Super short drabble I wrote because I have advanced fiction writing HW due and HAHAHAHA I CANNOT THINK OF ANYTHING BUT SICKENINGLY SWEET FAN FICTION? A
lso, wow, hello, yes, it has been literal YEARS since I wrote some SS fan fiction it feels so good
When Virgil met Richie on the first day of 4th grade he realized that the other boy was barely tall enough to look over the teachers desk. That morning after his father walked him to class, his hand reassuringly in Virgil's, he observed the pale faced boy shyly cantering towards the teachers desk after them and giving her a hastily scribbled, partly crumpled note from his father before resigning to look at his sneakers until she could assign him a seat. Virgil, 8 years old at the time and certainly tall enough to see the look of disdain on his teachers face as she read the note quietly, was too young to wonder why Richie's father didn't walk with him on his first day of class, like his father had. He only wondered what it would be like to have hair that was the color of playground sand and if the boy nervously trying to straighten his glasses knew that Virgil was also wearing a Superman t-shirt.
When Virgil told Richie on a warm night in their freshman year of highschool that his father was sick he realized that Richie looked at the floor when he was nervous. They were in Virgil's bedroom alone when he noticed his glasses slid down the bridge of his freckled nose and when he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper when he asked 'is he going to be OK?' and Virgil didn't have an answer, but answered instead by taking his best friends pale hand in his own brown one and giving it a gentle squeeze, surprised when his blonde head shot up but his hand stayed in place. Virgil wondered about his father, unable to take him and his best friend to school every morning because he was too ill to get out of bed, no longer capable of reminding the school officials that Richie was allergic to peanut butter when his own father forgot or surprising the boys with pizza when they came home dead on their feet in the afternoons. But Richie told him not to worry, breaking him out of his thoughts with a kind voice that said everything would be ok, he just knew it. Virgil, who did not know at the time that Richie was right, simply told him 'dude, I'm just glad you're here'.
When Virgil decided to room with Richie in college he realized that maybe, on the few nights they did not spend together in a drunken pile of bad decisions and experimentation, Richie deserved the top bunk since he was a little over three inches taller than Virgil himself. He thought about his best friend slamming his stupid golden-haired head into the wooden frame overhanging the bottom bunk, angrily cursing as he checked to see if his obviously broken glasses were, in fact, broken,waking Virgil up with his 'jesus fucking christ not again' before falling exasperatedly back into the pillows with an exhausted moan as Virgil chuckled and dangled a reassuring hand from the top bunk. He thought about coaxing Richie—after 2 solid weeks of watching him trying to tape the ruined glasses together—to make the call to his father. He could practically hear the older male scream over the phone while Virgil put one reassuring hand in Richie's soft blonde hair, the other coming around to clasp his free hand and steady him while he tried to remain calm over the phone, tried to hide the face he made when he cried as he sat on the edge of the bed and whispered to the floor of the darkened dorm room that he needed just one more pair of glasses replaced and that no, Virgil had nothing to do with it, please do not blame him for this, please, you promised you would not do this. Virgil pushed the thought away then and decided. Yes, he thought quietly to himself while watching Richie's brown eyes light up excitedly as he prattled on about their first college semester together, his friend deserved the top bunk for sure.
So when Virgil found himself alone in a plain, white, unwindowed, side room of the church chapel, he realized that he was knee shakingly, earth shatteringly nervous. He was not as tall as he had remembered, not nearly as dashing. His usually wild dreadlocks were now neatly combed back into a loose ponytail. He thumbed absently at the bowtie at his throat that his father had, but moments before, stepped feebly from his wheelchair to secure with a smile full of pride and a gruff voice that simply said 'knock em dead tiger.' before he was wheeled out of the room by Virgil's sister, who left with a final wink. He appraised his reflection in the mirror for the millionth time, pulling here and there at his cufflinks, trying to straighten his white tuxedo jacket, biting his lip with anticipation. Then he heard it, the sound of an organ and the sudden hush of chattering voices, which was his cue to exit. He felt his feet step forward, but his mind couldn't focus. Was that his hand closing around the door? Was that the sound of his freshly polished shoes tapping against the hardwood floor as he moved forward? Was that his best friend, smartly clad in a black tuxedo and tie, emerging from the room directly in front of him, across the chapel, across leagues of dapper people clapping in chairs?
His hair was just as blonde as when they first met, but now he was certainly tall enough to look over the teachers desk. He met Virgil in the middle of the chapel, in front of the church minister, who smiled at them both and began to speak. Richie was looking at the floor and Virgil instinctively took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Richie looked up, his eyes met Virgil's green ones and he smirked at his partner, mouthing the words 'Man, am I glad you're here.'
Everything faded away then, as Virgil focused on his face, the curve of his mouth, and freckles that dotted his nose, the dark eyebrows framed by pale hair.
He realized that here in front of him was one thing he would never have to wonder about again.