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The sun that crested over the horizon that morning was beautiful and Roman almost reached for his quill, wishing to write to Patton. The prince often commented about his love of sunrises and any chance he got, the knight wished to share daybreak with the other, even if only in spirit.
But… there was no way to deliver messages right now.
Virgil.
Roman’s brow furrowed at the thought of his friend, still missing in action weeks after he had last been seen.
“Tell him I’ll be back within the fortnight- that I’m sorry that we’ve been gone so long this time. Tell him-”
“Ro, relax, you’re beginning to sound like me,” Virgil had cut the other off with a choppy laugh. “You’ll be back soon enough and be able to tell him yourself. And besides,” he adjusted the bag slung across his shoulder and pulled several bound letters from its confines, “these say more than I ever could.”
Roman regarded his best friend, looking up to where he resided on horseback and placed a hand on his mare’s flank, smiled; “Thank you- travel safe, surly squire o’ mine.”
“Anytime, Ser Sings-a-Lot. See you soon,” and with that he was off with a wave and a smirk, disappearing over the hillside.
“Uh, Ser Brenin?”
At the sound of his name, Roman turned, wary to wipe the forming tears from his eyes before he did. In the doorway to his tent stood another knight with droopy eyes, though his posture was vigilant.
“What is it Remington?”
“We think we’ve located Virgil, sir.”
It’s frigid cold and his hands had been idle for so long that they had all but entirely lost feeling. His arms ached behind his back, and he was so tired that he barely had the strength to fight when the rats scampered at his feet, searching for a feast in what they hoped would eventually become a corpse. He couldn’t remember the last time they had brought him a meal and even water could have been days at this point.
He was wounded. He was freezing. He was exhausted. He was filthy. He was dehydrated. He was starving. He was scared.
He was beginning to lose hope.
Suddenly, the door behind him opened. A few days ago, Virgil would’ve rolled over and immediately spat curses-- perhaps even literally spat -- at whoever walked inside. Now though, he could only close his eyes and mutter weakly, “I still won’t talk.”
“You always were loyal to a fault,” the figure behind him says desolately, dropping to their knees behind his battered body. Deft fingers immediately go to work on the manacles binding his wrists together. Another set of hands card through his grimy red hair as he turns his head upwards in disbelief.
“Ro- you-” he couldn’t wrap his head around a proper sentence. “You’re here.”
“Some knight I’d be if I abandoned my best friend,” Roman replied, pushing the wounded man’s head into his lap while Remy continued to work away at his manacles. “Are you going to be able to walk?”
Remy let out a whoop and there was a clatter of metal on stone as Virgil’s cuffs hit the ground, his aching arms finally freed. Roman helped him into a sitting position from his side, “I haven’t moved in weeks. I don’t know how reliable my legs are going to be, but I’ll sure as hell try.”
Roman and Remington both got to their feet at that and Roman offered a hand to Virgil, which the other man took gratefully. He used it to brace himself as he pushed off the ground, and immediately, felt something twist horribly inside him and the world went dark.
Patton spent the weeks awaiting Virgil and Roman’s return antsy, the usual sunshine missing from his tone. The lacklustre of his optimism and exuberance was felt throughout the castle, his days spent at the east wall waiting for the first sign of a returning convoy instead of bustling around.
Virgil had been missing for nearly a month, Roman gone for over a fortnight when Patton caught sight of the first horses approaching over the hillside with the last rays of sunset.
“Logan!” he’d shouted loud enough to disturb half the kingdom. “The convoy, Logan- it’s the convoy! Roman and Virgil!”
Logan had stirred from his place a little further down the line, darting forward with a spyglass to peer towards the horizon. With a curt nod to the prince, the pair double back around to the main entrance of the castle’s walls, hurrying down uneven cobblestone steps in a habit all to familiar to Patton. Logan however, stumbles as he races down with him, not quite as nimble on his feet as he hurries to keep up.
They rush out the archway just as Roman’s stallion saddles up alongside the stablehand. Emile appears out of nowhere to deal with the horses as Roman practically throws himself from horseback. Patton’s heart drops down to his gut when he sees that he has ridden alone, until Roman makes a beeline for another knight’s mare to the left of his own mount.
Slouched backwards against Ser Remington is Virgil, wounded and gaunt, but conscious and a l i v e . Roman lifts him down, cradling him and Patton can’t help himself but burst into tears, rushing forward to gingerly wrap both men in a weepy hug.
“Thank gods you’re both alive - you’re safe. You’re never allowed to leave the castle again-- I’m making that a decree if I have to--” he’s rambling and sobbing into Roman’s chest plate and Virgil is weakly chuckling in spite of his half-open eyes, the three of them wrapped up in a tangle of limbs. Patton blinks behind his glasses and tears, glancing to see Logan hanging back, to which he makes grabby hands at his attendant, “Lo, get over here.”
“Patton, I don’t-”
“Logan Astra, I will physically fight you if you don’t get your rear over here this instant.”
Logan acquiesces without another word.
Roman refuses to leave Virgil’s bedside as long as he possibly can, Patton fretful by his side whenever he can get away with it. Turns out, they have two days before their attempt at normalcy is shattered.
Roman is sitting on a stool at the foot of Virgil’s bed in the physician’s quarters, reading aloud in hopes that the other can hear him. If the other man were awake, he’d likely tell Roman to shut the hell up- call him a narcissist in love with the sound of his own voice; the thought makes Roman smile as he recites.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, and in storms Patton, a flurry of curls amongst his crooked circlet. He’s frowning.
“Sunbeam, what’s wrong?” Roman asks, setting his book aside.
The prince rolls his eyes, “Thomas is to be engaged.” He throws himself into Roman’s arms at the words, as if the statement is the world’s most terrible news.
Roman pauses, “...Okay?”
At this, Patton lifts his head from Roman’s chest and fixes the older male with a look . “Are you daft?” he asks.
“Not particularly, my heart. Do you mind explaining why your brother’s chance at love is such a terrible thing?” Roman asks, hands coming to cradle Patton’s jaw, thumbs caressing the freckles that smatter his cheekbones and nose bridge.
Patton sighs impatiently, “His betrothed is the second Prince of Calyra- a Southern Kingdom.”
Roman blanches, “Shit.”
“You see my point then,” Patton says, face sour. “My father just gave the news to my brothers and I- we leave in two days time with a sizeable caravan, which I assume you’ll be called to accompany, no doubt.”
“What about Vir-”
Patton shook his head and his impossibly blue eyes darken with tears, “I already tried. My father is unconcerned with Virgil having company- he’s convinced that he’ll be fine by himself, so long as the physician comes to check on him twice daily to change his bandages and feed him.”
“And if he wakes up alone?”
“He won’t have to.”
Both Roman and Patton turn to the new voice in the doorway. There, Logan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and leatherbound journal held under one arm.
“Logan,” Patton rose from Roman’s lap and crossed the room to hug his attendant, “what are you doing here? I was told that you would be-”
“Briefed? I’ve just returned from my audience and I hope you don’t mind my forwardness, but I told The King that you would have to manage with another manservant while away, as I have other duties to attend to here on the grounds. I figure that you’ll be plenty protected and occupied with Roman around and someone needs to be here,” Logan looked to the bed where Virgil shifted, but didn’t wake. He adjusted his glasses and regarded the other two once more with an unreadable expression hidden in his dark eyes, “For Virgil.”
Logan was off his feet before he knew what was happening, lifted into a hug by Roman. His legs flailed helplessly, “Roman- put me down immediately!”
“Thank you- you have no idea how much this means to me,” he said, setting the disgruntled tutor down.
Logan shrugged, “I may not know Virgil very well, but I know Patton. He’s… he’s my best friend and you make him very happy, so I imagine anyone who makes you feel the same is a good person by association- it’s the only logical train of thought.”
Roman huffed out a laugh and clapped Logan on the shoulder, pulling him into another hug. His feet were firmly planted on the ground this time, but Logan still let out a rather undignified squeak, “Well, thank you nonetheless.”
“Good luck with Patton by yourself,” Logan quipped in lieu of sentiment, and the prince squawked in indignation.
When Virgil properly comes to, there’s warm sunlight peeking through an open window and a figure a few feet away sitting hunched over a desk.
Virgil opens his mouth to call out to him, but nothing comes out and oh gods he can’t talk- why can’t he talk . He thrashes his limbs in the bed instead, his legs trapped under several heavy quilts and one arm unable to move. The other flies out and knocks over a pitcher on the table near his bedside, the contents spilling across the floor. The pitcher clatters against the stone and the noise makes Virgil’s head throb.
The figure at the desk startles, whipping around to face Virgil, who’s breathing is rushed and face is flushed and-- why can’t he speak oh gods .
“Virgil- it’s okay. My name is Logan- I’m Patton’s attendant, if you don’t remember us meeting before. It was brief- is there anything you need? I can answer your questions?” Logan knows he’s rambling, but Virgil’s mouth just keeps opening and closing like a fish and-
His voice. Of course.
“Hold on- Virgil just breathe. I know you can’t, I’m going to get you a drink,” Logan narrates as he jumps up, rushing to the other side of the room for the second pitcher the physician had left this morning when he came by to change Virgil’s wound dressings.
He fills a cup with water and wheels back around to the other boy, who’s still clawing at his throat like he’s choking. Logan almost goes to hand the goblet to the other man, but thinks better of it, instead holding the lip to his mouth and tilting it for him.
“Drink,” he instructs. “Just drink- it’s gonna be okay. You haven’t had a proper drink in over a week- your throat likely just needs to be lubricated.”
Virgil gulps down the glass of water like a fish on dry land, chest heaving with the effort. His good hand has come to grip Logan’s wrist where it holds the cup to his mouth, as if he’s afraid he’ll take it away-- afraid he’ll take his voice away .
He finishes it quickly and breaks away gasping, “Thanks,” he mumbles. His voice is scratchy from disuse and raspy in the back of his throat where his vocal chords strain with the single word, but he can talk and even that quells the anxiety that had begun to run rampant. “Logan, was it?”
“Yes,” he says, rising back up to his full height after he sets the cup back on the table, sidestepping the puddle on the floor. “Logan Astra- His Royal Highness Patton Sanders of Cordium’s attendant, advisor, and tutor. We’ve met in passing once or twice before, but never formally. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, albeit under such circumstance.”
Virgil blinks up and then, “Virgil Faileas. Good to meet you, Astra.”
Logan blanches, “Aren’t… Aren’t you going to introduce yourself with your title?”
He shrugs as much as he can with one of his arms in a sling against his chest, “I don’t see much point if we aren’t in formal court. I mean,” Virgil clears his throat when his voice cracks, “you know who I am and Roman’s a pain in the ass anyway- why be seen as under him all the time if I don’t have to?”
At the mention of Roman, Virgil looks around the room for a sign of the knight. “He’s not here,” Logan says, voice far more soft than he intended. “The King called for Thomas to be engaged- the royal family and the kingsguard all headed South about a week ago.”
Virgil pulls his top lip into his mouth, chews on it for a moment, “And there was no point in holding up the festivities for a lowly immigrant squire such as myself.”
“Roman tried, I’ll give him that,” Logan offered.
Virgil snorted, “Course he did, he’s a fool.”
Silence settles over the two of them, and Logan sinks back into his chair by the desk, shuffling papers. Virgil pulls at a loose thread on the quilt over his legs and Logan is about to tell him that Roman left him several books on his bedside table when the other man speaks.
“If everyone else is gone,” Virgil says, breaking the silence, “then why are you here, Astra?”
Logan smiles, small and catlike, “For you, of course.”
“Faileas I swear to the gods if you don’t get back here-”
“Astra calm down- you’re gonna pop a capillary or something,” Virgil laughs and hurries away as fast as he can while still nursing a cracked rib. Logan is close at his heels, expression borderline murderous.
“You aren’t supposed to be out of bed yet, you heathen,” he hisses, catching the lanky male by the crook of his good arm. Virgil only groans in response, and continues to push forward down the hallway, somehow pulling Logan along with him despite their height difference of several inches, not to mention the fact that Logan is healthy as a horse and Virgil is still technically supposed to be bedridden.
“Logan, it’s been too long since I’ve been outdoors- do you know what happens when you don’t let a northerner outside?” he jams his wrist in Logan’s face, the flesh of his forearm ghastly white.
Logan pushes his arm away, sniggering, “I think you just look like that- you have since you were fifteen and first wandered into town and that was after you’d spent a month straight in the sun.”
“I’m offended and hurt, but mostly flattered that you remember me,” Virgil says, raising an eyebrow at Logan, who blushes.
“I’m the prince’s advisor and tutor- it’s my job to remember things,” he sputters, pushing weakly at Virgil’s good shoulder. “Now shut up and come on, if you’re going to sneak out at least do it properly. You’re sure to get caught with the path you’re on.” And he grabs Virgil by his good hand, taking it and dragging him down the hall without another word.
Virgil grins and follows the flustered attendant, choosing not to comment on the way his ears have turned red above the stems of his glasses.
They make it to the stables without any trouble and once there, Virgil begins methodically pacing up and down the alleyways, looking into each stall.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Logan asks after a moment and Virgil spares him a glance over his shoulder as he passes one of several empty stalls.
“More someone than something,” he says cryptically.
“I’m fairly certain that Emile isn’t working today,” Logan supplies helpfully, his brows coming to knit together. “I could’ve told you that earlier if that’s all you wanted to come down here-”
“No, Astra.”
“Oh,” Logan’s expression smooths.
Suddenly, Virgil seems to find what he was looking for and pushes forward, opening one of the stall doors and disappearing inside, his face breaking into a smile that Logan had only seen a handful of times before. Logan moves further into the stables, peering into the stall.
Inside, Virgil has his good hand wrapped around the neck of a horse, dark as the night sky. His forehead is pressed to the horses muzzle and Logan bites back the urge to shout out in caution- Virgil knows what he’s doing.
“What’s its name?” he does ask, allowing himself the little bit of curiosity to intrude on the moment after a minute or two.
Virgil pulls away, brushing his hand through the animal’s mane, “Her name is Tempest. Sorry,” he apologizes, “you probably think I’m crazy, but we were together when they--”
Virgil stops, freezing.
Logan moves forward in an instant, placing his hand carefully on Virgil’s elbow in a careful and slow motion that has become routine in the past week they’ve been together. His hand moves upwards, tracing his arm up to his shoulder and: “Virgil, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Virgil blinks, back to reality.
“--they ambushed me,” he pauses for a second, aware that he’s done it again, but seems to decide not to comment on it. Logan leaves it be, for now. “I was afraid that when I was rescued, she may have been left behind or worse…”
“I’m glad she wasn’t,” Logan reaches out hesitantly with his free hand, the other still unconsciously bracketing the divot of Virgil’s collarbone, “she’s beautiful.”
Virgil feels the hand on his shoulder, grounding him and watches the other run gracefully across Tempest’s nose. He follows it to Logan’s face and locks eyes with the other, grey eyes meeting the darkest brown when he says, “Yeah, she is.”
One day they return to Virgil’s quarters after an approved excursion around the town market to find a steaming bath of milky water in the centre of the dressing area, the physician’s apprentice sprinkling it with what appears to be dried lavender.
“Faileas,” she quips, pointing a finger at the water, “Let me strip you and in you go. And mind your arm. It’s time to soak your bandages.”
Virgil pales at the notion, tensing up. There’s a considerable amount of distance between even him and Logan today- he woke up with his skin crawling after yesterday’s bloodletting and hasn’t wanted to be touched much since. The idea of being stripped down by a stranger and being outright manhandled makes him start to freeze up and--
“I can take it from here, actually. If you don’t mind,” Logan buts in and Virgil sharply looks at him, as does the apprentice. “I’ve been taking care of him for nearly a fortnight- I know how to redress his bandages once we’ve finished. Thank you for getting everything ready.”
The girl looks like she wants to protest, but Logan fixes her with a steel look - one he’s learned from years of observing Patton. She scampers off under the scrutiny of his dark eyes without another word.
Beside him, Virgil lets out a grateful sigh, “Thanks, Astra.”
“You can thank me after, if Maestra doesn’t storm back in here and give us a whack for robbing her apprentice of valuable learning experience,” Logan huffs out what could be a laugh, but Virgil isn’t quite sure. He nods towards the steaming bath, “Well go on then, get undressed. Unless you do require assistance?”
“No,” He says sharply, and unties the sling that keeps his splinted arm close to his chest. When Logan continues to stare as he begins to single-handedly unbutton his shirt, Virgil raises an eyebrow, “Do you mind?”
The tutor turns beet red and whips around, muttering out an apology and busying himself with pulling the stool over from the foot of the bed. He also undoes his own over jacket, leaving his linen tunic in place and rolling up his sleeves.
Water sloshes behind him, settles and then- “You’re clear.” Logan turns.
Virgil is submerged up to his chest, knees barely sticking out of the milky-white water. His splinted arm rests carefully on the lip of the tub, and he’s looking up at Logan with an unreadable expression, almost studying him.
“What?” the brunet barks.
“You’re staring again.”
“Shut up,” Logan flushes, and throws a washcloth at his face. Virgil catches it easily with his uninjured hand, and grins. The advisor just rolls his eyes and saddles up next to the tub on his stool, choosing to rest his elbow on the edge near Virgil’s fingertips- his eyes darting to look at the exposed flesh of his arm, no longer hidden beneath his sling. The skin is a kaleidoscope of blacks, blues, and purples, but Virgil can still move his fingers so Logan figures the break can’t be too bad.
“Fractured, right?” the redhead says suddenly, as if reading Logan’s mind.
Logan nods, “Yes,” he says, a little unnecessarily, “a fractured ulna, as well as a few damaged ribs, but those should be healing on their own, so long as you don’t do anything stupid.”
“You think I would do something stupid?” Virgil smirks, the fingertips of his hand beginning to stroke lightly along the skin of Logan’s forearm where it rests on the edge of the bathtub, elbow perched and wrist cradling his chin as he watches the other male.
“Yes,” Logan says, and this time he thinks it is necessary, “I think you would. You did almost get yourself killed, after all.”
“I didn’t ask to be taken hostage, Astra.” Virgil says, a little defensively.
Logan snorts, “You did however refuse to give up information even after they starved you out for days- after they tortured you and left you to rot in that cell--”
Virgil’s hand withdraws, “I know what they did to me, Logan. I don’t need you to remind me.”
Logan quiets.
He doesn’t say anything as he picks up a tin of lemongrass salve. He doesn’t say anything as he unwinds the bandage from Virgil’s side, and gently smears the salve along the scab when he was burned, likely in an attempt to get him to talk. He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hands from the water, Virgil refusing to look him in the eye.
But…
“You need to talk about it eventually,” Logan says, voice barely a whisper. “I just figured I would give you the option of talking to me, if you so chose.” He goes to stand up, to give Virgil some privacy to get out of the tub and put on his trousers before Logan has to dress his wound again. Virgil reaches out and stops him with a hand on the front of his shirt, pulling him back down.
He doesn’t register until it’s too late that’s he’s been pulled down into a kiss.
He doesn’t mind, eyes falling closed and damp hand coming to rest in the divot of Virgil’s throat like it always does. It’s chaste and gentle and firm and Logan is breathless when Virgil pulls himself away, grey eyes flitting anywhere and everywhere at once over Logan’s face.
“I do, want to talk to you… eventually,” he says. “I can’t, yet, though. I just- can’t . That’s why you’ve been such a blessing to me Logan- it’s so easy with you and I can’t figure out why, because there is absolutely nothing simple about you,” Logan snorts at that, pushing weakly at the other boy’s shoulder.
“Ass,” he laughs.
“I mean it,” Virgil says.
“I believe you.”
Roman and Patton return a three weeks later- after a total month and week of travelling. This time, it’s Logan who pushes forward to greet Patton at the gate, Virgil close by his side. His arm is still wrapped in a sling, mottled green and yellow, and he pays close attention that he doesn’t knock into anyone or anything as they descend the uneven steps.
“Virgil!” Roman screams from his horseback at the front of the knights’ formation, and he throws himself sideways from his saddle and stumbles forward in a dead sprint, tripping over his own two feet in his haste. Beside Logan, the squire in question slaps his good palm over his face.
“Gods he’s such a idiot,” he mutters to the taller man beside him, who squeezes his shoulder in reassurance. “Why did I let him see me.”
“Because you missed him,” Logan reminded the other- reminded himself, “even if he is a moron.”
Roman finally skids to a halt in front of Logan and Virgil and it’s as if he can’t figure out if he can be careful enough to touch, hands hovering just beyond Virgil. The squire rolls his eyes and makes the decision for the knight, lifting his arm and wrapping it firmly around Roman’s broad shoulders. Roman’s arms come to blanket the other, mindful not to crush his other hand between their chests.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you back on your feet,” Roman breathes into Virgil’s fiery hair, tears of relief welling up in his eyes.
Virgil lets out a choked up scoff, “You’ve gone soft.”
Patton dismounts from horseback far more gracefully, and makes his way to the castle’s entrance with his brothers and father in tow, albeit with hurried footsteps and clear excitement evident on his face. When he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, Logan allows himself the luxury of rushing down the steps to pull Patton into a hug. The prince seems shocked, if only for a second, before he settles into the embrace and laughs and buries his face into Logan’s shoulder, glasses knocking themselves crooked.
“I may have missed you,” Logan admits in a whisper. Patton grins as they pull away and winks, leading Logan back up the staircase to where Roman is finally releasing Virgil from his weepy hug.
“Oh good, he didn’t maim you,” Logan gives Virgil a onceover and the squire laughs. Roman makes a sound of indignation, looking to Patton in support, but the prince’s gaze is busy, set first on Logan, and then Virgil. There’s a look of recognition in his blue eyes, but he only smiles and says nothing.
The four of them all pile into Virgil’s quarters afterwards, when the king has given the okay for everyone to head out. Tomorrow, Patton will be expected to rejoin his family in a banquet welcoming them back into the kingdom, but tonight, they have an opportunity to rest from their journey back.
Virgil flops onto his bed and Roman slouches beside him- he’s been stuck to his side since they arrived. Patton sinks into the desk chair and Logan hovers by the window, something twisting uncomfortably in his stomach.
The sun is setting; this is the point in his day where he would change Virgil’s bandages for the last time before shuffling him off to bed, then collapse onto the cot on the opposite side of the room for the night. Well, most nights.
“Come on,” Virgil whined, his grey eyes half-lidded , “just a few minutes.”
“We both know that a few minutes is going to become the night, Virgil,” Logan had resisted, pulling himself towards the opposite wall and his own cot. Virgil held fast to his hand, however, pulling him in closer and drawing him into an embrace.
“So?” he pressed a kiss to Logan’s jawline and the other gasped, clutching at the fabric of Virgil’s tunic.
“The Maestra-” Logan broke off with another choked sound as Virgil kissed the side of his throat, “she’ll be in first thing in the morning.”
Virgil pulled away and regarded Logan with his unblinking, starlight eyes before he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly to Logan’s. The attendant’s mind spun and he pushed forward insistently to meet the other. He drew back a moment later, open-mouthed and breathless; Virgil smirked, “You wake at dawn every day, Astra. One day in bed with me isn't going to change that about you.”
Logan pursed his lips, “You underestimate what you do to me, Faileas,” and Virgil had blushed, the colour stark and beautiful against his fair skin.
“Please, Logan?” and he looked up at Logan through those thick lashes and it was over .
“ …Fine, but only because you cheated.”
Logan drew back to the present to the sound of Patton laughing, and looked over his shoulder to see Virgil sat up in bed, grinning as Roman told some grand story and Patton clapped along, sitting on the edge of his seat.
He had finished his task and had kept Virgil company while Roman was away- kept him alive while he was gone, for the gods’ sake. It made sense that now that Roman was back, Logan’s presence wasn’t needed anymore.
He didn’t vocalize his departure when he slipped out the open door, leaving behind a made bed in his wake.
“You know that you’re a fool, yes?”
Logan grips his journal tightly in his lap, fingers creasing the edges of the pages. He doesn’t look up.
“Hello, Faileas.”
“Really? That’s all you’ve got for me after you disappear for three days?” Virgil sounds unimpressed, but Logan can’t tell if he’s genuinely angry or not. Logan hopes he is: it’ll make this easier on himself.
“I don’t understand what the problem is- I served my purpose,” Logan stares down at the pages of his book. “What else could you want from me?”
Virgil drops to his knees in the grass beside Logan, but Logan still doesn’t look at him. The other man sighs, exasperated, “Astra, fucking look at me already, you righteous ass.”
Logan does. Virgil’s eyes are shadowy and he looks more sad than angry. Instantly, Logan is overridden with guilt and feels an overwhelming desire to punch himself in the face. “Virgil--”
“Why?” he asks, and chews at his lip. “If you were just going to abandon me the first chance you got-”
“That’s not what I meant-”
“Well, that’s what you did. So either explain yourself or own up to it,” Virgil says and Logan nods, shakily. His right hand pushes his journal away into the grass and his left finds Virgil’s, cautiously threading their fingers together.
“I have feelings for you,” Logan admits and Virgil snorts. Logan shoots him a dark look, but it’s half-hearted at best. “And when Roman returned, I didn’t really see a place for myself in your life. It’s not jealousy--” Logan defends at Virgil’s quirked brow, “I just- I don’t… fit,” he finishes lamely, wishing he were able to vocalize it better.
The other boy doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares. Logan busies himself with playing with Virgil’s fingers, the pads calloused beneath his own softer hands.
“There-” the redhead’s voice breaks and he pulls his hand away from Logan’s, moving it to instead bracket Logan’s neck, sliding into the divot where his throat meets his shoulder, a mirror of the gesture Logan has used to ground Virgil so many times before. “There is always going to be a place for you with me, Astra,” he leans forward and kisses Logan gently. “Always,” he repeats.
Logan reaches up and strokes Virgil’s hand with his thumb--
“I believe you.”
“Good morning, lovebirds!”
“Get the hell out of my room, Ser Stupidface,” Virgil groans from his bed, throwing a pillow at the door without raising his head.
“Not your best, you sleepy sourpuss,” Roman laughs, “but I suppose I’ll give it to you since you’re half-asleep and out of practice.” The knight moves further into the room, a pitcher of water in one hand and linen pouch of muffins in the other. “Time to get up- both of you.”
Beneath Virgil, the lump of flesh he’s been using as a pillow begins to stir, muttering sleepily, “What…?”
“Roman.”
Logan blearily blinks his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, “Ah.”
“You’ve broken him, you know,” Roman comments, munching on a muffin and flopping into Virgil’s armchair. “He used to be up at sunrise every day- now it’s a struggle to get him up at all.”
At the mention of leaving bed, Logan grumbles and jams his face in Virgil’s hair, mumbling obscenities about Roman’s stupidity and scrunching his eyes shut again. The knight only grins across the room and Virgil shoots him a look, daring him to say something; he doesn’t.
“He is right though,” Virgil says, reaching for Logan’s glasses on the table by the bed, “you have to get up.”
“I refuse,” Logan says, huffing out a breath through his nose. Virgil squirms, the puff of air tickling his ear.
“Patton needs help getting ready, remember? Thomas’ fiancé is coming to visit- I stole you away from him for long enough, I’m sure he misses his favourite attendant and best friend. While I’m sure his other manservant does an okay job, it’s just not the same, right Ro?”
“You’re irreplaceable, specs.”
Logan sighs, but his eyes finally open. He side-eyes the man in bed beside him, “Flattery will get you everywhere, but how dare you use my weakness against me. Betrayed by the man I love- I should alert the king of a mutiny. ”
Virgil presses his glasses onto his face, presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m incapable of such a thing,” Logan deadpans, and kisses Virgil on the mouth.
Across the room, Roman mock heaves.“Gods, is this payback for all the times I refused to leave the room with Patton?” he whines, holding a hand over his eyes, even as he peeks between his fingers.
Virgil flips him off and kisses Logan brazenly on the mouth again, “Bite me, Brenin.”
Logan laughs, and gets out of bed. He dresses in a timely matter and snatches a muffin from Roman’s hand, taking a bite before crossing the room back over to the bed, ignoring the blonde’s squawk of protest at the theft.
He presses the baked good into Virgil’s hand, swallows, and kisses Virgil once more, “I’ll see you at the banquet tonight?” his hand rests on Virgil’s collar and he wishes he could linger more- do more, but even if it’s only Roman, Logan is only so comfortable with an audience.
Virgil senses this, and nods, “Tonight. And I promise,” Virgil pulls Logan in by the lapel of his jacket and says low in his ear, “I’ll make our rude awakening up to you, Astra.”
Logan blushes and presses a kiss to Virgil’s cheek, “I believe you.”