Chapter Text
It happened nine years ago, but Virgil still remembered every detail of that day.
It was a particularly ugly, stormy night. He remembered his eight-year-old self reading in bed, as usual, and he heard the sirens outside his window, not really paying attention to them as he expected them to just roll past his house, past his life. But they just got closer, closer, until they were blaring right in his tiny, irritated ears. Half-annoyed and half-intrigued, young Virgil scampered over to his window, peeking out of it and seeing what he had dearly hoped he wouldn’t: a hoard of police cars in his driveway and pouring out into the street below.
Fear paced around inside his little heart, and automatically Virgil thought the police had finally come for him for all the cookies he would steal from the cafeteria in kindergarten. (In his defense, his almost-29-year-old mother was not good at any stereotypical motherly tasks, be it packing lunch or remembering to do laundry for both her and her child...) But he soon learned his theory was not the case. Not the case at all.
A knock pounded against the front door, and Virgil would never forget its sound. It would echo forever in his nightmares for the rest of his life; cold, commanding, and then silence. Aunt Valerie got the door before he did. She was staying over for a bit to babysit him while his mother and father went out to talk over some “adult things.” Virgil didn’t know what she meant, but he didn’t really mind. He was happy just spending the night alone with his book of dark poetry. His teacher always said it was too inappropriate for his age, but he enjoyed its company anyways.
Valerie had worn a tight smile at the beginning of the night as she told Virgil about his parents needing some alone time--one that was obviously hiding away some nervousness, but now she appeared completely terrified, making no attempt to hide her emotions this time as Virgil ran up behind her leg. Two large cops in navy blue uniforms took up the width of the doorframe, looking completely stern, angry, yet sympathetic all at the same time. When the first one spoke, his voice rumbled low in his chest like a heavy drum.
“Ma’am-“
“Valerie,” Virgil’s aunt finished with a shaky nod. “Valerie Hernandez.”
“Miss Valerie Hernandez, we regret to inform you that your sister, Anastasia, is dead.”
Virgil watched as Valerie’s whole body wobbled a bit more, like she was just hit by an invisible blow. Then tears splashed down her face and she choked, and the second officer came in to hug her comfortingly. But Virgil didn’t understand at all. Anastasia? Who was Anastasia? He thought Aunt Valerie only had one sister, Mommy.
“H-how?” Valerie sobbed in the officer’s arms, and the other answered in a gruff voice:
“Murder.” Virgil shivered. “Mass-murder, on Sanders Street near the center of the city. We have reason to believe the person who committed this crime was your brother-in-law, Anthony Johnson, Anastasia’s husband. He’s in the back of one of ours cars, arrested, as we speak.”
Valerie cried a bit more, then came to her senses and sniffled out, “...Why?”
“We are unclear about his motives, ma’am. That’s why we’re here. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.”
Virgil watched as the exchange continued, Valerie’s voice still vibrating weakly along with her body. At some point her fingers brush against his arm and she grabs his hand, squeezing it gently, suddenly aware he was behind her but not having the energy to move him away just yet.
“Was Anthony an alcoholic or consumed drugs of any sort on a regular basis?”
“Yes, he was an alcoholic.”
“Was Anthony ever abusive to your sister?”
Valerie nodded, rattling off a few instances that Anastasia had mentioned to her.
“Anthony was armed with an illegal weapon during the murder, a gun he obtained against the law. Are there any more weapons you know of that he owned?”
“Yes, he has a collection that he’s... very proud of. I’ll show you,” Valerie said, opening the door a bit wider, making room for the two to step in.
Virgil moved a bit too and Valerie turned to him and let out a silent sob at the look of his curious, confused face.
“Oh! Virge, my baby. I- Aunt Valerie has some things to talk over with these two kind gentlemen here. Why don’t you run upstairs and I’ll tuck you in as soon as I can, okay baby?” Virgil’s brows furrowed. What was going on? He wanted to know more about this murder... And where were Mom and Dad?
The pair of police moved past her and walked into the living room, chatting with each other, and Valerie bent down to Virgil, putting her hands on his shoulders gently.
“Auntie, where is Mommy?” His squeaky voice brought fresh tears to his Aunt’s eyes and she smiled sadly.
“Mommy... mommy is gone. I’m so, so sorry, V.”
“Gone?” What? Where? “When is she coming back?” Valerie looked down and let out a loud sob, bringing Virgil to her and hugging him tightly. Confused, but now emotional, Virgil hugged back, closing his eyes so hard he saw stars.
“Virgil, sweetie, your mom, sh- she’s... dead.”
And now Virgil understood.
-
Although, he really wished he never did. He wished he could bring back some of that childish ignorance, even if it was only for a day. Bring back an impossible world where his mother, Anastasia, wasn’t killed by his alcoholic, abusive, and frankly psychotic father, Anthony. But now he was seventeen and he was allowed to change his last name from Johnson back to Hernandez. With his father off in jail, never heard of again, it was the only revenge he could get on him. Despite this, he still burned for more against his sorry excuse for a father.
There was more to the story the cops had to later explain to Aunt Valerie. Not only did Anthony Johnson kill Anastasia, but he also almost killed everyone on the whole, busy street. He got away with twenty-three before the cops arrived. To think his mom actually thought they were soulmates—and in Virgil’s world, that wasn’t just a term of endearment.
If there was ever something you could depend on in life, it was that you had a soulmate. Just like the fact that the world was round, it was something that was never doubted, never questioned; everyone was made for somebody, and that was that. But the sick part about the game was that you never knew when you found the one or if you’d ever find the one.
Most people never did, like Virgil’s mother, obviously. She was just a twenty-one year old in college when she thought she found the love of her life, a man who ended up being her murderer. Anastasia had chased after romance and look where that got her. Virgil always promised himself he’d never do the same thing, and besides, he was never much of a people person. As far as he was concerned, his fate to live out the rest of his life alone was sealed, and he was completely fine with that.
Virgil frowned as these thoughts passed him. He looked out at the sky beyond the café’s window, and a sigh escaped him, slow and full of pain. The strange similarity of that day’s weather to that of the day of Anastasia’s death caused him to grieve and now all he could do was stand and reminisce on his horrid past.
“Something wrong there, kiddo?” Virgil turned to look at the guy standing next to him who had asked the question. Patton stared back at him, smiling, but also wearing a concerned expression beneath his thick glasses, and Virgil shrugged in response.
Virgil was fairly new to the neighborhood, having moved to this sleepy town in Florida after his Aunt Valerie got a new job opportunity. She was a painter, just like her sister was, and getting any sort of job offer was difficult. So, naturally, she took it. Even if her nephew was about to start his senior year of high school. Whatever, it’s not like Virgil had any friends he would need to say goodbye to, and his old home still reminded him of that terrible night nine years ago, so it wasn’t all that bad.
But new school meant new job, unfortunately, and even if selling merchandise at Hot Topic was near and dear to his heart, there wasn’t that sort of store around here, so being a barista at the local café, The Mind Palace, was his next best option. Valerie said it would be a fresh, new start, that they’d get a tiny house just for them, which they did, and Virgil could maybe actually make some good friends. It was the latter that he doubted would ever happen.
Patton Parker was the first to greet him officially. Virgil landed the job after a phone conversation with the boss, Remy Nicholson, and he still hadn’t seen the man’s face despite already working there for about a week now. According to Patton, though, that was usual. Remy wasn’t usually present around the café, and it was honestly better that way. Apparently, the man wasn’t the most selfless person in the world, and his sleep deprivation didn’t exactly make him tolerable at most times. That was a side to him Virgil would rather not see—that is, if he even ever saw the man at all.
But now, this Patton guy almost seemed like he was trying to destroy Virgil’s promise to himself that he wouldn’t make any friends. On the first day of meeting Virgil he called him “kiddo,” despite only being about three years older than him. Not to mention he actually treated him like a normal person and not like a creepy, emo teen wearing too much eyeshadow—which, he was, admittedly, but still. It was a nice change, and Virgil usually avoided people as eccentric as Patton, but for now he made an exception. The zealous energy was somewhat charming in a dad-like way; not that Virgil would ever know what typical father’s attitudes were supposed to be like, but he figured Patton’s was as close as it got.
That particular day, right before Virgil would attend his first day at the new school, it was raining cats and dogs. That was the expression Patton used, at least. Business was slow anyways, being an ugly Sunday night, and he honestly hadn’t expected any more customers until three males burst in through the doors.
Patton and Virgil’s heads snapped up and watched as the unexpected customers strolled along to the counter. Both of their faces shifted, but for different reasons.
“Logan! Hi!” Patton exclaimed, and the one on the far right looked up at him with a smile.
“Hello, love,” Logan said, reaching over to Patton and planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s nose. Logan Crofter was a nice, handsome man and a wonderful boyfriend for Patton, but he wasn’t the reason for Virgil’s expression becoming grim—well, grimmer than usual. It was the boy that was standing on the far left of the group, the one who was staring at him with a malevolent spark in his eyes.
“Virgil,” the boy greeted, smiling wickedly.
“Deceit,” Virgil responded with just as much hatred in his voice, crossing his arms and scowling even more than before. Shit. Virgil had completely forgotten that Denis had moved to this town right after their fight in second grade. What dumb luck. What dumb, fucking luck.
Denis was honestly the biggest jerk Virgil had ever known, besides Anthony. Back when the mass-murder happened and Virgil started living with his aunt and taking his medicine for his anxiety-slash-depression, his best and only friend was Denis Cire. The two were very close, both being the scum of the school, even if they were only eight-year-olds, and were all each other had. The kid that read dark poetry everyday and the kid who had a pet snake—which he claimed was his soulmate; it wasn’t exactly an unlikely friendship.
Virgil, however, soon realized how much of a bad friend Denis really was. Their friendship started out okay, and then Virgil would start catching Denis in lies, so much so that he even began to teasingly call him Deceit. Though, Virgil mostly ignored it up until the point Denis made the biggest manipulation towards Virgil in their shared history: he told him the principal wanted to see him on account of his dad’s murdering rampage to see if Virgil was a murderer too.
Virgil was terrified at this, knowing Denis was the only one he told about his father. Not even the teachers knew about it, and to hear the principal had somehow found out shook him to his queasy core. Needless to say, Virgil was very upset, and he began crying his way to the principal’s office and started yelling at him about how he was most definitely not a murderer like his dad. Perhaps he threw in a curse word or two, because he was suspended for awhile, and Denis never talked to him again until he moved not too long after.
And now, Denis- no, Deceit is here and Virgil knows it’s him, despite the fact that all those things had happened to him years ago. Virgil would recognize those eyes anywhere; Deceit had heterochromia, a condition that left his right iris a dark brown color and the other a sharp green. And the way he looked at Virgil, as if he was superior to him in every little way, made Virgil’s skin crawl. Oh, it was Deceit alright.
“I see you’re still as emo as ever,” Deceit hissed, and Virgil scoffed. He expected his usual anxiety to take over him, but instead, the sight of his ex-friend caused a surge of anger to shake through him.
“I see you’re still as two-faced as ever. Oh, by the way, how’s your pet snake doing?
Darn, what’s his name? I forgot it now...it was something like... Crack, maybe?”
“Jack,” Deceit snapped.
“Oh my bad. How’s your snake Jackass doing, again?”
Virgil heard Logan snicker, but that was when the guy who had been standing in the middle of Logan and Deceit stepped in and pushed Deceit away from Virgil.
“Okay, okay. Denis, that’s enough out of you,” he said, then turned to Virgil with a wide, arrogant smirk, hazel eyes shining with a gleam of mischievousness. Virgil frowned, looking over his perfectly combed hair and flawless complexion.
He automatically hated this guy, and not just because he was apparently friends with Deceit. His perfect posture, his neat, and undoubtedly expensive clothes, his stupid, cocky grin that still sat on his tan face; all sure signs that this was the type of guy that thought—no, knew—he was better than everyone else. The type that pushed Virgil into lockers in the hallways of middle school while guffawing as him and his equally stupid, popular buddies ran away, giving each other high fives. The guy—Mr. Popularity, Virgil internally nicknamed him—frowned back.
“I’ll have a vanilla latte, Hot Topic, and Denis here will just have a black coffee,” Mr. Popularity said, voice loud and booming. Virgil shivered, but didn’t move. He just stared at the man, feeling pure hatred boil up inside him for a person he barely even knew.
“Um, did you hear my order? Or are you deaf from blasting M.C.R through your ears twenty-four-seven?” Mr. Popularity growled, sounding frankly pissed. Another flame ignited inside of Virgil, but he still remained silent and glaring. He didn’t really feel like getting fired in the first week of his new job for cursing out a customer.
“Look, I know I’ve never seen you here before, and I don’t know who you think you are, but the service me and my friends-“ He glanced towards Logan and Patton who were giggling together. “-me and Denis are getting isn’t exactly appropriate. Either get us our order now or I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to your boss.”
Virgil was going to lose it. First of all it was “Denis and I.” Proper grammar, Jesus Christ. And he was the one acting inappropriate here? Him?! That bastard Denis was the one who decided to walk in here with that airhead friend of his and Logan! Virgil would’ve been fine if he never saw him again, he would have been fine if he never saw anyone ever again, he would have been fine if he’d just had died with his mom on that day nine years ago.
Virgil’s head ached as it latched onto a downward spiral of thoughts, and he just stood there gritting his teeth while his hands twitched uncomfortably, staring at Mr. Popularity. Then Patton entered the scene, laughing dismissively with a twinge of nervousness.
“Alrighty, kiddos, let’s stop this right here. Virgil, I appreciate you trying to handle these three fine gentlemen, but I think I’ll take it from here. Roman, there’s no need to call Remy and you know it. Virgil’s just been having an off-day today. We’ve all had those, huh? Besides, the kiddo’s new around here. Cut him some slack, Ro,” Patton said, then winked as Mr. Popularity—Roman, now, Virgil supposed—looked at Logan skeptically. Logan looked back at him and nodded, and Roman sighed.
“Fi-ine,” he grumbled, slamming his money on the counter for his and Deceit’s order, and Patton beamed.
“Thanks, kiddo! See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Virgil ignored Roman’s response in favor of turning to Logan.
“What about you, Lo?” Virgil asked, finally able to breathe normally again it seemed.
“Just the usual. Patt can handle it, Virge,” Logan said coolly.
Patton turned to make the three’s orders and during this time Roman made the “I’m watching you” gesture towards Virgil, pointing to both his eyes and then at him with the same two fingers. Virgil stuck his tongue at him but did nothing else as Patton handed Logan, Roman, and Deceit their coffee. The three left soon after.
The Mind Palace was silent for a moment, then Patton started whistling a happy tune and got back to scrubbing the counter.
“You could’ve let me at him, you know,” Virgil said absently, picking at his nail polish with a mix of pent-up anger and forced casualness. “I just love offending stuck-up assholes like him.” Patton grinned a bit, then shook his head.
“Aw kiddo, Roman Prince is not that bad. Just... a tiny bit egotistical, I suppose.”
Virgil scoffed. He could’ve told him that. “How do you know him anyways?” What he meant was how such a nice guy got associated with such a stereotypical, stuck-up prick, but by the way Patt was looking at him he should probably save the insults for another time.
“Through Logan. We went to high school together here, you know. Lo and I go to college together not too far from here. And he works at the same theatre as him, The Dreamscape Theatre, but Lo is part of the technical crew. Roman Prince is an actor. He really is a nifty guy once you get to know him. Nicest kiddo I know around here... besides you, of course.”
“Sure,” Virgil huffed, and soon the time hit eight-o-clock and he needed to head out. He waved a goodbye to Patton, popped his earbuds into his ears, and then went out into the heavily pouring rain.
The streets were coated in giant, slippery puddles that Virgil had the urge to stomp around in, but he just got new black sneakers and he didn’t feel like messing them up already. Instead, he turned up the volume of “Welcome To The Black Parade” a little louder, trying to not think about what Roman had said earlier about him and his music taste.
In full honesty, Virgil was as emo as they came. If Roman was the obnoxious jock from all those chick flick movies Aunt Valerie watched at four in the morning in Virgil’s eyes then Virgil was the creepy goth boy that set things on fire for fun in Roman’s eyes. After all, his hair was the only part of him that wasn’t black or white since it was dyed a punk, magenta-purple color, his bangs hanging down and over his face. He would have gotten piercings had it not been for his fear of people jamming needles into his ears, tongue, or nose.
So, he stuck with his dark-colored outfits consisting of hoodies hiding his skinny frame, baggy t-shirts, and ripped skinny jeans. A miserable scowl was always pasted on his face, which was currently caked in white foundation, dark eyeshadow and eyeliner, and black lipstick, and his fingernails were painted black, just like always.
Had it not been for his noticeably short height--his hunching was partially responsible for that--or his light occurrences of freckles, he’d look like a monster straight out of a horror movie. But, unfortunately, Virgil Hernandez was smaller than everyone his age, girls included, and his face was speckled with tiny, not-menacing freckles under his eyes and around his forehead and chin, which went along with his heavy acne.
Virgil clucked his tongue as he accidentally stepped in a little mud before his new house came into view. He was still not used to the small porch, but somehow managed to get to the doorway with minimal stumbles. There, right in front of the welcome mat he had begged Val not to buy, sat his cat, Dusk, waiting for him. She was a thin, gray little thing, and truthfully his only companion in the whole universe besides Aunt Valerie. He picked her up, cradling her and praying she wouldn’t scratch at him, and started taking her inside.
“Hi, Dusk. How was your day? Mine was hell. I met a new preppy jerk named Roman who’s best friends with Denis—I know, the Denis Cire. What a couple of bastards. I’ll tell you all about it later, but first I gotta take my meds,” he said, and the door slammed shut behind him.
-
Roman ruffled his brown-almost-red hair and huffed a little between his teeth. He stood in the entryway of the Choir classroom, staring out at the herd of seniors who were minding their own business, chatting and laughing and waiting for the bell to ring and signal the beginning of class. But there was only one teenager that he was staring at, the one that was sitting in his seat, sipping from an extra large coffee cup casually. And the worst part was, Roman recognized him.
The enraged boy stomped up to the punk teen, kicked his leg, and watched as the other looked up at him in shock. His expression immediately melted into an equally angry one, matching Roman’s, and he took another sip of his coffee.
“What are you doing in my seat, Virgin?”
“It’s Virgil. And I already asked the teacher if there’s assigned seating. I can sit wherever I want, Princey.” Roman made an offended noise in the back of his throat, causing Virgil to snicker.
“B-but! But you’re not even- what are you doing in Advanced Choir?!” Roman squeaked out, utterly confused on how such a punk like Virgil could ever be interested in the art of music.
“Well, I need to have someway to sing all those M.C.R songs, don’t I?” Virgil retorted, tapping his forehead with a smirk.
Never in Roman’s life had he had more of an urge to wrap his fingers around someone’s neck, not even when his little sister stole his makeup kit and used up the rest of his expensive eyeliner, which he still has not replenished. He guessed he must have actually started making this action when the teacher, Mrs. Gomez, snapped at him and told him to get in a seat.
“But, Virgil was the one who-!“ Roman started to complain.
“Virgil is our new student,” Mrs. Gomez cut him off. “I told him he could sit where he wanted and I expect you to respect his choice in seating.” Roman started grumbling under his breath, fuming as he dropped his backpack in the only empty chair left which happened to be right next to Virgil’s, and continued to scowl at him. Virgil simply looked back at him and silently sipped his coffee with a smile. What a bitch.
Mrs. Gomez began calling roll, going through a few students’ names and then, “Virgil Hernandez?”
“Here,” Virgil said half-heartedly. Roman glared his way although he wasn’t paying attention, instead watching as the Choir teacher lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of his name.
“Oh! How could I forget? Everyone, this is our new student, Virgil! We are so lucky to have him here in this class, let me tell you. He’s been an award-winning tenor since he was a freshman and is a talented guitar player! He’s also a wonderfully gifted songwriter, so I’ve heard. Isn’t that right, Virgil?” Roman watched as Virgil blushed at the compliment and rubbed the back of his neck with a laugh.
“T-thanks. And yeah I like writing songs. They’re... fun.” Later, Virgil would mentally slap himself for using such a word to describe his passion, but for now he just wanted the attention off of him as soon as possible.
Mrs. Gomez continued with a beaming smile, her happy-go-lucky self seeming to have returned back to her after Roman’s little scolding. Her brown bob shook with every name she called.
“Roman Prince?” she said.
“Present.” Roman raises his hand, and before she could go on, added, “And might I say you are looking especially lovely today. And-“ Roman sniffed the air slightly. “-is that pomegranate I smell?”
“Oh, thank you, Roman. Always such a flirt,” Mrs. Gomez said with a giggle. “And yes, it is pomegranate. I’ve been using a new shampoo.”
“Well it is doing wonders to your hair and your ravishing scent, I must say.”
Virgil watched the display and how Roman threw a shit-eating smile his way. But the emo teen just rolled his eyes. Did everything have to be a competition nowadays? It’s not like Virgil was trying to win over the teacher, he’d just met her. He couldn’t help it if music was the only thing he was remotely good at, and if Roman has a problem with how good he was at it, that was fine with him.
What happened after roll call, however, was something Roman was not fine with. Mrs. Gomez sat at her piano, playing a few scales and getting the class started with some warm-ups. Roman couldn’t help listening to Mr. Musical Expert beside him, who was not only singing the notes perfectly, but to a point where his voice was frighteningly beautiful. Roman twitched. How was it that this grumpy barista was better than him at his own game? It was unfair, it was preposterous, it was-
Roman’s train of thought stopped when he suddenly got an idea. A smile was lit upon his face and he listened as Mrs. Gomez started a new chord. That’s when Roman stood up and belted out a riff, extending off of the scale she had been playing with his eyes closed and a hand pressed to his chest. The class went into light applause and Roman bowed and gave Virgil a cocky grin at this. But he didn’t expect what happened next, in full honesty.
Virgil shot up out of his chair, determination in his face as he sang the same riff, but longer and more powerfully. The whole class was awed by this, including Virgil himself, and even Mrs. Gomez stopped to watch the exchange with curious eyes. Roman has stiffened, but now he shot back, going higher up the scale, even standing on his tiptoes for full effect.
But perhaps challenging Virgil was not the best thing to do, because the notes he sang next was perhaps the most beautiful melody that had ever blessed mankind’s ears. It started off low boarding on bass notes, and then slowly became higher as he got louder, as if he were pounding the notes midair with his voice, then drifted down into a small, soothing whistle.
The whole class stared at the new student in complete silence, and then loud, humongous cheers erupted out of everyone. People, random people, were clamping Virgil’s back and tousling his hair and praising him as if he were a God, and Roman just... watched.
Now it was Virgil’s turn to look at him smugly, his black lips curling into a smile. Gosh, it’s been a while since they’ve done that. The only thing that interrupted the moment was Mrs. Gomez’ cheerful voice reigning the class back in.
“Okay, okay, settle down everyone! Roman, Virgil, that was very excellent you two. But let’s try and save the riff competitions for after class,” she instructed, then turned back to her piano with a hum. “Of course, the two of you are welcome to perform duets whenever you like. You’d make a fantastic pair, if you asked me, boys.”
Virgil nearly choked on his coffee and Roman made a gagging sound of disapproval. But Mrs. Gomez didn’t notice as she went back to playing more scales and the two were too horrified by her comment to look at one another.
Because as much as they hated to admit it, they did actually sound somewhat nice together.