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narukoibito · 4 years

Text

charity work bonus snippet

@the-hinny-shipper

Oh my gosh I love this. Probably not, but is there like a part 2 or something? I know that's meant to be the end, but I need to know what happens next.

Thank you so much for the kind words to charity work, my Muggle AU where Ginny is a famous football player who helps Harry teepee and egg his ex’s house! ♥️

I am actually working on a part 2. Harry and Ginny of this world just couldn’t stop chattering in my head, and there’s about 2.5k words thus far. I know what’s going to happen - I just need to write, edit, and pull the trigger and post it...

But in the meantime, I am sharing a funny little subplot that I wasn’t sure was ever going to see the light of day. It’s a bit of a prequel that I started but then dropped because it didn’t add much to the story...but today I thought, eh, why not share since we can all use some laughs now more than ever. It’s unbetaed, and I’m still iffy on it, but I hope you this will tide you over until I get part 2 posted.

(Also tagging the lovely @isidar-mithrim and @blattgefluester in case you are interested since you were both so amazingly kind toward charity work!)

Summary: This wasn’t what Seamus had in mind when he suggested Ginny do more charity work.

The Prophet landing on the table with a loud thud.

“What’s this?”

“This, Ginny, is the result of your spectacular interview with Miss Rita Skeeter.”

Ginny lifted her chin, pushing the paper away from her and returning to shoveling her porridge down. “So it’s the usual rubbish.”

Seamus pursed his lips, annoyed that once again she wasn’t taking this seriously. “Rubbish it may be, but rubbish that sells.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So are you here as my publicist or as a friend?”

“Can’t I be both?” He grinned.

She prodded the offensive article with distaste. “What do they say this time?”

“Well, Miss Skeeter took it upon herself to approach all your exes for an ‘expose.’”

“I like to kick a ball for a living. I don’t understand the obsession with my love life.”

“The all-star player who went pro at your age with your looks?” Seamus winked. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Don’t let Dean catch you doing that.”

“He knows I’m a hopeless flirt,” he dismissed cheerfully.

She made a strangled, irritated noise.

“Look, it’s not too bad.” He unfurling the paper with a wince. The headliner, Wonder Girl Weasley Not So Wonderful Girlfriend?, paired with an unflattering photo of Ginny shoving a camera away from her face flashed back at her. “She found some, er, old classmates to go on the record.”

Ginny’s expression darkened. “Record about what?”

“You remember when you stopped people from bullying Luna? And Neville? And when Dean and I got together? Well, somehow Skeeter got in touch with Parkinson, Zabini, Smith... Skeeter may or may not insinuate that you’re…aggressive. Have a bit of a temper.”

Ginny grabbed the paper and began reading loudly, “Since the early days of her youth, Ginevra Molly Weasley, better known as Ginny, the Wonder Girl Weasley, has been bewitching men to do her bidding. We here at The Prophet have long extolled the many virtues of Miss Weasley, but I, your fearless investigator of truth, uncovered a disturbing pattern in how Miss Weasley wraps men around her little finger. What others thought was wit and charm, I have uncovered may actually be the result of a threatening temper. I dare to ask, should we be concerned with Miss Weasley’s trail of broken hearts and perhaps other broken body parts?”

He bit his tongue as Ginny read the part where Rita expounded on Ginny’s "commoner” country-side upbringing” surrounded by her “rowdy” brothers as the source of her “violent streak.”

“I only punched Parkinson once, and that was when she poured punch on Luna!” Ginny scrunched up the newspaper and flung it angrily into the bin. “She goes on about some weird sorcery I have with men.”

“Look, I’ve already called Parvati about getting you on some morning shows, but maybe this time we can agree on some talking points, hmm? And maybe have you do some charity work, show your gentle, caring side. Get some positive press coverage.”

She continued to fume, muttering under her breath, “Skeeter gives witches a bad name.”

“It’ll all pass, Ginny,” Seamus smiled at her sympathetically. “Come back later tonight. Dean’s making roast, and we’ll talk about how to set the narrative straight.”

He sent her on her way, hoping that practice would relieve some of the rage.

Seamus’s head emerged from the oven, his face flushed scarlet. “Ginny, you can’t just go meet random fans and help them commit a crime!”

Even after all these years, she never ceased to amaze them. But this - randomly taking an Instagram follower’s request to egg and teepee a house? This was one of Ginny’s more...creative ideas.

“That’s right,” Dean agreed, taking the roast and plating it. “For all you know he could wank to your posters.”

“Well then you’d know he has good taste,” she said, dripping her finger into the cooling gravy.

“Ginny,” they sighed together in exasperation and pushing her away from the kitchen counter.

“What happened between this morning and now?”

“You’re always saying I should do more charity,” she said pointedly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Seamus wagged a finger at her. She folded her arms across her chest, staring them down (which was quite the accomplishment, considering how much taller they were).

“We can’t let you do this.”

“When has anyone ever let me do anything?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Seamus and Dean shared a long look, no doubt both of them remembering that one time she broke into the headmaster’s office to steal back the replica toy sword Ron was stupid enough wear to school as part of his knight costume for Halloween.

“Look,” Dean said carefully, leading her into the dining room as Seamus followed, plates of food laden in his arms. “We know you’re more than capable to taking care of yourself.”

“Damn straight,” she said, but she let him gently nudge her into her seat.

“But as your friends — ”

“One of whom would like to stay gainfully employed,” Seamus cut in, playing the food on the table.

“—and who would absolutely be murdered by your brothers if they ever found out, we want to make sure you’re…thinking straight.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, we know,” Seamus said, deadpan. “But I really don’t need another article supporting this theory that you’re aggressive. If you beat the bloke up and the press catches wind of it…”

“I’m going. I put this idea into his head. And look at him,” she said, holding up a picture of H-P-Lightening, smiling sheepishly into the camera.

They examined the photo skeptically as Ginny tucked into dinner. Maybe while they were distracted, she could nick an extra bit of roast.

“He’s cute,” Seamus pointed out.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Not the point.”

"Doesn’t hurt,” Dean said.

“He and I share a similar goal: to serve some much-needed justice in the world. And since I can’t go about egging Michael’s house without it ending up on the Sunday papers, I can at least help someone else.”

“His hair is an absolute disaster, but it somehow works on him,” Seamus continued, ignoring her.

“Those green eyes,” Dean said appreciatively.

“Plays football too,” Seamus said, clicking through to some videos. “He’s fit.”

Now they were both giving Ginny a look with entirely new context.

“It’s not like that,” she said breezily.

“Maybe she’s hoping he wanks to her poster,” Seamus snickered, not believing her for a second.

“He could wind up in trouble if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“And you’re an expert?” Dean asked.

“I’m a Weasley.” She smiled wickedly, and they laughed. “Besides, who am I to ignore a gentleman in distress?”

“Okay, fine, if we can’t stop you —”

She snorted.

“—then we’re coming with you.”

“What?”

“We’ll watch from a safe distance,” Seamus assured her, Dean nodding along. “Just to make sure you don’t end up in the papers.”

“We will help you hide the body,” Dean said.

Ginny looked from one to the other. They were grinning at her, half eager and half earnestly. She didn’t need them to come. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. But, suppose this turned out to be something she wasn’t expecting…

“Fine, but —” she added quickly when they started to wiggle their eyebrows at one another “—the moment, and I mean the very moment I give you the signal, you better make yourself scarce.”

Dean and Seamus beamed across the table. “Whatever you want, luv!”

“You can’t stay if you’re going to be this obvious.” Ginny growled.

“Obvious? We’re perfectly inconspicuous,” Seamus bristled.

“You brought binoculars,” she said dryly, placed her hands on her hips. “And a bat."

“Told you she wouldn’t like that,” Dean said.

“I won’t use the bat. It’s just in case we need to scare him off.”

Ginny and Dean gave him a look.

“What? This person could be tricking us!”

When Ginny’s glare made his back hair stick on end, Seamus relented.

“Fine, we’ll cross the street,” Seamus said, taking Dean by the arm. When they turned around, Ginny was still scowling, whipping out her phone and texting them furiously.

You are going to have to HIDE.

There’s nothing strange about us being here! Seamus typed back.

You’re two random, loitering blokes, ready to stalk or bean someone. If you’re going to stay, you’re going to hide. Ginny over at them critically. Behind those bushes.

“Ugh,” Seamus groaned, crouching down and behind the bushes with his boyfriend dutifully following. He swatted at a twig that was unpleasantly digging into the side of his bum.

Happy? he texted her back.

Delirious. Remember. You both better leave when I give the signal. Or else.

A shudder went down his spine, knowing very well what Ginny was capable of.

“This isn’t what I imagined our cozy Friday evening being.”

“You don’t really mind,” Dean said, smiling knowingly.

Seamus huffed and peered into the binoculars rather than reply. Yes, he was worried about this blowing up in his face (things often did), but he couldn’t deny he was a bit curious. He had never seen Ginny look that way at a photo before.

“You just want a front row seat,” Dean teased.

“Shut — oh, I think that’s him!”

They watched with anticipation as a lanky, bespectacled bloke with tousled black hair ascended the train station steps. He seemed to be deeply brooding as Ginny approached him. Through the binoculars, Seamus watched as this fellow, Harry something-or-other, looked up, eyes wide, and nearly tripped over the last step.

“They seem to be hitting it off,” Dean said as Ginny and Harry laughed before she handed him a hoodie.

They began walking, and Seamus scrambled to follow. “Come on.”

He kept an eye out for anyone else who might be around, but there didn’t seem to be anyone who recognized or followed Ginny.

“I think we can leave the bat.” Dean chuckled, swiping the binoculars for a closer look himself.

They trailed the other couple from across the street, doing the best they could to be inconspicuous. Ginny and this bloke looked good together. He looked oddly charming with his wild hair and glasses, but it was really the way he looked at Ginny at set Seamus at ease. They kept talking, laughing, smiling at one another. Seamus hadn’t seen her laugh so much since…he couldn’t even remember.

Was that — was Ginny Weasley blushing?

After several minutes, Seamus and Dean stopped and looked at each other.

Ginny had completely forgotten about them.

“Do you think if we leave now, we can still catch the last half of the game?”

“Yeah,” Seamus said, taking Dean’s hand as they headed home.

Maybe their Friday evening plans could be salvaged after all.

22 notes · View notes

finalgirlguy · 5 years

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A list of things

Pairing: Prinxiety

Words: 4504

Tw: getting drunk

———————————————————————

Roman Prince loves arriving home early. On those happy days the café he works at is empty, his boss lets him check out half an hour earlier, and he gets to come earlier home, he gets to surprise Virgil.

Usually, Virgil arrives home at 4:45, then Roman at 5:30, then Logan and Patton arrive together at 5:45, since they work at the same part of the city and Logan is the only one of the group to own a car. When Roman gets to arrive home at 5, however, he can sneak up behind Virgil, purely for the sake of watching Virgil laugh after the scare.

Which is exactly what Roman is going to do now.

He silently opens the apartment door, doing the least noise he can. Virgil is on the kitchen, humming Our Love Is God, from Heathers.

Roman can’t help but chuckle. He just finds it adorable that Virgil keeps getting Heathers songs stuck in his head after last summer.

———————————————————

Roman may work at a café, but that gig is purely for money. What Roman does for a profession is act. You can tell that from, well, every single dramatic part of him. Last summer, he got the chance to participate in a local production of Heathers, as JD, and had come to Virgil asking for help memorizing his lines. He could have asked Logan or Patton for help, but a)Virgil, as much as he liked to hide it, also had a dramatic touch, and b)Roman really liked hearing Virgil sing.

So they would sit in Roman’s room, Virgil would read Veronica’s lines, and Roman would read Jason Dean’s (they focused mainly on the scenes where there was Veronica-JD conversations, because Roman insisted it was the romantic part of his character that he needed to improve). When the time came to present the show, Virgil borrowed Roman his leather jacket for the costume. Sure, JD originally used a black coat, not a black jacket, but the costume department was short on money and the first show would be that night. So Roman came running to Virgil, hoping he would have something as dark and broody as the role required.

The opening night was a success. Logan, Patton, Virgil and Roman’s close friends and family all came to watch him. After the play, everyone he loved came to congratulate and compliment him. After the massive group of people went away, Virgil approached him. The first thing he did was grab the open front of the jacket, accidentally yanking Roman closer.

Roman actually thought for a second Virgil was going to kiss him. But when the stupid romantic part of his brain shut up, he realized Virgil was analyzing the state of the jacket.

“I was careful, Emo Nightmare” Virgil murmured something about the actress that played Veronica yanking it away during the sex scene, his hands never leaving the jacket. Not that Roman was complaining “The director was able to find a coat, by the way, so I won’t need it anymore. Thanks for borrowing it to me.”

Virgil finally lowered his hands, and said something about Roman already having thanked him 14 times. Roman didn’t hear, he was too busy missing the closeness of Virgil’s body.

——————————————————-

Roman silently approaches Virgil’s back, who is too busy doing the dishes to notice. He leans over and whispers on Virgil’s ear:

“Hey, tormenta”

Virgil nearly jumps out of his skin, turning around to face a smirking Roman, who is now putting his hands on the side of the sink, both very close to Virgil’s waist but never touching, so he can lean in and see Virgil’s eyes beneath his bangs.

Virgil laughs, and Roman’s heart, unexpectedly, skips a beat.

“Hey, príncipe” the Spanish nickname rolls off of Virgil’s tongue way better than Roman’s.

———————————————————

In September, after Heathers was over, and Roman was desperate to find anything to occupy his time, he watched In The Heights, and decided he wanted to learn Spanish.

Virgil, who had Argentinian parents, was fluent in Spanish, and needed the money, decided to teach Roman.

Everyday, for the entire month of September, when Roman’s work ended, they would sit at the café, Roman would ask for hybiscus tea and Virgil for coffee, and they would start their class.

Roman didn’t learn much. Just very romantic lines, basic stuff, and how to say storm in Spanish.

The plan was for Roman to be smug when saying it, but Virgil enjoyed the Spanish nickname, and decided to give Roman his own. Roman, however, goes weak in the knees every time he gets called príncipe.

Roman’s insistence on romantic lines was perhaps not a genius plan, because he still lies awake in the middle of the night thinking about Virgil calling him amor de mi vida.

———————————————————

“You got home early” Virgil says, still smiling.

“Complaining?” Roman asks, pouting, only to hear the answer.

“Never” That was expected, and exactly what Roman wanted to hear, but he still feels heat crawling up his face “That reminds me, Logan and Patton called, they’ll be spending the weekend at Patton’s parents, so it’s just me and you” Roman raises an eyebrow, hoping Virgil would suggest what they usually did when Logan and Patton were away “So... beer, Japanese food and a movie?”

———————————————————

It wasn’t unordinary for Roman and Virgil to get drunk together. Usually, after Roman played on a show, they’d go out to celebrate with Logan and Patton on a fairly nice restaurant. After they returned home, Logan and Patton went to bed, and they stayed in the living room, drinking cheap wine.

They hanged out at more times than just after shows. After a hard month. After a party. After the movies. When Logan and Patton were off.

Truth is, Roman liked getting drunk around Virgil. They would talk about everything and nothing. They would talk about stars and Virgil would speak as if he knew every secret of the universe. They would talk about finding love and Roman would speak as if he hadn’t already found it. They would talk about insecurities and songs and style and fears. Roman liked it.

———————————————————

“Oh my, Virgil, are you asking me on a date?” Roman fakes surprise, acting as though this wasn’t expected.

“Shut up, príncipe” Roman lives to see Virgil blushing, and is childishly happy to see the emo’s cheeks tainted a light shade of pink.

Virgil grabs Roman’s wrists (his hands, Roman realizes, are cold from washing the dishes) and takes Roman’s hands away from his sides, so he could move towards the kitchen counter.

“I’ll order it, clean up the rest of the dishes”

Roman thinks about arguing, but drops it, and starts cleaning the counter, which still has the plates and cups from that day’s breakfast.

Roman smiles fondly when he finds a purple stain beneath one of the mugs.

———————————————————

Despite being 25, Roman and Virgil were very childish.

One occasion that always proved this was the usual food fight they’d have during breakfast.

Roman would say something stupid, or Virgil would say something broody, and they’d get hit on the face with a fruit. The one who was hit would immediately retaliate, and soon half of the bowl of fruits would be gone, the table would be a mess, and they’d both be laughing like idiots.

This morning, Virgil was staring at his cup of coffee, like he usually did at the morning, and Roman was staring at Virgil, like he usually did. When Logan asked Virgil a question, and he replied with the prettiest morning voice ever, Roman couldn’t contain himself: he threw a blueberry straight at Virgil’s face.

“Stop being cute” Roman complained, getting immediately hit by another blueberry.

“Stop being insufferable” Virgil laughed.

This time, Patton was quicker, and quickly pulled the bowl of blueberries away from them, ending their little fight way sooner than Roman desired.

———————————————————

Virgil finishes ordering, and comes back to help Roman clean the dishes. When they’re finished, they start asking about each other’s day.

“A new guy started working today” Virgil mentions, after some time. Roman’s heart drops.

“Is he cute?” Roman asks, trying to not add poison to his voice. He really needs to work on his jealousy.

“Nah, not really my type” Virgil answers, and Roman starts breathing again.

“Ugh, is no one ever your type?” Roman groans. Virgil being into a guy was the opposite of fun for him, but he’s really curious to know what Virgil found attractive. If only so he could know what was wrong with himself.

“Dunno, Roman” Virgil shrugs “Maybe I’m just meant to be single. Like a cute guy would actually be into me” he huffs, seeming annoyed by this conversation they’d had a million times.

Roman can’t find any way to argue with that besides confessing his infatuation, and he’d rather not do that.

When the delivery finally arrives, the sun is already setting through the living room window.

———————————————————

Roman loved the way Virgil was satisfied with the most simple things. Like stars, or tea, or sunsets.

Roman was more of a sunrise type of guy. The energy that emanated from the beginning of the day always made him ecstatic. Virgil, in an eternal opposite to Roman, preferred sunsets.

The living room window has a nice view of the city, and the view always increased during sunset. Every building was painted with light shades of pink and orange and purple.

(Was it an essential point to Roman that sunsets were a combination of his and Virgil’s color palettes, the reds and oranges mixing with the purples? Yes)

Every time Virgil passed that window during sunset, he would stop to admire it, tranquility taking over his face. And, well, Roman would stop and admire him.

Soon, Roman started loving sunsets as well as sunrises.

———————————————————

While Virgil opens the door, Roman turns on the TV and takes the beers out of the freezer.

Virgil comes back with a plastic bag in his hands, and smiles when he sees the title that shows up.

As they both sit down at the sofa with a bowl of Yakisoba for each, and the movie starts playing, Roman turns toward Virgil, waiting for his reaction.

Mere moments later, the dark and scary boy starts chanting:

“This is Halloween! This is Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!”

Nightmare Before Christmas is, and always will be, a compromise between Roman’s cheerfulness and dramatics and Virgil’s sinisterness and spookiness. Roman is Christmas, and Virgil is Halloween.

Roman got Virgil a Nightmare Before Christmas sweater last Christmas. Virgil doesn’t really wear it, but Roman doesn’t complain. He got to see Virgil wear it once, and he looked very pretty. Plus, it’s really hard to wash that thing.

———————————————————

Virgil hated doing laundry alone. Roman noticed how he never went by himself, always waited until Logan, Roman or Patton were going down to the local laundry and tagged along.

So whenever Roman went to do laundry, he checked to see if Virgil needed to go with him.

Logan insisted on calling those “laundry dates”, what was not a fair thing to do when Roman was known for blushing easily. Nevertheless, he persisted, and, almost every time Roman did laundry, Virgil joined him.

Roman thought it would be like that Friends episode with Ross and Rachel, but it wasn’t exactly nearly kissing over laundry carts.

First of, Virgil knew how to do laundry. He had life experience, unlike Rachel, so he didn’t get surprised with anything Roman did.

Second, they were never really alone. There was always someone else doing laundry.

Even so, Roman loved it. He loved Virgil’s company. He loved talking to Virgil. Sometimes, they would go to a nearby café while they waited. And, well, there might not be near-kisses and random outbursts of happiness, but Roman surprisingly enjoyed the casualness and simpleness of quiet but happy dates—even though he would never call them that out loud.

———————————————————

The food is surprisingly tasty. They should order more from this restaurant.

“Want my shrimps?” Virgil asks.

“Always”

It is universal knowledge, at least in this household, that Roman loves shrimps. Virgil doesn’t care about them. Whenever they’d ask something with shrimps, Roman ate his and most of Virgil’s.

Virgil extends his arm, holding a shrimp in his fork, planning to drop it at Roman’s bowl. The tall man, however, is faster, and bites it out of the fork.

“What are you, 12?” Virgil laughs, and Roman promises, as long as he’s alive, he’ll do anything to make Virgil smile.

“Yes, 12 out of 10”

Virgil scoffs, but his eyes soon widen as his gaze lower towards Roman’s chest.

“Oh crap!”

Roman’s impeccable white shirt has a stain from the Yakisoba sauce. And that kind of sauce could stain permanently.

Roman takes out his shirt and rushes towards the sink to try and wash out the stain.

When he’s satisfied with the state of the shirt, he comes back to the living room. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel a burst of pride as Virgil’s eyes darted over his bare chest.

Roman is muscular. That, no one else could deny. Only from going to the gym, though. Sports were not his area.

———————————————————

Once, after Roman nearly started a fight at a bar, and Virgil had to drag him back to the apartment, he insisted on teaching Roman how to fight.

“Do you even know how to fight?” Virgil had asked, worry and annoyance coating his voice.

Roman drunkily shook his head, ashamed. He didn’t really want Virgil to know he was not a perfect knight in shining armor. I mean, Virgil obviously knew, but having to say it was slightly humiliating.

Virgil sighed, and started moving the furniture on the living room, creating an empty circle. Roman stared at him in confusion until Virgil gestured for Roman to join him inside the circle. The shorter boy lifted his hands towards his face.

“If anyone swings at you, protect your face like this” Roman mimicked the movement. Virgil lightly hit him, making Roman raise his arms. Virgil seemed satisfied with that, so he lowered his hands.

Virgil thought Roman how to punch and where to hit. And, Roman thought, Virgil was really hot when he was intimidating.

“How did you even learn all of this anyway?” Roman wondered.

Virgil looked him over, his bangs falling over his eyes. Roman fought the urge to swipe them out of his face “Fight or flight, remember? Sometimes flight isn’t an option”

Roman nodded, too tired and drunk to process anything other than the fact that Virgil’s hair was touching his surprisingly long eyelashes.

“Lay down” Virgil ordered, and Roman immediately obeyed, with his stomach up. However, nothing could have prepared Roman for the fact that Virgil slid one of his legs around Roman and sat on the beginning of his stomach, setting his weight on his heels, so he would not crush Roman. Like that skinny boy could crush Roman.

“Wow, buy me dinner first” Roman teased, because Virgil was on top of him, and all his brain could think was how soft the corners of Virgil’s mouth seemed and how he wished there were less clothes involved.

Virgil set his hands next to Roman’s head and leaned forward, in an attempt to even out his weight. Now his hair brushed against Roman’s eyebrows and Roman would have smirked at Virgil’s blushing if he hadn’t know he was furiously blushing as well.

Virgil was wearing black lipstick, Roman remembers that detail very well. Black, matte lipstick, that still hadn’t faded, despite the drinks they’d had at the bar. All it would take was for Roman to lean up a couple of inches, and their mouths would meet, and he could happily ruin Virgil’s intact lipstick.

And wow did he want to kiss Virgil. His entire brain shut down and there was just a very loud and persistent voice yelling for Roman to kiss him, kiss him, kiss him! Roman wanted to kiss Virgil, he wanted to do nothing else until there was no space between their bodies and it would still not feel enough, he wanted to not think of anything but the fact that Virgil’s mouth was on his and that this felt right.

But then Virgil started talking again, and he had to focus at least a little bit.

“If someone gets on top of you on a fight, drive your knees into their backs as hard as you can” Roman nodded, almost decently following along “Try to do it with me”

After some struggle, Roman was able to get on top of Virgil. Now this, this was something he could deal with. A smirk managed it’s way around his face as he saw Virgil blush as well.

“Not so confident now, huh?” Roman teased, leaning forward in a way that some, very blind people, could describe as not romantic, but instead, intimidating.

Before he knew what had happened, Virgil had already pushed him off, and they were back to practicing punches standing up.

———————————————————

“You’re gonna catch a cold, Roman”

Roman groans “Do you always have to be so worried, I’ll just grab a blanket, okay?”

Virgil still seems suspicious about that plan (and Roman can’t have imagined the way Virgil gazed at his chest again), but either way he grabs a blanket from the basket near the sofa, it’s purple shade perfectly matching Virgil’s hair.

———————————————————

Roman had always been a dramatic, flamboyant, impulsive kind of guy. One day, after a burst of Why Not?, Roman decided he was going to dye his hair the shades of the rainbow. He bought every color at the drugstore, arrived home, and, after a bit of struggle, left the bathroom with every color in the rainbow on his hair.

Virgil loved it. Not all of the colors, but the ideia of painting his hair. When Roman offered to paint his hair with the leftover purple paint, Virgil was more than ecstatic.

They suited themselves at the tiny apartment bathroom, and the process begun.

(Virgil had to take his shirt out so it wouldn’t stain, and that definitely made it very hard for Roman to focus on the task at hand)

When the job was done, and Virgil looked at the mirror, he was quite anxious about the ideia. Roman, however, thought he looked stunning, and could not hold back his thoughts.

“You look... magnificent” Roman whispered. Virgil gave that shy smile of his, and all Roman could think was I love him.

That was back in March. Roman had to dye his hair brown for the role of JD, but Virgil continued painting his hair purple.

———————————————————

The movie goes on, and the night gets colder. At a certain point, Roman accidentally touches Virgil’s feet, and yelps at their coldness.

“And you complain about me? You’ll get a cold as well if you don’t get warm! Get under this blanket right now, Daniel Scowell!”

Virgil relutantly wiggles close to Roman, their arms nearly brushing, and the warmth of Virgil’s body is equally unsettling and calming.

———————————————————

Virgil smells like cinnamon. Roman knows this as he knows that 2+2=4 and that water is wet. It’s something ingrained in his brain, something that he doubts he will ever forget. Virgil smells like cinnamon is a fact, and although that’s Logan’s area, Roman has this one drilled into his mind.

———————————————————

Soon, too soon, the movie ends, and Roman has an epiphany.

“I just remembered! Patton made chocolate cake! Do you want some?” It’s barely nine-o-clock, their night can’t end here. Before he can see Virgil’s reaction, Roman is running towards the kitchen, eager to grab a plate. He hears movement behind his back, and when he turns, Virgil is sitting on top of the counter, legs criss-crossed.

“You could sit in a chair like a normal human being, you know” Roman hands Virgil a plate with cake and sits on the counter top as well, his legs dangling. Virgil pokes out a tongue and takes a bite out of the cake, his eyes closing with pleasure, and Roman can’t help but smile. Familiar warmth surges on his neck as Roman realizes he’s staring.

They eat in comfortable silence, every once in a while mentioning something that feels like nothing and everything, like the stars or Roman’s ideal roles.

Virgil takes a bite out of the cake, in the most adorable way Roman could ever imagine, and a smudge of chocolate remains on the side of his mouth. Before he can think about it, Roman’s touching that small place on Virgil’s face.

“You had something there” Roman whispers, but he’s already forgetting everything except the fact that Virgil is close and that he smells like cinnamon and that his cheek is so soft — and now Roman was cupping Virgil’s face, his thumb never leaning that soft spot on the corner of his mouth — and that Virgil had the most beautiful brown eyes and that the sea of freckles on his face looked like the night sky.

This is very very stupid and very very reckless and very very dangerous and very gryffindoor of Roman. Roman opens his mouth to say something — he doesn’t know what, but something — and Virgil leans back, away from Roman’s hand, and he can swear his heart stopped beating.

Of course. They are friends. And would always be. But no more than that. If Roman dreams of kisses under the moonlight that is his problem, and no one else’s, and he has to control his impulses, otherwise he would make Virgil uncomfortable.

Roman lowers his hand, trying for the life of him not to grimace, but it was a fruitless effort, since Virgil doesn’t lift his gaze from his plate for one second.

“So...” Virgil cleans his throat “How was your date?”

Roman plays with his slice of cake, randomly stabbing it, suddenly losing every apetite he had.

Roman tries to forget Virgil. He really does. He goes on dates, he flirts, he asks people out. But, every time he went out with someone, no matter how nice the food or the person was, all Roman could think was that this was not Virgil.

The last guy he went out with was nice, and sweet, and very cute, yes. (What was his name again? Ethan? Roman didn’t remember) But he was not Virgil. His lips didn’t quirk up when he heard a bad joke like Virgil’s did, his eyes didn’t glisten the way Virgil’s did.

He could work well with Roman, as did almost all of Roman’s previous dates. Sweet guys and bold girls and smart guys and girls with shining smiles who could make Roman happy. But Roman knows it is unfair of him to start a relationship when he’s so clearly enamored with someone else, only for the prospect of “you could make me forget him if I try hard enough”.

And, let’s be honest, Roman doesn’t actually want to forget Virgil. He has bursts of loneliness, and decides that maybe making out with strangers would fix it, but it never does, and all he ever thought during those dates was that these people were. Not. Virgil.

“Hmm?” Roman hums, not really playing attention “He was nice. We had crépes.”

“Will you see him again?” Virgil asks, also playing with his food.

Roman thinks of leather jackets and hybiscus tea and cheap wine and sunsets and laundry soap and black lipstick and purple hair dye and cinnamon and chocolate cake and answers:

“No, I don’t think I will”

They eat in silence, but now it’s awkward, the tension between them so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Virgil, would you date me?” Roman shoots, before his brain can have any sort of self control “If we were not friends, I mean” he adds, hoping it would make his question less awkward “If you just saw me on the street, would you think that I’m datable?”

It’s a dumb question, and when Virgil inevitably answers no, Roman will be left crushed. However, despite what Roman is sure will happen, Virgil mumbles:

“Who wouldn’t?”

And oh, Roman can’t breathe now, and oh, maybe he’s dreaming, so he manages to stumble out:

“What?” His voice is hoarse and creaky like all air left his lung, what might be truth.

Virgil raises his gaze, and there is a defiance there that makes Roman’s heart skip a beat “I said ‘who wouldn’t?’ and I meant it, Roman. You go on thousands of dates and meet thousands of people” Virgil’s voice is loud, laced with hurt and desperation “but you never stick to them, why?”

“They never... feel right” Roman mumbles, surprised by the sudden outburst of energy emanating from the usually quieter man.

“Why not?” Virgil seems so desperate, Roman can see small tears forming on the corners of his eyes and suddenly he’s wanting all of this to end, for Virgil’s pain to end “They can’t be bad, all of them, for sure! They are handsome, all of them, because you are cute enough to only go out with pretty people, and are none of them nice, datable people? Are none of them able to hook you? Why?”

“I like someone else!” Roman just wanted all of this to be over with, it was about the 5th time Virgil has asked him this, but never with this much sadness, and Roman didn’t like arguing with Virgil.

Virgil looks taken aback, and something looks shattered within him, grief, or something similar, burning in his eyes, but he’s soon back to near-screaming “Who? Who could be so wonderful that you’re unable to love someone else? Who, pray tell, could be that fucking perfect, who could make you, the guy who is oh-so-goddamn-great with romance, blind to those around you?”

“You!” Roman yells, immediately realizing it, and he can’t feel his face, he can’t feel his lungs, his eyes are burning, somehow his heart is beating faster than anything and not beating at all, and his mind is spinning — not in the good, disorientating way Virgil’s smile does, but in the sickening way that panic does “I lo-“ he cuts himself “It’s you”

Virgil’s eyes are wide, the tears running through his face, but his gaze is focused on Roman’s face, like he just said that magic existed and Virgil is rethinking everything he ever knew.

Then Virgil is leaning in, his hand cupping Roman’s face. As Roman leans forward as well, and their mouths meet, all he can think is finally, finally, finally!

Virgil tastes like beer, and Yakisoba, and chocolate cake, and — there’s an unknown taste there, a Virgil taste. Lemon. It’s lemon chapstick.

On the back of his mind (because Roman can’t really think of anything right now except that Virgil is kissing him!), Roman adds that to the list of things that remind him of Virgil.

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