Chapter Text
Virgil blew out an (unnecessary) breath, shifting back and forth between his feet. He checked on the sauce that was simmering on the stove, stirring it as he did so to avoid any burning, then shifted his attention to the clock on the stove. Fifteen more minutes, time to get the pasta water boiling.
He used his telekinesis to open the cupboard, pulling out a pot and setting it in the sink as he turned on the hot water and waited for it to fill. He shifted his attention back to the sauce, hissing and turning the heat down as he noticed it was boiling and not simmering, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
“Hey man, you good?”
He turned around to face Roman, who was standing hesitantly in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Um- yeah, it’s fine,” Virgil muttered. “Just- stressful to do a lot at once.”
Roman nodded. “Your pot’s full, by the way.”
Virgil spun around to the sink, picking the pot up and tipping some of the water out of it. He put it on the stove, turning the heat on underneath it and floating the lid onto it. He blew out a breath, turning back to Roman. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, do you need any help? I’d be happy to if you need.”
Virgil gave him a humorless smile. “I mean, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure what you could do since neither of us can actually touch anything here and you don’t have telekinesis.”
Roman’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “...Oh. Right.”
Virgil laughed slightly at Roman. It’d taken him a few years to adjust to having to use his telekinesis after dying, but Roman hadn’t even been a ghost that long and it must be a completely different adjustment period if you suddenly had no way to interact with the world.
He turned back to the cupboard, slipping out the box of bowtie pasta. He used a knife to open the cardboard flaps - the glue was too stiff, and the cardboard too flimsy, for his powers to separate - and dumped most of the box in the pot. He set the manual timer on the kitchen counter to go off in seven minutes; Logan liked his pasta very al dente. ( Too al dente, in Virgil’s humble opinion, but if Logan liked it he would make it like that.)
“Seriously though, he’ll love it. I promise.” Roman gave Virgil an encouraging smile when he glanced up at him.
“I hope so.” Virgil opened the drawer and grabbed the pasta server, giving the pasta a few stirs to make sure it didn’t all stick to itself. “He’s just been so stressed and busy lately… I wish I could do more to help than just. Make a mediocre pasta sauce.”
Roman laughed gently. “I promise you, this is more than that. This is you showing him that you care for him. This is saying that you’re here to support him, even when you two have never heard each others’ voices. He’ll appreciate that.”
Virgil felt a soft smile spread across his face. “...Thanks.” He glanced at the tomato and meat sauce, stirring it a bit before turning the heat off and covering it to keep it warm.
The two of them stood in silence in the kitchen for a few more minutes before the sound of keys in the front door lock echoed through the apartment. The door opened and shut, a weary sigh from Logan accompanying the rustle of fabric and keys.
“I’m home,” he called. “How were your days?”
Roman glanced behind him. “Patton’s talking to him, you can keep going.”
Virgil nodded in thanks; his telekinesis suddenly failing by Logan entering the same room as him could result in injuries, especially with the hot utensils and pots that were currently floating around the kitchen.
“Virgil’s in here,” Roman called, presumably to Logan. “Uh- just a minute.”
“Of course.”
Virgil couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Logan’s voice. His soulmate’s voice.
He was startled out of his reverie by the insistent beeping of the timer going off. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he muttered, jabbing the tiny stop button with a kabob skewer. He put a strainer in the sink, turned off the heat under the pasta, then floated the pasta pot to the sink and dumped it in.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself, then turned to Roman. “Give me five minutes to get this plated up, then we can have dinner.”
Roman nodded in acknowledgement, then turned outside the door to relay the message to Logan. Virgil tuned out the noise of their talking, carefully arranging the pasta on the plate and attempting to artfully drizzle the sauce over it. It didn’t quite work (it looked more like a child’s rendition of a tree than anything else), but it was the thought that counted, right?
He looked around, getting the last few parts together - a small side salad, because Logan felt strongly about balanced eating, and a glass of wine - before turning to Roman again.
“Does Logan want to come in here and grab everything, or should I set the table for him?”
“He’s in his bedroom right now,” Roman said, “so you can get things set up.”
Virgil nodded, floating the plate, glass, and silverware onto the table. He glanced around one more time, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
“It’ll be great,” Roman reassured him (yet again), reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder before wincing and letting it fall to his side.
He’ll love it, Patton assured him. Now, you should move so he can see us.
Virgil smiled at Patton. Yeah, I know, he signed back. Thanks.
Patton nodded once, then “sat” in his usual place in the chair to Logan’s left. Roman took his usual spot of on top of the empty end of the table (“I’m gay and neurodivergent, I could barely sit normal when I was alive; now that I’m dead there’s no reason for me not to,” had been his argument when Virgil had first protested, and Virgil couldn’t really disagree with that reasoning).
He quickly ducked into the kitchen when he heard Logan’s bedroom door open, taking his usual seat on the floor leaning against the cabinets.
“Oh,” he heard Logan gasp. “I- did Virgil do this?”
There was a pause, when Patton presumably answered.
“I don’t know what to say,” Logan said, and it sounded like he was choking up. “I… thank you, Virgil.”
Virgil gently clattered the strainer in the sink in acknowledgement, and reveled in the warm glow of satisfaction that he felt.