ifs beneath his skin. What if he couldn’t find his way home? What if he got arrested for public nudity? What if he tripped and broke his leg and got stranded? What if something attacked him?

The morning breeze picked up and made him shiver, drawing him out of his panicked thoughts. He just needed to keep walking. He might not even have been that far from home. He lived on the edge of the woods, so it made sense that he was within walking distance of home, right? Well, maybe not, but the belief was all he had. So he believed that he was close to home, believed that he would be fine, and continued to tread the path of destruction through the woods.

He was closer than he’d thought. Soon, the sound of tires over asphalt reached his ears and he picked up the pace. Crossing the road was a nerve-wracking endeavor, not least because the speed limit was 55 mph. He hadn’t seen any of his clothes on the trek. What would people say if they caught him darting naked across the road like some kind of feral mountain man? Traffic was sparse, it was true, but with Virgil’s luck, a pickup full of country boys would plow into him and leave him in the ditch. What a pleasant thought for a Friday morning. Pushing his fear aside, Virgil sprinted across the road as fast as his abused feet and sore muscles would let him. The trail of trampled bushes and broken branches led directly to his house, as he had feared it might, and the destruction didn’t stop there. His front door was open, bugs buzzing around the light over his kitchen sink. Several of his end tables had been knocked over and various trinkets from his many floating shelves littered the floor. His ceramic incense holder lay in pieces by the magazine rack filled with his collection of old tabloids-- the tabloids were okay, thank goodness.

“Hello?” Virgil called. No one answered, and the house was silent. He crept into the bedroom. Ah, there were his clothes. The t-shirt he slept in had split at the seams and his boxers hadn’t fared much better. At least his hoodie was okay. He pulled it on and slipped into a new pair of boxers, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He needed to deal with this, like, really needed to deal with this, but his bed…

He face-planted into it, not even bothering to straighten out or pull his legs onto the mattress. Sleep now, unpack terrifying potential supernatural encounter later.