NOTE: Virgil angst, Analogical, TWs for self-harm, depression, panic attacks

DESC: Virgil comes to terms with his depression.

The first day was fine.

Virgil was slightly off. It was barely noticeable.

"Virgil!"

"Hey, Pat."

"How're ya doing?"

"I'm..."

He wasn't good. But it wasn't bad. Just a wrong kind of day. Wrong days are normal, he'd had them before. This one was different, though. School had been let out, things should be better than usual.

"Pretty good."

The second day he felt worse. Slightly. He couldn't tell, but he did. He remarked to himself how odd two bad days in a row were, it was unusual. No reason to get worried, though, he already had enough of that.

The third day was annoying. Three off days in a row was irritating. Of course, it was bound to happen once in his life.

The fourth day he was slightly scared. This doesn't happen often. But he didn't feel that bad, it was probably fine. He'd just wait until tomorrow.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh days weren't any better. It would be fine, though, people have a rough week sometimes.

The next week it happened again. He was unhappier than before. He was more irritable towards his friends and family, annoyed that it had kept going on. The week after that, he was getting more apathetic to it. The week after that he was frustrated again.

And so, the day had turned into a month.

He was a little scared. People get bad months, but he didn't like it. It was normal, though. It happens. Next month will be good.

It wasn't.

"Virgil, are you doing alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, L."

"You seem less attentive than usual."

He claimed he was more stressed out, but there was no reason to be. His friends were around more, school was relatively easy, he had good, supportive teachers to help with his anxiety. But the month was worse than last. He was slightly sadder. It was fine, though, this was normal. This was okay.

The next month it happened again. Weeks got worse as the month progressed, but it was easy to ignore. He blamed it on school. Anyway, if he talked to his friends for a while he was just as happy as usual.

The next month was his crying month. The feeling was harder to avoid, and it was affecting him. It was harder to talk to people, harder to get things done, harder to calm down from panic attacks. It was frustrating.

"Roman, I can calm down by myself."

"You're not- I mean, I think I could help."

"It's fine, it- it was just a test."

Virgil was shaking and hyperventilating. How could he have failed the test? Well, quiz. But he studied and studied and studied, what did he do wrong? God, he did need Roman here, didn't he?

"It doesn't seem that way to you, emo."

"I'm fine, just go away."

Roman offered him a hug before he left, which did make him feel a bit better.

But you failed.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move properly, he needed to relax, he was going to die-

The month after that, the fifth month, he noticed it daily. It didn't help that a crush was eating away at his anxiety.

The sixth month he claimed he was helping himself, if intentionally triggering panic attacks is what you would call helping yourself. He used that pain to cope. He wanted more of it. He wouldn't say that, though. He said this was fine. People have a bad couple of months sometimes. He'd started dating Logan as well, which was making him happier, but at the same time he didn't want to be happy. Torturing himself was the answer.

"Scientists say climate change will affect more than the weather...."

"Two people murdered just south of the school, authorities investigating..."

"We don't need queer representation to turn our kids gay!"

The next month got worse. He wanted this pain to be seen. He wanted it to show up on his skin. At first it was a bruise.

The next month it was a scratch. From pins and needles, nails, pencils, anything. This wasn't self-harm, it was just coping. Not coping, he's not depressed. It was just... an alternative. To feeling like he did.

The next month he drew blood. The first time, he'd dug his nails so deep into his skin and it bled and it was beautiful. He spent the rest of the day just looking at it when he could. He tried with the pins and it worked. He'd scratch and scratch until it was finally red.

The tenth month he gave in. It was slight and shallow, but he'd done it. Stolen his mother's razor, just to bleed a little. It was so much easier.

The eleventh month he was doing it all the time. Logan was worried about him, with more frequent panic attacks and moments where he did nothing but lean against his boyfriend silently.

"You haven't said anything all day, Virgil. Is something going on?"

"Nah."

"If there is, I can offer my help-"

"I'm fine."

He was.

It wasn't self-harm, it wasn't depression. It weighed on him so much but it wasn't hurting him. It didn't mean anything. He was fine. He was okay.

The twelfth month, it happened.

Virgil always wore his hoodie, no matter what time of year. He used to be able to take it off if he wanted, but not anymore. He couldn't worry anyone. Even if they likely didn't care.

It was a hot, miserable day. Reaching ninety degrees, Logan had reason to worry about his boyfriend.

"Virgil, I suggest you take that off."

"I'm okay. I'm not that hot."

"I'm not sure how that's possible. It's ninety degrees."

Virgil only shrugged.

During lunch, he fell asleep on Logan, who was reading from some nonfiction book. He was sweating profusely, and obviously very hot. Logan took his chance to roll up his sleeves, at the very least.

Virgil woke up.

He panicked and pulled away from Logan before he could roll them up very much, but he'd seen what he needed to already.

"Why did you-"

"Virgil, you were going to overheat. You still are. I'm sorry I did that, but I'm scared for your well-being."

He began breathing heavily, his entire body shaking and more heat emanating off of him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Logan."

"Virgil, it's okay. Why don't we go somewhere where it'll be easier to calm down?"

Virgil couldn't be with him right now. Not after what he'd seen.

But he was so damn hot.

He wobbled as he got up, only just realizing how dizzy he was from both the heat and the hyperventilation. He was shaking and it was only getting hotter and he wanted to take his hoodie off. But he couldn't.

Logan led them to the empty bathroom, closing the door and setting up a chair to prevent anyone from coming in.

"Virgil, can you please breathe for me? In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8."

Virgil did so, though trying to stay further away from Logan than he usually would have. The bathroom was slightly cooler, at least, as there weren't bodies of teenagers there. He tried to divert his thoughts away from his arms and towards his breathing.

After a while, he'd calmed down. It would have been easier if he'd given Logan a hug, but it was too hot. Too damn hot.

"I need to ask you to take your hoodie off."

He could have had another panic attack, but subdued it by digging his nails into his hands. Pain was always there to help him.

"I- I'm fine."

"Please, Virgil. You're going to overheat and... I want to help you."

His heart beat too fast.

"No, Logan, I swear I'm okay-"

"Virgil, you're still sweating. You're too hot."

"I'm not-"

"Please. Besides the heat, just please let me help you."

"I- I don't need help, Logan."

"I don't mean to upset you, but you really, really do. I love you, Virgil. I want you to be happy."

"I can't let you be unhappy! I'm going to hurt you!"

"It only hurts me being unable to help you. I can't help you if you won't let me. You'll always make me happy. I'll always love you and love being with you. I hate seeing you in pain, but it hurts me more for you to be alone in this. I hoped you were doing better than I thought, but you aren't. I want you to be happy. You make me happy, no matter how you feel. I will love you anyway."

"So please, Virgil. Please take off your sweater."

"I-"

He sobbed quietly, the static that was sending him into panic clearing up. He extended his arms to Logan, nodding through his tears, letting him pull the hoodie over his head. The moment he was free, he was so relieved.

He collapsed into the chair holding the door closed, laying his arms out on his legs.

"I have First Aid."

Virgil whispered a quiet "okay" as he stood up again, still shaking. The cold water Logan rinsed over his arms felt refreshing. The sweat that had seeped into his cuts was washed away, leaving only blood and scars. Logan put on a very thin layer of gauze, trying to avoid overheating again.

"I'm sorry I do this, Logan."

"I apologize that there isn't more I can do to help."

"I'd take a hug."

He made it fairly loose and short, replacing a tighter, more comforting hug. He kissed Virgil's cheek to make up for it.

"Do you have a therapist?"

"Y-yeah."

"Have you told them?"

"No," he looked away from Logan, "it's probably fine, anyway."

Logan cupped Virgil's face, looking him in the eyes.

"It's not."

"It- it really doesn't matter."

"You're hurting, Virgil."

"I'm fine."

"No. You're not. I want you to realize that. This isn't healthy, this isn't okay."

"I'm- it's-"

"Virgil?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you repeat after me?"

"O-okay."

"I'm not okay."

"I'm... not okay."

"And that's okay."

"And that's okay."

"You aren't okay, love. Not at all. So many people struggle like you do, and I wish you didn't have to, but you do. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to want this. But please realize, being that way all the time isn't okay, isn't healthy. You don't need to feel like this. You're not okay. And that's okay."