Vergil the Virgin (boyxboy)

[14] Date.

The three of them got to the gas station just in time. The moment Vergil and Mr. Janitor took a seat by a wall-sized window, the rain came pouring down on the glass with muffled taps. Shadows of rain drops danced across Mr. Janitor's wrinkled expression as he glanced out. He didn't seem in thought, he appeared to only be taking in the sight. Then again, Vergil was the worst at reading people.

"What's it gonna be, lanky wanky?"

Vergil jumped on his seat, yet again horrified to be addressed by the tall, menacing man, Bjorn. He hoped the nickname 'lanky wanky' wouldn't stick... it was possibly worse than Vergil the Virgin.

"Um... uh. Ugh."

Vergil couldn't deal with waiters if his life depended on it. They would just stand there and look at you until you spurted out something.

"Is- is there a menu?"

Bjorn shook his head and licked his teeth. Vergil had to guess he was mad now.

"I don't- actually I don't really want anything. Don't even have money. It's- thank you."

He fully turned towards the window. Now he could see he was hyperventilating because of the fog he left on the window.

"We'll have coffee, mange takk." (thanks a lot) Mr. Janitor said.

"Stikk og heng deg." (go hang yourself) replied Bjorn.

Mr. Janitor didn't flinch from watching the view outside, face clear and expressionless. His friend went away to prepare their coffees. Vergil was still as anxious as ever, fidgeting with his hair and sleeves until Mr. Janitor knocked on the table to catch his attention.

Vergil looked his way and let himself get distracted by all the things he found attractive about his crush.

"I'd like to tell he's not as bad as seems but.." he looked towards where Bjorn went off to. "He's probably snorting coke in the bathroom while we talk."

His funny English did nothing to distract Vergil from what he was truly saying. Cocaine was something he saw on the movies, not something happening under the same roof as him.

"There there." Mr. Janitor reached over the table to pat Vergil's fist, clenched around his sleeve. When Vergil let go of his pullover, the man let go of his hand.

Vergil started playing with his hair instead, twirling it around each of his fingers, until their coffees arrived. He kept his gaze on the table, not daring to look up at the man in fear of seeing his state. Only when the guy's uneven steps faded away, Vergil took a sip. It was surprisingly good, for a coffee made by someone intoxicated.

With two hot drinks between them, they sat and looked at each other, at the rain outside or at the cups. Not many words were exchanged, neither of them talkative. Silence was fine by both of them.

Vergil did, however, start a discussion.

"Is this a date, you think?"

Mr. Janitor was just taking a sip of his second coffee. He stopped with the cup at his lip.

"No."

"Ah." Vergil replied. "Well, what makes a date a date?"

The man thought it through, never moving the cup away. "Well. They would both have to agree to calling it that. If they do, anything can count as date."