Chapter 2 - Our Fair Share

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Virgil dragged his sore feet through the stables. There's this lovely thing about depression and anxiety; they often cause your body to physically hurt. This morning it was a warm pain in Virgil's feet, accompanied by a feeling of discomfort in his back. Virgil grumbled to himself as he picked up a nearby broom and began to sweep the stables' hallway with the enthusiasm of a tortoise in an empty cage.

His dreams didn't give him much rest the previous night. He'd woken up around six in the morning after three mere hours of sleep, and couldn't get back to sleep once he did. In an attempt to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts, he cooked breakfast for his mother and sister with as much energy as he could fake and headed out to the stables to work his anxiety away.

Virgil's tired eyes lifted from the floor he was sweeping - the task was too repetitive and mundane to distract him. His gaze rested on an impressive horse in a nearby stall. The horse returned him a steady look from a pair of big, brown eyes.

"Hey there, fella," Virgil murmured with a faint smile. When he leaned the broom against a nearby stall and approached the stall, the horse walked over and let his head through the stall's window. Virgil stroked the horse's face and closed his eyes at the warmth that made its way through his body and eased his sore muscles. He was grateful for the horse being there to remind him of why he loved his job. "Thanks. I think I needed that."

Horses had always been Virgil's magic medicine. His most beautiful childhood memories weren't necessarily of his better days - in fact, most of his most-treasured memories were from the days where all the colours in the world looked muted and dull, Virgil's mind would torture him with things he had no control over, and nothing seemed to go his way. Because those were the days he would spend his evening with a beloved horse to mend his wounds with nothing but his or her presence.

And those were the years Virgil wasn't as much of a depressed anxious mess.

But of course, everything good eventually has to end. For some people, a little too early. And of course Virgil was one of the unluckier bunch. He always was.

Virgil stroked the horse's head, and the horse's nostrils loosened in comfort. His lower lip drooped, a sign of relaxation that was oddly contagious. Virgil's tensed muscles relaxed as well. Perhaps they both needed that.

"Hey!"

The call shattered through their comfortable silence at once. Virgil's eyes snapped up, and he felt the horse tense at the sudden noise. The beautiful moment was over in a flash.

A boy Virgil recognised rushed down the halls towards them; Roman. Virgil's chest tightened.

"Excuse me, that's my horse."

Virgil blinked at the horse beside him - oh crap. Now he recognised him. The deep bay coat that fades into a darker shade of brown towards the neck, the dark mane and the black markings at the lower parts of his legs. He'd seen this horse the other day, led back from the arena by no other than Roman, the freaking star of the stables. Oh, great. Just great.

"I was just petting him," he grumbled.

Something in Roman's gaze tensed up. Virgil couldn't tell why he was so bothered by him greeting the horse, but there was definitely something below the surface.

Roman opened the stall's door and walked in without saying a word. He haltered the horse and led him out, and Virgil took a step back to get out of their way.

What's his problem?

He assumed the two were off to a lesson. Virgil sent the broom that was still leaned against the stall a look of reluctance. He picked it up once again and returned to his task, pulling the hood over his head. 

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