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averykedavra · 3 years

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wherever we are (it feels like home)

Good evening, I am exhausted and here is a fic for my friend @rain-bound because Rain asked for prinxiety and I decided to deliver, three weeks later, at ten at night. Enjoy this self-indulgent hurt/comfort, because I’m about to collapse into bed and sleep for seventy years. You’re the best, Rain <3

(Title from End of the Earth by MARINA. This fic is on Ao3 here!)

Words: 8463

Pairing: Romantic Prinxiety

Warnings: lots of angst for both Virgil and Roman, mentions of the other Sides but they don’t appear, self-deprecation, anxiety and borderline panic attacks, self-hatred, identity issues, crying, and kissing

Three days.

That’s how long it took for Virgil to mess it all up. Three freaking days.

Honestly, he wasn’t even that surprised--if there was one thing he was good at, it was messing stuff up. Thomas had the chance of a lifetime. The person of a lifetime. Virgil had done something good, something brave, and now Thomas had a date.

It was too good to be true.

So he’d messed it up.

They’d been texting, and Thomas had sent a text where the tone was way off--like, way off, like Nico-probably-hated-them-off, and yeah, it was a bit hasty to say that after one text but--but then Thomas tried to apologize and hit send before he was done--and then Nico called them--and Thomas couldn’t talk on the phone, he’d sound stupid and what would he say and no--

Virgil made Thomas deny the call.

The call from Nico. Who knew they had their phone with them. Who knew they weren’t busy.

When Thomas stopped the ringing, a deafening silence filled the room.

He hadn’t even called Nico back--Logan said something about calming down, which was fair, because Virgil was hyperventilating in the corner. Logan counted with him. Logan steadied him.

Logan said it was okay. That one mistake, especially one so small, wouldn’t jeopardize everything. Logan said that things wouldn’t always be so fragile. They’d fall into a rhythm. And for now, they’d fix things.

Virgil tried to breathe. Tried to believe him.

And still knew he’d come so terrifying close to losing everything.

It was so easy. That’s what they’d all learned that day. If Virgil messed up, just a bit, their relationship went down the drain. It wasn’t the point that things got fixed, that Thomas apologized and everyone moved on--that didn’t replace how delicate things were, how everyone was newly aware that this whole thing could shatter if Virgil stepped wrong.

If any of them stepped wrong. But Virgil, it was obvious, was the weak link.

Virgil was going to ruin this.

Of course you’re not, Patton said. Patton said it wasn’t his fault, that they’d all panicked. Patton said he was doing great.

That’s illogical, Logan said. Logan said anyone could have made the same mistake. Logan said Virgil had helped so much already.

Janus hadn’t said anything--Janus had been hanging around a bunch recently, which Virgil wasn’t really on board with, though he hadn’t given Virgil an excuse to yell at him yet--but he’d given Virgil a slow nod.

Thanks, Thomas said when everything was said and done that afternoon. Always keeping me on my toes, Virgil. I appreciate it.

And that would have been enough. It would have been way more than enough.

But there was Roman.

Roman, who was already infatuated with Nico. Roman, who grabbed Virgil’s hands and spun him around that first day, laughing, smiling so much that Virgil’s heart could have burst. Roman, who’d said this is it, called it their newest chance at happiness, and told Virgil he was brave.

Roman cared so deeply about this. He’d been so quiet recently, so hesitant, and it made Virgil burn with a worry he didn’t recognize. The kind of worry, the kind of care, that made Virgil warm and energized and terrified for someone other than himself.

He didn’t really know what that meant. He’d probably be able to figure it out if he thought about it. He decided not to think about it.

Roman. That was all he needed to know. Roman.

Roman, who had ignored him all day, who had picked at his food and not spoken to anyone, who had flinched when Virgil said his name before mumbling something and excusing himself.

Roman, who was upset with him.

That realization made Virgil feel like he was breathing in shards of glass. He’d retreated to his room, done some breathing exercises, and tried to think through it. Roman was mad about what had happened, Virgil knew it--maybe he thought Virgil didn’t care as much as he did. Which was so wrong. Virgil cared just as much as Roman did, because Roman did.

Maybe he thought Virgil did it on purpose. Maybe he was just angry that another chance could be wasted because Virgil couldn’t stop messing everything up.

Virgil was terrified.

Virgil was worried.

Virgil was worried that Roman was not okay. Against all his better judgment, he wanted to ask Roman how Roman felt.

And Virgil was terrified to confirm that Roman hated him--terrified he might make things worse--terrified to see Roman would turn him away--because anyone’s scorn would hurt him but Roman--Roman. Virgil couldn’t think of anything worse than Roman being upset with him.

Well, actually, he could.

Roman being upset.

Roman was upset. And even though Virgil was scared, that didn’t matter right now, because Virgil needed to do something.

That something was apologize. Virgil needed to apologize. And Roman could do whatever afterwards. Virgil’d be fine with Roman hating him afterwards as long as Roman knew he was sorry.

Maybe that’d help. Maybe that wouldn’t. Maybe Virgil didn’t care, because he was done standing by.

Roman had called him brave.

He was going to be brave.

That night, after everyone was asleep or doing a good enough job of pretending to be, Virgil crept down the hall to Roman’s room.

He should have come earlier. Roman was probably asleep, too. But Virgil was nocturnal by this point, and he’d only just managed to work up the courage, and he’d lose it again if he waited a second longer.

Okay, he was already losing his courage. He could feel it slipping away, replaced by panic-anxiety-fear-worry that made him dig his hands deeper into his pockets and take a few strangled breaths. This was fine. This was fine! He would check up on Roman, apologize, and hopefully not be told that he was a terrible friend. Yeah. Yeah!

“Yeah,” Virgil told himself, his voice sounding off in the darkened hallway. “Knock. Come on.”

Slowly, he forced one hand out of his hoodie and balled it in a fist. He took another deep breath. It made his head spin.

This was a terrible idea.

But he was going to be brave right now, and he was going to check on Roman, and--and whatever was going to happen would happen. Nothing he could do about it.

Virgil held his breath and knocked once.

He tried to keep it to a gentle tap--’cause maybe he’d have plausible deniability, say he bumped the door while going to bed, and maybe Roman wouldn’t hear it at all and Virgil could just go back to his room and pretend everything was fine--but Virgil swore the sound echoed three times around the hallway. He pressed himself into the shadows and waited for someone’s door to open. Nobody came to check on him. They were all asleep.

Like Roman probably was. And now Virgil was going to disturb him, wake him up, and Roman always complained about losing beauty sleep--what was Virgil doing--

Helping a friend.

Virgil knocked again, louder, and resisted the strong impulse to curl into a ball and hide.

There was a long, dark, silence.

Virgil could run. He could just--he could just run, bolt for his room, and say it was a prank from Remus if anyone asked--

“Who is it?”

Virgil’s breath caught. Roman’s voice was sleepy but sharp, and he heard Roman walk towards the door. The knob turned.

Run.

This was Roman. Roman was fine. Roman was safe--Virgil knew he was safe. Roman wouldn’t hurt him.

Virgil stayed still.

The door cracked open. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Virgil forced out.

Roman’s head peeked around the door. He had a severe case of bedhead, with hair flopping over his eyes and pushed up at the back like he’d run his fingers through it. Virgil found that ridiculously adorable.

“Virgil!” Roman said, and for a second, he seemed about to smile. Then it faded. Then it was just Roman, blinking tiredly at Virgil with bags under his eyes, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “What do you need?”

“I, um--” Virgil had prepared a quick speech for this. He couldn’t remember a word of it. It--it included the word ‘and,’ right? Definitely ‘and.’ Maybe ‘but,’ too. “I--I know it’s really late, and I’m sorry, but--” There! Nailed it. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Hmm?” Roman seemed to shake himself all the way awake. His mouth drew tighter. “Talk about what?’

Virgil hesitated. “Nico.”

“Nico,” Roman repeated. “Nico?”

“Nico,” Virgil agreed. He probably sounded so stupid, just parroting Roman, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. “So can I--is this a good time--of course it’s not, you’re asleep, but--”

“I--actually, I was awake, it’s alright.” Roman pulled the door a little wider. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Virgil nodded, swallowed, and let Roman lead the way into his room.

The only lights were a string of fairy lights and a lamp by the desk. They cast a dim golden glow over the room, leaving the red as ashy shadows and the white as creamy dust. Virgil stumbled over something on the floor, and when he looked down, he saw several piles of clothes and bits of paper strewn across the floorboards. The carpet was kicked to the side. Virgil straightened it automatically, and saw a stain in one corner, and a worn patch that dragged over the boards in a way that suggested it was a few days from falling apart.

Outside the window, Roman had chosen a city skyline--dots of white and red filling the sky, lights strung along the buildings like square beads, airplanes blinking their way from place to place. If Virgil breathed in deep, he could smell Roman in this room, like always. Roman smelled like fresh paper. Like rose petals. Like cinnamon. Like something warm and cozy, and Virgil could never get enough of it.

Roman gave Virgil a strange look, and Virgil frantically tried to look like he hadn’t just been smelling Roman’s room like a total creep.

“Sit down, if you’d like,” Roman said, collapsing onto the bed and kicking his legs onto the pillows. Virgil hesitantly perched on the desk chair. Several notebooks spilled across the desk itself, and Virgil quickly looked away. It felt weird to see Roman’s stuff like this--it always did.

Virgil loved Roman’s room, but it wasn’t where he belonged. It was Roman’s space. Virgil was just a visitor--an intruder--an unwelcome guest who ruined the smell of parchment and clashed with the red on the walls.

Virgil loved Roman’s room, but Roman’s room didn’t love him back.

“So,” Roman said, and Virgil realized Roman had been watching him. In the shadows, Virgil couldn’t pick out Roman’s expression--and that set him on edge in a way he didn’t expect, because he knew Roman, and he’d at least banked on being able to read him. Now? Roman could be angry. Roman could be tired. Roman could be any number of things, and Virgil couldn’t tell.

Virgil took a deep breath for like the twentieth time that night and tried really, really hard not to panic.

Roman’s room did make it easier. It was relaxing that way. Maybe it was a thing like Virgil’s room making people more anxious, a side effect of Roman’s power. Maybe it was just because it was Roman’s. Either way, Virgil found that if he tried--if he really tried, and didn’t think about anything except, like, cupcakes--he could avoid entirely breaking down.

Great. Now he had to actually talk.

“So,” Virgil said, an embarrassingly long time after Roman had spoken, but too late to worry about that now. “Um--Nico?”

“Yep, we’ve...we’ve established that one, stormcloud,” Roman said, a touch of fondness in his voice. “We’ve made that clear. Next we go into details.”

“Details. Yeah.” Virgil nodded way too fast. “Cool. So--um.”

“Are you going to talk, or…” Roman laughed a bit. It was a short, sharp laugh, but it was soft enough to make Virgil relax a bit. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I did figure you called this little meeting for a reason, emo.”

“I did,” Virgil protested. “I just--ugh, I don’t know where to start, I--” He looked around. “Um--how are you?”

“What?” Roman was quiet for a second. “I’m...quite princely and glittery, as usual, why do you ask?”

“You--you sure?” Virgil scuffed his toe into the carpet. If Roman wasn’t okay, that was something to talk about--that was maybe a reason he’d avoided Virgil that wasn’t anger--and Virgil was such a coward. Why’d Roman ever call him brave? “Your, um--your room’s a bit of a mess.”

“I suppose I must admit that,” Roman agreed, sitting up and giving the floor a betrayed look. “I’ve been so wrapped up in projects that I’ve hardly had time to clean up.”

“You could have asked one of us,” Virgil said. “I could have, y’know, swept the place a bit. Cleaning’s, like, relaxing for me. I know you don’t really like people in your room, though.”

Roman’s eyebrows came together. “Who told you that?”

“No one?” Virgil blinked. “I just--I mean, I guess I just assumed--”

A sinking feeling in his stomach told him that of course Roman liked other people in his room. He just didn’t like Virgil.

“Forget it,” Virgil mumbled. “Just--yeah.”

He could feel that Roman was watching him. He curled into his hoodie and wondered if he tried hard enough, he could get swallowed up by the shadows.

This was a disaster.

And it could have been better--he’d know what to say if this was Logan, or Patton, or even Janus--but this was Roman. Roman. Roman, who was--he was--

Ugh.

“We need to talk,” Virgil blurted out. Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it. They needed to talk. To get this over with. Even if it hurt. “I--I’m really nervous about this, ‘cause obviously, but--” Why’d he say that? To get pity points? Now Roman would be forced to feel bad for him. “--but it’s not a big deal--I mean, it is, but--”

“Virgil.”

Virgil jerked his head up. Roman had turned on another lamp. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, expression achingly soft.

“What?” Virgil asked, all his haunches raised, all his guards up.

“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do this.” Roman swallowed. “I know it’s--it’s an emotional conversation, and if you would rather Patton or Logan be here--or if you’d like to wait?”

Virgil could wait.

But Virgil needed to--

“We need to talk now,” Virgil said. “I--I won’t have the guts to do it otherwise, I’m sorry--”

“Alright,” Roman said. Virgil thought he saw Roman sink a bit, though. “That works. Take your time, okay? Keep breathing.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. He tried not to feel optimistic about the fact that Roman cared enough to keep him from panicking. Roman could care about him and still be mad--or Roman could just want Virgil to be calm enough for the conversation to happen all at once. Which didn’t really make sense, but Virgil wasn’t about to hope, wasn’t about to try and erase the past days of Roman being upset with him.

With Roman being upset.

If this made Roman feel better, it was worth it.

“So,” Virgil said. And told himself this time--finally--he’d get it right. “We want to talk about Nico?”

“Nico,” Roman agreed, something soft and sad crossing his face.

“He’s--” Virgil fought for words. “He’s--he’s so good, yeah? He’s great. Thomas really likes him, and so do I--I really like him, Roman.”

“I know,” Roman said. Softly. Too softly, and Virgil was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “He’s wonderful.”

“Yeah!” Virgil said. Loudly. Too loudly. His voice echoed through Roman’s room--and he noticed that, unlike all the other times he’d been here, there wasn’t any music playing.

Okay, yeah, it was late. But--it made Virgil’s heart clench a bit, it made his hands jam further into his pockets, and it made him kick at the floor with more vehemence. It was another thing that was wrong--piled onto everything else, onto the shadows and the crumpled papers and everything from the door to the windows. Everything was wrong. Was it wrong because Virgil was there, messing it up? Or had something been wrong from the start?

Patches of light, gold and white and red, skidded over Virgil’s jacket. From the window, from the lamps, from the fairy lights high above. They bled through the purple patches and turned them an ugly shade of brown.

“Nico’s great,” said Virgil, slowly, quietly. Like he didn’t want to disrupt something. “And--and Thomas messed up a bit, the other day.”

I messed up, he didn’t finish with. Roman would know.

“He did,” Roman said, voice tight.

“And that’s--I think that’s maybe a sign that--” Virgil waved a hand, felt self-conscious about said hand existing, and shoved it back into his hoodie. “Look, I like Nico. So much. And I really think we can do this if we try--I mean, I hope so, I really hope so--”

“We can,” Roman interrupted. “We have to make this work.”

“Right. Yeah.” Virgil took a breath. “So--”

“So we’ll work harder.” Roman waved a hand at Virgil. “We’re--we can do this, we’re ready, if Thomas is ready than we’re ready! All of us!”

“I’m not saying we’re not ready,” Virgil said. “I’m saying we need to be careful.”

The brief passion in Roman’s eyes faded again. “I know.”

“So--so--” Virgil tried to force himself to stick words together. He should apologize. He should say sorry and let Roman figure out what to do next, but it was shadowy and cold and smelling of red paint and parchment and Virgil was lost.

“I know,” Roman said again. He sounded tired. It was late--and he’d been awake--and he sounded exhausted--and he hadn’t been planning to sleep, he’d said he had trouble sleeping--and Virgil felt like he was grasping at puzzle pieces, trying to pull the shadows and lights into something coherent. He felt vaguely dizzy. His stomach churned. Maybe it was Roman’s room making him see all these dots to connect, filling him with the worst kind of imagination.

“It’ll be okay,” Virgil said. To Roman? To himself? To someone, anyway.

Roman curled into himself, just a bit. “I don’t know.”

Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, actually. I--me neither.”

A long silence. Imaginary airplanes skidded over the skyline, and Virgil wished he could go on one of them, fly far away from here. And take Roman, if he was willing--take Roman and steal him away from all this and keep him happy and safe--they could both be safe. And they could see the world.

“So,” Virgil said, slowly, for the seventh or eighth time, like that’d drag the conversation to its conclusion. “I know you’ve been avoiding us--”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Roman interrupted. Too fast. Too vehement. Roman was definitely lying, and Virgil hated how bad that made him feel.

“I know you have,” Virgil said, hating even more the defensive edge his voice gained. “I know you’ve been avoiding me, and--and if you’re cool with that, I’m cool with that, but--”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Roman lied again. Barely trying this time, like he didn’t care if Virgil saw through it. “I’ve just been a bit wrapped up in projects, Stormy Knight, I promise it wasn’t--”

“Princey, c’mon.” Something about the familiar nickname gave Virgil courage. “I don’t mind. I get it! It’s...it’s justified, it was all a mess a few days ago, it’s--if I’m being honest, it’s been a mess this whole time, and--and you can take as much time as you need to figure stuff out on your end. Or--or maybe there’s nothing to figure out, maybe it’s not like that, but--” Virgil was rambling again. He knotted his hands together and focused on the texture of his jacket. “Maybe you--maybe you’ve already made up your mind, maybe this can’t really be fixed, but--”

Everything was a mess. Everything was coming out all wrong and Virgil needed to say something that made sense. His head was spinning with lights and shadows and the smell of roses. He was sure he was tilting forward in the chair. It was late at night. He was running on adrenaline and guilt. He was trying and he didn’t know if Roman got it--if Roman understood that Virgil was sorry, that Virgil would try to be better, and that Roman could be angry as long as he liked, but Virgil was here for him and didn’t want him to be upset--

There! There was what to say! So why couldn’t Virgil say it out loud?

“I’m--this is coming out wrong,” Virgil blurted out. “I’m really not making any sense, am I?”

“I think I’ve put the bigger pieces together,” Roman said.

“Which pieces?”

Roman gave Virgil a sharp look and Virgil wilted. The look softened.

“I can tell you what I’ve got so far,” Roman suggested. “How about that? And then, if I’ve got it wrong, you can correct me. I can ask questions if I’m confused. Does that work?”

Virgil almost collapsed with relief. Yeah. He could do that.

“Sure,” he said. “Shoot, Princey.”

“You’re talking about what happened a few days ago,” Roman said. “When Thomas made a bit of a mistake with Nico. And--and in general, all the bumps we’ve had in the road here, you know? It hasn’t exactly been the smoothest of rides.”

“It hasn’t,” Virgil admitted. “And yeah, that’s--what I was talking about.”

“Good!” Roman looked almost pleased with himself, and Virgil suppressed a smile. “So--we have to work from here, right? We have to figure out--you know, who’s helping and who’s not, and how we can work together. And make sure we’re all clear about--” Something passed over his face. “Who’s not necessarily meant to play a huge role, if we want this to work.”

Virgil balled his fists. “Yeah.”

“We both care about Thomas,” Roman said, a sad smile crossing his face. “I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you. I’ve merely been thinking things through a bit. Nico’s so wonderful, and Thomas deserves him, and it’ll take work for this to become something real.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said numbly.

“So we need to start figuring stuff out on our own ends, and finding out who’s helpful with that and who’s detrimental.” The lights played off Roman’s face as he leaned onto his knees and stared at the floor. “What mistakes can be worked with, and what mistakes are a symptom of something else--and Virgil, I’m so sorry.”

“You--” Virgil felt a strange cold streak pass through his chest, like a comet, an airplane sliding through the sky. “You’re sorry? You don’t--Princey, you don’t have to be--”

“Of course I do!” Roman burst out. “I--you tried so hard to make this happen, you put yourself out there and risked everything for him! I--I gave up, and you kept fighting, and for what? For me to--to ruin everything we’ve built? I’m sorry, I’m trying, and--and I’m really not meant for this, Virgil, I don’t think I am--”

“Meant for--” The cold feeling had spread to Virgil’s whole body now, numbing his fingers. “You’re--Roman, what--”

“I’m sorry,” Roman said again. Like that was an explanation. And his voice cracked in the middle, and it made Virgil want to cry, and he didn’t know what was happening--

“Roman,” Virgil forced out. His voice was raspy. “Roman, what are you talking about? Why are you sorry?”

“I--what?” Roman blinked at him. “Pardon? Why--why wouldn’t I be sorry?”

“Because you didn’t do anything?” Virgil’s voice pitched upwards incredulously. “What are you even saying--I came in here ‘cause you’re mad at me, I’m trying to--”

“Mad at you?” Roman repeated, and apparently it was Roman’s turn to look completely flabbergasted. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“‘Cause I messed up!” Virgil burst out. “I messed up, I almost ruined everything, I’m just so scared I’m gonna take this away from you--and you need it, you deserve it, and I’m trying to get it for you--but I’m not good at this, I’m not good--I’m really sorry, Princey--I promise I’m gonna try--”

“Virgil,” Roman said quietly, and for some reason that made Virgil stop talking immediately. “You--what?”

“I came in here to say sorry,” Virgil said, probably sounding pathetic, but he was confused and tired and three seconds from crying. “I--I’m sorry. There. I don’t know why--why it took me so long to say it.”

“You’re sorry--” Roman looked completely bewildered, but there was concern in there--aching concern that made the lump in Virgil’s throat grow bigger. “You’re sorry--Virgil, I promise you’ve done nothing wrong! I’m not mad at you!”

“You--” Virgil repeated the words in his head. No way he’d just heard that. “You--aren’t?”

“No!” And now Roman looked seriously upset. “You thought I was--Virgil, you’ve done wonderfully during all this, you’re an absolute star, I still can’t believe you made this happen--except I can, quite honestly, I always knew you had it in you--”

Virgil stared at him, mouth open.

“I’m not mad at you,” Roman finished, his voice almost pleading. “I promise. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Oh,” Virgil forced out. It didn’t cover anything. It didn’t cover the way he wanted to cry, or laugh, or hug Roman tight and bury his face in Roman’s shoulder and--

“Oh,” Virgil said again.

“You’re doing so good,” Roman whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. A third time. Because he was going to cry.

Roman gave him a soft smile. “You’re my hero.”

And okay--okay, Roman couldn’t just--he couldn’t just--

Before Virgil could stop himself, he raced over to Roman and tackled him in a hug.

Roman made a surprised noise that turned into a coo as he reached up and steadied Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil tightened his grip around Roman and considered burying his head in Roman’s shoulder, like he’d dreamed of--Roman was so solid, and smelled really nice, and maybe Virgil could just fall asleep here, spend the night in Roman’s room and not worry about anything else--

“You alright over there, emo nightmare?” Roman asked, his voice rumbling in Virgil’s chest. “Anything you need?”

And, oh yeah, this was Roman. Virgil had just tackle-hugged Roman.

Virgil quickly pushed himself out of Roman’s arms, falling into a heap on the bed next to him.

“Whoa, hey, where’s the fire?” Roman laughed, but his eyes were still wide with concern. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Yes. No. More than ever. It’s never been and Virgil wouldn’t know how to handle it if it was.

“You--” Virgil had something he wanted to say. Besides the sorry. Because--because Roman--

“Me,” Roman agreed, giving Virgil a dorky little smile.

And, okay, not fair, now Virgil was distracted by cute. Virgil swatted at him and hissed, and Roman laughed a bit. It was great. It was normal. It was--

It was too normal.

It was the kind of normal Virgil didn’t trust. ‘Cause a minute ago, they’d been staring at each other and Roman had been--

Apologizing.

Hold on.

“Roman,” Virgil said slowly. “What was all that about?”

“What?” Roman blinked at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, lightning bug.”

Virgil fought a flush at the nickname. He swore Roman was doing that on purpose--trying to distract him, turn this on Virgil, but Virgil wasn’t going to lose track of things again. Virgil was going to actually, like, talk about things.

Virgil was such a mess.

Especially late at night, especially while upset, and this was just a cocktail of terrible ideas. And who knew what was going on with Roman? Who knew if Roman was really not okay or if he was fine and Virgil was reading too much into things or--

Only one to find out, though, right?

Bravery.

Virgil looked at Roman. “I’m worried about you.”

There. There it really was. And honestly--under all the guilt, the panic, the self-doubt--this was what Virgil had wanted to say, all along.

Roman, for his part, looked like Virgil had struck him in the face. It took him a few tries to speak. “And may I ask why?”

“You were, like, apologizing earlier,” Virgil said. “You were saying--like, like you thought I was here to yell at you, to say you did something wrong--and I don’t even get that, like what the heck have you done--”

“What haven’t I done?” Roman fired back, and Virgil would mistake it for teasing if it weren’t for the tightness in his mouth and the way he inched away from Virgil on the bed.

“You’ve--you’re Thomas’ romantic side,” Virgil said. “You’re the reason he likes Nico, you’re the one who’s making this work, it’s all you--”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Roman snapped.

Virgil hated the way he flinched.

“I--” Roman looked instantly regretful. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just--”

“It’s fine,” Virgil said. And he took a deep breath. And it was. “I’m saying you’re important. You’re valuable.”

“I know,” Roman said.

“You’re the reason this is happening!”

“I know.”

“Without you, it doesn’t work--”

“I know.”

“We can’t do this without you!”

“Well, maybe you should!”

Virgil flinched again. But not because Roman was too loud--and it was so much better with Roman, it wasn’t perfect and maybe not even that great but it was better, Virgil could take a breath and move forward--but because of Roman’s face. Twisted. Tight. Eyes sparkling in the lights, fists balled on his pajamas, and the way he tried to smile when Virgil looked. He tried to--to smile.

Virgil hated that. So much.

“Roman,” Virgil said, as softly as he could. “We...we need you, we--”

“Yeah, and I’ve been doing a swell job of helping you guys,” Roman said, and that was bitterness, that was a shade of bitter that Virgil had never heard in his life. He hated that, too. “I appreciate the sentiment, Virgil, but I also have to recognize that I’ve hardly been the best at helping Thomas recently--”

“I need you, then.” Virgil didn’t know where the words were coming from. “You know what? Screw Thomas. I’m not talking about him. I need you. I can’t--I’m doing all this for you, Roman. You get that, right? I--you want this, you want this so badly, and so I’m trying to make this happen.” Virgil let out a little laugh that could have been a sob. “And I’m failing. And I’m getting stuck. ‘Cause it’s me. But Roman--Roman, if you need me to, I will keep trying. I will do as much as you need me to.” Virgil choked on something that was definitely a sob. “Because you deserve something good right now. You deserve to be happy.”

Roman was staring at Virgil. Roman was staring and something in him was trembling. Shaking. Coming apart in the shadows and slipping away in the lights.

“And I’m sorry,” Virgil finished. “I’m sorry I’m not doing great at it--and I’m sorry I never told you all this, ‘cause you didn’t know--ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you didn’t know, I didn’t see that you--”

“Virgil,” Roman said, voice choked. “Virgil, you--you don’t have to do any of this. You know that, right? You don’t have to make this work for me--to try and be nice--to be here, right now--”

“But I want to.” Virgil shook his head. “Ro, I want to, so much--this is what I want. I want to help. And you...you need help right now.”

Roman flinched a bit, just enough for Virgil to notice. “I don’t--can’t we wait until morning? I’m always incoherent at night, this is all a bit of a melodramatic moment--”

“Nope,” Virgil said firmly. “We’re not gonna dance around this one, okay? I’ve done enough of that. You’re not--you’re so not okay, and I get the feeling I’m only seeing, like, one quarter of it. And you don’t have to hide that.”

Roman was quiet. His eyes followed the seams of the quilt.

“Hey. Look at me.” Virgil hesitantly placed a hand on Roman’s. “It’s okay. I promise. Talk to me--cry, scream, whatever. But do something. We can’t have any kind of true lo--any kind of...anything. If the relationship isn’t built on truth.”

Roman looked up, slowly, and Virgil saw that his eyes were watering.

Virgil couldn’t help the little noise he made. ‘Cause Roman wasn’t meant to look like that. Like he expected Virgil to turn on him and yell. Like he was trying to disappear into the shadows before anyone could know he was there.

“I don’t--” Roman wiped at his eyes. “Virgil, I don’t know--I can’t--I’m not--”

“What aren’t you?” Virgil asked.

“I’m not what I’m supposed to be!” Roman burst out, and then he was rambling, hands flying. “I’m not productive, I’m not able to focus on anything, I never get stuff done on time--Zeus knows I’m not organized, I’m not serious enough--I’m not creative--and I’m not--I’m not good, I’m not the hero, I’m not the perfect prince and you all need me to be that but I’m not--I’m not anything!”

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, and he shook his head, over and over. “Roman, no, I promise that’s so, so wrong--”

“Then what am I?” Roman challenged, eyes sparkling and voice so brittle. He was seconds from breaking. Virgil was watching his best friend--his everything--break apart, and Virgil should have been frantic. Virgil should have been trying to put the pieces back together before everything comes crashing down.

Virgil took a deep breath.

“Roman,” he said slowly, “do you want a hug?”

“I--” Roman looked like nobody had ever asked that question in his life. “I--if you’re okay with--”

Virgil opened his arms and gave Roman a little nod.

Roman’s hug was stiff. Roman’s hug was cold. Roman’s hug would have lasted about three seconds if Virgil hadn’t wrapped an arm around Roman’s shoulders to keep him there.

“I’m okay with it,” Virgil told him, quietly. “And jeez, Princey, you’re acting like I’m holding a gun to your head. Relax.”

Roman did not relax.

“It’s okay,” Virgil said. Even softer. “It’s okay, I promise it’s okay, it’s so messed up right now but we’re gonna figure this out, I promise--”

Roman trembled, just a bit, in Virgil’s grasp. Virgil shifted slightly until he was leaned against the headboard, and Roman was crumpled in his arms.

“Stop trying to hug me,” Virgil said gently. “It’s messing everything up. I’m hugging you right now--you can hug me later, you dork.”

Roman didn’t move. Virgil carefully slipped him off Virgil’s shoulder and pulled him to his chest instead. Roman--Roman was so small, and it made Virgil wonder how Roman could be so firm and solid and still so small in his arms.

Roman’s head was tucked under Virgil’s now. Virgil had the urge to press a kiss on top of it. He settled for running a hand through Roman’s hair, enjoying the fluffy texture and detangling some of the knots. Bedhead. When was the last time Roman slept?

“I don’t know,” Roman said, when Virgil asked him. “I--I don’t know much, Virge.”

“What do you know?” Virgil asked.

“I--” Roman hesitated. “You guys. Logan likes cinnamon buns, and Patton’s favorite dog breed is a retriever, and you--you bite your nails, but you paint them on weekends sometimes, and you pretend they’re all black but there’s a bit of purple on there, it’s adorable--and you hate strawberries--and once you gave me a gift and pretended it was from Logan but I know it was you because you write your R’s all pointy--and your hair always flops over your eyes, and--”

Virgil fought back a wave of emotion. “Um--that’s great, Ro. I appreciate that. Can you--can you tell me what you know about yourself?”

Roman was silent for way too long. “Why ruin the moment?”

“Disagree,” Virgil said. “Anything? It’s okay if not, but--basic stuff. What do you like? What do you think about?”

“I dunno,” Roman mumbled. “I like Disney. But Disney’s pretty stupid.”

“Hey,” Virgil complained. “Disney’s the best. Don’t crap on your favorite company.”

“Disney’s really capitalist.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil admitted. “But--you’re allowed to like stuff, Ro.”

Roman curled up a bit in his arms.

“What do you know?” Virgil decided to say. “About you. It can be anything.”

Roman was pressed tight against Virgil’s chest. Virgil ran a hand down his side and felt Roman shudder a bit. His hands were moving, running up and down the patches on Virgil’s jacket, fingering the bumps of the seams.

“I’m Roman,” Roman finally said. He laughed a bit. Virgil didn’t.

“Good, that’s true.” Virgil nodded. “What else?”

“I’m a Side of Thomas,” Roman continued. His voice was quiet. “I’m his...his Creativity. And Passion, and all that.”

“Yep.”

“I...I work with you guys. I work on stuff. I write. It’s not good, but I write.”

“Yep!”

“I sing, I act, I--” Roman huffed. “Pretty terrible at it.”

“Gonna beg to differ on that one, Princey.” Virgil smirked. “Your singing voice is really loud, but I like it.”

Roman curled, somehow, even tighter. “I--I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil said. “Do you want me to take a turn?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Virgil leaned back against the headboard and watched the lights flicker. “You’re Roman, like you said. You’re--you’re my best friend, dude.”

Roman shuddered, just a bit.

“You’re my best friend,” Virgil repeated. “You--at first, I never liked you, ‘cause you were just...so extra, you know? So big and grand and huge. And that--that scared me. I was so scared of you back then. And I was so envious--I wanted to be like you. To not care what anyone thought. You just...put it all out there, and you were everyone’s hero, and I’d stare at you and wonder how you managed to do it.”

Virgil laughed. “And then everything changed. And then you were my friend--or at least, I hoped so. We--got along, we got to know each other, and all the stuff I didn’t get about you? All the stuff I hated, I was afraid of? It all turned out to be the best stuff. ‘Cause it’s what made you, you. It wouldn’t really work with anyone else--but since it’s all part of you, I never minded. I don’t mind.” Virgil swallowed. “You want me to tell you some stuff about that? Some stuff I’ve noticed?”

“Sure,” Roman whispered.

“Great.” Virgil looked down at Roman. “You stick out your tongue when you’re thinking, did you know that? You stick it out and you’re staring at whatever you’re working on and it’s just stupidly adorable--and! And you do this little happy dance when you’re excited, you kinda bounce from foot to foot and do a little squeal and I wish I could get excited like you do--when you’re happy, you just make everyone around you happier, you’re--” Virgil struggled for words. “You’re radiant. You’re, like--I see you, and I know--I know it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna work out.”

Roman was shaking now. Virgil tugged him even closer and--because why not--pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“And yeah, we’ve had our rough spots. Everyone has.” Virgil sighed. “And you’re--you’re gonna mess up. Maybe you’re not everything you think you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’re not gonna end up--the prince, the dreamer, or whatever. Maybe not--maybe not even the hero. And that’s okay. ‘Cause you’re still gonna be you.”

Roman’s breath hitched.

“You’re gonna be you,” Virgil continued, “and I’m gonna help you, and I’m gonna fight for you, and--and I’m gonna be brave for you, I promise--and you could be anything and that’d be true. You could be a Dark Side tomorrow. You could completely change functions. You could--you could be anything, but you’d still be Roman, and I--I’ll be here. No matter what.”

The lights skidded over the ceiling. Roman had stopped rubbing his hands on Virgil’s jacket. He was just still, still and silent and trembling like a plucked string.

“You’re Roman,” Virgil said. “And I don’t even have words for how--how freaking fantastic you are, every day--you’re--you’re my friend. You’re--so much more than that.” Virgil closed his eyes. “I love you, Ro. So much. And you might not really have everything figured out, and I definitely don’t, but--if it means anything, I know who you are, because you’re always going to be the person I love.”

And Virgil was crying. Virgil sniffed and wiped his eyes, but the choked noises didn’t stop--and he realized Roman was crying too, sobbing quietly into Virgil’s jacket. It was small cries. Quiet--too quiet, the cry of someone who’d been used to keeping it hidden.

“Oh,” Virgil said, gathering Roman in his arms and pressing his forehead to Roman’s. Tears dripped down Roman’s cheeks, and he clung to Virgil’s jacket for dear life, breath hitching. “Roman, Princey, love, it’s going to be okay, I promise--”

Roman pressed himself closer, crying, and Virgil let him stay.

“It’s going to be okay,” Virgil whispered into his hair, “you’ll figure it out. I’m here. I’ve got it covered. I promise it’s okay--you can let it out, keep crying, it’s okay--we’ll figure it out--I’m not gonna stop loving you, I’m not gonna stop looking out for you--”

Roman’s sobs grew louder and Virgil kept talking. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over again. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Maybe if he said it enough, Roman would believe it.

Maybe if he said it enough, Virgil would, too.

“It’s okay,” Virgil said, and meant it.

“You’re doing amazing,” Virgil said, and meant it.

“I love you,” Virgil said, and couldn’t imagine not meaning it, not being so entirely in love with Roman that it ached with it and dripped with it and filled every word. He heard it. He heard it and he heard it and he finally couldn’t hide from it--because maybe Roman could hear too, and maybe Roman would listen.

“I love you,” Virgil said, and for once he wasn’t afraid of it. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” was the first thing Roman said when his tears slowed. “I love you, Virgil, I love you--”

“I know,” Virgil said. And meant it. “I know, Ro, it’s okay--”

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Fine, then, I’m sorry too.” Virgil pressed his forehead to Roman’s and wiped away his tears with a hand. And he left it there, resting on Roman’s cheek, because he didn’t want to let go. “I’m sorry. And look at that--that’s okay. We can get better from here. I swear.”

Roman laughed wetly. “The Nico thing is a disaster.”

“The Nico thing is something we’ll figure out,” Virgil said. “We’ve got this. It’ll work.”

“We’re not--” Roman sighed. “We’re not ready for it, are we?”

“I’m not, and you’re not.” Virgil laughed a bit. “But, um, maybe two not-readies makes a ready?”

“Doubt it,” Roman whispered, and Virgil suddenly realized how close they were, foreheads pressed together. He could--he could move forward, just a bit, and--

“We’ll try,” Roman said, lips parting. “We’ll try, can’t we? Can’t we try? Do we--do we get that?”

“Yes,” Virgil said. “Yes, we get that, you get that--we’ll try, we’ll try and we’ll make it work somehow, I promise--”

“And if it doesn’t?” Roman’s voice was so quiet, so thin, the trail of an airplane across the stars. “What if we make things worse?”

Virgil couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of that. Obviously. Worrying was his job, and he saw the possible ramifications to everything, of course he’d thought through every possible outcome of this. And--and still.

Whatever made Roman happy, Virgil would do.

Because that always made Virgil happy, too.

“We’ll figure it out,” Virgil said. “You--you know what taking a chance is? You know what it is, to do something you want, even though it could hurt?”

“What?” Roman murmured, just a breath from Virgil’s lips.

Virgil smiled. “Bravery.”

Roman’s eyes flickered open.

They were so, so close. Lights spun around them, shadows crept away, and Virgil could--Virgil could--

“Hey,” Virgil said, barely above a whisper. “Can I--”

Roman’s eyes flickered down to Virgil’s lips and back up.

And Virgil didn’t know who moved. Maybe it was him. Maybe Roman. Maybe it didn’t matter, because they moved, and then Virgil was kissing Roman for the first time.

Okay.

Cool.

Wow.

Virgil didn’t know what he was doing--it didn’t matter, though, since he was kissing Roman--and all he could think of was how much he’d wanted this, how much he’d told himself he didn’t want this, how much he’d never wanted to cradle Roman’s face in his hands and tangle his hand in Roman’s hair and--

Virgil tangled a hand in Roman’s hair. It was exactly as good as he’d hoped.

And Roman pushed him back, against the headboard, and Roman was kissing him, and Virgil was breathless and weightless and absolutely okay with it.

Virgil could have been floating. Virgil could have been drifting in the cold night hair, among the stars, because the world was dark and filled with pinpricks of light and all he knew was warm skin under his fingers and a hand around his waist and the way Roman held him like this was all Roman had ever wanted, too--

And of course, they had to break apart, because Virgil couldn’t stay breathless--although gosh did he want to, to just lose time in Roman’s arms--

They separated.

Virgil was sure he could count every fleck of light in Roman’s eyes. A blush had settled across his cheeks, his hair was even messier than usual, and he was staring at Virgil like Virgil had hung the moon.

“Huh,” Roman said.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed.

Roman snickered. Virgil snorted. And then they were laughing, inches apart, giggling on the bed at maybe two or three in the morning, still entangled in each other and neither moving to separate their hands.

“So,” Roman finally said, his laughing settling into a smile. “That was...okay.”

“I was okay with it,” Virgil blurted out. “Um. More than okay. And--I don’t know what it means, what you want it to mean, but--”

“It meant I like you,” Roman said. As if it was obvious. Maybe it was. “A lot. And--”

“And we want to try this,” Virgil said. “For real?”

“We can’t exactly try it for fake, can we?” Roman teased.

“We’re trying,” Virgil said. “We’re trying?”

“Yes,” Roman said. “I--I mean, we might fail, I might--”

“And then we’ll figure it out.” Virgil reached for a bit of courage, deep inside him, and found it came more naturally when Roman was pressed into him. “We’ll try it out, okay?”

Roman laughed a bit. “We’re not ready.”

“Nah, but life does that sometimes, right?” Virgil sighed. “We’re--we’ll be ready, soon enough. One day. And right now, we’ll just kind of...wing it?”

“Wing it,” Roman repeated. “A daring battle plan, emo.”

“Hey, you’re the hero here.” Virgil, despite himself, felt his lips curl in a smile. “We’ll figure it out, Princey. And--and maybe we won’t really know who we are, what we want--any of that--for a while. Maybe never again, who knows. But if I don’t take this chance, I’ll regret it.”

“So will I,” Roman said. “And--quite honestly, I’m a bit tired of regrets.”

“So let’s give it our all,” Virgil said. “We’ll never know until we try.”

“We’ll try,” Roman agreed, and placed a kiss on Virgil’s lips that tasted of salt and cinnamon. Virgil melted into it, and when they pulled away, let Roman curl up next to him. It was late. Virgil could happily fall asleep right here--and really, that wasn’t such a bad idea.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he mumbled, watching the lights dance over Roman’s face.

“Dunno,” Roman slurred, watching Virgil with soft eyes.

“Well, it’s gonna be now.” Virgil threw an arm over Roman. “Get some sleep, Princey.”

“You first.”

“What, you think I’m leaving?” Virgil snuggled closer, and Roman wrapped an arm around his waist. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

“Hmm.” Roman hummed to himself. “Okay with that.”

“Good, so am I.” Virgil kissed Roman’s forehead. “Come on. No talk, only sleep.”

“I love you,” Roman said, immediately breaking the rule. But Virgil couldn’t get mad. “And--I--thank you, I--”

“You’re welcome,” Virgil said. “I’d do it anytime.”

Roman smiled and closed his eyes. “You’re my hero, emo.”

And Virgil would never admit the way his heart softened.

“Thanks,” Virgil whispered. “You’re my hero, too.”

Roman was already drifting off. The floor was crowded, the door swung open, the desk was messy--and eh, whatever. They’d figure it out tomorrow. Right now, they both needed sleep, and the windows were wide to the starry sky.

“And I don’t even care,” Virgil said, “if you’re not my hero. You don’t have to be.”

He looked over at Roman, and he smiled.

“As long as you’re mine, we’re good.”

“We’re good,” Roman echoed, eyes still closed.

“We’ll be good,” Virgil agreed.

And he tried to believe it--he told himself he would believe it, he could, he deserved to--and he found, in the end, it wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be.

They’d be good.

They’d be okay.

And they’d find their way forward.

Virgil fell asleep next to Roman, surrounded by drifting lights and warm shadows, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

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