Chapter Text
Logan’s eyes scanned the pages in front of him adeptly, processing each word with ease and precision. The brick wall dug into his back slightly, and he could hear his classmates running around on the playground. They shrieked and laughed, and he quietly sat and read. It wasn’t that he didn’t get invited to play. In fact, Sarah Jean had just come to ask if he wanted to come play Cops and Robbers with her friends and she. However, Logan found his book to be a more suitable companion, and politely declined. Logan was ten, nearly eleven, but he was reading at a tenth grade reading level. He was fascinated with what Steinback was going to do with George and Lenny in Of Mice and Men. He was nearing the end, and although he was enjoying the novel, he was thrilled to move on to his next book, The Great Gatsby.
Suddenly, multiple sets of heavy footsteps fell just around the corner. Logan pulled his legs in tighter and readjusted his glasses, assuming that a few kids were on their way to the soccer field behind the school. He didn’t want them to trip over his legs. Surprisingly, the feet stopped just in front of him. As soon as Logan saw the yellow and green sneakers in front of him, he knew he was in trouble.
“S-s-sup S-sp-specs?” Darcie hissed, laughing harshly at her own joke. Logan furrowed his brows as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. She glared down at him through her pink Ray-Bans prescription glasses. Her blonde hair was poofing up in the late spring heat, and her baby hairs seemed to curl into perfect devil’s horns. Logan gently marked his book and set it aside, seeing that this would not be a quick encounter.
“Hello Darcie. T-to what do I o-o-owe this p-pl-pleasure?” Logan said cordially, trying to diffuse the situation. Tiffany, Blake, and Ethan stood in a small huddle with Darcie, all giving him imposing looks. They all grew vicious grins as soon as he began to speak. His hands trembled and he pressed them into his thighs to hide it.
“It’s rude to not speak clearly to a lady, Calculator. Try again, and this time, do it correctly.” Blake glared down at him over chubby cheekbones. He crossed his thick arms across his chest in an attempt to look more intimidating. Logan sighed, willing the tears welling up in his eyes to go away.
“Hello D-Darcie, t-to wh-what do I o-owe this ple-pleasure?” Logan repeated, his stutter only getting worse from his nerves. Blake took two long strides towards him and grabbed him by the back of his collar. He hoisted him up to his feet and yanked him towards his body.
“Specs, I expect better from you. You would think that a kid so smart could at least learn to speak English properly! Maybe the teachers were wrong about you.” Blake crooned in Logan’s ear before shoving him back to the ground. Logan’s elbows and rear took the brunt of the impact, both singing with pain.
“You should stop what you’re doing. It isn’t right.” A small voice spoke, making its presence known. Logan was still trying to orient himself with the ground he sat on again, when he heard the kid speak. His head snapped in the direction of the voice. Virgil Simone stood just next to the corner of the building, his purple faux-hawk making him look more intimidating in the shade of the school. A shiver ran down Logan’s back as he watched Virgil walk over to the group slowly.
“Yeah, Emo Nightmare? And what will you do about it?” Ethan hissed, tossing his long dark hair over his shoulder. Logan’s vision fixated on the piece that clung to his perspiring collar bone. The group advanced towards Virgil, but he made no move to stand down. If anything, he was still trying to inch himself between Logan and the goons.
“Well if you hurt my friend again, I would have to make things even.” Virgil hissed, finally reaching the point that he was nearly entirely between Logan and his attackers. Tiffany grinned wickedly as she lunged forward and stomped on Logan’s hand, surprising everyone. Blake and Darcie burst into laughter, while Ethan moved forward to grab Virgil. Virgil easily maneuvered out of his grip, twisting his arm and tossing him onto the ground. Ethan’s arm scraped painfully against the cement as Virgil turned to address his next attacker. Ethan may be thinner than Blake, but Blake definitely moved faster. He struck Virgil across the face with a closed fist. Virgil retaliated quickly, hitting him back. Apparently Blake could not take what he dished, as his eyes immediately welled up with tears.
Tiffany moved to attack next, trying to grab him and scratch his skin with her long nails. Virgil was frustrated and still a little dizzy from Blake’s blow, and was easily knocked off balance. He landed close to Logan, which Logan would soon learn to loath. It was as if the encounter were happening in slow motion. Tiffany’s hot pink sneaker struck Virgil in the stomach three times, as hard as her tiny leg would allow, before a teacher reached them and yanked her from the scene.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Mrs. Shaard cried, taking in various states of injury on the children. Virgil was obviously worse for wear after Tiffany’s final attack, but it was obvious she didn’t do all of the damage alone. She glared at each of the children individually, finishing on Virgil who couldn’t seem to claim any of the air entering his lungs. Logan, who had been studying panic disorders last month, sprang into action. He felt this wasn’t a panic attack, but he assumed that a good breathing exercise never hurt anyone. Mrs. Shaard was still lecturing the four children behind her, and Logan assumed that she would turn her rage unto them once Virgil was in better control of himself. Logan gently guided Virgil so that he was sitting up against the wall before taking Virgil’s hand in his and placing Virgil’s fingertips against his chest.
“A-All right Virgil, you will f-f-feel a lot better if you try to b-br-reathe with me here. T-take a deep breathe in for a f-four count.” Logan began demonstrating, and Virgil attempted to follow suit. Virgil got to three before he was cut off by a cough and all the air rushed from his lungs again. “That’s o-okay Virgil, let’s t-tr-try again. Th-there we go! Now hold it for a s-s-seven count. I know, it seems l-long, but we can do it! Perfect Virgil, now e-exhale for an eight count. Excellent job, Virgil. Please, r-r-repeat that as many times as you n-n-need.” Logan brushed his thumb gently on Virgil’s wrist in a soothing manner. Virgil’s eyes finally opened and he looked Logan dead in the eyes.
“Thank you, Logan.”
Mrs. Shaard marched them all down to the principal’s office only to find that Principal Werther had been observing the footage from the cameras outside the school during the encounter. He sat the four friends down in front of his desk, before looking up to catch the two boys eyes.
“Virgil, Logan, why don’t you two go to the nurse so that she can check V over a little more carefully? I have watched the film and neither of you were at fault.” Logan nodded and grabbed Virgil by the elbow, carefully leading him from the office. They made their way to the nurse where Logan got his scraped elbows bandaged and Virgil received a multitude of icepacks.
The boys parents were called, and they were both allowed to go home early. That evening, after dinner, Logan traipsed down the hallway to the bathroom so he could shower. He pulled his shirt over his head and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A disgruntled shriek left his lips before he turned to face the mirror straight on. There, on the center of his chest, were five small, dark purple dots. They could be mistaken for bruises, but Logan knew exactly what they were. He had met his soulmate, and he knew just the person.