His fingers clenched the sleeves of his hoodie. They don't want you. You only hurt them. You bring everyone down. He tried to focus on breathing. No, they care. You're not the villain anymore. You ruin everything when Thomas is happy. That's all you're good for: ruin. He tried to calm down, but nothing worked. Things were shapes, words were sounds, his fingers gripped tighter, but the feeling was just fuzz, it's not even fuzz the noise isn't here it's somewhere else my chest is tight where's my heartbeat how do I breathe everything's broken they know they know everyone knows he hates you he hates you you don't belong here why do you even live anymore it'd be better for everyone if you were just dead
A faded voice tried talking to him. Odd-but-familiar shapes reached for him, a distant embrace that he didn't know if he welcomed or rejected. He sensed a rhythmic motion; the only stabilizer he had to count his breaths.
In, 2, 3, out, 2, 3, count in head, stay in tune, chest is loose, steady now, breathing deeper, hold them closer, let them help you, you're not alone, you are wanted here, do not worry now, it's all coming back, shapes becoming things, these are someone's arms, these are Patton's arms?
Breathe. The world pieces back together. As he rests his head on Patton's shoulder, he could hear his gentle voice more clearly.
"Are you okay, kiddo? What happened?"
The inevitable question. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it and sighed when nothing came out. How could he tell him? What could he tell him, without making things weird again? And the shaking – still shaking, even after he recollected himself.
He took a moment to organize his thoughts just to tell him anything at all, but his voice was still distorted. Doesn't help that Patton is part of the problem. "I̵ l̵e̷f͢t.͏..so̸me̵thi͏n̸g̴ im͟pór͢t͞a̶nt ̛on̛ the c̷o̧unt́e̸r ̷w͡hen I̶ was ̕i͟n ̷the͏ k̢i̴tche̷n̴. Lo̷gan found̶ ít̷,̸ an͞d.̛..go̶d̸ ͢i̵f Ro͞ma͞n͡ ̵͘͠f̵̀ì͜͢ndş͘ ̀͘o͜u̧̕t͝͡,͢ ͘̕t̀ò̷ó́,͞ he'͡͏l͡͏̨ĺ ͢n͡ev̶é̷͟r ş͘h̴u͟t́ ͟u̸͠p̨ ͏àb͝o̵ut̶̡́ ̶̕͜it̨!̵̨͠" The distortion worsened with his anxiety. If Sir-Sings-A-Lot gets ahold of that drawing, he'll either tell Patton – no, everyone – about Virgil's biggest secret, or tease him relentlessly about it.
"What was it?"
An even worse – but also inevitable – question. "̸̵͡I͠͏..͞͝.͝͏Į c͡a̴͘ń̸̵'͝t t̸͢e͝l͢͡l̴̸͠ ý̡o͝u̸̕.͠ ̧I͘̕͢t̶'̕s̡͘, ̴̧u̢h͟,͏̛͢ ͜pe͡r͡s͡o̵̷̢ń͞a͘l̛̀͠.͘" He wished he could calm down again; his voice in this condition could give him away just as easily as his sketchbook.
"Well, maybe I can talk to Logan about getting it back?" he gently offered. "He probably just thought it was his and hasn't noticed yet. I don't think he meant to upset you..."
That proposition could go one of two ways: Patton could get the sketchbook and immediately return it to Virgil without looking through the pages, or anything would happen and he'd find out about the drawings Virgil made to cope with his feelings for him. The latter seemed more likely, and he knew Patton would reject him, anyway. But he couldn't talk to Logan himself; a million more things could go wrong if he tried. All options were risky. The more time he spent thinking about it, the more he felt trapped into one option.
".͢..̡fin͡e͏.͘" The distortion was fading. "Ju͜st- ̛pl͢eas̢e ̛don͞'t ope̵n it, okay?"
"I won't. You said it's personal – I don't wanna invade your privacy."
"Thanks, Pat."
Silence fell between them. Virgil's body slowly loosened, letting him lean further into Patton's embrace. The warmth inside him swirled around, it's intensity matching the warmth against his body. He could hear his heart beating; slow and gentle, yet strong and somewhat loud at the same time. It seemed to almost match Patton's in both pace and power.
He lifted his head to say something to Patton, but his gaze flicked from his beautiful eyes to the dark shadows growing underneath them. A twang of fear shot across his heart. "You should get out of herè, P̷a̢ţ. Th̷e̢ ro͢o͟m̸'̨s͢ s̵t̷a͡rtin͞g t̀o ͠c͞o̸rru̕pt̢ you̸." The distortion started to return, this time from gaining power over Thomas instead of his own anxiety.
"Are you gonna be okay? You can come with me to my room, if you want..."
"I͡ th̡ink ̡I'̨ll͏ b̛e̷ ͟f̷iné. Yo̧u̡ ̧shoul̨d͘ ͠go,̷ ̀t̢ho̵ugh͘.͠ Q͜ui̕c̀ķly.͝"
Patton nodded, squeezing Virgil tighter for a second, then releasing to sink down and away. The silence left behind was strange and heavy. All too familiar for Virgil. He stared at the spot Patton was in, a looming sense of things shutting down without him. Stupid feelings. Stupid room. Stupid Virgil.