#it's just that I imprinted on him like a baby duck when I was arguably far too young to be watching that movie

[imagineslashers]

First Words Soulmate AU

okay so i love this au, and i’m not sure if it’ve done it before, but i’m doing it now so enjoy! essentially, the first words you ever speak to your soulmate are imprinted on you somewhere and same for them, if you aren’t familiar with this au! x

WARNING for violence and death and swearing!

also sorry this is long yikes-

Jason

To be perfectly honest, you had lost all hope of ever meeting your soulmate, if going only by the words on your wrist - or rather, the lack of words. All you have imprinted on your skin is a dash, a wobbly line, and nothing else. From day one, you had merely accepted the fact that your soulmate was likely dead, or going to die, before you’d ever have the chance to meet them.

Your trip to an old camping ground was purely as an escape, to break away from all your friends who were happily in love and all met their soulmates. It was overwhelming, the joy they were suffocating your lonely self with, so you needed to get away.

Hiking through the cool afternoon air, your heart lays heavy in your chest, proving that even distance and ignorance can’t shield you from the pain. Anxiously, your fingers rub at your exposed wrist, and the crooked line across it. An owl hoots in the distant treetops, reminding you of your isolation.

You pause, taking a minute to breathe in deeply, stretching your sore muscles, and peering at the glimpse of the lake through the distant tree trunks. A slight sound distracts you, a brief snapping of a twig, and all the birds stop singing. A deer, perhaps? Your head turns slowly, taking in the surroundings. Even the insects seem to be holding their breath, the forest blanketed by a harsh silence.

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck and you exhale shakily, deciding to push on and try to reach a clearing where you may feel less trapped. It doesn’t help. The more steps you take, the more aware you become of the sensation, constantly looking over your shoulder. 

When your nerves are entirely fried, the sudden flight of a startled crow sends you into a fully fledged panic, bolting through the trees. The quiet snapping of twigs becomes a heavy thudding, trembling the ground and you no longer waste time by looking back, powering through the forest.

There’s a looming shadow that falls over you and your voice escapes in a shriek, realising the inevitable. You’re not fast enough. The world spins as your shirt is grabbed, yanking you backwards and throwing you off your feet. Rolling across the dirt for a few seconds, you’re finally stopped staring up at the hulking masked figure. There’s a machete in his left hand, and a shred of your shirt in his right. He steps over you, feet either side of your hips and pulls back his arm.

You instinctively lift your hands to defend yourself, turning your head away and gasping for breath. “P-please!” You whimper, heart racing like a hummingbird. “Please don’t!”

He freezes, pulls back, and blinks at you from behind his mask. After a few painfully slow moments, he rotates his arm holding the machete, and you’re able to glimpse three words inscribed down his arm. They’re the words you spoke.

It all clicks and you realise he doesn’t, or can’t, speak. You shakily lift your wrist to show him your mark. He appears bewildered, stunned at the thought of having a real soulmate as much as you, then finally extends a wary hand. You take it.

Bubba

The road trip was a stupid idea, you said that from the start. However, you had been dragged along by your friends to celebrate a few milestones in your lives, and so succumbed to their pleading. Now, you sit rigidly in the back of their car, waiting anxiously. How long does it take to pay for fuel?

Your mind is racing, it’s been nearly half an hour and you haven’t heard anything. You elected to stay behind to keep an eye on the car while they went inside to get snacks, but that shouldn’t take too long, right?

A light flickers in the back of the old gas station, and with it the sound of a machine, perhaps a chainsaw or similar tool. You try to shrug it off. It’s a dilapidated country station, they’re probably fixing something or working at the back.

However, you can’t ignore the screaming, or the sudden bursting open of the door. Your friend’s boyfriend comes streaking out, face ashen, bolting past you. You lean out of the window, eyes wide, calling his name but he ignores you. A whoosh of air rushes past your head and an axe lands squarely in the back of his head. You scream, jerking yourself back into the car before kicking the door open and almost falling out. 

You don’t have the keys, but running is obviously pointless. Instead, you bolt for the gas station, hoping to find a phone or a weapon or something! You don’t make it that far before the axe thrower steps out into the light, breathing heavily. He’s hard to make out, but you recognise the bloody apron and odd looking mask as immediately a threat, if you hadn’t already witnessed what he’d just done.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Shocked by his appearance, you find your feet are sluggish and unresponsive. He notices you but doesn’t charge, instead making cautious steps towards you, dragging a large chainsaw. He mumbles something, just a string of sounds, as if trying to soothe you like an injured deer. It takes hearing more screaming for you to start stepping backwards quickly, unwilling to take your eyes off of him. Your back thuds into something solid and your hair is twisted into an iron grip, making you cry out.

“Got ‘em! Hurry up and finish it so we can go home already.” The man behind you reeks of blood and sweat, his accent almost masking his words. The one with the chainsaw makes a muffled noise of distress, closing the distance between you and shoves the one holding you backwards, releasing the grip on your hair.

“The hell, Bubba?” He growls, but the much taller male hisses, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with him. This captor, Bubba, starts desperately pulling up his pant leg, seemingly having forgotten where his mark is, but finally twists around to see the back of his calf. Your words in shaky handwriting are scrawled across his flesh.

Shocked, you pull down your shirt and try to inspect the nonsensical letters along your collarbone. Bubba makes a slight squeal, pulling you against his chest, delighted to finally have his soulmate! Still in shock, you allow him to lead you to their truck, your heart swelling but your head spinning. Oh well, not like you have much choice anyway!

Freddy

Bad dream would probably be an understatement, that’s what you think as you find yourself sprinting painfully slowly through a boiler room, steam burning your skin as you pass. Laughter rings out, bouncing off the walls and startling you. Bitterness creeps into your heart, a sour taste in your mouth as you try not to fall into the sick games you know are going to begin.

“Where are you, you prick?!” You yell, hands balled into fists, stomping your foot for effect. You’re terrified, naturally, but not going to die looking like a wimp or giving him the satisfaction. You know all about him from the teens in your neighbourhood.

Freddy comes bounding around a corner, looking expectantly gleeful and sadistic, his gloved hand dragging along the wall. His face breaks into a grin, but you recognise the flash of panic in his face, which confuses you all the more. Why would he be scared?

You step back, ready to throw yourself into a fight or flight, but he just looks at you dumbly, huffing, amusement fading. “What did you say?” Something clicks in his mind and he stalks towards you. “Say it again.”

You’re ready to tell him where he can shove his request when you understand the significance of his words. His first words to you. 

“Oh, shit, no way!” Your words leave you a breathless rush and it makes him laugh. He’s so badly burnt that your words have been essentially destroyed from his wrist, but he’d never forget what they said. You carefully roll up your shorts and expose the slanted writing wrapped around your thigh. Freddy looks a little stunned, and annoyed, but he finally sighs dramatically in defeat.

“Okay, guess you’re mine then, baby!” He resigns himself to it like a child having to do chores, grabbing your hand in his exposed one, pulling you with him.

Michael

Halloween is arguably one of the best holidays, but you don’t agree with that statement anymore as you’re creeping through the dark streets, trying not to be noticed. The news headlines were that the killer was on a streak, getting more creative with every victim, and you’re determined not to be the next one.

Unfortunately, you live in his neighbourhood, so you didn’t have any options when the television at your work lit up with a warning to stay home. And your car broke down, so you’re now stuck walking home, jumping at the sound of every meow and car horn. Pulling your coat tighter around your frame, you hurry down the street, passing under a streetlamp which illuminates your white knuckles wrapped tightly around your bag.

There’s a siren in the distance and that assures you, just a little, that perhaps the killer is being brought down right now. With that in mind, you let out a breath which escapes you in a puff of smoke in the cold air. Clinging tightly to your reassurances, you speed up a little, having reached your street. Relief washes through you, as well as embarrassment at how terrified you’d been.

You chuckle to yourself, rounding the corner to your house when you see him. A huge black shadow, stepping out from the neighbouring house, his knife stained crimson. You both stand in silence, staring at one another, before you decide to try your luck at running. 

You turn around and sprint the way you’d come, biting your lip so hard it draws blood. Your breath comes in short puffs as your body is pushed beyond the limits. He may have the advantage of being quicker, but you know this area. Ducking down an alleyway, you launch yourself onto a wooden fence, scrambling to get over. You’re just about to when a cold hand wraps around your ankle and yanks you back down.

The force of it knocks the wind from your lungs as you lay on your back, gasping. The stranger crouches over you, pressing the tip of his blade to the hollow of your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Just do it!” You manage to force out.

The blade pulls away and you risk peeking one eye open to see the white mask. Your killer is shocked, looking almost like a stone figure, unable to move or breathe. He never wanted a soulmate, didn’t believe in it, but now you’re laying under him and he can’t kill you.

Angrily, he slams his fist into the concrete by your head and you flinch, eyes wide open now as he stares back at you. There’s a quiet word he mutters, just loud enough for you to catch it. “Fuck.”

You barely have time to question him, recognising that one word from the one that’s imprinted on your shoulder blade, before he’s hauling you up and carrying you off bridal style, one hand still tightly clutching his knife.

Beetlejuice

The motel room is kinda dingy- well, it’s very dingy if you’re honest, but you’re so exhausted you can’t bring yourself to do more than collapse on the bed. You’d been travelling for a few days on your way to a new town to start up your new career, passing through this idyllic little town. It’s cute, very homey, but the motel is pretty old.

Whatever, you just need to sleep. Rolling onto your stomach, you pull out your phone and check your messages. The television starts playing. Sitting up, you strain your ears but hear only some corny romance film. Rolling your eyes, you decide that you’re leaving as soon as the sun rises, but begrudgingly force yourself to walk into the living area to turn off the television.

Once you do, you put the remote on the coffee table, making sure it can’t fall or turn itself on again. Turning around, you start walking back to the bed when it turns on, louder this time. Your brows furrow in annoyance as you return and turn it off, smacking the side of the set for good measure. 

After staring at the black screen for a few seconds, you decide it’s done being irritating and once again try to walk back to bed. You’ve just collapsed on your side when it turns on again.

Gritting your teeth, you rub your eyes and contemplate how much effort it would be to walk back to reception to ask for a new room. You’ve just decided on getting up when you feel the bed dip behind you, fingertips tracing your arm. Your heart nearly bursts in terror.

“You don’t like this movie?” The words come out dripping in sarcasm and amusement from the stranger behind you. Immediately, your body reacts defensively and you leap from the bed, whirling around to punch the intruder. He yelps in surprise, hand over his nose.

“You asshole! Get out of my room!” You yell, barely able to contain your emotions, completely glazing over the realisation that those words are on your lower back. However, the intruder does notice and sits up excitably, eyeing you like a prize. You’re not sure where to look first, the green hair or the dirty striped suit.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to find you in a motel room, but hey, can’t complain!” He grins, his expression resembling that of a wolf. He pops the buttons on his shirt and you’re stuck standing in confusion as you read back the words you just yelled at him, imprinted on his collar.

“No.” You point at him, then the door. “Not happening. Go away and come back at a decent hour.” He laughs, but then realises you’re serious, whining as he pulls himself from the bed. 

“You’re mean. I like it. See you in the morning!” He disappears in a hazy cloud of purple smoke, leaving you coughing and wondering if you hallucinated.

Billy & Stu

School sucks. Not only because of the obvious; preppy kids, bullies, annoying teachers, homework. No, you’re annoyed because everyone is falling madly in love with their soulmates, throwing it in your face. You’re a freak to most, because you don’t have your soulmate mark. You have two.

Wearing long sleeves is how you conceal it, but everyone knows you’re different, the rumours started as soon as you walked in the door. Irritable, you resign yourself to having to deal with not only the first day at a new shitty school, but also being the object of much taunting on said first day.

You manage to sail through most of your classes by ignoring everyone else, but by lunch time, you can’t avoid it. Your feet carry you to an empty table where you hope to just have a quiet meal. That, of course, can never happen for you.

Two rather imposing looking teens slink over to you, and you recognise them as the school’s bad boys, popular kids if a little weird, Billy and Stu. You look down and continue picking at a sandwich, hoping that if you pretend they don’t exist, they’ll do the same for you and move onto someone else.

Once again, that doesn’t happen for you. “Hello, gorgeous.” Billy sits in the seat next to you and Stu sidles up on the opposite one, both of them grinning. “Why are you sat alone, baby?” Stu purrs. You’ve had enough of being taunted today and you stand up, causing your chair to scream in protest against the tacky floors.

“Can everyone just leave me the hell alone?” You scowl, grabbing your bag and missing the look that the boys exchange in surprise. Billy nods, and Stu grabs your arm. 

“Hey!” You try to pull it back, but Billy takes your other one and they both pull up your sleeves. Sure enough, the words they just greeted you with are on your arms, one of each. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, and relief, at finding your soulmates.

Stu lets go first, practically bouncing on the spot as he lifts his shirt to show you what you said written angrily across his ribs. Billy’s next, he has the same words but wrapped around his ankle.

You’re in a state of shock when they coax you back into your seat, one hanging one each of your arms. There’s no way you’re getting away now, especially not with the way they’re looking at you like you’re their favourite toy.

The Man

The night was finally quietening down when you decided to sit on the porch for a bit, a hot drink cupped in your hands, listening to the crickets.

Your decision to live in a wooded area is probably one of the best you’ve made, or at least that’s what you believe as you enjoy the blissful peace of your surroundings. Blowing on your drink, you almost don’t notice the figure in the corner of your eye.

Expecting one of the neighbours checking in about something, you aren’t immediately alarmed, sitting up a bit straighter to try and make them out in the shadows. The stranger doesn’t speak, so neither do you, but the longer you both stare at one another, the worse the feeling in your gut becomes. Something isn’t quite right.

You’ve just decided to go back inside when he starts approaching. Coming nearer to your porch lights, you can finally see that he’s wearing a mask, and across his back he’s carrying a crossbow. Adrenaline shoots into your veins and you leap up, your mug smashing. The display of alertness doesn’t concern him, he continues approaching at a leisurely pace, dragging his hand across the side of your car as he comes up the driveway.

You walk backwards to the front door, making sure you can keep him in your sights at all times, your hand fumbling for the handle. He waves at you, and you sense he’s smiling under his mask, judging by the delighted, predatorial glint in his eyes. You simply scowl in response, attempting to hide the way your body trembles as you finally get the door open and jump backwards, slamming it shut.

He leaps up the porch steps and stands outside the door, his shadow spilling in from under the door. You step back, holding your breath. The shadow retreats with the sound of boots, leaving you frozen to the spot listening for him.

The silence becomes so painful that when he finally does make a noise, it startles you. Tracking it down, you find him stood outside your kitchen by the large window, head tilted as he peers inside at you, still jovial and content to be terrifying you. 

Unwilling to show him your fear any further, you point at the alarm system, indicating you can set it off to alert authorities. Yelling to be heard through the glass, your words get his attention easily.

“You better leave, or I’m going to make sure they haul your sorry ass to prison!”

He steps back, much to your surprise, and then lifts his mask. You’re taken aback by his face - attractive - and don’t notice him pulling up his hoodie. There in cursive along his hip is your handwriting, and the threat you just gave him. His face breaks out into a grin as he jumps back to his position right up against the glass.

“Show me yours!” His voice is elevated by his delight and you step away, warily lifting your arm to reveal his demand written along your outer forearm. Like a kid given candy, he knocks excitably against the glass. “Let me in! You’re so mine!”

The Blissfield Butcher

What a shitty day. You missed the bus trying to get home from work, and then it started raining. By the time you’d made it to the next operating bus stop, your clothes had been successfully drenched, leaving you shivering under the meagre shelter provided.

Cursing your boss for lecturing you and in turn making you late to leave, you hug your arms around yourself. A ping goes off from your pocket, then another, and another, until you give up on trying to warm yourself and fish around in your pockets to find the source. Your phone lights up your face in the darkness. An amber alert prompts all residents to stay home if they can, following a string of murders.

You exhale sharply, trying to centre your thoughts on anything other than the anxiety creeping into the back of your mind. Your gaze lifts from the screen and is immediately drawn to a passing shadow, which halts the second you look at it. Unsure if you’re seeing things, you put your phone away and squint through the rain, attempting to distinguish whether it’s someone you know.

Likely just a passer-by, you resume huddling under the shelter. The shadow moves away, and your anxiety with it. However, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. After a few minutes, the shadow reappears and you realise it’s circling you from a distance. The reality sets in and you curse, chancing up your options. Glancing over your shoulder, you can see your workplace still lit up a few blocks down. You could run there, but you’re not sure how fast the figure is.

When you tear your eyes away from your distant workplace, you realise that looking away had been a mistake, the shadow significantly closer and now more obviously a male. A very tall male, in a mask. You curse under your breath and decide to risk it, your aching legs once again forced into action. The bitterly cold rain makes running harder, and it’s worse trying to see where you’re going as it starts to come down heavier, masking the sounds of your stalker.

You shoot a quick look over your shoulder, your heart jumping at how close he is, within reaching distance. Your mind makes a quick decision and you jerk to the side so his grab misses you, whilst you run down another street onto a local sports field, now dark and silent.

The wet grass clings to your feet, slowing you down, but you don’t have time to reflect on this mistake because your shoved from behind. The force of your momentum and the power behind the shove sends you skidding on your front, grazing your cheek. 

He’s on you before you can blink, pushing you onto your back, straddling your hips. His eyes are wild behind the mask as he uses one hand to keep your shoulder down, the other gripping a butcher’s knife. Your efforts at squirming are denied by his sheer weight and the force of his thighs trapping your lower half. Seeing no other option, you start to panic and gasp, the rain still soaking you both.

“Wait, please, don’t!” Your tears mix into the rain as your hands desperately push against him, one accidentally knocking his mask off. He’s distracted by this and you continue, your hands instead lowering to protect your face. “I know a lot of cops, I-I-” the excuse tumbles from your mouth, but cuts off when you notice the black writing on his neck. “Oh.” Your voice is reduced to a whimper, reading back what you’ve said to him.

He sighs, stabbing the grass and sitting back, looking at you expectantly. “Um, are you not going to kill me?” You curse the way your words shake as you look up at him. The ghost of a smile touches his lips and he grips your wrist, pulling you up. He doesn’t stop there, throwing you over his shoulder and stooping to pick up his knife. “I’m not gonna kill what’s mine.” He growls the words, sending a chill through you as those familiar words are etched onto your arm.

[nikova-eve]

Changes: Chapter 3

Hi guys, it’s me. The anxious writer. So, as this security guard at my school keeps yelling, I’ve only got 15 days left before finals. So I might not update on the schedule that I want, though I will try!

Feel free to send me an ask about the story. I'll try to answer as long as it doesnt give away any spoilers!

Prologue Previous

Summary: Logan Summers: One friend, a 4.0, and a huge secret. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Virgil Mathews: barely surviving high school, let alone possibly being moved away from his one and only friend just so he gets to experience what its like to “Have a family”. Patton Pennington: can’t remember having a friend in real life, hopes that his parents taking in a foster kid can change things for him. Roman Royal: Arguably the most popular boy in school, but when he hears that the high schools are merging next year, will he be able to mend his checkered past?

Pairings: Slow-burn Analogical and Royality

Warnings: Foster system, food/drink, anxiety/nervousness, some self-deprecation, puns, injury, mentions of getting beat up, bad writing skills. Let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 2087

Tag list: @zaisling @heir-of-the-founders @rainbow-sides @3-14l59265358979323846 @spazzz32 @sanderstalker @confinesofpersonalknowledge @black-out-wonder @phlying-squirrel @scorching-scotch @queen-of-all-things-snuggly @theotherella @toujours-fidele @hamster-corn @misslilidelaney @alkimara @ccecode @nienna14 @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @smileydog101 @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @an-anxious-acquaintance Just ask if you want to be added!

***

To say that Patton felt excited was probably an understatement. He didn’t know a word for how he was feeling. Some sort of mix of happiness and nervousness that bubbled in his stomach making him simultaneously thrilled and nauseous. It was only a week since school had ended, but he had felt really lonely. At least at school, he was surrounded by other people, even if they didn’t care to notice he existed. At home, it was just him and his online friends. Who each had a life and their own in real life friends. He craved friends more than he would even admit to himself. When he imagined going out for ice cream, movies, staying up late at sleepovers. He felt selfish. It wasn't other people's fault that he felt the way he did, or their job to make him feel better.

He sat up and looked around in an attempt to change the subject of his own conversation. His eyes scanned the walls that had been yellow since he was a baby, some spots still had crayon and finger paint that his mom refused to wash off because of “memories”. He had never really thought of wiping them off the wall, especially because it made his mom happy when he asked if she knew the story behind a certain scribble. Usually, she did, sometimes she would make something up to make him laugh.

The other things he had on his walls since childhood was a collection of pun posters. The biggest was taped above his dresser, it had two bananas drawn on it with the quote, “Why did the banana go to the doctor? He wasn’t peeling well.” Seeing the posters always made him laugh, or at least smile on a rough day. His personal favorite was the rainbow deer, bubble letters spelling out “Oh deer! I’m queer!”

His room was one of the only to not be completely reorganized in the past week. HIs parents had wanted the house to be presentable when the boy arrived. Not that it wasn’t already pretty clean, but his parents worried. Part of Patton was glad that his room had been left untouched, another part wondered if a change of scenery would improve his state of mind. He had read somewhere that being exposed to yellow for a long time made people depressed. Or was it blue? Either way, maybe a different color would make him happy? No, that was silly.

His eyes moved to the corner where a mirror stood out like a prep in Hot Topic, being one of the only things not covered in childhood stickers. In it, he could see his brown eyes contrasting with the bright white of his skin. He had tried to tan before, it resulted in a painful sunburn that returned to its natural color in two weeks. What bothered him though, was that he had no freckles. Almost every redhead he knew had freckled, but him. Patton loved adored freckles. He developed a crush on almost all of his male classmates who had them at one point or another.

“Patton!” His mom's voice snapped him from his thoughts,

“Yeah?” He hopped off of his bed and took a deep breath, plastering a smile on his face.

“Can you do me a favor?” She asked, her voice seeming louder as Patton opened his door.

“What do you want me to do?” He questioned, walking down the hall and looking through all of the open doors. He stopped in the guest, well his new brother's room, where his mom was wrapping the vacuum cord. She looked up at him and smiled,

“Do you think you can wipe down the window for me?” The window looked spotless. “I need to vacuum the living room.” for the fourth time this week. But Patton could see the stress and worry behind her smile. He widened his own smile and slowly took the vacuum from his mom.

“Why don’t you go grab some lemonade from the fridge? He might be thirsty when he gets here, and the living room is squeaky clean.” He reassured, her brown eyes softened and she gave him a small smile.

“Alright, I’m overworking myself, I get it.” She giggled and headed to the door, “You want any lemonade?”

“No thanks, I’m good.” Once his mom was gone he deposited the vacuum into the halls closet. He walked back into the room to look for the window cleaner, only to see a car parked in front of the house. He ran up to the window, placing his hands on the glass, before taking them off and scolding himself on the imprint it left. The driver's door opened and a tall woman climbed out. Her grey hair tied in a bun that matched her suit. Heart pounding, Patton raced out of the room and down the stairs. He could see the lady and his parents on the porch as he crossed the dining room.

“Virgil really doesn’t like being touched, especially right now. He got a little beat up this morning, he’s not violent of course. Just other kids usually get jealous when another gets adopted or moved to a home.” The voice seemed extremely cold for someone who works with kids. Patton chose to stand next to Ryan as they all listened to her.

“Is there anything we should do about it?” Ryan asked, running a hand over his black hair.

“Honestly, the best thing is to ignore it. He probably feels self-conscious about it.” The lady shifted, clearly uncomfortable with standing in the heels she had on.

“Where is he?” Patton looked around curiously.

“Oh, he’s in the car. Maybe you can show him around while I talk with your parents.” The lady suggested,

“Only if you’d be ok with that kiddo.” His dad added,

“Yeah, I’m ok with doing that!” Patton smiled,

“Great.” The lady responded monotone before turning on her heels and walking over to the car. She opened the back door, and it seemed like a couple words were exchanged before a tall boy dressed in all black stepped out of the car. He was quite a few inches taller than the lady, and it became obvious he was only a little taller than Patton, who was only around 5’8. He stayed on the stairs even as the lady came up to them on the porch. His hood was pulled over his head, hiding most of his face.

“Alright Virgil, this is Ryan,” Pa waved a hand, “Cathy, and Tom.” His mom and dad waved respectively.

“And I’m Patton!” The boys blue eyes looked him over in a way that made him nervous. He had blown it already, hadn't he? He moved to the door and held it open, “I’m gonna show you around while they talk.”

“O-oh, okay..” The deep voice stuttered, maybe Virgil was just as nervous as he was. The taller one walked around the group of adults before ducking through the door. Patton closed the door behind himself and noticed that Virgil only had one bag hanging off his shoulder.

“Is your other stuff in the car?” He asked, the taller one's eyes widened a little.

“No, this is all I’ve got,” Virgil muttered, almost too quiet for Patton to hear. It didn’t help that he had his hand in front of his mouth as he bit his thumb.

“Oh, well… This is the dining room. If you couldn't tell.” Patton attempted to lighten the mood. Virgil only nodded, eyes flying back and forth behind his dark bangs. Almost as if he were a scanner. So, Patton pointed to his left, towards the room with a large couch and medium-sized TV. “That's the living room, and the kitchen is up here next to the stairs. I’ll show you that and the bathroom first before we go upstairs, if that's ok with you kiddo- wait oops.” Patton's face grew warm. Did he really just say kiddo? Maybe he spends too much time with his dad. But now Virgil must think he’s so lame. I mean only old people use ‘kiddo’ anymore.

It was a light laugh that yanked him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see a smile on the boys split lip, and a laugh escaping from between. The laugh was bubbly and much lighter than Virgil's voice. It still held the same softness, however, and it made Patton smile despite his heart ramming into his chest.

“Sorry, my dad calls me that all the time. It just sort of, slipped out I guess.” Patton allowed himself to join in with his own laugh.

“It’s ok, I don't mind,” Virgil stated once he had managed to stop laughing, a small smile tugged his mouth to one side.

“So you, don’t mind me calling you that?” Patton repeated, trying to be sure.

“I mean I guess not, even though we’re like the same age aren’t we?” Virgil's brows furrowed,

“Well, I’m 16 as of January.” Patton shrugged, sure that the boy would be younger than him.

“I’m 16 too, as of last December.” Virgil moved the bag from one shoulder to the other, some part of him itching to move.

“Oh, so you're the oldest. Well, I guess I’ve always wanted to be a younger brother.” Patton muttered, walking towards the kitchen that was to the right of the stairway. Virgil slowly started to follow,

“Umm, if you could, not say it in public. I guess, then I’m ok with you calling me kiddo.” He mumbled causing a genuine smile spread across Patton's face.

“It’s a deal then,” he turned to glance at Virgil, “kiddo.”

>>>

“So your room is across from the bathroom, mines at the end of the hall, and my parent's room is next to the bathroom, across from the closet where our cleaning stuff is,” Patton explained as they walked up the stairs. He was extremely glad that the other teen seemed to be warming up to him quickly. Once they reached the top of the stairs he quickly struck a pose to present the room. Virgil rolled his eyes at this but walked into the room. It had light grey walls and a large window across from the door. Virgil set his bag on the bed and approached the window. Out of it, you could see the roof of the porch, his hands reached up and unlocked the window before pulling it open.

“What are you doing?” Patton asked, walking over to stand next to Virgil.

“Shh, listen.” So he did, and he could hear the adults talking.

“Is there any other things you think we should be aware of?” It was his Pa asking, he was always asking questions and trying to make sure everything was planned out fully.

“Well, usually every day after school Virgil would spend time at the library with this boy. We aren’t sure if they were dating or not, but the boy is the only person Virgil really ever hung out with. He seemed to be really anxious about moving away from the boy.” It was the lady's voice that said this. Was Virgil gay? Virgils face was as red as a tomato and he quickly moved to slam the window shut, barely giving Patton enough time to get himself back into the room.

“So are you really gay?” Patton asked, his stomach buzzed with excitement.

“So what if I am? It’s not like there's anything wrong with that.” Virgil hissed. Patton's waved his hand frantically, trying to figure out how to explain that he didn’t mean it in a bad way.

“Of course there's nothing wrong with it! I’m gay too, I was just excited. To have someone like me, for once…” He mumbled, his voice getting softer at the end. Virgil's defensive look melted and he frowned,

“I, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have lashed at you like that.” he apologized, Patton pulled on a wide smile.

“It's ok. I should've said it a different way.” Patton shook his head, “so, do you have a crush on that guy?”

“I-it’s none of your business,” Virgil whined,

“Awwww, what's he like?”

“I mean, I guess… Well, he’s short.” A smirk spread across Virgil's lips. “He’s also the smartest person you’ll ever meet. He always wears jeans and a polo with a tie, like a nerd. But its cute-” he cut himself off realizing what he was saying. Before he could spout out apologies Patton interrupted him.

“He sounds great! I can’t wait to meet him kiddo!”

***

Hey so, in case anyone is confused.

Tom= Pattons biological father

Cathy= Pattons biological mother

Ryan= Pattons Pa, aka his not biological dad

Virgil and Pat will be sort of the main focus for the next couple chapters since thats where most of the story is developing. Though there will be updates on the other two.

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