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Virgil Sanders existed in one way: as if he shouldn’t.
His anxiety, he suspected, was to blame. Or, perhaps it was due to years of living in the darkscape where the sensation of being watched was constant. Either way, sneaking around was ingrained in his nature, despite his attempts to shake it off.
He tip-toed everywhere he went.
Always paused if a floor board groaned beneath him.
And, he discovered recently, he subconsciously monitored how loudly he breathed. He didn’t notice it until he found himself releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For no reason at all. Just… holding it (perhaps for the sake of a cliche).
And thus, it had happened again.
He hadn’t done it on purpose. He never did. But, once again, his steps softer than a murmur and his presence forgettable, he accidentally crept up on one of the lightsides.
This time, Morality was his victim.
In his defense, Virgil had called his name. Multiple times. But, too preoccupied with humming a catchy tune and brushing out the fur of a stuffed lion, Patton hadn’t noticed. So… Virgil had innocently tapped his shoulder.
Carefully.
Hesitantly.
It was hardly a tap even. More like the whisper of a touch.
That was a mistake.
Patton whirled around as a blood-curdling scream ripped itself out of his throat and threw a plushie at Virgil’s head (the type that you heat in a microwave). Used to that kind of reaction, Virgil expertly dodged the projectile. It slammed against the wall behind him, leaving a scar in the drywall, then fell to the floor. The entire room trembled from the force of the attack. Throwing his hands up in surrender, Virgil scrambled to assure Patton that he intended him no harm.
But the damage had been done.
The swirling debris in the air was proof of that.
Patton gripped his chest, the whites of his eyes showing like a startled puppy. His breaths came out in worried huffs.
Gaze darting around the room, Virgil shifted from foot to foot. He rubbed the nape of his neck, unsure. He would have embraced Patton, but he didn’t want to make things worse. Guilt threatened to drown him. He always felt particularly bad when he scared Patton, who always got so genuinely frightened. With a sniff, he picked up Patton’s lion and brushed the dust from its mane. The hole in the drywall seemed to track the movement with a judgemental eye. Why were the walls in Thomas’ mindscape so cheap, anyway?
One of these days Roman and Logan were going to have to come up with plans for a sturdier renovation.
Speaking of which.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway, pounding in rhythm with the bark of bickering voices. The sounds bounced off the walls, growing steadily louder. Virgil sighed. Everything was a competition to Roman and Logan. It seemed that protecting Patton was no exception. When they stumbled into the living room, they jabbed each other with their elbows, desperate to be the first to cross the threshold.
“Out of the way, Four Eyes,” Roman snarled. “Do you really think a book is an appropriate weapon right now?”
“Well, I certainly don’t run the risk of distracting myself with my own reflection.”
Brandishing his katana, which was indeed polished enough to catch his reflection, Roman scanned the living room, poised to spring at the slightest hint of danger. Positioned under his armpit, Logan clutched a textbook tight enough to pale his knuckles. He held it over his head, panting with exertion, and blinked. Despite his attempts to look intimidating, his crooked glasses ruined the effect.
In sync, their gazes found Virgil.
They froze.
Patton was still doubled over, trying to calm himself. Understanding flashed in their eyes.
“Oh, sweet jump scare,” Roman muttered. With the wave of his hand, he vanished his katana. “You have to stop doing that.”
A tremor shook the floor as Logan carelessly tossed his textbook over his shoulder. “Indeed.” He straightened and adjusted his glasses, then cleared his throat with a curt cough.
Outraged, Virgil threw out his arms. “It’s not like I do it on purpose,” he protested. He pointed an accusatory finger at all three of them. “You guys are just too jumpy! And that’s saying a lot coming from me, of all sides.”
Patton laughed nervously. He rubbed his chest. “Well, you nearly gave your old man a Patton-attack.”
They all stared at Patton, trying to decipher the joke. Roman was the first to laugh. “You’re Thomas’ heart.”
“Heart-attack,” Virgil added, bobbing his head with exasperation.
Logan snorted. “Clever,” he said. “That was a thinker.”
Patton beamed, clearly touched by Logan’s approval. “Awww, thanks.” He turned his attention to Virgil and rested a shaky hand on his shoulder. Affectionately, he shook him. “You need to learn how to make some noise when you’re walking around,” he scolded.
Scoffing, Virgil shrugged Patton’s hand away. “I literally said hello to you.”
Roman dismissed his statement with the wave of his hand. “You speak too quietly, Hickory Dickory Doom.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Whenever you talk, it’s like a meek little mouse squeaking.”
Patton’s mouth fell open into an ‘aw’ shape. He pressed a hand to his chest, then pretended to pinch Anxiety’s cheeks, enamored with the comparison.
Roman smiled regally. “You need to learn how to speak with confidence.” With the puff of his chest, he added, “Like me.”
Logan looked Roman up and down. “Confidence isn’t the word I’d use to describe the way you speak,” he muttered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Virgil said.
Roman gasped, clutching his sash in offence, but before he could have a full blown melt down, Patton jumped in to appease him. “You make your opinions well known… which is a good thing!” He shot Roman with a finger gun. “You’re a strong communicator.”
“Thank you, Patton,” Roman said, stressing his name. Virgil and Logan rolled their eyes. Then, he turned his full attention to Virgil. A smile spread slowly across his face. Mischievous. “As for you, you creepy crawly, I think I have just the solution for you.” He tilted his head. “Actually, Logan, Patton, and I have all been discussing this.”
Patton nodded eagerly, and Logan glanced off to the side, trying to hide an amused smirk.
Virgil didn’t like the sound of that.
He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
Casually, he took a step back. The other three advance. Lips peeled back in a hiss, Virgil curled in on himself defensively. Roman and Patton spread out to each side of him, holding their arms out as if trying to calm a feral cat. His gaze darted between them. Logan stepped in front of the hallway, blocking the only escape.
He was trapped.
“Don't touch me,” he warned.
“Now, Virgil,” Roman cooed. “You’ll be fine, you’ll be just fine. We merely have a surprise for you. Something you really, really need.”
“Yeah, Kiddo,” Patton chirped. “Trust us. This is for the good of you and everyone else.”
Fuck it.
At the same moment Roman lunged, Virgil broke into a spring. Dodging the prince’s muscled embrace, he threw himself between Patton’s legs. Patton yelped. Virgil crawled. He pulled himself past shaky knees, then picked himself off the ground. He charged towards Logan. Leading with his shoulder, he prepared himself to barrel past. He was Anxiety– Thomas’ fight or flight instinct; surely, he could take the nerd in a fight.
But Logan’s chest was somehow sculpted like a Greek god.
Virgil bounced off of it with a grunt.
Roman caught him before he hit the ground. “Gotcha!”
Virgil thrashed. “Damn,” he snarled. Shooting a glare at Logan, he asked, “What the fuck do you eat?”
Adjusting his tie, Logan looked down his nose at Virgil, arrogance radiating off of him. “I consume a healthy, well-balanced diet,” he sneered. “And I consistently spar with Roman, so that I am in the best shape possible. After all, exercise is optimal for the health of an adult man.” He smirked. “You should do the same, you’re pretty weak.”
Virgil glowered.
Then he deflated in Roman’s arms. It was useless. Whatever they had planned for him, he was at their mercy.
~~~
Cow print.
Virgil gawked at his reflection. In disbelief, or denial perhaps, he held up his arms and stared at the cow print that now assaulted his appearance.
Cow print.
His lip curled in disgust. Fashion wasn’t really his forte, but by god, at least he had enough sense to know that cow print was just awful. Horrifying, even. A crime against… Well, everything. Ugly. An eyesore. Disgusting. He hated his makeover, but the other sides seemed to be loving it.
Logan, to his left, kept sneaking pictures.
If, later tonight, Logan found his phone broken… That would be a terrible accident, wouldn’t it?
Grinning like a fool, Patton pulled Virgil into a side hug. He posed cheerfully with Anxiety as Roman painted them onto a canvas. They were perched on a scarlet sofa with an exaggerated backrest. Silk blankets cushioned them and ambient lighting of many colors dyed their skin. According to Roman, background scenery was just as important to a painting as the subjects were. Creativity painted with a fiery passion. Immortalizing Virgil’s fashion-disaster.
“I want a matching onesie,” Patton declared.
“You can have this one,” he grumbled under his breath. The hood of his onesie spilled over his head, blocking his sight; he didn’t bother to shake it away. Instead, he sighed. The movement caused a cowbell, which was strapped to his throat, to jingle in a low-pitch. The vibrations shot through Virgil’s skull, disorienting him.
Cowprint. And a bell.
He sighed again.
“Awww,” Patton said, pulling up his hood. “Looks like someone is in a mooooood.”
“Hah!” barked Roman. “I don’t see why, though. The outfit’s cute.” He poked his head around the canvas and pointed his paintbrush at Virgil. “What’s the beef with it?”
Virgil rolled his eyes.
Patton and Roman shared an amused smile.
“Whatever,” Virgil snapped. “Patton’s joke was funnier.”
“Aw.” Puckering his lip, he said, “Look who’s acting all tough.”
“I am tough!” His knuckles popped as he cracked them threateningly. “I can beat you up, Princey. Go ahead, piss me off.”
Roman threw his head back with hearty laughter. When he sobered, he said, “You’re acting so aggressive towards me… it’s because I’m wearing red, isn’t it?”
For a moment, Virgil didn’t understand.
Logan leaned close. “He’s referencing the stereotype that the color red might cause a bull to behave erratically.” He adjusted his glasses. “Which is false. Bulls are actually color-blind, so the color would have no affect on their temperament. It is actually the movement of-”
“Cut the bullshit!” Roman exclaimed suddenly, saving everyone from another one of Logan’s boring lectures.
“Language!”
The prince pointed at Virgil. “This cranky cow secretly likes the costume! You’re only pretending to dislike it, are you?”
Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response.
“It is impossible that you don’t find charm in the costume, because I, wonderful, talented Creativity, am the one who created it! Confess, immediately!”
“I don’t like it.”
“FALSEHOOD!”
“HEY!” Logan barked. “That’s my thing! Don’t steal it!”
“To say I like this costume really would be a falsehood.”
Logan whirled around. “Not you too!”
Virgil tore his glare away from Roman to glance at Logan. With the flick of his finger, the cranky cow messed up his glasses. Logan retaliated by hitting Virgil’s bell. The obnoxious sound shrieked in his ears and shook his brain. Through gritted teeth, he wanted for the vibrations to still, then crossed his arms.
He pouted.
“Wow,” Roman said. “You’re really committed to acting like you hate it, huh?”
“Indeed,” Logan agreed. “He’s something of a methane actor.” The sides stared, clueless. “Method actor,” he clarified.
They still didn’t get the joke.
Logan waved his arms around with frustration. “Cows release methane gas as flatulence. Hence methane actor.”
Slapping a palm over his mouth, Roman turned away. His shoulders shook. Virgil got the feeling that it wasn’t Logan’s joke that he was laughing at.
Patton rubbed Logan’s shoulder. “That was a good one. Super funny.”
Virgil pursed his lips. “Mmhm. Utterly hilarious,” he said drily.
All the sides cheered. Virgil slapped his face, embarrassment washing over him. His cowbell jingled loudly, as if it too was cheering. “I didn’t do that on purpose, I swear.”
“It’s growing on you!” Roman declared. “Just admit it.”
“Absolutely…,” Virgil drawled out his sentence, enjoying how Roman leaned forward expectantly, “...not.”
Roman slumped forward, expression falling, which earned a smile from Virgil. In an instant, a debate sparked amongst the sides about whether they thought Virgil liked the costume or not. He joined in on the debate, only to deny it. He would continue to deny it until he was blue in the face, but as he looked around at the sides as they passionately argued, he couldn’t help but notice the warmth that bloomed in his chest.
A reluctant smile infected his lips. He glanced at his reflection and noticed how his eyes were glowing. With a content exhale, he flicked the bell.
…Maybe the cowprint wasn’t so bad afterall.