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The moment Virgil entered the commons, Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, observing, analysing, assessing his physical state. His clothing was creased and rumpled, his hair a tangled mess which stuck up in every which way. And perhaps one of the largest indicators that something was amiss lay in his eyeshadow, or rather lack thereof. Of course, the anxious trait was not entirely without, having substituted the new layered and blended look for his old tactic of scribbling and smudging eyeliner. His movements were slow and sluggish, and at one point he closed his eyes for a moment too long and began to sway dangerously to one side, though steadied himself quickly enough that -had Logan not been watching so intently- no one would have realised.
He raised an eyebrow as the anxious trait half stumbled into the kitchen, retrieving his mug from an overhead cabinet and opening the fridge. He seemed to hesitate, pondering his reasoning for being there in the first place, before exchanging the mug for a carton of milk and closing the door. He placed the milk on the counter top before opening the overhead cabinet again, staring in confusion.
“Virgil?” Logan finally piped up, a mixture of utter bafflement and concern. Virgil turned to him slowly, grunting in response, and Logan supposed that was the most he would get out of the other. “What are you trying to do?”
Virgil waved his hands in small circular motions, searching for the right words, “I just… Uh… Coffee?” He managed, his hands seeking out the strings of his hoodie and fiddling with them for comfort, “I, uh. My mug? I thought I saw it.”
Logan frowned deeply, setting his book aside and moving to Virgil’s side, removing the mug from the fridge, putting the milk back, “Your behaviour this morning is exceedingly strange, even for you. I must say, it is becoming rather unnerving.” He moved around the other, raking until he found what he was searching for. Not the coffee Virgil had requested, but some camomile tea, “Sit down.. I’ll bring this to you,” he muttered softly, but with enough of a stern edge that Virgil merely shrugged and turned to head over to a couch. From his peripheral vision Logan charted movement, and turned in time to see Virgil’s knees buckle. They folded under him and he landed with one arm weakly holding him upright, his head lolling slightly and eyelids fluttering, fighting to stay open.
Tea forgotten in the moment, Logan rushed to his counterpart’s side, hoisting him up into his arms and laying him on the couch with a sigh, “Virgil, when was the last time you got a full night’s rest?” The aforementioned seemed to have brought himself back to enough of a state of consciousness to be able to sit up slightly and face the logical side.
“Um… Depends on what you mean by a full night? My average is about five hours anyway,” he rubbed the back of his neck absently. “Recently it’s been closer to two or three. If I’m lucky. Some nights I’m just… Im finding it hard to sleep at all.” He paused, unable to make solid eye contact, “I’m working so hard to make sure Thomas is safe. A-And even harder to stop all of my,” he sighed, “well, my anxiety, from affecting him too much.”
Logan sighed, placing pillows at his back, gently pressing down on Virgil’s shoulder to prompt him to lay back down, “Virgil, we all care about Thomas. You know that. However, you must realise that overworking yourself to the point of exhaustion and sickness is only going to cause him further problems? Your own health is important too..”
Virgil opened his mouth to argue, but Logan’s stern gaze silenced him. He let out a soft whine as the other rose to his feet, moving to pull him back down, needing to have him close, craving the comfort of contact. Logan stopped, reaching over the sofa to pull a blanket over Virgil and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll keep talking to you if you need me, but some camomile tea might help to relax you slightly.”
As he made his way into the kitchen to boil the kettle, he continued speaking, reassuring Virgil of his presence, “There may, in fact, be more scientific merit to its relaxing properties than was believed. Recent studies tested pharmaceutical-grade matricaria recutita-”
“Matricra- what now?!”
“German camomile capsules, put simply. They tested against a control group, who were supplied with sugar pills, and found that the camomile test group showed signs of reduced anxiety,” he explained, pouring the tea and allowing it to steep. “While this at not be pharmaceutical-grade camomile, it may have a similar effect and allow you a decent rest.”
Virgil pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch, blanket draped around his waist, and gave Logan a lopsided smile, “Thanks, Lo. I appreciate your concern. How do you even know all of this, anyway?”
Logan glanced away, removing the tea bag and bringing the mug to his fellow trait, “I have noticed that you are more lethargic and sluggish than usual, and suspected that as insomnia and disrupted sleeping patterns are common symptoms of anxiety, it was logical to presume that was the cause.” He settled next to Virgil, passing him the mug and watching as the other ran his fingers over the warm ceramic, cheeks tinged slightly red.
“Was it that obvious…?” He asked, voice shaking slightly.
“On the contrary, Virgil,” Logan frowned, trying to make eye contact, trying to express what he wanted desperately to say, “The others are, to my knowledge, still entirely unaware. We’re it not for my frankly Sherlockian observational skills, I may not have picked up on the clues either. But…” he paused, collecting his thoughts, rubbing his temples, “Ugh, I wish Patton were here. He would know what to say… Virgil. You are, at the most basic level, an emotional response. And suppressing emotions is entirely unhealthy. You don’t need to hide how you feel.”
The silence stretched and Logan was struck with the thought that he had in some way offended the other. As he began to mill over his words, searching for a way to rectify his mistakes, he heard Virgil huff a sigh, then a small chuckle.
“I don’t think Patton could have said it any better, teach. Thank you.” Virgil took a long sip of his tea, finally meeting Logan’s eyes and giving a smile that even reached his own. It lit up his face and set Logan’s cheeks ablaze. “I’ll try to open up more. Not let it pile up so much, get so… Loud.”
Virgil finished his tea and leaned forward, setting the mug on the floor and reaching to grab for the TV remote, turning it on and flicking through the channels until he found Big Hero 6 airing on one. They had only missed the first ten minutes, and he welcomed the distraction the story would bring. Setting the remote back down, he shifted, cautiously, so that his head rested on Logan’s lap. The logical trait stiffened slightly, and Virgil began to sit back up. A hand on his shoulder stopped him and, wordlessly, Logan eased him back down, his hand then moving to gently play with Virgil’s hair.
After a while, Logan spoke up quietly, so as not to distract him too much from the film, “I read that for some having their hair touched can be relaxing.” When no response came, he gently brushed back Virgil’s bangs to find him fast asleep, more peaceful than he had been in weeks. Logan smiled fondly, settling back and continuing to card his fingers through the soft strands of purple as the film played on in the background.