2200 hours. The Closet, Soho.


He'd not changed before coming down to The Closet. Virgil wasn't sure what brought him here - just that after Figaro[1] left, a restlessness came over him and demanded he go walking. So he had gone out to dinner alone in Soho and eventually his inappropriate footwear walked him all the way to a corner table in the night club.

On a Monday night. It was hardly busy, only a few groups on the dance floor and most everyone else pulling at the bar. He wasn't here to pull, obviously, but observed those coquettish figures over a gin and tonic. Didn't seem that long ago[2] Virgil was among them.

            "Don't tell me he dumped you already?" a wry voice interrupted, and Malachi Reid dropped into the chair across, ice clinking in his glass. He looked neat in flannel over a thin polo neck.

In addition to being Abby's cousin, they ran into each other at Reducto sometimes. The illustrator was a peripheral fixture.

"No," Virgil replied crisply, failing to repress the annoyance he felt. "Just getting out of my head."

That whole thing with Figaro bothered him more than he cared to admit. He wondered if he'd been that pathetic when Cepheus first rejected him - was it as obvious to everyone else? When he tried forgetting, with Anton, and then with anyone else willing? Did Ari pity him like how he pitied Fig?

Mal seemed to realise the response was more curt than his approach merited. "Fair enough," he muttered eyeing Virgil curiously. "Doesn't look like you're succeeding, though."

1.	24th Sept - Talk About Trouble
2.	29th Jan - 5th Feb - City Sang Such Mad Crescendo

"A little failure is good for the soul," the blond retorted with a half-smile. "Can I ask you a question?"

Back when they were fooling around he mistook Malachi's interest in him as presumptuous and potentially romantic. Months later he could see it for what it was - an offer of friendship from someone a little older, who'd run similar tracks to himself.

            "Sure," Mal crossed his arms on the table, leaning in casually. "Shoot, blondie."

"Do you ever worry about... about sharing personal things with a guy you're seeing?" he sensed the lame vagueness of the question and changed course. "I mean, like, damaged goods sort of history. Everyone has a limit, right?"

That was the thing. Where was Ceph's limit? Cepheus, who took it in stride when Virgil told him about the vampire incident, about childhood traumas. What if I-slept-with-my-sister was the last straw? What if he couldn't look at Virgil without thinking of that?

He startled, Mal was prying his fingers off the gin and tonic. "You'll break the glass if you hold on that tight," he explained softly. Virgil let go of his drink, relaxing his shoulders.

           "I think everyone worries," Malachi continued stiffly. "But I really hope he's not the kind of guy who'd call you damaged goods just becau--"
"He isn't," Virgil cut in hastily, quietly panicking. "He's really nice, he isn't like that at all."

Of course not, Cepheus was much too kind to think or say that. That wasn't it at all.

            "So," the other wizard tilted his head to the side, quizzical. "What's got you so worried then? Don't trust him?"

Mal had a point. What was making Virgil feel like this?

Almost certain, at times, that Cepheus was going to break up with him eventually. It took Figaro to bring the unconscious fear to head. This notion that one day, he'd go running for comfort to that corner of Diagon one time too many and the dark-haired wizard would gently let him down.

"He turned me down once," Virgil spoke the thought out loud, slowly, . "And it was awful. If he did it again, I'd feel even worse. It doesn't seem fair!" he looked at Malachi with a helpless smile, "You know, for anyone to have that much power of me."

It mattered more now, if Ceph turned fickle and decided they weren't working out after all. Even if it was his prerogative, as it was anyone's prerogative to leave a relationship.

Mal nudged his foot under the table, returning the smile with a similar one. "You're down bad, huh?"

"No, I just don't want to get hurt again." Virgil sighed miserably and nudged back. He didn't want to be the one this time - the one trying to forget while Cepheus went on with life as usual, oblivious. Kissing Penny Picklers and handsome Healers.

          "Them's the risk we all take," Malachi declared mournfully and pushed his chair back, rising. "Come on, I'm here with some mates. Join us. We're playing cards."

Oh. Virgil followed his gaze to a booth seat across the dance floor, where a few wizards his age were shuffling cards and draining cocktails. Malachi had left his friends to check on him? "You wanted to get out of your head right?" Mal added.

Right. Moping was pointless. When Ceph breaks up-- no, if Ceph breaks up with him, he would not be like Figaro. He wouldn't beg or plead or give him the satisfaction.

"Alright," Virgil got up to follow his friend. "What are you lot playing?"