Work Text:
Virgil didn’t mean to vanish. It just happened.
The revelations had hit harder than he expected–fragments of the truths about his emotions, his needs, his wants, the way they clashed–it was too much; the weight was too much. Embarrassingly enough, it had become a coping mechanism of his to switch to that damned puppet. It was so simple, such a childish design–brought on a sense of comfort Virgil couldn’t find anywhere else.
The room was dim, shadowed by closed blinds and the faint flicker of fairy lights he couldn’t be bothered to switch off. He sat, slouched and slumped on his desk, appearing just as lifeless as he wanted to feel. The sock of his body folded over, the dark purple strands trailing like spilled ink, unmoving, aside from the occasional twitch when the thoughts spiked.
Logan, ever so observant, noticed Virgil’s absence quickly. Virgil might have thought he could disappear in the moment, but logic paid attention to patterns. It was in his wiring. And an abrupt break in routine was always a glaring anomaly.
It didn’t take long for Logan to find him.
“Virgil?” Logan’s voice was a soft, questioning note in the stillness, precise but laced with an unfamiliar gentleness.
The puppet didn’t respond. Virgil couldn’t respond. The words were there, trapped behind the stitched seams and bundled fears.
Logan approached, adjusting his glasses as if clarity could be forced into focus. He didn’t touch the puppet immediately, rather, he sat nearby, observing quietly, the way one might with a delicate experiment, careful not to disturb the fragile equilibrium.
“I presumed you would be here,” Logan said, not leading on for a reply. “I noticed the pattern of withdrawal. Correlating evidence suggests emotional distress.”
Silence.
Logan sighed, his usual stoicism flickering. “While I lack the skill in emotional comfort that others here provide, I am willing to try.”
With that, he gently reached out, fingertips brushing against one of the loose threads trailing from the puppet’s form. It was symbolic more than anything, Virgil felt it–a tether in the dark.
“You are not defective for feeling overwhelmed,” Logan continued, voice softer now. “Processing new information about oneself is…complex. It is not a flaw to struggle with it.”
The puppet twitched, the slighted movement being a flicker of acknowledgement.
Logan didn’t rush. He spoke in quiet, steady sentences, unraveling facts wrapped in reassurance, weaving it's logic with care. Slowly, the strings that held Virgil so tightly began to loosen, not from force but from understanding.
Seconds passed. Maybe minutes.
Eventually, the puppet form shimmered, fading as Virgil shifted back to himself, curled up but breathing–really breathing. His eyes were shadowed by the hood he had yet to push down, but clearer, meeting Logan’s with hesitant gratitude.
“Hey,” Virgil rasped, voice rough from disuse.
Logan gave a small, incredibly rare, genuine smile. “Hello, Virgil.”
And for the first time in hours, Virgil didn’t feel like he was unraveling alone.
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but necessary–a space to process, to breathe. Logan remained by Virgil’s side, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as if guarding a fragile truth. The flickering fairy lights painted soft constellations on the walls, a quiet echo of the mindscape’s vastness.
Eventually, Virgil broke the silence, his voice a hesitant whisper. “I thought hiding...I thought leaving would help. Make it easier.”
Logan tilted his head slightly, considering his response. “Avoidance may provide temporary relief, but it rarely addresses the root cause. However, I understand the impulse.”
Virgil let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like…I dunno. When I’m in that stupid form, I’m…If I’m small enough, the feelings won’t find me.”
“Feelings are not predators, Virgil. They don’t aim to attack. They exist because you exist. And that is not a weakness.”
Those words settled over Virgil like a weighted blanket, grounding and unfamiliar. He glanced at Logan, studying the lines of his face, the earnest sincerity behind his logical demeanor.
“How do you do that?” Virgil asked quietly. “Make it sound so simple?”
Logan simply shrugged. “It isn’t. But facts can be anchors. They provide clarity when emotions can feel overwhelming. You are valued Virgil. Not despite your fears, but alongside them.”
Virgil felt his chest tighten, not from anxiety this time, but something warmer, softer. He shifted slightly, closing the distance between them, and rested his head against Logan’s shoulder. It was tentative, a question in the form of touch.
Logan didn't hesitate. He adjusted slightly to accommodate Virgil, letting his presence be the answer.
They stayed like that, tangled in threats of understanding, until the weight on Virgil’s chest felt a little lighter, and the world a little less sharp.