#djpurple3's writing yo

[djpurple3]

Wordcount: 6.9k

Summary: Now that peace has finally, finally come to pass, Codfather Solidarity and Count fWhip have decided for forge an official alliance, treaty and all. Signing it during the Grimlandic Festival of Progress only makes sense.

And on the other hand, fWhip gets to show his partner around one of the Grimlands' biggest annual festivals, and they're practically vibrating with excitement. Everything from the community, to the food, to the races, to the fireworks - fWhip is anxious to share, and Jimmy is eager to discover.

It also makes for a pretty cute date.

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Written as part of the @mcyt-valentines exchange on tumblr, and written for @welcome-back-to-hoimycraf!! I really hope you enjoy the fic <3 and happy... yesterdalentines day

Full fic under the cut!

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fWhip wipes their palms dry on their pants, trying to ignore how nervous he is right now as he strides down the main street of Eastvale.

The preparations are ready. Everything’s in order. The streets of the Grimlands are flooded with colour and light – multichromatic arrays of redstone lanterns, bunting and streamers and balloons and banners, candles of every colour, plentiful and bountiful flower arrangements graciously provided by Lady Katherine of House Blossom, musicians organised and already playing.

And, for when the moon rises, a bombastic fireworks display is ready.

fWhip planned the display himself. It should be bigger and better than last year. It should be the best damn fireworks display in the Twelve Empires, maybe the whole world. After all, the Grimlandic Festival of Progress starts today.

When fWhip was a kid, they used to take part in the annual gizmo-cart competitions, and he won more than a few. Now he’s the Count, he’s not allowed to compete anymore. fWhip also assumes it’s because someone wanted to break their winning streak of eight years. A shame, really.

But either way, it’s probably one of fWhip’s favourite parts of the entire festival. He loves to watch the races. He loves seeing what gizmos people make, especially the kids.

That’s not the only reason they’re nervous, though. fWhip’s been to so many of these festivals now that they look forward to it – they don’t even find organising a three-day-long festival to be that harrowing anymore. No, the big reason he’s nervous is for what else is happening today.

Codfather Solidarity is coming to attend the festival, and, more importantly, to come sign the official paperwork with him to declare the Cod Empire and the Grimlands as official allies.

And!Jimmy’s coming to see the Festival of Progress. For the first time ever. fWhip is almost giddy with excitement, though his stomach is also twisting with nerves.

All of the Grimlands’ allies are invited. Gem’s already here, though she’s been to plenty of these before, too. Pearl unfortunately has a major harvest to oversee. Sausage said he couldn’t come on the first day, but would try to make it later in the week. Katherine was also busy, but had still agreed to send flowers.

And… and he can finally, officially, add Jimmy to that list.

fWhip finds himself smiling, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. Their hands are clammy, but they can’t help but be elated.

Jimmy said he’d be here for the festival. Teasingly agreed that the Festival of Progress was going to be the best time for them to sign anything. And then he had kissed fWhip and told them he was looking forward to it.

fWhip checks his wristwatch again. Jimmy said he’d be here by mid-morning, ready to sign the paperwork at noon.

He looks up, checking down the main road. Jimmy said he wouldn’t fly this time, but rather bring an entourage – seeing how historic an event this would be. And he had told fWhip that by bringing people with him, he’d be freer to stay longer. He’d also given fWhip a wink.

So, um, fWhip’s very much looking forward to this! For… multiple reasons.

“Count fWhip!” someone calls, and fWhip looks up, turns on his heels, searching for the voice, and heads over when he sees a small group of his people gathered around one of the strings of redstone lamps which has been taken down.

“What’s up?” fWhip asks, and he’s already pulling his trustiest screwdriver out of his toolbelt. They’re pleased they had the forethought to throw it on as they headed out the door.

“One of the lamps shorted out, and it made the entire string stop working,” a young woman tells them, as the older man standing beside her helplessly gestures with the lamp in question. “And none of us are sure how to fix it.”

“Alright,” fWhip says with a laugh, gently ushering people out of their way, and holding out their hands until the man gives him the lamp. “Get me something to perch on, and I’ll see what I can do.”

--- --- ---

fWhip misses Jimmy’s big entrance, absorbed as he is in fixing the wiring in the lamps. The fact they have one wing up, shielding the sun out of their eyes so fWhip can still see his work doesn’t help for his sightlines.

fWhip hears the clattering of hooves, though, the telltale sound of carriage wheels and horses on cobblestones – though he’s so engrossed in his work it takes a few moments for the sound to really filter in. As he blinks and raises his head, he hears a familiar laugh, and sees a familiar pair of feet step into his sightlines, below his wing-based sun umbrella.

And fWhip lowers his wing sheepishly to see Codfather Jimmy Solidarity standing there, resplendent in the Grimlandic summer sun, hands on his hips, and smiling fondly at fWhip.

“Even today?” Jimmy asks them playfully, nodding at the tools in his lap.

“I was asked to fix it!” fWhip says defensively, before he connects the last wire and closes the lantern back up, and grins as it finally lights up. “And fix it I have!”

The entire string of lights flickers back to life, and fWhip hands it off to someone else to hang back up, before he flushes and glances at Jimmy.

“Um,” he says, turning to face Jimmy properly, and he spreads his hands, gesturing wide. “Welcome. Welcome all of you to the Festival of Progress! It’s an honour to have you here for it. It, uh, starts soon.”

Jimmy smiles, big and broad and beautiful, though the Codfather Head hides how his eyes must sparkle. and finally lets his hands fall to his sides. “Thank you,” he says graciously, and Jimmy’s council-people nod and bow too, before Jimmy’s posture softens, and he steps in close, lowers his voice. “I missed you, fWhip.”

“I missed you too.” fWhip closes the distance, wrapping Jimmy up in a hug, and Jimmy hugs them back with a contented sigh. fWhip smiles as he feels Jimmy rest his chin on their head for a moment. “I’m really excited for you to be here, Jim. It should be a really good celebration this year.”

“Especially because of the history we’re making, huh?” Jimmy asks, and he takes fWhip’s hand, squeezes it softly, and it makes fWhip’s heart flutter.

“Yeah,” they say, smitten. Before they remember, and check their watch. “Oh gods, what’s the time!? Are we late?”

“Not yet,” Jimmy teases, but he glances at the sky, checking the position of the sun the old-fashioned way. “But we should probably start to head over now, so we can set up.”

--- --- ---

The walk back to fWhip’s manor feels… important. It feels ground-breaking. Historical, even. fWhip could almost vibrate out of his own skin as they mount the stairs, automatically keeping pace with each other.

It was decided the signing should take place outside, outside the Manor, where it can be observed by the Grimlandic people. fWhip casts his eyes upwards, briefly, as they take their place in preparation. They unfold and fold their wings, shooting a brief prayer to the gods that this will go all go well.

Jimmy stands across the table from him, his entourage behind him in a small semi-circle like fWhip’s is behind them, looking serene, hands folded behind his back. What can be seen of his expression behind that Head looks neutral, though fWhip knows Jimmy well enough to see how the Codfather is gently rocking on his heels, a little anxious himself.

Jimmy sees him looking, though, and offers a smile.

fWhip smiles back.

Between them is a big, heavy, dark-oak desk – a gift from a Mythlandic king to a Grimlandic Count of ages past, if fWhip remembers correctly. It usually lives in the royal study, and fWhip, and all his rulers before him, have signed many important documents on it. It just seems right that this one should be signed here too.

The treaty has been drafted several times, combed over with a fine-tooth comb by Grimlandic and Codlish scholars alike, until it was satisfactory, before painstakingly transcribed onto vellum and the ink left to dry for two days, just to be sure. It lays between them on the desk.

A bell toils in its tower nearby. fWhip has to restrain themself from wiping their hands on their trousers again as people start to gather. He has dressed up for the occasion – just a bit. He can’t tolerate it much, the fanciest stuff is all robes, and …it’s a little too close to a skirt for fWhip’s liking.

So instead, he’s in his nicest trousers, his cleanest boots, his crispest shirt, a pair of charcoal-grey silk gloves, and a lovely formal jacket embroidered with red, gold, and silver thread he inherited from a however-many-greats-grandfather. They’re even not wearing their goggles, replaced instead with a circlet of brass, set with rubies and amethysts that keeps their hair back instead – and amethyst earrings Gem gave him to match.

The most notable thing, perhaps, is the shawl they wear around their shoulders, knotted in the front and kept in place with a brass brooch. The shawl is of Codlish make – and even more importantly: embroidered. It’s Codlish tradition, to wear and document one’s life achievements and relationships in needlework. Jimmy made this one for them, once they got together.

fWhip loves it, but they’re afraid to wear it out too much. Certainly, he can’t wear it in his forge – he’d never forgive themself if they burnt or stained it. Today is the perfect opportunity, and he wears it with pride.

fWhip finds himself looking at Jimmy, drinking him in.

Jimmy is also dressed formally, and he looks simply gorgeous. His hair is braided, intricate and shining gold in the midday sun. He’s dressed in Codlish greens, browns and whites, long drapes and wrap- arounds that shimmer in the light, some of it iridescent netting, and a shawl of Jimmy’s own tied around his shoulders. fWhip notices a Mezalean clay-bead necklace around Jimmy’s neck, an Oceanic coral and pearl hairpiece in his hair, and Pixandrian blown glass earrings in his ears, and the sash around his waist is made of Overgrown silk. Jimmy once mentioned his shawl is woven from Mythlandic wool.

fWhip also notices, with a warm swell in his chest, a Grimlandic brass brooch of Jimmy’s own pinned over the knot of his shawl. It has an emerald carefully cut into the shape of a cod set in it. fWhip knows – they made it themself.

Jimmy wears his alliances proudly – all of them – but he wears fWhip’s over his heart. It makes fWhip’s eyes brighten with tears, just a little.

fWhip shakes their head, and hopes he isn’t flushing. He’s getting distracted. The smirk on Jimmy’s face tells them he’s not a subtle as they hoped.

The oldest member of fWhip’s council finally steps forward as the toiling of the bell dies away, and raises her hands. The murmuring falls silent. Across the entire courtyard, all that can be heard is the amethyst windchimes (gifted from the Crystal Cliffs) tinkling in the breeze.

“We are gathered here today,” she says, raising her voice, though fWhip gave her an amplifying charm before they started, and she can be heard easily across the crowd, “to celebrate not only the first day of the Festival of Progress, but a very special union of two peoples who we thought would never make peace.”

Jimmy and fWhip smile softly at each other. They can’t help it.

“But here we are!” the councilwoman continues. “Together, united, ready to take this great step forward during the most fitting of all our festivals. It is an honour to stand here with you all, under the leadership of Count fWhip and Codfather Solidarity, as they bring us together.”

And then she smiles. “In more ways than one,” she winks at the crowd, who hoot and cheer and clap even as fWhip goes red, and even Jimmy has to cover his mouth.

fWhip and Jimmy step in together, and fWhip hands Jimmy the quill first.

“After you,” they say softly.

“Why, thank you,” Jimmy replies, and he takes it carefully, and leans down, one arm around his middle to sweep back his layers to protect from stains as he dips the quill in the provided ink, and the Codfather signs the treaty.

As Jimmy hands fWhip the quill, his hand shakes – just a little. fWhip takes it, rolls it in his fingers gently as he takes his place at the desk too. He stares at the document before him. An age-old feud, coming to an end before his eyes. A new horizon. fWhip takes a steady breath, and signs it before he can hesitate any longer.

As fWhip sets the quill down and steps away, Jimmy takes a breath, and starts to sing. His voice is loud and clear, cutting through the air. He sings in Codlish, and the language flows, beautiful and open on his tongue. As he reaches the end of his verse, his council behind him join in.

fWhip knows enough Codlish to pick up on what they’re singing, though the words go by very fast and he misses half of them. It’s a style of song they sing at births and weddings, of the cycle of life and the joy of starting, of making something new.

fWhip stands there, entranced. Only when the song ends, and silence falls over the courtyard, do they realise that every other person present seems equally as enrapt as he is.

Then, someone gently clears their throat.

fWhip jolts, and realises that’s his cue, and he sharply turns on his heel to face the crowd, turning his own amplifier charm on with a tap, and throws out his arms.

“The deal is done!” he cries. “Let the Festival of Progress begin!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, before music starts up again, and the whole place comes alive.

--- --- ---

Jimmy takes fWhip’s hand as the crowd moves around them, and over the noise, fWhip hears the delighted peal of Jimmy’s laughter.

fWhip steps in close, puts a wing around Jimmy.

“Want to find somewhere quiet?” they ask, raising their voice.

“Okay!” Jimmy says. “Just for a moment!”

fWhip nods, and turns to the Manor’s front doors, leading Jimmy inside. He also invites Jimmy’s councillors in, telling them where they can put their bags, before they and Jimmy politely disappear into fWhip’s chambers.

Jimmy lifts the Codfather Head off carefully, and fWhip gets to watch with a dreamy smile as Jimmy’s face gets revealed. Logically, they know what Jimmy’s face looks like – but it’s wonderful to watch the reveal every time.

“Stop,” Jimmy looks away, red.

“Stop what?” fWhip asks.

“Looking at me like that!” Jimmy turns away to put the Head down carefully on fWhip’s dresser. Something in fWhip’s chest aches a little at that – at the show of trust. This all fell apart over that Head, and now Jimmy feels safe enough to leave it in fWhip’s bedroom, on his dresser. “Like I’m…”

“Like you’re what?” fWhip raises an eyebrow, his grin spreading. “Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Beautiful?”

Jimmy goes redder, and lets fWhip put their hands on his waist.

“Yeah,” he breathes, slinging his arms around fWhip’s shoulders. “All that.”

“You’re all that and more, ally,” fWhip says, meaning to sound more teasing, but the fondness breaks through, unstoppable.

“Ally,” Jimmy echoes, relief shining in his eyes. “Ally. I love you, fWhip.”

fWhip rises up on the balls of their feet, tilting his head as they lean in. “I love you too,” they whisper back.

Jimmy meets them halfway with a kiss.

It’s tender and soft, and fWhip yearns for more even as their lips part, and Jimmy hums into it. It’d be irresponsible to deepen the kiss now – but by the gods, does fWhip want to.

“Later,” Jimmy promises as they break apart for air, and fWhip kisses his throat for good measure. “Tonight.”

“Good,” fWhip says, wrapping their wings around him as they all but breathe Jimmy in. “God, I missed you.”

Jimmy peppers kisses over fWhip’s hair, in agreement, before his fingers trace the circlet nestled between fWhip’s horns.  

“This is pretty,” he compliments.

“Thanks.” fWhip shudders a little. “It was an heirloom. Only rediscovered it a few months ago. It had to be resized so it’d fit me.”

fWhip tips his head back up as he speaks so he can look at Jimmy. Jimmy’s already looking at fWhip like they’re something precious, and it makes the words fWhip was going to say fade on his tongue, before the two of them drift back together. They kiss again. And once more, for good measure, before there’s a knock at the door.

“My lords,” one of fWhip’s staff calls. “Lunch is ready for you in the parlour.”

They break the kiss so fWhip can call back, “Thank you, we’ll be there shortly.”

Footsteps patter away.

Jimmy and fWhip glance at each other, before the two of them break into giggles.

“I like how they know not to open the door, now,” Jimmy teases, before he kisses fWhip’s forehead, as fWhip shivers and tries to convince himself to let Jimmy go. “Now, come on, before they decide they have to send a reminder.”

--- --- ---

The food was delightful, but fWhip can hardly focus on it. He watches until Jimmy signals he’s done, before they rise from their seat and offers a hand to their partner. Jimmy takes it with a gracious smile.

“Ready to see the festival?” fWhip asks.

“More than ready,” Jimmy replies, rising to his feet. “Where do we start?”

“It’s almost time for the gizmo races, so, there!”

fWhip practically drags Jimmy out the room, out the atrium, down the stairs and down the main road, to the plaza with the fountain in the centre, and fWhip and him get ushered over to a raised platform.

Jimmy stares at the miniature racetracks set up around the fountain itself.

“What is this?!” he asks, as fWhip pulls him up on the riser with him.

“Gizmo racing!” fWhip repeats. “It’s a time-honoured tradition. I’ve been Festival Champion eight years in a row, it’s one of my favourite events.”

“Who broke your streak?” Jimmy asks, peering over at the racecourse, drinking it all in. The individual lanes, as well as the starting-slash-end line are drawn in chalk straight onto the cobblestones. An extra string of colourful bunting is strung over the finish line.

“Not being allowed to compete anymore!” fWhip says cheerfully. “They said I was too good.”

Jimmy snorts, and steps in a little closer to fWhip, so they can wrap a wing around him.

“You still haven’t told me what a gizmo is.”

“It’s like a little cart,” fWhip gestures the rough size with his hands. “Regulation says they can’t be bigger than a half-slab. At least three wheels. They have to be remote controllable, self-powered, and self-propelled. People spend months making a gizmo for the Festival Races. There are separate classes for adults and for kids.”

Jimmy turns his head and sees the line of children, all with a little device of some sort in their hands, putting their… gizmos down at the starting line. Someone double-checks all the little carts are lined up fairly.

“Does it get intense?” Jimmy asks.

“Oh yeah,” fWhip says. “People take it very seriously. It’s great. First to five laps wins.”

Hubbub falls quiet, now. People look to fWhip, who is almost vibrating with excitement.

“Racers!” he calls. “Are ya ready?”

Jimmy hides a smile behind his hand at the very enthusiastic chorus of kids’ replies.

“Start your gizmos!”

Jimmy listens to a cacophony of whirring and humming start up.

“Ready!” he calls, almost bouncing in time with the rhythm of his words, and the spectators join in on the countdown too, the whole crowd bobbing with this energy, “Steady! GO!”

Jimmy laughs with delight as the race begins. The kids are all lazer-focussed, and it’s amazing how fast the gizmo carts can go, whizzing around the racetrack. They are all different shapes and sizes; some having big, thick, tall wheels and little chassis; some being long and flat with many smaller wheels. Jimmy’s favourite is one that looks like a pig.

People hoot and holler and cheer. Jimmy has to cling to fWhip’s arm as his partner bounces so much that the riser shakes under their feet.

Jimmy can barely keep track of which lap is which, despite flags being waved and whistles being blown. The crowd gasps and groans as one gizmo flips, spins out and takes three more with it. Some of the kids start yelling at each other.

“Final lap!” someone with a flag announces.

People start clapping their hands, stomping their feet, rhythmic but getting faster and faster as the little carts all rip around the track one last time. Jimmy cheers himself as the pig gizmo weaves through the pack and pulls ahead, just for a moment, before a mean looking one almost double its size comes up behind it.

“Go pig!” Jimmy calls.

fWhip laughs, thrilled Jimmy’s joining in, and echoes, “Go pig!”

The pig zooms ahead, swerving out of the way of the second place gizmo. They are almost neck and neck, but the pig pulls ahead one last time, under the swooping of the checkered flag, over the finish line.

One little kid jumps up and down with an excited scream, face split into a huge grin, and the crowd applauds them.

“Bonus points for style,” fWhip says admiringly.

“…How much more intense does the adult one get?” Jimmy asks, leaning in to ask more quietly into fWhip’s ear. “I think it’s a bit much for me.”

fWhip snorts. “A bit more,” they admit. “Hey, we can go-”

“No, no,” Jimmy shoves them lightly. “You stay. I… I can go find us a snack. Are there snacks here?”

“Oh yeah,” fWhip says, and points out a line of colourful vendors’ carts on the far end of the courtyard. “You have to try a potato on a stick. I’d like a chicken one.”

“…Okay,” Jimmy says. “I’ll be back?”

“I’ll wait for you here,” fWhip turns to Jimmy now, and tilts their head up questioningly. Jimmy dips down for a quick kiss, and feels fWhip smile into it. It really is surreal, that they can do this in public, that Jimmy can be here amidst fWhip’s people and be safe, be wanted here.

“Sounds good.” Jimmy trails his fingertips down the membrane of fWhip’s wing as they pull apart, which makes fWhip shudder and go a little red and stare at Jimmy with wide eyes – Jimmy’s favourite expression to get out of fWhip.

Then, Jimmy steps off the riser and starts to weave his way through the crowd to go find food.

--- --- ---

Jimmy joins the queue for one of the food carts, and he watches people walk away with their food with wide eyes. It’s a – roasted or fried? – probably fried potato, that has been cut into a spiral – though it’s still one continuous piece and speared on a wooden stick. The outsides seem to be coated in various kinds of flavoured salt, that must be what fWhip meant by a chicken potato.

People stare at him a little, but Jimmy is met with polite nods or bows or smiles, and he smiles and nods back. Jimmy wait patiently, as the crowd watching the races keeps cheering and roaring behind him, and eventually, he’s at the front of the line.

“Oh!” says the vendor. “Codfather! What can I get you?”

“Um, two potatoes, please?” Jimmy asks. “One chicken, and… what do you recommend?”

“Well, honestly,” says the vendor as she starts to prepare the first one, and Jimmy watches the machine she has with great interest as it cuts the cooked potato cleanly, “my favourite is also the chicken. But… you a fan of salt and vinegar?”

“I am, actually.”

“Then I’d say that. It’s also popular, and if you don’t like it, you can steal his,” she winks, handing Jimmy the first one and prepping the other, and Jimmy flushes a little, though it’s hidden behind his Head. “Enjoy!”

Jimmy fumbles with a pouch on his belt as she holds out the second stick, but the vendor loudly clicks her tongue.

“Don’t be silly, sir,” she says. “Take them. It’s the Festival! The council’s covered the food costs.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Jimmy lets the lady press the second stick into his hand. “Thank you, then.”

“Enjoy!” she calls, as Jimmy steps away. “Next! What can I getcha?”

Jimmy transfers both potatoes to one hand and goes searching for something to drink, too. The sun is high in the sky – it’s midsummer, it’s a beautiful day – and it’s making Jimmy thirsty. The air here is a lot more arid than he’s used to.

Eventually, he’s attempting to weave his way back through the crowd to fWhip’s riser with his potatoes-on-sticks and two bottles of cordial. Fortunately, when people see him trying to slip through, they move for him, and Jimmy hurries back to fWhip, who grabs his arm and helps him back up.

“Thanks,” Jimmy says breathlessly. “Here’s yours.”

“Thank you,” fWhip says sweetly, taking the bottle and the stick.

“How’s it going?” Jimmy peers over at the race, which seems to be setting up for one last thing.

“It’s last years champion against this year’s new first place, for ultimate winner this year,” fWhip says, words muffled as they also tear into the potato swirl with their teeth. “This doesn’t count for the medal, that guy’s already won it, but it’s like, for glory, y’know?”

“Uh huh,” Jimmy says. He shrugs and starts eating his own potato swirl too, and his eyes light up as he eats. “This is good.”

“I know, right?” fWhip grins. “They’re so good.”

Jimmy watches the race with less interest than before, he won’t lie, but he takes the opportunity to look around the plaza instead. The place looks vibrant and colourful in a way Jimmy didn’t even know the Grimlands could be. It really is stunning.

A loud wave of cheering makes Jimmy look back, and he sees that the races are finally over. He’s not much for these things, if he’s honest, but the part that makes it worth it is seeing fWhip come alive, grinning and bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement.

“That was better than last year,” fWhip declares to Jimmy, as the crowd starts to dissipate, and Jimmy looks up once he hears music start playing again. “That was awesome. God, did you see the one constructed of copper and gold? It was beautiful.”

“I did,” Jimmy agrees, shifting on his feet. “And it was. …fWhip, love, can we find somewhere to sit down for a little?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, of course.”

--- --- ---

Jimmy people watches for the next little while, as they finish their snack and drink their cordials, and fWhip Jimmy-watches as the afternoon sun makes its way across the sky.

“How are you?” fWhip eventually asks. “I haven’t bored you, have I?”

Jimmy, taking an unfortunately-timed swig of his drink, chokes a little on it as he turns to fWhip quickly. “No!” he cries. “No, love, not at all. There’s so many things to look at, is all. And I’ve never been much for racing, I won’t lie. Even Lizzie’s swimming races aren’t my cuppa tea.”

“Fair enough,” fWhip nods, swinging their feet. “What is your cup of tea, then? There’s games and stuff, we can go find some.”

“That sounds nice,” Jimmy agrees, fanning himself with his hand. “Yeesh, it’s hot.”

“Is it?” fWhip squints at the sky.

“You Southerners have hotter summers overall, I think,” Jimmy says. “Or at least, being further from the sea makes it worse. Gods, you’re still wearing a jacket.”

fWhip can’t help but laugh, and leans their head on Jimmy’s shoulder as their partner cools off.

--- --- ---

They wander the streets now, fWhip letting Jimmy gawk at all the displays. Jimmy holds their hand the whole time, and it makes fWhip’s heart beat so fast.

Jimmy stops to admire a jewellery stand, around them people of all ages are playing games, and some kids have just pulled out a long jump rope. fWhip tries to follow Jimmy’s eye to see what his partner is looking for here.

fWhip did make Jimmy’s brooch themself, but that by no means makes fWhip a jeweller. His hands are stained with redstone, gunpower, dyes, and a few burn scars. He makes weapons, first and foremost. Making Jimmy’s brooch was… meditative. But if Jimmy likes Grimlandic jewellery, maybe fWhip should learn more about it.

Jimmy lets fWhip stand there, losing his interest even as fWhip starts inspecting a few pieces to see how they were made. They even into a discussion with the stall-holder, but Jimmy notices something, and disappears from their side.

fWhip doesn’t notice right away.

It’s when the children jumping rope behind him giggle and whoop, before the children’s rhyme starts up again, louder and more gleeful, and the vendor glances over fWhip’s shoulder and does a double take.

fWhip turns, now, and blinks. A smile stretches over his face as he sees Jimmy, robes hitched up over his knees, jumping rope perfectly in time with the kid’s chant.

Jimmy even manages to jump and spin between beats of the rope on the ground, which earns a scream of excitement from the kids around him.

“Faster!” Jimmy calls.

The kids spinning the jump rope grin, and the rest of the kids clap in time with the increased speed. fWhip folds his arms as he watches Jimmy keep up.

Even adults gather around, now, as the Codfather keeps skipping rope, and the kids keep getting faster to see how much Jimmy can manage.

Jimmy eventually loses grip on his own robes and trips on them, and fortunately he doesn’t fall over, but he does get wacked with the jump rope, which makes all the kids laugh.

“Wow!” says one holding the rope. “That was awesome, Mr Codfather!”

Jimmy bends in half, leaning on his knees, gasping for air, but he offers the kid a grin and a thumbs up.

And then fWhip sees all the kids expectantly turn and look at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.”

“C’mon, Count fWhip,” Jimmy teases breathlessly. “Not even once?”

fWhip’s wings press in close, and they get met with a chorus of pouting children.

“Please?” says the other one holding the rope. “We don’t even have to go as fast!”

fWhip rubs his temple, before he approaches, and Jimmy pulls him in.

“We could do doubles!” Jimmy says, his breathing back under control. “What do you say?”

“I say I’ll fall on you,” fWhip grumbles, but looks around at the expectant faces. “What the hell, why not? When’s the last time I jumped rope?”

Jimmy takes the time to hitch up his robes a bit more securely, before looking at fWhip expectantly.

fWhip shakes their head but smiles back, and nods.

The rope starts. They both clear the first jump. fWhip centres in on the rhythm, and ends up staring at where the rope hits the cobblestones, focussing intently.

One of the kids starts up a chant fWhip remembers from his own childhood.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around!”

fWhip bites his lip, and it takes him about three jumps to turn on the spot, but they manage it. Jimmy copies him, grinning.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, touch the ground!”

The step involves leaning down and, well, doing as the instruction says without getting hit by the rope. fWhip does it, and Jimmy copies him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, climb up the stairs!”

fWhip raises his knees in a couple of high-step jumps. Jimmy laughs at the step and mirrors him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, say your prayers!”

fWhip bends over, pressing their hands together in a prayer gesture, and Jimmy mimics him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the light!”

fWhip mimes pulling on the cord of a redstone lamp to turn it off. Jimmy only just manages to avoid hitting the rope as it goes over their head.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, say goodnight!”

It’s the last line of the chant, and fWhip… fWhip isn’t as young as he used to be. He can’t remember what the last action is, or if there is one, so they tilt their head to the side and put their hands under it like a pillow, miming lying down. Jimmy laughs delightedly, and copies the gesture.

The chant’s over, but the kids keep going, starting to chant their way through the alphabet in time with the rope thudding on the ground.

fWhip ends up mouthing along.

“A… B… C... D… E… F-!”

fWhip mistimes the jump, stumbles, and trips. Jimmy squawks as the rope tangles around both of them, pulled from the hands of the kids swinging it, and Jimmy tries to catch fWhip as the Count almost falls over.

They end up leaning against each other, laughing.

“Sorry!” fWhip says, looking up at Jimmy from where they’re pressed to his chest, tangled up in jump rope as they are. “Sorry, I never was any good at this.”

Jimmy just laughs fondly, and pulls them in close.

“It’s alright,” Jimmy says. “It was cute. So therefore it was worth it.”

The kids hurry to untie their leader, apologising, but fWhip also gets a hail of ‘that was so cool!’s and ‘you know that rhyme?! That’s awesome!’s

fWhip laughs as Jimmy casts his eye around.

“A drink would be nice,” he says.

“Let’s find something.”

As the skipping games pick up behind them, Jimmy leads fWhip over to a cart he spotted that’s handing out water.

--- --- ---

The day has been long and gorgeous and full of fun, but as the sun sets, fWhip’s nerves really take over.

Jimmy side-eyes them as they reach automatically for their scarf – to wring it in their hands – and realise they’re not wearing it, and stick their hands in their pockets instead. He unfolds and folds his wings instead.

“You good, love?”

“The fireworks,” fWhip says, glancing at the sky. “They’re happening a half-hour after sundown. I’m… It should be good.”

“Knowing you, it should be better than good,” Jimmy bumps their hip with his. “Worried?”

“Not for any good reason.”

“Bad ones are fun, too.”

That makes fWhip snort, and he turns to Jimmy properly.

“The Count has many roles and duties,” they say. “But… planning the fireworks is my favourite one, I think.”

Jimmy’s smile is soft, under the Codfather head.

“I know what you mean,” he says, looking around. “Sometimes, our jobs are… just, the best.”

“A high honour,” fWhip agrees. “And… Jimmy?”

Jimmy tilts his head at fWhip.

“I love you,” fWhip says.

Jimmy’s smile spreads. “I love you too,” he says, and he takes fWhip’s wrist and gently pulls until fWhip’s hand emerges from his pocket, and Jimmy takes the time to lace their fingers together. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.”

fWhip glances around again, at the sky. The best places will already be crowded with people – some people reserve their spot for the fireworks a good hour or so in advance. He… he has a special, more private place in mind, though.

“Do you want to go find somewhere to sit?” Jimmy asks, and fWhip laughs, because Jimmy read their thoughts. “I could do with a sit-down, honestly.”

“Yeah, we can,” fWhip says, before they fidget a little.

Jimmy pauses for a second, before he snorts in amusement and stops walking, making fWhip stop too. fWhip looks up at Jimmy with wide eyes, the unshakeable feeling of being caught plotting settling on their shoulders.

“You have a plan,” Jimmy sing-songs.

fWhip can’t keep the giggle that bubbles out of him down, and he looks down, shoulders rising, wings enveloping them just a little, sheepish.

“Yeah,” fWhip says. “Just a little.”

Jimmy waits, expectantly, and when fWhip doesn’t look up right away, Jimmy steps in closer, and tilts their head up with his free hand. It knocks the breath out of fWhip, and they can only stare in wonder at Jimmy.

“Tell me,” Jimmy says.

“The roof,” fWhip blurts, before he goes red. “I was thinking I could fly us up to the roof, and we could get the best view from up there.”

Jimmy softens.

“That sounds wonderful,” he agrees.

“Only thing is, it’ll be loud,” fWhip warns, glancing up at the sky again.

And now, Jimmy laughs openly, head tipping back, before he shakes his head and shoots fWhip a look.

“fWhip,” he says dryly. “Love. We’ve both lost enough hearing from your explosions that it’s not going to matter.”

fWhip laughs back, though he goes a little redder.

“Alright, alright, fair point,” he says. “Sorry.”

Jimmy flicks his nose in vengeance, then holds his arms out expectantly towards them.

“Well?” he says. “Roof time.”

fWhip grins, and scoops Jimmy up, cradling him in their arms bridal style, and quickly double-checking they aren’t going to hit anything around them with their wings. The coast is clear, so fWhip spreads their wings and takes off.

Jimmy clings to him, arms around his neck, but leans his head against fWhip’s.

The flight is short. fWhip lets Jimmy down on the roof of fWhip’s Manor, and steadies Jimmy as the Codfather gets comfortable on the slates. fWhip settles beside him, and leans back, tucking their hands behind their head.

The stars seem even brighter up here.

When fWhip was first gifted his wings, his main form of practice was flying up and down from this roof. They liked being up here at night, admiring the constellations and pretending he knew any of them. Getting down in the dark was less fun.

In the past, he’d brought Gem up here with him, and even Sausage a couple times, and Gem had gladly told him the constellation names, and Sausage had told him the myths behind a few of them.

Jimmy doesn’t say anything. He just looks at fWhip looking at the stars, and the smile Jimmy gives them is tender.

fWhip checks their wristwatch again.

“Just a few minutes, now,” he says anxiously.

His anxiety, however, is melted away by Jimmy sitting up and carefully removing the Codfather Head. Jimmy puts it in his inventory before he turns to fWhip, and fWhip gets to have his breath stolen all over again for how Jimmy’s face is lit up in the moonlight.

“You’re beautiful.”

fWhip says it without thinking.

This time, when Jimmy smiles, fWhip can see how his eyes glitter, how the skin around them crinkles, the dimples on his cheeks, the way his too-sharp teeth glint.

“So are you.” Jimmy then takes a breath in, holds it, and lets it out, eyes closing. “Gods above, I… I can’t believe it, fWhip.”

“Can’t believe what?” fWhip asks, scooting in a little closer.

“Can’t believe we’re here,” Jimmy replies, opening his eyes again, and fWhip’s heart beats so fast in this moment, and so loud that they’d be surprised if Jimmy can’t hear it. “Can’t believe we’re at peace. Can’t believe we’re together.”

Then Jimmy’s eyes flick down to fWhip’s lips, and Jimmy’s expression sharpens into a grin.

“Can’t believe you’re going to kiss me right now,” he adds.

fWhip snorts, but gives in without complaint, shivering as Jimmy pulls fWhip in closer, and they kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, at least at first, until Jimmy makes a sound in the back of his throat that makes fWhip’s knees go weak, and he lets Jimmy pull them on top of him, and deepen the kiss.

fWhip’s eyes drift close, they cling to Jimmy’s clothes as they lose themself in it, long and slow, and when they pull apart for air, fWhip studies Jimmy’s face.

“What do you see?” Jimmy asks. His voice is so soft.

“Something worth remembering forever and ever,” fWhip replies, equally as low. He almost dips down for another kiss before-

BANG!

fWhip jumps as the firework show begins, and he scrambles off Jimmy so he can watch it too, which makes Jimmy laugh and scoot up beside them. fWhip puts a wing around Jimmy as he snuggles up close so they can block the wind.

Jimmy laces their fingers together again, squeezing once.

They watch the fireworks in the quiet, there, alone on the roof. The crowd below cheers for the bigger ones, but all of them are beautiful. Jimmy watches ones that fill the sky with glimmering jewels, ones that streak across the sky in a trail of stardust, ones that whistle and pop with the most tremendous of sparkles. Jimmy doesn’t have a favourite. The whole display is stunningly gorgeous.

Throughout it, though, Jimmy catches fWhip shooting him anxious side-eyes, trying to judge if Jimmy is enjoying himself. So, Jimmy squeezes their hand again, and lets the awe he’s feeling shine through in his voice.

“It’s beautiful, fWhip,” he says earnestly. “You’ve done a splendid job.”

fWhip absolutely lights up under Jimmy’s words, and they finally relax, curling up to Jimmy to watch their hard work come to fruition.

“Here’s to Progress,” he mumbles.

“Here’s to life,” Jimmy agrees, before he rests his head against fWhip’s again. He couldn’t have imagined a better day spent here, with fWhip, if he tried. “Here’s to us. To you. I love you, fWhip.”

fWhip looks away from the fireworks to look at a far prettier sight, and smiles up at Jimmy.

“I love you too, Jimmy,” they say.

And so they curl up here, content and together, and for once, fully at peace.

#djpurple3's writing yo #empires smp #empires s1 #fwhimmy #empires fic #food mention #codfather jimmy #count fwhip #esmp #empiresshipping

[djpurple3]

his tears freeze when he cries, did you know that?

3k words, Empires s1, romantic scwhip (fWhip/Scott), vaguely canon compliant, set just before Scott leaves on his Elsa Arc. Full fic both on AO3 and posted below.

Tagged: kissing, crying, self-deprecation, abandonment issues, hurt no comfort, angst, winged Scott and fWhip, tragic romance.

Summary:

After fWhip's sister gets hit by Scott's newly developing and quickly out-of-control powers, fWhip has that sort of... gut feeling that everything is about to fall apart. He rushes to Rivendell to see Scott just in time - catching Scott as he is about to leave. fWhip now has to try, in vain, to convince his love to stay.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

fWhip has that… that gut sort of feeling. When Gem had shown up, allegedly ‘feeling fine’ but corrupted to all hells and back, and talking about Scott, fWhip had a terrible sort of feeling. Now, coming to a quick landing in Rivendell’s main plaza, he sees he was right to assume the worst.

Scott, wings half-unfurled, stares at him, caught off guard, and… painfully scared.

When fWhip dares to approach, he has to swallow hard, stomach twisting itself into agonising knots, because as he draws closer, Scott shies away.

“I’m not mad,” fWhip says quickly. He raises his hands in a show of peace. “Not anymore, I promise.”

“It’s not just that,” Scott says, and he doesn’t even look at fWhip, and that hurts too. “It’s… no. You should go.”

“Go?” fWhip stops five paces away, hands still in the air, and he tries to smile, tries to joke it off. “But I just arrived! And it was such a long journey, too.”

“You may use one of my people’s homes to rest,” Scott says. He’s really trying to brush fWhip off. And, fWhip notices, Scott’s… not in his usual robes. He’s in warm weather gear – not sleek and well-fitted royal garb, but thick and sturdy. Scott is… he’s in runaway clothes, isn’t he? “I will send word for you.”

“Scott.”

“You can’t… I-,” Scott cuts himself off with an aching sigh. “We can’t, fWhip.”

And Scott finally looks up. His eyes are wide and bright and exhausted. fWhip can’t help but notice that Scott’s been clutching his hands tightly together over his stomach this entire time.  It’s a stark contrast to the usual way Scott would gesture as he spoke.

“You should understand better than anyone else.” Scott’s lips purse, and he looks away. “…How is she?”

“Well, she’s…” fWhip looks away, too. Scratches the back of his head as he fumbles for his words. “She went looking for a cure herself, and got corrupted, actually, but… I took her to Katherine, who managed to purify her. She’s good as gold, now, …if not a little shaken.”

“Corrupted?” Scott echoes, horrified, and he steps back sharply, hands flying to his mouth. “Even Gem? E-even the… the Great Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs…”

“Hey. We both know that it doesn’t matter who you are,” fWhip says sharply, but the way Scott’s face falls tells fWhip he’s accidentally hit a sore spot. “But! She got help! We defeated it together.”

fWhip does his best to smile, now and takes a half-step closer.

“And besides. This,” fWhip gestures at Scott, now, up and down, “isn’t that. You’re… you’re you, Scott. You didn’t mean it. She knows you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it. It… it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Scott’s hands tighten, and the air gets several degrees colder even as Scott takes a jerky step back that spreads frost from where his boot makes contact with the ground. fWhip fights down the urge to shiver, and holds his ground. “I… you’re not listening to me! I can’t control myself, fWhip. A-and I don’t… I don’t want to keep hurting people.”

And fWhip watches in quiet horror as tears fall down Scott’s face. But… but they aren’t normal tears. They’re frozen on his cheeks, long before they hit the ground, and bounce on the cobblestones with little tink-tink-tinks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scott says, and he reaches out to fWhip for a moment, just a moment, before he catches himself, and tucks his hands away again.

fWhip involuntarily makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat, before he has a thought, eyes lighting up. Scott watches him in confusion as fWhip frantically pats down his coat.

“Look, wait, hang on,” he tells Scott, before he finds the right pocket and pulls out his work gloves. “These- these babies? Designed to withstand the extreme temperatures of my forge.”

And fWhip doggedly closes the distance before Scott can argue, pulling his gloves on, and takes Scott’s hands in his. Scott flinches, gasps, his hands flex as frost spreads across fWhip’s gloves, but fWhip just raises a shaky eyebrow, and smiles.

Scott’s eyes widen.

“See?” fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands, coaxing him along, and finally, the tension leaks from Scott, his shoulders uncurl enough to stand tall again. “You can’t hurt me. It’s alright.”

“…Your technology is marvellous,” Scott says, musing. He gently turns fWhip’s hands over so Scott can inspect the gloves closer. “And you’re sure I’m not…?”

“Can barely feel a thing,” fWhip assures him. “You’d really need to start pumping the temperature up or down to damage these.”

In truth, he hasn’t actually really tested these for cold. But they certainly work for heat. Wearing these, he can handle magma and, to some degrees, even lava with his hands. Which is more where his expertise lies. But they’re holding up more than fine right now. fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands again, even as the frost thickens. He still doesn’t feel the cold.

Scott looks up now, finally meeting fWhip’s eyes… and, gods above and below, he looks tired.

“I’m about to go,” Scott whispers. “I’m… I’m going.”

“Where?” fWhip asks, voice equally hushed, worried, and he immediately steps closer.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here. I have to.”

“You… Scott.”

“I have to,” Scott’s still crying, his frozen teardrops are almost piling around them now. “I need to learn to control myself. And I need to do it somewhere I won’t freeze someone half to death. O-or worse.”

“And you?” fWhip tilts his head, studying Scott’s face.

“Oh,” Scott says, his best attempt at playful, and he even does his best to give fWhip a smile. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“…H-how long will you be gone?”

“Long enough,” Scott says, and his hands tighten around fWhip’s for a moment. “I… I don’t know if I should even…”

“You better come back,” fWhip cuts Scott off, brow furrowing as the pain in his chest threatens to seal off his throat. “You better. I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”

“fWhip,” Scott says He sounds in pain.

“Scott,” fWhip matches his tone. “You… you can’t go. …I-I’m sorry. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” Scott says, the bitterness in his tone taking fWhip aback, and he watches as Scott’s lip curls. “A menace? A danger? A threat?”

“Scared,” fWhip says, earnest and simple. “In pain.”

He moves in, now. fWhip catches Scott in a full-on hug, and wraps his leathery wings around both of them, best he can.

“You better come back,” he half-growls, hugging tighter as Scott tenses up with a sharp gasp. “We… gods, Scott, we were just beginning to work.”

“I know,” Scott says, and he sounds so… mournful. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to-”

“You better not finish that sentence either,” fWhip cuts him off again, voice so dark, and fWhip looks up sharply to meet Scott’s ice-blue eyes. They’re practically pressed chest-to-chest now. Scott’s shaking in his arms. “I… you can’t… I can’t… I’ve already lost so many, Scott, you…”

fWhip closes his eyes for a moment, before he finally says, “I can’t lose you too.”

Scott’s face crumples, and he watches fWhip with a devastated expression. fWhip takes his opportunity to lean in and place a kiss on Scott’s cheek.

“fWhip!” Scott reprimands him, and snowy owl wings push draconic ones aside. Scott physically shoves his way out of fWhip’s arms.

“What?” fWhip tries not to sound choked up even as he stumbles back a few steps. “You can’t say you don’t want it!”

“I’ll freeze you!” Scott cries, and fWhip’s eyes widen as frost spreads from around Scott’s boots, seeping deeper into the ground, edging closer to fWhip. “I’ll kill you, fWhip, and I don’t want to. You’d be safer without me!”

Scott puts his head in his hands, turns away, wings circling himself, drawing in tight.

“Everyone would be safer without me,” he whispers to himself.

fWhip chokes on his tongue. He can’t breathe. He needs to say something, anything, but he can’t. The words won’t come.

He takes one hesitant step forward. Then another. He tries to take care not to slip on the ice. Scott doesn’t look up until fWhip is directly in front of him again.

“…fWhip?”

fWhip reaches out, now. He reaches out, worn leather gloves reaching out until he cups Scott’s face gently, so gently, and fWhip tears up as he watches Scott’s eyes widen. fWhip guides Scott’s head down, not all the way, just until their foreheads are resting together, and fWhip closes his eyes, staying there. It’s almost too much to bear.

“I can’t stop you,” he says, low and slow. “I know I can’t. But promise me, Scott. Promise me you’ll come back. I need you to come back.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You can.” fWhip’s face scrunches up, eyes screwing tighter shut. “…Who’s even looking after your people, when you’re gone?”

“My advisors,” Scott says. “I’ve left them letters; they know what to do.”

“…The Grimlands will lend aid, if they need it,” fWhip’s voice is so soft. Scott’s touch is much colder than it used to be, but fWhip isn’t scared of it. He likes it, even. It… fWhip runs too hot for his own good. He could even get used to this, grow fond of this, …if Scott would stay.

“Thank you,” Scott whispers, and somehow, he’s the one who shivers. “…fWhip.”

“Scott.”

fWhip hasn’t opened his eyes yet. He can’t. If he opens his eyes to see that fear on Scott’s face, it’ll… make this far harder. Too hard. fWhip wants to remember what Scott looked like with a smile. What he used to look like before the demon. Before everything.

“What are you doing?” Scott whispers to him.

“I-I’m trying to remember you happy,” fWhip replies honestly. “So it’ll hurt less when you’re gone.”

Scott’s breathing hitches. Under fWhip’s touch, he shudders. Slowly, fWhip feels the familiar warmth and softness of being encircled by feathery wings, and he melts into it.

“Don’t go.” fWhip can’t help but beg.

“I have to.”

“Then kiss me,” fWhip finally opens his eyes, and takes in Scott’s tears, the fear in his eyes, the way his mouth is hanging a little open, the way he’s drawn tenser than a bowstring, and knows he won’t be able to erase how Scott has changed, has been changed, by all of this. “Kiss me, one last time. Please.”

Scott gasps again, and fWhip watches Scott as he openly wars with himself, fear and longing clawing at each other until Scott gasps for air, and-

“I…” Scott’s hands almost make it to fWhip’s face, but they falter, fall a little, and lightly cup his throat, over where his scarf is, like Scott can’t bring himself to touch fWhip’s bare skin.

“Lean in,” fWhip whispers. “Close your eyes, if it helps. I just… Gods. Give me something to remember you by, Scott.”

Scott caves. fWhip watches it happen, watches it play out across Scott’s face. Scott caves, and closes his eyes and tilts his head down, hesitant, waiting. fWhip is the one who cups Scott’s face again to guide the kiss.

Scott’s lips are cold. fWhip doesn’t let it throw him, just presses their mouths together insistently, tries to press everything he can against Scott’s lips to try and let Scott know he has something to come back to.

When they part for air, Scott doesn’t open his eyes for another moment.

fWhip leans back just a little to start undoing his scarf, and he slips it off, loops it around Scott’s neck, and he’s fumbling with doing up the knot when Scott’s eyes fly open.

“I… I can’t take this,” Scott tries to argue, though he makes no move to stop fWhip.

“I have others,” fWhip tells him sharply, doing up the knot a little too tight as his nerves spike. “Remember me.”

Scott touches it softly, his expression twisting. “Red’s not my colour,” he whispers.

“Means you’ll have to give it back.” fWhip drags him in by the scarf now, and kisses him again, pressing his words to Scott’s lips. “Means you’ll have to remember me.”

It seems to be yet another touchy thing to say to Scott – his lips part like he was going to say something. fWhip almost takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss then and there, but he doesn’t. He… doesn’t think Scott would forgive him if he did.

They break away. fWhip just doesn’t want to take his hands off the elf before him, yet. When he does, Scott will go, and it’ll all be real.

“Is there any last things you need?” he asks instead, makes himself ask instead.

“No.” Scott’s hands fall away to hang at his sides.

“You have enough food?”

“I do.”

fWhip smooths down the scarf. …Scott isn’t wrong about red not being his colour. It just kind of washes Scott out.

fWhip still thinks he looks beautiful.

“…Be safe?”

“You too,” Scott says earnestly. “…If there’s an emergency, send an owl. They’ll find me.”

“I will,” fWhip promises.

And the conversation lulls. It’s come to an end, fWhip can feel it has, but he doesn’t want it to. But Scott steps away now, leaving fWhip’s hands trailing behind him. Snow has started to fall around them, slow and soft.

It settles on Scott’s hair, gleaming in the sun.

fWhip wants to say all sorts of things. Things like I’ll miss you and things like I love you. He doesn’t say any of it, though, because… at the end of the day, he knows Scott knows. And he knows it’ll only make this hurt more.

fWhip knows he can’t stop him. Despite how badly he wishes for the contrary, fWhip cannot stop him. And he knows Scott wouldn’t cope with fWhip following. Even if fWhip wanted to, he …can’t. because even outside of the ‘powers’ thing, it isn’t really, politically, the best of times to leave. But fWhip won’t tell him that. He’ll just have to… to try to cover Scott’s tracks for him.

Scott now leaves five, now six, now seven, now eight empty paces between them, before he smiles, so sadly, so scared, at fWhip; and… there. In that moment right there, fWhip knows that this expressionwill be the face that will haunt his dreams from now on.

“Goodbye, Count fWhip,” Scott whispers. It’s almost as soft as the snow falling around them, but it falls louder than an avalanche on fWhip’s ears.

fWhip swallows hard.

“Goodbye, King Scott,” is all he can whisper back. Helpless. He feels helpless, watching Scott extend his wings, put his back to fWhip, and hesitate only once before he takes off.

Scott circles once, overhead. What gold he’s still wearing catches in the sunlight, as does his hair. fWhip has always thought his hair looks particularly fetching in the sun. It makes his heart lurch now. With a few mighty beats of powerful wings, Scott is soaring into the distance.

Just like that, he’s …gone.

fWhip stays rooted to the spot until Scott’s out of eyeshot, and then a little longer, just for good measure. Snow settles on his hair, his shoulders, his wings. fWhip stays, still as a statue, frozen in place until he can’t stand the cold anymore, and he cracks. fWhip wraps himself up in his wings, finally giving in and shivering as he rips his eyes away from the horizon.

 He feels barer – colder – without his scarf.

As fWhip drops his head, gritting his teeth, something sparkling catches his eye. fWhip makes a sound – a sound that’s a little too close to a sob to play it off, before he leans down, and scoops up a handful of Scott’s frozen tears. He cradles them in his hands, watching them glint in the morning sun.

They are small and delicate in the palms of his thick, dark, leathery gloves.

…It’s only morning. He has a whole day ahead of him. Buildings to build. Councils to meet with. Treaties to negotiate. Paperwork to finish. Inventions to fix.

He…

H-he needs to replace his scarf first.

fWhip stands, turns sharply, and spreads his wings too, closing his hands around the tears. They don’t even seem to be melting, yet. And they don’t the whole way home, and not even when he takes off his gloves and cups them in his bare hands, where they sit, freezing and lonely, against his skin.

fWhip leaves them on his windowsill, in his bedroom, by his bed. He puts his back to them as he huddles by the fire long enough to stave all the cold off, replaces his scarf, though he gave Scott his favourite one. …It was bloodsheep wool. Sausage had made it for him, years ago.

…It’s one he can probably never replace, nowadays.

Eventually, fWhip rises to his feet, making to leave, to try function for the day, and ends up turning back to the window. fWhip can’t help but notice with detached curiosity and buried pain that, even in the full sun, Scott’s tears aren’t melting.

Well then. Good to see fWhip’s got something to hold onto, too.

So, fWhip doesn’t let himself cry. fWhip plasters on his best smile, and leaves, trying to put some fake pep in his step as he goes to meet up with his civil planning committee to try suss out the last of the preparations for their newest building project, and does his best not to slam his bedroom door behind him, as all he can do is to… continue on with his life, and hope for Scott to come back.

#empires smp #empires s1 #empires fwhip #empires scott #scwhip #empiresshipping #empires fanfic #empires smp fanfic #empires fic #djpurple3's writing yo #i havent posted fic in so long. and it's rarepairs. B) #it's 2am im going to bed now

[djpurple3]

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: Empires SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Bryce | fWhip/Jimmy | Solidarity, GeminiTay & Jimmy | Solidarity, Bryce | fWhip & GeminiTay Characters: Jimmy | Solidarity, Bryce | fWhip, GeminiTay (Video Blogging RPF), Violet the Ender Dragon (Empires SMP), The Wyverns, Norman the Cat, The Dogs - Character Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, slowburn, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-Finale, Nudity, <- there are some bath scenes., idk man it just happened, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, touch starvation, Almost Drowning, Blood, injuries, Magic, Jimmy | Solidarity is a god, Cod Hybrid Jimmy | Solidarity, Swearing, Intrusive Thoughts, Dissociation, Jimmy | Solidarity has PTSD, Bryce | fWhip has PTSD, GeminiTay has PTSD, Winged fWhip, Sort Of, it'll make sense i prommy, lost limbs, Season 1 Summary:

fWhip and Gem flee. They flee, on dragonback, until there's no way that the distance they've put between them and what was left of their empires would let anything catch up with them. And, fWhip has to admit, as Codfather Jimmy Solidarity still manages to stumble into their lives, they were wrong.

Tensions are still as high as fWhip remembers them. Jimmy's hurt, well, they all are, but fWhip is more than willing to try ease Jimmy's burdens.

He... he loves him. He isn't ready to tell him that yet. The only problem is Jimmy himself, of course. He just needs to convince Jimmy not to leave.

---- --- ----- ---

hey guys ive had this around for a hot minute but i really got inspired suddenly tonight and wrote two more chapters!!! 42k words of angsty fwhimmy slowburn with some sweet sweet jimmy&gem friendship for kicks. 

if you’re a season1 fwhimmy enjoyer, this is centred around them and their trauma of. yknow. ending the world. (do please heed the tags)

#empires smp #empires s1 #fwhimmy #jimmy solidarity #fwhip #empires fwhip #empires jimmy #empires fic #empiresblr #ao3 link #djpurple3's writing yo

[djpurple3]

to people who enjoy fish husbands / fwhimmy fics, ive just posted 13 chapters (38k words) worth of fwhimmy fic. dont know why it’s not showing up title-wise but it’s called to the point of invention and is postfinale season 1 <3

i think the most interesting fwhimmy dynamic is when they both kind of know they’re in love with each other but are stupid and angst over it a bit too much

#empires smp #empires season 1 #fwhimmy #empires jimmy #empires fwhip #empires gem #empires postfinale #empires fic #link #djpurple3's writing yo

[djpurple3]

Updated Pinned Post

Kia ora! Call me DJ. I use he/she/they, I’m in my early 20s, and I’m a kiwi. I'm a writer, artist and musician, though I don't often post my own stuff anymore ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You can find my ko-fi here, if you're feeling so generous.

I'm also a pro gamer (lie) and when I do stream on Twitch, I'll usually promote it here, very loosely.

I’m on AO3 as Jinx72. I don't post that often anymore but I'm working on it.

Main fandoms seem to be: MCYT (specifically Empires (esp season 1) and Traffic Series, Minecraft in general, HLVRAI, core Half Life/Portal, Sonic the Hedgehog, and the odd other stuff and things. I also know many, many other useless things.

(if you're going hey weren't you in the sanders sides fandom, uh, yeah, i was, but not anymore <3)

Between that and some good ol' fashion shitposting, that's basically what you'll find here ^-^

art tag is #djpurple3′s art yo

writing tag is #djpurple3′s writing yo

music tag is #dj's music

talk tag is #dj rambles <- mostly for blocking purposes, lmao

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

That's probably about it! Thank you for reading <3

#dj rambles #pinned post #dj's information sheet #djpurple3's art yo #djpurple3's writing yo #edit 25/11/23: yeah im updating this and cutting half this gunk out. #and gently putting my brand new ko-fi in #please it's slash gen almost my birthday #dkfghdkfg legally that's a joke

[djpurple3]

I posted 7,788 times in 2022

That's 363 more posts than 2021!

265 posts created (3%)

7,523 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sugarglider-s

@broadwaytheanimatedseries

@lycanthrop-ee

@bdoubleowo

@belovedgamers

I tagged 1,516 of my posts in 2022

#dj rambles - 141 posts

#empires smp - 99 posts

#classic - 52 posts

#empires - 47 posts

#good tiktok - 34 posts

#djpurple3's art yo - 31 posts

#empiresshipping - 27 posts

#srb - 26 posts

#jimmy solidarity - 25 posts

#trafficshipping - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#everyone else is writing intense pieces about death or inequality and i rock up with my urban fantasy with at least two catholic jokes in it

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Damn that sounds like a toaster >:'( i will see what i can do to make it sound less like a toaster later

140 notes - Posted January 7, 2022

#4

s1 Cod Alliance lives in my head all the time always and i just need to guys to know i miss them terribly. so. Cod Alliance Drinking Night.

and this piece has. legit. taken me months (on and off). if you like it please reblog it <3 ;u;

@belovedgamers @merlybird500 @kiwibaskerville @felinedetached @leiasolo77 (i know u dont follow these things but <3 in the very least im proud of this)

[Image ID: Lizzie, Joel, Jimmy and Pix from Empires SMP sitting around a table, talking and laughing. They’re all holding some form of alcohol, or have it sitting nearby. Pix is smiling, waving a hand, telling a story. Lizzie is leaning back in her seat, laughing with her eyes closed. Joel is looking at Pix, barely managing to keep from cry-laughing. Jimmy is also looking at Pix, and gesturing pointedly, grinning.

They’re sitting in a warmly lit room with a fireplace behind them, with a shield with Mezalean colours hanging from the mantelpiece, with two crossed diamond swords behind it. Photos line the right wall and small pots, one with a little pink azalea bush, sit on a chest of drawers on the left wall. The curtains on the right hand window are half-pulled back to show a dark, starry night with a crescent moon partially obscured by clouds. The artist’s signature is written transparent over the fireplace. /End ID]

163 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

#3

im so proud of empires s2 Joel “he does lore now” Beans getting so tall

195 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#2

On one hand if janus needed glasses he wouldnt wear them bc something something self conscious

On the other hand a janus who does need glasses and every time he needs to read something he holds up a finger and goes through the rigmarole of pulling put a case from a pocket inside his cape/jacket, retreiving a pair of gold-rimmed halfmoon glasses, slowly settling them on his nose, before finally reading/looking at whatever was handed to him. He does the whole process every time. The only thing that makes it worth it is how annoyed it makes everyone else.

545 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fuck it. Out Of Touch Trombone Thursday

3,137 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #dont know how i was surprised by my top post but godbless

[djpurple3]

heartbreak and healing - a sanders sides fic

ship: royality characters: Roman (main), Patton, Virgil, Remus, Janus, Logan, c!Thomas content: magical style semi-terminal illness (sort of like hanahaki), mild body horror, food, light swearing, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, tensions, kissing, mild suicidal ideations (more lack of selfcare / apathy), discussions of death, close encounter with death. wordcount 17,520 words .........lot longer than intended LMAO

A/N: do people write royality anymore? no clue. i had this idea and it took me two weeks to write this when i orignally thought it was gonna be like 5k words and would take me one sitting. i never learn.

Anyhoo, head the warnings, this can get heavy, but it has a sickeningly sweet ending. I finished this at 1:30am so hopefully it’s coherent all the way through. semi-edited. cant think of anyone to tag so i wont lmao

--- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---  

Roman’s shaking a little. He is shaking but he folds his arms over his chest and raises his chin anyway, glaring down his shirtless reflection and pressing his arms against himself tight, like it would bind him back together.

But no. The cracks are still there. …Cracks. Cracks. Like a porcelain doll. Etching out like a spiderweb, like a broken mirror, from his heart. Roman tears his eyes away from the deep red fissures and stares himself in the eye.

There’s an answer to the number of questions in here, pinging around his skull like popcorn. There’s an answer he doesn’t like but has to face is true.

He… Well, it’s hard to put into words, really. But…

His arms fall to his sides, and he traces the tallest crack with a fingertip, feeling how it hurts a little to press down, tracing it even though it only travels about an inch and a half up his chest, snaking off towards his right collarbone by the time it hits his sternum. It’s red, but barely so. When Roman first noticed them, he almost thought they were black.

When Roman had first noticed them, they’d been hairline fractures. He had panicked, and after spending an hour fretting and prodding and poking in front of the mirror, had gone to bed with the hope that he could sleep it off.

But things were starting to add up, now. Because they had only formed after… after the wedding. They had only formed after Roman had gone down in the hallway from a shock of grief so palpable it soared straight over emotion and landed firmly in pain had lanced through his chest.

Roman presses the pads of his fingers over his heart and feels how it hurts, trying to fight down his grimace. Curse him. Curse his imaginary form and how his creative status took euphemism and metaphor takes things so literally. His heart has broken, it seems, and it is now tearing him apart.

Roman lets his hand fall, debating covering it with foundation or something, before there’s a knock at his door.

“Roman,” comes Virgil’s voice. “There’s waffles up for grabs, if you want.”

“I’ll be right down,” Roman calls back, turning away from the mirror and fumbling for his undershirt.

“Want me to wait, or…?”

“No, no. Go get a headstart.”

Virgil’s footsteps shuffle away from the door hesitantly. Roman pulls on his shirt and grimaces again at how he can feel the slight way the cracks make his skin tug in weird ways as his muscles move.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman comes downstairs when he is fully and immaculately dressed. It takes a while to lace his boots, it always does, but he likes them too much to leave style by the wayside. But by the time he comes downstairs, everyone is there. And nowadays, he means everyone.

Virgil is sitting at the dinner table with two plates in front of him. One is empty, and the other has three waffles on it, while the communal help-yourself plate is empty too. It seems Virgil grabbed some for him before they disappeared, which is nice of him. Logan sits at the opposite end of the table, alone, frowning down at his phone as he cleans up the last of his own waffles which must have been appropriately drowned in crofters. Remus is sitting on the couch – upside down, feet hanging over the back of the couch and kind-of in Virgil’s face (and clearly on purpose), but he’s watching… some cartoon or other. Roman can’t be bothered to check.

And Patton and Janus are in the kitchen. They’re in the kitchen, cleaning up batter and bowls and laughing to each other. Patton’s face is lit up with laughter, probably from a joke Roman didn’t hear, and Janus’ eyes are glittering with mirth, and both look far more light-hearted than Roman’s seen in a long time.

The cracks throb and ache a little at that, but it’s not enough to throw Roman off his paces. Not yet, at least.

The laughter immediately quiets as he walks in, though. Patton’s eyes lock with his for only a second before his grin drops into a polite smile that grates to see, and a silence falls across the room.

Roman realises he’s just kind of standing there, and winces. He doesn’t say anything. He just drops his head and hurries over to the seat Virgil’s pulling out for him to take. No grand entrance, no declarations, no songs, no quips. Roman has learnt over the years to read the room, and he can well tell that it is not a room welcome to such antics anymore.

Or at least; as his eyes flick up at the sound of quiet humming, and sees Patton shoot a smile at Janus, who’s started humming… god, is that Phantom? under his breath; such antics aren’t welcome from him anymore.

Roman clears his plate without really realising it, and he eats them dry. No sauces or toppings or anything. He’s a little more on autopilot than he’d like to admit, and Virgil seems to be taking notice.

“You alright?”

“Just dandy,” Roman shoots back, smiling a little at his own subtle gay joke, before setting his cutlery down on the plate in front of him.

“You seem out of it.”

“Accidentally stayed up late,” Roman says automatically, punctuating it with a shrug. “Got a new project, it’s kind of stressing me out.”

Janus’ eyes flick to him, almost imperceptibly. It’s not a lie, Roman chants in his head. Or perhaps more accurately, it’s enough of the truth for now.

“…Need help?”

“No.” Roman reaches over and slides Virgil’s used plate towards himself and stacks it under his own. “But I’ll let you know if I do down the line.”

That is a lie. They all know him well enough to know it, too. Virgil sees it for what it actually is, though – an end to the conversation – and he shrugs and goes back to his phone too.

Roman gets up and makes his way around the table. He pauses at Logan’s elbow, waiting until the other side acknowledges him, before quietly holding out one hand, balancing the plates in the other.

Logan blinks for a moment, before handing over his own plate. He doesn’t thank Roman as the prince takes it. That’s okay. Roman’s not hunting for it. He just adds it to the stack and walks on eggshells all the way into the kitchen, where the fun conversation quiets down with every step closer he takes.

He hates this. He hates that it went this far. He hates that he’s done this to the people he loves. And he hates how it’s all his fault.

That thought is not a new one, really, but it brings around a new effect. His heart aches, sharp and hot, a new pain that stabs right through him and makes him stumble. Stumble straight into the wall. And he drops the plates.

Smash.

He didn’t mean to.

He didn’t mean to.

Roman needs to move, to clean this up, to fix it, but all that is going through him in this moment in time, enough to blind out the pain, is that he didn’t mean to.

There are curses shouted around the room, mostly from people scared by the sudden noise, but Roman is just staring down at the most recent pile of mistakes, the newest thing he’s destroyed by laying his hands on, and-

Is someone calling his name?

He only snaps to when someone all but elbows him out of the way. He stumbles backwards even more, hand latching to his sash (totally not over his heart) as the elbower manages to hit him right where it hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and realises it’s Logan who’s elbowed him aside, looking sour. “I was… I…”

“Would you at least mind moving from standing in it?” Logan orders him sharply, and Roman does his best to leap backwards like he’s been stung.

“It was an accident,” Roman is still talking. “I didn’t mean to, I was only trying to help.”

“And clearly, it has gone the same way your help usually goes,” Logan says, sharp and to the point as he crouches down to start picking the larger pieces out of the mess to put into a rubbish bag Patton’s holding open for him. “Surely one would learn to keep their nose out of it by now.”

Roman’s eyes widen. He fights to try and defend himself but no words come. The room finds a way to be even more silent, until Logan finally looks at him, with a bitter glare.

“Why don’t you keep out of the way,” he snaps, “while we fix your mistakes again?”

Roman’s grip over his heart tightens because oh, that hurt. That hurt so bad, it hurt bad enough that it’s stabbing, and he can’t breathe and he’s pretty sure he can feel the cracks widening without having to see it.

He takes one step back. Then another. Patton is staring at Logan, mouth open, and those are the only two in Roman’s tunnel vision at the moment.

Roman does not stay to hear what Patton will say. He couldn’t take it, not from him.

He doesn’t even bother to go for the stairs. He sinks out on the spot, hoping he doesn’t look too much like a wounded animal as he goes.

--- --- --- --- ---  

“You can’t say that,” Patton finally manages to break the shocked silence of the kitchen. “You… that was cruel, Logan.”

“It was true,” Logan grouses, turning back to the pile.

“Get up,” Virgil says gruffly, and suddenly he’s standing behind Logan, face stormy. “I’ll finish this.”

“No, it’s fine-”

“It’s clearly not. Get up, and either go apologise or have a fucking nap. I don’t care, just don’t pull that stunt again.”

Logan stands before Virgil makes him (because he has that look about him) and tries to swallow his anger.

“I’m sorry,” he says formally, swallowing hard and adjusting his tie. “I… I have not slept very well this past week and my patience seems to be growing thin.”

Virgil shoots him a hard look. Patton swallows. Janus has moved to stand beside Patton in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the doorframe with a similarly hard look on his face. Remus is watching from over the edge of the couch with something far too interested for Logan’s liking.

“Go sleep,” Patton nods to the stairs. “We’ll… let’s deal with this tonight. You’ve clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“My bed is pressed up against two walls, I can only get out of one side of it, there is no wrong side-”

“It’s an expression,” Janus cuts in before Logan can continue, and Logan is left to shake his head and all but storm away as everyone else watches, and slowly, the mess gets cleared up.

As Virgil stands, stepping back so Janus can vacuum, Patton catches his arm and pulls him aside.

“Can you… check on Roman?” Patton asks him, and Virgil studies his face. Patton was always pretty good at hiding his emotions, more than they ever really realised, but the way his eyes are shining with something grieving finally sways him. It’s clear he doesn’t know if he should do check on Roman himself – and doesn’t even know if he wants to, but despite everything, he’s still worried about the prince.

“Okay,” Virgil agrees, choosing not to have a go at him. “I might give him a little time, though. I don’t think he wants to see anyone right now.”

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman makes it to his room, and his back thumps against the door as he gasps for air. By the gods, that hurt. It hurts so bad. He fumbles to get his layers off and staggers over to the dresser again to realise with hitching breaths that it wasn’t just him feeling things.

The cracks are bigger. And they’ve solidified into a wine red. The more horizontal cracks have begun to reach around his ribs and he might yet wake up to find them on his back tomorrow.

He makes it to his bed and sits, falls backward and pants at the ceiling. This is the worst it’s felt yet, and Roman thinks he can see the pattern now.

It has to be heartbreak. The thing that makes this worse is the grief over hearing and knowing and processing his myriad of mistakes. And it’s probably only going to go downhill from here.

He presses his hand lightly over his heart again and thinks about Logan’s words. It hurts, everything throbs as he reflects, but he makes himself reflect because Logan is right. And Logan’s been very patient with him in the past. They were just plates, sure, but it was clearly the last straw.

I’ll eat separately from now on, maybe, he thinks to himself. So I don’t have to risk upsetting Logan like that again.

It will probably be better for them all all-round. He’s not as stupid as they all think. He can take a cue, and he can play his role accordingly.

The… the transformation, the whatever it is, has left him exhausted. Roman manages to crawl into bed, he flicks his wrist to magic off his boots because he doesn’t have it in him to do it for real, and he pulls the covers up over his shoulders right up to his chin and rolls over, all but passing out.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil knocks lightly on his door an hour later, calling his name. He sticks his head in the room and his expression softens when he sees Roman sleeping. He flicks the light out and carefully closes the door.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman wakes up in less pain than he fell asleep in, which is nice. A quick glance at his clock tells him it’s the same day – though barely, as it’s now about quarter to midnight, and the thing that actually woke him is not chest pains but hunger pains.

Roman sits up, the blankets sliding off his bare chest, and he blinks twice as he could swear his new afflictions are… glowing? It dies away pretty quick, if it is. It’s a trick of the light if it isn’t. The light is low, so that’s possible, even though Roman doesn’t remember turning them off himself. But still. He changes into his pyjamas, pausing in front of the mirror to make sure everything’s covered, before shuffling to his door.

The house is pretty quiet when he emerges into the corridor. He leaves his door ajar and wanders down the hall and down the stairs. The TV is on and Patton is asleep in front of it. It looks like he was supposed to be waiting up for someone, but took an impromptu nap. Roman grasps the banister as he quickly has to wonder if he’s waiting for him.

What does he want? To console him? To tell him Logan was wrong? Or, what is more likely, that Logan was right?

Sure, he’ll probably tell him that Logan was too harsh, but…

Roman shake his head and manages to sneak past. He has too many feelings about Patton to sort out, and waking him now would not help.

He steals his way into the kitchen and stands there for a moment with hands on his hips, trying to figure out what to do. He combs the fridge and finds leftovers from what they must have eaten tonight, and he can recognise Logan’s cooking when he sees it.

Maybe Logan’s remorseful. Maybe Roman’s on his first strike. Roman takes it and a fork and sits at the table, and eats as quietly as he can. Patton stirs but does not wake.

“Oh.”

Roman flinches, almost drops his fork, but saves himself last-minute even as the snappy movements make his chest ache.

He looks up and sees Janus at the top of the stairs, face unreadable, and Roman flushes before he can try and scrape together a poker face.

“You…” Janus trails off, his voice also low so as not to disturb Patton, “…made quite the spectacle, earlier.”

Roman swallows hard, sets his fork down, and chooses his words carefully.

“It won’t happen again.”

Janus descends the last of the stairs and closes the distance until the only thing separating them is the table.

“Why’d you drop the plates?”

“Dizzy spell,” Roman lies. It’s compulsive, and again, close enough to the truth that it will do, “I’ve been getting them a lot lately. I’ll be more careful.”

He doesn’t really want to tell Janus what’s up. He doesn’t want to tell the guy who… doesn’t… like him? Roman has to assume he doesn’t. Despite what he really wants, Janus’ actions have been clear, he mustn’t like Roman. But Janus is now studying him with something in his eyes that almost looks soft. It might even be pity.

“You do that,” he agrees. “And if you find the time to tell the truth some time, we’re here for that too.”

Roman’s hands tighten on the table, and he can only look away.

“I need to understand what’s happening first,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and can’t meet Janus’ eyes. After all this time, after everything, the most agonizing thing about this is the honesty, but if it gets Janus off his back, then it gets him off his back. “I… I don’t want to hurt everyone any more.”

He stands, and he can’t look at Janus. It hurts too much, he can’t breathe past the lump in his throat, and the subtle feeling of something prickling even further across his skin. He almost rubs over his heart, but manages to keep his hands still. He can’t give the game away so soon.

Janus folds his arms, and studies Roman. “You have people who want to help you,” he points out, and raises an eyebrow as Roman shakes his head.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he says, and skirts both the table and him and makes for the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to finish your food?”

“I’m not hungry,” he lies one last time for the night. “Goodnight.”

Janus watches him go, before slowly turning to clear Roman’s mess up behind him.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman stays up til 4am, sleeps a little more, wakes up at 10am and bides his time until he can strike the least busy sweet-spot between breakfast and lunch to approach the kitchen. He feels ragged and hopes he doesn’t look it, but it’s so much effort to get into his normal outfit that he nearly doesn’t.

He must be deteriorating faster than he expected.

Roman magicks his clothes so they slide onto his limbs by themselves and makes his way downstairs. The only people there are Virgil and Logan, sitting on the couch and discussing the thing they’re watching. It looks to be a deep space documentary.

Roman tries to sneak down the stairs as quietly as he can but they hear him pretty quick. Virgil shoots him a sympathetic look that says talk later, and Logan’s is… fragile, to say the least.

Roman offers them a stiff nod and hurries into the kitchen to make a sandwich or something.

He stands there and eats, vaguely out of sight, and debates sinking out from here. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even realise the others have already closed the distance, and Logan only gets his attention by clearing his throat.

Logan’s in the doorway now, only a couple metres away from where Roman has been leaning against the fridge. He jumps, clutching at his heart over his shirt as the lurch hurts, before putting on a smile as he gathers himself.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” Logan shoots back, and he’s toeing the ground like an anxious teenager. “Roman, about yesterday-”

“I’m not mad,” Roman launches out, not meaning to, but the words have left his mouth before he can think.

Logan looks up, and grimaces a little. “I… You have every right to be. I was in a foul mood, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of that.”

Roman shrugs, and takes another bite of his sandwich. He hates how closely the two of them are watching him. It makes his skin crawl, and his skin’s taking enough abuse as is.

“I get it,” he says eventually. “Hell, it’d be hypocritical if I said I didn’t forgive you.”

Logan looks at him funny. Roman finishes his sandwich, swallows, and tucks his hands behind his back as he stands up straight.

“Thank you for your apology,” he says formally. “But it’s not warranted.”

They’re looking at him funny. He doesn’t understand why. Logan was right, of course, yesterday. He’s just trying to actually begin to take accountability for his mistakes.

“And I’ll make sure something like that doesn’t happen again,” Roman smiles; all teeth and nothing happy.

“I…” Logan looks baffled, like Roman’s thrown him for a loop.

Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to be working. He’s supposed to be working to fix this all.

It’s beginning to dawn on Roman that… maybe he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hopes Logan knows he means it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to work.”

Virgil tries to catch his arm on his way past. Roman manages to slip his way out of it and shoot him a friendly smile as he disappears up the stairs.

He makes it back to his room before the floodgates open.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman is woken by knocks on the door. It is now late afternoon, almost four o’clock, and he’s accidentally fallen asleep at his desk. He doesn’t understand why he’s sleeping so much. This ailment must be taking it out of him.

The knocks come again, and Roman gets to his feet and goes to answer the door.

It’s Patton.

Patton!

He hasn’t spoken to Patton one-on-one in a very long time. Since before the wedding, maybe even before the trial. For someone so near and dear to his heart, Patton has been drifting away from Roman for a very long time, and Roman’s a little afraid of what might happen now with him so close.

He has never really gotten over Patton.

Patton’s eyes search his face, before he smiles gently, in that way that’s not been directed at Roman in months. “Hey, Roman,” he says softly. “Can I come in?”

Roman’s hand shoots up to lean on the doorframe.

“I just want to talk,” Patton says. “Not even about anything in particular, if you don’t want. I guess I realised we… haven’t caught up in a while.”

For a reason, I’m sure.

Roman’s chest aches. He shouldn’t, but he’s always been weak for Patton. He steps back, steps aside, and lets Patton in.

Patton closes the door behind him as Roman pads across the room to sit on his bed. He gestures for Patton to take the chair, but Patton hesitates, crosses the room, and lingers over him.

“Can I sit next to you?”

Roman looks down, before looking back up at Patton and smiling. “If you want.”

It hurts. Not literally, not this time, not yet. It hurts because he is so close to the person he loves so deeply and has hurt so much. Patton deserves better. Patton deserves someone who won’t hurt him. Someone like-

Roman grasps at his chest before he can even think about hiding it, gasping sharp and high as the cracks run deeper. Patton kneels in front of him, taking the hand gripping his own knee and calling his name, asking if he’s alright.

Roman grits his teeth and tries to pull through it, riding out the wave and trying his best not to concern Patton too much. Patton cares so much, too much, too much for his own good.

Eventually, he can straighten up, breathe deep, and meet Patton in the eye.

The wide look of concern there almost breaks him again.

“Oh, hon, are you okay?”

Hon.

“I’m fine,” Roman lies, quick as you please, and smiles despite himself. “I… I think I’ve just been… sick, recently.”

“Can I help?” Patton’s eyes are liquidy and earnest. Roman is overcome with an instinct, and instinct he’s had a few times but only ever acted on once – one Christmas years ago when the two of them were younger and bumbling and unafraid of their feelings and trying each other on for size.

But no, he can’t do that now. Especially when Janus is such a better choice for Patton now than Roman could ever be.

“No,” Roman says, his words wandering out from his lips before he can think them through, and his honesty cuts them both right to the quick. “I don’t think you can.”

Goddammit. Roman can’t tell the truth when he wants to, and can’t lie when he needs to. Patton’s face falls, and he slowly shifts from kneeling in front of Roman to sitting beside him. Roman feels  how the bed dips under Patton’s weight.

“It looks like it hurts,” he says softly.

Understatement of the century.

“I guess I’m just having some heart problems,” Roman half-laughs. “I’m figuring it out.”

He does have some running theories. Patton doesn’t look convinced.

“Look, Logan said he apologised to you,” he starts, and Roman nods along. “But both him and Virgil are worried because you, well, they said you… took it weird.”

Roman shrugs. “I mean…” he quickly trails off before he says what he actually thinks, but he’s clearly said too much as it is.

Patton takes a sharp breath in, one that Roman feels lance through his own chest, before a gentle hand cups his jaw and turns his head back to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You don’t think you deserve it, do you?” Patton asks, plain and simple, voice cracking.

Roman’s lip wobbles. It’d be so easy to lie, but he’s so sick of it by now. And part of him wants to just let it spill to him, let it all spill, but he can’t afford that, not now, not after everything, because maybe Patton doesn’t even remember that one night when they decided to see what the fuss about mistletoe even was.

He can’t put words together. Any words, truth or lie. His eyes probably say enough, though, enough to make Patton’s own expression crumble.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, and pulls Roman into a gentle hug. “Honey, no.”

Roman’s hands have shot into the air, hovering over Patton’s sides but not touching because it’s been so long since he’s been hugged that it almost feels like he’s forgotten what the protocol is. And he doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to touch Patton or not.

But Patton’s breathing hitches, and Roman feels his lips move against his own throat.

“Please,” Patton begs him. “Please hug me back.”

…How could Roman deny him that?

He does. He wraps his arms around Patton as tightly as he dares and enjoys the hug for what it’s worth. He might not get one of these again, especially not from Patton, especially when Patton finally realises that he really isn’t going to be worth all the work that it’s going to take to piece this broken prince of his back together again.

Roman’s got a couple running theories about his condition now.

The first, of course, is that it’s heartbreak. Something metaphorical that has inflicted itself so very thoroughly across and into his skin like a brand, like a punishment. Thomas is broken up over many things right now, Roman is too, and maybe like his ego, which bruises, Thomas’ subconscious is giving it form.

On the other hand, perhaps it’s rot. Maybe he’s rotting away from the inside, because finally his core, the very heart of his function, has finally given out from the weight of the shit Roman keeps doing and doing, against the nature of what he should be for his family. For Thomas.

Maybe this was always set to happen, from the moment Janus put on Patton’s smile.

Dammit, he has always been so weak for Patton’s smile.

Roman’s hands tighten on Patton’s shirt as new, fresh pain lances through him. This time, he might be crying.

Patton’s arms tighten around him, and even though it doubles the agony, Roman doesn’t tell  him to stop. He’s been hungry for this. He’s been missing Patton so badly.

“What helps?” Patton’s lips are still ghosting his throat. “What helps make the pain go away?”

“…Sleep,” Roman shrugs. As best as he can tell, it’s sleep.

“Do… do you want to have a sleepover? Like old times? Build a pillow fort? I can do most the building.”

“…Not today,” Roman whispers, but he’s so touched, he’s so touched Patton’s offered, that Patton’s remembered.

Though honestly, what is he on about? He’s Patton. He never forgets.

Patton ends up trying to help him get ready for bed. Roman is greedy, he’s so greedy, he feels like he’s just lapping up the attention like a kicked puppy, but he can’t help himself. It’s only when Patton quietly asks if he needs help getting changed or not that he’s jolted back to the moment.

“Oh, no,” he smiles far too broadly and flicks his wrist, and his clothes change into his pyjamas seamlessly. It takes energy, it takes more and more energy to do quick changes and stuff like that now, but right now he hasn’t got a choice.

“Okay,” Patton says, but his eyes are shining with something a little hurt, like he’s upset that Roman’s not letting him in.

Oh, no. Roman can’t. He can’t ever do that again. Because the last time he let Patton bear the full force of his emotions, it almost destroyed them both. No, he’s keeping Patton safe this way.

Patton insists on tucking him in, though, helps him lay back and arranges pillows and blankets for him. Fussing. He’s worried. Roman smiles up at him in a lame attempt to try and assuage his fears.

Patton smiles down at him too, before leaning down and pressing a quick little kiss into his hair.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he tells Roman as he straightens up, before crossing the room and pausing in the doorway. “G’night, Roman.”

“…G’night.”

Patton flicks off the light and closes the door.

Roman pulls the covers over his head and tries to use them to muffle his tears as his chest stabs with hurt again.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman’s reached a point where it might not be getting worse anymore. Maybe it’s just plateaued, and it can get worse. Or maybe this is it, this is just his state now. The cracks are wide now, maybe a half-inch on average, and over his heart, it is ruptured like a centrepoint. Roman was right about a glow. Now the cracks are bigger, he can see that the red in there isn’t just wine-dark but a shifting nebula of molten reds and hints of gold. Sometimes he swears it pulses in time with his heartbeat.

He's just glad it doesn’t show through his clothes.

Roman really doesn’t have the energy he used to, either, nowadays. He has migrated to wearing simpler clothing. A week or two in, he’d swapped back to his old outfit because it was easier to get on and off. A month or two later, now he’s just wearing… clothes.

Comfort over style, nowadays. He can’t even bend over to lace up his boots anymore. He even wears slippers sometimes instead of real shoes.

The others have noticed, of course. They aren’t stupid. He has just had to quietly say it’s health complications and handwave as many comments and questions as possible.

Thomas summoned him once in this state. He was visibly shaken, and Roman could only laugh ever so quietly.

“I… were you serious about the world outgrowing princes?” Thomas asks him seriously, eyes shining. God, he can really see where Patton shines through.

“Oh, this?” Roman looks down at his baggy clothing and sighs. “This isn’t me abandoning that, as such. I just…” He shrugs limply. “I’m not well.”

“Not… well? That can happen?”

“I guess so,” Roman shrugs again, and folds his arms across his chest. “It’s… I don’t think this sort of thing’s quite happened before, but we’re figuring it out.”

“Are the others helping you?”

“Yes.” Oh, that’s bold. Lying straight to his centre’s face. Still, the others would help if he asked, have offered, even, but Roman doesn’t even know how to fix it, let alone what they can do about it.

“It’s, uh,” Thomas shifts on his feet. “Not a ‘bruised ego’ thing again, is it? I could understand if it is.”

Roman rubs his arms and tries not to clutch his shirt over his heart. “Not really,” he says softly. “But it might be of a… similar vein.”

“Is there anything I can do, then?” Thomas is so earnest, he steps towards Roman, and Roman’s so afraid as to what might happen if he gets any closer.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just…”

He presses his hands against his eyes and debates, debates talking, debates telling someone his feelings for once.

“It hurts so much,” he’s speaking before he can make up his mind as to whether he should. “It… it’s so draining. And I think it’s…”

He clamps his lips shut and turns away, already mad that he’s said so much. But Thomas closes in, takes his hand and gets Roman to look at him again.

“Please,” he says, so softly. “Roman, talk to me.”

“It always gets worse when I am reminded of my mistakes,” Roman blurts, eyes suddenly stinging with tears that desperately want to escape. “It hurts so much to accept them, even though that’s what’s needed from me.”

“What’s needed?” Thomas echoes, worried.

“If I can’t accept and improve, then… then everything I do, for you and for them, is pointless. How can you be expected to overcome new trials and adversities when I can’t learn from our past?”

“You sound like you’re in it alone,” Thomas points out, clasping Roman’s hand firmly. “And I can tell you without a doubt that I’ve had a very similar talk with Patton. And… there are people who understand this, Roman, and people who want to help you. And I’m one of those people.”

You shouldn’t.

“I can do it on my own.”

“But you said it hurts. …Maybe you need a hand?”

Roman pulls his hand away from Thomas, despite how much it pains him. “You don’t understand how broken this all is,” he says, painfully honest. “You don’t understand how broken I am. I can try to improve but I… I don’t think I can change.”

“You already have,” Thomas replies, eyes sad. “And I promise you a lot of it is for the better. I’m sorry your introspection is so painful. It usually is very easy to turn into self-loathing, too.”

Roman flushes, and shakes his head, not because Thomas is wrong, but because he’s too right.

“I…” he swallows hard. “I have to go.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Roman,” Thomas tells him as he pulls away again. “I want to help you if I can.”

“I know,” Roman mumbles.

“I love you,” Thomas then follows it up, perfectly earnest and honest. “I value you so much, there’s no one else who can do what you do, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t reply. He can hardly hear over all the thoughts swirling in his head that say otherwise as he sinks out.

--- --- --- --- ---  

It hurts. It hurts so bad. Roman makes the mistake of rising up in the hallway outside his room instead of in his room, and he wraps his arms around his chest as he stumbles towards his door, trying not to whimper.

There’s someone on the stairs. As he shoulders open his bedroom door, he hears someone call his name.

Roman staggers in through the door as it swings open under his bodyweight and the follow-through sends him sprawled out on the floor, head spinning under a crush of white noise as his body rebels against him. He swears he can taste blood.

“Roman?”

Someone’s in his doorway, and curses as he curls in on himself, outwardly crying from pure pain alone for the first time. Roman has a pretty high pain tolerance, when all is said and done. But he’s so tired, he’s so worn down, and this blow is new and fresh and hurts more than anything else so far, and he’s raw and hurting from the belief that he can’t trust anyone with this.

He’s alone. He’s alone, and he might be dying.

Hands. Hands on his side, on his shoulder, carefully easing him upright. Roman curls into the person with a gasp as he rides out the wave, somehow finding the wherewithal to flush with embarrassment in the middle of that even as another pair of arms wrap around him.

The smell is what’s telling. It’s a bad smell. It’s Remus.

Roman lets his brother hold him, not understanding why, and then Remus is moving, and suddenly Roman’s been picked up.

“Shit,” he finally hears Remus say. “Should you be this light?”

“I’m not well,” Roman says faintly.

“Yeah, duh.”

Remus is moving. The world is a bit of a blur still but Roman realises as he’s lowered onto familiar softness that Remus has put him down on his bed. Roman closes his eyes and tries to gather himself as Remus drags his deskchair over and parks up at his bedside.

“Are you dying?” Remus asks him, voice oddly serious, and Roman’s eyes snap open and they finally make eye contact.

Remus looks… shaken. Maybe his intrusive thoughts are running wild after finding his brother sobbing on the floor. Understandable.

Roman wets his lips and hesitates. “…Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know!” Roman eases himself into a sitting position and Remus is quick to adjust pillows for him so he has support. “I… I don’t know.”

Remus is staring at him, in that unnervingly close way that always gives the impression he’s trying to analyse his bone structure or something.

“What’s that?” he finally says, leaning over and touching something on Roman’s collarbone.

Roman knows without looking, judging by the familiar way it hurts when Remus’ finger presses.

“Ah,” he says. “I didn’t realise it had spread that much.”

“Spread?”

Remus tugs the neck of Roman’s shirt down a little, and makes a choked noise at the realisation that this mark keeps going down.

“I…” Roman bats his hand away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried,” Remus snaps back. “I’m worrying about it. Roman, you’re clearly in pain.”

“You love it when I’m in pain.”

“No, I love it when I’m causing you pain. And you know that what I do isn’t permanent. That’s half the point.”

Roman has teared up a little at that. It’s a semi-fucked up Remus way of admitting he cares about his brother.

“Show me,” Remus says, and he’s grabbed the bottom hem of Roman’s shirt.

“No,” Roman tries to bat his hands away again.

“Show me!”

“Stop trying to care!” Roman finally succeeds in hitting his hands away, and Remus looks wounded. “You… what’s with you? You haven’t cared about me, and given my current developments, you shouldn’t either.”

“What, I should love you because you’re dying?”

“No! You shouldn’t love me because I’m a horrible person! And I’m only getting worse!” Roman glares at his brother through tears that started falling without his permission. “What’s so hard to understand about this?”

Remus looks stumped. He slumps back in his seat, hands in his lap, looking like Roman just kicked him in the stomach.

“…I’m a horrible person, too,” he finally whispers. “Because I have been the biggest dick to my brother all the while he’s suffering.”

“I… Suffering’s just part of being me,” Roman says limply with a shrug that hurts and tugs in a number of weird and bad-feeling ways. “You… you haven’t.”

“Careful, there,” Remus tries to joke. “All that edge and you’ll summon our emo.”

His eyes are usually bright, and his heart isn’t in the joke. Roman sighs, he feels really tired all of a sudden. A thought rears its head – something he hasn’t considered but is inspired by what Thomas said to him. It usually is very easy to turn into self-loathing, too.

Is this self-inflicted? Is he that much of a bleeding heart?

“You…” Remus reaches out and hesitates before his touches his brother’s arm, like he’s not sure where to put his hands to make sure he doesn’t hurt Roman. “Please, can I help? Can I see?”

“I don’t know what you can do to help,” Roman says softly. “But…”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Fine.”

Remus has to help him take off his shirt, and as more and more is revealed, until the shirt hits the floor and Roman braces himself on the bed, not meeting Remus’ eyes.

“Holy shit,” Remus says.

Roman sits up, swings himself upright and gets to his feet, despite Remus trying to keep him down. He staggers over to his dresser and pauses in front of the mirror, before taking it all it.

It’s… worse. His breath stops in his throat as he just tries to comprehend what has happened to his body. It’s almost like the time he broke his mirror, but… it’s him. His torso is an intricate weaving of rich red cracks, and he twists despite the ache to check his back and sees it covers that too. He runs a hand over the base of his throat, noting that the cracks are even beginning to reach that high. Onto his shoulders, too. No more tank tops, then. He shies down the top of his pyjama pants just over one hip to see if it stretches down, and… yeah, it’s beginning to spread down to his thighs as well.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” Remus echoes. His brother gets up and comes over, crowds his space and carefully, carefully, puts a hand on his back. Roman’s too tired to flinch.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.” This far in, there’s no point in lying.

“This is… Roman, this is fucked. You… we need to tell everyone.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” Remus grabs him by the shoulders and turns him so Roman has to face him and look his brother in the eye. “I’m sorry, dramatic? Roman, look at you! The only one being dramatic here is you trying to wallow!”

“I’m not wallowing,” Roman swallows hard. “I’ve… I’ve earned this. This is my burden to bear.”

“Earned…” Remus lets him go and staggers backwards, ending up in the chair again. He’s rubbing his forehead, bewildered and pained. “What have they done to you?”

“I did this to myself,” Roman shrugs, baring his arms. “I… This is my punishment.”

“For what? Being you?”

“I suppose it must be.”

Remus pauses as Roman says that, and looks up again, eyes glinting with unshed tears.

“I mean,” Roman laughs, tilting his head back and reaching up to massage at his temple. “What else have I done?”

The sound of crying hits Roman first, and then Remus does second, squarely and in the jaw. Roman staggers with a cry – though it’s nothing compared to the agony he’s been living in for the past month. Next, as he’s trying to gain his balance again, Remus latches on in a huge hug as he proceeds to sob into Roman’s shoulder.

His arms are tight around Roman’s torso. It hurts and comforts in equal amounts. Roman does not tell him to stop.

Roman hugs him back, letting Remus grieve.

Then, “why’d you punch me?”

“Because you’re a fucking idiot, and I love you,” Remus mumbles back. His moustache prickles against Roman’s bare skin. “A-and I didn’t mean to, it just happened, I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Roman accepts that as it is, and lets Remus hang on for dear life.

--- --- --- --- ---  

It takes a long time to convince Remus to leave. He doesn’t want to, of course, and the look in his eye tells Roman he’s afraid that he will come back tomorrow and find his brother in pieces on the floor.

Roman’s afraid that Remus is going to kick down everyone’s doors and spill the beans on what a weak person he is. And weak is the word for it, because when Roman wakes the next day, he can barely sit up.

He’s still not wearing a shirt. Must’ve passed out without one. He forces himself to summon one onto himself, rather than go through the agony of trying to get one over his head manually. The room swims as the energy drains.

This is bad.

Roman can’t sit up. He can barely keep his eyes open. It feels like it’s been forever and like it’s hit him all at once at the same time.

He wishes it would end. He’s beginning to not care how that end comes about.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Remus is in the kitchen, which is odd, because he’s banned from the kitchen, and he usually respects that because it’s more trouble than it’s worth for him otherwise. But Patton comes downstairs that morning to the cacophony of clattering dishes and the smell of something burning, and no, no, no, no, no! And he has to pause at the foot of the stairs and watch Remus panic, trying to gather his bearings as he hears the sound of scraping against the bottom of a frying pan.

He steps on the squeaky stair as he dismounts the staircase, and Remus’ head snaps up. Patton takes a hasty step back when he realises that Remus is in tears.

“Help me,” Remus begs, and Patton is lost for words. “Please. I’ve… I-I…”

Remus is clearly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Patton hurries over before anything more can go wrong, and the first thing he does is turn off the stovetop and help him scrape it all clean.

“I…” Remus is scraping his failed attempt of pancake batter into the bin upon Patton’s direction. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but I wanted to make Roman breakfast.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Patton says politely.

“I can’t cook,” Remus mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Patton smiles. “I’ll help you. It’s a nice surprise for Roman.”

“I’m trying to help him,” Remus looks like he has to talk or he’ll explode. “He… he’s not well!”

“I know,” Patton hums, turning away with a clean bowl to start making a new batch.

“No, you don’t understand,” Remus grabs Patton by the shoulder, eyes wild as he turns Patton around. “He… h-he! Fuck, he didn’t want me to say. He’s such an idiot. He might be dying and he doesn’t want me to say.”

Might be dying. Might be dying?

“What?”

Remus’ face crumples. His hands are shaking. Patton pulls him into a hug and lets Remus cling to him, staring into space as the duke starts to cry in earnest.

When Remus has cried himself out a bit more, only then does Patton dare to ask. He wets his lips and quietly raises the question.

“W-what do you mean by …dying?”

Remus goes tense in his arms.

“I…” Remus pulls back and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it, it looks like he’s falling apart, and I mean that literally.”

Patton frowns, unable to imagine it, but the look on Remus’ face – pure distress – is enough to get him to not question him on that front any further.

“I…” Remus’ eyes are roaming the room, like he just can’t stop talking. “Yesterday, he was so weak. I don’t know what he’ll be like today. I don’t know if he can climb stairs anymore. I want to help him but I don’t know how.”

“Does…” Patton searches for a person, any person, the right person to name here. He’s also trying not to feel insulted that Roman never actually told him. “Does Thomas know?”

“Whatever it is only got worse after he came back from talking with Thomas,” Remus shrugs wildly. “I don’t think so. I think I’m the only one who’s seen it. I…”

He claps his hand over his mouth and shakes his head.

Patton turns away and wordlessly keeps making pancakes.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil comes downstairs next, surprisingly, and Patton hands him the bowl with the rest of the batter and leaves him in charge, following Remus up the stairs with a platter of breakfast to take to Roman’s room.

Remus helped, not with the cooking, but with laying all the plates and cups and such out for him. Patton follows the duke up the stairs with bated breath, letting Remus knock on Roman’s door and enter first.

“We made you breakfast,” he hears Remus say as he rushes to his brother’s bedside, leaving Patton to elbow the door open a little wider.

“Who’s we?”  he hears Roman ask, before choking on his own breath as Patton enters. He’s quietly quite sad that that’s the reaction he gives Roman, but he bundles that up and carries the tray over to Roman’s bed.

And fuck, Remus is right. Roman looks like he’s withering away there on the bedsheets. Pale as anything and there’s no life in those eyes of his.

There’s something weird on his skin, like a thin black line, creeping up over his collarbones. He can see it over the top of Roman’s shirt.

Patton sets the tray down gently on Roman’s lap after Remus helps to get him into a sitting position, propped up and comforted by pillows.

Patton sets the tray down in front of him, and before he can’t help himself.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Both Creativities look at him wide-eyed. Patton looks up and tries to smile but he’s tearing up too much to get his point across.

“I… I care about you too much to lose you, Roman.”

Roman looks terrified. And then he turns to Remus and snaps, “what did you say?”

“I-!” Remus looks like he’s been slapped. “You really expect me to keep a secret?”

“Fuck,” Roman grumbles, and makes no move to touch his food.

“Roman,” Patton has cupped Roman’s jaw before he can think – he has a lot of emotions bundled away he’s been working through over the months, but despite himself one of the oldest and most consistent has been loving Roman despite everything that has happened; despite what Roman must think of him – and he’s turned Roman’s head to meet his eyes. “I… I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if I can help you. And I don’t mean fix you. You are deserving of help, whether or not you believe you are broken.”

Roman’s eyes are wide, and his breath is hitching.

“I’ve seen how you hurt,” Patton continues, unable to take his hand away but sitting on the bed, trying to be close to him. “Please… Roman.”

“I can’t,” Roman’s lower lip is wobbling. “I… Patton, you haven’t seen me. It’s too much work.”

“Not to me.” Patton speaks without thinking. “Not if it’s you.”

Roman bursts into tears.

Patton quickly passes off the tray of food before scooting in even closer, letting Roman fall against him and curl in. His body shakes, and Roman’s hot to the touch, almost feverish. Patton carefully wraps his arms around Roman, trying to be ever so gentle.

Remus is hovering, and Patton shoots him a pained look, and the duke slowly backs away and sits down at Roman’s desk.

“I just…” Roman shakes his head. “I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All that pressure, over the years, it was me, Patton. I should have given you space, I should have left you be, I should have-”

“I would have been worse off for being alone,” Patton cuts him off, his grip tightening without meaning to as he even dares to imagine it. “You know me, Ro. I couldn’t stand it.”

Roman’s shaking his head.

“How much have you been lying to yourself?” Patton’s continuing, he’s still talking even though this might ruin them more. “How much to you have to deny yourself before you allow us to help you? Roman, I can’t take seeing this. I can’t take seeing you hurt.”

Roman pulls back – or he tries to, but he’s so weak he can’t force his own way out of Patton’s arms. Patton gets the hint, though, and lets him go willingly. Roman doesn’t shove him away. He instead carefully takes Patton’s hand in his own, and puts it over his heart.

Patton desperately tries not to put too much weight on it, just in case.

“Huh,” Roman says, quietly to himself. “That… doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

Patton’s hand flexes a little as he processes that statement. Then he looks up, his brown eyes wide and watery.

“Let me see,” he says.

“Patton, it’s-”

“Let me see.”

There are footsteps out in the hall. It seems their arguing has drawn a crowd. Virgil appears in the doorway, eyes wide, eyeshadow dark, taking in the scene.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, voice urgent.

“Nothing,” Roman says, lying through his teeth.

“Everything,” Patton says at the same time. “But Roman’s gonna tell us how we can help, right?”

“I-!” Roman’s gone even paler.

Remus clears his throat pointedly, making his brother look over.

“If you don’t spill the beans, I will,” he says, casually and conversationally, but very clearly a threat.

Roman starts crying, but it’s dead silent. His eyes flick around the room at the gathered crowd, and his breath hitches as Logan and Janus appear over Virgil’s shoulders.

“It’s a whole party, huh?” he wheezes, trying to laugh even though tears are running down his face hot and fast. “I… Well, I suppose you all deserve to know, in case this goes where I assume this is going.”

Patton’s hand over his heart tightens just a little at that, but otherwise, Patton manages not to react.

Roman put his hand over Patton’s and squeezes lightly.

“Help me sit up,” he says, “and help me take off my shirt.”

Patton does as he is bidden, Remus jumping up to help as the others enter the room properly, and tries to ignore how much the prince’s voice is shaking.

Roman wheezes a little as Patton helps negotiate him out of his sleepshirt, and Patton’s hands start shaking as more and more damage is revealed.

By the time Roman’s shirt hits the floor again, Patton can barely bring himself to lay hands on his friend. How could he? The agony that Roman has been in is spelled out plain and simple through his skin.

“Oh shit,” someone says. “Shit, Roman!”

Roman’s shoulders are shaking. “Do you understand?” he breaks his silence. He reaches out as much as he can, and Patton gives him his hand in an instant.  “Do you understand why I didn’t say anything?”

“How did it get this bad?” Patton squeezes his hand and tries not to cry himself – though the wetness on his face tells him he’s failed.

There’s someone beside him, now. Everyone’s crowded around. Ah, it’s Logan, and he kneels down beside the bed and takes Roman’s other hand, which had been resting on his stomach, and carefully starts examining the cracks.

“Does it hurt?”

Roman wets his lips, and seems to be debating telling the truth. He ends up locking eyes with Patton, and he swallows.

“Yes,” he says. “Very much so. Especially when they widen. But it hasn’t done that dramatically for a while.”

Remus clears his throat.

“Well, I talked to Thomas yesterday, and that was the worst one, but I don’t think there’s going to be much left in me, to be frank.”

“Do you know the cause of this?” Logan’s voice is fragile. “And can we fix it?”

“I think…” Roman trails off, shakes his head, and smiles. “I don’t think I can be fixed.”

Logan’s grip on his hand tightens. Virgil comes and sits on the end of the bed, and Janus stands over him.

“The cause,” Janus prompts, obviously not missing how Roman didn’t answer the question. “Do you know it?”

“I…” Roman looks like he wants to disappear. “I have… ideas, but nothing certain.”

“Thomas’ creativity does tend to take metaphors quite literally,” Logan glances at Janus, at Virgil, at Patton, and at Remus as Remus comes over to really close the ring. “I… like bruised ego, for instance. But it’s not that, is it?”

Roman shakes his head, slowly, painfully.

“Heartbreak, I think,” is all he says.

Heartbreak.

Patton has to look away.

“Heartbreak,” Virgil echoes.

“It’s just a theory,” Roman shrugs, despite how it must hurt. “Other idea is my own body’s shutting down against me because I’ve betrayed my purpose by hurting Thomas and getting in the way of his dreams and this is my punishment for it.”

Roman then blinks, like he didn’t mean to say all that out loud.

Everyone’s staring at him.

He wets his lips, and tries to go on damage control.

“I, uh, of course, it could be-”

Virgil’s hand on his knee cuts him off.

“Do you actually believe that?”

Roman blinks at him, almost bewildered. It is answer enough for the room.

He feels the energy shift. The room feels all but frigid. Roman yawns, wide and half-teary, and wonders briefly over whether going to sleep now will mean he wakes up tomorrow at all.

There’s a hand on his face, the coldness of the hand jolting his eyes open, and he realises it’s Logan, guiding him to make eye contact.

“The day you dropped the plates,” he says, low and urgent, “was that this?”

“It wasn’t the start of this,” Roman shrugs again. “But… it was when the cracks started to widen, yes.”

“Did I cause it?”

“You? No. It…”

“Tell the truth, Roman. I can take it if it means we can save you.”

“But why?” Roman shakes his head. “You can fill my role.”

“We can’t,” Logan says earnestly, and glances around the room in a panic. “We can’t.”

“We can’t,” Patton agrees, pressing Roman’s hand to his lips frantically, trying to find some way to prove his care, to be even closer.

“We can’t,” Virgil enforces. “Thomas would never do anything, ever, because he’d have no motivation.”

“He’d never sing again,” Janus follows up, his voice surprisingly urgent. “He’d never sing, he’d never act, he’d never write or even organise the fridge in order of colour again. He’d never sling around another nickname, he’d… Roman, surely you must realise to some degree how integral you are?”

“He’s got another creativity,” Roman sighs.

“And you think I could be anything like you?” Remus demands. “I’m insulted. I don’t want to be like you, I want to have you. Because then I don’t have to fill a void knowing for the rest of our sorry lives that if I’d acted faster, I’d still have a brother.”

Roman’s shaking his head.

“Do you really think you get to shirk your duties like this?” Janus says, and it seems to be the wrong thing because Roman twists away and rips his hand out of Patton’s grip to cover his mouth, and they all have to watch in horror as the cracks somehow manage to widen.

Roman goes limp on the bed, and pants.

“I just think,” he gasps for air, “that you all will be better off without the dead weight.”

It’s a poor choice of words, and Logan and Virgil seem to be in tears now.

“Get Thomas,” Patton says, voice calm and even.

“No,” Roman’s eyes shoot open.

“Get Thomas!” Patton turns to Janus, who looks pale, but nods once and sinks out.

“I can’t let him see me like this!” Roman has sat up somehow, clawing at Patton until Patton gives him his hands to clutch. “I-I can’t let him know I’ve failed!”

Janus rises back up into the room with a woozy Thomas clinging to his arm. Thomas looks around with a worried expression and a question on his lips until he sees Roman.

“Oh my god,” Thomas stumbles over and Logan gets out of the way so Thomas can take his place. “Roman! You said you were ill.”

“I am,” Roman half-smiles.

“Don’t pull this on me now,” Thomas puts a very careful hand on Roman’s chest and winces in sympathy as Roman hisses, almost like he can feel it too. “Oh, oh, that makes so much more sense now.”

Roman’s lip is wobbling. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I… I had my suspicions, especially after our talk. But… oh, Roman. It’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

“Very kind of you to send me off into that goodnight so quietly.”

“Where’s your rage, then, Roman? You aren’t supposed to go quietly! You’re…” Thomas has started crying too, hell, everyone in the room has by now. “I was supposed to fight for you, bud. I’m so sorry. I failed you.”

“I should have been flexible for you,” Roman whispers, taking Thomas’s hand and fiddling with it, looking at it and not his centre’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not in your nature,” Thomas whispers back. “You’re one-natured, and I’m not. I should have seen how you both were hurting. It was just…”

“You don’t have to say it,” Roman rests his head against Thomas’ arm. “I was glad you helped Patton first. I would have insisted on it if you didn’t.”

Patton claps his hands over his mouth and tries not to be horrified. Thomas had been very patient and they had worked through their feelings about the wedding together. Janus had been very helpful, too, actually. But if he’d known Roman was dying of a broken heart…

Was it destined? If it hadn’t been Roman, would it have been him?

“I have to learn,” Roman says, so tired, so tired. “Or I have to go.”

“You have learnt,” Thomas reminds him, so carefully, so gently. “Clearly, or you wouldn’t accept this lying down.”

“I haven’t got a choice otherwise at the moment, Thomas.”

“You know what I mean, you asshole.”

Roman laughs, even though it takes it all out of him. He falls still, and closes his eyes against Thomas with a sigh.

“I’m tired,” he says. His voice is so small.

“I know,” Thomas half-laughs himself. He reaches around Roman and pulls him in closer, letting Roman cuddle into his side as he sits on the bed next to him. “You can rest, bud. You’ve done so good.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Janus blurted. “I-I didn’t mean it.”

Roman’s eyes wander open, and he regards Janus with a curious look. “It’s okay if you did,” he replies, and Janus’ face crumples even more.

“It’s not,” Janus shoots back.

“You don’t have to feel bad about telling the truth just because I look like this.”

“Is that how much you’ve been lying to yourself?” Janus steps closer, now moving past Patton. “That you’ve convinced yourself every cruel thing we’ve said about you is true? People get angry, sometimes, Roman, and people say things they don’t actually mean. I would think you know this better than us all.”

Roman’s head falls back against Thomas, who shoots Janus a look that asks be careful.

“I do.”

Janus takes off his hat and rakes a hand through his hair, letting his hat disappear with a flick of his wrist as he picks his words carefully.

“Then you should know that I… I was just frustrated, and trying to get under your skin. I didn’t realise how successful I had been. I didn’t mean to isolate you. I-I… I didn’t…”

Janus presses his hands to his face and steps back. Roman watches him carefully, but closes his eyes and smiles. “Thank you,” he says.

Janus steps back and kicks himself about that that seems to be enough to make Roman content. He’s not crying. He’s not. He’s really not.

Someone leads him away.

Roman noses a little into Thomas’ side.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“So am I,” Thomas replies. “I don’t want to hear you apologising, Roman. I don’t think a single moment of this has been your fault.”

Roman makes a sound that tells them all he doesn’t believe that, but lets it slide. Thomas yawns as Roman’s eyes slump. It is late, Patton supposes, even as he dares to take Roman’s hand again.

Roman opens one eye a crack and smiles at him.

“I want to talk to you,” Patton tells him quietly, hyperaware of everyone in the room hearing his words. “I wanna talk to you alone. There’s something I think we need to talk about.”

Roman looks… accepting, even if he doesn’t look thrilled. Thomas shoots him a look of his own but doesn’t say anything.

Roman doesn’t respond to his name after another half-minute. He’s fallen asleep. Thomas settles in beside him and is unwilling to move – even at the warning that spending a whole night in his mindscape probably isn’t going to be good for him.

Thomas is unwilling leave, even suggests moving Roman, but is eventually convinced to go sleep. In the end, everyone splits off to sleep. Patton promises he’s going to return to his own room after checking on Roman one last time, but in reality he makes a comfortable bundle of blankets on the floor and burrows in.

Somehow, he finds enough of a moment of peace to slip into sleep himself.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman wakes up during the night. He brute-forces his way into a sitting position and notices with surprise that Patton is asleep in on a makeshift pile of bedding on the floor beside him.

His door opens a crack, and he sees the glint of light reflecting off someone’s eye. That someone takes a sharp breath in at realising that Roman’s up, and Roman sighs.

“Come in,” he calls quietly. “And don’t wake Patton.”

The door opens, and Virgil slips in the gap, socked feet silent against the carpet. He pads across the room, making a beeline for the bed, and steps over Patton carefully.

He sits down and stares Roman in the eye. Roman notices he’s been crying.

At first, Virgil doesn’t say anything. He just grabs Roman as carefully as he can manage (although Virgil’s affection has always been a little rougher than most, but that’s okay), and tugs him into a hug, burying his face in Roman’s neck.

Roman slings his arms around Virgil’s hips and sighs, patting the small of Virgil’s back lightly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone.”

Roman shakes his head.

“Like, I get it,” Virgil counters himself quickly. “And god, I probably wouldn’t have, in your shoes, but also fuck, that’s so stupid, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add any more stress,” Roman shrugs. “You’ve seen what every single group meal has looked like for the past month, V. It just… seemed like more trouble than it was worth.”

“Worth your life? I don’t think there’s enough trouble in the world to be worth dunking that.”

“Right.”

Virgil grits his teeth at that passive response. Clearly he wants to (lovingly) raise his voice, but they promised not to wake Patton. Instead, he pulls back and looks Roman in the eye.

“Ro, are we friends?”

Roman blinks at the question, and panic floods through him. “…I thought so? If it’s still in the air, then yes, I consider you a dear friend, b-but-!”

“Wait, shit, okay, I didn’t mean it like that. I consider you…” Virgil lowers his voice even more, glancing towards Patton in an attempt to make sure he was still asleep. “I consider you one of, if not my best friend, especially at the moment. What with… everything that’s happened.”

“I’m amazed you even want to talk to me, after everything that’s happened.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Virgil shakes his head. “Roman, if there’s one thing you have made very damn clear over these weeks is that you are aware that change is needed, and I have seen you change. I don’t know if I like how much of you I’ve seen go down the drain, because you think you can’t be yourself.”

“Being myself got us into this mess, Virge,” Roman says tiredly. “After fives years, something’s gotta crack.”

“Don’t say crack,” Virgil snaps, not out of anger but just out of stress. “I swear to god, Roman, don’t say crack.”

Roman laughs, tiny and pained, but a laugh none the less.

“You aren’t the sole problem here,” Virgil repeats himself, wondering when it’s going to sink in. “You have to realise that on some level. Because god, Roman? I’ve been there. And sure I wasn’t being physically torn apart over it but I get that you want the suffering to end, but there’s more than one way to get there.”

Roman raises a hand between them and waits for Virgil to take it, trying to ignore how much he’s shaking. Virgil does, takes it in an instant, and he is steady, if not a little clammy.

“But the problem is…” Roman starts, hesitant, but one glance at Virgil gives him the courage to finish his thought, “what if I can’t be fixed? What if I am doomed? I… I don’t want to get my own hopes up again. I can’t do that to myself twice.”

Virgil rubs his thumb across Roman’s knuckles a couple times as he chooses his words. “You keep talking,” he says, low and gravelly, “about being fixed. Roman, …e-even if this is… it, you don’t deserve to go out suffering and alone. You deserve help and love and care purely because you are real and living and here, and part of our family, not just because you are in pain. I refuse to think we can’t help you. I refuse to think that we lose you like this, but… if we do, you’re not going out by yourself. I can promise you that.”

Roman was already on the brink of tears – he has been for days – and that is enough for him to start gently weeping. He leans forward, and Virgil gets the hint and wraps his arms around the prince. The grip is firm and it hurts a little but Roman’s glad, he’s glad because it makes him feel solid and real, it makes him feel like he isn’t going to break, it…

It makes him feel loved.

God, he’s so tired. But for once, he feels warm. It doesn’t hurt as bad. He slumps against Virgil a little and lets his head fall into the crook of Virgil’s neck.

“Tired?”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes closing. “M’sorry. It just... hits pretty fast.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil says, and he swears he hears Virgil’s voice crack, swears he feels something wet drop onto his hair, but he’s too tired to accuse him of anything. “Can I stay?”

“Yeah,” Roman mumbles, head spinning a little as Virgil helps him lay back down. Normally, he’d be cursing himself out for being so weak. But he’s just a little taken with how warm he’s feeling right now.

For once, he’s not afraid of falling asleep.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Virgil sleeps propped up against the side of Roman’s bed, and he sleeps fitfully. So that way, he’s awake when Patton rouses himself. Patton doesn’t look that well-rested either, but he lifts his head and fixes his bleary eyes on Virgil, and blinks slowly, before smiling.

“Morning,” he says, voice kind of gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” Virgil mumbles back. “Sorry, I just had to make sure he was… okay.”

“Mm,” Patton agrees, sitting up and stretching. Then, after a moment, he scoots out of the blankets, grabs the top-most once, and scoots over to Virgil, sitting side by side so he can sling the blanket around both of them. “Me too.”

Virgil is tense for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax, and a word or two of consent has him resting his head on Patton’s shoulder, melting into the other. Patton hums again. He seems exhausted.

He has vague memories of seeing Virgil and Roman talking in the dead of night. But Patton quietly realised that was a private conversation, and drifted back to sleep while he was still in its clutches. He’s curious, of course. He wants to know what they talked about, but he has to know it’s not his business.

Virgil sighs, and Patton rests his head against Virgil’s as anxiety starts quietly crying. Everyone’s been crying a lot lately. But god, it’s so much to process.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Patton says, in a voice so firm that it surprises both of them.

“I hope so,” Virgil murmurs back. “He… he’s not convinced. Or, he might be a little more convinced now.”

“That’s good,” Patton says, ignoring the ache in his own chest. It’s nothing physical, not like Roman. He just wants him to be healthy, to be alright, wants him to live. It hurts, seeing him so assured of his downfall. But after spending so long alone in this state? Patton can’t blame him.

It hurts, but he can’t blame him.

“Did you sleep much?” he asks, feeling Virgil shift his weight to be more comfortable.

“Nah,” Virgil sighs. “I… couldn’t make it through the night.”

“Sleep now, if you want,” Patton offers. “I’ll make sure you both are alright.”

It doesn’t take long for Virgil to drift off. Patton settles down to wait, and drifts off himself at some point too.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Roman is roused his from his oddly peaceful slumber by the door being opened with a sing-song “breakfast’s ready!”

The voice is silky and gentle, and Roman sits up and realises through his bleary blinks that it’s Janus. Huh. He’s never heard Janus talk to him like that before.

It’s cute.

Janus pauses in the doorway, before laughing a little, and leaning back out into the corridor. “I’ve found them.”

“Hm?” Logan sticks his head around the door as Janus crosses the room, and snorts himself as they see Patton and Virgil curled up against each other under a blanket propped up against Roman’s bed. Roman looks over and laughs, a surprisingly light sound seeing how exhausted he was yesterday, and he shifts in bed so he’s a bit more comfortable.

“Good morning,” he says, smiling.

“Good morning,” Janus replies, putting down the tray on his lap. “You seem… well.”

Roman blinks, before looking up at Janus with realisation. He can’t find the words in that moment, but Janus is right. He feels… okay.

“Porridge,” Janus presses the spoon into his hand. “Honey and spices, and with cream. Logan says that’s how you like it.”

“Logan’s right,” Roman says in a small voice, and he shoots Logan a smile, who totally doesn’t preen under the reaction. “Thank you.”

He begins to eat (finally has the stomach to eat something) as Janus crouches down in front of his guardian angels and gently shakes them both awake.

Virgil wakes first, bleary and armed with a death glare, but he does mellow out as he comes a little more to his senses. Patton takes a bit to shake awake, always a heavy sleeper, but eventually he does sit up and stretch tall, yawning.

“What time is it?”

“About 10,” Janus says, standing. “We’re having porridge.”

Patton gets to his feet and offers Virgil a hand up, and then and only then turns and looks at Roman. The delight on his face to see Roman sitting upright makes Roman grin.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!” Patton says back, and perches on the edge of the bed with the sunniest look Roman’s seen in a long time. “Hi! You look well.”

“That’s what Janus said,” Roman winks, and takes a moment to have another spoon or two, at least while it’s still hot. “I feel better.”

Virgil wanders over to stand beside the bed, hands in his pockets, and shares a smile of his own. “Pain?”

“Yeah, still,” Roman shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s going away. But anyway. Go have your breakfast. It’s good. Quality control can confirm.”

Janus laughs at that and ushers the others from the room. One last glance over his shoulder shoots Roman a look that is too complicated for Roman to translate into words. But it seems to read in a way that suggests that he’ll be back to check on him.

Roman eats, he scrapes his bowl clean. He sets it aside, and goes to sit back, but for the first time in a long time, he has the energy to feel restless. He glances around the room, twiddles his thumbs for another half-minute, before murmuring a quick ‘fuck it’ to himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The room doesn’t really swim. His legs don’t give out. His chest hurts, an ache that has been rotting right through him for so long it’s almost an old friend at this point, but it doesn’t send him to the floor.

He makes it to his vanity, puts the tray down there instead of his bed, and sits. It takes him time, but he gets his shirt off, and thinks about swapping out these ones for button downs, much less effort, and he leaves it in his lap as he evaluates. Because he’s having ideas, and he’s prepared to be disappointed, but…

He tears up a little as he realises he’s right. The… the cracks, they’re smaller. They’re smaller! His fingers find a patch of clear skin to explore and he can only smile. Virgil was right! It’s fixable!

There could be hope for him yet!

There’s a knock on his door, and Roman flinches and snaps around in his chair – doubling over a little as that hurts, but smiles as he realises it’s Janus in the doorway.

He’s… not as scared of Janus, at least not at the moment. Janus is at least trying to be gentle with him, so he’ll take it while he can get it.

Janus enters, clearly surprised.

“Don’t mind me,” Roman says, turning back to the mirror. “I just had to check something.”

“They’re smaller,” Janus comments, and Roman watches his reflection come up right behind him, and Janus’ hand rests on his back. “A Christmas miracle.”

“More like a Nightmare Before Christmas miracle,” Roman quips, and he rubs over the epicentre over his heart thoughtlessly.

“Virgil?”

“We talked, last night,” Roman couldn’t bring himself to meet Janus’ eyes. “And I guess it helped.”

“So emotional repair brings physical repair,” Janus murmurs to himself, mostly. “That’s good to know.”

Roman shifts in his seat and tries to smile. Janus can see his discomfort, and takes back his hand.

“I’m… apologies, Roman. I guess I’m leaping straight over our troubled waters into wanting to help you.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then I don’t mind building our bridge again.”

Janus looks at him in the mirror, and Roman makes himself look back, and makes himself smile. Janus hums, something Roman wonders whether he’s picked up from Patton or not, and shakes his head gently.

“I would like to repair the one we have, if possible,” Janus’ hand trails along the back of the chair as he moves around to Roman’s side, and kneels down on one knee. Roman tilts in his chair to they are face-to-face. “I know there is a lot of legwork to be put in on my side, but-”

“On both sides,” Roman corrects him, and he reaches out and takes Janus’ hand before he can stop himself. “Did I ever apologise for my behaviour?”

“Your apologies are written all over your skin,” Janus replies seriously, eyes wandering over Roman’s chest. “And your physical change of behaviour has been enough to prove to me you regret it. But if you feel you need to say it, I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman declares. “I’m sorry for laughing at your name and villainising you. I’m sorry for trying to shoot you down without giving you a chance.”

Janus looks sad at that, but lets Roman finish and squeezes his hand gently in support.

“My turn,” he says seriously. “Roman, I’m sorry I used you.”

Roman stares at him, stunned by his bluntness.

“I… well, because I did. The first time, I used you to try and get into Thomas’ good books. Virgil called me out, of course, and I half-expected it. But I played into your…” he shoots Roman a look that makes him flush, “interests, and… yes, I’m not necessarily proud of that.”

Interests. Does he mean the stage or does he mean Patton? God, is he that transparent?!

“And… the trial. I thought I could get you on my side. I thought… I think I wanted to make a point, and you ended up being my poster child. And you became a martyr instead. I should have known that in your heart of hearts, you are selfless to the point of destruction, and you would have bowed to Patton and what you all considered ‘right’ anyway.”

Roman recoils a little at that, and Janus winces because he’s clearly unhappy with how he’s worded that.

“I’m not some… dog reliant on what Patton says or thinks,” Roman shoots back.

“No,” Janus agrees. “But… you’d have to be blind to ignore how much you do for him.”

Roman looks down, and hopes he isn’t flushing as hard as he looks like.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I don’t know if he knows, but… at least to me? Clearly.”

Roman shakes his head and goes to take his hand back, but Janus hangs on for another moment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not here to interrogate you over your taste in men. I hope you work it out. But I’m here to… I drove you into the ground, didn’t I?”

“I did that myself.”

“You spiralled, but I gave you the push.”

Roman doesn’t counter that, because Janus isn’t wrong. He just had no idea that Janus was so aware.

“So,” Janus looks down, takes a steadying breath, and looks up again. “What I’m trying to say, is… I’m sorry, Roman. I really am.”

“You have everything you want,” Roman says before he can think. “And you got yourself there. I… I feel like I can’t be mad at that.”

“You can, and you should. But I don’t have everything I want,” Janus says, mysterious as ever as he gets to his feet, but not letting Roman’s hand go just yet, cradling it in his own.

“And what’s that?”

“A friendship with you,” Janus smiles, a real smile that Roman’s never seen directed his way before. “If you’d be willing.”

Roman looks down for a moment, considering, before he looks back up with a stony expression. He holds it for a second, just to unnerve Janus, before it breaks into something far sunnier.

“Finally,” Roman smiles back, “someone to sing show tunes with who won’t complain for 20 minutes first.”

Janus laughs, he laughs, he actually tips his head back and laughs good and heartily, before turning this oddly bright look back onto the prince. “It’d be an honour,” he says. He squeezes Roman’s hand one more time, before letting it go. “Now, do you feel like you can come downstairs today, or…?”

Roman turns back to the mirror and studies his own face for a moment.

“No,” he says politely. “I might stay in here today. Or even have a shower. God knows I haven’t done that in a few days.”

Janus laughs a little at that. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he banters, “but that could be nice.”

Roman rolls his eyes at the ribbing and lightly punches Janus’ arm before he can step out of the way. “I get it, I get it,” he gripes good-naturedly. “Now, leave me to my beauty routine.”

Janus does as requested, though the way he lingers in the doorway tells Roman he doesn’t want to leave Roman on his own. He doubts any of them do. They might be taking it in turns, yet. But he waves him off, gathers some clothes, and heads off to the bathroom.

He does, notably, not lock the door, though. …Just in case it comes crashing down. And by it, he means him.

--- --- --- --- ---  

One sleep later and he’s feeling better again. Emotional healing equals physical healing. Roman has been running on fumes and spite for so long that the hardest thing about this whole thing has been actually learning he can recover, and that he probably should.

Logan has taken to checking on him so regularly that Roman doesn’t need a clock anymore to tell when an hour has passed. It’s nice, it’s sweet. Obviously Logan feels awful and is trying to make it up to him, and Roman doesn’t want to use Logan like that, but to have such gentle attention from Logic is something so novel and something he doesn’t want to give him. He hopes he doesn’t have to.

Janus has taken him up on that comment on singing duets, and it’s helping to give Roman his lung capacity back. It also turns out that somehow, somehow, Remus knows how to play piano! Or, perhaps with how Creativity works, similar to Roman speaking Spanish, Remus can play piano purely because he thinks he can, or because he wants to.

But they’ve found space in Roman’s room for a baby grand piano (second-hand and white, of course), and Roman still has to sit, he can’t handle being on his feet for long stretches of time yet, but… it’s fun. He’s never hung out with Janus or Remus like this, and it’s nice to find someone to be musical with. Patton isn’t as nerdy on musical theatre as he is, but will still try and connect over music. Virgil and Logan don’t sing, and they don’t necessarily gel on his music tastes either.

This has been new. It’s been amazing. Even if his body is still fragile, emotionally? Roman’s feeling better than he has in a long time. Maybe ever.

Virgil makes him leave his room. Which is ironic, Roman thinks, seeing as if Virgil had a choice, he’d probably never leave his own room ever. But Virgil gets him up and walking, gets him downstairs, helps him down and on the rare occasion that it’s a particularly bad day, carries him back upstairs so he doesn’t exhaust himself sinking out. Roman had no idea Virgil was so strong! And perhaps it’s a ‘if-i-can-see-him-he’s-not-dead’ sort of thing, but honestly, it’s nice to be noticed. And to be noticed for reasons that aren’t being told to pull his head in.

Patton’s been engaging with him as much as possible. They’ve rewatched Steven Universe together at Patton’s request. They’ve binged Disney movies and musicals, even ones Patton probably doesn’t like, he gets Roman to sit up at the breakfast counter as he cooks, he reads books with him and joins Roman at the table for group drawing sessions. He is there, he is there, he is so there all the time that it makes Roman’s heart sing, because finally he has Patton close to him again.

He's so scared it’ll come crashing down again, but he’s tried to promise himself he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Does Patton know? Does Patton know that that childish infatuation he once admitted to so many years ago still lives strong, nestled right beside Roman’s broken heart? Roman has no clue, and he doesn’t think he should risk it. He’s happy to love Patton at a distance. He’s happy to watch Patton chat away about his day and the discussion he had with Logan this morning over the stir fry he’s trying out, or taste-testing the soup Patton’s making.

He catches himself one day with his chin propped up in his hand, staring dreamily at Patton as Patton kneads dough, totally not watching his arms, only disrupted when Janus slips past Patton to grab a glass of water and shoots Roman an amused look.

Patton looks over to see what Janus finds so funny, and Roman is caught with that lovestruck look on his face. He tries to drop it, to hide it as anything more neutral, but it’s covered in blush before he can get his chickens in a line.

Patton blushes too, for some god-forsaken reason, caught staring with some cogs whirring behind his eyes, until Janus seems to elbow him accidentally, and he is spurred back into action with a squeak.

Roman and Patton can barely look at each other for the next ten minutes. Eventually, Patton finishes his kneading, and puts it away in a covered bowl to rise and such, before turning and slamming his hands on the counter in front of Roman.

“I need to talk to you!” he exclaims, still red in the face. “I have been meaning to and accidentally putting it off!”

“I-is it important?”

“Yes!” Patton’s face drops. “No! Maybe? It’s important to me!”

Roman can’t help but smile, and the heat finally starts to disappear from his face. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me.”

“I, uh, it’s… ugh! Gimme a sec!”

Patton turns away and washes his hands, fumbling in his rush, before leaving the kitchen and skirting around the bench until he’s beside Roman, turning the prince towards him on his rotating barstool.

“I…”

Patton suddenly glances around, self-conscious, and sees that there’s no one else downstairs.

“Okay,” he whispers, before turning back to Roman, who’s got such a question on his face that it’s so earnestly cute.

“Okay,” Patton says again. “Roman, I got something I need to say. About you. To you. Um.”

Roman tries not to look as scared as he suddenly feels, but it clearly doesn’t work, because Patton sees his panic and immediately goes on damage control. “Oh! Oh, no, hon, it’s nothing bad, nothing bad at all. I, uh, it’s just a little hard for me to put my words together! Haha, give me a mo, okay?”

Roman nods, his breath still catching over hon. When did it shift from kiddo to hon? He feels like he noticed the first time it happened, but it’s become so much more regular an occurrence nowadays. It still feels as electric as it did the first time.

Roman studies Patton’s face as Patton half-turns away, watching the way his hair falls and Patton reaches up without a thought to push it back out of his eyes, the way his glasses frame his face, the way he’s chewing his lip anxiously, the way there is still heat rising to his face, the way his eyes are glittering with something Roman can’t name.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to himself, and he’s cupped Patton’s cheek in his hand and turns Patton’s head towards him so he can study him better without really thinking about it, seeing how Patton’s eyes go wide and that flush darkens, and his own breath hitches because yes, he thinks he’s read this situation correctly. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You have,” Patton breathes back, voice equally as soft as his own hand comes up to rest on Roman’s wrist. “I-I… Roman…”

“Yes, Pat?”

“I love you.”

Roman blinks. Once, twice, before the words land and he gasps, like the air’s been knocked out of him.

“I love you,” Patton repeats, like now the words are out, he can’t get over how they feel in his mouth. “I love you and I think I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”

“Ye gods above,” Roman murmurs, watching Patton study him right back with wide and totally-not-anxious eyes, “that’s fortunate. Because I think I’ve been in love with you ever since-”

“That Christmas?”

“…Yeah.”

“God, me too.”

Roman laughs, and goes to drop his hand, but his breath seizes up as Patton’s hand slips up his wrist and presses Roman’s hand to his face, so he can’t move. Not that Roman wants to.

“This whole time?”

“Yes,” Roman shrugs. “I… I didn’t act because I didn’t know how you felt. And then I knew… or, uh, I suppose I thought, that you could do so much better than me.”

“That’s very ironic,” Patton says quietly, almost meekly, “because I felt the same way. I just thought… you and Virgil, seemed to get along so well, even when I couldn’t be enough for you.”

“Oh my god,” Roman snorts despite himself. “I couldn’t dream of kissing Virgil. But that’s very funny, because here I was telling myself I was nothing for you compared to Janus.”

“Janus?!” Patton echoes, shocked, before he laughs too. “Oh, that’s… Roman, hon, I appreciate Janus very much, but I think he’s a good friend and nothing more. I don’t think I’ve ever felt about anyone else the way I’ve felt about you. Even when things happened, even when things changed, I always found that deep in here,” and his spare hand touches himself lightly over the heart, “there was a part of me that loved you.”

Roman’s smiling. He’s also crying. He’s not sure when either of those things started happening but he’s so full of emotions he might just burst.

“I love you too!” he exclaims. “I… I have tried not to, for our sakes, but I could never get over you.”

Patton smiles back, his own eyes very watery.

“It’s fortunate, then,” he notes, stepping in a little closer, “that you’ll never have to.”

“Oh,” Roman breathes, his heartbeat speeding up as Patton inches closer, until he’s standing between Roman’s knees, and now it’s Patton reaching to tilt Roman’s head up, eyes flicking to each other’s lips and back. “Thank god.”

“Kiss me?”

Patton’s voice is tiny, but his words are like a roar in Roman’s ears.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Roman meets him halfway. It’s soft, sweet, it’s tender and it’s hesitant. It’s a peace offering, a bridge, it’s an acceptance of a long and sordid past. It’s Roman melting against Patton as Patton wraps his arms around his prince, being there, grounding him.

It’s so much and it’s not enough. Roman is drowning and Roman is floating. He’s electric and he’s earth. He doesn’t know but he’s so full of everything all at once that when Patton pulls away he’s far more breathless than he should be, and far closer to tears, too.

“Okay?”

“So okay.” Roman leans in to brush noses with Patton. “Again?”

Patton laughs, and indulges him.

They break away to the sound of clapping and cheering, and also of scolding, and they both snap around to realise there’s a crowd on the stairs, and Janus and Remus have given them a standing ovation, Virgil’s frantically trying to shut them up, and Logan’s pinching the bridge of his nose with a good-natured sigh. Then, he looks up, grins at his oldest friends, and says “took you long enough.”

“Oh god,” Roman says.

“You knew?!” Patton exclaims.

“Neither of you are that subtle,” Janus drawls, sharing a knowing look with Logan. “I’m just glad you got there on your own, finally.”

“On our own,” Roman folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at Janus. “Sure thing.”

“Well, you know me,” Janus smirks. “I do so love to give a little push now and then.”

Roman’s about to break off into a full indignant argument, when Patton just laughs and spins Roman’s seat back around his back is to the stairs, and he kisses him again.

“Guys!” Virgil exclaims, but it’s clearly light-hearted.

Roman makes the most obvious moon-eyes of his life at Patton as they break away again. “I could get used to this, you know,” he grins.

“Good,” Patton winks back. “You’re very kissable.”

Roman proves his point as the others start trying to heckle them from the stairwell.

--- --- --- --- ---  

About half an hour later, Roman crashes good and hard. He’s fine walking around, hell, he’s over the moon! And then the next moment, he’s lowering himself into a seat as the room phases in and out, a wave of exhaustion settling so thoroughly into his bones that it nearly knocks him breathless.

This doesn’t go unnoticed. Patton’s by his side in a heartbeat, and… judging by how cold those hands are, it’s Logan, too.

“Are you okay?”

“I…” Roman cuts himself off with an enormous yawn, and unconsciously rubs over his heart. “I think so. ‘M just tired all of a sudden.”

“Pain?”

“No.” Roman blinks slowly. “I feel really warm.”

Logan’s hand presses against his forehead. “No fever,” Logan notes, sounding worried.

“Like… cosy sort of warm,” Roman tries to continue, leaning into Patton’s side. “Feel good. Just… tired.”

“This happens most times, doesn’t it?” Janus’ voice comes. “Both on damage and healing. He falls asleep and something happens.”

“…Do you think it’ll be good things?”

“I do,” Roman mumbles. “I’ll riot if it isn’t. It doesn’t hurt.”

And actually, yeah. Maybe it’s just the suddenly delirious state he’s in, but… he’s not in pain right now. He feels warm down to the tips of his fingers, and oh so heavy. It crashes through him again, enough to make his ears ring, and he slumps even more. Hands catch him before he topples out of the chair.

“Help me get him upstairs,” someone says. It sounds like Patton.

“I gotcha,” says Virgil, Roman thinks, and is then quickly followed by the familiar sensation of arms slipping underneath him, and then being effortlessly lifted and carried upstairs. Roman’s head lolls against Virgil’s hoodie.

“You good?” Virgil asks him.

“Mm,” Roman hums. “Think so.”

“Alright.”

It doesn’t take long. He’s being ferried into bed and tucked in, and he can open his eyes enough to see that sky blue he’s so fond of, and manages to snag Patton’s hand before he can step too far away.

“Oh,” Patton turns back. “Do you… want me to stay?”

“Mm-hm.” Roman gives him a tug, trying to pull him in closer. He… he feels warm and heavy and exhausted and cuddly and he just wants Patton. Maybe he’ll regret this when he can think straight. But Patton kicks off his shoes, folds away his glasses, and snaps himself into some pyjamas and shrugs.

“Alright, hon,” he says. “Scoot over.”

No qualms, no questions, no weirdness, no distaste. Patton just slots in like he’s always belonged there, and it’s never been easier to fall asleep pillowed up on his chest.

--- --- --- --- ---  

Patton is the one woken by Roman this time. The prince sits up, and is already tugging off his shirt as Patton is still propping himself up on one elbow, fumbling for his glasses.

He turns back in time to see Roman grinning down at himself, as his cracks have closed by a good half-inch all around. He even manages to twist, and Patton can see that actually, some of the ones on his back have actually sealed, and they only really reach around to his ribs and intercostals now.

“Roman,” Patton murmurs, glowing with pride to see him so healthy, more so than he’s been in a long time, and Roman turns to him and all but throws himself at Patton, knocking Patton back down onto the pillow as he leans over him, eyes glittering.

“Good morning, my illustrious partner,” he coos, and Patton can’t keep all the fondness down in his chest.

“Good morning, my sweetest prince,” he says right back. “Hope this isn’t too forward.”

“Nah,” Roman kisses him, once, twice, three little pecks. “It was so nice to sleep beside someone.”

“On someone,” Patton jokingly corrects as he negotiates Roman off him and sits up. “I felt like a pillow.”

“And what a marvellous pillow you are,” Roman jokes back. “The best pillow I ever had. The most handsome one, too.”

“You charmer,” Patton rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the fact that Roman still has his shirt off. Roman kisses him again, bouncing on the bed a little, like he’s so excited to actually be able to do it he can’t stop.

Patton can’t blame him. He feels the same.

It’s a slow morning, for the two of them, slow and lazy and delightful. They end up downstairs by 11 for a late brunch, Roman wearing a button-up white shirt that he leaves half-done-up, almost like he’s showing off his recovery. The pattern is weird, but he can’t deny the results. And he hasn’t felt this good in so long. Both emotionally and physically.

Thomas summons them an hour later. He’s standing in his lounge, as per usual, and is talking to Logan when Patton and Roman arrive, this time standing closer than normal.

“I was trying to… I guess, like, sink down to you guys,” Thomas is raking a hand through his hair, “like I did with Janus, but I must not be able to do it by my… Roman!”

All eyes are on him, and for the first time in a long time, Roman doesn’t mind. It feels comfortable, even, like it used to.

“Hi, Thomas,” he says simply, smiling.

“You!” Thomas clasps his hands and grins. “You look so much better! I’m… oh my god, I’m so happy for you.”

“We’ve been… figuring stuff out,” Roman’s smile turns shy. “A-and let’s say some important conversations have been had.”

“Roman’s beginning to believe he’s worth the effort now!” Virgil calls from his seat on the stairs. “It’s great.”

“Hell yeah!” Thomas turns back to him, pumped.

“Also he’s now realising how much we all love him,” Patton adds, which makes Roman blush because he doesn’t know if Patton’s meaning them or not but he’s also not wrong.

“Good,” Thomas folds his arms.

“And we’re hoping that he’s fully realising how integral he is to our healthy functioning not only as parts of a whole, but as a family,” Logan finishes, arms folded in a mirror of Thomas’ pose – though it probably was not intentional.

Roman looks down, feeling very choked up all of a sudden.

“That’s good,” Thomas agrees, in a voice so soft that it makes Roman’s head snap up in a heartbeat. Thomas meets his eyes, the same liquidy expression rippling across his face. “Roman, that’s great.”

Roman pauses, before tugging open his shirt a little more. “And I’m getting better,” he says, softly but genuinely. “I really am.”

Thomas takes one hesitant step forward, then another, before he closes the distance and pulls Roman into the biggest hug he can. Roman goes willingly, laughing delightedly at it all, at the love, at the lack of pain, at the moment in time.

“I’m gonna be okay,” he mumbles into Thomas’ shoulder, just loud enough for his centre to hear. “I promise.”

“You better be,” Thomas whispers back. “Or… Or I’ll…”

“Leave the threats to me,” Roman leans back with a laugh. Thomas laughs too, and gives him one last quick hug – like he just can’t believe he gets to have the honour of holding Roman in his arms – before letting him go.

“I… I mostly wanted to check in on you guys,” he confesses, retreating to his normal spot. “And mostly Roman. No other issues? Nothing I should know?”

“Nope,” Roman shakes his head. “All present and correct.”

“Fantastic,” Thomas clasps his hands again. “Roman… god, Roman, I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that.”

Roman’s lip wobbles. “I… I think so,” he says in a tiny voice.

“That’s enough for me,” Thomas smiles. “But let me know when you need a reminder because that I can do.”

Roman feels tired all of a sudden again. He smiles, and yawns, and takes Patton’s hand for support. Patton squeezes his hand gently, and they ignore how Thomas raises an eyebrow at that.

“I think I need to go sit down,” Roman says quietly, which gets everyone’s attention in an instant. “Thank you, Thomas. Have a good rest of your day, and don’t forget to get groceries.”

“Oh! Oh shit, thanks,” Thomas pulls out his phone and starts setting reminders, calculating budget. “Catch y’all soon, okay?”

They all sink out together, Roman leaning on Patton more and more. They end up laying him out on the couch. He’s asleep within the minute.

 --- --- --- --- --- 

Time goes on and on. Heartbreak is nothing linear, of course, and neither is recovery. Roman’s cracks might never seal fully, but by the time a month or so has passed, they are thin and dark, looking more like hairline fractures than proper, actual cracks.

He’s back to his princely self. He can wear his clothes, he can do what he used to. He’s happier and healthier and he’s so in love with Patton it’s not even funny.

He’s finally found himself again, it seems. Finally rediscovered how to live and love being alive. And oh how he missed being him.

--- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---   --- --- --- --- ---  

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #logan sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #body horror tw #terminal illness tw #semi-terminal illness (magic) #food tw #swearing tw #hurt/comfort #kissing tw #mild suicidal ideations #djpurple3's writing yo

[djpurple3]

Tell them we’re survivors - Sanders Sides Fic

Word-count: 14,200(ish) words [under the cut]. Oneshot. Ships: Logince, theoretical/possibly implied moceit (if you choose to read it as such) also shoutout there’s some good good brotherly creativitwins in here bc i love remus :) Warnings: touch starvation, arguments, swearing, self-deprication/self-doubt, food / descriptions of food / some unhealthy eating habits, brief injury / blood mention, a panic attack. Hurt/Comfort :) Angst w/ happy ending (big romantic ending, too, sorry it ran away from me lmao)

Post-Putting-Ourselves-First.

---

bet yall thought i wasn’t going to post new stuff anymore huh. well im still kicking. also if you’ve been tagged in this but don’t want to read it, all good!!! i just tagged a bunch of people on the Offchance u might have wanted a Fic. Read responsibly <3 ily

---

Roman is shivering.

He sits alone on the couch – and it is very late. He waits and listens for Patton go into his bedroom before he at all dares to leave his own. He’s sick of his surroundings, of staring at the same four walls, and so he comes downstairs and sits on the couch.

He might be waiting for something.

He doesn’t know what.

He curls up on himself and tips over sideways, lying in a ball on the sofa and closing his eyes, deciding on the fly that he’s sleeping here tonight.

He is still shivering. He is not necessarily cold.

Not cold in a temperature kind of way. But something in his chest is cold, which sets the chill across his skin like an apathetic blanket.

Roman… wants a hug.

But it’s 2am, and Patton’s just gone to bed. The others should be asleep, …but they all have terrible sleep habits, so no one probably is.

But Roman’s not going to ask. Because it’s embarrassing, it proves him to be weak, and honestly, it’s just too much effort.

He falls asleep on the couch.

---

He wakes up at roughly 5am, and slinks back upstairs before he can be caught, and tries to catch a few more hours sleep before he puts his clothes in the dryer, and then goes on to drag himself into a warm-warm-hot shower to try and chase the chill from his bones, and he fetches his warm clothes and taking a moment to change into them and enjoy the simulated contact. He can’t help the delighted shivers it sends down his spine, and he hates himself for it, because it really is pathetic, isn’t it?

He goes about his day normally. He tries not to stare as Patton gives Virgil a very big hug. Patton has not hugged Roman in a long time. Patton probably assumes that Roman does not want hugs from him.

…It is very much the opposite. But if Patton does not want to give Roman hugs, then Roman will not force the matter.

He turns around to continue into the kitchen when he realises that Logan is: a) already there, and b) watching him closely, and he turns red and carefully slips past, trying his best not to touch Logan.

They make toast side-by-side, and as Roman reaches for the jam jar, Logan passes it to him and their fingers brush, and fuck! Roman jolts because oh god, he really is sensitive now, isn’t he?

“Roman?”

“Electric shock,” he quickly excuses himself, even though they both know it wasn’t that at all, and takes the jar before either of them drop it. “Thanks.”

Logan picks up his plate and goes to leave, but he looks Roman up and down once more, with his now-shaking hands and his now-hot cheeks, and pauses.

He stops to pat Roman on the back before he leaves the kitchen.

It’s so warm warm warm Logan come back please god come back

Roman shivers and continues making his toast.

---

They have a movie night, and Roman is torn as he comes downstairs. Because his tradition is to hog all the pillows and build himself a throne, but this is an optimal chance to get some human contact.

Also, if he wanted the pillows, he needed to have shown up twenty minutes before in order to actually steal them before Virgil gets there.

They’re scheduled to start in five minutes. So he’s already fucked up that plan.

He heads downstairs and sees his friends already comfortable. Patton and Virgil are sitting together, Patton draped over Virgil’s lap like a cat. Logan is perched in his usual spot, sipping iced coffee. Roman glances to where he normally sits, which is very un-pillowed, and he doesn’t really know what to do as an alternative.

…After the last video and all the confrontations that came with it, the others don’t like him very much. He can tell by how cold they’ve all become to each other. He can tell by how strained Patton’s smile is when it turns on him, and he can see in the way Virgil raises an icily judgemental eyebrow.

“Are you joining us?” Virgil asks.

“Um,” Roman says, always so eloquent. “Maybe? I…” Stall for time stall for time stall for time stall for time stall for time stall for time stall for time “I mostly came down for a snack, rather than a movie.”

He strikes a pose. “Though I already am a snack, of course.”

“Of course,” Virgil echoes dryly. “So… we’ll start without you, and you can sit down if you change your mind.”

Patton tries to smile at him again. Roman attempts to smile back, throws a peace sign of acknowledgement into the air, and hurries into the kitchen.

Logan turns to look at him, and Roman deliberately puts his back to Logan as he hunts around in the cupboard for something he doesn’t really want to eat, and he ends up making popcorn, leaning against the bench and watching the bag spin around and around, and before he knows it he’s emptying it into a big bowl and returning to the sofa.

He’s probably going to sit on the floor. He’s thinking about sitting closer to Logan, if Logan doesn’t object.

He loiters for a moment, and Logan’s the only one who glances at him. Before Roman can ask anything, the embodiment of logic pats the empty spot beside him.

“Here,” he says.

It is not an order, but Roman doesn’t argue. He settles in beside Logan, and Logan glances at him once more. Unbidden, he shuffles closer just a fraction so that their thighs are pressed together.  Roman tries to keep the sound that the contact elicits from him down in his throat, and wordlessly offers Logan popcorn to avoid speaking.

They sit and watch the movie together, snacking, and Roman’s skin is on fire in a way that he has been craving for days.

He doesn’t realise how sleepy the warmth makes him until about three-quarters of the way through, where his head is nodding into his chest and he really, really wants to curl up against Logan and fall asleep… but he just can’t do that. He doesn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

It doesn’t help when Logan gently takes the empty bowl out of his hands – it was what Roman had been focussing on not-dropping in order to stay awake.

Roman pulls away, sits upright, and tries to pinch himself to stay conscious.

Logan leans over to him, brow creased with something that Roman might even call concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm-hm,” Roman manages, and that’s about all he can manage.

“You look tired.”

Roman shrugs, and nods, and Logan glances at the others, who seem to be purposefully ignoring them.

“If you want to sleep, you can,” Logan offers, and he slinks one of his arms across the back of the sofa, behind Roman, and it takes a moment for the prince to realise what’s being offered.

“I…” he clambers to his feet. “I… yes, you’re right. I’m going to turn in for the night.”

“But…” Patton suddenly speaks up, and his voice is strained. “You love Paddington, don’t you?”

Roman blinks, and his eyes flick back to the screen. He hasn’t really even clicked as to what they are watching. And… yes, it in fact is Paddington that has been playing for the past seventy minutes.

“Um,” Roman says, and edges towards the stairs. They’re all staring at him now. His skin is burning and icy and crawling and he feels so many words, too many words trying to slip off his tongue like oil and he just swallows hard and tries to give them anything - anything at all - as an excuse. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t… feel great? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just gonna… go.”

And he bolts.

It is a very long, cold night. He can feel where Logan’s leg had been pressed up against his, and the absence of such a small but persistent touch leaves Roman crying uselessly into his pillow. And somehow, despite all that, he still manages to fall asleep.

---

Roman has a funny feeling that Logan’s… trying something. Because Logan’s hanging around him a lot, constantly making up excuses to be in the prince’s company. And he’s gotten kinder, which is certainly novel. Roman sees that, and he knows well how hard it is, so he does his best to return the favour.

But the thing that makes Roman truly think that that Logan is up to something is the fact that he’s quietly become… well, handsier… for lack of a better term.

He pats Roman on the wrist when they’re sitting brainstorming together and Roman’s made a good point. He presses his hand into the small of Roman’s back when he’s guiding him somewhere, or silently requesting for Roman to step out of the way. He pats Roman on the shoulder in greetings every morning.

Does Logan know what he’s doing? Most likely. Does Roman hate him for it?

…No.

God, he’s so fucking weak that he’ll take anything he can get.

---

It’s not really gotten better yet. But! Roman can confidently say that it has not gotten any worse, so he’ll take his small victories where they come.

He comes down one morning for breakfast, trying to make sure he keeps his habit of eating regularly, but he hears voices he isn’t prepared to hear, and he freezes at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the back of Janus’ head, who is talking to Patton, and chokes down a few choice curses before he can give himself away.

Patton looks over Janus’ shoulder. At Roman. His face pinches, expression going from smiling to guarded in a heartbeat. Janus glances over his shoulder to see what his new best friend is looking at, and their eyes meet.

The blood drains from Roman’s face. He turns promptly on his heel and goes back up the stairs.

They watch him leave, but do not call out to him.

…That’s fine. He doesn’t deserve a second chance. He doesn’t want to ruin their morning.

…He wasn’t hungry anyway.

---

That, it promptly turns out, is a lie.

Roman is curled up in the corner of his room, on the floor. He has given up on sitting at his desk because despite all the tweaks he keeps making to its height and material and texture and breadth is just never a comfortable experience, and sits with his arms wrapped around his stomach, watching the digital clock by his bedside blink-blink-blink.

Hunger pangs fade. They always do. He can wait them out. Nothing he hasn’t done before. Though if Janus is still downstairs at lunch, he probably will have to skip that as well because there’s no real way he can explain himself for missing breakfast but not lunch when they clearly saw him walk away.

He curls up tighter and fights back tears, watching the seconds blink by.

Nothing less than he deserves.

There is a light knock at the door, and then Logan lets himself in.

“…Roman?”

He doesn’t spot the prince right away from his depression corner, giving Roman a good moment to figure out what the hell Logan has hanging from the crook of his elbow.

Finally, Logan’s eyes find his, and he smiles a tight smile – one of poorly-hidden concern. He lifts the (and yes, it really does seem to be a) picnic basket, and gestures for Roman to stand up.

“I thought, perhaps, you might like to join me, for a picnic. In the Imagination, perhaps? Or even the living room. Or right here. I, um, wherever you’re comfortable.”

He gestures to the basket like Roman hasn’t seen it yet, and the bewilderment on his friend’s face makes Logan shift on his feet awkwardly.

“Or I can leave the basket with you,” he murmurs. “I… do you not like the basket? Is it too much? I thought you might like this sort of thing. I, uh, pardon me, if I misjudged.”

“No!” Roman is scrambling to his feet. “I… um, that sounds… delightful. Thank you, Logan.”

Logan offers his hand, …and Roman forgets to hesitate.

---

Roman can’t stomach facing the Imagination, and Logan isn’t really that comfortable in there anyway. It was quite touching he offered it in the first place, now that Roman reflects on it. So instead they head downstairs and start pushing furniture out of the way, and Roman summons the nicest picnic blanket he can think of and they lay it out on the floor. Logan finds a three-hour youtube video of wildlife to play on the TV to simulate being outside, and they have a picnic.

Virgil comes downstairs at one point, scrolling on his phone, and takes a moment to take in what on earth he’s looking at, at Logan and Roman with sandwiches in hand, staring back at him. Logan is staring impassively, like he’s challenging him to say something.

Virgil finally turns his gaze onto the princely side he’s seen so little of recently, and flinches, because…

Roman looks terrified. And half-ready to sink out here and now.

“Carry on,” Virgil mumbles, dropping his head and hurrying into the kitchen. “Just getting some Gatorade.”

---

Roman is still tense, but the fact that Virgil hasn’t shouted at him or told him to back off is reassuring. Virgil has the bottle tucked under his arm and he’s holding a…?

“Do you… drink it with a wine glass?” Logan asks for the both of them, equally as confused.

Virgil shifts on his feet, rolling the aforementioned wine glass between his fingers. “I like the irony of it,” he shrugs. “…So, an indoor-picnic? Not wanting to face the rays of the death-star today?”

Roman laughs at that, and immediately claps his hand over his mouth like familiarity is not allowed. Logan rolls his shoulders.

“The sun is not a death-star,” he deadpans.

“Are you sure?”

“Just because you wear all-black in all weather doesn’t mean everyone suffers like you, Virgil.”

“You wear all-black!”

“I wear a linen shirt. Far more breathable.”

Roman’s snorting the quietest laughter he can manage into his hand. Virgil’s watching him, trying not to be as obvious as he probably is being.

After a moment, Roman brings his hand down from his mouth, and it strikes Virgil that this is the first smile he’s seen out of him in a long time.

“Roman,” he says before thinking about it, and Roman’s joy is gone in a heartbeat. His hands fall to his lap, and he sits up straight, prepared to be… reprimanded? Virgil doesn’t really know, and it sickens him.

“I, uh,” he stammers, backing away, clutching his Gatorade for moral support. “It’s… nice to see you. Been a while.”

Roman’s lips ghost the words nice to see you with a sort of detached surprise, before a smile manages to fight its way back onto his face.

“…You too.”

Logan takes a moment to check the basket, and they all can see that there’s more than two people’s worth of food there. Logan looks up at Roman, a question in his eyes, and Virgil watches Roman take a breath, and nod.

Logan turns to him. “If you would like to join us,” he says softly, “we would not be opposed.”

Virgil looks at Roman, who looks – for lack of a better term – fragile. He feels a stab of remorse for what’s happened, because he never really did get Roman’s side of the story, did he? But he sees a glimmer of the old prince as Roman winks at him, and returns to his sandwich.

“Yeah,” Virgil agrees, croaking through a suddenly dry throat. “Yeah, I’d love to. Let me grab a couple more glasses, then.”

---

Patton comes down for a snack at about 2pm and is surprised to find the three of them picnicking in the living room, wine glasses of Gatorade in their hands. He pauses, eyes scanning the back of Virgil’s head, Logan’s side profile, and…

Roman’s wide-eyed expression as they stare each other down.

Logan notices Roman’s expression first, and turns to see what’s wrong, and blinks as he realises who it is. Virgil turns and looks at him.

“Oh,” he says, “hey, Pat.”

The moment of silence is the tensest thing Patton’s experienced in a while.

“Hi,” he replies slowly. “…What’s all this?”

“A… picnic?” Logan offers. “I… I thought it resembled a picnic. Is it because it’s not outside? I will clean up after us, if you’re worried about that, Patton.”

“Oh, no,” Patton smiles, but it’s a little strained because Roman’s there, Roman’s right there, and he still hasn’t figured out if he’s happy with Roman yet. “That’s alright. I was just wondering if I was… missing out on something, I guess!”

Roman hasn’t said a word. Patton’s eyes turn back to him and Roman looks terrified, looks queasy, and his hands a gripping the blanket beneath them and Patton’s eyes widen and he goes to say something soothing but –

Roman sinks out.

Patton’s “wait, Roman-” comes a second too late and the prince resurfaces in his own room with a sharp gasp. He stumbles over to his bedroom door and locks it, before falling into bed and pulling the blankets over his head like it will protect him from the world.

---

Roman is cold. Roman’s so fucking cold and he’s really getting sick of it. After his run-in with Patton he is less willing to risk leaving his room while others are around, and it means that he’s been evading Logan as well.

He half-expects Logan to have given up on him. He’s almost hoping for it. Because it will be easier for them to accept that he’s just someone you simply give up on; rather than someone who deserves unfaltering support.

He knows what sort of person he is. He just wonders if Logan’s figured it out yet, too.

He slinks out of his room at 1am one night, ferociously hungry and thirsty and terrifically lonely. He creeps downstairs and as soon as he sets foot in the kitchen his midnight snack quest turns into a full-on raid. There are leftovers in the fridge, set aside, and Roman suspects they’re for him.

He eats them cold, in the middle of the kitchen, in his pyjamas. The fake-tiles are uncomfortably chilled against his bare feet.

There is the creak of footsteps on the stairs – fast but quiet, and Roman’s choking on his spaghetti as he tries to finish quickly, already hating himself for daring to come downstairs, but freezes as he realises it’s…

Remus?

His brother jumps over the bannister and crosses the room so quickly that he’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, panting from his mad dash, and his normally unhinged expression is broken with a genuine smile.

“Roman!” he says, brightly but still hushed. “You are alive!”

Roman, who is frozen to the spot, makes a point of swallowing and loosening his joints from the tension that rooted him in place.

“Um,” he mumbles, putting the now-empty container down on the bench. “…I am? Hello.”

Remus shakes, a full-body shudder he can’t restrain, and then before Roman can blink, Remus is right there and he’s thrown his arms around him and pulling him in tight, buries his face in Roman’s shoulder, and Roman can’t keep the ragged gasp down.

His skin is on fire. His brother is so warm so warm so warm oh god! And he can’t stop himself from just melting on the spot, falling back against his brother with the most pathetic noise whining from the space behind his nose.

He has never really given his brother a hug before. Remus is very good at it. Roman would be feeling guilty if he had any capacity for logical thought in this moment in time. But he doesn’t. All he can do is press himself into Remus’ chest as much as he can, blindly seeking warmth.

“Oh fuck,” Remus hisses. “Oh, dude… Logan said he thought you were touch-starved, but fuck, Roman!”

Roman shakes his head in tiny, tiny motions, because fuck, he knew Logan figured it out! His face is hot with embarrassment and he does his best to hide it in Remus’ sleepshirt.

“It’s okay,” Remus murmurs. “It’s okay, I gotcha. Do you need anything else? You had enough to eat?”

Roman ends up pointing at the empty cup on the bench – he hadn’t gotten around to getting himself a drink, and Remus carefully negotiates the two of them (still holding him tight with one arm) and fills the glass in the sink, pressing it into Roman’s hand.

Roman downs it in a heartbeat, and puts it down on the bench so that he can get back to hugging his brother, gasping for air.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t-” he’s mumbling, and Roman knows he’s incoherent, but he can’t control himself anymore now that the dam has burst.

“I’m not letting you go,” Remus vows, hugging him tight. “Is there anyone we can go to right now? Anyone you feel comfortable around?”

Roman’s hands tighten on the back of Remus’ shirt. He has no reply. Remus doesn’t miss that.

“Logan wants to help you,” he tells his brother in a low voice. “Can I take you to him?”

Roman’s shaking, but… he nods.

“Great,” Remus says. Instead of separating to climb the stairs, he sinks them down straight into Logan’s room.

---

The desk-lamp is on when they get there. Logan is sitting on his bed reading, but is noticeably not-asleep.

“You found him,” Logan notes, immediately setting his book aside as the twins appear, and Remus is already practically dragging Roman his way.

“You were right,” Remus declares. “This bitch is so touch-starved I think he’s turned into a koala.”

Logan puts a hand on Roman’s shoulder, which makes him shudder, but he doesn’t let Remus go, and he doesn’t lift his head.

Remus and Logan glance at each other, concerned, before Remus jolts, and he’s patting Roman’s shoulders frantically.

“Oh, no, Roman, don’t cry.”

He can feel the wetness through his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles out. “I can’t… I can’t help myself. I know it’s so pathetic, I know I’m not allowed it, I know I have to be better than this!”

“All those things you ‘know’ are bullshit,” Remus snaps back; not angry – just frustrated that Roman needs to be convinced of his worth. “And- hang on, let’s backtrack. You’re allowed to cry.”

“Bottling emotions is never healthy,” Logan adds, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Or… so I’m told.”

Roman laughs, a harsh sound that sounds more like a creature in pain, and shakes his head.

“You’re allowed this,” Remus continues, squeezing his brother tight. “You’re allowed to want to be looked after, and we’re allowed to do it.”

“I don’t want to be a hassle,” Roman mumbles.

“You aren’t a hassle,” Logan cuts him off. “You’re my friend.”

Friend. Roman doesn’t know if he has any of those anymore. Friend. Well, apparently, he’s got one.

“Roman, would you like some physical company tonight? For sleeping?” Logan offers, and he’s extended his hand.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to...,” Remus says quietly, patting his brother on the back even as Roman looks up at him. “…You know I can’t control my thoughts… sometimes. I don’t want to… hurt… you.”

Roman squeezes Remus in his arms once, tightly, before making himself let go. It’s almost painful, letting go, and as soon as he does step away, he’s shivering, and he takes a step back from the two of them and he already wants to throw himself back at his brother even for just a scrap of comfort.

Remus thrusts his hands into his pockets and smiles at him. “I… I’m gonna leave you in Logan’s hands, alright? He’ll look after you.”

Before Roman can argue, Remus sinks out, leaving the two of them alone.

---

Logan takes a hesitant step towards him, and instinctively, Roman takes a step back. God, he feels like a wounded animal. Logan stops dead, and clasps his hands deliberately in front of him.

“Roman,” he says softly. “Roman, Remus is right, I want to help you.”

“I know you do,” Roman replies, voice equally as hushed. “I… why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to help me?” Roman’s beginning to cry again, and he shies away as the tears start to fall. “I’m not worth it, Logan. I’m nasty and cruel a-and selfish! Why help me?”

“You are not those things!” Logan counters, immediacy in his voice. “You… I want to help you because you are a sensitive and kind person who has been taught the wrong things. And it’s not that you are those things, it’s that you’ve been convinced you are. That’s not fair, Roman.”

Logan closes the distance and pulls Roman into a warm and steady hug.

“I want to help you,” he murmurs, “because it figuratively kills me to watch what’s happening to you. Figuratively.”

“Figuratively,” Roman agrees, burying his face in Logan’s shirt. He’s in his pyjamas as well. “Why are you awake, Mr Eight Hours of Sleep? Don’t tell me you’re breaking your circadian rhythm for me.”

“I might be,” Logan shrugs, and he says it so nonchalantly, but it’s a big admission from Logan, if Roman dares to think about it too hard.

He doesn’t, though.

He ends up in Logan’s bed, in Logan’s arms, against Logan’s chest, and he’s shaking, trying not to cry and failing miserably, and Logan’s got him, Logan’s there, and Roman can’t help but just… sleep. Because he feels safe, and loved. And it’s been so long since he’s felt either of those things.

He might feel the press of lips on his temple as he drifts off. Roman decides he must already dreaming.

---

They spend the whole next day together. Roman hardly leaves Logan’s room except for a change of clothes plus a shower, and for food. And they don’t spend it working – or at least, Roman doesn’t. Logan sits amidst a stack of beanbags and encourages Roman to sit sort-of straddling his hips, their chests pressed together and Roman clinging to him like a lifeline, and Logan has his laptop in arms reach, peering over Roman’s shoulder as Roman buries his face in Logan’s neck as he taps away at his keyboard.

As Logan scrolls over what he’s written, he leans his head against Roman’s.

“How’r’you going?” Roman murmurs, and he feels Logan shiver under him as his lips ghost over Logan’s skin.

“I’m just finishing up,” Logan replies, wrapping one arm securely around Roman’s waist. “Give me ten minutes.”

Roman does.

Logan hits all the appropriate buttons, before closing his laptop and pushing it away from him, before finally wrapping both arms around Roman. For a moment, they listen to their breathing.  

Roman’s stomach growls.

He whines and buries his face in Logan’s neck, and Logan can feel how the prince’s face heats up.

“Are you alright to go downstairs?” Logan asks, cupping the back of Roman’s neck with his hand and stiffening in surprise at how that just makes Roman melt.

Roman bites his lip, and curls into Logan closer.

“I guess,” he mumbles. “Why?”

“Lunch time,” Logan says, and he begins to rock gently. “I don’t know about you, but I am hungry.”

“Fair enough,” Roman mumbles, and his stomach betrays him loudly once more. “…I guess we should go downstairs.”

He is being held so tight and secure, and it’s so warm. Roman doesn’t want to move ever again. He curls up even tighter before he realises what he’s doing, and mumbles apologies as he tries to loosen his grip.

“I wonder,” Logan mumbles to himself, before Roman’s squeaking with surprise as the world lurches, and Logan’s on his feet still cradling Roman to his chest, and Roman instinctively crosses his legs behind Logan’s back, clinging to Logan’s shoulders as he stares at the floor, now several feet away.

“You’re strong,” he breathes.

“I suppose so,” Logan smiles, and he hitches Roman more comfortably across his hips. “Would this be sufficient to go downstairs with?”

Oh. Roman buries his face with what definitely isn’t a whimper.

“A ‘no’ is okay,” Logan reminds him softly, trying to coax Roman out of his shirt.

“Please,” Roman mumbles, not looking up.

“Alright.” Logan leans his head against Roman’s again. “Let’s go have lunch.”

---

They go downstairs, and only Virgil is there. And Virgil stares at them in amazement, and Roman refuses to look up from where he’s hiding his face in Logan’s shoulder, and Logan hitches the prince up higher over his hips once more.

“Good day, Virgil,” he says easily.

“Hi,” Virgil says distractedly. “You’re… strong.”

“Hm,” Logan jests lightly. “That’s what Roman said.”

Roman’s hands tighten against Logan’s shirt, and Logan gets the hint.

“So,” Virgil starts, eyes flicking between the koala prince and the embodiment of Logic who has recently become a eucalyptus tree, it seems. “…What’s all this?”

“Cuddles,” Logan says, like it’s the most common thing in the world. “Though I might have to put you down to make us food, Roman.”

Roman can’t keep the sound down – the pathetic one that is the embodiment of but I’m afraid that if you do you’ll never touch me again.

Then he tucks his chin away and starts to loosen his grip, in preparation for letting go.

“Hey, nah, don’t do that,” Virgil jumps in suddenly, and they both look at him in surprise. Virgil looks between the two of them, and there is something sympathetic glittering in his eyes. “I’ll make you guys something. Go sit down, Logan.”

Virgil does. He carries food over to where Logan is sitting on the couch, Roman curled up practically on his lap, and he hands them each a plate. Logan takes it with a thank you. Roman takes it with shaking hands.

“Hey,” Virgil says softly, and he puts his hand on Roman’s shoulder, which gets a sharp breath in from the prince. “…I get it, alright? Let me know if I can help.”

And Virgil walks away. Roman hunches over his plate and tries to hide his tears from Logan.

---

He has taken to sleeping with Logan.

That sounds bad, in his head, but he can’t help it because it’s currently Remus’ favourite joke. Roman hasn’t slept in his own bed in a while now. Logan’s bed isn’t as comfortable as his own, in Roman’s opinion, but he is very happy to give up a marginal increase of comfort for Logan.

Logan is almost always with him these days. When he can’t be, Remus is there, and to Roman’s surprise, so is Virgil. He remembers one afternoon in particular fondly, where Virgil and him sat back to back in Roman’s room, one earbud each and talking back and forth about their music, swapping tunes and sharing thoughts.

Roman feels better. It’s been a long time since he can say that.

---

It takes another three weeks of this before they have another movie night, and Patton and Janus are there.

Roman does not sit on his throne. He sits beside Logan, and Virgil moves from his usual spot behind Patton to sit on Roman’s other flank. Remus drapes himself over the back of the sofa, in the empty space between Virgil and Janus, cracking jokes between the two of them.

Patton stares at Virgil for a few moments, almost opening his mouth to say something, ask why he’s sitting so far away, but Virgil turns and murmurs something to Roman, who pauses, before nodding his head in tiny motions, and the words dry up in his throat.

Roman feels Patton’s eyes on them, and they look at each other.

He swallows hard, and smiles at Patton.

Patton looks caught out, before kind-of smiling back.

Then Janus hits play, and they don’t make contact again for the rest of the night.

---

A few more nights down the line, Roman wakes up in Logan’s arms terribly thirsty, and he carefully extracts himself from the bed. He takes a moment to look down at Logan, whose normally serious face is eased with sleep. Unconsciously, Logan makes a little sound of displeasure, and he feels around for Roman’s warmth. Roman puts a pillow in Logan’s arms to give him something to hug, and… quickly, before he can overthink the rush of warm in his own chest, pauses to press a kiss to Logan’s temple.

Roman feels something. Something about Logan. And if he’s honest, he’s a little scared of it.

He slips out of the room and down the stairs, and he makes it all the way to the kitchen before he realises that actually, the light is on in the kitchen, and people are there.

Patton and Janus are there, to be precise.

Roman freezes, like a deer in headlights. But it’s too late to back out now, they’re both looking at him. And Patton is rubbing his arms uncomfortably and looking away, and it’s clear he’s just freshly been crying.

“I…” Roman stammers. “I’m sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt. I just… wanted some water.”

Janus stares at him impassively, before he turns and fetches a glass of the shelf, moves to the sink, before approaching Roman and pressing the glass into his hand.

It is a clear dismissal.

Roman is shaking now, he’s spilling water on his foot and he turns away to take a drink to try and cover it up. It’s silent now, and Roman knows that it is once again his fault that the atmosphere has been ruined.

He drains his glass, puts it down, and glances at the two of them, before beginning to walk away.

They watch him go. It’s almost like they’re waiting for something.

…Roman thinks he knows what.

So he stops, turns around, and walks back, raising his chin, and decides for the first time in a long time that he’s going to be brave, goddamnit.

“I’m sorry,” he declares, his voice loud in the silence.

Patton looks up at him with wide eyes. Janus’ eyes narrow in distrust.

“What for?” Janus asks, folding his arms and moving a little in front of Patton, protecting Patton, protecting Patton from him, and Roman swallows hard.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats slowly, “for… fuck, for everything. Where do I start?”

“The beginning is a good place, I hear,” Janus deadpans, but his eyes are glittering with something Roman can’t place.

“Alright,” Roman shifts on his feet. Whilst he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about this moment; the apology; he still doesn’t know what to say. He hasn’t practiced. It’s not going to be good enough. But then again, it probably never will be.

He takes a breath in, and does his best.

“Patton… I’m sorry for all the pressure I put on you. I’m sorry for expecting you to have all the answers. I’m sorry for convincing you that you have to be all-knowing and perfect. It’s unfair to expect that from anyone,” he starts, and Patton’s eyes are watering, but he’s nodding along. “I… love you, padre, and I know I’ve hurt you. I’m so sorry for my terrible reactions, because I’m working on it, but it’s not fair that you got hurt by my horrible behaviour and beliefs.”

They hadn’t been only Roman’s beliefs. Roman had been doing what he was told. But that’s not what would make Patton feel better. And besides, Roman is right, his behaviour was (and still is) awful.

Patton nods once more, before swallowing hard.

“Thank you, Roman,” he says softly, voice bubbling with emotions that are spilling over as tears, but it’s not weeping, nor sobbing, nor screaming, so it’s going better than Roman had hoped.

Janus seems impressed. Roman shifts on his feet once more, debating leaving it there and then hating himself for even having that thought. Coward.

“And… Janus,” he says, formally, and Janus flinches because it’s the first time Roman’s ever used his name. “I… am sorry for shutting you out and calling you evil. I…”

Roman rolls his shoulders. He can’t say I didn’t know any better without Patton-related strings attached, and really, he should’ve known better, shouldn’t’ve he?

“It was ignorant,” he says instead. “And it was wrong. And I’m sorry. You are valuable and important, and I’m sorry for doubting you.”

Janus looks stunned. Roman turns and hurries away, choking down sudden and inexplicable tears. As he mounts the stairs, he adds one last thing.

“I’m sorry for laughing at your name,” he calls. “Janus is a good, strong name, and it suits you.”

And he hurries upstairs as they stare after him, but he doesn’t miss Janus turning away to wrap his arms around Patton in a tight hug.

Roman doesn’t return to Logan’s room. He crawls into his own bed, taking a moment to try and enjoy the comfort, and struggles to fall asleep for the rest of the night. He can’t stop shivering.

…He’s cold.

---

Roman knows it’s all too good to be true. That, he tells himself, is why he’s locking his door with him inside. He snuck back downstairs to steal a good few days worth of supplies from the kitchen, and he isn’t coming out.

Logan knocks on his door at 10am. Roman does not answer.

Logan comes back on the hour, every hour. At 7pm, he sighs, and Roman waits to hear the footsteps that signal he’s leaving, but they don’t come.

“Have I offended you, Roman?”

Roman jumps, and he knocks his glass off his desk by accident, and it shatters.

“Shit,” he hisses, and stumbles away from his chair to try and find something in his room to clean it up. The glass has gone everywhere. He accidentally steps in it. He should’ve worn shoes. “Shit, shit, shit, shit-”

“Roman, is everything alright?!”

“I just knocked a glass over!” he calls, trying to make it sound a lot less painful than it is. He regrets having white carpet. This’ll be a pain to clean.

“Roman, let me in, or I’m picking the lock.”

Logan’s voice leaves no room for argument, and he’s beginning to freak out a little if he’s being honest, so Roman stumbles over to the door and unlocks it, cursing himself for breaking so quickly, and grabs Logan’s arms as his darling nerd rushes in.

“Mind the glass,” he says faintly.

Logan looks down, and his expression drops, and he scoops Roman up and carries him to the bed, away from the mess.

“Let’s patch you up first, alright?” Logan soothes, and he hurries off to find a first aid kid, and he returns with Virgil, who winces at the sight of Roman’s feet but fetches the vacuum cleaner to hoover up the glass thoroughly.

Logan kneels on the carpet, eyes flicking up to Roman’s every few seconds as he carefully removes the glass and cleans the wounds, before bandaging Roman’s feet.

Roman makes the mistake of making eye contact with Logan, and the genuine concern in Logan’s eyes chokes him and almost brings Roman to tears then and there. So his eyes flick around the room instead, to anywhere but Logan’s face.

Virgil quickly leaves, and they hear him call for someone, and then he drags Remus back into the room and points at the stains.

“You know how to get blood out of carpet still?” he asks.

“Yep,” Remus replies. “Let me get my shit together.” And he hurries away to fetch whatever cleaning products he needs.

“Let’s get you out of here, hm?” Logan says, and he’s extending his arms to pick Roman up.

“No,” Roman says immediately, curling in on himself. Virgil and Logan stare at him.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Roman,” Virgil shakes his head. “…you don’t want to be in the room when Remus starts on the stains. Those chemicals, man…”

Roman puts his head in his hands, before forcing the tension out of his shoulders, and silently gets to his feet.

“Let me-” Logan’s already fawning.

“No,” Roman cuts him off, and he hobbles out of his room with his lips set in a hard line. They are calling to him. He hobbles to the bathroom, and once again locks the door.

Footsteps stop on the other side of the door as Roman perches on the edge of the bathtub. The door handle rattles uselessly.

“Roman,” Logan calls again. “I wasn’t joking about picking locks.”

“I don’t care,” Roman snaps back, and he hears the tense silence that follows it. “Leave me alone, why don’t you?”

“…Roman, what’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Roman pulls his hair and tries not to think about Janus and Patton and Patton and Janus. “Nothing that matters.”

“If it upset you, it matters,” Logan shoots back. And Roman is taken aback by how upset Logan sounds. “Roman, please, let me help you.”

“If you want to help,” Roman calls back, not really thinking, “then spend your time on something useful, why don’t you? Has Janus gotten fully settled into his new room yet? And perhaps you can move Remus into mine.”

Dead silence.

“Just go make yourself useful,” Roman pushes on, and he’s crying before he knows it. “And leave me behind.”

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” Logan snaps, and it’s sudden and raw and grieving. “Roman, you don’t think you’re useful? You have stripped us down to pure utility? That’s not healthy.”

“I’m not healthy!”

He can almost hear how Logan and Virgil must be glancing at each other.

“I… Don’t you guys get it? Thomas is unhappy because of unhealthy thinking, thinking which I participated in and perpetuated. Everything that’s gone wrong is because of me.”

“Falsehood,” Logan breaks his silence. “I… I have been the root of the problem before.”

“Like, once,” Roman scoffs. “Patton would have learnt what we were believing was actually wrong if I hadn’t been there backing him up. Perpetuated it.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Virgil calls softly.

“I don’t care what you think,” Roman snaps, and immediately hates himself for it. The ice in his tone is unmistakeable and oh, he just can’t stop himself from hurting people, can he? He can hear Virgil’s sharp inhale through the door.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately follows up. “I… I didn’t mean that.”

“…I know,” Virgil says, before Roman hears one person move away from the door.

“Roman,” Logan says, and it makes sense, Roman supposes, that Logan is the last one there. “Please… You aren’t at fault for Patton’s mistakes.”

“No,” Roman cuts him off. “You’ll upset him if you word it that way.”

“What, if I hold him accountable for what he’s done?” Logan shoots back, and he sounds angry now. “Roman, you can’t magically make Patton pure and innocent by taking all the blame. Patton made mistakes. So has Janus. So did you. So have I. And Virgil!”

“Remus hasn’t.”

“Yes, but Remus is a kettle of fish all of his own. …It’s a strange metaphor. ‘Kettle of fish’. Why would you keep fish in a kettle?”

“Focus, nerd,” Roman says tiredly, and he shakes his head though Logan can’t see it. “Look, I get what you mean. I don’t think you’re right, but I get what you mean.”

There’s a quiet, and then there are footsteps, and quiet voices. Roman strains his ears, staring at the bathroom wall, and flinches as Patton begins to talk.

“Heya, Roman.”

He doesn’t trust himself to reply. He’s shaking. The blood is roaring in his ears. Patton says something else and Roman can’t reply because he doesn’t actually hear what Patton says. He can’t hear, he can’t breathe, he can’t compute anything and he can’t help himself when he stumbles towards the door and fumbles with the door handle before he distantly remembers he had locked it.

“I can’t…,” he gasps out, voice shrill and panicky. “I-I can’t-”

There is a sound of rattling and jostling from the other side of the door, before it opens, and Roman falls forward onto someone, who barely catches him but now that Roman’s attached he’s not letting go, and he’s crying in earnest and trying to gasp for air and failing. They sink to the floor. It’s nice to have nowhere left to fall.

“It’s okay,” someone tells him. “Roman, I need to you take nice and deep breaths for me, okay?”

Roman does as he’s told, but everything’s racing too fast, and the air wooshes in and out of his lungs too fast and he’s lightheaded but he can’t stop.

“Slow,” the voice corrects, and they pull him in close, whoever’s holding him. “Nice and slow breaths, Roman. I need to follow my instructions, okay? I’m going to count to four, Roman, and I want you to breathe in until I get to four.”

The voice does, and Roman obeys.

“Now, hold it while I count to seven, okay?”

The voice counts to seven and Roman holds his breath.

“Great, now breathe out as I count to eight. Go slow, your lungs should be empty on eight.”

And the voice counts, and Roman tries to control it but his breath still leaves him a little fast. But the voice isn’t angry. In fact, it seems to be quite the opposite.

“Great,” it soothes. “And again, Roman. In for four. We’re going to go until you are calm.”

And they do.

When Roman finally blinks back to himself, he’s on the floor, on his knees, with his arms locked tightly around Logan, who’s been the one guiding him through the breathing exercises. There is another set of arms around them, and Roman doesn’t lift his head from Logan’s chest to see who it is, because if it’s who he thinks it is, he’s going to break.

His steady breathing hitches, and he starts crying on the spot. …His feet hurt.

“Logan, can I?” says the person-he-doesn’t-want-to-identify, and Logan hesitates, before pulling away, ripping a whimper out of Roman, before he’s pulled against someone else’s chest – someone soft and steady and warm and light-blue and Patton pulls Roman into his lap and cradles him close as Roman can’t stop shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers to him. “I’m so sorry.”

The floodgates open. Roman falls sobbing onto Patton’s shoulder and finally lets Patton hold him tight.

---

They need to talk. In fact, they probably should’ve done it then. But Roman is exhausted, and he can’t help himself but fall asleep in Patton’s arms, still clutching him tightly because even in unconsciousness Roman can’t let go, can’t let that touch escape.

Patton staggers to his feet with Roman cradled in his arms, struggling a little but not accepting Logan’s offer to carry him.

“He just… fell asleep?”

“Roman has been struggling with many things, recently. Touch starvation and sleep deprivation are two of them,” Logan tells him, gently reaching out to brush Roman’s hair back off his forehead.

Patton doesn’t comment on how tender the look on Logan’s face is. He winces, however, as Roman murmurs something in his sleep, and curls in closer to Patton’s chest.

“I imagine he feels safe,” Logan continues, hand falling back to his side. “So he just… shut down.”

Patton tears up, and looks away.

“I don’t deserve that,” he hums, and he hefts Roman in his arms. “I… I don’t deserve his trust.”

“I don’t think that’s right either,” Logan tells him quietly, a hand on Patton’s shoulder, and Patton shivers at the touch. “You two… you two seem to assume everyone hates you. I can assure you that is not the case.”

Patton’s eyes are wide and watery, and his arms are beginning to strain.

“Here,” Logan offers. “Let’s go downstairs, and you and Roman can sit on the couch together, alright?”

---

The moment Logan gets them settled, Patton has leant back into the corner of the couch, stretched out, and settles Roman against his chest, between his legs. With a sleepy murmur, Roman settles against Patton and hums to himself, and Logan’s heart wrenches at how gaunt the prince looks.

There is someone at the top of the stairs.

Logan turns on his heel and looks up. Janus is there, taking his hat off and pressing it to his chest as he watches Roman.

Janus watches him, his and Patton’s eyes meeting before Patton’s flitter away. Only then does Janus seem to be aware that Logan is looking at him.

“He certainly is a good actor,” Janus says, his voice hanging in the air.

Patton flinches, and his grip on Roman loosens.

“A good actor?” Logan echoes, and he can’t help the ice that creeps into his tone. “Is that what you think, Deceit?”

Janus looks at Logan in surprise, like he doesn’t expect Logan to disagree with him.

“You think everything Roman is going through is for attention?” Logan’s voice is rising and he can’t help himself, because Janus doesn’t know the first thing about what Roman has done to himself. “You’re saying he acted out a panic attack? You’re saying he acted out starving himself? Walking on glass for attention? You’re saying his touch starvation is a lie? Because I have eyes, Deceit, and I’ve been using them, and Roman’s not… Roman’s not been okay for a long time.”

Logan takes a physical step back and has to wipe the skin under his eyes because he’s not sure when he of all people started crying but here they are, before pressing on - “and just because you are so accustomed to seeing him fake being okay, it does not make you the expert on when he isn’t.”

Janus has recoiled, and as Logan looks back up at him, Logan can clearly see in his mismatched eyes that Janus is beginning to realise his mistake.

“A lot of what Roman is struggling with,” Logan grits out, forcing himself to lower his voice again, “has to do with your meddling, Deceit.”

“I have a name,” Janus says quietly, and he sounds fragile enough that Logan winces, regret finally dulling his anger.

He takes a moment to gather himself. He adjust his tie.

“…Janus,” Logan corrects himself, and he sees how Janus’ eyes widen once more, like he didn’t actually expect Logan to be the bigger person here at all. “I know you pride yourself on being observant, but you have spent your time comforting Patton. I know this, and I appreciate that, at least. But you have neglected Roman. You have used Roman. I know you are in a better position because of your efforts, in Thomas’ books and in your own, but you have dragged him down in order to get there.”

Logan is breathing hard. He’s struggling to keep his composure.

“Logan,” Patton says, and Logan flinches, balling his fists. He’d forgotten Patton was there. He’s shaking. He doesn’t know why. “Logan, it’s okay. We… we know.”

“Do you?” Logan shoots back before he can think.

“We do now,” Patton replies sombrely. “I led Roman astray, and I need to make it up to him.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Janus counters, and it sounds like a conversation they’ve had before.

“That’s not really true,” Patton shakes his head, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Jan, we both owe Roman something. An apology. He apologised to us, and we can’t even return the favour? We aren’t blameless.”

Patton drops his chin.

“I’m not blameless,” he repeats, and he brushes the hair that oh-so-wants to fall over Roman’s forehead back once more.

He is quiet.

Logan turns back to Janus, who is shaking his head silently.

“Do you really think,” Logan whispers, in awe – but not in a good way – “that you are faultless here? You think you have nothing to apologise for?”

His voice is rising again. He can’t help it.

Janus doesn’t reply, but he looks away, and that’s answer enough for Logan, who’s flushing with the audacity of this bitch.

“I can’t believe you,” he hisses. “I can’t believe you! When will you learn that actions have consequences? That if you try to silence someone enough they will bite back? Why can’t you accept that when you beat someone down enough times they will stay down?”

Janus is staring at him, his gaze calculating.

“This is personal, isn’t it?” he asks quietly.

Logan rakes his hands through his hair. “No,” he lies through is teeth, before relenting. “…Actually, you know what? Yes. Yes, it is, Janus.  I do not take kindly to being silenced. And also, as someone who for the past two months has been dedicated to Roman’s recovery, you also made it personal the moment you made him spiral.”

Janus flinches, before his eyes narrow.

“You think you’re so pure?” he spits out. “Do you even know what you did to Remus?”

Logan stares, and his gaze then falls. He hasn’t really thought about it much. Never really considered it. Remus never seemed to be anything other than amiable to him. But now he thinks about it… His heart is in his throat.

“Don’t talk to me about making someone spiral,” Janus hisses.

“I had no idea,” Logan says limply. “I… I am not good with the consequences of my actions. I will strive to reconcile with Remus, if he is willing.”

Janus flinches again. The look on his face shifts into something almost more unhinged. Desperate. “How do you do that?” he demands, clinging to the bannister. “Just… accept you were wrong?”

Logan is wringing his tie.

“With a lot of grief,” he says quietly. “A lot of introspection. A lot of guilt. A lot of anger. And a lot of …practice. I am not perfect, but I am getting better. I am not saying I’ve never made Remus spiral. Or Roman spiral. Or Virgil. Or even Patton, because I know I have. But I want to be better than that.”

He shakes his head, and he’s pacing now.

“I hate being wrong,” he says. “Don’t you understand? Being wrong goes against all that is expected of me.”

He hears a hum of sympathy from Patton.

“But I need to understand when I am, or I’ll never grow. I can’t do that to Thomas, and I can’t do that to all of you. I now realise I’ve hurt Roman many times in the past and I refuse to continue doing so. But I need you to understand what you’ve done, Janus. And I need you to understand that there are things you need to fix.”

“I know that,” Janus says faintly. “I… my life is full of mistakes that I need to fix. I have exactly one stable relationship, and he is avoiding me right now. I know that.”

“Then do something about it,” Logan snaps. “Regret gets nothing done.”

Janus looks at him with wide and tired eyes, and realises that everything Logan has said is raw and real – if the haggard look in Logan’s eyes is anything to go by.

He goes to say more, before the sound chokes him, stops his breath in his throat, and Janus pauses, before his eyes fall on Roman, and he loses his courage, turning on his heel and sweeping away to his room.

Logan watches him go, and tries to unclench his fists.

“Logan?”

He turns slowly on his heel, gaze downturned as his eyes prick with shame as he faces Patton.

“Logan, look at me, hon.”

Logan raises his chin, and the breath rushes out of him like he’s been punched in the stomach as he realises just how soft the look on Patton’s face is.

“You’re right,” Patton says softly. “You’re exceptional, Logan, and you’re observant and kind. Thank you for being there when I wasn’t.”

“I’d do anything for him,” Logan says before he can think about it, and Patton watches the heat rise to Logan’s face, before Patton rolls his shoulders and scrunches his face in concentration.

The sofa shimmers and expands in width with a thought.

“Here,” Patton says softly, extending one arm to Logan, and Logan can’t help but notice how Patton’s hand is shaking. “Come lay down with us, if you want.”

Logan has all but crossed the room before he can think about saying no. He takes Patton’s hand and kicks off his shoes, taking off his and Patton’s glasses and setting them aside, before he finally hesitates.

“It’s alright,” Patton hums, and he gently tugs Logan down. Logan goes easily. He curls up against Patton’s side, face heating up, and loops one of his arms around Roman’s waist.

He shivers as Patton wraps his other arm around him.

“You look tired,” Patton hums, and Logan yawns despite himself. “How’s about you get some sleep, too?”

Logan decides to just nod and close his eyes. He doesn’t have the spoons left to argue.

They all end up falling asleep like that.

---

Roman wakes up surrounded by warmth, and he is pressed flat against someone’s steadily rising-and-falling chest. There is something playing in the background, like the TV. There are arms around him, more than one person’s arms, unless that person has more than two arms.

Janus has more than two arms.

Roman bolts upright, jerked awake by that alarming thought. All he does is jolt Patton and Logan awake too, and they stare up at him blearily as Roman’s heartbeat slows back to its normal tempo, and his face is hot with embarrassment as Logan sits up.

“Hello,” he says softly, and his voice is gravelly from sleep.

Roman has to bite his lip, because it sounds really cute.

“Hi,” Patton also says, and Roman lets him sit up properly, and they all end up in a sort of triangle, facing each other. “…How are you, Roman?”

Roman is fiddling with his sash. He is cold and shivering, and Logan opens his arms and Roman can’t stop himself from crawling towards him and letting Logan wrap him up in a tight embrace.

“Okay,” he says, because he doesn’t feel awful. Well, he sort of does, but… like, he’s certainly felt worse. And his feet are very sore. But he has, again, had worse.

Two pairs of spectacled eyes turn on him, with various disbelieving looks in their eyes.

“What?” Roman sits back, peels Logan’s hands off him because now he’s self-conscious. Logan makes a noise of protest, and reaches for him again, but Roman’s scooted out of the way.

Logan shivers, and wraps his arms around himself instead, mumbling an apology.

“Roman,” Patton says firmly, and both of their eyes are on Morality now as Patton runs his hand through his hair, swallowing hard. “I owe you something.”

“You…?” Roman looks confused. “You don’t owe me anything, Padre.”

“I owe you an apology,” Patton pushes, shaking his head firmly. “You gave me such a beautiful apology the other night, and I just stood there and took it.”

Logan blinks at this information, before turning and looking at Roman with a worried sort of look.

“When did this happen?” he asks.

“It was, like, two in the morning, specs,” Roman shrugs it off as best he can. “I went to go get some water and… they were downstairs. So I, you know, thought I pull a Virgil. Rip the band aid off, and all that. They deserved an apology.”

Logan glances at Patton, and Patton shifts in his seat.

“I don’t know if we did,” Patton counters quietly. “I… plus, it’s not fair of us to take your apology and not offer one back when we’ve also hurt you.”

“It…” Roman goes to say something, but he can’t figure out what, before he shrugs again, and settles on “it doesn’t matter much, Patton. I just want you to be happy.”

Patton recoils, glancing panickedly at Logan, who has turned to Roman and reached out to him again. Roman looks away.

“Please,” Logan says, and his voice is tiny and vulnerable in a way neither of them - Logan’s oldest friends - have heard before. “Please don’t push us away.”

Roman is rooted to the spot, and Patton realises the prince is crying again.

“We love you, Roman,” Logan continues, and Patton’s nodding but he has a funny feeling this admission is a lot more personal than Logan will let on. “And we can’t stand seeing you break yourself like this.”

“I deserve it!” Roman suddenly snaps, and Patton is too stunned to reply but Logan has already moved closer, and he’s taken Roman’s hands in his own.

“You don’t,” Logan says firmly. “You do not deserve this. This is a fact.”

“I didn’t mean to drive you so hard,” Patton pipes up, causing Roman’s head to snap towards him. “I didn’t mean to put the blinkers on, you know? Just angle down on what we thought we knew, about good and bad and stuff. I… I’m shaken up about it, still, and I will be for a long time.”

Patton rubs his throat and looks away. His face is hot with shame but when he does meet Roman’s eyes, they are sympathetic and gleaming.

“And you’re allowed to be shaken by it too,” Patton finishes. “You should be. Everything we know has been altered. It’s not necessarily completely wrong, but… we turned to the wrong page, is all. Got the wrong edition out at the library. We…”

Patton shrugs hopelessly again.

“I get it,” Roman says, and his voice is low and wobbly and he looks like he probably won’t be able to stop crying for a while.

“So what I’m trying to say, Roman,” Patton holds up a shaky finger, “is I’m sorry. Both of our worlds have been turned upside down, and I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t stop to think about you.”

“You have to focus on yourself sometimes,” Roman shrugs. “I don’t blame you.”

“While I realise that Roman’s insinuations with that last statement are self-deprecating,” Logan jumps in, “he’s right. Taking time for yourself is not something one needs to apologise for.”

Patton notices, while Logan is facing him and talking to him, that Roman is looking at Logan’s face, admiring his profile.

Patton sees the little smile on Roman’s lips.

They’ll be good for each other, Patton thinks with satisfaction.

Logan looks back at Roman, to check in with him, and catches that little adoring look before Roman can wipe it away, and he flushes.

“Um,” he says.

“Uh,” Roman stammers.

Patton giggles at them, and swings his legs over the edge of the couch to put his shoes back on.

“C’mon,” he says, “let’s have some lunch! Can we have a picnic?”

He likes the way Roman’s face lights up at the idea.

---

They have a picnic, and everyone is invited. It is a repeat of Logan’s and Roman’s from the other day, the living room transformed into a suitable space.

Everyone is invited, and they’re waiting for the last two to arrive. Remus is loitering at the top of the stairs, talking to someone just out of sight.

“It’s okay, Jan,” Roman hears him coax. “They invited all of us.”

There’s a quiet reply that Roman doesn’t catch, but he has already gone stiff.

“That’s not true,” he hears Remus murmur. “You know that’s not true.”

He doesn’t catch the reply.

“Well, I’m not going without you,” Remus declares. “So either we both come down or we’re chilling in your room today.”

There’s a moment, before Roman watches his brother nod, and go back upstairs. “That’s okay,” Remus murmurs. “That’s okay. Let’s go, alright?”

The four sitting on the floor are watching this, watch them walk away, before they all exchange quiet glances. Patton’s and Logan’s are far more knowing than Roman is probably comfortable with.

“I think… I need to talk to them,” Logan mumbles, and he’s picking at the inside seam of his jeans as he shoots glances at Patton. “I think I made it worse.”

“I think you gave him something important to think about,” Patton shakes his head. “Just like he did you.”

Virgil is glancing around at everyone, thoroughly bewildered. “What the fuck happened,” he demanded, gesturing pointedly at them with his wineglass of Gatorade, “while I was asleep?”

They fill him in.

“Huh,” he says, very quietly, and doesn’t say anything more. In fact, the conversation lulls as Virgil sips at his drink, and the clouded look in his eyes gives them the impression he’s thinking about something that he’d rather not discuss.

Roman shivers, and curls up on himself a little, staring at the blanket beneath them. He’s… he’s certainly set something into motion, here. And he’s not sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. But… well, progress always starts rocky, right?

It does in his experience, at least.

 ---

It takes Logan a day to work up the courage to talk to Janus, and another day to find him. He’s like Roman – very good at being slippery when he wants to. And when he does find him, in Remus’ room, Remus blocks the door with a too-casual lean, and smiles a smile that is all-teeth and all-threat, and Logan bows his head and accepts the terms silently.

“Let him in,” Janus calls, his voice absolutely not wobbling, and Remus steps aside and gestures Logan in, closing the door behind them.

Remus’ room is like Roman’s room, except more of it is black and silver, and there is far more electric green everywhere. But it’s still cosy, and it’s tidier than he expected.

Janus is sitting on the floor, holding a hand of cards. It looks to be Uno, now Logan looks closer, and Remus sidesteps him to take up his place on the floor across from Janus and pick up his own hand of cards, before they both look up at Logan. Asking what he wants.

Janus looks fragile. Remus’ eyes meet his own with a challenge, and Logan immediately feels the dramatic irony of this situation.

After a moment, he sits down on the floor as well, turning their line into a triangle, and shuffles backwards a little to give them enough breathing room.

“If you’re busy,” he says softly, nodding to the card deck, “I can come back another time.”

They aren’t busy. It’s just Uno. But Logan is offering Janus a choice here – the choice to do this now, to do this at all.

Janus purses his lips, thinking for a moment. Then he takes seven cards from the pile, face-down, and slides them towards Logan.

“No,” he says, “we’re not busy.”

And thus begins the most emotionally charged game of Uno Logan has ever experienced. But after a few rounds, it becomes clear they are waiting for him to start with what he has come here for.

“I…” he begins, and immediately cringes as he fumbles for what to actually say, crucially aware they are both staring at him now. “Um, oh, fuck, this isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

And the soft swear from him gets a snicker out of Remus, and that’s enough to sort-of break the ice, and Logan smiles even as he rubs his temple. “Just, let me get my thoughts in order.”

And then Janus places a reverse card, and Logan takes a moment to make an indignant noise that makes Janus laugh too, before returning to trying to figure out what to say.

He sets his cards down (face down) as Remus plays his next card, and they turn to him, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

“Um,” he starts again. “I… I have a mental checklist, and I’m going to run down it. Forgive me if this is crude or impersonal.”

He takes a steadying breath in, and out, and turns to Remus.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and watches Remus blink in surprise.

“What for?” the duke hazards, cautious, but his eyes are surprisingly bright.

“For…” Logan trails off, rubs his forehead, before sighing and forging on. “For… how I treated you, your whole introductory episode.”

Remus freezes, like that was not what he expected Logan to say.

“I have been informed there were some… undesired consequences of my actions towards you, and I never intended nor wished to hurt you. In fact, as I have grown to know you more, I can only respect you,” Logan continued, stealing glances at Remus to check he was still listening.

Yes, he has Remus’ whole attention now. Those intense eyes are boring into his, growing brighter by the second, and then Remus pushes a hand to his mouth as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. The saltwater leaking down his cheeks does not obey his wishes.

Logan starts to reach out to him, before he catches himself, knowing that this isn’t his place.

“That’s what I’m sorry for,” he finishes lamely. “I’d go as far to call you my friend, Remus, and I cannot stand the fact that I have clearly done something to hurt you, and never rectified that.”

“I accept,” Remus whispers. “I accept your apology. Thank you. I… I’ll be frank, I just assumed you secretly hated me.”

“I do not,” Logan immediately counters, shaking his head imploringly. “I really do not hate you.”

Remus lets his hand fall from his mouth – to reveal he’s smiling.

“I’d say I’m sorry for throwing shurikens at you,” he banters, “but I’m really not. That was fun.”

Logan snorts. “Fun’s certainly a word for it,” he agrees, pointedly rubbing his head where they had once been lodged. Sometimes, he gets headaches – pain flaring up from those old and non-existent wounds, and it doesn’t make sense but he has no choice but to live through it. And besides, it’s a small price to pay for getting back onto even ground with Remus.

And now that he has found that even ground with Remus…

Logan turns to Janus, and bites his lip.

Janus is watching him very closely. And Logan realises he’s looking for dishonesty. Looking for any proof that Logan is playing with them. But Logan doesn’t like to think he could be that cruel.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, and personally, he is amazed at how quickly tears have sprung to his eyes, though they haven’t leaked over yet – and he can see how Janus all but flinches at how raw Logan’s voice is.

This is good. This shows Janus that Logan’s being genuine. Because Logan isn’t a good actor, and they both know it. And Logan is trusting them with a lot right now – with his real, genuine emotions, and those are things he’d rather take to his grave if he could.

But it’s important to be genuine, so genuine he shall be.

“I will not deny that I meant a lot of what I said,” he continues, taking off his glasses so he can rub his eyes as subtly as possible, “but the insults were fuelled by my own frustration, and were not only uncalled for, but… bloated, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Janus nods, and when Logan dares to meet his eyes, Janus also seems on the brink of tears – fragile indeed – but is offering him a surprisingly understanding smile. “I think… it might be a safe statement to make that I was also fuelled by frustration.”

“It’s easy to take sides,” Logan agrees, putting his glasses back on. “But I think it’s the last thing any of us need. And …Patton and Roman have made up, it seems.”

“That’s… good,” Janus murmurs, and his gaze falls back down to his cards. “That’s good.”

His tone makes Logan think that maybe Janus doesn’t actually believe that. But he doesn’t push. He just picks up his cards and puts one down.

Maybe there’s more to say. Logan isn’t sure if he’s said enough. But this is where Janus wants to end it, so Logan will not drag it out any further.

God, he doesn’t know how much more emotional shit he can take. It’s exhausting.

 ---

The next movie night, Roman shows up first and constructs his pillowed throne, and is lounging when Virgil and Logan arrive. He’s comfortable, he’s in his element, and he’s ready for anything.

Janus walks downstairs.

Okay, he’s ready for most things. This is perhaps one of the few things that he would have to admit that he did not consider himself ‘ready’ for.

But…

But…

Well, it’s probably overdue, right? If Roman can’t learn to play nice, then they’ll never be able to pick up the pieces for Thomas – and that’s what it’s all about, in the end. And Roman… Roman has been selfish for too long.

(is selfish bad? It always felt like a loaded term and now he doesn’t know what to think about it)

Janus is not in his usual attire. In fact, he almost looks less comfortable, despite the comfort clothes he’s wearing. And Roman can’t help but stare – because he’s wearing pyjamas, of all things. A plain yellow sleep shirt and a pair of black linen trousers, and as he draws closer Roman can see the yellow plaid on them.

Janus clears his throat. “I apologise,” he rubs his arm, not really looking Roman in the eye, but not really looking away. “I don’t… I don’t do onesies.”

It’s okay, because Roman’s also just in normal pyjamas and not in a onesie either, but… Janus has made a clear effort, and it’s… it’s a nice effort.

Roman scrambles to his feet before he realises it, like a host greeting his guests. Logan and Virgil are on the sofa, and their conversation fell silent the moment Janus walked in, but they don’t seem too concerned. Maybe they didn’t expect this to be as civil as it is. Roman doesn’t know whether that’s a compliment or an insult.

“That’s alright,” he manages to force out, because the silence is getting a little long and they’re all looking at him for a response. “That’s… thank you for coming. Thank you for… yeah.”

Wow. Real eloquent, Roman.

But Janus smiles, and it’s a nice and genuine smile and one Roman never expected to receive, and for the first time in a very long time there’s a flicker of hope in his chest that things might even work out.

Everyone trickles in, and Janus ends up sitting on the end of the sofa, beside Roman’s pillow throne. And he lounges there, elbow on the armrest, and they spend the evening slowly warming up to each other. By the end of the night, they are throwing barbs and references and jokes like no-one’s business, and when Janus stands up and leaves when it’s all over, Roman is crying before he knows it (just a little, it’s not like he’s sobbing, he’s just a touch overwhelmed).

But whatever noise he makes must be enough to reach Janus, because he snaps back around with wide eyes.

“Did… did I offend you?” he asks, his voice thin, and he looks genuinely afraid.

“No!” Roman is quick to drag the back of his wrist over his face and smile. “I just… I didn’t expect this to work. I’m glad it has, don’t get me wrong! I just… didn’t expect it.”

And Janus smiles again, and nods, and Roman knows he understands, and says nothing more. Well, nothing other than,

“Goodnight, Roman.”

Janus holds his gaze for a beat, a beat long enough to see the tension bleed out of the prince.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he replies, infusing Janus’ name with all the thanks he can, hoping it’s enough. “Sweet dreams.”

Janus leaves, not one to drag conversations out, it seems, but he sees the little hop he does at the top of the stairs, where he thinks Roman can’t see him, and Roman screams into his hands for a moment to gather himself.

 ---

Thomas is hesitant to bring up Roman and Janus in the same sentence next meeting, but they show up, they are civil, and they even stand next to each other.

And Roman cracks a grin at Thomas’ bewilderment, and when he shoots Janus a glance, it widens as he sees a similar look on his face too.

“Let’s say,” he addresses Thomas’ careful question, “that we’ve done some… backstage work. We can work together. Especially for you.”

“I second that,” Janus nods. “We all have. Don’t worry about us.”

And Janus nudges Roman with his elbow, making Roman snort, but he still can’t help but rub the spot of contact as it burns delightfully.

His touch starvation has gotten better, especially with Logan helping him, but it certainly isn’t gone. And he can’t help but be ashamed, at times, of being that way and needing the help he needs, and sometimes it’s easier to hide away.

The thing is – now he doesn’t get away with it. It’s annoying, at times. But on the whole, it’s refreshing. Thomas eyes the two of them, searching for anything amiss, but Roman gives him a smile. A whole smile. A genuine smile. A smile he had fallen out of the habit of giving.

And Thomas sees. And Thomas beams back. And in that look, Roman can almost hear him saying welcome back, welcome home, I missed you.

He missed him too. So very much.

“Now,” he declares, clapping his hands together and twisting his smile into something more mischievous, “what’s the plan, ocean man? What do you need us for?”

“Well,” Thomas draws out, before pulling out a notebook and spreading it out on the coffee table, “I’m been roped in to help with a function, and I need you guys’ opinions.”

With a fluid movement, Janus sinks down to sit beside Thomas on the floor on one side, and Roman moves to the other, and the focus shifts into work mode without a second of arguing.

By god, Roman missed this.

 ---

A couple weeks later, it almost feels like loose ends have been tied up. Well, all but one. Because now Logan’s being flighty, and Roman’s going through the motions of being frustrated and terrified that he’s upset him – and that now he’s going to lose him.

But it’s about lunchtime when Logan knocks on his door, and when he opens it, Logan has a picnic basket tucked into the crook of his arm and a well-hidden look of apprehension on his face.

“Greetings, Roman,” he says formally, and Logan only gets extra formal when he’s nervous. “I was wondering if you were busy.”

Roman is in the middle of something, he won’t lie, but one look at Logan’s face, and the basket, and his plans are out the window in a heartbeat.

“I’m not busy,” Roman folds his arms, cocks his hips, smiles, and notices that Logan swallows hard. “Why, what’s up?”

“I, uh,” Logan fumbles, and he adjusts his tie, “would… I was wondering, well, that, um. Would you join me for lunch?”

Oh, he’s cute when he’s flustered. And Roman takes that thought and shoves it down, hoping it doesn’t colour his cheeks, and smiles warmly.

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” Logan turns on his heel, and offers Roman his arm. Roman stares for a moment, before taking it and closing his bedroom door behind him, letting Logan lead him onwards.

They don’t go to the living room, like he expects, but Logan actually leads him to the Imagination, and the Imagination is active, and the scene is a beautiful little park with a fresh breeze ruffling soft grass and a blue sky that goes on forever, and it’s the most picturesque thing Roman’s ever seen.

Logan leads him over to a picnic blanket, already set up good to go, and helps Roman get seated, even though he really doesn’t need to, and Roman’s chuckling a little at him as Logan fusses, before setting down the basket and quickly unpacking with strangely practiced motions.

It’s pleasant. It’s extremely pleasant. Roman’s having a wonderful time. Patton and Virgil must’ve helped with the food because it’s very good. Logan brought a book of sonnets and they pass it back and forth, reading their favourites, and Roman can’t help but compare Logan to a summer’s day at this rate, with how his smile is bright and his eyes shine with life, and the radiant way he watches Roman speak.

Roman has never felt so loved in his life. He wonders if he looks as moonstruck as he feels.

Logan finishes his last sonnet, letting the words ring in the air, before setting the book down slowly. It falls closed in Logan’s lap, and Logan stares down at it, like he’s waiting for something, and Roman lets himself fall still as he waits as well.

Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in, and reaches into the basket one last time.

And this time, he pulls out an impossibly huge bouquet of red roses, and he hands it straight to Roman.

Roman takes it with shaking hands, admiring them with wide eyes. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers, trying for the life of him to think of something more to add but he can’t help but be stunned.

“I…” Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Red roses… are, in the language of flowers, associated with romantic love.”

Roman’s grip on the bouquet tightens. “They are,” he agrees loosely, heart in his throat.

“And,” Logan forges on, “they are my gift to you. A-and those… those statements are related.”

Roman is staring. He can’t help it. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him and also the most Logan thing he’s ever heard, and he’s extremely impressed that these two categories have actually crossed over in this way.

“Me?”

He doesn’t realise he’s spoken til the word leaves his lips.

Logan looks at him, looks at him with pure fondness that stops doubt dead in its tracks.

“You,” he confirms. “How could it be anyone else?”

Roman looks down at the bouquet in his hands, and suddenly his eyes are burning with unshed tears.

When he doesn’t reply, Logan quietly speaks again. “…I understand if this is unexpected, and you need to think on it, or too soon, or… unwanted.”

And Roman realises his silence has been taken the wrong way, and he sets the bouquet down with the utmost of care, before getting up on his knees and pulling Logan into a tight, tight hug.

“It’s a surprise to be sure,” he shakes his head, words pressed into Logan’s shoulder, “but I assure you it is a welcome one.”

“Did you just Prequel-meme during my love confession?”

Roman snorts. He can’t help it. And he can’t keep it to one snort, either, and before he knows it he’s all but cackling into Logan’s chest, before he looks up with all the fondness he can muster.

“I might have,” he says. “Will my sins be forgiven with a kiss?”

Logan’s breath stops, and he looks like Roman’s just stunned him with a fish to the face. But the shock quickly breaks – breaks into a beautiful joy that lights up his eyes and that Roman just adores.

“You… absolutely,” he agrees. He sounds breathless, like he didn’t think he’d get this far. “At least one kiss will be enough, I think.”

Roman slips his arms around Logan and pulls him in close. “I’ll pay your toll, though you drive a hard bargain,” he jokes, and leans in.

Logan kisses him sweetly. It’s perfect except it’s far too short for Roman’s liking, but Logan pulls back to study his face, trying to commit this moment to memory. And how could Roman deny him that? Not when the weather’s so beautiful, the breeze is so gentle, and Logan’s hands are on the small of his back so warm and steady, and he can feel the rise and fall of Logan’s chest and know that they are here and are together and everything’s alright.

“Is this okay?” he asks, because despite himself he can’t help but wonder if he’s enough for Logan, but Logan gives him another quick peck that is more smile than kiss.

“It’s adequate,” he banters, that gleam of life in his eye. “But there’s only one thing that’d make it better, I think.”

“Oh, I know,” Roman smirks, before in a flurry of movement, he has Logan ‘pinned’ by the wrists on the picnic blanket. “More kisses. You think you’re going to end this anytime soon? I’m not letting you go for at least another hour.”

“Only an hour?” Logan smirks back. “I have three set aside just in case.”

“I think we’ll manage,” Roman rolls his eyes fondly as he dips down to kiss him again.

They spend the afternoon like that, giving each other little moments of sweetness and pressing silent thank-yous again and again into each other’s skin. Roman is no fool. Logan probably saved him, not that Logan would see it that way.

And Roman wouldn’t know it, but Logan feels the same way.

Patton is right. They’re good for each other.

And for once, it’s finally the start of something good.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

<|:) howdy guys hope that fic was as banging as i think it is. gonna tag some people who expressed interest (AKA interacted with the posts i made about this) for this lmao <3

@ironwoman359 @larkiaquail @ab-artist @treeni @i-really-like-dragons

and a some friends/people who mentioned a ‘general taglist’ might be a good idea :) @broadwaytheanimatedseries @leiasolo77 @merlybird500 @madamedraconis @witchesgetstitchesblog @quackerz-creations

anyway uhhh have a good night/day

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logince #romantic logince #sanders sides fic #ts fic #djpurple3's writing yo #swearing tw #blood tw #food tw #panic attack tw #touch starvation #touch starved!roman #i wont lie...... i missed my lads #and yes the title is a ref to life is a highway bc i was listeing to it yesterday lmao

[djpurple3]

(lean on me) when you’re not strong

martyn/mumbo (redwood) last life smp fic. here on my ao3. 1700ish words, oneshot. warnings: death mentions/discussions, dissociation, flashbacks/intrusive thoughts, food/eating, kissing. Incorporated the headcanon that lives are shown through eye colour.

martyn and mumbo centric, mentioned: grian and jimmy, impulse shows up once

under the readmore

---

hi trafficshippingblr i offer a humble offering that has been stuck in my head for so long now.

Mumbo is tired, Martyn is too. They find a moment of rest and comfort with each other as the sun sets, and try not to think about the world around them - past, present or future - for at least one evening.

And, I mean, really, that sunset really is very romantic.

---

Mumbo comes stumbling in, hot on Grian’s heels, the hem of his coat still smouldering from whatever flammable and deadly shenanigans today had brought about. They both look beat-up and exhausted, but Grian’s laughing, rejoicing how they survived and reciting the tale of their chaos with glee. Mumbo is quieter, smiling when people look at him, but his eyes are unfocussed, and he retreats from the chaos as soon as he can.

Martyn wanders the southlands about half-an-hour later, not calling his husband’s name yet, but just quietly searching. The sun will set soon, and the air is still warm. He pauses at Mumbo’s bunker, bending down to peek in a window.

“Mumbo?”

He’s not there, it seems. Martyn’s voice isn’t quite enough to break the heavy silence, not over the rustling of their unharvested wheat fields in the wind, the whisper of leaves in the acres of forest they’re surrounded by. Martyn straightens up, glances around one more time, and even thinks about looking up.

Ah, there. He can see the sunlight glinting off that head of raven hair he knows well, up there on the wall.

Martyn climbs up as quietly as he can, and gracefully heaves himself up onto the walkway as Mumbo sits there, legs dangling over the edge, staring out over the landscape before them.

Martyn carefully closes the distance, and upon not getting a reaction from Mumbo, sits down beside him, and scoots in close, close enough their legs press together.

Mumbo moves slow, lethargically, looking down at the point of contact, before looking up at Martyn. The dead look in his eyes makes Martyn take a sharp breath, and before he can help himself, Martyn reaches over and cradles Mumbo’s cheek in his hand, directing his gaze to meet his own.

Mumbo’s breath hitches. His eyes finally come alive purely to brighten – filling with tears, before Mumbo quietly peels Martyn’s hand away and turns his head, biting his lip as he tries not to break.

Martyn frets, of course he does, and he struggles for something to say. Instead, he elects to take Mumbo’s hand and cradle it in his own before breaking the silence as carefully as he can.

“…I take it today didn’t go well.”

Mumbo gasps for air, sharp and high, before he is seemingly finally able to gather himself. He quickly runs his sleeve across his face before he turns back, but the look on his face is still fragile.

“It’s just a lot,” he finally says, trying to smile. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but... It’s still terrifying.”

Martyn tugs Mumbo’s hand so he pulls his husband towards him, letting Mumbo rest against him as he hums.

“It’s always terrifying,” Martyn murmurs, closing his eyes. He tries his best not to remember last season and fails miserably.

It’s only when Mumbo shifts his weight, looks down at him and squeezes his hand that Martyn realises how badly he’s shaking. He punctuates it with a laugh, but it’s not nearly convincing enough.

“Martyn,” Mumbo says softly.

Martyn turns inwards this time, to hide his face in Mumbo’s jacket. It smells of ash and gunpowder – of violence. But underneath that, Mumbo smells like redstone – metallic and a little cloying, it clings to him no matter what – but Martyn’s used to it by now. Fond of it, even.

Mumbo hesitates, before wrapping an arm around him in return.

He wants to say something. He doesn’t know what. Any attempt at words dissolve as his mind floods with the way Ren’s head came off under his swing. The scorching heat of the desert sun beating down on his head as he runs across the dunes, slipping and sliding across scalding sands, screaming bloody murder. Swearing death on one of the people he’s now sworn to protect. He remembers his deaths, his final death, of being so close to being free, to escaping, to seeing his king again. Scar and Grian had lost him. Alone in the forest, staggering along, bleeding heavily, barely able to see, but still going. The twang of a bowstring and-

“Hey, hey, Martyn?” Mumbo’s voice yanks him back into the present, and Martyn jerks upright, and the wetness on his own face surprises him. He has to touch the tears on his cheeks to realise they’re real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking down, unable to meet Mumbo’s yellow eyes.

“It’s okay,” Mumbo shakes his head. “I... I-I can’t imagine what it’d be like to go through this twice.”

“In some ways, it’s easier.” Martyn drags up the neckline of his shirt up to dry his face. “But how scary it is never changes.”

He tries to laugh that off too, but Mumbo squeezes his hand, and it dies in his throat.

“You... you don’t have to pretend, right now.” Mumbo’s offer is hesitant, but his tone is tender. “I-It’s just us. You can cry if you want.”

Martyn squeezes his hand back. “Well, same to you, then,” he smiles even as tears drip down his face. “I-I came up here to check on you, after all.”

Mumbo sighs even as he keeps on a smile, drops his head, leans it against Martyn’s, and Martyn feels how he deflates, before his shoulders start to shake a little, and it all starts to leak out.

The sunset paints the sky yellow and red, contrasting the sea of green it peeks over. Despite everything, it really is beautiful.

Martyn cries himself out first, and sits silently, staring as the glorious sunset slowly fades as Mumbo buries his face in Martyn’s hair, hiding from the world for just a moment longer.

Their hands are still clasped tight.

“Look at that,” Martyn says eventually, breaking the silence in a hushed voice. “Romantic, that is.”

Mumbo finally lifts his head, wipes his face with his sleeve again as he admires the sunset too.

“Wow,” he agrees softly. “Beautiful. Very romantic indeed.”

Martyn dares to glance up at Mumbo, and splutters out a laugh at the way Mumbo’s looking at him, wiggling eyebrows, a grin, and a question in his eyes.

“...W-we don’t have to, either,” Mumbo quickly follows up, clamming up once Martyn doesn’t respond right away. “I-It was just a-“

But Martyn twists to face him, letting the look on his face do the talking. Mumbo trails off, his shock making him flush, before it fades into something softer.

They move at the same time, and it’s gentle in all the ways their lives aren’t. Martyn closes his eyes, something warm swelling in his chest. Mumbo kisses him, and it’s gentle and endearing, in that way that Martyn always associates with him.

They pull away from the kiss, smiling. Martyn flushes at the look on Mumbo’s face, broadcasting how moonstruck he is with one quirk of his lips. Mumbo reaches down and brushes Martyn’s hair off his forehead, searching Martyn’s face. Martyn lets him, wondering what he’s looking for.

“What colour are your eyes, normally?” Mumbo breaks the pause with a question that catches Martyn off guard, his hand having slipped to Martyn’s chin so he can tilt his husband’s head up and let the last rays of light illuminate his face.

“What?”

“When we aren’t... here. Surely they aren’t so dark a green naturally.”

Martyn studies Mumbo’s face in return, letting those yellow eyes pierce him.

“Blue,” he replies. “Mine are normally a… a sort of sky blue.”

Mumbo studies him harder, focussing, and it strikes Martyn that he may be trying to picture it.

“I’d like to see that, some day,” he murmurs. “I bet they’re very pretty.”

Martyn hides his fluster behind a laugh, before tilting his head. “What about you?”

“Oh, mine are normally black,” Mumbo laughs and shrugs, eyes wandering around as Martyn tries to imagine it. “I-I don’t actually like the yellow that much. It’s unnerving. I’m not used to being able to see my pupils!”

Martyn’s hand tenses in Mumbo’s grip.

“I’m not saying that to get you to change that,” Mumbo quickly follows up. “A-as nice as it’d be, I don’t think I actually want you to put yourself in danger like that.”

“What, any more danger than what you’re in, as you are?”

Mumbo kisses Martyn’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. “It... okay, this sounds morbid, I bet, but... It brings me peace of mind to see you so… green.”

“Imagine how I feel, then.”

“It’s alright! It’s alright. Why would I be worried?” Mumbo presses their foreheads together, smiling. “I won’t be losing a life anytime soon. I have you.”

“Sap,” Martyn accuses, and kisses him again before Mumbo pulls away.

“You bet!”

The stars are starting to appear overhead. The base behind them still glows with light, and now that they’re tuning in to it, the sound of general hubbub reaches their ears.

Footsteps make their way down the wall, and both of them turn to see Impulse closing the distance, arms laden with fresh bread and steak.

“Didn’t know if you guys were hungry, but Jimmy’s just pulled the bread out the furnace!” he calls. “Didn’t know if you wanted to eat with the group or not.”

Mumbo goes quiet, but accepts the food with a shaky smile. Martyn watches him for a moment, before reaching up and letting Impulse hand his share over as well.

“Thank you, but we might stay up here a bit longer,” he smiles, and his eyes dart towards Mumbo before they land back on Impulse, and Impulse nods in understanding.

“Well, enjoy!” he turns on his heel and walks away, “Shame we haven’t got any candles or wine, huh?”

Martyn tears off the heel of his bread and throws it at Impulse as he goes. It bounces off his head, accompanied by a hey! And Mumbo laughs at that. Martyn squeezes his hand again, then lets it go so he can start eating for real. Today has been long and exhausting, and Martyn didn’t even realise how hungry he was until food was in his lap.

Mumbo doesn’t eat all his food, but what he doesn’t, Martyn finishes. Mumbo’s head has all but fallen to Martyn’s shoulder, and he’s dozing off as Martyn turns a watchful eye out across the server. The moonlight ripples across the shifting sea of dark leaves that stretch around them, whispering in the wind.

It feels like an uneventful night.

He hopes it stays that way. Mumbo deserves the rest.

#trafficblr #redwood #martyn littlewood #mumbo jumbo #trafficshipping #martynxmumbo #dunno how to tag this #last life smp #last life fic #last life ship #last life shipping #djpurple3's writing yo #mcyt

[djpurple3]

Donnie and the late night emergency super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate

ROTTMNT fic, 5500ish words, under the cut. I got a lotta feelings about Raph and Donnie and i accidentally wrote 5k words about it.

Characters: Raph, Donnie. Mentions of Splinter, Leo, Mikey, and April.

Warnings: Food, step by step making of food/drink (it’s kinda vague tho), mentions/talk of neglect, anxiety, touch starvation, insomnia? (cant think of much else but yeah).

Headcanons: Autistic Donnie & ADHD Raph solidarity babeyyyy, some angst about their childhood, touch-starved!Donnie.

Set about 6 months after Shredder/season 2 finale.

Do not tag as t*cest

Summary: Donatello’s been... withdrawn lately, and it’s really starting to worry Raph. He decides he needs to step in with some good ol’ fashion Big Brotherly Instincts, hot chocolate, and late night heart-to-hearts, and see if he can get to the bottom of this before their relationship falls apart any more.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Donnie is in his lab again.

Raph lingers outside the closed door, knowing he can't hear whatever Donatello is doing just like his brother can't hear him shuffling and sighing outside - Donnie has long since soundproofed his lab. …Donnie seems to have made a habit of soundproofing things, now he thinks about it. Maybe Donnie thinks they're too noisy. Raph wonders if he should be feeling guilty for that or not.

But that's not why he's loitering. Well, not tonight's reason. He's working up the courage to enter; to barge in, perhaps. Because he's worried about his little brother. Though to be fair, when is he not? It's good Raphael doesn't have hair, because between the four of them, he would have pulled it out years ago.

But Donnie's been spending even more time holed up alone in his lab. He's been explicitly excusing himself from stuff. He's been acting weird, even for Donnie standards. Weird like he’s avoiding them, and in all the years he’s known Donatello, his brother has never really done that. Mikey went to give him a hug a week or two ago, and the moment there was a hand on his arm, Donnie had gone stiff and dodged out of the way, bumbling out a reason that went back itself halfway through, and then he'd bolted from the room.

Raph's been racking his brain to think of when the last time he'd actually seen Donnie just... hanging out with them really was. He hates that the realisation he comes to is one that tells him that it must have genuinely been months by now.

And look, Raph's not good at time. Time slips by really fast or goes so slowly, or both at the same time, and in his memory things that were years ago feel like they happened yesterday, and things that happened yesterday feel like years ago. It’s jumbled and tiring to keep track of. April said it was an ADHD thing.

But still. It is not a good enough reason to have let Donnie drift so far away. Donnie wasn't good at asking for stuff from them. Like... asking for comfort, or emotional support. If he could build himself some machine to take care of it, he'd never bring it up. Hell, he'd never bring it up anyway, but Raph had considered himself pretty good at telling when his little brothers needed a hand, or an ear, or a shoulder.

Had. He doesn't think he's very good at it anymore.

Raph's pacing. He isn't scared of knocking - or, at least, he shouldn't be. But he has to admit he is afraid of being shut out. Donnie's good like that, and something about this feels risky, like a last chance. Though that could be Raph's anxiety talking.

It's been doing a lot of talking recently.

He wonders if he should ask Splinter to deal with it. Maybe it'd be better for Don to hear whatever he needed to hear from their dad, rather than from his probably frustratingly overprotective big brother. But Raph's heart aches at the mere thought of pawning off his brother's emotions to someone else. He wants to help. He might make it worse, but he wants to at least prove to Donatello that he is willing to try. It might make the difference.

Though he might be being dramatic.

Raph is still pacing, lost in his own thoughts (drowning in his own fears), when the door slides open with a hiss, and Raph is rooted in place as he sees a very tired Donatello standing there, without his mask and in his pyjamas, arms folded, staring at him.

"What are you doing, Raph?"

"Oh! Donnie! Aha, fancy meeting you here. Me? I-I was just... going for a walk."

Donnie raises an eyebrow. "...Right. Of course. A walk, up and down the same two metres of carpet, for the past forty minutes. Outside my door. At 2am."

Raph blinks, before rubbing the back of his head, trying to laugh it off. "What? Me? No, I-I wouldn't... I.... how do you know?"

Donnie dryly points upward, and Raph tilts his head up to see a security camera fixed on him.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed," Donatello agrees, fixing him with a tired and stern look as he shifts his weight to lean against the doorway. "Look, can I help you?"

Ah, an in.

"Yes!" Raph seizes the opportunity with both hands. And Donnie. Though he quickly puts him down because he’s grabbed Donnie by the shoulders before he could think not to and doesn’t miss how his brother has flinched. "Sorry. Yes, you can."

Donnie’s face is pinched with an expression that is doing its best to be polite.

“Can…” Raph is suddenly aware how close he is, how uncomfortable Donnie looks, and how far out of his depth he really is, and steps back, rubbing his arm. “I’m sorry, Donnie. I… I just really need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?”

Donatello’s face drops, but he doesn’t slam the door in Raph’s face. So… booyah. First obstacle cleared.

But what happens next makes Raph feel worse. Donnie’s face goes blank, and he steps aside with slumped shoulders to let Raph by.

“Hey,” Raph steps back again, putting on his bravest smile. “Tell you what, it’s cold, it’s late, and it’s time for a talk. You know what that means?”

A smile tugs around Donnie’s lips. “Super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate?”

“Super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate,” Raph agrees, and he turns and offers his shell to his brother, like when they were little, when his spikes had first grown to perfect handhold size and he became the family’s favourite climbing frame. “C’mon. Kitchen time.”

Donnie stares for a moment, unmoving, and Raph does his best to keep smiling. Was this too much? The others would not have hesitated. Probably wouldn’t even have waited for an offer.

Don’t let me lose him. Please.

Donnie hesitantly closes the distance, and Raph looks away to feel with relief the added weight of Donnie scaling his back, to settle on his shoulders.

“Lead the way, big red,” Donnie commands, and Raph feels Don pat him on the head lightheartedly.

He doesn’t bring up how his brother is shaking.

 --- --- ---

It really doesn’t take long to get to the kitchen. It could have taken shorter, but Raph decided against jumping down to the first floor, especially seeing as Donnie usually didn’t do that himself, and got a heart attack and a half when the rest of them did.

If Donnie notices the effort, he doesn’t say anything.

Raph shivers despite himself. It’s winter and it does get cold, but it’s always warm in the kitchen. He has to stoop to enter normally, and he reminds himself to pause to let Donnie down before he goes in – last thing he needs to do is give his brother a concussion.

He ushers Donnie in and shuts the door tight behind them. Even if anyone else were awake this time of night, they shouldn’t be eavesdropped-on. And Raph has to admit, he notices tension leak from his brother’s shoulders at the sound.

Raph kicks himself into action, and goes about pulling out the pan he needs, the milk, the chocolate (he has a secret stash of actual chocolate bars he has to hide from the rest of the family for this reason, because the sneaky extra word in the title of his magnum opus is emergency super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate). He pulls out multiple little containers of spices and sets them out on the bench, and stacks all the ingredients, double checking he has everything he needs.

He’s so caught up in organising that he spooks when Donatello speaks.

“Are… Can I watch?”

Raphael freezes. Normally he does this in private, and brings the hot chocolate with him, which he would have done if this wasn’t one of his make-it-up-as-he-goes-along plans (his best kind). He’s fiercely protective of his recipe, not even Dad or April knows how to make it.

“Y’know what?” Raphael says instead, making sure to shoot his brother a wink, “sure. You’re worthy of my secret. Juuust as long as you don’t tell.”

He sees a shift in Donnie’s body language out of the corner of his eye as he turns back, before Donnie slips out of his seat and in beside Raph. Raphael lets him tuck in in front of him, having more than enough space to loom over him if need be.

“Oh…” Donnie picks up one of the spices, eyes wide with realisation as puzzle pieces of flavour click into place. “That’s it.”

“Yeah,” Raph smiles, and sidesteps his brother so he can have enough elbow space to pour the milk into the pot, though he doesn’t miss how Donnie tenses when he steps away.

That… that’s different now. Raph had been wondering if it was touch-related, like too much touch. Now he’s beginning to wonder if it’s the opposite.

Is that even a thing? He doesn’t know.

He’s melting the chocolate on autopilot, his hands long since having memorised this routine, and he’s oblivious to Donnie’s observing eyes as he slowly stirs.

“Oh, you use that brand,” Donatello suddenly comments, jolting Raph back into the moment. “No wonder I couldn’t place it.”

“Yeah.” Raph turns the wrapper over in his hand. “It’s a little rare, it’s hella pricey, especially seeing as it comes all the way from New Zealand, but damn if there’s nothing else like it.”

“Mm,” Donnie agrees, and his thieving hands have snuck a piece before Raph can think of stopping it.

“Wh-hey!” he shakes the wooden spoon at Donnie, who now has a very smug look on his face as he savours the richness of the chocolate now melting on his tongue. “Hey, that’s for super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate only! Stop eating my stash.”

Donnie sticks his tongue out at him. Raph tries not to laugh but he can’t help the snort that’s ripped out of him, and he tries to hide it as he turns away, and turns the heat right down.

“Oh, don’t worry, dearest brother,” Donnie leans his head against Raph’s arm and Raph has to bite his lip to keep the relieved smile down. “I won’t eat it all. Probably.”

“You better not,” Raph jokingly grouses. “I spent months finding a hiding spot that actually works.”

Raph can feel Donnie’s shoulders shake with gentle laughter more than he can hear it, but it’s more than enough for him.

It’s looking good so far. Raph hands Donnie the spoon and tells him to keep stirring slowly, before stepping away to wash his hands. When he comes back, he takes back over and starts to pepper in the spices. A pinch here, a pinch there, some more of that, and he knows Donnie likes it a bit more mellow so a bigger pinch or two of that.

He sets them back on the counter and focusses on not over-heating the milk. Usually he leaves the putting-lids-back-on for later, but he sees Donnie do it for him, and shoots him a smile of thanks.

It doesn’t take much longer after that. He takes it off the heat and switches the element off, before going to fetch their mugs and a ladle.

“Is that really necessary?” Donnie nods at the ladle. “Surely we could just dip the mugs in.”

“That’d make such a mess!” Raph gasps, clutching the ladle to his plastron. “The ladle is an integral part of the process! Do not mess with the process, Donatello!”

Donnie’s laughing at him, and he’s so happy to hear Donnie laughing again. “Of course not, of course not, Raphael,” he placates him, trying to sound serious but his smile giving him away. “One cannot mess with the process.”

“Damn right.”

Raph dishes out the hot chocolate, artfully filling Donnie’s mug to almost-the-brim, before handing it to him, pressing it into his hand because he knows that when Donnie is tired, his hand-eye coordination is one of the first things to go.

He gets himself a mug too, before sitting down at the kitchen table. Donnie hesitates, eyes flicking between the seat opposite Raph and the seat beside Raph. Raph takes a sip of his drink, and without making eye contact, pulls the chair beside him a little out.

An invitation.

Donnie pauses, before slinking around the table to slip in beside him. He takes a sip of the hot chocolate, and Raph watches even more tension just bleed out of him, the crease between his eyebrows that seemed so permanent as of late finally easing.

“Mm, even better than I remember,” Donnie hums.

“You say that every time.”

“It’s true every time.”

Raph takes another sip and smiles to himself. He makes a slightly different recipe for each family member. Leo likes a kick of chili in his. Mikey likes it when he leans a bit more into the nutmeg-ginger-cloves; he says it tastes like gingerbread but a chocolate drink. April likes it with mint. He keeps it plain for Splinter, the one or two times he’s done it for him. And, well, he knows how Donnie likes his. And clearly, he’s nailed it this time, because half the mug has gone already.

“Help yourself to more,” Raph nods at the pot, and Donnie hums but says nothing more.

They sit in silence for a moment or two.

Then, “you wanted to talk?”

Raph winces, and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I… I do.”

All of a sudden, the set of Don’s shoulders are far too stiff for Raph’s liking. Damn it, he’d seen him, just before. His brother is in there. He just doesn’t know what Donnie’s waiting for.

“It’s nothing…” Raph cuts himself off there. Nothing serious? Nothing major? Nothing wrong? All of those are false. Because it is serious, but he doesn’t want Donatello to feel like he’s in trouble, because that ego of his makes him shut down, and Raphael will never get to talk to him.

“…Am I in trouble?”

Right on cue.

“No,” Raph turns to him now. “You really aren’t.”

Donnie looks at him now, searching Raph’s face for something. Raph doesn’t know what he finds, but it seems to placate him.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to word this.” Raph fumbles, turning his cup in his hands, before sighing. He’s getting a headache.

He reaches up and unties his mask. He’d almost forgotten he hadn’t taken it off. He puts it down on the table and starts folding it, letting Donnie watch him, and wait.

“And before I say anything wrong,” he adds, “I don’t mean to insult you, and I-I… I value you dearly, Don.”

“…Ooookay?”

His brother looks uncomfortable. Raph kicks himself for ramping up the emotions so early. He can’t help it. Asking Raph to control his emotions is like asking the sea to stop washing up onto the beach every minute. Or something. He rubs his temple and tries to keep the metaphors at bay.

“Have we upset you?”

Donnie freezes, and blinks at Raph. He seems… bewildered at the question.

“I just, I know after… a-after Shredder,” Raph manages to stammer, and they both wince at the name, “that it took us all a lot to recover, like, physically. And it’s only been a… what, a few months?”

Raphael scratches the side of his head and curses himself for not really knowing.

“Yeah,” Donnie finally pitches in, and his voice is quiet and a little shaken. “It’s been six months. I’m… everything’s healed.”

“Ah,” Raph holds up a finger, takes a sip of drink, before continuing. “Everything physical’s healed.”

And yes, there comes another flinch from Donnie. Raph’s found the nail and the haystack and still managed to hit it on the head.

“And I realise… uh, I ain’t been too good at making the rounds.” Raph shakes his head. “I… I’ve been putting my head down and pretending to be okay because that’s easier than talking about it.”

Donnie makes a sort of a tch that makes it sound like he agrees.

“A-and it ain’t been any good for anyone!” Raph has set his mug down, and he can’t keep himself from gesturing wildly in the air. “I know Dad’s been talking to Leo, at least. And Mikey… he said he had someone to talk to, and I know Draxum’s become a bit kinder recently. But I know April’s been busy as all hell recently, and-”

“What does it matter if April’s been busy?” Donnie snips, and it’s Raph’s turn to flinch as he finds a sore spot. “I have other people to talk to. I have other friends.”

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Raph shoots back quickly, but Donnie averts his eyes because they both know the other is lying. Mikey and Leo are the ones who are good with friends. Donnie’s not good with people, and Raph…

He’s… he’s not good at letting people do their own thing. It’s one thing about Dad that he can really understand now, understand why he was like he was when Raph was the only one old enough to talk and walk around on his own. Because little Hamato Yoshi was neglected too.

So he doesn’t trust himself with new people too well, because he knows he’s… controlling?

He puts his head in his hands. Is this just… his character flaw times twenty? Was this necessary? Would Donnie just brush this off as Raph being Raph? Would he resent him?

“Hey, big guy.” Donnie puts a hand on his arm. The contact is delicate and hesitant, like Donnie isn’t sure he should, if he’s allowed to, and that tugs at something fresh and painful deep behind Raph’s plastron, because why wouldn’t he be? “I can see all that negativity rattling around in there. Just get to the point, alright? Then I can see if I need to be offended or not.”

Raph can’t help but laugh. Donnie pointedly drinks more hot chocolate and wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“I’m worried about you.”

The words tumble out before Raph can think of a better way to say it. He’s no Doctor Delicate Touch, or Doctor Feelings. He’s no good at this.

But there is no way he’s leaving his brother to fend whatever’s going on in that massive head of his by himself.

Donnie pauses a moment, takes a long drink and sets down a now empty mug, before sighing. “When aren’t you?”

Raph laughs, short and bitter, but it’s enough to draw a look of concern from Donnie, to clue him in he means it this time. Though, he always means it. “I know, I know,” he huffs. “But… Don, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

“…Like what?”

“Holing yourself up. Avoiding family activities. Being really, like, short? Curt? With us, if that makes sense? And how you flinch when someone touches you.”

Donnie’s eyes are wide.

“Yeah,” Raph nurses his drink and shoots him a sympathetic look. “I’m a bit more observant than you think, I guess.”

“I…” Donnie stammers.

“I’d been wondering if somehow it was all too much? Like, I know about sensory overload sorta stuff, April’s been helping me understand, and hell, I feel that. But this seems… the opposite of that?”

“I…” Donnie blinks a few times, before pushing the empty mug away and turning away. He folds his hands and hides his mouth behind them, staring at the wall. Raph’s seen this enough to know what’s up. Donnie’s debating with himself. Weighing the risk and reward of being open with him.

Raph lets him. He gets up, and picks up both their mugs, and goes for a second serving. His mug wasn’t even empty yet, but he doesn’t want Donnie to feel any more singled-out than he already does.

He’s partway through ladling more drink into Donnie’s mug when his brother finally speaks.

“…I think I’ve developed mild touch starvation.”

Raph tenses, pauses for a second to make sure he doesn’t overfill the mug, and carefully sets it down, before topping his own red mug up too and letting the ladle splash back into the pot. He takes a moment before ferrying the drinks back to the table.

And as he sets Donnie’s mug down in front of him, he doesn’t make eye contact. He’s waiting for Donnie to get on a roll. He usually does. But if he doesn’t, Raph will sit back down and talk to him about it.

“It… It wasn’t on purpose,” Donnie accepts the drink with a shiver, also not looking up at Raph. “I didn’t mean to avoid you guys for so long. I just… there was so much to fix. Raph, I lost almost all my tech to Shredder. I haven’t even managed to finish rebuilding Shelldon yet. There’s so much I can’t replace yet and… I guess it all ran away from me.”

Donnie rubs his eye as he talks, and Raph slips off to the side to return to his seat. Donnie angles a little towards him, not looking at him but clearly still talking to him.

“And it’s cold all the time recently, so I didn’t really click that was a thing that was wrong. Sure, I got lonely, but I just… just wanted to get through it. Power on through, if you will.”

Donnie takes a drink, and Raph’s eyes flick to his brother’s face to watch that damn crease between his eyebrows ease a little again.

“I didn’t realise I kept turning stuff down. I was… fixated, I guess.”

“Easy to do,” Raph agrees, voice quiet. He’s more sort of rolling his mug between his hands than he is drinking.

Donnie snorts a little at that in agreement. “I didn’t really realise I had… I didn’t know until…”

“Until Mikey went to hug you two weeks ago?” Raph guessed.

“Damn, you are good.”

Raph smiles despite himself. “I just try to pay attention to you guys. I want to help when and where I can.”

Donnie’s eyes are on him, and they are analysing him. Raph takes a drink and pretends not to notice. He wonders what Donnie finds.

Finally, the scrutiny eases when his brother sighs. “I… I’ve been researching touch starvation, and all that.” Donnie rubs his eye again. “And, well, it sounds right. Maybe it hasn’t been long enough. Maybe I’m making it up, but...”

“Nah.” Before Raph can think not to, he’s reached out and patted Donnie on the shell. “I trust you to know yourself. I…”

He realises Donnie’s gone tense under his hand.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers. “I… is this okay?”

Donnie shudders. His lips are moving but he’s not saying anything. Raph almost goes to move his hand but before he can his brother makes a desperate noise he hopes never to have to hear again.

It sounds like a wounded animal.

“Can I hug you?” Raph’s voice is low and urgent.

Donnie’s nodding.

Raph sweeps Donnie up in his arms the moment he starts to nod his head, and curls around his smaller brother as best he can, feeling Donatello gasp, feeling him go tense, and then feeling him go limp, plastering himself against Raph’s chest and melting into his warmth.

Despite turtles being cold-blooded, Raph runs hot. It must be the human DNA in his favour. But right now it’s perfect for looking after his little brother, who is now all but clinging to him.

“Oh,” he hears Donnie breathe to himself. “Oh, I was right.”

“Is this okay?”

“Yes!” Donnie flinches at his own volume. “Sorry, sorry. Yes, and I swear to god, Raph, if you let me go I will-”

“I ain’t letting you go,” Raph says firmly. “Your new problem is getting rid of me.”

Donnie laughs, hiding his face in Raph’s plastron. “That’s not a problem,” he murmurs, and Raph has to bite his lip because suddenly there are tears in his eyes. Curse his overemotional state. This isn’t supposed to be about him.

Suddenly, Raph feels really small.

He curls around Donnie as tight as he can, and he wasn’t sure when he started shaking. But under his fingertips, from where his hands are all but plastered against Donnie’s shell, he can feel the healing scratches, scars from Shredder…

He shudders himself, and ducks his head. Don’t think about it.

“Raph?”

Don’t think about it, I said.

“Raph, talk to me, bro.”

“I was scared,” he finally blurts out. “I was scared I was gonna lose you.”

“Lose me? I’m right here.”

“Not like that,” Raph shoots back, frustrated at his own emotions as his tears spill over, and he tries to turn his head away to hide it. “I… I don’t know. You know me, Don.”

“I do,” Donnie agrees, and he pulls back enough to reach a tea towel on the kitchen table, and use it to dry Raph’s face.

“And… I,” Raph lets him, before turning his head away again. Because it’s been so long now, and Shredder isn’t coming back. But fuck, that thing nearly killed him, nearly killed his brothers, nearly killed Donnie right in front of him and if he had been even a little bit slower he wouldn’t have a brother to hug.

Without thinking, his fingers trace the scars on Donnie’s shell, and Donatello takes a sharp breath in. The sound of realisation.

“Hey,” Donnie’s hands cup his face and force Raph to make eye contact. “Raph, look at me. I’m safe. You saved me. Shredder’s gone. We… we did it. I’m safe, okay? I’m healthy. I’ve healed from that.”

“I…”

“You took more damage than I did. In the least, we’re matching.”

“…Donnie.”

Donnie studies his face, expression falling as Raph can’t keep from crying, and Raph screws up his face, eyes tightly shut.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “This is supposed to be about you. This ain’t Raph’s Pity Parade.”

“Pity Parade?” Donnie scoffs. “No pity needed or earned, Raphadaelious. Anyone would be reacting like this after what we’ve been through.”

“But I’m not anyone,” Raph blurts again. “I need to be there for you guys. I need to be, like, the shoulder. Y’know?”

Donnie forces him to look him in the eye, and Raph’s eyes widen in shock as he sees he’s made Donnie cry too.

“Who looks after you, Raph?”

Donnie is blunt, and to the point. Raphael doesn’t have an answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Donnie hums. “…Tell you what, let’s make a deal.”

“...I’m listening.”

“You help me with my… problem,” Donnie looks down at his own hands, which he’s since peeled off Raph’s face. “And I’ll make sure you’re not in this alone.”

“Donnie, you’re not a problem to fix,” Raph interjects, making his brother look up again. “You’re a person, who needs help. But you’re not some machine that if I adjust the settings just right, you’re magically fixed, okay? I just… I don’t want you to depersonalise yourself that much.”

“That’s... a big word.”

“I’ve been trying to pay more attention.”

“It’s been working,” Donnie tries to smile. He leans back, and Raph gives him the space he’s silently asking for. Donnie takes a moment to dry his eyes, before getting to his feet, sliding out of Raph’s arms.

Donnie’s shivering. Raph wants to sweep him up again because he knows how cold it gets. He knows about the icy-hot burn touch leaves behind when you don’t have enough. It’s been years, but now Donnie’s told him the words for it, Raph knows exactly what he means.

Raph is the oldest, and the strongest. He was not allowed to handle his younger brothers until he could control his strength. And Splinter wasn’t exactly the most present back then. He was so glad his brother’s never really had to go through that themselves. He was so glad Splinter is better now, both in his own mental health and as a father. He wishes it could wipe away the bitter loneliness as a kid. He wishes it could smother out the panic he still feels the minute he’s left alone.

He’s overprotective. He fawns. He doesn’t want anyone to feel as lonely as he used to. But now the problem? The problem is that he’s failed, because a touched-starved Donatello is standing in front of him, drinking his second mug of emergency super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate, and if Raph had been a little more… something… he could have prevented this.

“Donnie, I’m sorry,” he says, and Don looks at him with a strange look on his face.

“It’s… it’s not your fault, Raphie. If anything, it’s mine. I knew, on some level, it’d be bad for me. I… just didn’t care, I guess.”

Raph winces, but he does have to admit that he understands the feeling.

“We’re your family. We should have been able to see something, and step in sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Donnie says, and the worst part is that he’s earnest.

“It’s not.”

“It is,” Donnie shakes his head. “Because I… I could also see that the ice was thin, Raph. Leo was prepared to bite my head off at every dinner for weeks. Mikey was so shaken, you remember, right?”

“I do,” Raph murmurs, because how could he forget? And they didn’t really let him help much. But a heart to heart, just like this one, over emergency super special secret recipe Raph hot chocolate, had been enough to start wheels in motion.

“I wasn’t going to make that any better,” Donnie sighs, and he slumps back into the chair beside Raph and leans his head on Raph’s arm. “I have at least a scrap of self-awareness sometimes. Maybe that’s another reason why I stayed out of the way.”

“Wish I had your self-control,” Raph mutters. “I… Mikey and I had a fight.”

“I remember hearing it.”

“We’ve both apologised, and I can tell Mikey’s moved on, but I still feel so bad.”

Donnie shrugs. “We’re family. We aren’t supposed to get along all the time.”

Raph snorts. “If that ain’t the truth.”

They talk more. Talk more about things that matter and things that don’t. Donnie drinks a whole third mug of the hot chocolate (though now it’s more mildly room-temperature chocolate), and Raph manages to successfully put the rest in a bottle to put in the fridge for tomorrow.

He offers Donnie a ride back upstairs and this time Donnie takes it without hesitation, clambering up onto his shoulders gracelessly, yawning widely.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Raph asks as he climbs back upstairs.

“Technically? About 11pm. Properly slept?” Donnie yawns again, and Raph feels him shrug. “Like… a few weeks.”

“Jeez,” Raph whistles lowly. “What’s wrong?”

“Cold, touch-starved, nightmares,” Donnie lists off, and Raph can tell that he’s trying to be clinical about it, but Donnie can’t hide how his voice shakes on the last one.

“Yeah,” Raph admits. “Me too.”

He pauses outside his own bedroom, staring at the red curtain, before shifting on his feet. “When we were kids,” he starts, and feels Donnie’s hand flop down over his shoulder. “We… whenever someone had a nightmare, they’d always sleep better in a pile.”

He’s not necessarily talking about Donnie specifically here, it happened to all of them. But he does vividly remember Donnie shaking him awake late one night, about six years old when Raph was about eight, tearfully asking if he can sleep in Raph’s room tonight, and-

“Yeah,” Donnie whispers. “I remember.”

“Would that help?” Raph shifts on his feet again. “Tonight.”

Donnie doesn’t reply. Raph kicks himself for asking.

“It might.”

Raph looks up to see Donnie leaning over his shoulder.

“I’m willing to test it,” he sort-of smiles, and yeah, Raph can see how tired he really is.

“Great,” Raph tells him as brightly as he can manage. “Is my room okay?”

“Yeah,” Donnie smirks at him. “You wouldn’t fit on my bunk.”

“Shut up!”

Raph pushes back the curtain with a smile, letting the darkness of his bedroom envelop them, before casually punting his little brother into his mattress.

“Hey!” Donnie tries to shout, but he’s too busy laughing.

“Uh huh,” Raph puts his hands on his hips. “Scoot over, small fry, seeing as I need all the space I can get.”

Donnie obliges with a grin. A tired grin, a grin interrupted by another yawn, but a real, actual grin none-the-less.

They get settled, tugging blankets and getting comfortable, and Donnie falls asleep remarkably quickly. He sinks into Raph’s warmth and hangs on tight, even in unconsciousness, and Raph loops his arms around him as safely as he can and closes his eyes too.

For the first time in a long time, his worry is finally set at ease. He doesn’t have to worry about where Donnie is, or if Donnie’s well, or if he’s sleeping, or if he’s okay. Because he knows for a fact that Donnie is safe, Donnie’s right here, and even if Donnie’s not okay yet, he will be.

That’s a super special secret Raph promise.

He curls up and lets the sound of his brother’s breathing ground him. They’re okay. They’re okay. They’re going to be okay.

And they both sleep through the night, for a first time in a very, very long time.

#rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fic #djpurple3's writing yo #touch starvation #touch starved!donnie #autistic!donnie #adhd!raph #food tw #food m #neglect m #neglect mention tw

[djpurple3]

Loceit college au soulmates fic. Background romile (roman x emile). Its 1.30am and im writinf on my phone so forgive typos

Smatterings of angst, happy ending, most under the cut. Fairly short. :)

-- -- --

If Logan had been asked, he would have rolled his eyes at the question of soulmates. He would have said he was well aware they were real, thank you, but that didn't mean the standards weren't unrealistic, and that one didn't have to put in the legwork any relationship required.

He had seen enough relationships around him, soulmates or no, crumble under not-enough care to know.

And if Logan had been brave enough to answer honestly, he would have quietly replied that he did hope he had a soulmate and that he hoped their paths would actually cross.

He knew the statistics. He knew it was not likely, but likely enough to dream otherwise - if he dared.

His older brother, Emile, had pulled him out of home as soon as he could, even if he only could at the start of college, but Logan understood, and he was so, so thankful nonetheless.

And it was so nice to see his brother again - five years his senior - and even nicer to see that he'd found hinself a partner that could paint red across his skin just as he could paint baby-blue-pale-pink across theirs. Roman, their name was, and Emile had met them months ago and they'd been living together alnost since. Logan had been thrilled (even if he found his brother's soulmate obnoxious at times) because it had been a wonderful rebellion to how they'd been raised. They worked. They made the effort. They loved each other.

And Logan wouldn't leave it implied. It made him hopeful.

But studies came first. He threw himself at his degrees (engineering and philosophy, just to keep it interesting) and tried not to get distracted by the very pretty young man in his philosophy class - the one with vitiligo and long dark hair worn in ponytails under a hat that should be stupid but he managed to sell somehow - and wore yellow shirts with black waistcoats and-

Logan had to remind himself that he was here for a reason, and the reason was not to check out pretty boys.

But when, well into their second year, they finally got paired together for a project, Logan had wanted to combust. But he was nice. Sarcastic and quick-witted, he grated against Logan's dry humour perfectly.

Janus was his name, and Logan was willing to doubt the success rates of soulmates if it meant he could try with Janus.

But Janus always went quiet over discussion of soulmates, so Logan never let the topic come up.

After then, though, they became fast friends, and soon they were hanging out more and more. Janus was also doing a double degree, in law, so they ended up graduating in the same year.

Emile and Roman had taken Logan out for celebratory dinner, and said he could invite anyone if he wanted. Janus was a natural choice as breathing.

And Janus accepted, and they sat next to each other and bantered and laughed and it was as easy as breathing.

Emile made a joke about romance, and they both laughed, and Janus jokingly put his hand over Logan's, where it sat on the table.

And they both froze.

Because normal contact never felt that icy warm.

They didn't break eye contact, Janus didn't move his hand.

"You feel that?" Logan breathed.

Their eyes finally fell to their hands, and Janus sucked in a shaky breath and took his back.

Logan had a patch glowing gold from where Janus had touched him.

Janus turned his hand over, staring at the navy blue galaxy now swirling on his palm, along his fingers.

"Oh!" Roman gasped, clasping their hands.

"...Janus?" Logan hesitated.

Janus stood up sharply. "I have to go," he said. "Thank you for dinner."

And Logan had to watch his soulmate all but bolt from the restaurant.

--

Logan let three days of silence hang before he called Janus. It was Thursday morning. He had to ring twice before Janus picked up.

"Hi, Logan," Janus croaked.

"Hi, Janus," Logan replied. "...Are you okay? You don't sound well."

Janus' breathing hitched.

"I'm sorry," Logan continued. "I didn't know."

"Don't apologise," Janus sighed. "I... thank you for giving me space."

"I value you," Logan said seriously. "As a friend first and foremost. I won't let something as... a-as trivial as soulmates break what we have, if that's what you want."

"You're too kind, Logan."

Logan waited for Janus to elaborate, trying not to let the comment sting. When he didn't reply, Janus sighed in frustration.

"I am not someone who would make a good soulmate."

"How do you know?"

Janus struggled for words for a moment. "It.. runs in the family."

"Oh," said Logan. "...It ..it does in mine, too."

"Please, your brother is living proof of otherwise."

"Emile is the only living proof so far," Logsn shot back, and Janus went quiet. "...It turns out such chains, cycles whatever we choose to call them! It turns out they can be broken."

Janus was quiet.

"I..." Logan swallowed hard. "I would be keen to see if we can challenge our status quo too."

Janus did not reply for another long, empty moment. Then, Logan heard him laugh.

"You know," Janus said conversationally, "I wish I'd known we were soulmates years ago, because I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you."

A grin cracked through Logan's worried expression and he couldn't help but laugh too, in relief, in absurdity.

"It wasn't just me, then? That makes me feel better."

They were quiet for a moment. Then, Janus spoke again, and his voice was shaking dreadfully. "Logan... may I come over? I believe I owe you a couple things."

Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Of course," he said softly. "You're always welcome here."

---

Logan sat on the couch, trying not to stare at the front door as he waited.

"What's up?"

Emile had leant on the back of the sofa, looking down at him with quiet concern.

"Janus is on his way over now," Logan said. "I'm just anxious to see him."

"Brave of him," Roman called from across the room. "The nerve of him to walk out on you."

They blinked in surprise at the twin glares he got from both Picani boys.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Logan warned.

"Hon," Emile said. "Remember what we talked about."

"I know, I know," Roman threw up their hands. "But still? He hurt you, kid. I don't want him to do that again."

"Neither does he," Logan said, matter-of-factly. And he turned back to the front door, conversation clearly over.

-- --

There came a couple knocks, and Logan was out of his seat in a heartbeat. He yanked open the front door to find Janus, who looked puffed and windswept, who thrusted a bouquet of blue flowers into his hands.

"First thing I owe you," he said breathlessly, "is an apology. Logan, I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

"...Just like that?"

Janus answered by stepping in close and kissing him.

"It'd be hypocritical otherwise," Logan shrugged, shifting on his feet. "I get it. I really do. ...What was the other thing?"

After a long and delightful moment, they broke for air.

"Oh," Logan finally said, dazed. "Thank you."

And Janus burst out laughing - though Logan was too distracted by his lips that were now glowing a rich navy blue.

"Thank you?" he echoed. "Oh, you're still such a fucking dork. I knew I fell in love with you for a reason."

Logan touched his lips, tinging icy-hot and probably glowing a beautiful shade of gold. "Um," he said. "Want to come in for coffee?"

"I'd love to."

As Logan closed the door behind them, he turned, and realised Emile and Roman were standing there, arms folded.

"Oh," Logan said even as Janus flushed. "You're still here?"

"You look good in gold, Lo-Lo," Emile finally teased, cracking a huge smile. " Now, come on, Roman, let's not interrupt their coffee. Come on a walk?"

And Logan laughed, pulling Janus into a kiss the moment the door closed behind them.

#logan sanders #janus sanders #soulmate au #loceit #romantic loceit #ts fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #emile picani #roman sanders #romile #djpurple3's writing yo

[djpurple3]

For your writing prompt request, maybe something casual like Creativitwins bonding? Maybe they made a ruckus and the others are a bit tired of it and the twins are making food together or something both to say sorry and also as bonding time? Hope it helps and don't forget to stay hydrated and be kind to yourself you amazing human being!

Thank you for the prompt! i think i bungled the tone a little, but it's creativitwins being There for each other and also doing some baking. If there are typos im sorry it's like 5am and i can't sleep so im writing instead.

full fic under the readmore

--- --- ---

Roman was in the kitchen, pointedly and carefully mixing the batter with very steady and repeated motions. He had elected to do it by hand, mostly because he didn’t know where the mixer-insert-things for the electric mixer were, but he had to admit, his hand was cramping a little.

But he’d rather focus on his cramping hand than the argument he had with Virgil. And Patton. And he knew it was bad because Logan didn’t even talk to him afterwards, and usually he’d get some sort of lecture.

He shook his head and made sure to scrape along the edge of the bowl, where some of the mix was still uncombined.

Footsteps dragged his attention away from the bowl, and he looked up to see his brother descending the stairs, looking… oddly upset. Remus didn’t usually get upset, as far as he knew, so this was already weird. And, well, what was pissing off one more person today?

“Why the long face?” he called, still mixing his batter even as he watched Remus’ face twist.

“Had an argument,” Remus replied, and he rubbed his arms before making a beeline to the kitchen too. “…Jan’s not very happy with me right now. And Logan was pretty pissed too.”

“That might have been my fault,” Roman sighed. “I… I fought with V and Pat today. Think I might have upset Logan too. So… sorry.”

“Whatever,” Remus huffed, and he sidled around the counter to stand beside his brother. “It’s… whatever. What are you making?”

“Muffins,” Roman said distractedly. “They’re supposed to be a peace offering.”

“…The only sort of offering they’re gonna be is a burnt offering to the gods,” Remus leant over and poked at the mixture. “Aren’t you not supposed to overbeat muffin batter?”

Roman froze, before looking down at the bowl for the first time in a good few minutes, and blinked so very slowly as he realised his brother was very right, and he’d thoroughly ruined this batch.

“Oh,” he said, and hated the fact that his voice was wobbling. “Oh, bother.”

“Sorry there, Poo-bear,” Remus took the bowl out of his hands. “But I mean, we could still make ‘em.”

“I couldn’t give them to Patton and Virgil, and Logan, if the texture’s awful.”

“I guess not.” Remus looked down at the bowl, shrugged, and set it aside. “But a peace offering is a good idea. Wanna divide and conquer? I’ll help you if we make enough to give to Janus as well.”

“Sure,” Roman said, and Remus gave him a hard look as Roman’s voice cracked, and he genuinely sounded very close to tears.

Roman turned away for a second, putting his back to his brother, but it was impossible to fully hide the gesture of wiping his face.

“I know,” Remus hummed, patting Roman’s shoulder. “It… it’s really been one of those days.”

Suddenly, Roman spun on his heel and launched himself at Remus, throwing his arms around him and pulling his brother into a tight hug. Remus reeled for a second, before his brain caught up with he situation, and he returned the favour.

“At least you don’t hate me,” he said, before he could think not to.

“You’re my brother,” Roman replied. “I don’t hate you. I also do, because you’re my brother, but I love you. Y’know?”

“I know,” Remus agreed with a laugh that was far wetter than he would have liked. “You got my back and I got yours.”

“Of course,” Roman agreed, and they separated to stand side by side in the kitchen.

There was a beat of silence, where all they did was take in the state of the room, before Remus turned to Roman.

“I’m not normally the one who says this,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing about his face. “But it’s a fucking mess in here.”

Roman laughed at that, but he was rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I was a little pre-occupied.”

And yes, there was stray ingredients and bowls and equipment and god knew what else strewn everywhere, and Remus shook his head and lifted his hands like an orchestra conductor, before gesturing broad and wide, and Roman watched the mess clean itself, including the failed muffin batter disappearing into thin air.

“Let’s start again,” Remus suggested. “And let’s not do muffins.”

“Fair enough,” Roman agreed. “I don’t even think Virgil likesmuffins.”

Patton came downstairs two hours later, drained after lengthy chats with Virgil and with Janus, to find both twins in the kitchen, laughing as they finished making something. He… he couldn’t see quite what, but Roman had a pitcher of chocolate ganache and Remus had a piping bag full of whipped cream, and they were too busy laughing at each other to notice Patton descending the stairs.

However, that changed when he hit a creaky floorboard, and the twin’s heads snapped up like children caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Roman did his best to smile, though it was very shaky.

“Hi, Patton,” he said, and it was thin and strained. “I… we’ll clean up, I promise.”

“Okay,” Patton said, clasping his hands in front of him. “…Whatchya making?”

“Eclairs,” Remus said, and the look he shot Patton was almost suspicious, like he didn’t trust he wasn’t going to breeze in and upset Roman again.

Neither of them missed how Patton perked up at that.

“Here,” Roman gestured his friend over, and Patton closed the distance to see a huge batch of iced and creamed eclairs sitting in rows on the bench. There was only a half-dozen unfinished, which they were quickly working on remedying. “Help yourself. As… as an apology.”

Patton smiled, this time a lot more genuinely. He knew the sort of work that went into a dessert like this, and he knew Roman wasn’t the best at verbal apologies.

“Thank you,” he said softly, trying to let his tone carry the extra meaning he intended. It worked, he thought, because Roman’s eyes flicked over to him from the éclair he was still icing, and he smiled a little back.

“Of course,” he said. “…Would you mind taking some to the others, too?”

“I don’t know if they’ll want to see us,” Remus agreed, finishing filling the last few eclairs with cream, not looking up at Patton.

“Of course,” Patton agreed. “Let me grab a plate, then.”

He left with a plate of eclairs to do the rounds with, leaving Remus and Roman to clean up.

“That went smoothly,” Remus noted as they magicked away their mess.

“I’m glad,” Roman sighed. “I hate it when this sort of thing happens. I mean, I bring it on myself, but I hate it.”

“Hey, it takes two to tango, alright? It’s not just your fault.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Remus loaded up a plate with the pastries before stacking the rest away in containers in the fridge. He handed Roman a couple bottles of soft drink that he had to move out of the way to fit the treats in, and smirked at him.

“Let’s have a little party of our own, then, while they’re all moping.”

“So we can mope in our own time.”

“If that’s really how you want to spend our little party, then fine.”

Roman laughed at that, and grabbed some glasses as Remus closed the fridge and preceeded to carry the plate over to the couch.

Afternoon tea was the only really good and fun part of their day, that day, with the TV tuned to the dumbest game shows they could find, laughing at the stupid contestants and eating the best treats they’d made in a while until the day mellowed out.

#sanders sides fic #ts fic #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #creativitwins #djpurple3's writing yo #food tw #food cw #dj got asked #brain so empty i cant think of what else to tag this #just a coupla brothers being dudes

[djpurple3]

Gonna make this post and forget about it but that post was circulating earlier abt mickey mouse and how he has no backstory, where goofy and donald very much do, and i started imagining a movie (still animated 2D like a goofy movie) where goofy and donald team up to try and discover literally any information about their best friend whom theyve known for years

There can be a scene where the two of them attempt a good-cop-bad-cop interrogation on minnie to she what she knows (she doesnt know anything and was like "i never asked he never said and im not nosy idk what to tell u guys" which can be interrupyed with a great gag where daisy enters and turns the light on, goes "hi donald" and donald's like "hi daisy" and she crosses the room, gets smth out of the fridge, leaves the room, and the second the light is turned out the interrogation scene kicks right back in, intensity and all

Maybe by the end they learn nothing / learn so many contradicting things about mickey that they basically know nothing and mickey's like "why does it matter??? im still me" and its like yknow whatever friends are friends and the value of their friendship doesnt rely on whether you know everything about them or not

Or something.

#dj rambles #disney #mickey mouse #donald duck #goofy #bro this literally doesnt matter #its just been kicking around in my head #and like itll never happen buy #*but #like imagine a 2D animated movie thats jusy them on wacky hijinks to try learn mickey's history or whatever #and a tone of jokes and stuff that apply to an older audience too... itd be nice #i know theyd never play with the metanarrative of mr mouse like this so this movie will stay in my head but #well welcome to my mind vacation #djpurple3's writing yo #MAX AND DONALD'S NEPHEWS ARE THERE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES IN THE CORNER #AND ITS CHILL #chip n dale can be there too i watched those shorts all the time #its basically mickey mouse clubhouse but genuinely on a goofy movie or ducktales' scale

[djpurple3]

Logicality textfic/chatfic - summary :its 2am and patton drunktexts logan. Their communication has very different vibes but Logan is a good.friend :) nice and short but under a cut anyway :)

--- --- ---

Patton: i literallt love ubsm

Logan: ...Patton are you okay

Patton: yes im ok!!!!!! I lobe u!!

Patton: *love u

Logan: ...

Logan: are you drunk? Or do you normally do this at 2am?

Logan: normally your spelling isn't so bad.

Patton: thammbu!!!!! I think!!!

Logan: literally what

Patton: thank u*

Logan: i see

Patton: im sorry

Logan: ?

Logan: no need for apologies

Patton: i just like tlakng to u ;_; i feel like we havemt rly talked lately!!

Patton: so sorru

Patton* sory

Patton: **zporry

Patton: fuck

Logan: you must be drunk!

Patton: so what if i am

Patton: im well in my right or whVeter

Patton: whgevr

Patton: you know what i mean

Logan: i do.

Logan: ...

Logan: you okay?

Patton: im kinda sad

Patton: i mean the alcohol makes it kjnda vetter kinda worse

Patton: i only had like

Patton: sevem

Logan: seven.

Patton: im fine

Logan: just make sure you drink water, ok?

Patton: i am

Patton: got a water bottle

Patton: [Patton sent a photo]

Logan: it is too dark for me to see anything, but i'll trust you

Patton: hskdhajshsha

Patton: ur so funny

Patton: i lovr u

Patton: ur a very good firnd and i love u sm. Ijope u kknow thT

Patton: oh my vod i cant type im so sorry

Logan: patton perhaps you should sleep. Perrhaps we both should.

Patton: perhaps...

Patton: not until ubsay ily2

Patton: ...

Patton: if u wnt to

Patton: *want

Logan: ...ily2?

Patton: it means

Patton: i love you too

Logan: oh

Patton: osrry i was being studpid

Patton: gnight logan

Logan: patton

Patton: yez

Patton: * yes?

Logan: ily2

Patton: !!!!!!!!

Patton: u have no idea how happy uve made me

Logan: hahaha

Logan: if it helps you feel better and help you get to sleep, then certainly

Patton: ......is that the only reason ubsaid it???

Logan: ...

Logan: i also deeply value you as both friend and family

Patton: !!!!!!!!!!!!

Patton: im literally gonn cry!!!!

Logan: oh no

Patton: good tears!!!!! Ilyzm!!!!!

Patton: sm*

Patton: so much

Logan: ah i see

Logan: you too

Logan: but im serious we should sleep

Patton: :P ok

Patton: gnight logan

Logan: gn patton.

Patton: sleep well!!!!!!

Logan: u2 :^)

#sanders sides #logicality #platonic or romantic #patton sanders #logan sanders #i may or.may not be drumk.myzelf.and uhhh whts thebword #projecting #but here we arw #chatfic #djpurple3's writing yo #sanders sides ficlet #alcohol.tw #alcohol tw #logan using :^) bc he would

[djpurple3]

hey people who like rottmnt remember when i wrote that one fanfic about donnie and raph being good brothers??? i wrote a sequel and now it’s mikey & raph’s time 2 shine

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #djpurple3's writing yo #ok i need to go to bed it's 4:30am oops #anyway enjoy the fic #rottmnt fic

[djpurple3]

A prompt if I may: Either Logan or Virgil being awake when they shouldn't be

i read this and my brain went “why not both?” so take some 2am analogical

---

It’s not wise to be up at this time of night.

“It’s going to throw off my rhythm,” Logan mumbles to himself, frowning into the tall glass of water he’s just fetched himself, standing bare-foot in the kitchen. “My circadian rhythm. I need to sleep.”

He’s greeted with silence. He expects that. No one else is awake.

Logan drinks some of his water, and puts it back down on the bench. It has ice in it, and the coldness of the glass’ contents has lead to condensation forming on the outside of the cup. Logan observes it, and drags his finger along in a swipe, drawing a line in the condensation.

“I should sleep,” he whispers to himself once more.

“That you should,” comes a voice, and Logan’s head snaps up to see Virgil descending the stairs, surprisingly silent. “Heya, Lo.”

“What are you doing up?”

Virgil pauses, and shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

Logan shoots him a glance, and Virgil rolls his shoulders as he wanders into the kitchen, poking his tongue out at Logan for good measure.

“Virgil,” Logan says, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, whatever!” Virgil throws his hands in the air. “I had a nightmare, alright? It sucked. I just needed to not-be in my room. And getting to see you at 2am is a nice bonus.”

That makes something feel warm in Logan’s chest. He does not always get the impression he is well-liked. He even dares to smile – something he doesn’t usually do and must be just-tired-enough to do without inhibitions. Virgil smiles back, his little bitter half-smile that Logan thinks is particularly delightful. He likes the insinuations of it. It turns what would be a boring drag of a conversation into something to have fun with and laugh at.

“Well, I’m sorry you had a nightmare,” Logan shakes his head, and takes another drink of his water. “Can I help in any way?”

Virgil shifts on his feet, before shrugging loosely.

“Not really,” he says. “It just… it’s the way it is, y’know?”

“Mm,” Logan hums sympathetically. “…I hear that physical contact can be grounding, though, especially after events such as nightmares.”

“…Can I get that in boring-speak?”

“Do you want a hug?” Logan clarifies.

Virgil looks at the floor for a moment, before taking a little breath.

“You don’t like hugs.”

“I never said that. I don’t know where you get your information, Virgil. I am not one who actively seeks hugs, but I do not ever mind being the recipient – or instigator – of a hug. So, I ask once more, do you want a hug?”

Virgil smiles, and it’s not a bitter smile this time. It’s a far rarer one – a genuine one, and it’s one of Logan’s favourite smiles in the whole history of everything.

“Yeah,” he says. “I would, if that’s okay.”

Logan gives him a big hug – a nice hug – the best hug he can, and he can tell it’s good enough because Virgil’s just melting into it, and they stand in the kitchen at 2am together, hugging real good, until Logan pats Virgil on the back and pulls away.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Virgil nods. “Dang it, you’re always right.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Logan jokes, bumping Virgil’s hip with his own as he tips the ice left in his now liquidless cup into the sink. “…I should go back to bed.”

“Me too,” Virgil agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, Logan.”

“All’s well,” Logan replies, nodding to Virgil as he starts to wander back to his room. “See you in the morning – or, I suppose, just… later.”

Virgil snorts at that. “See ya later,” he agrees.

They both manage to sleep well after that.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #ts logan #ts virgil #platonic analogical #(intended to be platonic) #djpurple3's writing yo #nightmare mention #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides ficlet