#actually-al

It would probably be indicative by looking at their apartment; Logan had claimed the vast majority of the living room floor, notes and study maps and flash cards spread out in a wide abundance that only made sense to him. Patton had hold of the kitchen table and counters, where he’d stress-bake in the midst of cramming down any information he could.  

This left Roman and Virgil to sprawl in their own rooms, or in the hallway, which they had; Roman was blankly reciting a sonnet, over and over and over, as Virgil had on his biggest headphones, attempting to block out everything in the world apart from his stats notes (he hated gen eds, he hated gen eds, he hated gen eds) and his practice worksheets.

And Roman. Admittedly, also Roman. Virgil couldn’t spare any more of his thoughts to Roman this week, he’d already been driven nearly insane. Had it been a week? It felt much longer.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Virgil moved his headphones off of one ear, looking at Roman in askance.

“Patton’s break timer’s going off,” Roman said. “It’s a long one, so. Kitchen?”

Patton, upon seeing how the various apartment residents could fall into states of general disrepair surrounding academics but especially finals week (Logan, especially) had set up a mandatory break system in the midst of their not-group studying methods. In the distance, he could hear Logan complaining (”I just have to finish this notecard set, Patton, really, I’ll be right there—”) and he sighed, accepting Roman’s hand up, only to stagger when he stood.

Roman, still holding onto his hand, managed to catch him in his arms and grimaced. “Feet asleep?”

“Feet asleep,” Virgil agreed, attempting to stomp the feeling back into his toes, ignoring the sensation of pins and needles, and also trying to ignore Roman.

“None of that,” Roman declared, and abruptly Virgil found himself in Roman’s arms, Roman’s arms bracketing his shoulders and knees, as Virgil clung to Roman’s shoulders in surprise.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Virgil said, flushing desperately as Roman cautiously picked his way around all the papers that would make an environmentalist weep. 

“Mm, and yet,” Roman said, as he swept into the kitchen, “I do not care.”

Virgil sighed, and allowed it, set down into his usual kitchen chair, trying his hardest not to burst into flames. Just in time to see Patton patiently pulling a still-complaining Logan by the hand to the table.

“Roman,” Patton said pleasantly over Logan’s huffing, “please sit on my boyfriend to make sure he doesn’t sneak back to astronomy.”

Logan glowered at Roman. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late,” Roman chirped, sprawling grandly across Logan’s lap, wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck. Relievingly, this left Virgil to look at Logan, and not at Roman. “I know who runs this household, I’m doing as your boyfriend says.”

Patton smiled, tried to smooth down some of Logan’s tugged-on hair, and swept off to the kitchen.

Logan sighed, and grudgingly moved to support some of Roman’s weight so he could dramatically pose to his heart’s content, even as he was pinning Virgil with a look that said how are you in love with this.

A week ago, Virgil would have shrugged or scoffed. Now, after the whole fiasco, Virgil directed his bashful glance to the table. It was as much a mystery to him as it was to Logan.

“Okay, drink up, everyone, I want those waters done by the time break is over,” Patton declared, setting down four glasses already sweating with condensation. “And each of you are eating a sandwich, too, I know finals are stressful but I’m not letting any of you faint from low blood sugar or dehydration. Peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheeses?”

Patton turned into the most cheerful, mother-henning drill sergeant during finals week. It just so happened that this year, Patton had gotten take all but two of his early, and as such could hyper-fixate on how the rest of them were running themselves ragged in between his stress-baking and studying.

They voted on peanut butter and jelly, and Patton casually forced Virgil to sit back down when he attempted to rise to help him, shoving the glass into his hands when he opened his mouth to protest.

“Hydrate,” he said, serious tone only somewhat offset by the way he ruffled Virgil’s hair. “I’ll be back in a… Jif-fy.”

Logan directed his groan into Roman’s shoulder as Patton giggled his way towards the counter.

Virgil did as Patton said, taking a sip, and surprising himself by how much he started to drink, like he had only noticed how dry his throat was when it was being quenched. Virgil resurfaced, and Roman dug his heels into Virgil’s thighs in a kind of reassuringly bruising way. If it had been over a week ago, Virgil would have shoved him off, or huffed about it. Now… now all Virgil could do was overanalyze what this meant.

Before last week, Virgil could have assumed that Roman was just being a nuisance and left it alone, with a bit of eyerolling. After last week—with the dramatic confession on both side, the agreement from both that they needed time to think, the way Virgil’s mind was sent constantly spinning any time he laid eyes on Roman, ever since that day—now he could only wonder if Roman using him as a human footrest was a sign of affection, or if the pressure was meant to make Virgil move.

After a few minutes of silence, Patton swept back to the table with a plate teeming with sandwiches, tipping Roman out of Logan’s lap only to take his place there instead. Logan looked unusually blushy as Patton began to eat his sandwich with one hand and smooth Logan’s hair back down with the other.

Roman, meanwhile, did not budge his feet from Virgil’s lap, even as he was working to inhale three sandwiches at once. Patton kept on nudging sandwiches closer and closer to Virgil in a way that he probably thought was subtle, as he had kicked up a Feeding Virgil Campaign after he realized Virgil was perpetually underweight.

After everyone had eaten at least one sandwich, Patton brought over a tray of some of his stress-baked brownies, and then proceeded to sit on Logan as he tried to stealthily flip through a Quizlet notecard set on his phone.

“No,” Patton said firmly, setting Logan’s phone out of his reach.

“But—”

“No.”

Logan sulked.

Roman kicked Virgil, a little, and said, “After break, will you run lines with me, real quick?”

“Yeah, all right,” Virgil said, reaching for his second brownie, acting like he was completely casual about this. “It’ll get me out of looking at standard deviations.”

The timer went off, and Patton kissed Logan on the cheek before allowing him to dive headfirst back into his papers. Roman and Virgil wandered back to their hallway, and Virgil squinted at the lines Roman dropped into his hands.

“You didn’t tell me you were doing Pride and Prejudice.”

“It’s more of a personal project,” Roman said, twisting his hands together. “Would you read Lizzie?”

“Yeah, sure,” Virgil said, and then squinted suspiciously at Roman. “What, no jokes about me being Darcy?”

Roman nodded pointedly to the script, tapping at where there was a little sticker flag noting where to begin. 

Virgil sighed, and looked at the page, and then blinked. “But this is—”

“Virgil,” Roman said, voice soft, and Virgil swallowed, before he spoke.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Virgil read, voice soft.

“Nor I,” Roman recited, voice slightly deeper, the way it always did when he was enunciating carefully. “My aunt…”

Virgil allowed himself a small smile, recalling this moment in the movie, his comfort movie, the one he’d put on whenever he was feeling sad. The one only Roman knew he loved. “Yes, she was here.”

“How can I ever make amends for such behavior?” Roman breathed, raspy and soft, and Virgil swallowed, directing his eyes to the lines. He couldn’t discern what that look from Roman meant, if it was acting or reality, and Virgil—Virgil was starting to hope.

But he couldn’t. So he stared at the paper instead. As if he needed lines for this movie.

“After what you’ve done for Lydia and, I suspect, for Jane, it is I who should be making amends.” Virgil read flatly, with none of the tenderness this line implied. Despite just having hydrated, Virgil’s mouth was very dry.

“You must know. Surely you must know it was all for you.” Roman murmured, and very suddenly his fingers were gently, gently brushing across Virgil’s knuckles from where he was gripping the paper hard enough to wrinkle it. 

“You are too generous to trifle with me.”

Roman’s fingers carefully, softly, entwined with Virgil’s, holding Virgil’s hand with both of his. 

“I believe you spoke with my aunt last night and it has taught me to hope as I’d scarcely allowed myself before,” Roman murmured, and Virgil was still staring at how Roman had his hand all wrapped up in both of his, how warm and dry Roman’s hands were, how so soft and gentle he was, like Virgil would startle and run if Roman raised his voice. Which wasn’t that far off of an assumption, really. 

“If your feelings are still what they were last week, tell me so at once.” 

“Roman,” Virgil tried to say at last, finally looking up, and he nearly did startle when he saw the way Roman’s eyes were fixed on him, so soft and so honest that it stole whatever words Virgil was about to say right out of his mouth. 

“My affections and wishes have not changed,” Roman said, voice soft and urgent all at the same time. “But one word from you will silence me forever. lf, however, your feelings have changed…” 

They haven’t, Virgil wanted to say, I still want you, I still—

“I would have to tell you,” Roman whispered, and Virgil felt the absurd urge to laugh, thinking about the movie, that ridiculously romantic misty moor, and where he and Roman were, sitting amongst strewn study guides and Virgil was pretty sure he still had peanut butter on his face, but here Roman was, dramatic and romantic as ever. 

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love…” Still looking Virgil in the eye, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s knuckles, soft and gentle.

“I love…” He breathed, and opened Virgil’s hand, kissing his palm, before folding it all back up again, a hand reaching to cup Virgil’s face.

“I love you,” He said earnest, staring into Virgil’s eyes. “And I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

“Well, then.” Virgil croaked out at last, staring at Roman still, unable to tear his gaze away, and Roman smiled.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, and at last, Virgil nodded.

Roman’s hands were cupping his face, and slow, careful, Roman’s lips pressed against Virgil’s. Virgil almost couldn’t breathe, with how tender and soft he was. When Roman’s tongue brushed against Virgil’s bottom lip, Virgil couldn’t help but gasp a little. Is this happening? Virgil wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to deal with the reality where it wasn’t. He wanted this one.

What felt like both too long and too short, at last, they broke apart, pressing their foreheads together, breathing in each other’s space, Roman’s hands still cupping Virgil’s face, and Virgil’s heart fluttering ridiculously happy in his chest as his hands rested on the back of Roman’s neck, tentative and uncertain.

“Your hands are cold.” Roman said, and Virgil could hear the smile in his voice. Virgil couldn’t help but laugh, giddy and bright.