Chapter Text
Virgil couldn’t breathe. What else was new?
Once again; for the millionth time in Thomas’ short life his anxiety felt like he was choking. Choking on anger, on fear, on the overwhelming, crushing feeling that soon the other shoe would drop and everything would burn down along with it.
Choking on the fact he was being lied to.
That was all his life had ever been. Virgil, the victim of constant lies. He knew he was being lied to, could feel it in his core, after years of being around Deceit. But he knew the others would never admit they were lying to him. Never.
Because they liked having him in the palm of their hands. He was so much easier to deal with when he was being placated. That much was obvious when he brought up their embarrassing phases. Once they all reassured him that they weren’t ignoring his past, he’d stopped.
Because he cared about them. Cared about what they viewed him as.
So he let them lie to him.
Because at least then he didn’t feel unloved, unwelcomed, ignored. Which was the truth. Deceit made it clear today, in his own roundabout way.
They didn’t love him, they didn’t even like him. He wasn’t wanted.
They ignored him, his reasoning, his demands that they not give Deceit the time of day because they just didn’t care what Virgil had to say.
Didn’t care that he was drowning.
He reasoned with himself that maybe they didn’t notice, but it was so obvious in everything about him. He was so close to a panic attack on that stand, his voice nearly distorting every time he begged with Deceit ‘don’t’. Because they didn’t need to be turned against him. He had spent years desperately trying to be liked by them, and suddenly he had that and he knew the other shoe would drop eventually (it always did) but he didn’t want it to be so soon.
For Deceit to reveal the truth, for him to tell them exactly what Virgil was lying about. He couldn’t take that. Not again. Never again.
But then Patton kept pushing him on that stand, even though he was begging him with every fibre of his being to let it go.
And he hasn’t. None of them had. Thomas was a bad person. And Virgil was his worst side, far worse than Deceit because at least he wasn’t trying to manipulate his way into their group.
Pretending to be a light side when he was a dark side.
Even Deceit wasn’t that despicable.
Virgil was.
So here he was, drowning in his room, choking.
He clawed at his throat, desperate for some air but found none. It was like all of the oxygen and light had been sucked out of the room.
The worst part was, Virgil knew this was his fault. His lies catching up to him.
Why couldn’t Deceit have left well enough alone?
That’s right, because Virgil didn’t deserve well enough.
So he might as well go.