Mahogany and Teakwood

Chapter 21: Eglantine

some things disappear in a day

and some things slowly fade

and you and i are like the ink staining all the other pages

Five days and seventy-three cell phone photos later, Nicodemus Ursae came home to a grateful half-faery and two relieved changelings. He returned to them bandaged and sore, but they all knew it could have been a lot worse.

Nic's homecoming also marked the first time Patton Foster was to join them for dinner at Logan's apartment.

Logan, uncharacteristically, took an entire day off to help Roman clean, something Virgil tried hard not to analyze too closely. Patton, being Patton, had agreed to go to the hospital with Logan to collect Nic. Virgil would have gone, too, or at least helped with the tidying up...but classes and work had both started back up, and he couldn't afford to skip out.

Virgil arrived home from work that day with a bag of rawhide and a new chew toy, rolling his eyes at Roman busily snapping pictures of the dish he'd made for them all. "Lazy Ass Lasagna," he'd dubbed it on his Instagram page, undoubtedly to the amusement of his...

"What do you have now, like, 23 whole followers?" Virgil mocked as the other typed rapidly on his phone.

"That's more than you have, I'll bet!" Roman didn't even look up.

"I don't even have an Instagram, Princey, and you're congratulating yourself on something the crock pot cooked for you," Virgil pointed out.

"Oh, just deal with it, J-D-lightful!"

Virgil's confused silence finally spurred Roman to glance up at him.

"You know?" he prompted. "JD?"

Nothing.

"From Heathers?"

Virgil shrugged, still lost.

Roman's expression flattened. "I waste my best material on you."

The other two arrived just as Virgil set the table, Nic and his crate and a new, fluffy dog bed in tow. Logan looked as unfairly good as always; he'd gone back to wearing his longish hair in cornrows, emphasizing his already devastating cheekbones and jaw.

However, it was the first time any of them had seen Patton out of his work scrubs. Virgil took one look at his friend and barely bit back a snort.

Roman had no such restraint.

"Patton!" He set down the bread he'd pulled from the oven and came around the counter with his hands outstretched. "Look at you, the very image of a nineteen fifties sitcom dad."

"Roman, for pity's sake—" Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

But Patton merely smiled and fiddled with the gray cardigan he'd draped and tied over his shoulders. He wore a baby blue polo the exact color of his eyes, khaki pants, and—Virgil physically cringed—brown boat shoes. At least his ginger curls had been brushed into some semblance of order, and he'd traded his thick black work glasses for a more delicate, gold rimmed pair.

"They do call me Dad at work." Patton blushed under his freckles. "Probably because I tend to think of everyone as my kiddos."

"Nice nails, Popstar," Virgil said with a smile.

Patton grinned and wiggled his fingers; he'd painted the nails a bright, sunshiny yellow to match the thin changeling rings around his irises.

Logan settled Nic into his new bed and gave Patton a brief tour of the apartment. Not wanting to tag along and feel like an intruder, Virgil knelt by Nic's bed and watched them, a familiar ache in his heart.