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Only upon getting into the car did Vergil realize the gravity of the situation. And he didn't have any pill on him just then, having left his backpack in the locker.

          But it was relatively all right. From all people, he should be one to know what an upcoming panic attack felt like.

          Vergil felt that he was good for the moment.

          He had meant to sit on the front, but the man pointed to the backseat. Perhaps so that if someone saw them, they'd think Mr. Janitor had been kind enough to offer autistic Vergil a drive home.

          Vergil didn't take much offence in it, but it did kind of ring a bell: the whole deal was very much illegal and they would never be open in public. If there would even be a 'they' in the first place.

          "I'm sorry about the sandwich..."

          The man shrugged slowly and twisted the key to start the car. "I saw during lunch that you didn't eat."

          Vergil breathed out and put a hand on his stomach. "Yes... I wasn't hungry... Still aren't..." he trailed off and then clutched his stomach with crossed arms. Despite not being hungry, it hurt a lot, as if it was eating itself. "Are we going to a restaurant?"

          The man shook his head and twisted the clutch around before starting to back up the car, out of the parking lot. He placed an arm on the seat next to him and turned around to look through the rear window. "My apartment."

          Vergil felt that he was soon to have a panic attack.

          It took a while for the man's words to sink into his skull. He gawked around at the rumbling car, paying no mind to the little details such as the rusty handles or scraped dashboard.

          Of course, his apartment. They couldn't exactly go for a stroll in the park or a table for two without being suspicious.

          The man turned around once the car was backed up, twisted the clutch and started driving inevitably further away from the college.

          Vergil placed both hands on the driver's backrest, gripping nervously. "I- I, um. I thought you lived in the dorms building?"

          "I rarely use that room."

          Vergil nodded slowly, shifting around. "Um..."

          He looked at the rear view mirror to try and search Mr. Janitor's eyes. Dull, grey-blue, void of any spark as always, they barely seemed focused on the road ahead.

          The next second, they were focused on Vergil.

          "Are you scared?"

          Vergil was petrified.

          Play-date at Mr. Janitor's apartment...

          He swallowed the knot in his throat, so huge that he couldn't even begin to try and respond.

          The man looked away, shrugged slowly (as he repeatedly does) and started shifting his fingers through the music cassettes by his side. Vergil watched the two fingers as they paced over the tiny plastic boxes one by one almost tauntingly.

          After several titles such as 'death' 'blood' 'reign' and 'destruction', he eventually settled on 'mass hysteria'. He put the cassette into the cassette player. The man was... antique.

          As the growls and screeches of guitars began, Mr. Janitor started lightly tapping the steering wheel as though it was some elevator music.

          Vergil could almost feel his rib-cage vibrate with the noise.

          "Are you trying to scare me?" he answered the man's question with another. His shaky voice must've given him away, however.

          "It would spare me plenty trouble to scare you. So yes. I'll consider it."

          Vergil shook his head, trying his best to breathe in and out. He wouldn't let himself get scared. He would chase the spark into a blaze of fire.

          "We could just... I know this cafe, me and my friends like to go there... It's always empty except for a nice old couple. They're really nice, but kind of sit there for hours on end murmuring to themselves. They won't care about us, I'm pretty certain they're senile."

          Mr. Janitor hummed, and then spoke ever so slowly, his eyes half-closed. "Give me a decade or two and I'll be senile as well."

          Vergil blinked. "Ah."

          He settled onto the backrest just to try and hide himself somehow. They were on a road that was surrounded by a tunnel of trees, and he started counting the passing trees. But then he snapped out of it as to try and remember the road they took.

          ...just in case...

          "Hmm, it's actually possible that I am already senile." the man murmured, then ran a hand through his hair to pin some strands back into the loose bun. "Yes, I could very well be, taking a kid to my apartment."

          "How do you open these windows?" Vergil said after clearing his throat. There was no button, just a crank. He tried to spin it but couldn't.

          "That one is too rusty. Try the other."

          Vergil scooted rightwards and rolled down the window. He started counting every form of vegetation in sight, giving up the task of remembering the road. If the man did have peculiar intentions, he was as good as gone anyway. A lost cause.

          "What do you call it... cold legs?"

          Vergil glanced his way from the corner of his eyes. "Cold feet... um..."

          No, he's finally gotten this far, against all beliefs. Asking him to drop him home would mean ruining any possible chance of one day... holding his hand... or whatever couples did.

          One thing Vergil knew for certain was, he didn't want the man to keep ignoring him. He loved his presence, his attention, his accent, his gaze... his-

          Vergil's phone started vibrating in his pocket.

          It was a message from Becca.

          "Sorry for bothering you ;D I just can't sit still, oh my GOd, I'm so excited!! How is she? What are you doing? Are you okay did you faint?"

          Vergil sat up and looked from the phone screen to Mr. Janitor.

          Having scooted to the right, with the driver on the left, Vergil could now see his profile clearly. The way stray strands of hair glowed bright in the afternoon light... the way he blinked ever so slowly now and again... the way he kept his elbow on the window frame as to sometimes move the back of his hand to his lips... He'd nibble on his knuckles...

          "I'm great, thanks Becca."

          Vergil loved the man's apartment complex.

          It had a very beautiful little garden in the front, and was hidden from other apartment complex by tall trees and bushes.

          A black, deep crack ran from the very top of the building to its very bottom, slaloming between windows on its way down. Its paint job got scraped away by time, leaving spots of brown, grey, even light blue on its trail. From a few windows, long black smudges leaked downwards like creepy strands of hair.

          It was just as Vergil had imagined it to be.

          "I planted these." Mr. Janitor pointed to the square of flowers that was on the left side of the pathway that led to the entrance.

          Vergil took the time to mentally name each and every kind of flower, at the very peak of their bloom seeing as it was Spring. He knew his fair share of species, some he was impressed to witness grow there. Mr. Janitor must've known what he was doing.

          "That's lovely, really." Vergil said shyly. "Whose are those then?" he pointed to the right.

          The man threw a glance that way as he walked, his back slumped as always. "An old lady's. It's what us old people do."

          Vergil grinned a little. "I think it's nice."

          Mr. Janitor shrugged, slowly. Vergil was an adept of repetitive behaviour, and so he found comfort in the man's tic.

          "It's a way to pass time."

          They entered the building... and then an elevator.

          As one might have deduced by now, Vergil had plenty problems. And, yes, claustrophobia was one of them.

          "Uh... ho-how far up-" he witnessed the man press button 10.

          From all possible floors, he had to live on the last one.

          "Great view."

          With that, Mr. Janitor turned towards the mirror and proceeded to undo his man-bun.

          If Vergil has been struggling to breathe properly the moment they entered the 1x1x2 meters box, he now lost all hope of even trying anymore.

          His hair was thin, ashy blonde and long, going well past his shoulders. He didn't leave it like that for long, having only meant to redo his bun, but Vergil's knees were weak. The little space made it so that he caught a sniff of what it smelt like- nicotine, dust, cleaning supplies.

          With the bun all done, as loose as before (rather counterproductive), he leaned his back on the wall and sighed, eyes closed. Then he raised both arms frontwards, knuckles getting to the other wall (it was a really tiny space), and popped many, many bones with a stretch and yawn.

          Vergil inspected the tattooed arm which nearly brushed his nose. He could now see some of the designs, one of which was a pair of antlers. Upon further inspection, he saw that said antlers were really horns, linked to the head of a goat.

          Or maybe it was just an ugly deer... Vergil could only hope.

          Mr. Janitor finally let his arms slump down. "Are you all right, Vergil?"

          Vergil snapped his head upwards to look him in the eyes. Ah, yes, the bullies had mentioned his nickname several times in front of the janitor back when they killed Jerome The Tiny Cactus. Vergil still mourned once in a while.

          "I'm- I, uh. I get a little overwhelmed by tiny spaces... but, uh, I should be fine."

          The man only hummed. It really seemed tiring for him to talk. Voice low and raspy, like most have in the morning. Vergil then wondered what his voice was like in the morning.

          ...at least the thought helped him get his mind off the tiny box of possible death they were in.

          Not for long. At some point, the movement of escalation decreased considerably.

          Vergil lost his balance and gripped onto the man's blue jumpsuit for dear life, while the elevator continued upwards, squeaking and creaking. Mr. Janitor tensed up a little, placing a hesitant hand on Vergil's shoulder.

          "It was just a rusty bit of cable. I didn't... what do you call it... lubricate the cables in a while."

          Vergil tried to let go of him but couldn't, not until the elevator returned to its normal speed and stopped creaking. He undid his fists one finger at a time and stepped away, blushing madly. He'd left wrinkles on the man's chest.

          They spent the rest of the way up in silence. When it finally came to a stop, Vergil opened both wooden doors and stumbled out of the elevator, breathing for what felt like the first time.

          But then he came to face a wall of glass overlooking the entirety of the city.

          Like the bouquet of problems that he was, Vergil feared heights.

          He spun on his heels and faced the man as he was exiting the elevator. He took his time in closing the door after him. "Let's go please..."

          Mr. Janitor nodded and led the way to a door, blissfully nearby. But then he took his time in unlocking it and Vergil felt like crying. He had the feeling that the huge window behind him would randomly shatter at any time and the building would, in an equally random manner, tilt sideways just enough for him to fall.

          Finally, they were in the apartment.

          Very much like the building, it was what Vergil had imagined. Tiny, old, and very clean but visibly decaying. It must've had a couple rooms, one kitchen and a bathroom. The main room contained a couch and armchair facing not one but two bookshelves. A minuscule TV the size of a toaster was on one of the shelves.

          And then there was the little boy on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces and wooden cubes.

          He glanced up with a look similar to Mr. Janitor's. Blank, that is. "Hi."

          Vergil slumped.

          "Hi." Mr. Janitor returned dully, and then took two steps into the apartment. He glanced at Vergil, then at the kid. "This is my sister's kid, I take care of him today."

Vergil's heart started beating again now that he knew he wasn't the man's kid. But still...

          Play-date.

          Vergil felt frustrated beyond the ability to form coherent sentences, beyond the ability to even salute the boy and present himself. He wanted to turn around, head to the elevator (with his eyes closed as to not face that huge window), go back to the ground floor (with his eyes closed as to pretend he wasn't in a tiny box of possible death) and walk home (he had no idea how to get home).

          He opened his mouth a little. Left it like that.

          Mr. Janitor made his way to the kitchen, stopping in the doorframe to glance back. "I'll cook, yes?"

          Vergil closed his mouth and took off his shoes, taking hesitant steps into the apartment. It was much easier to face the situation now: Mr. Janitor didn't bring him to his place 'like that', he brought him to his place to keep two kids off his shoulders at once.

          As much as he hated the idea and got the urge to avoid the little one at all cost... the way he stacked the cubes drove him nuts second by second. Very poor base, very little balance, the cubes weren't even properly lined up...

          It wasn't even like Vergil had a choice in the matter. He automatically knelt by the kid's side and gave into the impulse to stock things up.

          The little boy, who looked just about old enough to talk, scooted away a little but now and again he'd give a cube or puzzle piece to Vergil. At times he would have the guts to try and move something around, at which Vergil had to resist the urge to strangle him.

          At one point, when all was stacked neatly, Vergil looked at the kid as if for the first time. His hair was so blonde it was nearly white, his eyes so blue they were nearly white and his skin so pale it was nearly white. Unlike most kids, his eyes weren't wide open in curiosity or naivety, but were, much like his uncle's, half closed and dull.

          It was kind of bizarre to see on a kid.

          But it was much easier to deal with than it was to deal with Mr. Janitor. Vergil has always had a connection with kids- after all, his brain was, from multiple points of view, stuck at a young age.

          He still preferred inanimate objects and insects to anything remotely human, though.

          "I'm sleepy."

          Vergil blinked a lot of times before eventually managing an "Uh...". He looked around the room and stood up, then pointed to the couch nearby. "Cartoons?"

          The kid nodded, stood up and ran to the couch with cute tiny hops like kids do. Then he plopped on one side and waited expectantly.

          Vergil messed around with the tiny, tiny TV box until he got to Boomerang. It was very static, both sound and image wise, but to Vergil that was awesome and retro. To the kid it must've been annoying.

          "Is that good?"

          He nodded, hugging a pillow to himself and transforming into a statue. Vergil shrugged. Seemed easy enough having kids.

          With hesitant steps, he walked to the kitchen. The closer he got, the clearer he could hear some sort of bubbly noise.

          Once inside the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was the steaming spaghetti pot. On instinct, he hurried to it and stopped the fire, peeking in. It appeared he got there just in time.

          He looked to the left. In the corner there was a tiny table and a chair, just next to a tall window sunk deeply into the wall. Mr. Janitor had an elbow on the window stool, head on hand, shoulder against the wall, fast asleep.

          His other arm was sprawled on the tiny table, a forgotten cigarette between two fingers. Its ash got so long it was about to fall on the table.

          Vergil approached him with careful steps.

          Leaned in.

          Waved a hand in front of the man's face.

          After a few moments of just observing him: his slightly parted lips, his slowly heaving chest, his man-bun that was maybe minutes away from getting undone, what with the hair-tie so loose... Vergil took his cigarette away, so that he wouldn't get burned.

          Noticing that the cigarette only had about a centimeter or two left, Vergil smoked the last bit of it. Then, he put it out in the ashtray while making sure to blow the smoke towards the ajar window.

          No, not many knew- in fact, no one knew that Vergil smoked. One look at him and you'd say he didn't even drink sodas. But once was old enough to understand the general concept that cigars calm people down, he bought himself a pack with gathered lunch money and it proved to be true. He was 12 years old.

          It had to be one of the reasons he didn't grow taller, he deduced.

          But who could really blame Vergil? Hell, it was probably healthier than taking a cocktail of pills daily. Easier, too. From just a smoke or two he'd feel his head get three times lighter. A low, distant buzz would drown out the noise of his thoughts- ah, the thoughts of an autistic mind, have you ever been in a room with radios glued to the walls and ceiling and floor, each and every one on a different station? That room was Vergil's mind.

          He didn't even know what it was anymore: ADHD, schizophrenia, egocentricity, he just knew he had autism and everything wrong with him was a symptom. The random thought-tsunamis, too.

          Mr. Janitor heard the soft tsss of the cigarette going out, though he hadn't heard the boiling water. Bizarre, or just Vergil's luck.

          He opened his eyes and frowned, blinking confused. He didn't move from his slump, only rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. He raised his hand to his mouth only to touch his lips, nothing in between his fingers.

          "I- I'm so sorry, it was going to go out anyway so I put it out..."

          The man sat up slowly. "It smells like second-hand smoke."

          Vergil moved away from the table and started playing with the sleeves of his plain brown long-sleeve t-shirt. "Sorry."

          The man shrugged slowly and shook his head even slower. "No, you're past 18, it's whatever."

          Vergil didn't know how to lie, so he just turned around and gawked at the wall, trying not to blurt out that he still had months before turning 18. "I'll help set the table."

          "Thanks. I'll go change my clothes."

          Once the kid was done with his plate, he went straight back to the television, seeing as the meal had interrupted his episode and the TV was way too old to have a pause option.

          That left Vergil and Mr. Janitor alone at the tiny table meant for one. Vergil had been surprised to see he's had enough chairs. None matched the other, so he must've somehow gathered them along the years.

          "So... You're not, uh."

          Vergil eyed the man's cigarette -that he'd lighted up two seconds after finishing his meal- and fidgeted around. He felt like asking for one, but he never asked for things, he was shy like that.

          Mr. Janitor must've saw it on his face and simply flicked the box of cigarettes his way. It slid across the table and Vergil caught it just before it fell.

          "Thank yo-"

          "You're not doing this to impress me, yes?"

          Vergil sighed, shaking his head. "It helps me, um, loosen up. Thank you, I know they're expensive..."

          The man shrugged slowly. No, the shrugging never got old. "I don't spend my money on much else. I find no pleasure in, uh. Materialism."

          Vergil sketched a smile. The two bookshelves must've been the core of his rather impressive English vocabulary. Still, his accent butchered the terms since he must've rarely said them out loud. He also had problems with simple, basic terms that people use in conversations and not in books.

          After taking two drags of smoke, Vergil rubbed his throat absent-mindedly and then tapped the ash into the ashtray. He felt the buzz kick in enough to tie a full sentence together.

          "I was saying... You're not interested, then?"

          The man raised his eyelids a little. Just enough to catch some of the sunset outside. A very pretty sight, indeed, now that the window wasn't big enough to pose a threat to Vergil.

          "Interested in what?"

          "Me." Vergil said right away. However, his free hand just tore his sleeve a little bit. "You only wanted me to baby-sit."

          The man's eyelids lowered once more. "I never said I was interested. I said 'play-date'."

          Vergil looked to his lap, placing a hand on his now full belly. Not fully full, he was still very much nervous about being in the man's apartment.

          "You don't like boys?"

          Mr. Janitor placed his chin on his hand and rubbed his jaw. Smoke was starting to steadily pool up the kitchen. The sunset light made him seem a tad younger. Its orange glow gave more color to his hair and skin, while accentuating the shadows of his cheeks in a most aesthetic manner.

          "Do you like boys?" he asked, tilting his head. With the movement, his man-bun finally got undone. Blonde hair cascaded over a plain black short-sleeve t-shirt, far too large for him, that went well enough with black sweatpants.

          Yes, seeing him in something other than a blue jumpsuit kicked Vergil's insides around. The man looked incredibly well for his age, he had to be doing some sport or another. The tattoos helped plenty, too.

          He must've not even noticed the hair-tie had fallen, for he didn't move to fix it back. Vergil took a long, long drag of smoke.

          "I like you..." Vergil replied.

          Mr. Janitor looked downwards to tap the ash off his cigarette. He must've then noticed the blonde strands, a big contrast on his black shirt, for he picked up the hair-tie and redid the man-bun. He just wouldn't cut Vergil any slack: he looked just as good that way.

          "And I like cats. But I don't go chasing them down the street." he squinted his eyes a little, leaning on both elbows, arms crossed on the table. "Not when sober."

          "Haha... Well... There's a difference."

          "Is there?"

          "Yes... You're not an animal."

          "I could very well be."

          Vergil glanced his way shyly. "You're just saying that."

          Mr. Janitor was too slow in his movements, too distant in his gaze, too far away. Not an animal, whatever he meant by that. "You're still trying to scare me."

          The man blinked slowly. "If I wanted to scare you I would."

          Vergil was scared to the marrow of his bones.

          It was just the way he said it.

          "You're just saying that."

          For the longest time, the older man moved none. Hunched over the arms crossed on the table, eyes getting further and further away as more smoke started to flood up the tiny space.

          Then he finished his cigarette and sighed out smoke, eyes finally lost.

          "I'll drive you home."

I just re-read this story before posting this. I love your guy's comments, please never stop, I must have one of the most hilarious fanbases on wattpad.

I'm not even being a suck up, it's the truth!

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