Chapter Text
Virgil closed the last of the envelopes. All the paper carefully decorated with his, rather, roughly done calligraphy.
All of them, except one, who’s paper was unmarked except for a the words printed on a small flat business card.
He pulled his body, tilting to lean against the back of his chair as a small smile graced the corners of his mouth. A smudge of chocolate smeared there from where Patton insisted on feeding him samples from over twelve cakes.
Virgil swears that man is doing all he can to make him fat.
He carefully penned the last letter, his wrist a little achy from the writing, and, yeah, maybe he shouldn’t be doing this at the same time as the other letters but he felt this was needed.
He and the others turned 18 next year, which meant the most important milestone for soulmates.
The wedding.
He had penned over a hundred envelopes, addressing letters to Logan, Patton and Roman’s family, extended family, and extended families family.
Moms, grandfathers, eighth cousin’s five times removed, they were all coming.
The pain of being poly soulmates: everyone wants to bask in their ‘happy ending’.
Of course, Virgil didn’t really have a family to invite, not by any conventional definition of ‘family’ at least.
Which is why he wanted this job out of all the other things he could have done to help with the wedding.
Among the stacks and stacks of envelopes, a handful was put to the side.
Virgil’s family.
A letter extended to Benny, to Mrs. Higgs, and Jamie as well as Jamie’s soulmate (if they were both willing to fly in from france that is,) he extended an invitation to Allen and even Mrs. Graves.
He wrote one to Fred, who was happy for him and had apologized with a sincerity that Virgil hadn’t realized he had needed.
One to delicately place at his mother’s grave when he went there next sunday.
The last one, wasn’t an invitation.
Writing a wedding invitation to someone without a soulmate would just be cruel in Virgil opinion. He wouldn’t have wanted one and he doubted Ricky needed one either.
But for lack of anything else to say, with the need to say something crushing down on him, he did pen out a single sentence.
“Ask for C.C.” the back of the card holding the address of Black Burns.
Virgil placed the card gently in the envelope, his hands steady and firm as he closed it.
This would be the first letter sent.
He stood smiling, twirling his pen in his hand and pulling open the door to see the chaos waiting for him.
Roman on the phone yelling about how the flowers weren’t red enough, Logan at the table pouring over the cost of all of this, while Patton was laying on the floor, having tried so many cake samples that, all together, had probably added up to a full sized cake.
Logan looked up at hearing him enter the room. A helpless smile gracing his lips as he shrugged, and Virgil laughed.
“Oh, the first copy of your book arrived,” Logan said, gesturing to the mailing envelope sitting on the table.
Virgil’s heart was suddenly in his throat, his body moving a little faster than necessary to get at the folder. He picked it up, hand automatically going to rip off the top only to hesitate.
“Logan we’re adding premium roses! I cannot deal with this!” Roman yelled hanging up on whoever was on the other line, Logan sighed turning to face the other.
“Do you really need all the decorations to be so elabor-,”
“OF COURSE I DO! This is our special night I will not have anything ruining it!”
Virgil smiled, as Logan turned back to him rolling his eyes.
“Did you take your medicine?” Logan asked.
“Of course, it’s been helping a lot.” Virgil said, Logan smiled nodding his head.
“The dose is working?” He asked and Virgil nodded back.
“I think we got it this time.” He said and Logan gave him an awkward thumbs up as Virgil moved back. Taking his mail placing Ricky’s letter on the ‘out’ mail bowl as he re-entered his office.
The weight of the book in his hand as he sat back down, spinning the chair as he stared at the black ink on the envelope.
The weight in his hands was surreal, and Virgil wished, not for the first time, that he had the ability to go back in time.
To grip first grade Virgil by the shoulders and yell at him,
“You’re still here! And believe me it is worth it!”
He tore off the top of the envelope. The flash of colour making his heart flutter as he tipped the package. The book sliding into his hand, the dark purple cover filling his eyes.
The pads of his fingers brushed along the edges of the book, and he thumbed at the raised text of the title,
‘Scribbles: an autobiography’
Virgil spun the pen around in his grip once more, before he pulled the tip down to draw a small heart on the taught flesh where his thumb met his wrist.
The End