Mahogany and Teakwood

Chapter 23: Cherry Blossom

slowly, it's consuming me

deliberate and deep

i can't take this deeper panic

February crawled past, marked by Roman filling the fridge with homemade chocolates and Crofters jam tarts on Valentine's Day, and Nicodemus graduating from his Cone of Shame.

None of them saw hair, hat, or scale of Deceit.

Virgil hoped the murderous faery had seen how well protected he was now and decided he wasn't worth it. His cynical nature thought that unlikely. Some days he felt like he was actively holding his breath, anticipating the next disaster. His room grew cluttered with paint-spattered canvases; his Tumblr blog overflowed with angsty, 3AM ramblings.

Roman dyed his faded Christmas hair tips a bright, fluorescent pink, and began practicing sword forms and Kung Fu in the courtyard while Logan took Nic on his evening walks. Against Logan's advice, Roman also started volunteering at the Athens Theater, both because he enjoyed acting and the stage, and to keep an eye on the Hedge gap.

Logan put up faery wards around the apartment, but otherwise seemed inclined to see what Deceit would do next.

February ticked away into March, and one afternoon, Virgil came home from his Drawing 201 class to find Patton huddled on the sofa with Logan, their heads bent together. Both startled apart when he entered, as though he'd interrupted...something. Patton, sweet soul that he was, invited Virgil to join them, but Virgil claimed to have homework and disappeared into his room.

He told himself not to jump to irrational conclusions. Thorns pinched his chest anyway.

(Later, Virgil would wonder if he should have stayed, that first time. If it would have changed anything.)

Meanwhile, between classes and his job, Virgil worked steadily on his jacket. Hand sewing was time consuming, but the project scratched an itch inside that Deceit had unknowingly awoken, a need to see something grow and change and become with his own hands. He also loved having excuses to handle—and caress—Logan's plaid, which happened to be deliciously soft to the touch.

Which was why a mid-March Saturday found him spread out on the living room sofa alone, cutting out the hood lining. He sighed, annoyed, when a knock at the door interrupted him.

Logan and Roman both had keys. There was only one person it could be. Well, two, but Deceit probably wouldn't knock.

"Hey, Patton," Virgil said as he opened the door. "If you're looking for the others, Logan took Nic to the vet today and Roman—"

"I came to see you."

Patton ran a hand through extra fluffy curls, as though he'd been mussing them a lot. Raising an eyebrow, Virgil let him in.

"You've made a lot of progress on this." Patton gently moved the hoodie and the pile of purple lining fabric from the couch into his lap so he could sit.

Again, Virgil could have confessed to Patton why he was so good at this kind of work.

Instead, he grabbed the jacket, stood, and slipped it on.

He'd finished sewing the last patch on last night, and even his critical, self-deprecating ass had to admit, it looked pretty wicked good. Patton turned Virgil around by the shoulders, looking at every side.

"I would never have thought to see you wearing plaid." Patton brushed fingers over the largest patch, along Virgil's torso. "But Logan was right. This pattern is somehow perfectly you."