#minor patton appearance

[selfdestructivecat]

The Best Medicine

AO3 Link (kudos are greatly appreciated!)

A/N: FINALLY it’s done! My fluffy magnum opus! You want simps? Boy howdy, you’ve come to the right place!

HUGE thanks to @lovelivingmydreams for being my BETA again! Her help is always greatly appreciated! Check out her fics!

I hope you guys enjoy! ^.^

Words: 17,127

Rating: T

Genre: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Roman/Virgil (Prinxiety)

Warnings/Triggers: Minor injury and blood; Self-deprication/hatred; Swearing

Summary: Roman hears Virgil laugh exactly one (1) time, and decides that he will do literally anything to hear it again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman and Virgil do not get along.

Roman is Creativity, wonderous and striking and beautiful. He speaks as if barely resisting the temptation to burst into song, his voice boisterous and lyrical. He dresses like the prince he knows he is, purest white and passionate red accented by the noblest of gold. His very presence demands attention, confidence shining from him like rays of sunlight and charisma dripping from every word, sweet as honey. And of course, he deserves this attention. His ideas are unmatched, his execution flawless. When he requests attention, he receives it, because his existence brings a promise to dazzle and amaze.

Virgil, on the other hand…

Okay, so maybe Virgil isn’t as useless as Roman initially thought. The emo’s own demands and urges occasionally serve a noble purpose in protecting Thomas. A star can’t shine if its light has been extinguished, after all. And perhaps Virgil’s frantic nudges towards rehearsing more for performances are… helpful. And Roman appreciates the assistance. Truly, he does!

But by the gods, why does Virgil have to be such a downer!?

Virgil’s voice is low and growling, almost like a warning that he can, and will, bite if provoked. His clothes are as dark and gloomy as his personality, all blacks and grays that seem to drain the color out of any room he occupies. His nonchalant sloppiness regarding his appearance – evident in his unkempt hair, ill-fitted clothing, and splotchy eyeshadow — seems to mock Roman’s diligent perfection. Where Roman is loud and bright, Virgil is quiet and subdued. Not that Virgil lets that stop him from being frustratingly persistent whenever Thomas tries to approach a cute guy.

Roman and Virgil do not get along. They don’t get along because they literally can’t. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and whatever other cliché Roman can come up with to accentuate the fact that they just aren’t compatible.

Even after Virgil revealed his name, the Anxious Side barely shows himself. When he does sulk from his room into the commons, it’s always with a sullen expression, like he had just attended a funeral. His demeanor rarely changes when he interacts with the other Sides, and when Roman does notice a change, it’s usually Virgil simply alternating between “Grumpy” and “Very Grumpy”. Even Patton’s bubbly cheer, usually infectious, seems unable to penetrate the darkness that is Virgil’s seemingly endless pool of angst.

This stubborn insistence on gloominess persists even when the Sides attempt to include him in fun activities, such as game nights and movie marathons. While the others are laughing and cracking jokes (including Logan, in his own… unique way, usually involving flash cards), Virgil rarely even smiles. At most, he would flash a smirk or snort in amusement, which in Roman’s humble opinion doesn’t count. A smile is meant to convey happiness, and laughter is the definition of unrestrained joy. Virgil smirks like he's plotting something, and he is quick to slap a hand over his mouth at the slightest hint of a chuckle.

Virgil’s smiles are few and far-between, a feeble candle’s attempt to pierce an all-encompassing darkness. And not once, in all the years that Roman’s known him, has Virgil laughed.

Until…

Well.

Let’s start at the beginning.

For Roman, the day began like any other. He woke up at approximately nine o’clock, lured from his bed by the delectable aroma of Patton’s patented (or rather, “Patton-ted”) pancakes. He spent the next thirty minutes donning his usual ensemble and brushing his hair meticulously, so that not a single strand was out of place. With a snap of his fingers, the speakers in his room turned on with a satisfying click, providing pleasant music for Roman to sing and hum along to as he worked on his appearance. By the time the last few notes of Beauty and the Beast’s ‘Be Our Guest’ faded away, Roman left his room with a grin on his face and a song in his heart.

He had taken the stairs two at a time, loudly declaring his presence with a sweep of his hands. He was greeted with Patton’s chirpy “Heya, kiddo!” and an eyeroll from Logan, as was the norm. However, he was surprised to see that Virgil was also in the kitchen, quietly setting the table as Patton flipped the last of his pancakes. At Roman’s entrance, Virgil looked up and slightly grimaced, as if Roman’s presence were akin to a bug that had naively wandered into the house. Roman made sure to lock that memory up in a safe place in his mind, because he was absolutely going to bring it up later and he was going to redefine pettiness.

(Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t. Roman didn’t care what Virgil thought. He knew that he was amazing, and one gloomy emo’s opinion wasn’t going to change that. Obviously.)

And so, ignoring the grumpy Side in favor of the delicious stack of pancakes Patton was plating for him, Roman had walked over in long, confident strides.

Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

Now, Roman is usually the epitome of grace. He has memorized dozens of choreographed numbers from various musicals, perfecting his control over his body and honing his ability to transform movement into art. He is a well-seasoned fighter with many victories to his name, his body sharpened just as much as his beloved sword. But at that very moment, as Roman approached the breakfast table, his hip caught the edge of the couch in the common room, causing him to lose his balance. The next thing he knew, he was face-to-face with the floor.

Roman groaned in pain, hip already bruising from the impact. Luckily, he was otherwise unharmed, aside from the severe blow to his dignity. He was just starting to push himself up from his spot on the floor when it happened.

“Pfft—!”

Roman’s eyes had shot up, face flushed when indignation, but whatever snappy defense he had planned on shouting was soon caught in his throat.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Virgil was laughing, nearly doubled over and needing to support himself on the kitchen table. His eyes, normally stoic and unexpressive, were sparkling with mirth, crinkled from the wide grin that seemed to grow with every moment. The laughter itself was loud and raucous, as rough around the edges as the Side it came from, but it was delightful and genuine in that way all laughter is.

And it was beautiful.

Which brings us back to the present, where Virgil is heaving from the force of his laughter, Patton is rushing to Roman’s aid, and Roman has been staring at the cackling Side for approximately seven seconds too long to be considered normal. He barely processes Patton helping him to his feet, the fatherly Side chiding Virgil for his behavior despite his own lips quirking in amusement. He completely misses the smirk Logan sends his way, sharp and teasing, as he sits at his spot at the table. He doesn’t even touch his pancakes as Virgil’s giggles slowly die down, allowing him a moment to breathe and wipe tears from his eyes.

“You sure you have enough room for those pancakes, Princey?” Virgil snickers, “After the carpet you just ate?”

Patton spit-takes the milk he had unfortunately been sipping at that very moment, and Logan hides his own smile behind a napkin as he brushes away crumbs that aren’t there. And Roman would be offended, except he is too distracted by how Virgil’s eyes sparkle from unshed, happy tears. And how had Roman not noticed that Virgil has heterochromia, his left eye an emerald green and his right eye the loveliest of purples, both shimmering like gemstones?

“Nothing?” Virgil goads, smiling around a bite of sliced strawberries, “You got a stomach ache from your pre-breakfast meal?”

Logan barks out a loud “HA!” at the quip, and Patton scolds Virgil despite looking close to laughter himself. This finally snaps Roman out of his stupor, allowing him to hastily shoot back a jab of his own. The rest of breakfast is spent exchanging light-hearted insults with the Anxious Side and nearly dropping his fork every time he glances up and sees Virgil’s teasing smile.

And as he’s lying in bed that night, replaying that moment over and over again like a broken record, he comes to two important conclusions.

One, that Virgil’s laugh may be the most wonderful sound he has ever heard in his entire existence.

And two, that he would do literally anything to hear that laugh again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exactly two days have passed since The Incident. Roman had dedicated those two days to intense research, hours spent watching various comedians and reading pages filled with jokes. Roman is now a certified comedy expert, and he is ready to perform just as he always has: perfectly.

…Since when did Roman get pre-performance nerves?

Roman finds himself frozen at the top of the stairs, hand on the railing and ready to descend. He can faintly hear Logan and Virgil conversing in the living room, their voices too soft to discern anything specific. Roman knows his hesitance is absurd. He is more than prepared. 

And yet, as soon as he heard Virgil’s voice, his mind was filled with memories of precious laughter and an insufferable smirk. Blood had flooded his cheeks for reasons he couldn’t discern (or perhaps simply refused to), and suddenly descending the stairs seemed like a horribly daunting undertaking. 

This is stupid!

With a deep breath and much more effort than such a task demanded, Roman takes a hefty step, allowing the momentum to guide him the rest of the way down the stairs. He turns towards the common room, and his breath catches when he sees that Logan and Virgil are turned towards him. His journey downstairs may have been an unrivaled feat of mankind, but it certainly wasn’t quiet.

“Greetings, Roman,” says Logan, who is situated comfortably on the couch with a notepad on his lap. 

Virgil, lounging sideways in the loveseat with his legs draped over the armrest, gives a wordless salute. Roman feels slightly irked at the lack of a proper greeting, which is strange, since it had never bothered him before. 

The two continue to stare at Roman, who stares back in confusion before realizing that he should probably give them a response.

“Oh! G-greetings, Logan! Virgil!” Roman leans on the banister and crosses his arms in a hasty attempt at nonchalance, but if his aching back is any indication, the position must look incredibly awkward.

Logan and Virgil both raise an eyebrow in sync. 

“No nicknames today, Princey?” Virgil asks, looking suspicious at Roman’s abnormal behavior.

Roman inwardly winces. Only a few seconds, and he is already completely thrown off kilter, his charisma slipping through his fingers like sand. Fumbling his words slightly, he tries to recover.

“I, uh, decided that I should focus my creative talents on… our upcoming videos! Yes, that’s right! I sincerely apologize for the lack of nicknames on my part.”

Regaining a bit of confidence when his words come out evenly, Roman smirks playfully.

“Careful, Emo. One might think that you want me to call you nicknames.”

Virgil balks, the tips of his ears noticeably red. 

“N-no, that would be stupid,” Virgil grumbles, looking away. 

Roman smiles triumphantly. While the two are now allies instead of enemies, it is still way too much fun to tease Virgil.

Logan takes that moment to speak up. 

“Well, nicknames aside, I’m glad that you are focusing your efforts on future projects,” Logan commends, “In fact, Virgil and I have been conversing on a similar matter.”

Roman perks up, interested.

“Oh? A new Sanders Sides video? Perhaps one featuring… moi?”

Roman strikes a dramatic pose, and Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Actually, we were discussing a potential livestream with some of Thomas’ friends,” Logan corrects, “Virgil was helping me identify some potential obstacles that come with streaming live, rather than simply recording and releasing a video.”

“Everything you say will be out there forever…” Virgil mutters, his voice low and sinister, “No editing. No take-backs. Just thousands of people catching your every word, waiting for you to say something wrong or problematic…”

Virgil shudders, his eyeshadow darkening like clouds before a heavy downpour. Roman can’t help but scoff, and Virgil’s eyes dart back towards him, sharp and challenging. 

“I think you’re over-exaggerating, Gloomy Tunes. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Virgil’s expression darkens, and he opens his mouth to retaliate. However, to Roman’s surprise, Logan reaches over and places a hand on Virgil’s knee. Virgil startles, eyes wide as he turns to Logan instead.

“Roman is partially right, although his tone could use some work,” Logan says, throwing a pointed look towards Roman that makes him feel slightly taken aback, “You are catastrophizing, assuming that everyone watching will be looking for reasons to tear Thomas down. While it is certainly possible that there may be a few–” 

Logan quickly summons his pile of flashcards, flipping through them until he finds the one he is looking for.

“...”trolls” in the chat, the vast majority of people will likely be there because they like Thomas, and won’t be purposefully looking for ways to disrupt the stream.”

He then offers Virgil a rare smile.

“But nevertheless, you make a good point. Because we are streaming, we will not be able to edit out any mistakes. So it would be best to execute greater caution before we speak, so that we don’t say anything that can be interpreted poorly. I’m sure we can count on you to assist with that.”

Logan gives Virgil one last reassuring pat. Virgil remains still for a moment, flabbergasted at the praise, before turning away in embarrassment. But Roman catches a hint of a smile.

Roman suddenly feels inexplicably jealous.

“Roman, now that you’re here, perhaps you could help us brainstorm activities we could do during the stream?”

Roman shakes his head slightly, dismissing the strange feeling. 

“Of course!” Roman grins, walking towards the couch, “Have we decided on a theme?”

“Not yet,” Logan says, shaking his head, “But Patton did suggest that we could use the stream to raise money for a charity. While we haven’t decided which charity we will be raising money for, we have narrowed our options down to three different organizations”

Logan flips to a page in his notebook and places it on the coffee table, but Roman is no longer paying attention. 

Charity… Charity…

Roman’s eyes light up, suddenly remembering his reason for venturing downstairs to begin with. Seeing the opening, Roman pounces. 

“Say, Virgil. Speaking of charity…”

Virgil turns towards Roman, once again suspicious. He is no longer smiling, and some part of Roman feels… colder, like a camper whose campfire was suddenly extinguished by a great gust of wind. Nevertheless, he presses on.

“Do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity?”

Virgil blinks, not expecting such a shift in the direction of the conversation. Roman pauses, allowing a moment for the suspense to build.

Unfortunately, he waits a moment too long. As he opens his mouth to deliver the punchline, Logan interrupts. 

“Crabs don’t use money, Roman,” Logan asserts, frowning in confusion, like how a teacher may react to a particularly dumb question from a student, “Nor do they use technology that makes donating to charities possible.”

Roman’s eye twitches. 

“Yes, that is true, Logan,” Roman says through gritted teeth, “But also—”

“Furthermore, I doubt that crabs possess the intellect necessary to make such a transaction,” Logan continues, “I don’t understand why you are bringing this up. I’m very certain that all of the stream’s viewers will be human, unless a viewer’s pet is sitting with their owner, and even then the animal does not have the ability to make any donations.”

Virgil snickers behind his hand, and Roman feels his face grow hot. He doesn’t know if he’s more upset at the fact that Virgil is laughing at him, or that Virgil is hiding his pretty laughter. 

“I know, Logan,” Roman growls, a vein popping on his forehead, “I’m not arguing about whether or not crabs are capable of donating to charity. I’m not that stupid.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Virgil pipes up.

Roman sends a scathing glare towards Virgil, although most of his anger quickly dissipates at the smirk playing on Virgil’s lips, and his mind is filled with pretty pretty pretty.

“Well then, I don’t understand why you are bringing up the subject of crabs,” Logan frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion, “Unless you are suggesting that as a potential theme for the stream? One of the charities Patton suggested is called “Mermaids”, so perhaps a nautical theme is not out of the question…”

“No, Logan,” Roman whines, running a hand roughly through his hair, “I was trying to do something—Look, can you just let me say what I want to say without interruption? Please?”

At the near-pleading tone in Roman’s voice, Logan raises an eyebrow. Even Virgil’s suspicion momentarily gives way to curiosity. After a moment, Logan sighs, then gestures towards Roman to carry on. Roman sighs in relief.

“So, do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity—”

Roman quickly raises a finger towards Logan, seeing the Logical Side open his mouth to answer.

“Don’t answer that, Logan.”

Logan looks even more confused, likely at being asked a question he is not expected to answer. He looks towards Virgil, who simply shrugs, before turning back to Roman with skepticism. 

Roman pauses once again, although not for as long as he would have liked, fearing another interruption.

“...It’s because they’re shellfish!"

Roman grins broadly, arms outstretched, like a museum tour guide presenting a grand painting.

The silence that hangs in the room is heavy. 

No… no reaction?

Logan, somehow, looks even more confused, while Virgil remains silent, looking towards Roman as if silently judging him. A far cry from the laughter that Roman was hoping for.

“What… What does being a shellfish have to do with donating to charity?” Logan asks hesitantly, as if trying to parse a trick question. 

Virgil sighs as he turns to Logan, his expression noticeably gentler than when he was looking at Roman. 

“I think it’s a pun, Teach,” Virgil explains, “Like, a play on the word “selfish”. So it’s like saying that crabs are selfish, so they don’t donate to charity.”

“Ah!” Logan brightens, pleased at finally understanding, before his expression suddenly sours.

“...Ah.”

Virgil snorts as Logan wrinkles his nose in displeasure, as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. 

Roman, still holding the pose, feels his heart sink like a deflated balloon. While Virgil had technically laughed, it had been at Logan’s reaction, not Roman’s joke. He feels like an actor on stage who flubbed their lines, except he has no idea what he did wrong. 

Does Virgil not like puns? Roman wonders, No… No, Virgil tries to hide it, but he always laughs at Patton’s puns. Does he not like crabs? He didn’t react too negatively to the first half of the joke, so that doesn’t feel right.

…Is it me?

Roman feels strangely hollow, as if something deep inside him had either shrunk or disappeared.

…No, that’s ridiculous. It can’t be that.

Before Roman can ponder further, Logan speaks up once again.

“Well, now that we’re done with… that,” Logan shudders, flipping through his notebook once again, “perhaps we can continue discussing the charity stream?”

Sighing in defeat, Roman takes a seat beside Logan.

But his mind isn’t on the stream. As the three Sides converse, Roman is already planning his next move.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman leaves his room with a renewed sense of confidence. He faintly hears his computer buzzing away, struggling under the weight of hundreds of open tabs, the fruits of Roman’s rigorous research. 

He has soared beyond the title of a mere expert. He is now a comedy connoisseur. No one will be able to withstand the pure, unfiltered humor contained in every joke he tells. 

He’d like to see Virgil try to hide his laughter now.

Roman smiles as he makes his way to Virgil’s room with a pep in his step. However, right as he’s about to knock, he notices a delicious aroma wafting up from downstairs, something sweet and homely. 

Ah, Patton must be baking, Roman concludes, mouth already watering at whatever delicious treats Patton must be whipping up. Given the smell, the baked goods must nearly be done.

…Perhaps Virgil can wait just a few minutes. Just long enough for Roman to sneak a cookie or two. 

As he heads downstairs towards the kitchen, the aroma of sugar and chocolate growing stronger and more enticing, he’s surprised to see not only Patton, but also Virgil in the kitchen. Roman notices flour in the Anxious Side’s hair, as well as splotches of cookie dough on his cheeks and around his mouth. 

He is grinning ear-to-ear, and Roman suddenly feels as if an invisible assailant had punched him in the stomach, hard. 

Patton, a hot batch of fresh cookies in his hands, finally notices Roman. He smiles brightly in greeting, settling the tray on the counter. 

When Virgil sees him, however, his smile nearly vanishes, and Roman feels strangely hurt. 

“Hi, Roman! You’re just in time! Virgil and I made some chocolate chip cookies. Did you know that Virge is an amazing baker?”

Patton lightly hip-checks Virgil upon mentioning his name. At the gesture, Virgil smiles slightly, but it’s a shadow of its former self.

“I was not aware,” Roman says, turning towards Virgil with a teasing smile, “I didn’t know he had time between all of his brooding.”

The smile is completely gone now, and Roman realizes too late that Virgil had taken his words seriously.

“Wait, Virgil, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever,” Virgil growls. He pointedly faces away from Roman and, spotting the tray of cookies, snatches one off the tray in an attempt to play indifference. He winces slightly at the heat, as the cookies haven’t been given the proper time to cool, before popping it into his mouth anyway. He immediately hisses in pain, spitting the hot cookie back into his hand and reaching for a napkin.

“Oh, careful, Honey!” Patton warns, rushing to the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk, “They’re still really hot! Here, let me get you something cold to drink.”

Roman snickers, but stops immediately when Patton shoots him a disapproving look. He suddenly recalls Logan reacting similarly after Roman had teased Virgil. 

He doesn’t quite understand. He and Virgil had always teased each other and traded jabs like this. He knows that they don’t mean anything, and surely Virgil does as well. So why were Logan and Patton looking at him like he had done something wrong? And why had Virgil taken his words so seriously instead of reacting in kind?

Virgil takes the offered milk gratefully, downing almost the entire glass.

“Thanks, Pop-Star. I appreciate it.”

Patton beams at the nickname, squeezing Virgil’s arm affectionately. 

“Now, I know you’re eager, but good things crumb to those who wait!”

For a second, Roman expects the same silence that had followed his own joke. However, Virgil immediately starts chuckling, hand once again rising to hide it. 

“I guess I couldn’t take the heat,” he shoots back, to which Patton responds with peals of laughter. 

“Nah, you’ll be okay, Virge. You’re one tough cookie, after all!”

Virgil snorts indignantly, his hand falling to support himself on the table, and he and Patton lose themselves to giggles. With his hand out of the way, Roman gets a full view of Virgil’s laughter, and breathing suddenly feels slightly more difficult.

After a moment, however, the warm feeling is quickly replaced by irritation. In what way was Patton’s joke better than his!? Patton hadn’t spent hours researching the best jokes and puns. He likely makes them up on the fly! 

So how is Virgil laughing so easily!?

Flustered and indignant, Roman interrupts, determined to produce the same result.

“W-well, I gotta say, these cookies will certainly, uh…”

He fumbles further when Patton and Virgil turn towards him, his words catching when a ghost of a smile is directed his way.

“...They’ll do what, Roman?” Patton gently prompts, giving Roman the opportunity to pick himself back up. Roman shakes his head, dispelling the irrational emotions.

“These cookies will certainly… bake my day!”

Roman grins, pleased that he was able to remember a cookie-themed pun off the top of his head. Patton cheers, laughter intermingling, and runs over to give Roman a hug. But Roman doesn’t feel victorious, because as Patton wraps Roman in his arms, he sees Virgil over Patton’s shoulder.

His arms are crossed as he leans against the counter. He is no longer laughing as he gazes as Roman, unimpressed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s been weeks, and Roman isn’t making any progress.

Roman had tried numerous jokes, ranging from knock-knock jokes, to dad jokes, and even a single “Yo Mama” joke that had produced such a disastrous reaction that Roman had quickly decided to not attempt a similar joke again. 

(He knows that they don’t technically have mothers, being manifestations of aspects of a personality. He didn’t need Logan to remind him.)

And yet, every time without fail, Virgil doesn’t react. 

Roman doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, which frustrates him to no end. He knows that comedy is subjective, and that certain subjects may only appeal to some. 

But he knows that Virgil likes puns! As much as Virgil claims to enjoy only dark humor, Roman has seen the way Virgil quickly turns away at corny jokes, his shaking shoulders giving his amusement away. Roman has seen the way Virgil responds to Patton’s puns. Hell, even Logan’s drier sense of humor can produce a snicker from the usually grumpy Side. 

So what is Roman doing wrong? 

…A voice in his head whispers an answer that Roman refuses to consider, so he ignores it. 

No, he would not allow himself to be discouraged. He’ll reach a breakthrough eventually, or his aspect isn’t Creativity. 

As he leaves his room, a new batch of jokes rattling around in his head, he passes by Patton in the hallway.

“Hey Roman!” Patton says cheerfully, and despite Roman’s melancholy, the Moral Side’s cheer brings a smile to his face.

“Hey Pat, have you seen Virgil?”

“Yeah, I was just talking to him. He’s downstairs in the living room.”

It’s subtle, but Roman notices a slight change to Patton’s demeanor. His smile is still bright, and he is still bouncing on the tips of his toes, but it is as if clouds had drifted to partially block the sun.

“Did you… need something from him?” Patton asks, slightly hesitant.

“No, I just wanted to talk to him about something,” Roman answers, frowning slightly at the change in tone.

“Ok…” Patton stops swaying, and his expression shifts to something more serious. “But, Roman… Please go slightly easy on him, okay? Today has been a bit rough for the Shadowling.”

“Rough?”

“Yeah, he didn’t say anything about it, but he seems a bit more on edge. I think that’s why he left his room to spend time downstairs. You know how his room can be sometimes.”

Roman nods, shuddering at the memory of doubts and fears invading his mind, like monsters creeping in the darkness and concocting evil schemes. 

“Do you know why he’s upset?” Roman inquires further.

“No, I didn’t want to pressure him,” Patton says, brow furrowed in worry, “I just hope he knows that he can come to us if he needs anything…”

“I’m sure he does, Patton,” Roman reassures, patting Patton on the shoulder, “and I’ll be nice, I promise.”

At his words, Patton smiles in relief. 

“Thanks, Roman. See you for dinner? I’m sure you’ll be waffle-y pleased at what I’m making tonight!”

“Of course,” Roman chuckles, “I won’t miss it.”

With a final wave goodbye, Roman heads downstairs. Sure enough, Virgil is lounging on the couch, lying down sideways with his head propped by a pillow. He is scrolling through a social media app Roman doesn’t recognize, probably Tumblr if he were to guess. Roman can faintly hear music emitting from Virgil’s earbuds. He seems lost in his own world.

If Patton hadn’t said anything to Roman, Virgil would have seemed perfectly relaxed. However, now that Roman is looking for the signs, Virgil definitely appears slightly worse-for-wear. His eyes are glazed from something other than boredom, and despite the fact that he’s lying down, Virgil carries tension in his shoulders, and his hands are shaking. 

Roman hesitates, unsure how to proceed. His presence seems to be far from pleasant for the Anxious Side, if their previous interactions are any indication. However, simply leaving when Virgil seems so upset leaves a sour taste in Roman’s mouth. His purpose as Creativity is to inspire and entertain, after all, spreading wonder and happiness to all. Besides, he sought out Virgil for a reason, and is reluctant to back out now when Virgil is sitting right in front of him.

Roman brightens like a lightbulb, an idea beginning to take shape. If Virgil is feeling down, then Roman can do something to cheer him up. And what better way to do that than with a joke? 

Pleased with his plan, Roman struts forward, greeting Virgil with a wide smile.

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil yelps, his phone flying from his hands and landing on the carpet. Virgil swirls towards Roman, his gaze nearly murderous. 

“Geez, Roman! Warn a guy, will you!?” Virgil snaps.

Roman winces under Virgil’s glare. His words had come out slightly louder than he had intended, his excitement leaking into his voice. He does feel slightly miffed at Virgil’s reaction, though. Roman hadn’t intended to scare Virgil, so he doesn’t think he deserves the daggers Virgil is shooting at him.

…Although, perhaps Roman can afford Virgil some grace. He did seem to be on edge before Roman announced himself, so Roman can understand the reaction. And his original intent was to make Virgil feel better, so it wouldn’t do any good to start any arguments. 

“Ah… my deepest apologies, Surly Temple. It was never my intention to scare you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.

“You’re… apologizing?”

That catches Roman off guard. Why does Virgil seem so surprised? Why wouldn’t Roman apologize? He is a prince, after all, and chivalry is an important tool in a prince’s repertoire. Of course he would do the polite thing and apologize for his errors. Roman suddenly feels offended at Virgil’s insinuation.

“Of course I’m apologizing! Why wouldn’t I?”

Virgil seems even more bewildered.

“Well, excuse me for being surprised! It’s not like you do it that often, do you?”

Roman is stunned. What does Virgil mean by that? 

“What are you talking about?” Roman demands, his voice rising, “When have I not apologized to you for something I’ve done!?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about when you constantly make fun of me and treat me like a villain!” Virgil yells, his own voice rising to match Roman’s.

The two fall silent, Virgil’s words hovering in the air like a putrid gas. Virgil’s tough exterior cracks, like hardened clay when heated for slightly too long. 

“I… Ignore that,” Virgil says, his expression regretful, “I didn’t mean any of that. Sorry for raising my voice. ”

Roman can’t hear a word, Virgil’s voice muddled as if Roman is submerged underwater.

After Virgil’s acceptance, he had thought that everything had been resolved. Virgil was listened to, his role as Anxiety accepted and even commended, and he no longer had to play the part of a villain. He had even seemed happy. So naturally, Roman had thought everything was okay, that Virgil had forgiven them for everything they had done. But Roman…

A whirlwind of memories suddenly barrages him, moments strung with insults and passive-aggressive comments directed towards the Anxious Side. Moments he had easily brushed off at the time, assuming that Virgil would naturally do the same.

Roman… never apologized to Virgil. For any of it. Even worse, Roman had continued to exhibit the same behavior, completely unaware of the pain his words were inflicting. An overwhelming emotion encompasses him, one he is finally able to identify: guilt.

“I… I really haven’t, have I?” Roman whispers, his voice croaking slightly with emotion. Virgil’s eyes widen in panic.

“Roman, it’s fine, seriously!” he exclaims, rising from his lounged position on the couch, “It’s not a big deal–”

“It is! I thought things were okay, but you must have assumed…”

Roman’s words trail off as a more horrifying thought crosses his mind.

“You don’t think… You don’t think that I still hate you, right?”

Virgil’s eyes dart to the side, purposefully avoiding Roman’s eyes.

“I mean… Don’t you?”

“No!”

Roman’s voice comes out desperate, and Virgil recoils as if struck. Another silence hangs in the air, even tenser than the first. 

Slowly, as if approaching an easily-spooked animal, Roman delicately settles next to Virgil on the couch. Virgil curls into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Seeing how unsettled Virgil looks, Roman is tempted to back off, or to cut the tension with theatrics. But he holds his ground, like a weary soldier bracing himself for the next wave of enemies. This conversation is important, and if he wishes to make any ground with Virgil, he needs to persevere. His jokes can wait.

“Virgil.”

Virgil reluctantly faces Roman, his face partially hidden by his arms so that only his eyes are visible, guarded and apprehensive. Roman wants to kick himself for putting that expression on Virgil’s face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do.”

Virgil falls silent. Roman takes a deep breath. 

“Virgil, I treated you horribly.” Roman begins, cringing when his voice cracks at the last word, “I ignored and berated you when you were just trying to help. I assumed you were the enemy, and I treated you as such without truly getting to know you. That is not how a prince should act. That’s not… That’s not how anyone should act. And for that, I deeply apologize.”

Roman meets Virgil’s eyes, trying to convey his sincerity through his expression. Virgil’s eyes widen, holding the gaze for a few seconds, before he squirms uncomfortably and looks away.

“I already told you, you don’t need to apologize,” Virgil mumbles.

“But I—”

“Roman.”

Roman’s mouth clamps shut.

“Please, just listen to me for once,” Virgil pleads. Roman’s expression must have betrayed his hurt, because he quickly amends: “Sorry, shit, I’m bad at this. I just—I mean—You’ve—UGH!”

Virgil rises to his feet, hands gripping his hair tight enough to hurt. He takes a few deep breaths, and Roman notices, with another guilty pang in his heart, that his eyeshadow has darkened significantly.

“I-I’m sorry,” Roman stutters, moving to stand before Virgil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“STOP APOLOGIZING.”

Virgil’s voice echoes, magnified by his anxiety. As if the words are an incantation, Roman freezes in place.

“I—I’M SORry, I didn’t m-mean—"

Virgil inhales, shaky and uncertain, then exhales. His shoulders are still tense, his eyeshadow as dark as a starless sky, but he still forces himself to meet Roman’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, you’ve treated me horribly in the past,” Virgil starts tentatively, “and I won’t lie and say that your words didn’t hurt me. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. But I—”

Virgil words catch, as if a dam had suddenly slammed down. But with another wobbly breath, he continues.

“You weren’t the only person who was being an asshole,” Virgil admits, hugging himself tightly, like he might drift away if he loosened his grip even slightly, “I called you names, too. I… I made your job a lot harder than it had to be. I purposely sabotaged your plans instead of just… communicating with you.”

“We didn’t make it easy,” Roman defends, taking a step towards Virgil, but not moving any further when he notices Virgil flinch at the movement, “I never gave you any chance to say your piece, and when you did attempt to voice your concerns, I brushed you off. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“I just… I don’t know what you guys want from me,” Virgil breathes, his voice nearly a whimper, “At least before, I knew where we stood. I knew what boundaries I could push, and what lines I couldn’t cross. But now Patton runs up to hug me whenever he sees me, and Logan asks me about the audiobooks I’ve been listening to, and you—”

Another breath.

“You’ve been acting weird!” Virgil cries, “You keep seeking me out, almost like you want something from me. But whatever I do just isn’t enough for you, because you always end up sulking off like I had somehow insulted you. I’ve been trying so hard to be nicer. I’ve even held back on the name calling and insults, but obviously I must still be doing something wrong! And I—”

Virgil chokes, as if emotion is clogged in his throat, and his face crumbles in mortification as his eyes well with tears.

“What do you want from me!?”

Roman watches helplessly as the tears start to fall, Virgil frantically wiping at his eyes and struggling to get his breathing back under control. This isn’t how Roman had wanted this interaction to go at all. It was the last thing he wanted. He had spent all this time trying to get Virgil to laugh, to feel happy in his presence. And yet, all Roman had managed to do was make him cry. If Virgil’s laugh is like warm sunlight, then his tears are like a blizzard, battering him and driving a chill into his bones that leaves him feeling numb and hopeless. 

Roman is bombarded with another wave of memories as frigid and painful as a hailstorm, echoes of past interactions between the two, and Roman realizes with a start that Virgil is right. He has been holding back on the insults. In fact, Roman can’t recall a single jab thrown at him since his conversation with Logan and Virgil about the livestream. And that was weeks ago.

But, to Roman’s horror, he can remember several times he had insulted Virgil. He had meant to be teasing, and he had expected a similar jab in turn, but Virgil had just taken them silently. As if… accepting them as the truth.

What have I done?

Roman remains frozen in place, silent and useless, as Virgil attempts to rein in his tears, black streaks of eyeshadow trailing down his cheeks like rain on a windowsill. At the time it matters most, Roman has no idea what to say. So instead, he does what he does best, and acts impulsively.

He grabs Virgil, who had started shaking from barely repressed sobs, and pulls him into his arms.

Virgil tenses up, instinctively pulling away as if the gentle gesture is an attack, and Roman despairs at how he could have possibly messed up so horribly for Virgil’s first instinct when Roman grabs him is to expect pain. Roman braces himself for an attack, ready for any punches Virgil will throw at him. He deserves it. 

Instead, Virgil, who Roman has never seen display any sign of vulnerability, collapses in his arms, hands clutching the back of Roman’s shirt.

And he wails.

The sound is so devastating that it brings Roman to tears. He didn’t think Virgil was capable of making such a sound. He is tough, not allowing the slightest bit of hurt or weakness to show on his features. His expression is constantly guarded, not giving the slightest indication of his true intentions. When the two were enemies, Anxiety’s nonchalance frustrated Roman to no end, because it hinted at Anxiety knowing something he didn’t.

The shield is down now, Virgil lacking the strength to pick it back up as his body is wracked with sobs. Roman, still feeling hopelessly lost, eases the two of them back onto the couch, muttering soothing reassurances that feel futile against Virgil’s anguish, like a few meager sticks attempting to block a torrential river. But somehow, Roman must have offered some form of comfort to the Anxious Side, because Virgil’s sobs eventually subside. Roman wonders if Virgil will push him away, but he makes no effort to move, so the two remain still and quiet in each other’s arms, the silence only occasionally punctuated with a wet sniff. The silence is uncomfortable for Roman, who is so used to filling every moment with noise, but he allows it to linger. For Virgil’s sake. 

After a few minutes, Virgil finally speaks.

“So, uh… Just to clarify. You… You don’t hate me?”

Roman’s heart breaks all over again.

“No. Of course not,” Roman declares firmly.

“...Really?”

Roman tightens his grip around Virgil, a few stray tears falling.

“Really.”

He states it like a promise, one he intends to keep until his dying breath.

“...Okay.”

Virgil’s voice is hesitant, lacking conviction, and Roman knows that Virgil doesn’t quite believe him. But that’s okay, because Roman will be sure to dedicate his every moment to proving he is a man of his word. It will take time, but Roman is nothing if not determined. 

After another few moments, Virgil begins to pull away. Roman lets him. 

“So… We’re cool?” Virgil asks.

“Cool as cucumbers,” Roman reaffirms, giving Virgil a watery smile. 

Virgil chuckles shakily, and Roman’s chest does a funny little flip. Virgil scoops his phone from where he flung it onto the floor, then plops back onto the couch. 

“So… Did you need me for anything?”

Virgil’s expression is tentative, remnants of suspicion still clinging to him like icicles after a winter storm, but he is giving Roman a chance. If Roman wants to try to make Virgil laugh, now would be the perfect opportunity.

But he looks exhausted. Their emotional conversation had likely taken a toll on the introverted Side. Even though Virgil indicated that he is willing to speak with Roman for a bit longer, Roman knows that a prolonged conversation is probably the last thing Virgil needs right now.

“No, I’m alright,” Roman says, “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Get some sleep, Ebenezer Snooze. Can’t have Thomas saying something embarrassing to a cashier at Starbucks, right? We’ll need you to help keep us in check, so you need to be well-rested.”

Virgil’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. While it’s far from the laughter Roman craves, it still fills him with a great amount of pride, because for the first time it’s truly meant for him. His heart flutters again, like a butterfly prepared to take flight, and he feels content. He waves farewell, turning to return to his room upstairs. 

Except apparently, the couch has a vendetta against him. In a flash of pain and déjà vu, Roman’s leg catches the side of the couch, and he goes crashing down like a baby deer on unsteady legs. 

He groans, slowly pushing himself up, when he hears a familiar sound.

“Pfft—!”

He whips towards Virgil, who has a hand covering his mouth.

“S-sorry,” Virgil says, his body shaking with repressed laughter, “You okay?”

Roman doesn’t know what expression he makes, but it must be hilarious, because Virgil can no longer contain his laughter. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Roman suddenly doesn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. In fact, he feels more like he’s flying on soft, puffy clouds.

“Your—hehe —your face!” Virgil squeaks through giggles.

Still laughing through his poor attempts to conceal it, Virgil kneels down to help Roman up.

“I’m sorry—hehehe—You’re not hurt, right?”

Something akin to concern suddenly flashes across Virgil’s features, and Roman momentarily panics, fearing that Virgil may stop laughing. He stumbles to his feet in a rush, determined to soothe Virgil’s worries before they can completely snuff out his joy.

“I’m okay! Really! Just a silly fall, no harm done.”

Despite his reassurances, Virgil’s laughter does subside, and Roman feels like a general watching his army get swept by enemy forces.

“I still shouldn’t have laughed. And after that whole conversation about being nicer to each other—”

“Virgil, truly, it’s okay,” Roman insists, “I’m tougher than I look, I can handle some heckling.”

Then, Roman suddenly remembers the past few minutes, where Virgil was an absolute mess in his arms because of awful things Roman had said. His eyes widen as he realizes his error, and he quickly backtracks.

“N-not that you aren’t tough for feeling upset when I said mean things to you! Anyone would feel upset—I mean—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, Princey!” Virgil interrupts, pressing a hand to Roman’s mouth to stop him from talking, and Roman goes incredibly still at the contact, “I know you didn’t mean it like that. And…”

Virgil’s expression softens, suddenly shy as he retracts his hand.

“I don’t mind if you call me those nicknames, or make jokes at my expense. I know now that you don’t really mean them. And…”

He cringes, as if already regretting the words he plans to say.

“I kinda… like the banter. It’s fun. Y-y’know, when you don’t actually mean any of it.”

Virgil’s cheeks are tinted pink. It’s absolutely adorable.

“Very well then, Stormcloud,” Roman says with a smile, “I look forward to it.”

Virgil appears momentarily stunned, his cheeks darkening, before he turns away in an embarrassed huff.

“Well, don’t let it keep you up at night, Mr. Bold and Brash,” Virgil grumbles, turning his attention back to his phone.

Roman grins, leaving Virgil to his scrolling, and he’s pleased to note that Virgil’s hands are no longer shaking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman blinks bleary eyes as he stares at what must be the five hundredth joke article he’s visited this month. His eyes dart to the time on the corner of his screen. 3 AM glares at him condescendingly. 

But he can’t sleep yet. He’s so close to a breakthrough. He knows he is. He just needs to push on a little longer.

Now that he and Virgil have finally resolved things, Virgil is sure to be more receptive to his jokes. Roman now understands that what he had interpreted as stubbornness and judgment before was actually Virgil’s guard raised in preparation for an insult or deprecating joke. 

Roman blinks rapidly at the memory, forcing away something other than exhaustion, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. 

They’re okay now. While Virgil may not be completely comfortable around Roman, he is willing to listen and give him a chance. 

But that presents another problem.

Roman had previously believed that the problem was the nature of the jokes themselves, when it actually was his and Virgil’s strained relationship. Not realizing that, Roman had experimented with different types of jokes and narrowed his repertoire down to several categories, eliminating types of jokes that Virgil didn’t seem receptive to. Now, after months of work, Roman is back to square one. 

It’s good to have more options, and from a logical standpoint, this development is entirely beneficial. But as an artist, Roman can’t help but feel a little frustrated at a month’s worth of work entirely down the chute. 

But hey, it wasn’t all for nothing. Roman knows so many jokes off the top of his head that he could fill several books. If he plans correctly, he can probably get in several jokes with each interaction he has with Virgil from now on. And surely it can’t take too long to narrow down Virgil’s favorite flavor of humor? 

Roman pulls up a document containing all of the jokes he had discovered in his research. It goes on for hundreds of pages, and the font is tiny. 

Reasonably, if Roman is able to get in three to four jokes per conversation, and he typically sees Virgil around two times per day, then it will only take Roman…

Roman summons a calculator to quickly do the math. He winces. That’s a lot of digits…

Okay, so maybe he should at least try to narrow it down a bit. 

Groaning, Roman rises from his desk and slumps to his bed. From his bedside table, he snatches a notebook covered in sparkles and with the words “Operation: Laugh Track” tastefully adorned on the cover. It’s almost completely filled with notes in Roman’s neat, curly handwriting, the text shimmering in red, sparkly ink. While Roman has a separate document on his computer where he keeps his growing supply of jokes, this notebook is dedicated to detailing Virgil’s reactions and speculating different methods of approach. 

Roman sighs, noting glumly that most of the notebook’s contents are now completely useless, before turning to the very first page. 

Compared to his later notes, the first few pages were written in a rush, the handwriting sloppy and the ink smearing in several places. Roman’s face heats as he remembers the breakfast that started it all, when he had first heard Virgil laugh. Roman had been so flustered that his mind could barely keep up, and he had opened the first notebook he could get his hands on and poured his heart out, like a poet starstruck by his first love. 

As such, the first few pages were mostly an… embarrassingly detailed recollection of Virgil’s laughter: the way his eyes shone, the way he needed to clutch the table to keep himself upright, the way his lips parted into such a huge, happy smile…

Roman’s face burns hotter, and he quickly flips through a few more pages. Eventually, the text becomes slightly neater, as Roman had finally been able to collect himself. It details Roman’s determination to recreate the laughter, and several potential plans. Roman scans over a small section titled “Types of Jokes Virgil Might Like”.

“Dark Humor” is the first bullet point on the list, immediately followed by “Puns”. Roman had decided to focus on the latter, as puns were easier to find online and quicker to tell, allowing Roman to experiment with different jokes faster. Plus, Virgil usually responds positively to Patton’s puns, so Roman had concluded that corny humor was still his best option. 

Roman pauses, then rapidly flips back to the end of the book to a blank page, scrawling the words “Things That Make Virgil Laugh”.

Compared to the other Sides (sans Logan, perhaps), Virgil is still very subdued when it comes to expressing emotion. However, ever since they had made a greater effort to include him, Virgil has opened up significantly. Smiles came more easily, and the ever-elusive laughter was slightly less elusive. In fact, Roman can recall several occasions that have produced giggles from the normally sullen emo.

For the first item on the list, Roman writes “Patton’s Puns”. While they don’t always make Virgil laugh, they consistently produce smiles, sometimes followed by an appreciative chuckle. Not quite the result Roman is looking for, but it’s a promising start.

The next item is “Logan’s Deadpan”. This is a bit more abstract, and not nearly as consistent as Patton’s jokes, but Roman can recall several occasions where a dry comment from Logan made Virgil laugh. Indeed, several of these moments made Virgil laugh even harder than Patton’s puns. This is closer to the result that Roman wants.

However, this approach presents more obstacles. Roman isn’t exactly sure why Logan’s comments make Virgil laugh, or what about the delivery is so humorous in Virgil’s eyes. He also doubts that he would be able to recreate Logan’s humor, given how Roman operates in grand displays, while Logan is not one for dramatics. 

But it is still good to lay out his options, so Roman simply adds a question mark and moves on.

Something else that makes Virgil laugh…

Well, there is something that definitely created the result Roman wanted. It is the exact moment that incited Roman’s fervent plunge into comedy in the first place. The very first moment Roman had heard Virgil laugh.

Roman had fallen on his face.

Roman groans, his bruised hip throbbing slightly at the memory. His pride still hasn’t fully recovered since that incident. He has an image to maintain, after all, and the visage of a gallant prince is slightly skewed when said prince is on the floor. The wound had also reopened when he fell again this afternoon, and although Virgil had attempted to hide his laughter this time, the damage was already done. 

Feeling slightly miffed at recalling such a humiliating moment, Roman decides to finally call it a night. He won’t be able to focus on his work when he’s in a bad mood. He returns the notebook to his nightstand, snapping his fingers to change into pajamas as he crawls into the silk covers. Another snap, and the lights turn off with a soft click. Roman sighs, unable to completely disperse the embarrassing memories. But accompanying the memories is the sound of Virgil’s laughter, ringing in his ears like twinkling bells, and Roman is suddenly much more reluctant to part with them. 

Roman’s pride may have taken a heavy blow, but if it made Virgil laugh so beautifully, maybe it wasn’t all so bad…

Roman’s eyes fly open, and he shoots to a sitting position, his exhausted limbs crying in protest. He figured it out. A sure-fire way to make Virgil laugh, and to make him laugh hard. Best of all, it wasn’t something the other Sides did that Roman had to attempt to recreate. It was something Roman had done all on his own. 

Of course! The solution is so simple! How had Roman not thought of it before?

Eager to write down the idea before it can escape, he grabs the notebook and once again begins to write. Sleep can wait a little bit longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman sits restlessly on his bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep, scribbling frantically in his notebook until the sun peeked over the horizon. Despite the exhaustion that had seeped into his bones, Roman had risen from his bed and carried out his morning routine, dressed and ready to tackle the day before another soul had even stirred. 

Patton usually calls all the Sides to breakfast at around 9 o’clock, which meant that Roman had several hours to kill before he could attempt his new plan. Those hours were filled with a sad attempt at researching more jokes and several discarded sketches. Eventually, Roman gave up on trying to distract himself, too excited to focus on anything.

Finally, Roman hears Patton’s familiar voice, and he shoots up like a dog rushing to enthusiastically greet their owner. Moving as quickly as he can without outright running, he stumbles his way downstairs. He is delighted to see that Virgil is with the other Sides in the kitchen, grumbling about waking up so early. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Roman exclaims.

The greeting does its purpose. Everyone gives him their attention, including Virgil. Perfect.

Roman strides forward in long, graceful steps, a perfect antithesis to the event about to occur. As Roman rambles nonsense about how delicious breakfast smells, he angles his strides so that his leg catches the couch on his way over, similarly to his previous blunders. This time, however, Roman is prepared, and he slightly angles his fall so that the impact doesn’t quite hurt as much. Holding his breath and forcing his muscles to relax, he collides with the floor with a loud bang! To further sell the act, Roman groans, as if in pain.

And it works.

After a moment of silence, he hears Virgil snort involuntarily, then start to giggle, and before long he is laughing hysterically. Patton lightly scolds him, hands on his hips, and Roman resists the urge to tell Patton to cut it out. Virgil smiles apologetically, before rising from his seat, and Roman is momentarily terrified that he’s leaving, carrying his gorgeous laughter elsewhere. 

Instead, he crouches down beside Roman and offers him a hand. Roman stares at it for a second, as if he has never seen a hand before in his life, before accepting it. 

In the few seconds of contact they share, Roman is acutely aware of how warm Virgil’s hand is. He feels the rough texture of subtle calluses on Virgil’s fingers, and he wonders what kind of hobby the Side partakes in to achieve those calluses. Does he play an instrument? Does he create art? Would he be bothered at all if Roman were to join him—

Virgil pulls Roman to his feet, and Roman is stunned once again because holy shit Virgil is strong, and then Virgil lets go of his hand and walks back to his seat in the kitchen, and Roman feels cold.

“Are you alright, Roman?”

Roman is startled out of his stupor by Logan’s voice, and when he returns his attention to the table, he sees that all three other Sides are looking at him with various degrees of concern. 

“You didn’t hit your head or anything, right?” Patton asks, walking over to check Roman’s head for bumps and bruises.

“Oh shit, you don’t have a concussion, do you?” Virgil suddenly speaks up, joining Patton beside Roman, “They don’t seem like a big deal, but I’ve heard that they can really mess you up. You don’t feel dizzy, right? Wait, there’s a thing that happens to your pupils if you’re concussed, let me grab my phone–”

Virgil rushes to turn on the light on his phone, his previously carefree demeanor suddenly reverting to a familiar anxiety. This tirade is very familiar to Roman, as Virgil would often lose himself in a hastily-rambled list of what could go wrong in any situation. When he was Anxiety, it would come out condescending, a silent reprimand for not thinking of all the potential dangers in the first place. Since then, Virgil has worked hard to soften his tone, fighting against the instinct that someone would interrupt or dismiss his arguments. And the other Sides have put in effort as well, giving Virgil room to say his piece and taking it into consideration, even if his conclusions are slightly exaggerated. 

Still, some of that frustration had always lingered for Roman. He knew that Virgil just wanted to keep them safe, and that he wasn’t trying to ruin Roman’s ideas. But he still couldn’t help but be irked, and slightly hurt, when someone had only negative things to say about something he worked so hard on. 

But this is different. Virgil isn’t tearing down Roman’s creative pursuits, exposing every flaw like a judge on a cooking TV show; he’s listing all of the possible negative symptoms that Roman could be suffering, occasionally glancing at Logan as if hoping the Logical Side will tell him how to defeat each and every one of them. 

Virgil is feeling anxious for him.

As Virgil attempts to fuss over him, gently held back by Patton while Logan kindly debunks his reasons for concern, Roman realizes that he really likes seeing Virgil worried for him, seeing Virgil care about him.

If Roman wasn’t convinced to go through with his plan before, he certainly is now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman proceeds with his plan slowly, only tripping once every few days, and spreading out the incidents irregularly so as to prevent a pattern from emerging. He even practices stage-falling in his own room, although he fears that Virgil, who is always meticulous when it comes to Thomas’ stage performances (specifically the smaller details that could leave room for error, which would result in “complete humiliation”), would recognize his fall as unnatural. So while Roman does slightly alter his falls to prevent some pain, he still falls hard enough that small splatters of bruises trail along his hip and arm. 

But Roman doesn’t care how much it hurts. He would endure falls five times as painful if it made Virgil laugh harder. But nevertheless, Roman’s plan works perfectly. Every time he would fall, without fail, Virgil would laugh. Roman would punctuate his fall with groans, perhaps a swear for colorful effect, and quickly swivel towards Virgil. He would pretend to glare at Virgil making fun of his expense, but it was really just an excuse to look at Virgil as he laughed, to soak in his beautiful giggles and to watch as his face lights up like a firefly. A light fluttering in his chest and a warm happiness would numb any pain Roman was feeling.

(And Roman may have been imagining it, but sometimes, when Roman’s fall is particularly funny, Virgil’s eyeshadow seems to sparkle in the light. He plans to confront Virgil about it later, but for now he’s content.)

Most of the time, Patton would rush to his aid, chiding Virgil for his behavior as he helps Roman to his feet. Logan’s reaction would always be much more subdued, a quirk of the lips or a sparkle in his eye the only indication of his amusement (although by Logan’s standards, he might as well be laughing just as hard as Virgil). 

However, the best days are when Virgil comes over to help him. 

He would clasp Roman’s hand for only a moment, giving Roman barely enough time to appreciate the slightly rough calluses on Virgil’s hand, which Roman has since learned is from several different hobbies he occasionally dabbles in, including playing the guitar and drawing. The warmth would envelop Roman’s hand, like he was warming numb fingers before a crackling fireplace, and spread from that one point of contact to all over his body. Then Roman would be pulled to his feet, and even after numerous falls, Virgil’s strength surprises him every time. Perhaps he could ask Virgil to accompany him on one of his adventures? He wonders how Virgil would appear decked in armor and with a sword in hand, ready to protect and defend…

Then it would be over, often accompanied by a quick examination of his person to ensure that he is unharmed, and a pat on the back if Roman is particularly lucky that day. And Roman would feel cold, like a window had suddenly blown open, beckoning frigid air into his once-warm home that would leave him shivering. 

If Roman were to describe his predicament to Logan, to explain the rush of euphoria he experienced every time Virgil laughed, followed by a withdrawal that felt more devastating every time it occurr, Logan would likely claim that he’s developed an addiction of some kind. Roman wouldn’t be able to dispute it.

But it’s alright, because Roman never has to suffer for long. So what if he has to fall slightly more often? So what if not a day goes by where Roman experiences a dramatic tumble? So what Roman’s left side is almost entirely covered in bruises, like a canvas attacked in shades of purple and brown? Virgil is still laughing, and that’s enough. In fact, it’s perfect. Roman will gladly paint his body in bruises if it makes Virgil smile.

Roman should have known better. All good things eventually come to an end.

Things were going so well. Too well. Roman has seen enough theater to know that everything comes crashing down in the second half of the performance. Perhaps his hubris is to blame, or maybe he couldn’t see the warning signs through the rosy haze Virgil’s laughter always managed to produce. He had been so warm, so happy basking in Virgil’s sunlight, that he couldn’t see the clouds creeping along the horizon until they had completely blocked out the sun. 

And once again, Roman is left fumbling, diving to recover something he didn’t realize had slipped through his fingers.

Virgil stops laughing when he falls. 

He doesn’t stop all at once. The change is subtle at first, Virgil’s face still contorted in laughter as he helps Roman to his feet, but his laughter is slightly quieter, or he’s able to stop sooner. Then, it diminishes to a small chuckle, no longer so hard to control. Soon, Roman’s clumsiness only produces a teasing smirk, but Virgil’s eyes are no longer crinkled and shining from unrestrained laughter, instead reflecting confusion and concern. He’s starting to notice the pattern.

This will not do.

A joke loses its humor when repeated one too many times, and Roman knows this all too well. He has progressed well beyond the rule of threes, to where Roman’s tumbles are almost expected from the others. The novelty has worn off, leaving only worry regarding Roman’s personal coordination. 

Roman tries not to panic. He had finally found a way to consistently make Virgil laugh, and he honestly doesn’t know what he would do if he lost that laughter forever. Patton’s puns don’t pack the same punch without Patton’s delivery, and Logan’s unorthodox sense of humor is nearly impossible for Roman to replicate. This is his only option.

Okay, so if he can’t change the punchline… maybe he can change how it’s delivered?

Yes, that could work. Maybe he could flail his arms a bit, like those inflatables often found at car dealerships. He could even use a bit of creative magic to suspend himself in the air for a second longer, like a cartoon character who has yet to realize they had sprinted straight off a cliff. A harder fall could also accentuate the comedy. That shouldn’t be too difficult to pull off. It might hurt a bit more, but he couldn’t care less.

Roman nods to himself, feeling a bit better at having a new course of action. He faintly hears Patton calling everyone for dinner, and steels himself for his performance. 

Show time. 

Roman exits his room, and he’s surprised to see Virgil leaving his own at the same time. Virgil smiles when he sees him, saluting with two fingers. Butterflies flutter around in circles in Roman’s stomach, but he manages a smile and a wave of his own.

They walk down the stairs together, exchanging small-talk and nicknames, just in time to see Patton place a steaming pot at the center of the kitchen table. Logan is assisting with setting the table. 

As Roman and Virgil pass through the living room to the kitchen, Roman spots a familiar couch, and sees the opportunity to put his plan into action. He subtly moves towards the couch, bumping his hip against it at such an angle that he would fall forward. Roman relaxes his limbs, and after weeks of falling in this manner, he no longer feels the instinctual urge to throw his hands out to catch himself. As he falls, he manifests creative energy within his body, ready to be released in a thunderous smack! once he collides with the floor.

Except the collision never comes. 

Instead, Roman falls into something else, and he feels two arms quickly wrap around and support him. Roman’s eyes fly open in surprise, worried that he may have accidentally fallen into someone, before involuntarily gasping.

Virgil’s face is hovering inches from his own. 

Virgil had somehow whipped around and caught him. His arms are around Roman’s waist, holding him suspended above the ground like one would dip a partner during a romantic dance. His arms are so warm and strong and protective and it’s a good thing he’s holding Roman, because suddenly his knees feel weak with the desire to swoon. Virgil is looking deep into his eyes, his face a lovely shade of red and very close to Roman’s.

Virgil hastily manhandles Roman to his feet, once again astounding Roman with his unexpected strength, then awkwardly takes a step backwards, putting some distance between the two that Roman desperately wishes to close.

“S-sorry, didn’t mean to grab you like that,” Virgil stutters, and Roman wants to tell him that he can grab him as much as he’d like, “You were just suddenly falling and—jeez, Roman, be careful! That’s, like, the fifth time this week!”

“Virgil’s right, Roman,” Logan says, causing Roman to whip towards the table. To be quite honest, Roman had completely forgotten about the other two Sides. Both Patton and Logan look concerned, although there is another emotion hidden in their features that Roman is unable to identify.

“You’ve been awfully clumsy recently, Ro,” Patton adds, and the unidentifiable emotion vanishes, “Not that that’s a bad thing, but… You didn’t hurt your legs recently on one of your adventures, right?”

“No!” Roman is quick to reassure, flailing his hands, “I promise, I’m okay. I’ve just been a bit clumsier than usual. It’s that damn couch, it has a grudge against me, I’m telling you! It’s proving itself to be my most difficult adversary yet!”

Virgil smiles slightly at the joke, but Logan takes his words at face value. 

“Well, that is something we can easily remedy. Perhaps we could move the couch elsewhere, or replace it with a smaller—”

“You don’t have to do that!” Roman interrupts, suddenly feeling oddly protective over a piece of furniture that had helped him make Virgil laugh so many times, “I was joking, it’s really just me being clumsy. It’s not because of the couch.”

The tension is back, the others looking even more worried than before, and Roman feels like he’s been cornered. 

“It’s not like you to be so clumsy, Roman,” Patton says, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Roman smiles in what he hopes is in a reassuring manner.

“I’m okay, really—”

Virgil shoots to his feet, suddenly looking incredibly panicked. 

“You didn’t hit your head recently, did you!?”

Roman is momentarily taken aback, and he suddenly feels slightly overwhelmed at Virgil looking at him with such intense worry. He had hoped they wouldn’t return to this subject.

“N-no, I didn’t hit—”

“Concussions can lead to dizziness, or a lack of coordination, right Logan?” Virgil presses on, ignoring Roman’s words completely, “He fell really hard over a month ago, right? Before breakfast?”

Logan nods, appearing deep in thought.

“That’s true, although he didn’t show any of the usual symptoms of a concussion afterwards. His consistent clumsiness started more recently.”

Logan turns to Roman.

“I know you said you weren’t injured recently on your adventures, but are you sure you haven’t been hit on the head by one of your, uh, “assailants”?”

Roman flounders helplessly, unsure how to exactly disprove Logan’s hypothesis. The truth of the matter is, Roman hasn’t ventured into the Imagination in a while, too occupied with researching jokes to make Virgil laugh. But he can’t say that. He would never live the humiliation down.

Patton moves as if to approach him, and Roman decides to put an end to the conversation before it can escalate any further. 

“Darlings, I promise you that I’m fine! Look, the delicious dinner Patton worked so hard to prepare is getting cold. Let’s talk about this another time.”

Logan narrows his eyes, recognizing that Roman is deflecting his questions, but eventually sighs and takes a seat at the table. Seeing Logan yield, Patton and Virgil also reluctantly sit down, but Virgil’s eyes follow Roman as he walks over.

“Well, if you’re sure, kiddo,” Patton relents, “but you’ll tell us if something is wrong, right?”

“Of course!” Roman grins, his steps quickening as he makes his way to his spot at the table, an escape from the uncomfortable topic in sight, “Now, what’s for dinner–”

One moment, Roman is reaching for his chair, and the next he is feeling a familiar vertigo as he lurches backwards, his feet slipping out beneath him with a piercing squeak! Roman doesn’t even have a moment to comprehend what just happened before he hears a loud crack! 

His world blurs, a rush of adrenaline struggling to catch up with the situation. He blinks open his eyes, his surroundings swirl around him like he’s looking through a kaleidoscope, and he can’t quite seem to focus on anything. Even his thoughts feel slower than usual as he tries to figure out what just happened. 

He’s on the ground. He… fell? What could he have tripped on? He doesn’t think he bumped into any of the chairs. But Roman is having a hard time reaching any concrete conclusions, like his thoughts are a bit more slippery than usual, constantly squirming from his grasp like fish desperate to return to their ocean home. He feels dizzy and almost nauseous, a feeling similar to the drop of a rollercoaster, except it isn’t going away. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Soon, it is joined by a dull, repetitive throb, like someone is using his skull for drum practice.

He sees… faces above him. His friends, although it takes a bit of effort to remember their names. Patton looks incredibly distressed, tears beginning to form in his eyes, as he fusses over Roman but doesn’t quite touch him. Logan grabs Patton by the shoulder to gain his attention, and speaks to Patton in a commanding voice. Roman is struggling to comprehend the words they’re saying, but Patton seems to have no trouble, because he nods shakily and leaves the kitchen. And Virgil…

Virgil.

Virgil’s face is deathly pale, and he looks shell-shocked as he simply stares at Roman. He presses his hand gently to Roman’s temple, and Roman has enough clarity to hopefully anticipate Virgil’s warm hand cradling his head. Instead, the touch is answered by an intense pain in Roman’s temple, and he gasps in surprise. Virgil doesn’t seem to hear him, and he withdraws his hand, the blood draining completely from his face. 

The tip of Virgil’s fingers are red. That’s… that’s blood. Is Virgil bleeding? Did he hurt himself?

Roman struggles to make the connection, his head throbbing more intensely, as if trying to resist his efforts.

Virgil touched… his head. There’s blood on his head. He’s… bleeding? 

Logan grabs Virgil’s arm and shakes him, saying something urgently. Virgil doesn’t respond, completely fixated on his bloody fingers. Logan shakes him harder, and Virgil flinches violently, looking like he’s going to be sick. 

Through the dizziness and nausea, regret pierces through his thoughts like an arrow. He doesn’t want Virgil to feel sad. Why isn’t he laughing? Roman had fallen, right? Shouldn’t Virgil be laughing?

Roman tries to raise his hand to cup Virgil’s face, but his limbs feel incredibly weak. All he manages is a soft brush along his cheek.

“Why… not laugh…?” Roman attempts to speak, but his words slur like he’s several glasses deep into a bottle of wine.

Virgil expression shifts, flickering through several emotions so quickly that Roman’s frustratingly slow brain can’t keep up, until it returns to a devastating fear. If Roman’s arms didn’t weigh five hundred pounds, he would have hit himself for causing that expression. Luckily, his head is doing a fine job on that front, pain and nausea battling for dominance.

Roman feels his eyes closing on their own, and despite Logan and Virgil shaking him and calling a name that he realizes belatedly is his own, he slips into unconsciousness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman wakes slowly, bleary eyes blinking away a dreamless sleep. The first sensation he feels is a throbbing, familiar pain pounding away in his skull. He raises a hand to touch the area the pain is coming from, and his fingers meet bandages. 

Groaning, he pushes himself to a sitting position, slowly gaining his bearings. Walls decorated in velvet reds, a scattering of canvases and art supplies, and numerous twinkling fairy lights confirm that Roman is currently in his room, more specifically in his bed. Roman notices an additional blanket had been added to his silk covers, a baby-blue, hand-knitted affair with a slightly-skewed pattern of hearts. Roman also counts several additional pillows added to his already impressive collection, fluffed and arranged around him like a nest. 

Roman smiles. Patton may be the self-proclaimed “dad” Side in the Mindscape, but he sure acts like a mother hen. 

Roman moves to sit up further, but he meets resistance. Something heavy is resting on his legs. Puzzled, Roman looks down to where the weight lies, wondering if Patton had gone against Logan’s advice and adopted a pet of some kind. It takes a while to discern the shape, given the dimness of the lights, but once his vision clears, it doesn’t take long to recognize. Roman lets out an involuntary yelp, flinching back in surprise.

Virgil is kneeling at Roman’s bedside, head nestled between his arms and softly snoring. Despite Roman’s violent reaction, he doesn’t stir. 

Roman’s headache suddenly feels far less important as he stares unabashedly at the sleeping emo. What is Virgil doing in his room? How long must he have been waiting there by his bedside for him to fall asleep in that position? And, most importantly, why?

Roman’s head throbs again, and he finally makes the connection between his pain, the bandages, and Virgil’s bedside nap. He was injured, and given how he was wrapped in bandages and moved to his bed, it must have been somewhat serious. But it’s difficult to think through his headache, and Roman grits his teeth in frustration. 

Before he can ponder further, his bedroom door opens to reveal Logan and Patton, the latter holding a tray of food. Upon noticing that he’s awake, they both perk up. 

“Kiddo! Oh my gosh, you’re okay!” Patton exclaims, although his voice is much lower than Roman expected, so it comes out like a stage-whisper. He rushes to Roman’s side, placing the tray on the bedside table.

“I made you some soup,” Patton says, his voice even softer now as he kneels next to Roman, “I know you aren’t technically “sick”, but hopefully it’ll help you feel a bit better.”

“Thanks,” Roman says gratefully, carefully maneuvering the tray onto his lap and sipping a spoonful of soup. It’s delicious, spreading a warmth that almost seems to chase away the pain. 

“I am glad to see that you are alright,” Logan says, his voice also low and gentle, “We were all very worried about you.”

He frowns slightly, and his next words are slow and tentative, as if he’s carefully choosing what to say.

“I know you must not be feeling your best right now, and if you would prefer, we could save this conversation for another time. With that being said, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. It’s difficult to think through the pain, and he is still having trouble remembering how he hurt himself. Still, Roman is not one to back away from a challenge, so he nods. 

“Alright, thank you. And we can stop at any time if it’s too overwhelming, okay?”

Roman nods again, feeling slightly unnerved. He has no idea what Logan wants to ask him, but it must be serious, given both his and Patton’s expressions.

Logan takes a deep breath, then asks the first question. 

“What is your name?”

It takes a while for Roman to process the question, because it was honestly the last thing he expected Logan to ask. His name? Why is Logan asking if he knows his name? Of course he knows his name! Roman wants to ask why Logan would ask something so obvious, but he stops, seeing the grave look on Logan’s face. This question must be important, even if Roman doesn’t yet realize why, so he decides to table his curiosity for now.

“My name is Roman.”

Despite the simplicity of the question, as well as the obvious nature of the answer, Logan’s shoulders relax. He seems incredibly relieved, like Roman just told him that a dangerous medical operation was successful, rather than just saying his own name. 

Logan hesitates again at the second question, but presses on.

“Do you know… our names?”

Another curve ball. Roman feels even more bewildered, but continues to humor Logan. 

“You’re Logan, and he’s Patton. The guy sleeping beside my bed–” Roman’s words stutter when he momentarily turns his attention back to Virgil, and he hopes that the dim lights are enough to hide his blush, “–is Virgil.”

Logan smiles widely, like how a teacher would praise a student correctly solving a difficult math problem. 

“Good. That’s very good.”

Roman can no longer hold back his overwhelming curiosity, and so he gives in and voices his confusion.

“Why are you asking me these things?”

Logan’s smile vanishes, and Patton frowns with concern. 

“Do you… not remember?” Logan asks slowly.

Roman’s head throbs, as if trying to answer the question for him, and Roman hisses in pain. The memories are still very fuzzy, like they’re hidden behind thick glass.

“Bits and pieces,” Roman answers honestly, “I’m assuming I hit my head, right?”

Logan nods.

“A few days ago, you slipped on some water that had spilled onto the kitchen floor. You fell and hit your head on the tiles. There was some minor bleeding, but the injury wasn’t too severe. We still decided to disinfect and bandage the wound to prevent infection.”

Roman nods along, his memory of the event slowly returning. 

“While the cut on your head wasn’t serious,” Logan continues, “you did hit your head rather hard against the floor. You seemed to experience some difficulty focusing after you fell, so we concluded that you may have experienced a concussion. Rather ironic, given what we had been conversing about right before that very moment.”

Right, the dinner. Roman remembers them pressing him about his increased clumsiness, to which he managed to deflect their questions. He had then rushed to his own seat, eager to escape their interrogation. 

It had all happened so fast. But Roman can remember the moment he fell, the sound of his head banging against the tiles, and the dizziness and nausea that followed.

“Yeah, I think I remember,” Roman says.

“That’s good,” Logan says, looking relieved, “One thing that we were most worried about was possible amnesia, which can sometimes accompany a concussion. That’s why I asked you those questions. I wanted to confirm that you didn’t suffer any memory loss.”

Roman nods, finally understanding.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. My head is killing me, but otherwise I feel alright.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Logan smiles, “and I’m sorry to hear that you’re still experiencing some pain. I suspected as much, since headaches are a very common symptom of head trauma, so we have made a greater effort to keep our voices low. We can also provide you with some pain killers, if that would help?”

Roman nods earnestly, eager for even a momentary respite from the pain. At his response, Patton smiles and leaves the room to fetch the medicine.

“While Patton takes care of that,” Logan says, “would you mind if I asked a few more general questions? While I’m very pleased that you remember your identity, as well as ours, it would be good to ensure that you haven’t forgotten anything else.”

With Roman’s approval, Logan begins asking another series of questions, asking for general facts like the year, or which state they live in, or the current U.S. president. He then shifts to more recent, significant events, like what Roman gifted Patton for his most recent birthday, or the most recent video they filmed together, or the day that Virgil revealed his name. 

Once Virgil is mentioned, Roman gathers the courage to ask what’s been on his mind since he woke up.

“How… How long has he…”

Patton, who had returned with the medicine during Logan’s questioning, follows his gaze to Virgil’s sleeping form, and he smiles.

“He was beside himself with worry.” Patton explains, “We tried to get him to sleep in his own room, but when I came to check on you in the middle of the night, he was right back here.”

“I believe he wanted to see that you were alright with his own eyes,” Logan elaborates.

Both of their expressions are knowing, and Roman feels himself blushing.

“He was that worried about me?” Roman asks, feeling incredibly touched.

Patton’s smile takes on a mischievous edge, curling like a cat’s.

“He was,” Patton grins, “He really cares about you, y’know?”

Roman’s face grows hotter, but he can’t help a dopey smile from spreading on his lips as he turns to Virgil, diligently guarding Roman even as he sleeps.

Suddenly, Virgil begins to stir.

“Oh! That’s our cue to leave!” Patton announces, grabbing Logan by the arm and dragging him towards the door.

“Wait, what?” Roman startles, “Where are you going—”

“I’m sure you two have some things to talk about,” Logan says, eyes twinkling mischievously, “We’ll leave you to it.”

“What do you mean—”

The door closes with a soft click, leaving Roman alone with a slowly-waking Virgil. The Anxious Side yawns, rubbing his eyes, before his gaze falls upon Roman. He freezes in place, and Roman is just as stunned. 

Virgil isn’t wearing his eyeshadow. 

The lack of dark make-up, coupled with unruly, sleep-tousled hair, has given Virgil a gentler look, almost innocent. His eyes, usually stark against black eyeshadow, sparkle and shine like flickering candlelight. To top it all off, Virgil is bathed in the warm glow of Roman’s fairy lights, softening his sharp and angular features. And amidst it all is a discovery that causes the butterflies in Roman’s stomach to throw a party.

“You have freckles.”

Virgil snaps out of his stupor, his hands flying to his cheeks with a squeak. However, his hands aren’t big enough to cover his ears as well, and their red hue gives away Virgil’s embarrassment.

“N-no I don’t!” Virgil declares vehemently.

“Yes you do!” Roman exclaims, leaning closer to Virgil so he can get a closer look, “You totally have freckles!”

“It’s just the light!” Virgil attempts to argue, leaning away from Roman’s awe-struck gaze, “It’s too dark to see! And you have a concussion, so you don’t know what you’re seeing!”

“My vision is completely fine, Phoenix Wrong,” Roman counters, grinning when Virgil blushes hard enough that his freckles contrast against the red, making them stand out even further, “I also haven’t experienced any hallucinations or memory loss since I woke up.”

“O-oh,” Virgil stutters, “That’s… That’s good.”

Roman laughs, unable to hold it back any longer. Virgil is just too adorable. Virgil scowls grumpily at the laughter, lowering his hands to cross his arms and giving Roman a wonderful view of his beautiful freckles.

“Why would you hide them?” Roman asks, “They’re so pretty.”

Virgil’s eyes widen at the word “pretty”, and he blushes harder, much to Roman’s delight. He then turns away, embarrassed.

“...They’re stupid,” Virgil mumbles, “Ruin my image.”

“I don’t think they’re stupid,” Roman frowns, “They’re cute.”

Virgil chokes, his hands clutching his arms tighter, as if resisting the urge to once again cover his face.

“Yeah, but I’m not cute! I’m Anxiety! Anxiety isn’t supposed to be “cute”!”

Roman wants to argue against that, to present a long list of evidence he had compiled over the past month, but he refrains, knowing that Virgil would probably not appreciate it. Instead, he settles for a compromise.

“Well, I think they’re lovely,” Roman says genuinely.

“You’re lying,” Virgil shoots back immediately. Roman gasps in indignation.

“I would never! Honesty is a necessary virtue for every prince!”

The theatrics have the desired effect, and Virgil snorts, some of the tension leaving his body.

“They still look stupid.”

“Patton has freckles,” Roman retaliates, “Are you saying that Patton looks stupid?”

“Of course not,” Virgil scoffs, “He, like, defines cute. He’s the fucking Heart, for fucks sake. They suit him. I’m not… That’s not me. I’m not cute.” 

Roman sighs, knowing that he won’t be able to change Virgil’s mind anytime soon, even if he so earnestly disagrees with him.

“If you say so,” Roman relents. Virgil sighs in relief, the blood finally leaving his cheeks. He slowly begins to stand, groaning at the sudden shift in position, and Roman winces sympathetically. Holding such an uncomfortable position for so long couldn’t have done his back any favors. After stretching out his sore limbs, Virgil hovers awkwardly, appearing unsure if his presence is still wanted. Seeing this, Roman scoots to the side and pats the now-empty spot on his bed. Virgil blushes, but still gingerly settles beside Roman. 

He’s gone completely silent, biting his lip and messing with the hem of his sleeve. Something seems to be on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asks.

Virgil flinches, hand reaching to clutch at his arm. 

“It’s nothing,” Virgil deflects, “Don’t worry about it.”

Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Well now I’m definitely worrying about it,” Roman says, crossing his legs and shifting so that he’s facing Virgil, “That’s, like, literally the worst thing you could have said if you didn’t want me to worry about it.”

“No– I just–” Virgil fumbles with his words, squirming under Roman’s determined gaze, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal if it’s bothering you.”

The blush returns with a vengeance, creeping down Virgil’s neck and to the tips of his ears. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” Virgil groans, bewildered, “How can you say stuff like that with a straight face!?”

“I’m just built different,” Roman replies with a smile. He cradles his face in his hands, arms perched on his crossed legs, and stares Virgil down with wide-eyed attention.

Virgil hesitates, but something in Roman’s expression must convince him, because he eventually concedes.

“It’s about… something you said. Y’know, right before you fell unconscious.”

At these words, Roman is gripped with an ice-cold fear. He can’t remember exactly what he said after he fell, but given Virgil’s reaction, it must have been bad. Did he reveal his plan? Did he confess how utterly smitten he has become with Virgil’s laugh? With Virgil himself?

“You were asking why I wasn’t laughing. Like you… expected it.”

The memory hits Roman like a baseball bat to the face. He had said something along those lines. Oh shit, that’s basically a confession, right? Virgil must have figured out his plan. Or at the very least, Logan had drawn the necessary conclusions and promptly shared his findings with Virgil. Either way, the result is the same.

Oh gods, Roman feels like he might melt from the heat of his embarrassment. His face is no doubt the color of a deliciously ripe tomato.

He expects Virgil to look uncomfortable, if not outright disgusted. He knows how silly he must have appeared to have spent days looking up every joke under the sun, just to recreate a single sound that completely undos him. And it’s definitely extreme to continuously hurt yourself for another person’s amusement. 

It was too much. He’s too much. 

Roman usually prides himself in the sheer magnitude he conducts himself in. His presence fills a room, his voice commands attention. For him, too much is never enough. He always needs to be more, to go beyond the limits that had previously held him back, to break the walls that hold him captive. He is color, he is music, he is imagination incarnate. He is grand, dramatic presence. And that is probably the last thing Virgil wants. 

Virgil, snarky and defensive and introverted. Virgil, mellow and muted and subdued. Virgil, the soft whisper advising caution, the shadows that warn of potential danger, the hero in villain’s clothing. He is darkness, he is trepidation, he is a knight without armor, loyalty and diligence without the shiny exterior. 

Roman is Creativity, noisy and boisterous and loud. Virgil is Anxiety, dark and subdued and quiet. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and a million more clichés that Roman wishes he could rewrite to fit his desires. They just aren’t compatible, and it was stupid of Roman to think otherwise. 

Roman braces himself for rejection, but yet again, Virgil surprises him.

“Do you really think so low of me, that you expect me to laugh while you’re bleeding?”

But the conclusion he draws is even worse than Roman could have anticipated. 

“W-What?”

Virgil’s expression hardens, and if it weren’t for the way he was rapidly blinking, Roman would think that he was simply angry.

“I thought we were okay now! You said you didn’t mind if I teased you! But I would never–”

Virgil takes a shaky breath.

“Do you really think I’m the type of person who would laugh while you’re bleeding out!?”

“No! ” Roman shouts frantically, “No, of course not!”

Roman rushes forward to pull Virgil into his arms, but Virgil evades his grasp, his shoulders beginning to shake. 

“You said that I’m not the bad guy anymore!” Virgil cries, “You said that I’m good ! That I make you guys better!”

“You do!” Roman reassures, “Gods, Virgil! You do! Every moment that I spend with you, I become a better Creativity. I become a better me. Virgil, you are not the bad guy. You are one of the kindest, most selfless people I’ve ever met. You work so hard to protect us without expecting anything in return. You continuously go outside of your comfort zone to accommodate our needs. You are wonderful. I’m so sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Virgil doesn’t seem convinced, and despite his best efforts, a few tears fall, glittering under the fairy lights like tiny cascading stars.

“Then why did you think I would laugh when you were in so much pain? That’s not something a good person does!”

“I didn’t think you would laugh at me!” Roman yells desperately, “I wanted you to laugh at me!”

Silence.

“Wha… What?” Virgil whispers, sounding absolutely gobsmacked, “Why would you… Huh?”

Roman looks down at his hands, unable to stomach whatever look of disgust Virgil must be giving him.

“I… wanted you to laugh,” Roman confesses, ears burning, “That’s why I tried to fall earlier that day. That’s why… I’ve been falling for the past few weeks.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything, and Roman wonders if this is what dying feels like. 

“I’ve been trying to get you to laugh for over a month,” Roman continues, “You didn’t seem to like any of the jokes I told you, but then I remembered that you laughed when I tripped, so… yeah.”

Another minute of silence, so palpable Roman can barely take it. 

“So… all of the jokes, all of the falls…” Virgil speaks slowly, as if trying to parse the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “...it was all just to make me laugh?”

“Yeah…” Roman sighs, feeling utterly defeated.

“But… why?”

Roman laughs, a pathetic, broken sound. Does he really need to draw this out, to humiliate himself further? A warrior is already dead once the fatal blow is dealt. One doesn’t need to bother themselves prolonging a battle that’s already decided. 

But Roman can’t refuse Virgil anything. He’s already proven that he would throw himself to the ground countless times for this man. So really, Roman has no choice but to admit the truth.

“You have the most beautiful laugh, did you know that?”

Virgil makes a choked sound, like a bird caught by the neck.

“It’s true,” Roman chuckles, not giving Virgil any chance to dispute it, “Your laughter is like… It’s like leaves dancing on an autumn wind. It’s like the thrum of a guitar building up to an electrifying solo. It’s like shooting stars streaking across the sky, one after another. It’s so…”

Roman’s chest heaves, and he suddenly feels overcome with emotion.

“Brilliant.”

Virgil gasps, his voice wobbling, and Roman can’t help but look up. Silent tears are pouring down Virgil’s cheeks. 

“You can’t–” Virgil’s body shakes involuntarily as he fights back sobs, “You can’t mean that!”

“I can, and I do!” Roman insists, “You are amazing, Virgil! Just as brilliant as your wonderful laughter!”

“Stop!”

“I heard you laugh a single time, and I thought I might die if I never got the chance to hear it again.”

“Stop it! You’re lying!”

“I’m not,” Roman sobs, his voice a desperate plea. He reaches towards Virgil again, and this time he doesn’t resist.

“You are beautiful, Virgil,” Roman professes, pulling Virgil to his chest, “You are every bit as beautiful as your laughter. Gods, just a simple smile from you and I lose my mind. Do you know how gorgeous your smile is?”

Virgil tries to protest, but he can’t get a word in between his sobs. Roman hugs him tighter. 

“I’ve created countless works of art, and none of them hold a candle to your beauty. I’ve had nights where I can’t sleep because I’m haunted by your breathtaking eyes. You have such wonderful eyes, did you know that?”

Indeed, even when they’re filled with tears, Virgil’s eyes are no less beautiful. 

“You are wonderful, Virgil. You are kind, intelligent, and unbelievably funny. I can’t comprehend how I ever could have thought that I hated you, because now my favorite moments are the ones I get to spend with you. And my greatest wish is that you would allow my company for a little while longer.”

Roman closes his eyes, a few tears escaping.

“...But I understand if that is no longer possible. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, my dear. I just wanted you to understand how incredible you are. If you so wish, I will ensure that we only encounter each other when necessary and give you the space you–”

Virgil punches Roman on the arm. Hard. 

“OW!” Roman yelps, grasping his throbbing arm. The punch was particularly painful, as Virgil had hit an area covered in bruises. “What was that for!?”

“You’re an idiot,” Virgil growls, “Literally the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

Roman opens his mouth to protest, but he’s cut off once again when Virgil rockets back into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“You… Y-you…” 

Virgil squeezes him, his next words coming out in a wail. 

“You’re such a dumbass and I love you so much!”

Roman’s heart decides it’s done with simple gymnastics and leaps so high that it soars and lodges itself into Roman’s throat. The butterflies are having a rave in his stomach, EDM and flashing lights and all. He can’t breathe, but breathing has never felt less important than at this very moment.

“Y-you–!”

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” Virgil howls, clutching Roman so tightly he might actually be cutting off blood circulation. 

Roman, quivering from dancing butterflies and his wannabe gymnast heart and him feeling literally every single emotion at once, crumbles like a house of cards, the two of them falling together into silken sheets and a knitted blanket patterned with hearts.

“I love you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a beautiful day in the Mindscape. The state of Florida had decided to bestow mercy upon its residents with a perfectly sunny day. Sunshine poured through windows throughout the house, basking the rooms in a warm, cozy glow. On perfect days like this, Roman would normally venture off into the Imagination, the cheerful weather sparking inspiration. If he didn’t feel up to a grand adventure, he would go for a walk outside, seeking interesting encounters or simply enjoying the fresh air. Suffice it to say, Roman does not like to let such beautiful days go to waste. 

But today, Roman is not in the Imagination, nor is he outside. The inviting sunlight peaks through Roman’s bedroom window, which the Creative Side pointedly ignores. Instead, he is curled up in his bed, writing snippets of poetry in red, sparkly ink. Sitting with Roman is his reason for not leaving the house. Virgil is lying down perpendicular to Roman, back supported with a few of Roman’s many pillows and legs draped over Roman’s own. Like Roman, he also has a pen in hand, except instead of poetry, Virgil is drawing. 

The atmosphere is quiet and peaceful, like the haze blanketing the world just before sunrise. Normally, Roman would avoid silence at all cost, unable to endure a single moment of boredom. But right now, he is content to sit in complete silence with his favorite person in the world, basking in each other’s company.

…Well, maybe not complete silence. What can Roman say, old habits die hard.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil looks up from his sketch.

“Yeah?”

Roman resists the urge to smile and give himself away.

“Are you a broom?”

Virgil tilts his head to the side, like an adorably confused puppy. 

“...because you’re constantly sweeping me off my feet!”

“Pfft—!”

Surprised and flustered, Virgil dissolves into giggles, a lovely shade of pink blooming on his cheeks. Despite his embarrassed state, Virgil doesn’t bring a hand to cover his face. He doesn’t hide his laughter anymore. At least, not for Roman. 

“God, that was awful, ” Virgil laughs.

For Roman, that’s more than enough encouragement to carry on.

“Are you a parking ticket?” Roman says, his grin widening, “because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”

Virgil laughs harder, bending at the waist over his sketchbook. Amidst his hot-red face, his eyeshadow shifts to a sparkly lavender (and wasn’t that a delightful discovery on Roman’s part).

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil can barely speak through his laughter, but he tries.

“Ye—hehehe—y-yes?”

Roman pauses, allowing Virgil to regain a bit of his composure, so he can tear it back down again.

“You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.”

Virgil snorts indignantly before falling victim to another powerful wave of laughter, tears pooling in his eyes and threatening to fall. The laughter is contagious, and Roman can’t help but join him.

Gods, how did he get so lucky?

“H-hey,” Virgil says between bouts of laughter, “Hey, Roman?”

Trying to reign in his own giggles, Roman responds.

“Yes, Stormcloud?”

As a less-seasoned performer, Virgil isn’t quite able to stop himself from grinning ear-to-ear before telling the joke. But nevertheless, he delivers it with enough gusto to make Roman proud.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes,” he states, trying to feign seriousness but failing miserably, “I just can’t look away from you.”

Roman howls with laughter, Virgil quickly joining in, and the two are a giggly mess.

Even after a year of dating, Virgil’s laughter still takes Roman’s breath away. And making Virgil laugh? It’s Roman’s favorite thing to do in the world.

Well… Maybe not his favorite. There is one thing that’s even better.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil turns to Roman, still giggling, lively and breathtaking and beautiful.

“Yeah, Princey?”

“...Kiss me?”

Virgil’s smile softens into something saccharinely sentimental, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean over to Roman and grant his request. Butterflies erupt in Roman’s stomach as he pulls Virgil in closer, feeling content and warm and loved.

When the two part, they can’t stop themselves from laughing again, each filled to the brim with pure, unrestrained joy.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides virgil #sanders sides roman #myfics #google docs and AO3 decided it didn’t want to format correctly #so yay 1 hour fixing spaces around italics! #but it was worth it #(will really appreciate anyone pointing out weird spacing!) #hope you guys enjoy!

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

The Stresses of Shapeshifting

Janus is struggling to regain control of his shapeshifting powers after they get away from him.

Thankfully, the noble Roman (and the others helped a bit too, I guess) was there to save the day!

In the end, all anyone really needs is a cuddle pile, Disney movies, pizza and... possibly inedible... cake.

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: General distress, a panic attack, minor swearing

Pairings: Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 3325

Notes: This is my first posted Sanders Sides fic!! I'm super excited, please be nice, but also please reblog/comment and let me know what you think because I'm nervous. Oh yeah, remember that I had ages ago about Janus' shapeshifting powers going crazy? this is that. haha.

Pings: @seren4d3 (there were a few more people who said they wanted to see it but didn't say they wanted to be pinged specifically so I won't ping because anxiety. If you want to be pinged for future fics in general or something specific, lemme know!! (be specific please lol)

~~~~

“Hey there padre-” Roman said with a smile, it was almost dinner time and he wanted to inquire who’s turn it was to cook, but he stopped as he walked around the sofa, smile falling. Just the look on Patton’s face making him stop in his tracks. Patton was sat on the couch, gripping his jeans with white-nuckled fists, he was staring into nothing with gritted teeth, the tensest Roman had ever seen his fellow side, “What on earth happened to you?”

Patton shook his head sharply, and thats when Roman noticed the glitchy flickering- his glasses, his eyes, Patton didn’t look quite right, something was just off, and then it wasn’t- then it was again. Minor shifts in appearance, nothing big enough to notice if you weren’t looking closely. Roman quickly placed his cup of coffee down on the coffee table and took a step closer, glancing around to see if he could spot any evidence as to what might be happening right now.

There was a small pile of black fabric with a hint of yellow off to the side- as if it had been thrown; it rang as familiar in Roman’s brain, on the arm of the sofa next to Patton was a pair of yellow gloves- Janus’ gloves? What were they doing here? 

“What in great Odin’s eyepatch is going on…” Roman muttered, looking back to Patton as if for answers, Patton only curled in further in response, moving his arms so he was in a position almost to hug himself, the flickering got stronger for a second, and Roman thought he saw Patton’s face shift completely before it it was pulled back into place. 

Roman moved over to the fabric and lifted it up- black with yellow lining- that was Janus’ cape… what on earth was Janus’ stuff doing here? Patton made a noise- it sounded strained and upset, but was obviously in protest, Roman huffed and carefully folded the cape, before putting it neatly on the coffee table. Patton relaxed minutely, before jerking forwards, his clothes glitched this time, Roman saw them turn black, for a moment Patton’s cardigan was gone, replaced with Logan’s collar, before immediately returning to Patton’s signature look. It almost looked like rubber banding in a video game. As if you were trying to customise your character but it kept lagging back to the default. 

“Patton?” Roman said gently, stepping forwards with his hands raised up, he wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew it wasn’t good. Something was wrong with Patton. 

“Not- not-” Patton started through gritted teeth, before tensing up again, Roman could see his fingers digging into his arms, “Not Pa- not Patton-”

Roman stared for a moment, as (not?) Patton’s eyes shifted through colours, he noticed his own red- Remus’ green- Virgil’s purple- Logan’s blue and then back to Patton. He glanced at the gloves, then back at the cape, clues falling into place. In a flash, Roman pulled out his phone, sending a ping to the groupchat- ‘Code Yellow!!!!’ before shoving it back in his pocket and looking back to the side on sofa. 

“Janus?” Roman asked, Not-Patton nodded, going to say something before clenching his jaw, face contorted in what looked like extreme effort, the flickering got worse for a moment, before it cleared up, but Roman was no longer looking at Patton, but a mirror image of himself, granted his reflection looked like it had been dragged through a bush backwards. For a moment he had no words. 

“My hair is not that messy,” Was the statement that chose to come out of his mouth. Eloquent, Roman.

“Sorry-” Janus choked out, but even with the strained tone Roman could tell it wasn’t sincere, well, good thing the sarcastic snake was still in there somewhere, “Can’t- can’t control it-”

“Hey kiddos! What’s hippety happening down here- oh!” Patton- thank goodness the real Patton- had arrived on the scene first, Roman breathed a sigh of relief as Patton rushed over to the sofa, “Roman? Janus? What’s going on?”

Janus tensed up, digging his- now neatly painted and manicured- nails into the soft fabric of Roman’s tunic, the fabric bunching up under the pressure. The real Roman took a second to wring out his hands, feeling the nervous energy building up, he took a deep breath.

“I think Janus is having trouble with his shapeshifting powers,” Roman tried to explain, “I found him down here as you but he’s been glitching and shifting and- I mean you see him, right?”

“Yeah- yeah kiddo,” Patton nodded, quickly moving around to the front of the sofa and sitting down next to Janus, “Are you ok with touch right now, kiddo?”

A small nod was given in response, before Janus’ eyes went wide- his hair flickering from different styles- long to short, Romans’ regular fluffy but tamed look to Logan’s neat slicked back to Virgil’s dramatic bangs before settling on something not quite Roman but closer than before. Patton waited for the glitching to settle down a little before carefully putting an arm around Janus’ shoulders. 

“I can’t- I can’t-” Janus started, eyes still wide, he still was incredibly tense, he didn’t seem to be able to finish the thought though. Roman sat down on the sofa too after a few seconds hesitation, on Janus’ other side, and took a gulp of coffee that could not have looked princely in the slightest before putting the cup back down. 

“It’s ok,” Patton said softly, rubbing calming circles into Janus’ back, “You’re safe here, kiddo,”

“We don’t need anything from you right now,” Roman added, placing a hand on Janus’ arm to add his own comfort, he felt Janus relax slightly, slumping forward just a little. The glitching picked up for a moment, before settling back again as he relaxed. 

“What seems to be the issue?” Said Logan, appearing from the stairs, Roman looked back to see the logical side adjust his glasses, surveying the scene.

“Janus is struggling to control his shifting ability,” Patton explained easily, upon mention, Janus tensed up again, he curled in on himself as he glitched through a series of forms, before returning to Patton this time. The real Patton chuckled softly as he had to readjust his postion with the change.

“Keeps- changing,” Janus forced out through his teeth, “I can’t- can’t get back-”

“We’ll figure this out, kiddo, don’t you worry,” Patton said sotly, “Hey Logan? D’you think you could try and figure out what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, turning back to the stairs, “I’ll start in the memory hall, please contact me should there be any developments,”

“You got it, teach,” Roman said, shooting a smile back at the Logical side before focusing his attention back on Janus.

“I can’t- hold it,” Janus said, gripping his own arms tight as if for emphasis, he gasped, “Why- I can’t- I can’t keep hold of a form-”

With that he started shifting again, his clothes flickered first, then his hair, his eyes, his face shape, the fabric changing from Patton’s soft shirt to Virgil’s firmer but still amazingly soft hoodie, his hair settled on Virgil’s purple and Patton had to readjust again- Virgil was like a stick compared to both him and Roman. 

It took a moment to realise Janus hadn’t taken a breath since he shifted, simply staring at his arms eyes wide, his hands had released their vice grip on his arms and were now shaking violently in his lap, seconds later Janus had shrugged Patton and Roman off and was starting to take sharp short breaths that Roman was certain weren’t getting him the air he needed.

“No no- not Virgil- no, no I promised- I can’t-” Janus forced out between breaths, “I promised I would- I would never this-”

“Janus, Janus, kiddo I need you to breathe, you’re panicking, it’s ok,” Patton instructed firmly, wanting to reach out again but keeping his hands threaded together in his lap. Janus’ refusal of touch just now had been clear. 

“It’s not, it’s not ok I promised him- I promised- I can’t-” Janus shook his head, gripping his trousers.

“Jan?” Roman’s head whipped around to find the real Virgil had arrived in the doorway, Janus jolted hearing his voice, and began to shake even worse.

“Virgil I’m sorry- I’m sorry- sorry-” Janus repeated, Roman looked up at Virgil, trying to ask for help using his eyes. Virgil mumbled something, before hurrying over to join them.

“Jan, Jan you need to calm down,” Virgil muttered, kneeling in front of Janus in his own form, “You’re having a panic attack Janus,”

“Virgil I’m sorry,” Janus said, sounding so upset that Roman couldn’t help but want to wrap him up in a blanket and hug him to death, “I didn’t- I can’t- I can’t control it- I can’t shift- I-”

“It’s ok Jan,” Virgil interrupted, he reached forwards and gently took Janus’ hands, Roman could see that the hold was loose enough that Janus could easily pull away, but Janus did the opposite, gripping Virgil’s hands like a lifeline, “Breathe with me, alright? Breath in for four seconds…”

Janus did so, Roman recognised this breathing exercise, Virgil had had Thomas do it all those years ago in Virgil’s room. When they first accepted him.

“Hold for seven seconds, you’re doing really well Jan,” Virgil told him, rubbing the tops of Janus’ hands with his thumbs, “And breath out for six seconds, good, keep doing that, in for four…”

Amazed, Roman watched as Janus’ shoulders relaxed, he started flickering again, but Roman thought that might be a good sign right now- he hadn’t flickered at all as Virgil, maybe it was to do with how panicked he was? Roman watched at Janus eventually switched to Remus’ form, Patton’s nose wrinkled for a moment, before he smiled.

“Ew…” Janus huffed after a final deep breath, finally calm enough to find words, “I hate being Remus,”

Roman couldn’t help but snort, “Too messy for you? Mr. Prim and Proper?”

Janus shot him a glare, which only made Roman laugh coming from Remus- who wasn’t really a ‘glare’ kind of person, rabies infested dog? He could portray one perfectly, glaring? Remus had never been able to get it right, Virgil gave Roman a reproachful look, though, which shut him up pretty fast. 

“Oh hey am I late to the party?” The real Remus flung himself over the back of the sofa- startling Patton, who’s lap was unfortunately the target of this horrible attack, “Hi other me! Where’s Janny?”

“I am Janus, you fool,” Janus said, pushing Remus’ legs off of him, Remus simply put them back. 

“His shifting was on the fritz,” Virgil sighed, glaring at Remus, who stared at Janus with a look that could have been surprise.

“That hasn’t happened in forever though!” Remus said, swinging an arm.

“Woah- careful there, kiddo,” Patton said, narrowly dodging an elbow to the face.

“Sorry sweetcakes! Speaking of cake, I should make some! Cake always helps!” Remus grinned.

“Not when it’s your cake,” Roman muttered, Remus gasped, offended, and jumped up, Patton winced. 

“My cake is the best around!” Remus yelled, turning around and slapping his own ass. Roman sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“I meant literal cake and you knew that,” Roman said, still adamantly looking away. Remus just giggled. 

“Cake… would be nice,” Janus said slowly, Remus cheered.

“See! Janny wants cake, so I should make cake,” Remus grinned, Roman deemed it safe to look back, and found Remus kneeling on the ground and giving Patton pleading eyes, “Pwease? I pwomise I won’t make a mess?”

Patton sighed, “Remember the rules?”

“No usually inedible ingredients, no explosions,” Remus counted off on his fingers, “I’m not allowed to use the entire pot of paprika… um.”

“No intentional messes, or science experiments,” Patton finished.

“Yeah that! Can I use the kitchen now?” 

“Go ahead…” Patton said with a wistful sigh. He may as well say goodbye to the kitchen now.

—-

“I think I’ve figured it out,” Logan said, having reappeared about fifteen minutes later. Janus’ switching had calmed down from what it had been before. Though occasionally he would still switch between the other sides. In that time, Roman and Patton had switched sides so that Patton could keep a better eye on Remus in the kitchen. Virgil had remained with them as well, and was now wedged in between Roman and Janus. Roman thought he looked rather content, curled up against his side.

“Oh really? That’s great Lo!” Patton said, smiling happily, “What is it?”

“It seems to be connected to stress, so the condition may be elevated by stressful of anxiety enducing situations,” Logan said, looking at a notebook, “Have you observed something of the sorts?”

“Yeah I think so… It was worse when you were panicking, right Jan?” Roman asked, looking over at Janus.

“Yes…” Janus said, “Panicking made the switching worse or more- eugh- more frequent,”

“And a panic attack trapped you in one form until you calmed down a little,” Virgil added quietly, Janus managed to hide the flinch well, but Roman still noticed the slight jerk of his hand.

“That seems accurate to what I have found as well,” Logan nodded, scribbling something on his book, “I believe the best course of action would be to get some rest and avoid any situation that may cause negative emotions to take hold of you,”

“Thanks Logan!” Patton grinned, “Hey, since we’re already all here and comfy, how about we have a movie night?”

“Can we watch Disney?” Roman perked up, Patton chuckled.

“We’ll let Janus choose, ok kiddo?” Patton smiled, Roman sighed but nodded, it made sense. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Disney is fine,” Janus said with a small smile as his face flickered between Virgil and Patton’s, “Aladdin first,”

“Aladdin is a perfect choice!” Roman said, raising a fist with renewed vigour.

“Hey Logan, I hate to ask for another favour, but would you mind checking on Remus…?” Patton asked with a worried smile, “He insisted on making cake…”

Logan leveled Patton with an unimpressed look, “And you let him?”

“He said he’d follow the rules!” Patton protested, Logan let the tiniest hint of a smile slip onto his face.

“I shall check on the state of our kitchen,” Logan promised, “I will also check the freezer to see what ‘comfort foods’ we have, I will forgo insisting on a healthy choice in favour of comfort tonight.”

“You’re amazing Logan!” Patton called as thanks.

“Thank you Lo,” Virgil called.

“I shall create a more comfortable space for us to sit and watch the movies,” Roman said, wanting to contribute to the night of relaxation they were gearing up for.

“Thanks kiddo, that would be awesome,” Patton said, giving him a thumbs up.

“Can I have one of those fleecy blankets?” Janus asked quietly. 

“Done!” Roman grinned, a folded blanket appearing in his arms, he quickly handed it to Janus, before conjuring a good seven more- so that everyone would have a blanket to snuggle under with more to spare. He conjoured the fluffiest pillows he could and laid them out so everyone could find a space to be comfortable.

“Onesies, anyone?” Roman asked, snapping his fingers to switch his regular outfit into his onesie. Patton gasped, clapping his hands in excitement, before switching his own clothes to his cat onesie. Virgil shrugged off his hoodie before willing his onesie to replace his clothes. He handed the hoodie to Janus, who wrapped it around his shoulders.

“A onesie may not mesh well with this constant shifting,” Janus sighed, “So Virgil’s hoodie will have to do,”

“Don’t you dare imply that my hoodie is second rate,” Virgil pouted, glaring at Janus, who smiled.

“Did I say that? I missed the part where I said that,” 

“Asshole,” Virgil said, shoving Janus lightly, though there was a smile on his face.

“Now kiddo, theres no need for that kind of language,”

“Sorry Pat,” Virgil said, “But that language is always necessary when it comes to Jan,”

“Virgil!” Janus gasped, a hand to his chest, “I’m offended!”

“Shut up and get comfortable, doofas,” Virgil huffed, elbowing him in the side. Janus elbowed him back. Which led to a playful fight breaking out on the couch. 

“You guys are going to ruin my pillow arrangement!” Roman whined as he dimmed the lamps so that- while they could still see- it was dark enough to comfortably watch a film. Patton laughed.

“It’s ok kiddo, they’ll probably get messed up anyway, don’t worry too much,” Patton smiled as Virgil attempted to suffocate Janus with a pillow, though both Patton and Roman could tell that Janus wasn’t actually suffering and they were both having fun, so simply decided to leave it be (with a comment from Patton about how violence wasn’t the answer of course).

“Remus’ cake is baking at the moment,” Logan informed the others after he had surveyed the place, Remus in tow, “I made sure to test it for toxins and/or other harmful substances before he put it in the oven, so I can assure you that it’s safe as of now. As for dinner, I’ll be able to put the pizza in the oven after the cake has finished baking, so we may as well start the film now, as it will be about 54 minutes until the food can be served.”

“Thanks Logan! Come sit down, both of you, Roman made the place all comfy!” Patton smiled. Logan nodded, calmly switching his clothes into his unicorn onesie (he had become much more comfortable wearing it around the others as time had passed) before sitting in one of the armchairs (instead of the sofa where everyone else was crowding) and covering himself neatly with a blanket. 

Remus, in comparison, dove onto the sofa and wormed his way underneath the blankets. Ending up with his head in Patton’s lap and his feet in Roman’s, his body splayed over Virgil and Janus, effectively stopping them from continuing their fight.

“Can I-” Remus started, Logan cut him off.

“Onesie or decent pajamas,” Logan said, holding up a finger, “If you wish to watch the movie naked, you will have to go behind the sofa. That is the rule.”

Remus pouted, but switched into a tank top and sweatpants nonetheless, Once everyone had adjusted to Remus’ presence on top of them, Roman pressed play on the movie and the group settled into a comfortable night of movies and relaxation.

—-

When Janus woke up the next morning, he registered multiple feelings at once. First, he was himself again and didn’t feel any of the weird queasiness from constantly changing as he had been the night before, even the lingering nausea from the amount of truth-telling was managable. Next, Virgil was curled up at his side, fast asleep, and he himself was resting against Patton’s chest who had one arm wrapped around Janus in return. He was also still asleep, and Janus realised that- while he had an arm around Virgil, he was also hugging Patton. Remus was there as well, curled up against Patton’s other side, stealing the comfort of his other arm. Roman was sandwiching Virgil against his side, snuggling up against the anxious side and trapping him there. They were still all wrapped up in blankets and still on the couch from last night. Though Janus noticed that all of the plates and glasses had been cleared away and the coffee table wiped down. Logan was up then. This was only confirmed by the smell of toast and pancakes he noticed wafting from the kitchen. 

He smiled softly, making no effort to move, as he marvelled in the sight of the others, sleeping soundly all together, with him in the middle. They all cared so much about eachother, him included, it really was amazing how far they’d come.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #ts roman #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #platonic drlamp #drlamp #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fluff #hurt/comfort #they're just cute little beans #i love them all very much #cw panic attack #cw swearing #food mention #rowans writings

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

On Death’s Doorstep (pt 17/?)

[<<First],,,,[<Prev],[Next>] [ODD Masterlist]

Word Count: 1881

Rating: Teen

Pairings: none in this part (it’ll be Anxceit eventually I swear)

Warnings: past character death, dysfunctional family dynamics, probably minor swearing (let’s just assume there’s always some minor swearing in all of my works)

~~~START~~~

Sandman coming into their home without anything to obscure her identity had been a very interesting opportunity, one that Logan immediately took advantage of. Identifying her civilian identity would allow him to add some hopefully useful information into Logan’s currently poultry file on her.

(He hadn’t realized how beneficial it had been to have the government just handing out information on their heroes.)

So engrossed was he in his research that he’d had a few blissful hours where he’d completely forgotten the date. It wasn’t until he left his lab — with his still computer running Sandman’s image through all the databases available to him — and checked his phone that reality hit him.

Today was six years to the day.

Any plans of sleeping were immediately thrown out the window — figuratively of course, as his basement lair had no windows, and plans could not be physically thrown (unless they were written down somewhere) — in favor of making himself presentable. He had someone to meet after all, and with the sun already high in the sky, he ran a serious risk of being late.

After a quick shower, Logan pulled his nicest suit out of his closet. He bought it six years ago and only ever wore it on this date.

He checked himself in the mirror one final time before heading out the door.

At least, he meant to head out the door, but as was their habit — or so it seemed — Janus was waiting for him in his living room.

“I do not require your assistance, Janus,” Logan told them curtly, hoping to curtail their argument before they made it.

“At least let me drive you.”

“Thank you, no. I am quite capable of driving myself.”

“Are you?” Even as they spoke, Logan saw the regret wash over their face.

But it was too late. What was said was said; there was no taking it back now.

All of Logan’s walls flew up as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“Get out,” he hissed. “No, on second thought, stay here, make yourself at home. I am leaving, do not attempt to follow me.”

“I’m sorry, Logan,” Janus whispered, remaining completely still as Logan brushed past them. “I didn’t–”

“I do not care. Leave me alone.” He slammed the door behind him in an attempt to dispel some of his anger before he got behind the wheel of a motor vehicle.

How dare they! The gall! The absolute gall!

Somewhere below him, a door opened as he stormed down the stairs, and by the time he reached the third-floor landing, a small child was waiting excitedly.

“Hi!” Patton smiled up at him as he used the doorframe to swing himself back and forth. His glasses suited his face well, the wide frames making his eyes seem even bigger than they already were, and were very blue as promised.

Instantly, the anger drained from Logan’s body, and he felt a small smile grace his lips.

“Good morning, Patton, I hope you aren’t getting into trouble already.”

“Pat!” Knightcaster called from inside the apartment as Patton’s face turned contrite.

Knightcaster appeared behind the child and wrapped an arm around his chest, clearly intending to pull him out of the door frame back into the apartment. As he did, however, a blaring alarm went off, causing both the hero and his son to cover their ears.

“Sorry!” Knightcaster yelped as Logan shut off the alarm from his phone.

“It is not a problem,” Logan assured him as Patton took a step back, fully in the apartment once more. “Truly, do not worry about it. I do, however, have a very important meeting to get to, so if you will excuse me. Goodbye Patton, goodbye Kn– Virgil.”

“Bye bye!” He heard Patton call behind him as he continued on down to the garage.

It wasn’t until he was adjusting the mirrors in his civilian car that he realized that he’d left his goggles in his own apartment in his haste to get away from Janus.

~~~

He arrived at the cemetery five minutes early, intending to get there first.

Of course, great minds think alike, so there was already a woman waiting for him in front of the gates by the time he arrived.

“Logan,” the woman greeted shortly, scanning Logan up and down for any perceived imperfections.

“Mother,” Logan responded curtly, eyeing her in a similar fashion.

Barbra Picani-Crofter was slightly older than the last time he’d seen her — last year — but she looked healthy for her age. He imagined that she still went out on hikes and attended fitness classes at her local community center.

Logan offered his arm, and the two of them made their way through the rows and rows of headstones before finally stopping.

“Hello, darling,” Barbra smiled sadly at the headstone before them. She laid out the blanket she’d brought with her and carefully sat on the ground, facing the headstone.

Emile Picani  Beloved Son, Brother, Friend  “Ohana means Family, and Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten” 

Logan remained standing, standing just behind his mother so that she wouldn’t notice the tears that sprang to his eyes.

Six years ago today, Emile Picani died in a car crash, and his brother Logan had been completely unable to save him. He’d been twenty-two.

Barbra told Emile all about her year; all of the things she’d done, the hot gossip from the community center, the volunteer work she’d done at the animal shelter.

Logan knew it was all for his benefit. His mother visited Emile often, but she only saw Logan once a year. Neither of them were too pleased with this arrangement, but his mother disapproved of his hobbies, and Logan wasn’t willing to give them up until he’d achieved his goal.

He was so close, if only she would just understand!

“–and of course, that poor young man, Atlas, died a few weeks ago. It’s so sad how young people seem to be dying nowadays.”

“I wouldn’t be too broken up about it,” Logan quipped, his mind turning back to Knightcaster — bloody and unconscious on Janus’s couch — before he quickly stuffed that thought down.

His mother turned sharply, concern clear on her face, but Logan resolutely turned the 3D flower box around in his mind, focused solely on the shifting colors and shapes.

His mother eyed him for another moment before turning back to Emile.

“I don’t need to know,” she decided. “But I will take your word for it. Still though, Knightcaster seemed like a nice boy, I hope he’s doing well; people are saying that he retired, you know.”

Logan rolled his eyes at his mother’s obvious tactics. She was probing for more information, hoping that Logan’s mind would betray him, but Logan had grown up around his mother’s clairvoyancy, he knew how to avoid it.

“You know,” Barbra said after a few more probing comments. “You’re the only person I know who can effectively subvert telepathy, and it’s with Windows 95 screensavers of all things.” She shook her head fondly. “My little brainiac, my how you’ve grown.”

“I am not a child, mother.”

“No,” Barbra agreed sadly. “You lost all of your innocence quite some time ago. Still though,” she reaches out to brush one hand along the top of Emile’s headstone affectionately, “you have that childhood stubbornness.”

Logan said nothing.

“It’s going to start raining soon,” Barbra observed, still gazing at Emile’s grave. “We should get going. Take your dear old mother out to lunch?”

~~~

The restaurant they went to was fairly empty. The lunch rush had ended, allowing Logan and his mother to have a little bit of privacy.

“Logan,” Barbra started after the waiter had taken their order. “I know we don’t talk about your… activities, but I have something I want to say. Something I have been thinking about for quite some time.”

“Mother, you have already expressed your desires for me to pursue an alternative course, I do not see–”

“That's not what I wanted to talk about… exactly. No, Logan I am getting old; I have lived a good life and I love you dearly, but I have lost two husbands and one son. What I’m saying is: when my time comes, let me go. Please.”

“Are you sick?” Logan asked, concerned. “Have you seen–”

“No, no. Nothing like that, dear, don’t worry. But I’m not as young as I used to be, and if something should happen before next year, I just want you to know. Don’t make me one of your experiments, Logan; just let me go.”

Logan didn’t answer. Thoughts were churning through his head at a rapid pace, and for once he didn’t care that his mother could hear them.

“But you are not sick?” Is what he finally landed on. That was the important part.

“No,” Barbra assured him, patting his hand comfortingly. “But you know that my vision is limited.”

Logan nodded.

Mortality was something he had contemplated quite a bit in his life. His father had died when he was seven, and soon after that was when he discovered his animation powers. Then Emile died when Logan was thirty-eight with Emile’s father — Logan’s step-father — dying shortly after; that had started Logan down his current path. His animation powers on their own hadn’t been enough to bring Emile back for any significant amount of time, they weren’t enough to truly defy mortality, he had to do better.

Still though, through it all, he hadn’t given much thought to his mother dying. For years she’d been as steady rock; when Logan’s father died, she worked twice as hard to give Logan a good life, and when Emile died in the middle of her second husband’s chemo treatments, she’d managed to plan the whole funeral herself, and when her second husband’s cancer won, she still picked herself off the ground and kept going.

She couldn’t die.

Barbra smiled sadly, seeing the thoughts as they circled through Logan’s head. “You can’t spend all your time being so afraid of death,” she told him. “Even if you cheat him for a while, he always comes to collect in the end.”

Watch me, Logan thought defiantly.

~~~

Janus was waiting for him in the parking garage when he finally returned home.

“Logan,” they started as soon as he was out of his car. “I’m so sor–”

“Not now, Janus,” Logan brushed past them, intending to head down to his lab. “Your apology is noted, but I have other matters that I must attend to just now.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Janus asked, following him down the stairs.

“Goodbye, Janus.” Logan slammed the door to his lab shut before they could follow him in.

Janus didn’t approve of Logan’s experiments either, he didn’t need to be clairvoyant like his mother to know that. What did either of them know? Logan was close, dammit! What his mother and Janus thought didn’t matter.

His intention had been to run through the data from his last test and maybe set up for a new one, but he got distracted by a message from his computer.

Identity Match

His experiments could wait. It was time to find out Sandman’s secret identity.

Oh… well that does complicate things, doesn’t it?

~~~END~~~

Great, Emile’s dead and now no one can get the therapy they all so desperately need 🙃

I swear Virgil’s the main character in this fic…

ODD taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @knight-shives @misunderstood-shadowling @lost-in-thought-20 @remy-the-lemon-berry @jinxcrafter @apinkline2715 @gothfoxx @donutsarepartybagels @xoaningout @meganmoneky14

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders #emile picani #on death’s doorstep #superhero au #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 53) [Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb, sexual coercion of minors implied, a minor offering sexual favors

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted (and possibly some future content), look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52

Virgil and Mr. Deknis took their time planting the orchids. Virgil had done everything Mr. Deknis had instructed him to do with the plot of land prior to planting. He’d had Mr. Deknis write it all down, so Logan could read him the instructions each morning, and had dutifully followed each step. The sheet of paper was in Virgil’s pocket even now. He knew the words so well at this point that he could have recited each list item even if it had words he still couldn’t read.

It had been hard work getting the soil just right for the flowers he wanted to plant, but it was fun hard work. Working hard was different when he didn’t have to do something but wanted to do something. He’d also noticed it was easier to do physical labor when he wasn’t hungry, something he hadn’t been all winter in the castle.

He’d thought since he hadn’t been training as much as usual over the winter months that he’d be weaker when Spring came, but he actually felt stronger and had much more energy.

He’d also grown taller without realizing it thanks to Logan’s nutrition potion. He’d noticed when he’d been in the shed earlier. When he’d first hid in the shed upon arriving at the castle the previous fall, he’d been able to walk under all of the hanging tools in the back. Today, he’d hit his head on some of the them.

His body had changed a lot in the past few months. It made planting with Mr. Deknis much easier.

Virgil had already helped Mr. Deknis with planting some vegetables this Spring, but he still was careful to pay attention as the gardener showed him how to plant the first few orchid bulbs.

Then, Virgil was handed the container of bulbs for himself to try planting. Mr. Deknis watched him plant the first few orchids and Virgil glanced up for approval before moving on each time. He always got a nod and small smile.

Eventually, Mr. Deknis took a few bulbs himself to the opposite end of the patch of soil and started planting some himself, trusting Virgil to plant his portion of the flowers right without supervision. Virgil couldn’t help but be happy about the show of trust given to him.

“Good job,” Mr. Deknis said after the two of them had planted two rows of orchids. “You’ve got an eye for planting things.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said bashfully.

“How old are you again?”

“I’m 14,” Virgil said, unsure why he was asking.

Mr. Deknis nodded. “Maybe in a few years you’ll want to get a job as one of the gardeners here,” he said. “I could always use one who knows how to respect plants like you and with how much you’ve been volunteering to help already, you’ll know a good amount by then.”

“Really?” Virgil asked.

Mr. Deknis nodded.

“Why not now?”

“You’re only 14,” Mr. Deknis said. “You don’t need to worry about working. I’m happy to let you tag along and watch or even help a bit with planting when you want, but you should just be a kid.”

That confused Virgil. He’d been considered out of training to be an assassin as soon as he’d turned 14-years-old last fall. Now he was being told he needed to wait a few years to help plant seeds?

“I could do it,” Virgil said.

“I know you could,” Mr. Deknis said, “but you don’t need to. Have a little fun this summer.”

“But I want to,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis huffed out a laugh. “I know,” he said, “and you can feel free to care for your orchids and help me out all you want, but no jobs until you’re at least 16.”

“It’s better than any other jobs I’ve had,” Virgil muttered, honestly annoyed he couldn’t become a gardener right now because of his age.

Mr. Deknis raised an eyebrow. “And what other jobs have you had?”

Virgil froze. That was not a good line of questioning. “Uh…” Virgil said and Mr. Deknis’s expression was changing in an alarming way. “Different things. I’ve carried things for people and, uh, cleaned.”

“Carried things and cleaned, huh?” Mr. Desknis said. It felt like he wasn’t only testing Virgil’s words for lies but observing his face and posture too.

Virgil should be good at lying. He should. That was a major part of being an assassin, but Virgil had started to slip after spending so long around people who were not a danger to him.

At least not a danger to him as long as he didn’t get caught in a lie.

He’d been sloppy with the way he’d frozen when asked a question and with the stuttering. He should have been prepared; he was prepared for the next question.

“You only had to carry things and clean some things up?” Mr. Deknis asked, his eyebrows still raised.

Virgil carefully smoothed out his face, forcing his shoulder to relax as he shrugged. “And some other things,” he said easily. Not a lie. He could feel his heart race anyway.

Mr. Deknis’s eyes bored into him for a long moment and then he titled his head to the side and squinted at him.

Virgil just shot him a small smile. “Can we finish planting the flowers, please?” he asked politely. “I was very excited about it and would like to finish it today.”

Mr. Deknis did not reply for a long moment, and Virgil was careful to keep his expression blank.

Finally, the gardener relented, breaking his stare. If this was because he believed Virgil or not was unclear.

“Yeah, kid,” he said slowly. “Let’s finish planting your flowers.”

Virgil nodded, and he didn’t have to lie as much now as cautious eagerness returned to him. He really did want to finish planting his flowers in addition to stopping Mr. Deknis from asking uncomfortable questions about where Virgil had come from.

Mr. Deknis nodded to the bag of bulbs. They went back to work planting the flowers, but Virgil could feel Mr. Deknis’s eyes on him almost constantly. He had a feeling that this time, he wasn’t watching for how well Virgil was planting the bulbs, but something else.

Virgil was careful to not let his mask slip at all the entire time.

When they were finished planting Virgil’s entire plot of land, they cleaned up the equipment and stored it back away in the garden shed.

Another day Virgil might have stayed and helped Mr. Deknis with other things. Today he was still trying to cover for his bad lying earlier, however, so, Virgil decided to just go back to the castle and shower.

To his surprise Mr. Deknis also started walking off in the direction of the castle.

“Don’t you have more planting to do?” Virgil asked when they got to the door. He knew the man was very busy and his workday was only a bit more than half over.

“I do,” Mr. Deknis confirmed, “but I needed to talk to the king about something first.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Okay. I’m going to go shower.”

Mr. Deknis nodded. “I’ll see you sometime later then,” he said.

“Thank you for helping me plant the orchids.”

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly at that. “Anytime, kid.”

Want to read more? Click below!

Birds of Different Feathers Master Post

My Masterpost

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas sanders #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #past torture #captivity

[tss-storytime-summaries]

38

Expected Rating: General / Teen

Warnings: Panic attacks, homophobia, cursing, child neglect, racism, 1950s ideas

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Remus, Janus, Logan, Patton. Others might make an appearance as minor characters

Romantic Relationships: Prinxiety, Intruloceit

Summary: 1950’s AU.

Roman didn’t care much about the world beyond his own. His family was fine, his friends were okay. He didn’t need a change in his life. Until Virgil. What was supposed to be a one-time discussion quickly evolves into a whirlwind friendship, and Roman is pulled into a world he didn’t know existed. Turns out, he can stay the perfect son and explore what life is like beyond those boundaries, the best of both worlds. But as he learns more about his second life, the question of just how right his first one is starts to linger. Between his newfound friend and whatever chaos his brother Remus is bringing him into, what does the world actually look like? And what does Roman want from it, beyond the pillars of what he once knew?

#tss storytime 2023 #tss storytime summaries

[themovieblogonline]

“Emily the Criminal” (2022) finds her Purpose

Emily (Aubrey Plaza) is saddled with student debt and locked out of the job market due to a minor criminal record. Desperate for income, she takes a sketchy gig as a “dummy shopper,” buying goods with stolen credit cards supplied by a handsome and charismatic middleman named Youcef (Theo Rossi). Faced with a series of dead-end job interviews, Emily soon finds herself seduced by the quick cash and illicit thrills of black-market capitalism, and increasingly interested in her mentor Youcef. Together, they hatch a plan to bring their business to the next level in Los Angeles. https://youtu.be/pkrv5CdZBkc “Emily the Criminal” (2022) finds her Purpose Film Review by John Smistad I recently reviewed the gritty 1970’s ex-con driven back to busting the law classic “Straight Time”. I have now just watched the new Netflix crime drama “Emily the Criminal”. It’s about a young woman drawn to be a crook because the legit working world wouldn't wane from jerkin’ her chain and jackin’ her around. As you may imagine, the two stories generate many parallels with each other. The primary one being this: The lure of quick big bucks is overwhelmingly enticing to many. The flip? Easy money is never easy. Emily learns such savage pedagogy in the most unflinching terms. Yet Another Potent Plaza Performance I really admire and respect Aubrey Plaza. Ever-blossoming into a tour de force of performance versatility, Plaza is brilliant here, exorcising flames into the volcanic metamorphosis of this enigmatic main character. Initially appearing to be a pushover, when push comes to shove in her life, Emily will knock ya straight down on your ass. And then goad you to get back up so she can do it again. Credit card fraud is her game. And when it comes to reaping the fruits of her larcenous labor, best be aware that girl ain’t playin’, play-uh. And Forget Formulaic I just love when I don’t know how a movie is going to end, as I didn’t here. The path chosen by writer and director John Patton Ford is one ultimately carved by fate, particularly considering the perilous road we’ve already witnessed Emily negotiate and conquer. And even though she’s shown us that she is strong as all hell, in the end, Emily reveals herself to be powerless at the prospect of the next big score. “Emily the Criminal”. It’s really about a woman who has found her life’s calling. “Emily the Criminal" is #3 in Netflix's Top 10 ranked movies as of this writing. Cool Conversations with Wildly Talented Independent Entertainers! On my YouTube Channel @ this Link: (1) Conversations with “THE QUICK FLICK CRITIC” – YouTube SUBSCRIBE for FREE and be notified the moment my next new episode drops!   Read the full article

[skinsgreys]

Sheraton hotel columbus ohio airport

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT FULL#

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT CODE#

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT PROFESSIONAL#

While we do try to list all the best miles and points deals, the site does not include all card companies or credit card offers available in the marketplace. Outside of banner ads published through the Boarding Area network, this compensation does not impact how and where products appear on this site.

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT PROFESSIONAL#

The owner of this site is not an investment advisor, financial planner, nor legal or tax professional and articles here are of an opinion and general nature and should not be relied upon for individual circumstances.Īdvertiser Disclosure: Some links to credit cards and other products on this website will earn an affiliate commission. This site is for entertainment purposes only. The lesson is to double and triple check itineraries to ensure you are booked to the right place. Here, a boy was sent to the wrong Columbus, in Ohio instead of Georgia. Sometimes, even when we specify which city we mean, human error kicks in. CONCLUSIONĬolumbus is in both Georgia and Ohio. I’m glad Patton is now reunited with his son. Instead, he would have had to look up the flight number and verify it was going to the right Columbus.

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT CODE#

Here, it isn’t clear if knowing the right airport code would have helped if the father received a confirmation like mine above. However, without attacking him, I do think this incident provides an instructive lesson on carefully double-checking your reservation.

#SHERATON HOTEL COLUMBUS OHIO AIRPORT FULL#

I also think American Airlines owes them a full refund plus compensation for the lost time and stress. We’re not going to use American Airlines again or trust them because they’re incompetent.” “Mistakes happen but when they drop the ball it’s a big deal especially when you already take the agency and liability away from parents when making the booking. As you can see, there are no states mentioned and no airport code listed, only flight numbers. If the the father received a similar confirmation for his Dallas – Columbus flight, I can see why he did not think twice. I recently completed an Award Expert booking over the phone with an agent and the “old school” e-mail confirmation I received only had the cities listed, no codes: Patton insists he specified the right airport and would have booked online (where you can easily distinguish between the two airports) but AA only allows unaccompanied minor bookings via telephone. He was located and then sent back to Dallas and finally to CSG, arriving about 12 hours late. Patton found out the error when he showed up at CSG but his son did not step off the flight.ĪA agents found he was about to step off a flight in CMH that had departed around the same time. The boy was dropped off at the airport and ended up flying to Columbus, Ohio (CMH) instead of Columbus, Georgia (CSG). According to Patton, the agent verified that the boy would be traveling to Georgia and booked the ticket.įast-forward a few days. Daniel Patton called American Airlines’ reservations number and told the agent he needed a one-way ticket from Dallas to Columbus, Georgia. American Airlines Sends Unaccompanied Minor To Wrong ColumbusĪ 12-year-old had been visiting his mother in Dallas and it was now time to return to his father in Columbus, Georgia. The incident reminds us that we should not take an agent’s word for something when making a booking over the phone. American Airlines sent an unaccompanied minor to the wrong state after a telephone reservations agent booked the child to Columbus, Ohio instead of Columbus, Georgia.

#Sheraton hotel columbus ohio airport

[lboogie1906]

Daryl "Chill" Mitchell (born July 16, 1965)[is an actor and rapper. He is known for such roles as Dexter Walker on The John Larroquette Show, Tommy Webber in Galaxy Quest, Leo Michaels on Veronica's Closet, Eli Goggins III on Ed, and Patton Plame on NCIS: New Orleans. He was born in The Bronx, to a secretary mother and a bus driver father. He grew up in Wyandanch. After a career in hip hop in the 1980s with Groove B. Chill, he had considerable success as an actor, appearing in House Party and its sequel, Sgt. Bilko, Galaxy Quest, 10 Things I Hate About You, and Veronica's Closet. He has made appearances in the sitcom Becker, and The Game and Desperate Housewives. In 2009, he co-starred in Brothers. In 2018, he joined the cast of Fear the Walking Dead portraying Wendell. He was profiled on TV One's biographical documentary program Life After. He started the Daryl Mitchell Foundation to raise awareness of spinal cord injury and serves as the Minority Outreach spokesman for the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation. He has become a strong advocate for employing actors with disabilities. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence https://www.instagram.com/p/CgEvQEmLeUqLzfhMLqqPBZL8RocrqIeazSQZIw0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[98prilla]

I Won’t Say I’m in Love

I had an idea at 2am that Janus sarcastically asks Roman to marry him during arguments, but each time he asks he means it a little more until he realizes he’s completely in love with Roman, until he can’t stand the rejection anymore and runs away because Roman would never believe him if he admitted his feelings, only for Roman to come after him and propose instead. 

This isn’t quite that, though it is in a similar vein. I started with that idea and it evolved into this. That being said, if anyone wants to take the original idea and run with it, feel free, just remember to tag me!

AO3

...

         The first time he asks, he doesn’t mean it in the slightest. They’re in the middle of an argument, him and Logan against Roman and Patton, Virgil staying out of it, either because he didn’t have an opinion or he didn’t want to get involved.

           “Roman, you’re absolutely charming right now. Won’t you marry me already?” He snaps, breath hissing in and out, and everyone freezes at his comment. Roman’s face has gone red, from anger or embarrassment, he can’t tell, but the longer the silence goes on, the more he feels his own shame at his words burning at his throat. “sorry. That was… out of line.” He mumbles, adjusting his capelet.

           “I apologize, also. You are correct, I have not been my most… chivalrous, this afternoon. Perhaps… perhaps we should all take a break, to calm down. Then we can work out a… compromise?” Roman says, face flushing redder at the question in his voice. The moment is broken by Virgil slow clapping from the stairs.

           “Wooow, both of you apologized and Princey suggested a compromise? It’s a miracle!”

           “Yes, thank you, Virgil. Your sarcasm had been duly noted, and disregarded. Now. Don’t come get me when we’re ready to start over.” He comments, popping back to his room before anyone else has time to comment.

…

         The second time, he’s had a bad day. He feels heavy and disjointed, not all there, not all focused. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he just knows he didn’t sleep well and he can’t seem to get comfortable, so he forces himself out of bed and down the stairs, dragging his blanket behind him, before collapsing on the couch. It’s almost 1pm, far later than his usual first appearance in the commons since the whole wedding debacle, since he was accepted, truly, since he was welcomed.

           He doesn’t remember drifting off, but he shoots awake as he feels a hand on his shoulder, letting out a small groan, having flung his arm over his eyes at some point.

           “What on earth could possibly be important enough to disturb me for, Roman?” he asks, wincing at the pounding that has started near his temple.

           “Are you okay?” He snorts at the question, rolling his eyes as he halfheartedly glares at Roman.

           “Just peachy.” He snarks, and Roman backs away, hands in the air. He can feel Roman’s eyes on him as he left the room, and sinks deeper into the couch. He’s surprised when a moment later, Roman returns from the kitchen, sitting down next to him.

           “Alright. Here you go.” He looks down at the table, a bit confused.

           “What… is this?” Roman looks at him, lip quirked up in a half smile.

           “Well that, is a glass of water. And that is something for the headache you’ve got cooking in your noggin. And those are crackers, since you have not eaten anything all day.” He looks slowly up at Roman, eyes narrowed.

           “I am not sick.” Roman’s eyebrow raises.

           “I did not say that. You, however, just did.” He groans, sinking even further into the blanket, so his eyes are just barely visible.

           “I do not get sick.” He mumbles.

           “Of course not, bananaconda. Now take the medicine.” He sighs, but complies, drinking the rest of the water and nibbling at some crackers as well. He barely notices Roman getting up, coming back a moment later with a Gatorade, and dimming the lights. He breathes a sigh of relief as some of the pain dissipates.

           “God, I could marry you right now.” He mumbles, finding the Gatorade is cold, and he lets Roman rest a cold rag on his forehead.  

           “I think the fever’s getting to your head, Jan.” He doesn’t reply, just hums and closes his eyes, trying to squash down the warm, fuzzy feeling starting to grow in his chest.

…      

         The third time he doesn’t say it. He’s in his room, relaxing in his plush desk chair. He’d been doing a color by number, choosing whatever color he wanted for each number instead of going by the recommended color chart.

           He hears a knock on his door, and gets up, confused when he sees no one there. Then he looks down, and sees a small gift basket, wrapped in a red ribbon with a small card printed with Roman’s logo. He rolls his eyes, and brings it inside, smiling as he unpacks it.

           There’s a collection of lotions, each of which smells deep and heady, just the kind of scent he loves. There’s also a few moisturizing oils, for his scales, which he’s a bit grateful for, he can tell his shed is about to start and making his own was a bit of a hassle. He laughs at the small snake plushie, but drapes it across his bed’s headboard anyway, smiling fondly as he leans against the bed for a moment, before his eyes widen and he nearly slaps himself.

           No. no no no, he cannot do this, he cannot do this to himself, he will not be so stupidly naïve.

           He is not in love with Roman.

…

         The rest come in small moments of delight, of happiness, moments where he forgets to deny himself what he cannot have, when he cannot squash the fondness inside of him, when he forgets to push down the silent, useless emotion he refuses to give credence to.

Playing Mario Kart, and he exploits every loophole and shortcut, strategically laying bananas, somehow always avoiding the blue shell when he is in first, slowing down enough someone passes him and gets hit instead, Roman cursing his skill, every time demanding another round, both of them grinning and sweating by the end of their tournament.

…      

Roman gets up early one morning, makes breakfast. When he comes into the kitchen, Roman slides a plate of waffles, covered in homemade whipped cream and chocolate shavings in front of him, along with a coffee filled with the perfect amount of froth, a heart patterned on it. His own nearly stops, breathless.

            “Morning sleepy serpent.” He mumbles something, heart stopping at how beautiful Roman looks, still in his pajamas, hair sleep mussed, but eyes bright, light from the window shining onto him as he turns back to the stove, flipping pancakes, humming, then singing, belting out showtunes. He catches himself almost sighing at how sweet Roman’s voice is, before he snaps out of his trance, just barely getting his emotions under control as Patton comes barreling down the stairs, summoned by Disney and the smell of pancakes.

…

         It’s a late night, they’ve had a movie marathon and the others all turned in hours ago, giving up one by one, Virgil the latest to leave. He is debating the morals of Disney characters, tearing apart the heroes and defending the villains.

           “How was he to know that toys are alive? He was using his creativity, to combine and make new, original, toys! If he hadn’t been traumatized by Woodie and Co, maybe he would have ended up an engineer instead of a garbage man.”

           “Ugh, fine! You have me on that one. It’s technically Pixar, anyway.” Roman mutters, and he laughs. “Since you concede there, I’ll give you Scar.” Roman looks at him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

           “Seriously? I figured you’d defend him to the death.” He shrugs, yawning.

           “Mostly due to the cut song where he tries to… let’s generously call it ‘woo’, Nala, which is why she leaves to find help in the first place. Plus, he never really wanted change or peace, he just framed his alliance with the hyenas in that manner to gain control. Besides, everyone knows it’s better to be loved than feared. If you really want complete control, make every choice seem like their own, make every action seem benign or like a favor. Get what you want by making it seem like what the people want.” Roman is staring at him, agape, and he flushes.

 He winces, because of course he ruined this, they were having a moment, and he ruined it. “… I’ll give you Ursula, if we’re counting cut scenes. She was technically overthrown and banished by Triton, though she did nothing wrong. Her vengeance is a bit extreme, but she at least had good reason for it, and really only wanted what was always supposed to be hers.” Roman answers after a moment, and he nearly sighs in relief, though he gets the feeling they were both talking about more than just Disney villains.

           He’s absolutely mortified, and not at all the least bit pleased when he’s awoken the next morning by Virgil, smiling smugly at him, having fell asleep, head resting on Roman’s chest, Roman’s arm around his shoulder, a blanket pulled up over the two of them. He certainly strives to make sure it never happens again.

…

He's a mess. A miserable, stupid, mess. He can't stop thinking of Roman, can’t stop striving for his smiles, the soft, fond one he receives in moments of quiet, the bright, mischievous one that brings out his dimples, the small, confused one when he didn’t understand why he was pulling away. His laugh, loud and ringing, the nicknames bestowed upon him at every chance, the small, subtle touches that sent his heart racing and his mind into overdrive and he was burning, aching, from want.

 The desire to run his fingers through Roman's hair, to feel his hands around his waist, to kiss him until they were both silly from it, to say every sweet word and guileless truth about how absolutely perfectly stunning Roman is, to defend him and his ideas, to protect him from his own self doubts and negative thinking, to repair every crack he himself had made in Roman's armor, to apologize a thousand times until the side knew he absolutely truly meant every word of flattery he had ever said.

 He hisses at a knock on his door, drawing back into the shadows. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he doesn’t want to see anyone, he just wants to wallow in his misery until this wrenching heartbreak goes away and leaves him alone! It’s no use, wanting something he can’t have. He won’t lie to himself and say otherwise.

 “Kiddo? You okay?” Patton, who can probably feel his emotional distress from miles away.

 “I'm fine.” He forces out, wrangling his voice into some sense of normalcy, wincing at the acrid lie on his tongue. He can feel Patton's hesitation, but the fatherly figure sighs.

 “Alright. But Jan? If you decide that you’re not fine, you know I’m here for you.” Then Patton walks away, and he’s only mildly surprised to feel wetness dripping down his cheeks.

 “I’m fine.” He whispers, curling in on himself, choking on tears. “I’m perfectly fine.”

…

Day three is when it all falls apart. He hasn’t left his room, he hasn’t moved much from his curled up spot on the floor, and it hurts why does it still hurt?

 He thought if he just stayed away, if he put distance between himself and Roman, if… if he detoxed it would go away, these pesky, useless feelings would go away!

 But they haven’t. They’re still pounding away with every beat of his heart, and he’s half convinced it would be better to just rip the stupid thing out than let it make such a fool of him.

 He knows limits. He understands them, he knows how far he can push the others before they start to break, he knows how much to push to make them give, he knows how far he can push before things start well and truly crumbling to ruin, and he knows, better than any of the others, his own limits.

 He knows what he can and cannot have, he knows how to be selfish without taking too much, and he knows this is something he cannot take, something he will never be given. He’s still the serpent, after all, still the liar, still the deceiver, still the snake in the grass, waiting to strike. He’s said I love you a thousand times to Roman, meant it more and more with each iteration, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Not by Roman, whom he had broken so badly not so long ago, accidently, yes, and he had apologized, but still. He’d known how fragile the ego was, how tightly he was clinging to the final thread, and he’d still cut the strand without a second thought. He’s not to be trusted, least of all by himself, even his own heart has turned against him.

 “Janus? Can I come in?” He freezes at that voice, it makes his stomach sink and his pulse race and he feels a strange sense of vertigo.

 “No.” He says, as deadpan as possible, as much emphasis as he can, and he can almost see the frown on Roman’s face.

 “You haven’t been out in three days. Are you sick again?”

 “I’m fine, Roman, go bother someone else!” He spits out, anger creeping into his voice, because Roman is the source of this festering wound, even if he doesn’t know it. If he’s angry, he won’t be sad, angry he can do, angry he can fake as well as anyone.

 “no you’re not. I’m coming in.” He curses, lunging to his feet, but the door is already open before he has even a hope of locking it, and he and Roman stare at each other for a silent moment, before he looks away, biting his tongue. “Jesus, Jan. What happened to you?” He winces, knowing he must look a mess, knowing his hair is tangled and wild from running his hands through it so often, his face is a mess of dried tears and dark bags, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkled and his normally immaculate room is a bit dusty.

 “Nothing. Now go away.” He demands, turning to stalk to his desk. He feels a hand on his shoulder, warmth blooms down his arm, and he inhales sharply, turning and actually slapping Roman as he stumbles back, barely aware of the tears streaming down his eyes, because this is so goddamn hard. “Don’t. Don’t touch me, Roman.” He spits, venom in his voice, eyes sharp and fangs sharper. He hates this, hates playing this part again, but he needs Roman to leave.  

 “ok. I’m sorry, I should have asked.” He chokes on his bitter laughter because damn it, Roman is the perfect gentleman, isn’t he? He’s stepped back, hands raised in the air, the only thing on his face concern, not anger, or fear, or pain at the handprint still red across his cheek. “please, Janus. I know you’re hurting. I just want to know why, I just want to help.” He laughs this time, a wild, harsh sound.

 “That’s cute, Roman, but this isn’t one of your fairy tale quests where you rescue a damsel in distress. This is real life, with real problems, and maybe, for once, you should let it get through your thick skull that this ISN’T ONE YOU CAN FIX!” He screams, letting his words be cold, letting them be cruel, as he crumples to the floor, heaving, gasping in air through the shaking sobs squeezing tight his chest. “you can’t fix me.” He whispers, not caring if Roman hears, because what’s the point? He’s a pathetic, mewling lump, and surely after that display Roman will leave, warned off by his extremeness.

 “Janus.” He flinches at his name, whispered so softly, so gently, almost holding the thing he wishes more than anything his name would contain, coming from Roman’s lips, but that hope is a lie, a deceitful, monstrous lie, just like the rest of him. “why do you think you’re broken?” He doesn’t answer. He won’t answer, he won’t say it aloud, not now, not when Roman will see how much he actually means it. He squeezes his hands into fists, forcing his chin up, forcing himself to glare at Roman.

 “You should leave. Before I answer that question honestly.” He bares his fangs in a snarl, gold covering his pupils, racing throughout the room, lighting it up with a thousand pretty little lies that echo in Roman’s ears, telling him exactly how worthless and useless and pathetic he is, and he hisses for good measure, standing and sauntering over to Roman, leering at him.

 “I’m the dragon guarding the tower, I’m the hydra fighting Hercules, I’m the snake here to lead you astray, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, I stand against everything you’ve ever believed in, little prince. You’d be so easy to dispose of. Then who could stop me, hmmm? No one. I could kill you right where you stand, and no one would ever know a thing, my greatest performance would be replacing you. Or do you forget what I am, Roman, what I well and truly am?” He stands back, fangs sharp as he grins, letting out a dark, sinister laugh, one that reverberates off the walls, and something is breaking inside him, something is cracking and crumbling and he hates himself, hates every moment, but if Roman hates him, too, then he’ll just go.

 “Janus.” Roman says again, so soft, and his grin falters, his mask slips for a moment before he rights it, scowling as Roman steps forwards, undaunted, something strange in his eyes, something soft and worried. “you don’t have to do this.” He stumbles back at Roman’s words, shaking his head.

 “stop.”

 “I know you’re afraid. That’s why you’re doing this, you’re scared, and that’s ok.” He’s shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to push back the tears.

 “Stop.”

 “I know you don’t mean it, Jan. And I won’t run away just because of a few threats. I want to help you, I want to be there, I want you to trust me enough to tell me what is hurting you so terribly… please.” He feels Roman’s hand on his, and he jerks back, hitting the wall, eyes snapping open, breath coming in short gasps, and he wraps his arms around himself, shaking.

 “STOP IT!” He shouts, voice breaking into a million pieces, and the gold vanishes, his façade crumbling, only raw emotion left in his voice. “Stop caring, stop asking to help, stop acting like you’re my friend, stop being kind, stop being so fucking nice to me, stop getting inside my head, stop making me feel happy being near you, stop sending butterflies winging through my stomach, stop making me smile, stop making me laugh, stop being so fucking incredible that I can’t help but love you!” He screams, jabbing his finger into Roman’s chest with every word, tears falling down his face as he finally says it, all the fight draining out of him as he collapses, empty, caught by Roman, who lowers them both gently to the floor.

 He doesn’t have the will to pull away from Roman’s all encompassing embrace. He doesn’t have the strength left to silence the tears, to force Roman out, to go back to being alone.

 Shame curdles in his stomach as he breathes in Roman’s scent, lilacs and sweet summer breezes, as he melts against Roman’s chest, as his hands fist the fabric of Roman’s shirt and he sobs, hopelessly sobs, because this is an empty victory. Once he manages to pull away, he’ll see the pity and disgust on Roman’s face, and this, this will be well and truly over.

 “I’m s-orry. I’m so, s-so s-sorry, I didn’t mean f-for this to happen, I h-hoped it would just go away but they won’t, and I’m s-sorry…” he gasps, shaking, exhaustion cresting over him, and despite himself the ache is being soothed, because Roman is holding him, and then he just feels sick at his own selfish want.

 “Oh, my little mocking jay, why didn’t you just say something?” He laughs at that, throat raw and scratched.

 “because then you’d know. And it would all be over, anyway. You don’t love me, you could never love me, I’m not nearly good enough for you, I’m not good at all, really. I’m not… I’m not what you want, Roman. I can never be what you want me to be. And I just… I just keep hurting you.” He whispers, heart shattering a little more as Roman pulls back, and he closes his eyes, taking a huge breath in, trying to control the crushing, plunging depths of his despair.

 “Janus. Who says you aren’t already exactly what I want?” His breath catches at Roman’s words, at the tenderness they hold, at the painful hope blooming in his chest. He trembles as he feels Roman rest a hand on his scaled cheek, gently stroking the scales with his thumb.

 “don’t lie to me, Roman. Please, I can’t… it already hurts so much, I can’t listen to you lie to me.”

 “Does it feel like I’m lying, dearest?” It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Slowly, he opens his eyes, meeting Roman’s worried, soft… loving… gaze. “I love you, Janus. You’re funny, and smart, and I love your sarcasm, your half awake morning bedhead, how you gesture when you’re passionate, how all your emotion lives in your eyes.” Roman murmurs, a small, warm smile on his lips as he moves his hand, stroking back a stray piece of hair. “I love you for so many miniscule reasons it would take me a thousand thousand years to list them all. I would have told you sooner, darling, but I didn’t want to pressure you, not while you were still settling in.”

 “Roman…” he says weakly, he’s so flat out tired, so worn down and hollow and empty that he doesn’t even know what to say, what to feel, except this warming in his chest slowly spreading to the rest of him, making him feel lighter than he had in ages.

 “come here, dearest.” Roman says, and he can’t help but collapse into Roman’s lap, letting the creative side pull him close, pressing his head against Roman’s chest, more tears slipping out as he feels Roman gently stroking his back, cradling his head, murmuring soft assurances and words of gentle warmth, and repeated, wonderful, ‘I love you’s’ that ring true every time, and all he can do is keep clinging to Roman, praying he doesn’t wake up from this dream.

 Then Roman tilts his chin up, his pulse jumping at the touch, then Roman’s lips are on his and he melts at the explosion of warmth and color and light sparking in his mind, and he’s pressing forwards, desperate, and Roman is soft and warm and perfect and it’s everything, it’s everything he’s wanted for so, so long now.

 When they finally break apart, he’s breathless and flushed and the broken emptiness is almost gone, almost fully replaced with hope and love and light, and he laughs as Roman sweeps him off his feet, holding him bridal style as he showers his face in small kisses, each one making him flush redder and redder, until he yawns, despite himself.

 “Oh, I’m sorry, are my affections boring you, pretty little liar?” Roman teases, and he grins, nuzzling against Roman’s chest, letting out a soft breath that seems to untie the last lingering knot in his chest.

 “Obviously. What a trial.” He mumbles, feeling Roman stroking his hair again, realizing his eyes have slipped closed.

 “When did you last sleep, mi amor?” He shrugs, he doesn’t know, honestly, and now that Roman is holding him, it’s the only thing his body wants, it takes everything in him not to just fall asleep now. “alright. Let’s get you to bed then. We can talk more in the morning.”  

 “stay. Please.” He asks, nearly begs, eyes flying wide with sudden fear, suddenly sure that if Roman walks out the door, he’ll wake to find he was dreaming, because there’s no way this is real, no way Roman loves him.

 “of course, little hisser. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my beloved alone and unprotected from any foul nightmares that may come his way.” Roman soothes, sliding into bed with him still in his arms, immediately spooning gently around him, and he shifts closer, closing the little space there was left between them, until their legs are entangled and his forehead is resting in the crook of Roman’s shoulder, and Roman’s arms are around him, and he’s still holding tight to Roman’s shirt, feeling him exhale against his cheek.

 “I love you, lovely. Now get some rest.” And finally, he does.

#roman sanders #sympathetic roman #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sanders sides #minor virgil appearance #minor logan appearance #minor patton appearance #pining #self esteem issues #deceit angst #some angst #some fluff #Happy Ending #rociet #roman x deceit #soft boys

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

Current Timeline of ALL Possible & Known Hints about the Orange Side

Notes: This list also includes bonus content. It does not include merch. If it’s not obvious, minor reasoning will be included. If I missed any let me know. This is to recollect on ALL POSSIBLE hints, no matter how stupid, that can point to a orange side in one post so people can see them all in one place and draw educated conclusions.

EDIT: things I missed

1.) The Family Tree

The higher up lines indicate a sibling relationship. This family tree predicted Roman having a twin and it does the same for Patton. Included because next few hints.

1.5) Learning New Things About Ourselves

I didn’t include this fully because it really isn’t a orange side hint. HOWEVER the context is important to another thing on this list and it sets the stage of Logan’s issues.

After Roman calls his clarity stupid, Logan gets angry, crumples a paper, and throws it at his eye.

After his body language is remorseful and scared. He apologizes saying “I don’t know what that was.” It’s also worth nothing this scene inspired many Wrath theories.

2.) Putting Others First Sprites

The thumbnail lets us know there is a whole new unknown side. Worth noting his silhouette somewhat matches Logan’s silhouette.

A orange number that reads “hello” upside down. Worth nothing this appeared in a Patton-centric scene and the backing letters are Logan’s blue.

3.) Patton’s Playlist

The song Oranges by Lawrence is on there. Inclusion is self explanatory. Here are some of the lyrics.

4.) Crofters Musical 2 Fridge

Behind Patton is a drawing, nobody knows what it is for sure (it was debated for a bit with no solid conclusions) besides the fact it’s certainty orange. Might be a hint so it’s on this list.

5.) Working Through Intrusive Thoughts

After trying to reason with Remus to listen only to be ignored, and while Thomas looked at the message that wasn’t replied to, Logan gets angry again. He shouts “Stop ignoring me” and acts scared or surprised after, Remus was not. This is why 1.5 was included, to note parallels.

Finally, after a reassuring “everything is fine :)” from Janus, we see this. The inclusion is obvious, but it is worth noting the two current interpretations of these scenes are that Logan is the Orange Side, or that the Orange Side is acting through Logan.

I would love to know everyone’s thoughts :)

#sanders sides #ts spoilers #ts logan #ts patton #ts roman #ts orange side #Logan sanders #Patton sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides theory #analysis #sanders sides analysis

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 52) [Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb, sexual coercion of minors implied, a minor offering sexual favors

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted (and possibly some future content), look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51

It was Jeffers Deknis’s second busiest time of year right after the fall harvest. However, unlike the fall harvest, not all of his workers were yet at the castle. The winter had been harsh and while the last snowfall had been a month ago, many of his workers whose families lived far from the castle had sent word they would be late arriving for various reasons. A few were dealing with sick relatives and others had to help fix things broken by storms for their families before making the trek. One who lived in the mountains up north was still snowed in.

So, he was dealing with only about 70% of his usual staff, meaning he was even busier than he usually was in the spring.

However, despite how busy he was, he didn’t mind taking a bit of time out of his schedule to help plant a little plot of land he’d reserved for a special selection of plants.

Virgil has spent a lot of time deciding on what plant he wanted to grow in the plot Jerffers had given him. He’d combed through multiple books even though it quickly became clear he couldn’t read well and talked to Jeffers about his options extensively before finally coming to a decision.

He’d decided on a flower called Zygopetalum maculatum which was a type of orchid. It wouldn’t be an easy flower to grow considering they didn’t naturally have the right climate for it, but with a bit of magical fertilizer and ruins in the ground near them, it was feasible.

Since Virgil had chosen his flower, Jeffers had dedicated a bit of his time each day to explaining what they needed to do for it to grow and had set him up with the correct materials. Virgil had spent a good chunk of the last two weeks outside on his marked off plot of land doing as instructed to get the soil in the right condition.

Sometimes Logan and Patton joined him and sometimes he was alone, but he was clearly dedicated to his task. Jeffers had stopped by and tested the soil the day before and found it was adequately prepared for planting Virgil’s flowers and had told the boy as much.

Despite being already very busy, Jeffers had allowed for an hour out of his schedule to help Virgil plant his flowers this afternoon.

Even though Jeffers had told him exactly where in his schedule he’d made time for it, Virgil had come early.

Very early.

He’d stalked Jeffers’ footsteps all day. If the boy were a cat, Jeffers would have assumed he’d accidentally left a slice of meat in his back pocket after breakfast.

Jeffers ended up letting him help with a few other things in the morning which he seemed to enjoy. He seemed to appreciate planting things even if they weren’t his flowers. He was also good at it if a bit slower than necessary in his caution to make sure he didn’t mess anything up.

Jeffers ended up sending Patton to get an extra packed lunch from Helen for Virgil (as people didn’t like when the gardeners tracked mud into the dinning hall) and they ended up eating while sitting on the base of the fountain by the plot of land Virgil had been tending to.

The water in the fountain was now flowing, having recently been cleaned and turned on and birds were chirping in the distance. It was a nice, calming environment. This was why Jeffers liked to spend so much time outside. Or at least, it was one of the reasons.

There was a soft meow from beside them that drew Jeffers’ attention. Jeffers looked down to see one of the castle’s many cats standing on its hind legs with one of its paws on the fountain’s base. It was staring at them expectantly. Jeffers recognized the yellow stripped cat as one of the friendlier ones that Patton had tamed as a kitten. It meowed again when it saw him looking.

“What?” Jeffers asked it, raising one eyebrow. “I know you’re not starving.”

It meowed again in complaint. Then it turned to Virgil. Virgil was instantly tearing off a bit of his chicken sandwich to feed to the cat.

“You don’t need to feed him,” Jeffers said. “Patton takes care of that plenty well.”

Despite what Jeffers had said, the cat gobbled up the piece of chicken Virgil had fed him like he was starving.

“It’s Buttercup,” Virgil informed Jeffers. The name vaguely rang a bell.

“You remember all of Patton’s names for them?” Jeffers asked, honestly impressed. There were so many cats.

Virgil nodded and ripped off another piece of chicken. The cat went flying at it with gusto.

“Keep some for yourself too,” Jeffers said. “You look less fed than the cats.” Thankfully he was looking more fed than he had at the beginning of winter.

“But he’s hungry,” Virgil replied with a frown.

“He’s a glutton is what he is,” Jeffers said. “He’s already had his lunch by now I’d imagine and is more than free to hunt down rodents in the barn if he needs a snack.”

Virgil frowned and gave the cat another piece of chicken.

“You’re too good of a kid,” Jeffers said with an eyeroll.

Virgil just frowned at him and took a bite of his sandwich for himself this time.

“Make sure to eat extra dinner if you’re going to feed the cats your lunch,” Jeffers said. “Though I’m sure Helen will be feeding you extra by default when she hears you’ve been helping me in the garden all day.”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said, stubbornly. He took another bite of his sandwich and fed another to the cat.

Jeffers considered him. ‘Fine,’ was a very vague word and his powers didn’t ping on it as a lie because it could mean a variety of things. He had a feeling Virgil knew that.

Jeffers wasn’t a fool. The kids had been talking around his powers about something all summer, though he couldn’t figure out what exactly it was about. Virgil was almost as good at it as Logan. Maybe he was even better.

“Not hungry enough to eat the entire sandwich by yourself then?” Jeffers asked.

Instead of replying verbally, Virgil just shrugged. Clever little bastard.

Jeffers sighed. Helen had packed some of the canned peaches in their lunches, so Jeffers pulled his out and set the container next to the boy. Virgil looked at the offering in surprise.

“Cats don’t eat peaches,” he cautioned. “It’s bad for their digestion.”

“I don’t need to take your food,” Virgil said with a frown.

“Yeah, you do,” said Jeffers. “I’m and old man, not a growing boy. You should eat them.”

Virgil frowned and looked like he was about to argue.

“Eat your lunch so we can plant your flowers kid,” Jeffers huffed.

Virgil hesitated, but the idea of getting to plant his flowers seemed to trump his desire to argue with Jeffers about lunch and he picked up the dish of peaches.

Jeffers went about finishing what was left of his lunch as Virgil continued to eat his own. The cat ran off when it noticed there was no more meat available.

Jeffers rolled his eyes. The thing was probably running off to go scam more people out of their lunch. Patton had spoiled them far too much and they were too good at making cute starving expressions.

“Alright,” Jeffers said once they were done. “Are you ready to plant your orchids.”

Virgil nodded eagerly and Jeffers packed away their trash before getting up.

“Good,” Jeffers said. “You have all of the supplies I told you we needed gathered?”

Virgil nodded and started to list off everything that Jeffers had said.

“Then, we can get started planting,” Jeffers said with a smile.

Want to read more? Click below!

Birds of Different Feathers Master Post

My Masterpost

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas sanders #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #past torture #captivity

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

Before and After

A/n: I am so sorry for my inactivity. There is just so much right now! Another work that I am not 1000% happy with but its been sitting for to long so its goin out! Thank you @edupunkn00b for the suggestion, you’re one of my favorite writers so I hope you like it <33333

Pairings: Intuloceit (my beloved)

Warnings: curseing, slight innuendo, food, alcohol mention, drunk minor character, and weird formatting :/ (let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 827 (almost as short as my friends)

————————————————————-

The lens fazed in and out of focus before settling on a clear shot of the hall.

Blue, yellow, and green flowers lined the isle. The empty black folding chairs all pointed towards an elevated surface bearing an altar adorned with flowers and ribbons.

“Patton?” a voice called from off-screen. “Yeah, Lo,” Patton called back.

“Mom wants to know where she should put Remus and Janus’ flowers before they get here” Logan, wearing a blue tuxedo holding three bouquets, asked, stepping into frame.

“I don’t know, Roman and Virgil will be heading over to get them so-”

The footage cut off and changed to the floral pattern of someone's shirt. After a minute the shirt wearer moved and the hall returned in view.

Logan stood next to his brother at the altar nervously clutching a green and yellow bouquet. Patton nudged him and smiled.

Janus, in a yellow suit holding green and blue flowers, was halfway up the aisle on the left. He was accompanied by Virgil, wearing a purple dress and holding his arm with a sad smile.

The two stared at each other with heart eyes before Remus appeared from the right, wearing a green dress and holding blue and yellow flowers.

His brother, in red, stood next to him but had chosen not to hold his hand.

They all looked so incredibly in love.

The person marrying them cleared their throat, floral shirt stepped in front of the camera again and the footage changed.

The after-party was decorated in blacks, whites, and grays.

Logan, Janus, and Remus, now newlyweds, stepped onto the dance floor holding hands. With Janus sandwiched between Remus and Logan they began the first dance.

No children by the mountain goats played behind them. (the song I want at my wedding lol)

Remus, ever entertained, started laughing, Janus and Logan tried to contain their laughter but quickly succumbed to the giggles. The dancing stopped and the grooms caught their breath.

Janus grabbed Logan's hand and spun him as the chorus began.

The footage changed.

A drunk Virgill stood on a platform.

Janus sat just on screen, his face a bright red. “-and that is how Remus and Janus met. Janus didn’t want me to tell that story, but it's his wedding, I get to be mean” Virgil lifted his glass, “to a good beginning and an even better end”

Off-screen, Remus whooped as the crowd toasted them. Roman stepped onto the platform.

“Well that was an interesting story Virgil will most definitely regret telling later” the crowded chuckled, “But moving on, Congrats Remus, you have officially beat me at getting married”

“Hell yeah, I did!” Remus yelled from offscreen. Roman rolled his eyes, “yeah he’s gonna hold that over me until the day I die”

“Well got on proposing to emo-man and I might not” Roman turned bright red, “Remus!”

The footage changed.

Logan stood with an evil grin and a fist full of cake.

Remus was covered in cake and had taken to licking it off his dress. Janus was trying to stay cleaner, dodging the chunks of cake launched at him from both his partners.

“aaAAGG” Logan cried, the camera swiveled back to him. A cupcake had been squished into his hair, Patton stood behind him with an innocent smile and icing on his hands.

Logan grabbed a fistful of cake and smeared it on Patton’s face.

Patton squealed and the footage changed.

“-mus put me down this is highly un- REMUS” Remus burst out of the front door carrying Logan bridal style. Janus trailed behind laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.

He threw Logan into the car, gesturing for Janus to hurry up, and slammed the door behind them.

The screen went dark.

Remy stared at the black square with wide eyes, “That was what your wedding was like”

Logan nodded, “yes, it was… a lot of fun,” he said with a smile.

Janus snorted, “that’s one way of putting it. I’m just glad we didn’t get Virgil’s speech on record. I might have died”

Their ten year old son wiped around, “well now I got to know.” Logan laughed, “you don’t have to know anything. I’m going to go get dinner started, help me ‘mus?”

Remus hopped up from his seat on top of Janus, “yep!” and in a stage whisper he said, “I’ll tell you about it later”

“You most certainly will not!!!” Janus cried racing after his husbands, “and I won't let Virgil tell him either”

Remy stared after his parents, even after 13 years of marriage they still looked at each other with as much love as they did on their wedding day… and as much annoyance.

He wanted his wedding to go the same way.

#intruloceit #ts intruloceit #loceit #ts Loceit #intrulogical #ts intrulogical #sanders sides #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts logan #ts patton #patton sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #remy sanders #ts remus #Janus sanders #ts janus #dukeceit #ts dukeceit #remus x logan x janus #ts prinxiety #prinxiety #kid!remy #sander sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mind of a Child

Prompt: Ok so to make for all the Roman Angst I've requested heres some minor angst/fluff. Again I apologise for all the Roman Angst I've been requesting. Prompt: Roman was a mess. You see there's something that happens to sides if they reach a breaking point that they can't handle. Logan was lucky he finally realized it was time to talk about his feelings and look after himself after the wedding but Roman didn't. So after he sinks out from that awful conversation he finds himself beginning to feel really dizzy and as if he's getting younger and smaller. The next morning when Patton and Janus go to find Roman and comfort him they don't expect to see a five year old curled up in an oversized prince costume terrified to death. So there's only one solution to show how much all the sides value and care for their little Prince, help him destress and look after himself. - meltheromanstan

Fluff and angst time, m'dudes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, but it all gets cuddled better

Pairings: found family ain't going anywhere

Word Count: 6047

He wants to go back to the way it was.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

He wants to go back to the way it was.

Roman sinks out and lands hard in his room, bashing his knee against the wall as he crumples to the floor. His hair protests as he tangles his hands in the strands and yanks, trying to think. He lies on the ground, frantically breathing but his lungs won’t inflate properly and his nose starts to burn. He feels nauseous. Is he sick? He turns on his back and it goes away. Humming. You’re supposed to hum when you feel like this. He starts humming something, some parody song that’s stuck in his head. The twitching in his gullet starts to recede only to be replaced by dizziness. Why is he dizzy? He’s on the floor.

His hands flop limply out to the side as he turns back and forth, trying to make sure that he can breathe, that it won’t hurt, what’s happening to him?

A small voice that sounds like a demented version of Remus—a more demented version of Remus—whispers that he deserves this.

But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore and he’s so tired and he just wants things to go back to the way they were.

When there wasn’t so much to worry about aside from making sure Thomas was happy and that he could dream.

When all he had to think about was not hurting Thomas with his dreams and making them good dreams.

When heroes were good and villains were bad and that was it.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

The lights in his room are too bright. It hurts to keep looking up. So he won’t. He closes his eyes and the dizziness abates, just slightly. He lies on the floor, the cool wood pressing into his back. He lets his head flop from one side to the other. It’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s so loud. It’s so much. He wants someone here with him. He just wants to be told it’s okay. But it isn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time.

He wants it to be okay again.

————————

The Mindscape is quiet. Hardly anyone makes a noise as they move about the rooms, some still too on edge to start making peace, some too nervous about sparking another disaster, some too confused to try and navigate the minefield they’ve all found themselves in.

But everything has to start somewhere.

Patton and Janus are the only two on…pretty much alright terms when the morning comes. Virgil is locked in his room. Remus’s brand of chaos is nothing helpful right now. So the two of them take a deep breath and go try to find Roman.

Patton took far too long to put the words to it and Janus would never admit it, but when Roman isn’t around, or when he’s not talking, it’s much harder to cut through the monotony of silence. For better or worse, the prince is impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore. And yes, maybe that has to do in part with how Creativity and the Mindscape work together, not to mention the manifestation of the Sides, but Roman is Roman. And if they’re going to start making any progress on getting back on their feet and getting back to normal, they need to get Roman back.

Patton probably thought that Roman would be easy to apologize to. Not just because it’s worked in the past—although Janus would hiss if he said that wasn’t part of it—but because he knows he’s the one who messed up. Roman likes sincerity, Patton knows what things went wrong, he knows he’s at fault here, a lot, and it won’t be as easy as one apology and everything will be fixed, but it would be a good start.

Janus knows Roman. For better or worse, he knows Roman. Knows what buttons to push, knows when not to push them—or so he thought—and knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do what Patton can’t. Cite the good of the others, the good of Thomas, possibly even the good of Roman if he’s that stubborn. Or he’s a convenient punching bag if Roman needs to lash out before he can start putting the pieces back together if it needs to come to that.

But that’s not what happens.

What happens is Patton knocks lightly on the door and asks if Roman would let them come in. There’s no response. Janus speaks up, says he knows Roman is in there, please, they do just want to talk. Patton sets his hand on the door, just to rest there, maybe coax Roman to come to open it, when it swings open.

Their mouths run dry as it opens fully to reveal Roman’s costume on the floor in a heap.

And no Roman.

Janus muffles a curse and turns in a swirl of black fabric as Patton rushes inside, dropping to his knees by the abandoned costume and searching frantically for any sign of Roman.

What he finds makes him gasp.

Janus whirls around as quickly as he’d turned away to see Patton there, kneeling on the ground next to a tiny child clutching Roman’s sash like a red blanket.

“H-hey, kiddo,” Patton says carefully, trying to regain his composure, “what are you doing here?”

The child shuffles. “It’s my room.”

“This is Roman’s room,” Patton says as Janus carefully closes the door.

The child nods, rubbing the sash across his chin. Patton’s brows furrow as he watches the child’s gaze dart to Janus and back, then to Patton’s hands on his knees. He looks back up at Patton and clutches the sash tighter.

“Do you know where Roman is, kiddo?” The child nods but doesn’t make eye contact. “Can you tell me where?”

The child nods again but doesn’t say anything. The tip of Janus’s tongue starts to tingle. His eyes widen and he starts to walk over, raising his hands when the child’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down to make himself a little smaller, “I’m just coming over to you.”

The child stays very still as Janus crouches down beside Patton. Janus tilts his head back and forth as he considers the way the child clings to the sash, the way he seems to be somewhat engulfed in the remains of the costume, and the way he keeps looking fearfully between Janus and Patton.

“…Roman?”

Roman’s gaze turns to him and Janus could cry.

“Wait—Roman?” Patton gasps and his hands fly to cover his mouth. “Oh, kiddo, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Janus warns under his breath as they watch poor Roman flinch a little. Patton takes a deep breath and softens his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.”

Roman’s grip on the sash doesn’t waver but his eyes lose a little bit of their frightful sheen. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Janus takes off his glove, ignoring Patton’s look and—perhaps—the fact that Roman might not remember what this means. “I promise too.”

Roman looks back and forth between them. “…okay.”

Patton smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He does have to restrain himself from reaching and pulling the cute little prince into his lap but Roman’s normally defined face is now all chubby cheeks and puppy dog eyes and—no. No.

“Are you okay, kiddo,” he asks instead, still careful to keep his voice soft, “are you hurt at all?”

Roman shakes his head, still clutching the sash.

“What about in here,” Janus asks, laying his hand on his head, then his chest, “or here?”

Before Roman can answer, however, his stomach growls loudly. Janus chuckles.

“That’s enough of an answer for me. Shall we get you something to eat, little prince?”

Roman shakes his head so hard he almost knocks himself over. “Not a prince!”

They both freeze.

Not…not a prince?

Roman is The Prince. He’s Princey. The Prince of Thomas’s Dreams.

“What do you mean, ‘not a prince,’ kiddo?”

“Not a prince,” Roman insists, staring at the ground, “couldn’t—I couldn’t be a prince so…I had to start over.”

Something tugs at a dark place in their chests. Patton glances at Janus. Janus shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, then, Roman,” he says instead, “but can we get you something to eat?”

Roman glances around at the mess of the costume around him. “Clothes?”

“I’m sure someone as creative as you can make as many clothes as you like,” Janus smiles, watching carefully to see Roman’s reaction.

Roman looks at Patton. “What do I make?”

Patton’s smile slips a bit. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Roman frowns. “But what do I make?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to tell me.”

Oh. Oh, dear. Patton’s smile fades, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of what’s going on. “You don’t need my permission, kiddo,” he says firmly, leaning down a little so Roman’s eye level is the same as his, “you are allowed to make what you want to make. What makes you happy.”

“What is that?”

Patton is going to cry.

“Why don’t you make what you think would be the most comfortable,” Janus tries, shooting a glance at Patton and laying a hand on his arm, “maybe to go downstairs and get something to eat in?”

Roman thinks for a moment, then he rubs the sash against his cheek and a t-shirt and shorts appear. But they aren’t red. They’re just grey. Janus smiles and stands.

“There you go,” he says, “well done.”

And oh, if the way Roman’s head jerks up in a quick moment of shameless eagerness doesn’t make that smile a little more sincere. He holds out a hand to the little one and Roman takes it, standing slowly as they begin to lead him out of his room.

“What would you like to eat,” Patton asks as they get Roman sat down, “how hungry are you?”

“What can I have?”

“Well,” Patton says as he starts to open and close cabinets, “we’ve got pasta if you want a full dinner, we’ve got crackers, cereal, pretzels, fruit, quite a lot of options.”

“…can I have pretzels, please?”

“One bowl of pretzels coming right up!”

Janus sits next to him as Roman begins to eat the pretzels. Patton comes to join them, sitting a little further away as to not crowd the poor kiddo. He exchanges a look with Janus as Roman continues to eat.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Janus looks up just as Virgil and Logan come down into the living room, talking between themselves. They trail off as they notice Janus staring at them.

“Can we help you?” Then Virgil’s eyes land on Roman. “Holy—“

He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Janus. Janus raises an eyebrow and slowly lets him go.

“Rude.”

“But necessary,” Janus says, folding his hands and drawing himself up. Virgil gives him a strange look but refocuses on Roman.

“So…who’s the kid?”

“I believe,” Logan says softly, the way Roman hasn’t looked up at them once and instead continues to eat pretzels almost mechanically not escaping him, “this is Roman.”

At the mention of his name, Roman looks up slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze with more than enough trepidation to set Virgil’s fingers buzzing. Logan tilts his head and waves a little. Roman just stares at him.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says, still in that very soft voice, “it’s good to see you.”

Roman waves back. Then he glances down at the bowl of pretzels and twists his hands together.

“Are you full, kiddo?” Patton takes the bowl when Roman nods. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Roman glances around, shifting a little in his grey t-shirt. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course you can,” Janus says, “would you like one of us to come with you?”

Roman shakes his head quickly. A little too quickly. But he’s been given permission to leave so he scoots off the chair and all but scrambles up the stairs. Logan watches him go, concern written over his features. Virgil waits to hear the soft click of his door shutting before rounding on the others.

“Why the hell is Princey a child?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Patton sighs, stretching a little and rubbing his face, “Janus and I just went up to try and talk to him and found him like that.”

“So it didn’t happen after the wedding?”

They wince and Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I may not have been there, but I know what happened. And no,” he says, raising his voice a little when both Patton and Janus try to say something, “I’m not interested in your excuses. But if you’re gonna try and tell me you don’t think it’s related I will throw a chair at your head.”

Patton bows his head, twisting his hands together in his lap as shame and guilt color his face. “He…he said something.”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t be a prince,” Janus finishes, looking at the table, “and that he had to start over.”

Fuck.

“A-and he felt like he needed my permission for…everything,” Patton continues, “and Virgil, he looked so scared.”

“Of course he did.”

They turn to look at Logan, still staring up the stairs with gentle concern on his features. Virgil pokes his arm when he doesn’t continue right away.

“Roman’s sudden de-aging is likely due to stress,” he explains, looking back at them, “and thus the initial mindset he had when he regained consciousness as a child was fear. Fear of not knowing what to do or of doing something wrong.”

Patton gulps. Virgil shoots him a soft look and he nods slowly. “I…we were going to talk to him. We…I have been putting pressure on Roman since…it’s been a long time.”

“I think we all have.” Virgil’s gaze darts to Janus who is still all drawn up and inspecting his glove. “And you can turn that off, please.”

Janus sighs and Logan has to blink at how much his character shifts. Janus tugs nervously on his glove and straightens his hat.

“Roman is incredibly fragile right now and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keeping that off around him is probably a good start.”

“We will need to ask Roman how much he remembers.” Logan adjusts his tie. “What he does remember will dictate how we need to help him.”

“Praise and reassurance.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Janus who shuffles under his gaze.

“Praise and reassurance,” he repeats, tugging on his glove again, “he…he likes having a sense of structure. To know he’s doing something right.”

The regretful undertone to the words tells them all exactly how he knows that.

“We cannot let him believe that we are only behaving this way toward him because we believe he needs to be fixed,” Logan says firmly, “because that isn’t true. If this is a result of Roman feeling…unloved, then we must show him that he is.”

The word ‘unloved’ gets stuck in his throat and he clears it. Around him, the others are showing similar signs of discomfort.

Roman…their Roman. The idea that he wouldn’t feel loved—that he doesn’t feel loved sits strangely. Like a puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit, even though it has to go there.

While this lovely conversation is happening, of course, they’ve forgotten that there’s someone else who’s noticed the absence of a singing prince.

Remus doesn’t bother entering his brother’s room the normal way, instead sinking straight through the ceiling, fully intending to drive his elbow into Roman’s stomach.

What happens instead is he lands on Roman’s mattress with a dissatisfying thump as a tiny thing squeaks and scurries under the desk.

Remus sits up, frowning at the trembling figure underneath Roman’s desk and peers closer. Did Roman make a new pet for them to join on adventures? Is this one of the villagers that got too hurt and needed to be brought back here to recover?

Only when he sees the eyes peering shakily out at him do his own widen in realization.

“Roro?”

“R-Remus? Re?” And fuck, yeah, that’s Roman’s little head poking out from under there as he scrambles out. “Re? Are—are you back?”

Remus blinks. “Sure, Ro-Bro, I’m back, what—oof!”

A pint-sized pugilist rams itself into Remus’s stomach and knocks him backward onto the bed as his arms instinctively fly around the mass. He looks down, panting, only to see little Roro shaking with the effort of holding onto Remus as tightly as he can. His ribs are starting to protest when Roman turns his head and a cold nose tucks itself right into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, hey, Roro,” Remus croaks, clumsily petting Roman’s head, “you’re okay. I’m right here, you got me good, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You—they said you were never coming back—everyone hated you, I—they made me say I didn’t like you—they said I was you but they don’t like you and I—I’m sorry—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your rolls and buns there, Roro, take in some oxygen before you pass out on me.” Remus wraps his arms gently but firmly around his now-panicking little bother—brother, pulling him securely into his lap. He has to pry Roman’s grip off of him a little but quickly reattaches the little limpet. “There you go, see? You got me! I’m trapped! I can’t go anywhere!”

His jokes don’t seem to work. If anything, Roman clutches him tighter, trembling in his hold.

“You gotta breathe for me, Ro-Bro, come on…in and out, you can do it.” Remus starts to take big slow breaths, feeling Roman start to copy him. “There you go, Roro. Just like that.”

Little Roman dissolves into a shaking and trembling puddle, cold nose buried in the crook of Remus’s neck as hot tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’re those for? You’re safe, Roro, I gotcha, you got me, we got each other. We’re not playing right now, I’m not trapping you, what’s up?”

“Y-you’re—you’re back,” Roman wails, “you’re back, you’re back, don’t go—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Roro, I promise.” He gives Roman a light squeeze. “I’ve gotcha.”

Remus is very glad he actually washed his hands this morning as he begins to wipe away Roman’s tears. His hands are damp within moments but he keeps going, letting the little limpet wipe his nose on his costume and not giving a single flying fuck. Roman’s red nose keeps sniffling so Remus lays back against some of the pillows, heaving the little beast on top of him to have him settle down. Roman does, eventually, slumping into a sprawl all over Remus’s chest. Remus rubs his little brother’s back and nuzzles the top of his head.

“D’you want to tell me what this is all about, Roro?”

Roman mumbles.

“I can’t hear you, Ro-Bro, you gotta speak up.”

He can feel Roman’s throat work against him. “I couldn’t be the prince so I had to start over. Couldn’t—couldn’t do it right.”

“Do what right, Roman,” Remus asks, slowly tightening his grip on his brother again, “what couldn’t you do?”

“Kept messing up. Messed everything up.” Roman’s voice starts to choke off again. “Had—hadda make it right. Wanted to go back to—to—to—when it was okay.”

‘Okay.’

Yeah, nothing about this is ‘okay’ right now.

“Well,” Remus says, resolutely ignoring that for the time being, “why don’t we do something fun?”

Roman nods eagerly, pushing himself up so fast his hands slip and he falls face-first down on Remus’s chest again. Remus chuckles and helps him sit up.

“Wanna go into the Imagination?”

Roman’s smile falters. “We need permission.”

“No we don’t, we’re Creativity. That’s our domain. We run it, we decide when we get to go in!”

But Roman shakes his head stubbornly. “N-no, we—we have to ask first. And I don’t want you to get in trouble f-for me.”

“They can try and make me be in trouble,” Remus sniffs, “but it won’t go well for them.”

Roman looks up at him, expression changing as he slowly reaches up to cup his hands around Remus’s face. “I wanna be like you.”

Remus’s chest clenches. “You want my mustache?”

Roman makes a face. “No. I want—I want to be as sure as you are that nothing bad can happen. I want that.”

Ah, fuck. They had a joke going when they were—well, when both of them were smaller that Roman got the Ego, Remus got the Pride. He never—well, kids hold ideas and let them go. He tossed that one over his shoulder a long time ago. Roman, it seems, never did.

“Hey,” Remus says instead, reaching to cup Roman’s face in his hands, “you’ve got it, Roro. It’s yours too. You just gotta look for it.”

“But that’s hard.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he says, fighting back a joke that he knows Roman won’t understand.

“…you’re really smart, Re.”

“Well—“ he chucks him lightly under the chin— “you’re the one that taught me that.”

Roman’s little face smiles and oh, Remus could rip his fucking thumbs off.

“If you don’t want to go into the Imagination we could always do something here.” Remus jumps off the bed and starts rifling through his ideas. Well, most of them aren’t…something he would do when Roman is this small. “…paint?”

There it is. Roman’s face lights up and he scrambles off the bed to join Remus. “Painting? Can we paint together?”

“Sure. One big canvas, let’s see, you wanna help make it?” They put their hands together and slowly draw a big rectangle in the middle of Roman’s room. “Good job, Ro-Bro, it’s just the right size.”

His brother almost glows at the praise. “Now all we need is—“

“Paint!”

They both turn to each other with their hands full of it. Roman has several bottles clutched in his little hands and Remus is juggling an armful of tubes. They drop them all over the floor and Remus rubs his hands together.

“What’re we gonna paint?”

“The canvas!”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Remus’s jaw drops open when Roman just pours paint onto his hand and smears it across the canvas— “whoa.”

Wrong reaction to have. But the second he sees Roman’s brilliant grin start to fade, he jumps straight on the fuck-that train and grabs another bottle. Soon they’re smearing paint all over the canvas. They end up creating a pretty good gradient of pinks and blues and reds and oranges and yellows. Then Remus grabs a green tube and just squirts it right onto the canvas.

“Hey!” Roman rubs his cheek. “You got paint on me!”

“I think you got paint on you.” Because when your brushes are your hands and you rub your face, paint goes onto your face.

“It was green! You put the green on me!”

Remus grins, bending closer and pretending to examine Roman’s cheek. “I dunno, Roro, I can’t see any green on there.”

Roman grabs a tube of red paint—

“Whoa, hey, there—“

—and squirts it onto the canvas. But mostly Remus.

“Oh, that’s it.”

The two of them spend the rest of the time splashing paint around, not caring about whether it gets on the actual canvas or the canvases they’ve made out of each other. Remus ends up with red splattered across his sash—not a bad look—and a bright blue handprint on his chest. Roman ends up with some green in his hair and streaks of purple down his arms. They’re laughing too hard to be spiteful about it as they chase each other around the canvas, each trying to get their hands on the other first.

If Roman never sees the others opening his door a crack, only to smile and leave them be when they see Remus and the paint with him, it’s perfectly fine.

Remus ends up using his size to his advantage and scooping the little monster up into his arms. He spins him around, laughing maniacally as Roman shrieks and squeals. He holds onto his brother’s arms, head thrown back as they whirl there.

“I win,” Remus pronounces as he sets Roman—carefully!—back down, “you lose.”

Roman giggles, reaching up to poke Remus’s nose with a bright red finger. “No, I win!”

“We both win.” Remus shakes his head only for some of his hair to stand straight on end—the only straight thing in this room—from the paint. “Uh…we should wash this off.”

Roman examines his paint-colored self, his gray shirt and shorts now absolutely awash with rainbow. “Yeah, probably.”

Remus looks at him and gently touches the fabric with his fingers. Roman’s eyes widen as the fabric changes from having paint on it to the colors being part of the fabric itself.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

Remus chuckles. “You’re welcome, Roro. Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re gonna get hungry in a little bit.”

They make their way to the shower where Remus gets them out of their paint-covered clothes and squeaky clean. Roman’s eyes start to droop as Remus massages the shampoo into his hair.

“You can close your eyes, Ro-Bro, I gotcha.”

And if little Roman is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to put on pajamas after they get out of the shower, then Remus will happily carry him to bed. Of course the little limpet decides to latch onto him but there are worse fates. He resigns himself to being a personal pillow and stretches out, rubbing Roman’s back to help soothe him to sleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Logan eases it open. Remus has a quip on the tip of his tongue at the way the nerd’s expression melts at the sight of little Roro.

“Asleep, then?”

“Mhm.”

Logan glances at their painting. “I must say…it’s spectacular.”

Remus looks at the painting. An abstract swirl of colors and splatters that looks like the perfect chaotic nonsense. He’s more proud of it than expected too.

“He seems happy,” comes Logan’s soft voice, calling his attention back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “or…happier.”

Remus runs a protective hand down Roman’s back. “He said he missed me.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that…being suddenly reverted to an age where you two were together would—“

“No,” he says firmly, “he missed me. When he was big too, Lolo.”

Logan winces. “Oh, dear.”

“Has he told you why this…happened?”

“Not me explicitly, no.” Logan looks up and waits. “Did…did he tell you?”

“He said he wanted to go back to when everything was okay.”

Logan’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh, dear. “He…the last time he was okay…”

Remus’s sharp nod only confirms it. Logan lets out a breath as Roman’s hands twitch in his sleep. Unbidden, the impulse to reach out and squeeze comfortingly rises up sudden and sharp and he reaches out, covering the little one’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” Remus whispers, “when—when they took us away, they—they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to me, but—but not my brother.”

“Never again,” Logan promises low in his throat, touched by Remus’s sudden display of vulnerability, “you won’t be separated.”

Quite frankly, as he watches Remus tighten his grip on Roman, he’d like to see the others try.

As it turns out, that isn’t anywhere near their realm of possibility. When Roman wakes a little while later to them talking quietly with a rumble in his stomach, Remus carries him downstairs as Patton starts making dinner. Logan has to hide a smile at the way Virgil mouths ‘oh my god’ and Janus stuffs his fist up to his mouth to hide the coo. Patton clumsily answers Remus’s question about whose night it is to help—his—and gently asks Roman if he can set him down.

“You won’t go far?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Here,” Virgil calls, holding out his arms, “I’m the softest thing in this room. Give him to me.”

He’s gonna regret that later but not right now. Not when little Princey is deposited into his lap and promptly snuggles right up to his chest and sighs. Virgil wraps his arms around little Roman and sits back against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as his breath warms the top of Roman’s head.

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, Princey?” Virgil winces when Roman tenses. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. What is it, Roman?”

Roman’s hands clench and unclench in his hoodie. “Do…do you miss the other me?”

Well. Don’t start off easy or anything, kid.

Does he?

He’s gonna be honest, he does miss Roman. Misses the banter, misses the confidence, misses the warmth of walking into a room and seeing Roman there. He misses the feeling that Roman would always come up with something, even when things seemed hopeless he would be there to try.

But even though he’s had this Roman for two minutes, he already knows he’d miss him like a lost limb. This Roman, who is all clumsy affection and easy smiles and soft cuddles.

“I miss him,” he decides on eventually, “but you’re my Roman too.”

Roman’s little face is too cute. It’s illegal. Who allowed this?

“Your Roman?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, giving the boy’s hair a gentle tug, “you’re our Roman.”

Roman’s hands tug gently again. “E-even if I’m not a prince?”

Ah. Virgil sits up a little and pulls Roman into his lap properly. “You were our prince because we thought that was what you wanted to be.”

“Even if I wasn’t good at it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Virgil swallows the curses and pulls Roman into a tight hug, muttering into his shoulder.

“You were good at it, Roman,” he mumbles, “you were the best prince. You were the best prince because you were our prince. And you were our prince because you were Roman first.”

He can feel Roman’s jumpy little breaths before he’s hugged with a ferocity that takes him by surprise. But he’s not complaining.

“So I can be a prince?”

“If you want to be.”

There’s a pause during which Virgil pointedly does not make eye contact with Janus, before Roman speaks again.

“…I, uh, I think I’d be okay with the nickname, then.”

“Princey?” Roman nods and Virgil grins. “Okay, Princey.”

When he pulls back, there’s a little smile on Roman’s face that stays throughout dinner.

“Well,” Patton says as they start to clear the dishes away, “I’d say it’s a good night for a cuddle pile, wouldn’t you?”

“A splendid idea.” Logan closes the dishwasher. “Down here?”

“Might as well.” They start to organize, Logan directing the creation of the mattress and pillows, Patton and Virgil moving the blankets. Roman looks around for a moment, waiting, before Janus beckons him over to the last of the fading sunlight by the window.

“We,” he says gently as he coaxes Roman to lie down, “have the most important job.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re the ones that get tired first.” To prove a point, Janus lets himself yawn, big and wide. Sure enough, little Roman yawns too. “When Logan tells us all where to go, it’s our job to start being tired so the others have an easier way of settling.”

“That sounds like we have an excuse to fall asleep.”

“That too.”

Roman giggles and it makes Janus’s chest feel light.

“Come here, little prince,” he murmurs, opening his many arms to gather the little one to his chest, “there you are. You look tired, go ahead and close your eyes, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts a little in his grip. “…Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are…are you gonna take care of me?”

Janus pulls back a little, enough to cup Roman’s face in his hand. “Of course, sweetie, I will always take care of you.”

“N-no matter what?”

“No matter what.” He leans down to gently knock his forehead against Roman’s and press a chaste kiss there. “I’ve got you, little prince.”

The weight of the acts gone without acquittance sit heavily in his stomach, but with Roman cradled tenderly in his embrace, they start to get a little more bearable.

“Come on, cuddle bugs,” Patton calls, hands stroking gently through their hair, “let’s get you onto the mattress.”

Janus uncurls first, only for Roman to blink sleepily up at him.

“Do you need to be carried, sweetie? Is that it, little prince?”

Roman nods and blearily holds up his arms, letting out another squeaky yawn. He makes a few grabbing motions at Logan as he adjusts the last pillow.

“Ah, come here, little one,” Logan murmurs, picking him up, “let’s lie you down, shall we?”

The others join them in their pajamas, Roman’s head in Logan’s lap as he sits against the foot of the couch. Logan’s hand tangles in his hair, nails dancing over his scalp to encourage him to sleep.

“You’re safe, little one,” he promises, “just close your eyes. We’ll be right here for you when you wake up.”

Roman blinks up at him lazily, eyes wet with sleep as he nuzzles into Logan’s stomach. Logan keeps up the soothing rhythm of fingers in his hair, nails across his scalp, until the little one yawns away and closes his eyes. Only when sleep begins to call to him too do they shift, one of Roman’s hands on his chest, the other in Remus’s shirt as his head tucks into the crook of Logan’s shoulder.

The little prince falls asleep, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

————————

Roman blinks awake.

His ceiling doesn’t look like his ceiling and there’s a weight on his stomach that definitely isn’t a pillow. He cranes his head up to look around and his mouth drops open when he sees a slumbering Virgil lying with one arm around him. He turns his head a little more and comes face to face with Logan’s sleeping visage. Remus’s whistling snores are in his ear.

He risks sitting up a little farther, only to see Patton and Janus at the edge of the frankly giant mattress they’ve seem to set up on the floor of the living room. The two of them are almost protectively positioned, guarding the rest of them from whatever would plague them in the night.

His head is a little fuzzy and he can’t remember much of how they got here. Flashes come to him. Pretzels, paint, something about the word ‘prince.’

But, right now, with Logan’s chest rising and falling as Janus mumbles something in his sleep, he can’t be too bothered to worry about it.

Roman settles back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes. As he drifts off to sleep, a small smile touches the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, he feels okay.

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