Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm really not in the mood, Virgil."

Deceit can't help but snap at him, not after the day he's had. If it wasn't one problem it was another. It started with Remus waking him up to convince him to skin some rats together. At three in the morning. Then he had to get Thomas to lie about an early bus stop being his so he could get away from a creep sitting next to him. Thus Thomas got to walk half a mile home and tire out every side in his head. Then the assholes on the light side had the nerve to rag on him for hours for keeping Thomas safe and Remus had been being insufferable and Deceit is about this close to just ducking out. He's had enough. He's had fucking enough.

So Virgil showing up in his room when he's finally allowed some time to rest? Not the best thing for his mood right now. If he has to stare down his former friend one more goddamn time today-

This is the point where Virgil’s arms wrap around his shoulders and Deceit’s brain ceases to function. 

They stand like that for a while; Deceit is stiff as a board under the other side’s hands and Virgil isn’t much better where he’s pressed his shoulders awkwardly against Deciet’s chest. He holds himself at a careful distance from Deceit and Deceit is abruptly reminded of helping Virgil through his first panic attack, when he’d hated for anyone to touch him for hours afterward. Said his skin was too sensitive. Deceit wonders how Patton handled that tidbit of info when he tried to help Virgil for the first time. (The substantial vindictive part of him hopes Morality choked on it.)

“What are you doing?” He has the presence of mind to ask eventually. Virgil huffs a little where he’s hooked his chin over Deceit’s shoulder and Deceit has to clench his gloved fists at his sides. That does not tickle.

“It’s what normal people call a hug,” Virgil snarks. “I’m hugging you.”

“...Why?”

“I just...you looked like you needed it today.” There’s a pause. “Shut up.”

Virgil never has liked talking about things. Deceit often wonders if he picked it up from Deceit himself. 

Virgil’s hands are clenched too tightly in his cape, pulling the fabric tight around his throat. His hair is scratching against his cheek. His shoulders are really boney. (Is he eating enough?) 

“You’re really good at this,” Deceit tells him. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

“Shut up,” Virgil repeats, with less venom this time. Another pause. “This is where you hug me back, idiot.”

Oh. Right. Hugging. Hugging Virgil. Hug. Virgil. He’s supposed to be hugging Virgil. Right.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Deceit says, while gingerly resting his hands on Virgil’s back. His hoodie is soft, even through his gloves; Patton probably uses fabric softener. Or maybe Roman.

“Oh my God, will you please shut up?”

There’s a second of residual stiffness; Deceit doesn’t do physical affection on principle and he knows from experience that Virgil doesn’t tend to like it very much either and both of their inexperience in the area is incredibly evident. How much pressure is he supposed to put on Virgil’s back? Where exactly is Virgil’s head supposed to go? What if Deceit wants to sneeze when Virgil’s hair tickles his nose? What do either of them do with their feet? 

Deceit has just about given up and is gathering himself to snap at the other and shove him away (somebody’s got to play the villain) when Virgil sighs, tucks his chin to his own chest, and nestles his head against Deciet’s shoulders. His arms relax too, going from a stiff cage around Deceit to curling in around him, a comfortable, heavy weight against his back. One hand rests warmly against the back of his neck and Deceit has to sigh too. 

He does not melt. Deceit does not let his hands move from their hesitant placement on the middle of Virgil’s back. He does not wrap one arm solidly around Virgil’s waist and he most certainly does not use the other hand to reel him in closer. He doesn’t let Virgil rest fully against him. He doesn’t press his hand between the other’s shoulder blades to keep him there. (He doesn’t wonder if Virgil is too skinny when he can feel his spine through his clothes.) Deceit does not bury his face into Virgil’s neck and let his own shoulders release their tension for the first time in a very long time.

He doesn’t think about not letting go when Virgil pulls away slowly an indefinite amount of time later.

Virgil scuffs the back of his neck restlessly at the question in Deceit’s eyes. “Look, I- it’s rough. Being the bad guy. I would know.”

Deceit gamely swallows the lump that has taken up residence in his throat and throws on a smirk. Before he can deflect, however, Virgil is shaking his head. He looks about as tired as Deceit feels. “Don’t- just- you don’t have to act like everything is okay all the time. Sometimes things just suck, and that’s okay too.”

Well. Okay then.

Virgil seems to take the new silence as his cue to leave and raises his hand in a familiar two fingered salute. Just before he sinks out, however, he eyes Deceit with something soft and guarded and strange in his face. It makes the lump in Deceit’s throat swell just that little bit more. 

“Listen, this is something it took me a long time to figure out: you don’t have to be the bad guy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

And if those parting words aren't just as confusing as the rest of this strange encounter, Deceit doesn't know what is.