Chapter Text
The hot summer day beat down onto Virgil’s back as he walks down the somewhat busy street. It was mid afternoon, and wearing a hoodie wasn’t a good idea. The fact that it was a darker colored hoodie wasn’t helping with the heat. Every step hurt, his feet covered in blisters because of how much he’s walked in the past few weeks. The only reason he kept going was because of a park that was only a few blocks away.
It had a small wooded section that no one went off the trail of, and when Virgil did he found himself a tree with a space in between the roots that was just big enough and cool enough for him sleep in. In the park itself it had a small water fountain and some bad bathrooms. It was enough for him.
He had gone away from his tree when his meager food rations had ran out, and he needed to scavenge around for any scraps of food in the trash cans again. He had intended to go to the employees of some fast food restaurants before they got busy to ask if they had thrown away any buns and to ask for some water. But the usual employees who were kind enough to let him take what he needs were off today, and he kept searching, desperate for food. Running off of a few hours of sleep and only eating some stale bread wasn’t good for him.
So he walked. And walked. And walked.
He ignores other people by putting headphones in his ear when they give him strange looks, and finds himself staring into the window of a bakery. The reflection of it shows him a teenage boy, too lanky for his own good. His puff of purple hair was beginning to be bleached by the summer sun, and his eyebags had worsened over the weeks. His lips were chapped and split open, and every part of his being felt gross and greasy. There was only so much he could do in some public bathrooms.
A mother/daughter combo walks out of the bakery, and the smell of freshly baked cookies and the cool waves of AC go to him, and Virgil allows himself to glance at the various cupcakes in the window.
The teenager behind the counter glances at the far too skinny teenager staring at the food, and frowns. They meet eyes for a split second, and Virgil jumps. When he realizes that he’s looking him, he hurries along as the other boy follows him, worried and wanting to help.
When he calls out, “Hey, wait a sec!” Virgil hastens his pace, pretending to text on a phone. He can feel him staring from the back of his head, and his hoodie is up. He lets out a small pant, and takes a break, feeling dizzy for a second. He glances behind him to see the boy hurrying over, and he gets up, ignoring the way the world tilts for a second. He keeps walking, ignoring the way that he knows he’s still being followed.
Virgil ducks into a space between two buildings, crouching low behind some dumpsters. When he sees the boy pass by, a sigh of relief escapes him. The cool shade of the two buildings lets him think clearly for a second. The cashier boy was the only person he saw in the store.
So it’s empty.
He worries his lip. He’s hungry, and it will most likely be another week until he can ask for scraps. The thought of cookies and bread make his mouth water, and a small part of him craves the cool AC. He gets up, checking to make sure that boy isn’t following him anymore. He walks back, pushed by the thought of something other than stale buns and slightly expired apple packages.
A quick glance into the bakery when he gets there confirms that it really is empty. Virgil looks at the bakery name. “Prince Charming Confectioneries.” He smiles slightly at the name before he steps in.
The bell rings, and his heart pounds as he waits for someone to come out. His heart pounds and he looks around before spotting a plate of fresh cookies cooling on a plate on the counters. He grabs a plastic bag and starts to shove some of them in there, ignoring the way the dough hurts the tips of fingers. Another glance around and he grabs a few of staler cookies. One, two, and three enter his mouth at once. The burst of chocolate fills his mouth as he chews, and he gulps it down.
A glance around and he spots a fridge filled with drinks and cartons of milk. He walks over, spurred on by an overwhelming need to fill his stomach. Virgil grabs a water bottle and opens it, eagerly gulping down the cool, fresh water. His strength slowly returns to him, and he takes in another drink, going slower this time. A part of him knows that if he doesn’t slow down, the sugars in his stomach will make him sick.
“Typically,” Virgil jumps, flinching at the harsh and sudden sound of a voice. “You pay before you take something from a store.” He closes his eyes and turns to face the speaker.
Another teen his age, with black glasses and a dark blue polo shirts and a tie. The emblem on his shirt resembles the bakery, and Virgil’s heart beat speeds up. He studies the skinny teen and takes note of his ragged appearance.
“I’m assuming you’re not paying, however. So,” He takes a step forward, and Virgil’s face drains of any color. “Stay here while I go get-Hey!”
Virgil’s flight or fight reflexes kick in, and he drops the bottle before turning to run out of the door. He turns slightly and runs into someone, falling to the ground. He flinches once they stop tumbling down.
“Whoa, it’s you! I was wondering where ya went, kiddo.” A bright and happy voice says as a hand comes towards him.
Virgil flinches, expecting the pain to come. When it doesn’t, he looks up and his breath catches in his throat. He sees that it’s the same teen from earlier, a worried look on his face. He has the same glasses and a light blue shirt with the same bakery symbol on his chest.
A heartbeat.
He stumbles upward, and glances as the other bakery worker comes towards them, frowning. The bag of stolen cookies is a few feet, but that would mean going towards the strangers, and they might take him back, and he’s worked so hard to get here, to get away from them that…
His chest heaves, and someone takes a step towards him. It’s enough of a sudden movement that he turns on a dime to run again when a hand, strong yet gentle, grabs his upper arm. He flinches again and waits for the yelling and chaos.
“Hey,” A softer voice, gentle like the hand pulling him towards the other teen. “Don’t run, okay? We just want to talk.”
We just want to talk.
That’s how he almost got caught by the police, who almost brought him back. Back to his family, who abused him and ruined him and belittled him and hurt him and left marks and bruises on him-
Pleasepleasepleasedon’tsendmeback.
“Yes, talking would be good. I think an explanation would good, but preferably out of the heat, yes?” The other boy, the one who had caught him earlier steps forward, studying Virgil. There’s a frown on his face, and his brow is furrowed together like he was a complicated math problem that needed to be solved.
StopstopstopletmegoI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.
There’s a crushing weight on his chest, and his throat closes up. But the hand goes away, and there’s a look on both of their faces that Virgil recognizes. From the kind employees who gave him food, and from the people who’ve given him money. They had been in places like his before. They recognized themselves in him.
They won’t send him to the police. And they won’t hurt him.
He gulps down a breath after what seems like forever, and he nods.
A few minutes later, seated at a tiny round table in the back of the bakery. There’s a cup of water in front of him, and occasionally he sees the workers. Logan was the one who had scared him in the lobby earlier. Patton was the one who had been following him. It’s clear to him to see who’s the mind and who’s the heart.
From what Virgil can gather, their friend’s father owns the bakery, and they just work there. They would discuss what to do with him before the owner comes in, and Patton tells him not to worry about the mess he had made with the bottle of water.
It ends up just making him more guilty, and he takes a drink of water as Logan comes in, sitting in the chair opposite of him. He folds his hands and Virgil makes sure to keep his eyes focused on the tie. There’s a tense silence.
“We talked, and we decided that once Roman gets here, we’ll figure out what to do with you,” He flinches, and Logan clears his throat. “But I do have some questions for you.”
Pleasedon’tsendmeback.
“Where do you live?”
“Out of town,” He mumbles.
Pleasedon’tsendmeback.
“Okay,” Logan is clearly dissatisfied with the vague answer. “Why were you stealing?”
“I wanted some cookies.”
Please.
“What’s your name?” He’s trying to be cautious, and trying to make sure that Virgil doesn’t run again.
He doesn’t answer. After a few seconds of silence have passed, Logan pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Listen, we aren’t going to report you. I said we should just let you go, but Patton seems to be worried.”
Virgil hears him, but can’t comprehend what he’s saying. No one cares about him. Not even his own parents cared.
Evidently, after his stubbornness irritates Logan, he leaves. He comes back later with a fresh croissant with some cheese and ham melted inside. He places it front of him, and he practically inhales it once Logan goes back to the front to take care of some customers.
The sudden influx of food makes his stomach turn into knots, but Virgil holds it in the best he can by drinking copious amounts of water. He thinks about the last he had anything warm to eat, and vaguely recalls the half empty cup of coffee he had one morning, which had been left at the park. That was weeks ago.
He jumps when Patton sits down in front of him suddenly, fanning himself. His face is red and sweating slightly. “Hiya kiddo. Just takin’ a break from baking!” There’s some flour on his face that’s sticking, and Virgil almost smiles.
But then he sees the scrape that Patton has on his arm from running into him, and he immediately hunches over and looks at his neck instead.
Patton picks up on this, and sits up, smiling. “Hey, don’t worry about me! I’m more worried about you, and I think Logan is as well,” He adds thoughtfully. “I thought you were dyin’ of heatstroke out there with that big ole hoodie you have on.”
He moves his shoulders up slightly, in an attempt to show that he’s paying attention. Virgil doesn’t feel like explaining that even though it’s hot as Hades during the summer, the nighttime temperature drops by twenty degrees on average where they live. On top of that, it’s more likely to rain at night as well. So the hoodie provides protection. Both socially and against the weather.
He thinks on this, and then perks up suddenly, like a lightbulb had just turned on inside of him. He gets up excitedly and runs out of the room, leaving Virgil alone again with the sound of the AC and the smell of freshly baked bread.
Settling back into the chair, Virgil lets out a sigh. He was already feeling exhausted just from the walk outside, coupled with the fact that he was socially with people…it was too much for his anxiety. A heavy feeling flows through him, and his eyes slowly droop down.
A loud crash bangs through the bakery, and Virgil flinches awake, eyes wide. His heart pounds and he starts looking around, blinking away the scenery from his dream. He calms down once he realizes where he is, but a pang of guilt stabs him as he remembers why he’s there.
Another sound, and Virgil tries not to bolt as the sound reminds him of his home. Something or other was often being broken there.
Virgil steel his nerves as someone lets out a series of…not quite cuss words, but what he imagines to be something very rude to be called.
Another teen enters, wearing a red vest over his bakery shirt. The gold buttons shine in the harsh artificial light, and Virgil doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s a good half a foot taller than him, and the way his eyes seemingly glare holes into his head make him want to run.
Stopstaringatme.
Then the boy sighs. “Alright. Do you know how to bake?”
“Y…yes…?” Virgil is caught off guard by the question, staring into the boys face.
“That’s better than the last one,” He mumbles, but then smiles. “I guess you’re hired!”
Wait.
What?!
“I, um, I don’t, you, I, well, y-you, uh, you, you see, I’m not-” Virgil stutters, trying to form a coherent thought in his head. The word ‘hired’ bounces around, with a bakers dozen of questions too.
“I’m Roman Charms, and yes the name is a pun. It was Patton’s idea,” Roman grabs Virgil by the shoulders, making him flinch involuntarily, and moves him to where all of the ovens are. “I handle a majority of the business…things that go on here. Logan is the financial adviser and oversees our input and output, and Patton…is Patton. He handles the customers and bakes most of the time.”
“I-I’m not,” He tries to get out, but Roman keeps talking, explaining the business, how much Virgil will get paid (with money?! He thinks with a panic), his work hours, etc…etc…
Eventually he finds himself in an office, staring at Roman with widen eyes. There’s no way out of this. He needs Patton, or Logan, or anyone to explain to this overly…dramatic teen that he’s a thief, he just stole from this establishments business.
Dark tendrils take a hold of Virgil’s lungs, and they get tighter, and tighter as his chest starts to heave. His throat is closed shut, and he can’t breathe, please, he can’t breathe. The tendrils close around his lungs and his heart pounds in his ears.
Roman says his name, and Virgil doesn’t hear it. He think he hears it and looks up at him with fearful eyes. He startles at this, and immediately kneels in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his chest.
It’s…warm. He feels so cold. So cold, and he shivers.
Roman’s other hand guides Virgil’s hand to his own chest, and after a few deep breaths the tendrils are gone, and he can breathe again.
“Better, uh…” He glances at him, awaiting his name. He blinks a few times, his thoughts coming to him slow and sluggishly.
“Virgil,” He says quietly.
“Virgil. Like the Roman poet?” Logan suddenly appears, glancing at the two teens.
He shrugs again. If he’s being honest, he is 99.99% sure the hospital staff named him, because neither of his…
Well. That’s something different.
No use digging up old wounds.
“Roman, why is he in our office?” Logan asks coolly, masking his anger. Virgil glances down, waiting to be yelled at. It happens often, and it’s better than actually being arrested.
“I thought I was supposed to interview someone for some extra help in the shop,” Roman frowns, and Virgil drowns out their conversation. He’s waiting for them to dismiss him, but instead, Roman gently touches his shoulder.
“Did you hear us?”Logan asks, quite unsure of what to make of Virgil.
He shakes his head, getting up after realizing that he was on the floor. He dusts himself off, but it probably would have made no difference.
“We asked if you would like to work here. Those cookies you ate were for a customer who’s having a wedding, and we need a way to pay off the refund,” His voice isn’t unkind, just matter of fact. But it still hurts him when Logan states that he fucked up so clearly.
“Uh…sure? I’ll just…I won’t need pay,” He mutters, remembering the water bottle and dropped cookies. Of course he had eaten someone’s wedding cookies. Wedding. Cookies. Virgil was such a fool, an idiot and he should be glad that they’re being nice to him.
“Of course you’ll get paid, just a portion of it won’t…necessarily go to you,” Roman states carefully, a little shocked that someone would say that they wouldn’t need to be paid. Besides, they needed the help at the bakery.
“I…I, um, I just, I don’t,” Virgil tried to wrack his head for a coherent thought. “I don’t have a bank account.” He mumbles.
Roman and Logan exchange a glance. They were seemingly having a silent discussion before Logan sighed and turns back to him. “We’ll just pay you in cash at the end of every week.”
Virgil’s head swam. Getting paid every week? And possibly not…not being in such a bad position. He would be getting money. He could…he could do a lot. With money.
Yeah. Working here wouldn’t be so bad.