Mahogany and Teakwood

Chapter 5: Fern

you, you got me

thinking it'll be all right

Logan didn't speak for the entire walk back.

Well, that wasn't new, but gone was the relaxed contentment from earlier. This silence only amplified Virgil's squirming thoughts.

Now you've done it.

All Logan had to do was bring up De...Him. Deceit. Faery balls, you can't even say the name in your own head, and you don't even know his real name! And then you had to go and have a freaking panic attack. If Logan didn't already think you're pathetic, he definitely does now.

Virgil's fists clenched inside his hoodie sleeves.

Now that he knows how prone you are to freaking out, maybe he'll decide you're too much to handle and kick you to the curb like you deserve!

They reentered the apartment, Nic heading straight for his water bowl.

Logan went to the gramophone on Remy's cabinet, fingertips skimming the record shelf. He selected one and put it on the player; the golden crooning of old Fleetwood Mac filled the room. At Remy's irritated grumble, the half-faery adjusted the volume to something just audible.

He turned to face Virgil.

The changeling braced himself.

"I owe you an apology."

Virgil blinked in astonishment as Logan broke their gaze, wearing a chagrined expression that did not sit comfortably on his stoic face.

"I should know better than to bring up a changeling's past, so soon after..." he paused. "As much as it would help me, to know..."

Logan sighed.

Virgil held his breath. Hanging between them was likely the secret Logan had almost brought up that very first day; he wondered if Logan was finally going to talk about it.

"I will not force you to speak of anything that causes you undue stress." Logan's mouth quirked in a small smile. "I do not wish for you to feel like a prisoner here. This is not Arcadia."

Dark, alien skies through barred windows, the stomach-turning click of a key twisting in a lock, Deceit...stop!

"I know that." Virgil reeled himself back to the present. "But in some ways, I still kind of am. A prisoner. When I think about that place, or...him."

He hated how small his voice sounded.

Logan laid cool hands on Virgil's shoulders. Long, faery-thin fingers, skin so dark it almost blended into Virgil's hoodie.

"Then we will not speak of it."

Virgil nodded, dropping his gaze.

Logan went to the kitchen, and soon the sounds of a brewing Keurig and a whistling tea kettle filled the apartment. Virgil squeezed onto the couch, idly listening to the music, wanting desperately to escape to his room but afraid of seeming ungrateful.

I've been nothing but prickly and panicky, and he just puts up with it.

Nic hopped up and laid his brown head on Virgil's lap with a canine huff; Virgil absently scratched the dog's ears.

"You know, I've never asked, but..." he dared to say as Logan entered the living room with two steaming mugs. "What exactly does it mean that you're half Fae? Like, you aren't a changeling, but you're also not quite one of Them."