Chapter Text
No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
Still would he haunt, and there alone
-Eclogue II, Virgil
Logan Reed sat in the furthest corner from the fireplace every single day he visited his favourite coffee shop. This way, he would not get too warm and have to leave. He would order a pot of tea, and settle in to work for a good few hours, after which he would go to the college library and choose a new book to read for pleasure. Only once the building began to clear out would he go back to his studio apartment, curl up on the couch, and read until the book fell out of his hand and his eyes refused to stay open.
On this particular day, while sipping his tea slowly, he had somehow run out of work to do, and unwilling to leave, he decided to engage in his most secret habit. People watching. Most people were overwhelming to Logan, but there were three other patrons of the coffee shop who rather interested him. They seemed to always be there, at a table near the fireplace that was piled high with books.
The one boy, Roman he believed, was really far too loud for his own good and looked rather like he had dumped glitter all over himself that morning. This was not unusual for him. Nor was it unusual -and this was what Logan found interesting about him- for him to recite poetry at the top of his lungs. From Wilde to Keats, from Ocean Vuong to Danez Smith; Roman’s range was really quite incredible, and Logan admired his clear tone and perfect posture as he spoke.
The second boy could be identified by his mass of curly hair and large, gold, round glasses. He would watch Roman, enraptured. He always seemed to be carrying a box -always tin, never tupperware- of some sort of baked good, offering one to anybody who so much as looked in his direction. The first treat however, always went to the third boy.
Logan had only ever heard him referred to as ‘V’, and he sat, hunched over, drinking black coffee after black coffee, and enduring the second boy’s paternal affections with the tiniest of indulgent smiles. Logan noted that Roman would often glance his way, and upon seeing some expression Logan could not catch, would drop his volume considerably. V always seemed to wear black, and was far less outgoing than his companions. An introvert adopted by extroverts, no doubt.
Logan could not deny that some part of him wished for such a thing to happen to him, but at the age of twenty three, he was sure that he was destined to remain alone with his books and dead poets as his only company. He would drift from coffee shop, to library, to tiny apartment, with no companion beside him who would understand him with a single look, or care how much he ate, or listen to him speak about dead poets until the sun set.
Logan’s heart throbbed, sending a wave of pain through his chest. He dropped his gaze down to his mug. Almost empty. He lifted the tea pot and poured himself a fresh cup, busying himself with the milk, the sugar, the pretty floral design on the tea pot. Anything that wasn’t Roman’s voice, rising in volume once again as he recited part of the Aeneid. Anything that was not a soft smile on a gaunt face. Anything that was not gleaming brown eyes behind gold glasses.
He stood abruptly, picking up his bag and abandoned book, and stalked across the coffee shop, towards the door, leaving his fresh tea behind. His gut rolled, and he thought that perhaps he saw a soft smile turn to a frown, but paid it no mind. There was a rushing noise in his ears, so for all he knew, he could have made a terribly loud scene with his frenzied departure. The boy in black did not like loud noises, and Logan felt a twinge of regret for startling him so. But then he was out of the door and on a busy street, and he was holding his book in a white-knuckled grip, breathing far too heavily for the little movement he had done.
He stood for a moment, then found that he could not take the stillness, and lurched forwards, letting his feet carry him away. Only a few steps later his vision blurred, and pain radiated through his chest once more. It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that he was crying, and something awful in the back of his mind made him duck his head until he finally locked his apartment door behind him.
In the dark of his single room, without even the ticking of a clock or the muffled noises of his neighbours, Logan wished bitterly that he had not left the coffee shop. Watching the trio had been awful, but this -utter silence, with no distractions from the void expanding in his chest- was truly unbearable.
He forced himself to take another step, then another, until he was in front of his laptop. He opened it, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, the brightness of his screen pierced through his skull. However, he could see well enough to queue up a rainforest ambient track. The room remained grey and gloomy. Birds twittered, and somewhere a stream babbled, obscuring the sounds of creatures creeping through the underbrush, and Logan’s shoulders sank. He took a step back, and dropped gracelessly onto the couch. He closed his eyes.
Logan stepped cautiously into the coffee shop, shivering slightly, his gaze remaining on his feet. He wasn’t sure if anyone remembered, or even noticed, his outburst the other day. The image of dark eyes following him entered his mind, but he pushed it away. He had avoided the place since, but the disruption to his routine was affecting his ability to work. He pulled his wallet out of his satchel as he approached the counter, and avoided eye contact with the barista.
“What can I get you?” She asked, “Earl Grey again?”
“Yes- Actually,” Logan blinked sleep out of his eyes. Perhaps tea was not the best idea. He did not wish to fall asleep. “Actually can I have a black coffee please?”
“I didn’t know you even drank coffee.” She commented. “That’ll be two dollars fifty.”
Logan handed over the change.
“I don’t make a habit of it,” He replied. “But sometimes it is necessary.
“I feel you.” The barista smiled at him. “I’ll bring it over to you in a minute.”
Logan thanked her, and went to his usual spot at the back, wondering when he became such a familiar face here. His eyes were on his satchel, his shaky attempts to stuff his wallet back into it, and so he failed to see that someone else was already in his seat until he caught sight of the black boots under the table.
Logan stopped abruptly, now unsure of his next action.
“You okay there?” A scratchy voice asked.
Logan looked up. The black-clad boy with the indulgent smile was sitting in his usual seat. Alone.
“I-”
V shifted uncomfortably. “You um… You left in a hurry. And you looked kinda not.. Okay? And I totally haven’t been haunting this place for the last three days hoping you’d come back. That’d be weird. And creepy.” V bit his lip, and Logan watched, astounded, as his eyes became glassy with tears. “But I was worried about you.” He blurted out.
Logan stared.
“You were… Worried?”
V nodded jerkily.
Logan blindly felt behind him for the other chair, and stumbled back into it, for some reason unable to take his eyes off this boy who had noticed him, was concerned for him. He could not find any words, despite his impressive vocabulary, to explain what this meant, and so he just stared.