#exhaustedfander

He doesn’t think he can call them friends. Friends don’t have this much built-up hostility, at least not healthy relationships. Friends don’t look at each other that way, sizing one another up, guessing who might strike first. Janus remembers when they were friends. More than friends, even.

But whatever it is that they are, things have shifted. Virgil was not initially thrilled to know of Janus being on the road to acceptance; “not thrilled” doesn’t even begin to remotely cover it. He does everything that Janus expects – expresses that he can’t be trusted, that this is a terrible idea, etc. etc. But then, he does something Janus would never have entertained the idea of: he gives in.

It isn’t immediate, and it doesn’t irradiate years of troubled history, but it happens. Virgil decides, with time, that if Thomas wants to trust Janus, if he wants him in his corner, then okay. He can work with that. He can handle it. Janus is very sure this decision is what begins to smooth things over with him and Roman – not to say they’re still exactly on the best of terms. But Virgil, to some extent, gives his apprehensive blessing.

Slowly, Janus takes up more of Thomas’s life. He participates in conversations, engages in debates. Virgil’s by no means his biggest fan, and for a while, he avoids him, leaves the room when Janus enters. But that doesn’t last.

With time, Virgil peaks out of his shell more and more. He speaks to Janus directly, their conversations not consisting of pure bitterness, though it is certainly a major component. Virgil doesn’t hiss every time Janus enters a room, doesn’t complain when he joins them for movie night, doesn’t express his distaste for him at every given opportunity. This isn’t what he’d expected of the anxious side, and Janus doesn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, he’s gaining acceptance, building stronger relationships with the light sides. Even Remus hangs around with them, sometimes, which is nice. Remus was the only one Janus had for so long. On the other hand, memories can’t help but crop up. Janus reminisces far more than is healthy, remembering the way things once were. He finds himself waking up in a cold sweat some nights, caught in the disillusionment of dreams. Sometimes, he expects to wake in Virgil’s arms, the thought always foolish, always heartbreaking.

And now, here they are, and Virgil is having a panic attack.

“Virgil,” Janus repeats, just slightly louder, trying to push through the cobwebs of the emo’s mind, “Do you need me to get you, someone? Do you want me to find one of the others?”

Virgil shakes his head, tears running down his cheeks, smudging his eyeshadow. It isn’t the answer Janus was expecting but, okay, he can roll with this.

“Do you want me to help?”

If Virgil says no, Janus is sure he’ll have no choice but to wake one of the other sides and have them offer their assistance. Despite what others might think of him, Janus is not a monster, and he can’t find it in himself to so much as imagine leaving Virgil alone in the state that he’s in.

Virgil nods. …huh. He actually wants his help. Imagine that.

Shit. Okay, okay, this is fine. Janus has done this a million times before – it’s been quite a while, but still. He’s got this.

“Can I touch you?” Janus asks softly, making sure he doesn’t kneel too close to Virgil. He doesn’t want him to feel boxed in. Virgil shakes his head fiercely, pushing his back further into the couch.

“Okay,” Janus says, holding his hands up as if to say, it’s okay, I’m not going to touch you, I’m not going to hurt you.

Janus couches Virgil through breathing exercises, offering as much support as he’s able. He checks in often: “Is this okay? You’re doing so good, Virgil. So good. Come now, it’s alright. You’ll be alright. That’s right, in and out, just like that. That’s very good.”

It’s wrong, how natural this feels, even now. It has to be wrong; Janus decides. Virgil hasn’t been much of a part of his life in so long, and now here they are, interacting like nothing’s ever been bitter between them.

 I’d help any of the sides like this, if they needed it, Janus thinks to himself, trying to rationalize away the pit in his stomach, it doesn’t make it any different that it’s Virgil I’m helping. But even he can’t believe that lie.

It takes a while, but eventually, Janus helps him reach a calmer state. He offers Virgil a makeup wipe to remove the rest of the smudges on his cheeks, and a glass of water. Virgil takes the glass silently, his hands still trembling, and then the wipe, removing his eyeshadow. It’s the first time Janus has seen him without makeup in years, and the bags under his eyes reach nearly as far as the eyeshadow usually does.

“Are you feeling any better?” Janus asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Y-yeah,” Virgil says, his voice a little raw, a little wobbly, “I’m fine.”

“Fine” probably isn’t the right descriptor, not right now, but Janus doesn’t call him on it.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

Tension settles over the pair, heavy and intrusive. Janus shouldn’t let it surprise him, but he is. He tries not to keep his eyes trained on Virgil, scanning over the walls, the kitchen. But when he can’t help himself, when he catches sight of Virgil, he looks so damn tired.

“Dec–,” Virgil starts, pausing halfway through as their eyes meet, and swallowing down the word, “Janus… thank you.”

Janus doesn’t miss the way he struggles with his name, has been struggling with his name, but he’s saying it. He isn’t calling him Deceit, or snake, two-faced, or any other less than polite things. He’s just… calling him by his name. It’s nice. It’s been so long.

“Of course,” Janus says, still keeping his distance.  “Did… did you want me to give you some space now? Or take you back to your room?” Janus has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying ‘I don’t want to overstep.’

“No, I – you don’t have to go. If you don’t want to.” Virgil’s words are anxious and quiet, but that doesn’t hinder the fact that it’s so clear Virgil doesn’t want to be alone. He wants Janus’s company, even after he’s been calmed down, and that’s… god, it’s a lot to process.

“Alright,” Janus says, pausing a moment before sitting down on the sofa beside him, albeit a distance away, “Virgil, are… are you okay?”

Virgil snorts, but the sound lacks much humor.

“Uh, no. I thought that was obvious?” Janus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Right, how stupid of me. Let me rephrase; why aren’t you okay? What’s wrong?” And then, he caught the look of terror in Virgil’s eyes. “Only if you want to tell me, of course. You don’t have to.”

“Why’re you doing that?” Janus blinks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Being so nice,” Virgil clarifies, wringing his hands, his eyes everted, “Why’re you being so fucking accommodating? Why’re you being so… I dunno, gentle?”

“Would you prefer I was ravenous? Is uncaring and cruel more your style? Because last I checked, it wasn’t.”

“Don’t be an asshole; you’re avoiding the question.”

“An asshole? Why Virgil, you wound me. Just a moment ago you referred to my behavior as ‘gentle.’” Virgil lets out a sigh, long and exhausted, the look in his eyes so soft it sends a shiver down Janus’s spine.

“Janus. Please, just – just answer the question. I’m too tired for this shit.”

It’s the ‘please’ that really gets him. Virgil isn’t begging, but he’s damn close, and Janus doesn’t want to see that. He doesn’t want Virgil to beg, pleading for answers. In all fairness, he doesn’t want to answer, either. But what choice has he got?

“You were having a panic attack,” Janus says, his voice smooth and to the point (at least he hopes it comes across that way), “I walked into the common room, and you were alone, having a panic attack. So I helped you.”

“But this isn’t a new thing. You’ve been being nice to me for weeks. Months, maybe. Even… even when I was avoiding you.” Janus sucks in a breath. Of course, he knew Virgil had been avoiding him, but he hadn’t expected an admission. “Why?”

“Your behavior was… understandable. I know we’ve not always been on the best of terms.”

“And we are now?” Janus sighs.

“I didn’t say that. You must forgive me for trying to salvage what I can.”

It’s hard to dial down the sarcasm sometimes when he isn’t paying attention, and now certainly isn’t the time for it. still, it’s very late, and the tension is overwhelming, and it’s a crutch Janus has relied on for quite some time. Virgil too, he remembers. He isn’t the only sarcastic prick in the room.

“I didn’t… god, I’m not saying you shouldn’t try. I-it’s kind of nice, that you are. I mean, I don’t know, man, I –.”

“You’ve been trying, too. Don’t think I haven’t caught on. We’re on speaking terms, after all. And that wasn’t the case weeks ago.”

“Y-yeah, well, I kind of have to, right? If Thomas is cool with you hanging around, and the others are. I’ve gotta make an effort, or whatever.”

“But you don’t,” Janus counters, “You could still be entirely hostile towards me if you so desired to do so. I really wouldn’t blame you. You don’t have to try either, but you are.” Virgil quiets, a look of contemplation settling over his face before he nods slowly.

“Yeah… I mean, I guess so. Hey, what were you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway? I thought you’d be getting your beauty rest.”

Truthfully, that isn’t a question Janus had been expecting. He doesn’t really have an answer, either. At least not something that made much sense.

“I just… I had a feeling, okay?”

In all fairness, it’s true. Janus had woken up with the slightest inclination that something was off. He didn’t know what it was, or why it was bothering him so much, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking into the commons room, just to check things out, to explain that odd feeling. And then, there had been Virgil.

“You had a feeling?” Virgil asks flatly, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Are – are you sure you’re not too tired? Because, if you are, we can consider this conversation later. We –.”

“Janus stop it. Cut the bullshit and stop fucking lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Janus says softly, making a show of clenching and unclenching his knuckles, “See? The gloves are off.” Virgil’s eyes widen, and huh, he must not have noticed Janus’s lack of gloves until now.

“Holy shit,” he breathes the words out like it’s the most shocking thing he’s ever seen, “I don’t – I mean, I can’t remember the last time I saw you without your gloves on.” Janus shrugs.

“It’s not a big deal.” “Like hell, it’s not. You’ve always been weird about it. You never let anyone see your hands except…” Virgil pauses, his eyes grazing over the scales on Janus’s left hand. He sucks in a breath. “Except me.”

“It’s still you,” Janus says like it’s not groundbreaking, “I didn’t figure anyone else would be out here. And, I don’t sleep with them on, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m… I’m trying to be more open, alright? Hard to believe, I know. Seeing as I’m usually such an open book.”

Virgil can’t help it; he giggles. It’s a turbulent sound, still riddled with anxiety, with uncertainty. But he does it all the same.

“Right,” he says sarcastically, “Same. I just love talking about my feelings and all that shit.” Janus squints at him in mock offense, pressing a hand over his chest.

“Excuse me? Are you stealing my bit? Lying is my schtick, not yours, stormcloud.”

Oh. He didn’t mean to say it; he can’t have meant to say it.

“What’s the matter? Virgil what’s – oh. Oh, I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said that.” Janus gasps as he suddenly feels Virgil’s hand in his.

“It’s okay. I was just… surprised, for a sec. But it’s okay.”

“Virgil…”

“You want to know why I was freaking out?” It feels like a trick question. Is Janus allowed to ask? It doesn’t seem like something Virgil’s happy to share, but… he asked, right? Janus hates this, the self-doubt he’s facing. It’s not like him to be so uncertain.

“I want you to tell me whatever you’re comfortable sharing.” “Do you want to know?” Janus sighs.

“…yes.”

“I was thinking about you,” Virgil says softly, his eyes widening when he catches sight of the look on Janus’s face. “Shit – no, no it’s nothing bad! I mean – kind of, but you didn’t do anything.”

“Thinking about me spurred on a panic attack? How is that ‘nothing bad’? How can that possibly be ‘nothing bad’?” Panic bubbles in Janus’s throat, and it takes Virgil squeezing his hand to quiet him, that look of dread not leaving his eyes.

“I… okay, this is going to sound stupid. But –.”

“Yes?” Janus asks, desperation scraping up his throat.

“I was thinking about how things have been… different. Which, uh, is a good thing. To be clear.”

“A good thing made you have a panic attack?”

Virgil exhales sharply, looking at Janus. It’s strange, seeing him without his hat and gloves, his hat fluffy and just a little ruffled from sleep. His pajamas are silky and black and gold because, of course, they are. Virgil would expect nothing else. He hasn’t looked at Janus like this, so softly and introspective in… god, he doesn’t know. A damn long time.

The resentment hasn’t burned away, not completely. The memories of lies still linger. “I’m just trying to protect you. To keep you safe!” And maybe he was, but it still hurt. Still does, sometimes. But not like it used to. These wounds haven’t healed completely, but they're old. Fading all the time.

“I got overwhelmed. I was thinking about how we’re talking again, and you’re hanging around a lot more lately and – and I freaked out.”

“Why?” Janus asks. His voice is so raw that it hurts. Virgil shuts his eyes, though his grip on the deceitful side’s hand doesn’t lessen.

“Because it makes me think about how things used to be,” Virgil admits in a whisper so soft it’s almost inaudible, “I think about us years ago. Do… do you ever do that? Think about the past?”

“Yes,” Janus chokes out, struggling to keep himself from saying more. From saying, ‘Yes, all the time. Every day. I miss you more than anything. I wake up with your name on my lips. Come back to me. Please, come back to me.’ “Yes, I do.”

“I… I shouldn’t have left you guys without saying anything.” Janus blinks, feeling pressure building behind his eyes, and no, he won’t cry. He won’t.

“Virgil you- you don’t have to do this.” “Yeah. I do. I left you, I left Remus. And I didn’t say anything. I was just so tired, Jan. I was so fucking tired, and – and scared, and I didn’t know what to do. And things were complicated with us, I mean, they still are but I – well, you know. So… so I left. I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry, Janus.” Janus has dreamed of this moment. He’s dreamed of it forever and ever, but now that it’s happening it’s so much.

“I still stand by some of it. You did some shitty stuff; you lied to me too much. I hated that. You know I hated that. But… I was an asshat too. I have been an asshat, even when you’ve been trying to make things right. I’m sorry.”

It takes a lot for Virgil to apologize, Janus knows it does. And here he is, exhausted, and emotional and more open than Janus has seen him in so long, just laying it all out. It’s… it’s amazing.

“It’s alright,” Janus finds himself saying, “Of course, it’s alright. Remus will say the same thing. I know you two haven’t always – haven’t always been on great terms. I know he terrorized you more often than not. But – but he misses you. Very much.”

“I’ve missed you, Jan,” Virgil says softly, eyes downcast, “…a lot.”

That, it seems, is the breaking point. Tears spring from Janus’s eyes and he lets out a choked sob, his hand retracting from Virgil and covering his mouth instinctively, as though to shut himself up. Only then is Janus aware of the fact that he’s trembling.

“I-I –,” Janus tries to push past the lump in his throat, to say “me too,” to say, “I’ve missed you terribly.” But all he can manage is tears. Janus hates the weakness he can’t help but exhibit; he hasn’t cried like this in ages.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Can I hold you? Would that be okay?” Janus nods furiously, gasping as he feels Virgil’s arms around him. It’s edging on awkward, Virgil’s hugs always have been, but it’s home and Janus never wants to be anyplace else. He buries his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck, clinging to him fervently.

He doesn’t know how their roles could have been reversed so drastically. Moments ago, he was talking Virgil down from a panic attack, and now. Now Virgil’s rubbing circles into his back, slow and gentle, and whispering words of encouragement that don’t quite make it through in Janus’s frantic state of mind. But it’s nice, knowing he’s reassuring him and holding him just as tight.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Janus pants weakly the moment he finds his voice, his face still buried in the warmth of Virgil’s neck, “For everything. I’m s-so sorry for everything, stormcloud.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil says. It’s a promise. Not a pretty lie; he means it. “It’s gonna be okay, Jan. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Janus says, as passionately as he can, so that he can prove without a shadow of a doubt that it’s true, “I’ve missed you desperately.”

They sit like that for a long while, clung to each other, Janus’s tears still steadily falling. But after a while, things die down.

“There you are,” Virgil says reverently when Janus finally peaks up from where his face was hidden. He can feel the human side of his face growing flushed as Virgil cups his cheeks.

“Can… can I – ?” Virgil begins to ask before Janus’s lips are on his, a pair of hands caught in his hair. Virgil reciprocates quickly, hands settling on Janus’s shoulders, and then his sides, and in his hair, too.

It’s by no means a perfect embrace; nothing about this situation is. But it’s theirs, and it’s real, and it’s all Janus has wanted for so, so long.

“We’ll try again. We can do that, can’t we?” Virgil asks, pulling away just slightly, his breath still hot against Janus’s face.

“Yes,” Janus agrees quickly, maybe too quickly, he doesn’t care, “That’s all I want.”

“Me too,” Virgil says, smiling tiredly. Janus clings to him like he might disappear if he lets go, even for a moment. But this isn’t a fleeting dream. Not anymore.

“I love you,” Virgil says, “I… I don’t know if I ever really stopped.”

“I love you, too,” Janus whispers like it’s a prayer. Like it’s the holiest thing that he could speak aloud. “I love you, Virgil.”

They’ll talk more in the morning. They’ll talk in detail about the trust that remains, the love that they still hold for one another, even after all this time, and the things they’ve got to work through. But for now, they hold onto one another, exhaustion finally fully settling in.

Sleep comes quickly, and they lie there on the sofa, a tangle of limbs. For the first time in a long time, both Janus and Virgil sleep peacefully.

=+=

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He’d gone into their relationship five years ago with very few expectations. Logan was cute, and he understood him, and they’d already been friends for some time and… and he was a vampire. Virgil supposes that would’ve been a deal-breaker for most people. Maybe it should’ve been for him too. Maybe it was the most logical way of thinking. But he couldn’t help it; he fell for Logan almost from the start, and he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Virgil’s learned a lot about vampirism in the last five years. For one thing, movies are usually a bunch of bullshit (Sexy, fun bullshit. But bullshit, nonetheless). Vampires don’t always have to drink human blood, though it is preferable, and they can eat some other foods, though it offers far less nutritional value than it would for humans. They aren’t strictly nocturnal, and the sunlight will not turn them to a pile of ashes the moment it makes contact with their skin (although Logan does get a wicked sunburn if he’s out too long without proper covering). Garlic does very little to ward off vampires, but garlic-breath does, unfortunately, ward off kisses.

Having one’s blood sucked isn’t nearly as painful as it’s often portrayed, nor as orgasmic. It’s just kind of… nice. Virgil’s always thought of it as a feeling of weightlessness, a kind of peace that’s hard to name, and even harder to find anyplace else. Honestly, he’s going to miss the feeling, if Logan agrees, that is.  

Logan isn’t home yet, but it isn’t uncommon for him to stay late at the lab. Virgil’s glad that Logan’s been able to find a profession that he’s happy in. He knows that Logan would be far more known in his field, were it not for the fact that he cannot stay forever. Vampires do not live forever, contrary to popular belief, but they do live for a very long time, and it looks quite suspicious if one works a job for decades and never really seems to age. Logan’s only been alive for about twenty more years than Virgil has, but he’s had several other jobs under other last names in the past, and this is by far the one he’s enjoyed the most.

His boyfriend is such a smart, competent scientist and he’s sure he’d be world-famous by now if he didn’t hold himself back at times in fear of his name and face becoming known. That would make running away and changing one’s identity all the more difficult.

Virgil knows this conversation won’t be an easy one. Logan has pointedly avoided the topic for some time. It’s not as though Virgil doesn’t know that this is a life-altering decision; or more of a life-ending decision, depending on how you look at it. He’s weighed the pros and cons time and time again, but in the end, he always comes to the same conclusion: Virgil wants this.

His determination doesn’t make him any less nervous when he hears the door to their apartment open as Logan unlocks it, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Hey. Sorry, I know I stayed late,” Logan says as he slips off his shoes and jacket, his voice thick with exhaustion, “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“It’s okay. Sorry you had a shitty day,” Virgil says, walking to the doorway and pulling him in for a kiss, but pulling away after a lack of response, “Hey, are you good?”

Logan doesn’t look good. His skin is always quite pale (a stereotype that holds up, but he also works in a lab most of the day), but it’s even more so now. The always-present bags under his eyes are far more severe than usual, rivaling the eye-shadow Virgil wears. Logan looks dead-tired, and god, that won’t do, will it?

“I’m…” Logan sways slightly where he stands, up-righted by Virgil, “…fine.”

“Bullshit,” Virgil says, eyeing him carefully, “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“I’m – it hasn’t been too long,” Logan says, lying rather poorly, “Really, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Alright. C’mere, you,” Virgil says assertively, grabbing Logan by the wrist and bringing him to the couch.

“Virgil, darling, this isn’t necessary. Besides, I’ve got a bit of research to do for…” Logan trails off, seeing the look of agitation on his boyfriend’s face.

“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not bringing work home, and, you’re not skipping another meal. God, I haven’t even been paying attention lately; you’ve just been so busy lately. When was the last time you ate?”

“I…”

“Babe. This is serious. You need to tell me when you need something. And right now, you need to eat,” Virgil said, slipping off his hoodie and pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. “You look like you’re starving, L.”

“Virgil. We don’t need to do this right now. I just came home, I’m perfectly content with simply spending the evening with you. I promise I’ll be fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

“There’s a perfectly good reason to fuss,” Virgil huffs out, “You’re being so fucking stubborn for no reason. Besides, there’s... well, there’s kind of something I want to talk to you about.” Logan raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Is anything the matter?” Logan asks, trying, and failing, to mask the quickly formed concern.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Virgil swears, “Now, c’mon, the quicker you sink your fangs in, the quicker I can satiate your curiosity.”

Logan sighs, defeated, but tired and very hungry.

“Fine.”

He gets up from the couch, going into the bathroom, and coming out with a first aid kit. Virgil’s always insisted that it’s okay and that he doesn’t need to go to all the trouble. For the most part, the bites stop bleeding almost immediately after he’s done feeding, but Logan has none of it.

“You’re the one who’s taking care of me. Please. Let me take care of you, too.”

It’s little rituals like this, pressing a bandage and a kiss to the wound when he’s finished that keeps Logan from feeling like a monster. That’s what he confessed to Virgil one night, years ago. That he felt like a monster sometimes.

Virgil’s always been clear to dispute this. Logan’s never killed, anyone. He’s never been unnecessarily cruel to anyone, and he’s always, always been so good to Virgil. His need to feed is not that of a monster, and Virgil’s assured him as much anytime he felt otherwise.

But that can’t stop doubt from creeping in, and Virgil understands that. So he lets Logan do things at his pace for the most part, and he lets him take care of him to his heart’s content (Virgil truly isn’t complaining about that. It’s nice, how eager Logan is to care for him).

“Are you alright? Are you comfortable?” Logan asks, just as he always does.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Virgil assures. Logan nods, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s starving, Virgil knows he is. “Go on, baby. It’s okay.”

Logan nods, first kissing Virgil vehemently.

“I love you,” Logan whispers reverently against Virgil’s lips, his fangs brushing just so.

“I love you too.”

Logan pulls away, his eyes meeting Virgil’s, and ah, there it is. His boyfriend’s eyes turn from their usual-blue to a striking crimson, the change in color happening in a manner of seconds, like watching a drop of blood cloud a glass of water. It isn’t hypnotism, per se. Virgil isn’t under Logan’s ever-command, but his gaze certainly sends a sense of calm washing over him. Logan cups Virgil’s face for a moment, still looking at him intensely and lovingly all at once before he presses his lips to Virgil’s neck and sinks his fangs in.

The initial pinprick of pain has always made Virgil shudder a little, even now, but he’s far more prepared for it than he had been in the past. Quickly, though, the pain subsides to something stranger, more far-off. His back presses into the couch as Logan has a hand on either side of his neck, sucking and lapping the blood, Virgil lingering in the bliss.

When he’s finished, Logan removes his fangs, mouth only slightly bloodied.

“Thank you,” he says, whipping his lip and quickly reaching for the first aid kit on the coffee table.

“You’re welcome, Lo,” Virgil says, still a little lost in the feeling. He smiles faintly as a bandage is pressed to his neck. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Logan says, his exhaustion seeming to have faded significantly. “I dare say you were right, I needed that more than I was aware. How about you? Are you alright, my love?” Virgil can’t help but smile dopily at that.

“I’m fine. Great. I love it when you call me that, you know that?” Logan chuckles, his eyes back to their normal blue, and fangs having receded.

“I do. Now, let me go get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to,” Virgil says, only slightly light-headed, “I already had dinner.” Logan’s already on his feet.

“Now, I’ll have none of that,” he tuts, sounding as insistent as Virgil had moments prior, “You just gave blood – so to speak. It’s important to rehydrate and eat something rich in sugar to replenish your red blood cells.” Logan’s rummaging in the cupboard, looking for a snack.

It’s now or never, Virgil thinks to himself suddenly, realizing that if he doesn’t say something right this minute, he’s going to chicken out for the night and have to work himself up again later.

“Hey L?”

“Yes?”

“I…” God, this is harder than it should be! “I want…”

"What would you like? We have crackers, cookies –.”

“I want you to turn to me!” Virgil shudders at the sound of something clattering the floor in the kitchen. He turns around on the sofa, seeing the look of terror in his lover’s eyes.

“Dear Lord, did I take too much blood? Virgil, do you feel faint?” Logan asks, suddenly hovering over him, his eyes scanning over him.

“What? No – no, I’m fine. My head’s super clear. I’m being serious: I want you to turn me.”

“You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do!” Virgil says, zealousness bubbling with each word. He looks into Logan’s eyes, searching desperately for something, anything, that will further his argument. “Logan. Babe. I love you so, so much. I’m crazy about you, and I can’t see myself stopping anytime soon.” Logan swallows, the sound scared and tight.

“I- I love you, too. Virgil you know I love you, but –.”

“But what? You mean absolutely everything to me, and – and I can’t lose you. I want to keep being with you. Don’t you want to keep being with me?”

Virgil hates how desperate he sounds. A fear suddenly creeps into his mind, one he hadn’t yet considered: what if Logan doesn’t want this. He loves him now, but will he ten years from now? Twenty? A hundred? What if he hasn’t imagined a life with Virgil at all? What if he’s nothing more than a momentary distraction? What if –

A cold hand settles on top of his, their fingers lacing together.

“Yes,” says Logan, his voice tight and quiet, “I want to keep being with you. I adore being with you, dear. And I intend to do so for as long as I’m able.”

“But how long is that?” Virgil asks, the fear holding him in a death-grip, “How long until you need to leave this town and change your name?”

“I –.”

“I want to come with you when you go.”

“Virgil, you know how I feel about this subject.”

“No, I fucking don’t!” Virgil says, voice gaining in volume, hand still intertwined with Logan’s, grip tightening, “Because you never want to talk about it! Any time I’ve brought it up in the past you’ve just brushed it aside. Well, guess what? I’m not letting you do that right now. Why can’t you talk about it? What’re you so scared of?” Logan lets out a sigh, long and filled with frustration.

“Virgil… do you realize what you’re asking of me?” Virgil huffs out a breath, nodding.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you really? Do you understand how much you’d be asking me to take from you? You’re asking me to take your life away.”

“I want you, Logan. That’s all I want.”

“You’d need to go with me when I left town. We’d both need to change our identities often, to change occupations. We couldn’t let people grow suspicious.”

“I know.”

“And we’d both need to,” Logan squeezes his eyes shut, cringing at the word, “…hunt. Be it human or animal, I could not rely on you anymore, and you could not rely on me.”

“I know that too. I’ve already thought this all through, Logan. I mean it.”

“You could live such a different life, Virgil. There are so many possibilities that would disappear the moment I… if you were to regret this, there would be no going back. No reversing it.”

“What’ve you been planning for the future then, Logan. Were you just going to disappear one day?”

“I – well. This was your apartment before it was ours. I was considering –.”

“Leaving me,” Virgil finishes, and goddamn it, there are tears in his eyes.

“Sparing you,” Logan counters, “Of a very long existence with me.”

“Don’t you get it, Lo?” Virgil asks, letting go of Logan’s hand, his eyes landing on the floor. “I’ve thought through all of these variables a hundred times. You’re the best part of my life. Most of your friends are my friends too. And, newsflash, they’re vampires, too. I know that it’s a huge decision, a-and that it’s scary. I know it’s a lot. B-but I’ve never been as sure of something as I am about this. Never.”

Logan frowns, his thumb swiping over Virgil’s falling tears.

“You’re… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” It hurts Virgil, how unworthy of this Logan clearly feels. He'll have a lifetime of proving him otherwise, and a long one at that.

“Of course I am,” Virgil sniffles. “I’ve been thinking about it forever I just – I didn’t know how to say it.”

“The thought of having to leave you has haunted me so much these last few years,” Logan admits after a moment of tense quiet, “I didn’t know how I was going to bring myself to do it. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ask you to do this. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Virgil says firmly, hope flickering in his chest, “Because I’m asking you.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” Logan takes a shuddery breath, “You’re… you’re sure I’m what you want?”

“More than anything,” Virgil promises, grabbing hold of both of Logan’s hands.

“Okay,” Logan says after a long, agonizing moment. “I’ll give you a few days, to get anything in order that you feel you need to. And it’ll be just a little more time to back out if you so choose to.” Virgil nods quickly.

“I won’t need it, but okay. But, Logan, baby, do you really mean it?”

“If this is what you’re comfortable with, and it’s what you want then… yes. Yes, I want this too.”

Logan suddenly finds himself with a lapful of Virgil, a pair of lips enthusiastically pressed to his.

“I love you, Logan. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, darling,” Logan says, a weight he wasn’t even aware of suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

The couple basks in the feeling, their shared enthusiasm and fulfilled desires, thinking of a long future together. Logan’s still scared and can’t be sure when or if those fears will ever entirely subside. But he didn’t need to ask this of Virgil; Virgil asked him. They know they can be together, and tonight, that’s more than enough.

=+=

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“Do you think Remus and Virgil have found them yet?”

Patton sits on the sofa, Janus draped over his lap with a book in his hand. He sets the book aside, his attention set on the fatherly figment, Patton’s face drawn in deep worry.

“I don’t know,” he answers, before adding, “But I’m sure they’re alright. Roman and Logan are bound to stick together. And I can’t see Virgil leaving Remus’s side.”

It’s become more and more difficult lying to Patton. Janus finds it almost humorous; he’s Deceit, for Christ’s sake. He should be able to lie to Patton with ease, as there are certainly times in which it’s definitely necessary. Considering their troubled past, and Patton’s previous outright hatred towards all things fibbing, it’s laughable that Janus struggles as much as he does these days.

But he reminds himself, they’re partners now. It was one thing lying to Patton when they were ‘enemies’, and another entirely when they grew closer. But now? Janus has a hard time choking down a mere fib, and this is one of those instances.

He isn’t sure that they’re alright, not at all. He certainly hopes so. He’s put faith in Remus and Virgil to put aside their differences and find them. He doesn’t doubt that they’ll be successful, but the cost of such an outcome weighs heavily on his mind. Roman may very well not want to be found. And when it comes to Logan, Janus just can’t be sure.

Regardless, at most, this is a white lie. Small and, as of now, fairly harmless. He wants to reassure Patton that everything will work out fine and wants even more so to reassure himself of this. Patton’s been on the cliff’s edge of despair of these last few days, Janus is doing everything to stop him from slipping over. But… there’s only so far, a person can go, only so far you can try to comfort those you love, and he knows this. It would be foolish to believe he could irradicate every one of Patton’s doubts. Still, he can’t help but wish for it.

“You’re probably right,” Patton responds after a moment. He’s lying too. Janus can taste the bitterness falsehood in his mouth, and the look in Patton’s eyes gives it all away.

He presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek, curling up in his embrace, his book, for the time being, all but forgotten.

Hurry Remus, he prays silently, Please, keep an eye on him, Virgil. Bring them home.

=+=

“Roman? R-Roman, what’s going on?” Logan asks urgently, swiveling his head around the now pitch-black field. The moment darkness enveloped the land, the unicorns scattered, whinnying as they ran deep into the thicket of the forest.

“I– its. It’s so dark.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Logan says, “Why is it dark? Where did the daylight go?”

Roman goes very quiet and though it’s difficult to do so in the dark, Logan can just barely make out the look of horror that’s spread across his face.

“Roman. Roman, what’s happening?”

“We need to leave,” he says after another moment of stunned silence.

“What?”

“We can’t be here,” Roman insists, grabbing for Logan’s hand and holding tight, “We need to go. Back to the castle.”

“Why? I don’t understand what’s going on,” Logan says, surprised to find Roman physically pulling him in the direction of the castle, “Roman– wait. What is the meaning of this? What's frightening you?”

“I– I don’t know. Logan, I don’t know, I- I don’t know what’s happening. But I know we need to get out of here. Something’s very wrong.”

Desperate for answers though he is, Logan, cannot ignore the way Roman’s voice wavers with utter terror.

“Will doing so help? Will it help you to understand what’s happening?” “I’m– Logan it’s dark. It’s s-so dark. I don’t like it.”

“Okay,” Logan says finally, conjuring a flashlight. He expects that Roman would’ve done so sooner, were it not for his frazzled state of mind, “We’ll go somewhere light. Come on.”

Roman grips his hand almost painfully as they hurry back to the castle. The lights all flick on in unison as they make it through the doors. Roman let’s go of his hand, sagging against the wall, his chest heaving.

“Hey, hey,” Logan says uneasily, watching as his friend struggles, “It’s alright. We’re back where it’s light, you’re going to be alright.”

Not long ago, Logan’s sure he’d insist that there’s no need to be afraid of something as harmless as the dark. People’s minds simply wander towards the worst-case scenarios when they’re in pitch-blackness. Furthermore, he’s certain that Roman in almost any circumstance would be appalled to have revealed the depth of this fear. Regardless, though, they’re here now and Logan will not point out any of those factors.

If he thinks about it for a moment, there may be a good reason to be afraid of this particular darkness. Roman hadn’t seemed to understand its causation the least bit a few minutes ago and he significantly doubts that’s changed much.

“Something’s not right. It’s wrong, Lo. Lo, it’s wrong,” Roman pants, his breath catching in his throat. “It’s dark and– and something doesn’t feel right. It – it feels like there’s someone…”

“Someone who, what? Roman, I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”

Roman’s eyes widen, the expression of terror on his face worsening.

“Someone’s here.”

The moment the whisper exits his lips, Roman’s body goes slack. He pitches backward, his back hitting the wall hard with a smack, and try though he does, Logan isn’t quick enough to try and stop him from sliding to the floor. Hastily, he kneels in front of Roman, searching him over as thoroughly as he can.

“Roman, are you injured? Did something happen?”

He racks his brain, trying to think about a moment in which Roman was out of his sight long enough to have harm done to him. But they’ve been together since they woke up and Logan can’t fathom how Roman might’ve found himself in some kind of parrel. He’s clearly in deep distress, and Logan’s trying to figure out why that might be as quickly as he can. Roman offers no answer.

“Are you ill?” He ventures thinking that might be somewhat more plausible, “Do you feel unwell?”

Roman shakes his head fiercely. He’s shaking like a leaf.

"No,” he bites out as the word hurts him. Logan’s trying to help him up but it’s as though Roman’s body has gone numb, the shivers that rack him only growing worse as each second passes. “No, it’s not– I’m not sick. Can’t you see; there is something amiss. They’re here, a-and, and they don’t want us to be here. They want to take us.”

Logan is not convinced Roman is well. Not with that wild, unfathomable save for terror look in his blown-out pupils and the shivers that refuse to leave him.

He thinks he should do something.  what it is exactly is escaping him, but Roman is panicking and there must be some solution here.

Roman buries his head between his knees, clutching them tightly and making himself as small as possible. Logan’s heart hasn’t stopped hammering since the sun seemed to decide it would shine no longer.

“Roman. Please, you mustn’t be feeling well. Do you have, a fever, perhaps?” Carefully, Logan reaches to touch Roman’s forehead, only for the princely side to jerk away, suddenly standing on unsteady feet.

“I said, I’m not sick! It has to be a monster! A terrible, deadly beast! That’s the only explanation as to why I feel so… so…”

“So?”

“Afraid,” he mutters, “I’m afraid, Logan. You– you can’t let them take me, Logan! Or you! They can’t take us. They can't.”

For a moment, Logan’s mind turns to fellow sides. Roman couldn’t be referring to them with such dread… right? No, surely not. He and Roman aren’t exactly on the best of terms with them at the moment, but the state of their relationship would never warrant that worrying look in Roman’s eyes.

Unsure of himself, Logan says, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Roman. You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe.”

He doesn’t have a clue what he might be keeping Roman safe from. Looking out the window, it’s hard to assess incoming danger in the sudden absence of the sun. but this Roman’s realm, a place he’s always been most in his element. As far as he’s aware, Roman’s felt content in this place and he doesn’t know why that would ever change.

Before he knows what’s happening, Roman is in his lap with his toned arms winding around his waist. He buries his face in Logan’s neck, shaking as the logical side holds him close. It’s strange, how familiar embracing Roman has become and, in turn, being embraced by him. Logan had never intended to become so accustomed to physical intimacy but now that he has, he hardly thinks it possible to stop.

If cradling him and promising protection might keep these unknown demons at bay, Logan will do so. When Roman’s head is clearer, he’ll try to get some information out of him. Surely there must be some way to understand what’s become of the sun – or the moon for that matter, for she too has vanished.

=+=

“What the fuck is going on?” Is the first thing Virgil asks when the lights go out. Remus must know, he thinks; he’s a part of Thomas’s creativity, for crying out loud! But when Virgil turns to him, his face now illuminated by the torch that’s he’s conjured, Remus looks as confused as he does.

“I don’t know,” Remus says, holding the torch of green fire in front of him, staring out into the otherwise inky blackness, “What did he do?”

“What did who do? What’re you talking about?”

“Roman,” Remus answers, “What the hell did my brother do? The timing in this place has always been weird but the suns never disappeared before.”

From his limited knowledge of The Imagination, Virgil can attest to that. He’s been here countless times with Roman, and a few with Remus, back in the day, and nothing like this has ever happened. He’d noticed the sun rising and setting at a hard to pin down rate, but this is just plain freaky.

“Do… do you think Roman knows what’s going on either?”

“He might, but–.” He pauses, a grave look settling over his face. “Virgil.”

“Yeah?”

“Does something feel wrong here?”

“Okay, you already know I’m anxious all the time, so I don’t know what you’re– oh. Huh. Are those…?”

“Eyes?”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil says, noticing what must be dozens of pairs of glowing emerald green eyes in the bushes and shrubbery around them. “Are they you’re doing?”

“Not this time, Storm Cloud.”

Virgil spares a second to dwell on the use of a nickname he hasn’t heard from Remus in what must be years now before realizing, far more troublingly, that Remus looks unnerved. He isn’t the type to be afraid of things in The Imagination or just period, yet his eyes are wide as he takes in the sights and sounds that seem to be closing in on them.

“Stuff like this isn’t usually anywhere near Roman’s side, right?”

“Nope. He’s got unicorns and fairies and shit. You think these are unicorns and fairies?”

Considering the sinister look in those many sets of eyes and the growls and snarls erupting from the greenery, Virgil’s inclined to say, Nah, not wholesome fairytale creatures.

Virgil had gone into this situation knowing all was far from well, but this exceeds those expectations by a lot. He’d thought maybe a standoff between Logan and Roman would be evident, but he’d never worried that The Imagination itself might be hostile.

“Remus, what’re we supposed to do?”

“We’re gonna find Logan and my shit-head brother is what we’re gonna do,” Remus says, suddenly brandishing his morning star.

“But what about–.”

“What, this? C’mon, we can handle this. Just stick close.”

And as much as Virgil wants to head in the opposite direction, what choice has he got? They can’t return back to the mindscape emptyhanded and what if these creatures are, like, trapping Logan and Roman here or something? He seriously doubts that train of thought, but there’s no going back, not when they’ve already made it to Roman’s side of The Imagination. They’re here to do something, and goddamn it, they’re gonna do it.

It doesn’t stop Virgil’s heart from racing as Remus slips a hand into his, giving him a squeeze. Whether or not Remus is trying to comfort him or himself, Virgil doesn’t have a clue, but either way, he’s not letting go. Not right now.

One step at a time, hand-in-hand, they walk into the lion’s den.

=+=

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Remus is loud, bold, energetic to an erratic point, and he says absolutely everything that comes to mind the moment the thought occurs to him. “Hey, emo, what do you think it’d look like if I just exploded right now! Just my blood and guts smeared all over the walls! Wouldn’t that be awesome?!”

Needless to say, Virgil’s not initially a fan. Remus is a lot to handle, and honestly, Virgil’s a little scared of him at first. It isn’t as though he thinks that Remus is going to hurt him, he’s just… weird. And crude, and a lot to handle. He’s impulsive and brash, and a kind of person that Virgil’s never known. He decides that he doesn’t like him and that he’ll avoid him as much as he’s able.

Except, that isn’t really possible. Despite the fact that Remus and Roman’s relationship is strained, to say the least, they still spend some amount of time together, and Remus is occasionally invited (or invites himself) to events. The point is, Virgil sees him around, more and more. And somewhere along the way he somehow becomes tolerable.

Virgil doesn’t know what changes, but one day, at a party Remus plops himself down next to him, crowding his personal space, and he lets him stay. That’s when he first realizes how warm he is, how strangely comfortable Remus’s presence can be. It might be the alcohol, Virgil thinks to himself that night, that’s why Remus leaning on him, giggling and making inappropriate jokes makes him feel so stupidly nice.

Virgil blames the liquor when he kisses Remus, too. He still can’t fully remember what spurred it; he just knows Remus looked so pretty, his grey-streaked hair falling in his eyes, coming out of its bun, and Virgil leaned forward and kissed him. It’s harder to blame anything other than a more complicated desire when he finds himself in Remus’s bed, their limbs a tangled mess.

It’s startling, that morning, waking up and seeing Remus asleep beside him for the first time and thinking about how beautiful he looks. Remus and Roman are identical twins, and he’s certainly never thought about his friend that way. That isn’t to say he hasn’t noticed that Roman is handsome, because, c’mon, he has eyes. But this is different. The way he looks at Remus is different and – oh shit – trashy men with ratty mustaches and a terrible fashion sense are his type, aren’t they?

He doesn’t know when he went from being afraid of him to tolerating his presence, to finding him heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but the shift has happened regardless. When did Remus’s jokes go from unnerving to kind of fucking funny? He can’t say. At first, not sure if it’s going to last. They’re so different, or at least, that’s how things appear.

But with time, Virgil learns that isn’t necessarily the case. Yes, Remus is far louder and more abrasive than he is, but there are more commonalities between them then he might’ve thought. Remus is a Halloween freak, too, which is nice because none of Virgil’s friends like the holiday quite as much as he does. Remus adores horror movies, the gorier the better, and his shoulder makes the perfect spot to hide his face when things get too scary. Remus likes a lot of the same music (although his taste can be a tad crude sometimes, to say the least), and it’s nice, not having to worry that his playlist is to “emo.”

A lot of things are nice with Remus, Virgil comes to realize. Waking up beside him, singing along to music way too loudly, being picked up by him because good lord is he strong. It’s all just really… domestic, which isn’t something Virgil had ever seen for himself. So, yeah, they don’t make a lot of sense, at least not at first glance. But somehow, they just work, and that’s enough for Virgil. It’s more than enough.

Virgil turns over in bed, his right hand finding its way into Remus’s frazzled hair. His boyfriend’s mustache curls slightly upwards when his lip twitches upward into a smile, but he doesn’t wake, just arches closer to Virgil. Virgil smiles at this, stroking through his long hair.

His eyes glance to the cardboard moving boxes that litter the bedroom floor. God, he’s really got to start unpacking soon. He just moved into Remus’s apartment – their apartment now, he supposes – a week ago, and he’s been getting used to living with another person. Virgil had never let himself imagine such things, lying in bed with his boyfriend on a Saturday, having boxes to unpack because he moved in. It’s a lot to process, sometimes. It’s not bad, just kind of… intense. And mushy, gushy, and full of all the emotions he never expected to feel.

Virgil presses a kiss to the crown of Remus’s head, relishing in the smile that spreads over his sleeping face, before swinging his legs over the bed and heading into the kitchen.

Virgil groans at the sight of the dishes piled high in the sink. It’s his own damn fault; it was his turn to do the dishes (Christ, he never thought about the painfully mundane issues of a relationship like dish duty, or who takes out the garbage, or any of that). It’s… weird, not living alone anymore. He’d been so used to it for so long and, now here he is, existing in the same space as the man that he loves. He must be spending too much time with Roman because he’s turning into such a sap.

Being a sap aside, Virgil really should get these done while Remus is still asleep. That isn’t to say that Remus is some kind of a clean freak, because he really isn’t. It’d just be good to get the choir out of the way.

Virgil turns on his portable speaker, scrolling through his phone for the best music to play because turning music on while doing mundane tasks always gives him a little much-needed energy (which he generally has very little to speak for). He settles for MCR, “Teenagers” blaring as begins to scrub away last night’s pasta-sauce covered plates.

And okay, yeah, the music is probably cranked up too loud. Yeah, Virgil’s mouthing along to the words, singing some of them, and he really should just shut up and do the dishes considering his boyfriend is asleep in the other room. But Remus is such a heavy sleeper, and he’s never woken him up in the past playing music in another room, so why should he now?

Virgil’s absolutely positive that Remus is still dead asleep as he begins to move to the music, his voice gaining in volume as he sings along, unabashedly. It’s unlike him; Virgil’s always so riddled with self-consciousness. But social anxiety isn’t much of a factor alone in the kitchen doing the dishes, so he doesn’t focus on how ridiculous he must look, getting lost in the music and dancing like an idiot.

“Nice moves, hot stuff.”

Virgil shrieks, the sponge in his hand hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.

“Sweet Frank Iero – Remus! You- you scared the shit out of me!”

There stands Remus, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen and beginning to cackle. Virgil feels a flush climb up from his necks all the way to his ears as he bends down to retrieve the sponge, and then to pause the music. Remus has the decency to wear boxers, considering how adamant he is about sleeping in the buff. He’d probably walk around nude most of the time if Virgil didn’t beg him not to. “We have neighbors!” “We live on the third floor.” “Well – still! You are not walking around our apartment with your dick hanging out.” “Aw, you’re no fun!”

 “Sorry for spooking you, scare-bear,” Remus says, though he doesn’t sound all that genuinely apologetic, especially not with that shit-eating-grin. “You know –.” “Stop. Whatever you’re going to say just – just don’t. I’m already about to die from embarrassment, don’t make it worse.” Virgil can feel his blush go from pink to crimson as Remus walks further into the room, his smile going impossibly wider.

“I don’t know what you mean, Virgey,” Remus croons, his hands finding their way to Virgil’s waist, chin perched on his shoulder. Virgil tries to keep his eyes trained on the dishes in the sink, the sponge trembling slightly in his hand, but Remus certainly isn’t making focusing easy.

“Yes, you fucking do.”

“I, for one, think you’re adorable.” Virgil’s cheeks, somehow, go redder.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Virgil groans, setting the sponge in the sink and shoving Remus off of him so he can turn around to face him. He’s still got that wicked smile; the bastard.

“Remus…”

“Virgil.”

“I’m… geez, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Virgil asks the realization that he might’ve been the cause of Remus waking catching up despite the embarrassment. Remus quickly shakes his head, his hair flopping in his face.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, “Course you didn’t. Have you ever?”

“Only when I’m really trying to, I guess,” Virgil says after thinking about it for a moment.

“I just woke up at the exact perfect time and didn’t want to make my presence noticed at first.”

“Creep,” Virgil says, but he’s throwing his arms around Remus and pulling him close all the same.

Remus accepts the embrace happily, pressing Virgil into his chest and kissing the top of his head. Remus gives the best hugs. The height difference was something he was initially a bit self-conscious about; but really, what doesn’t make him self-conscious? Quickly, though, he learned to love embraces from his boyfriend. Remus stands a head-and-a-half taller, and swallows Virgil up in his arms every time they hug. Remus hugs with everything he has, tight and protective. Virgil forgets that he was ever afraid of him in these moments, safe and secure in his arms.

“And what of it?” Remus says with a laugh, letting go of Virgil so he’s able to bend down and kiss him thoroughly. Virgil’s hands settle around his neck, a good portion of his embarrassment leaving.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Remus croons, kissing Virgil on the cheek before pulling away, “You want some breakfast, dance machine?” And there comes the embarrassment, roaring back to life.

“I swear if you’re going to keep teasing me –.”

“Oh, c’mon! Cut me some slack, babe. You’re cute as all hell!”

“Remmmm.”

“Do you want breakfast or not? Bacon, eggs?” Remus asks, trying to distract from his teasing. Virgil sighs.

“That depends: are you going to burn the bacon on purpose like last time?” Remus is silent, his smile devious. “Remus, I swear, if you do, I will go and get McDonald's and I will not share.”

“Ugh, fine,” Remus pouts dramatically, as if burning bacon just for the fun of it (although it can be quite fun to watch it curl up and turn all chalky and black) sounds any better than having breakfast with his boyfriend. “But only because I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

Remus puts the bacon on the skillet, cracking the eggs in a pan and watching Virgil with amusement as he turns the speaker back on, MCR playing once more. Virgil can’t help but laugh as Remus begins to break into dance moves in front of the stove, wiggling his hips and singing along as he flips the eggs.

Eventually, Virgil can’t help but join in. Remus’s just like that; an infectious personality, to say the least. But Virgil’s glad for it. Really, really glad. Joining Remus in dancing to My Chemical Romance in their kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly feels so natural. Remus makes it natural.

He doesn’t entirely know if he’ll ever be used to it, and he knows he’ll always be at least a little embarrassed about things like this. But it’s nice, and that’s something Virgil can settle into just fine.

=+=

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“Oh, extremely,” Virgil says pulling away and leaning down to press another kiss to Logan’s lips. “Lemme go brush my teeth and I’ll be right there.”

Virgil walks into Logan’s bedroom after getting ready for bed, though he isn’t sure if it can just be called Logan’s room anymore. After all, for the past several weeks, Virgil’s been sleeping there, he’s got multiple articles of clothing in Logan’s closet and personal items strewn about the room. He might even dare to call it their room at this point, though maybe just in his head. At least, for now.

That’s how things had started. Virgil’s never had a very healthy sleep schedule. As a result, his insomnia keeps him awake late into the night most of the time, and he’s usually lucky if he got four or so hours. This was something he’d been used to for a long time, something he hadn’t ever expected to change. That was until Virgil had found out about Logan’s fear of storms.

Virgil and Logan had been friends for several years, having met in high school and rooming together in college. They were closer than Virgil had been with anyone; he hadn’t known what it was like, to know someone so well, and in turn, to be known so well. With that being said, Logan had managed to keep this fear under wraps for years, only letting it slip once he let out a loud yelp as lightning crackled outside the window, followed by a clap of thunder.

Virgil recalls how he ran into Logan’s room, afraid that something must’ve happened to him, only to find his friend huddled and trembling on his bed, with his head tucked between his knees. In all of the time that they’d known each other, this was the first time Virgil had ever seen his friend so vulnerable.

Logan had asked him to leave him alone, but Virgil wasn’t that dull. He couldn’t Logan in such a state, regardless of how embarrassed he must’ve been, so he stayed the whole night with him, refusing to leave his side. Virgil’s presence lulled Logan into a state of calm, and for the first time in years, Virgil slept the whole night through.

They did their best to dance around one another, but their apartment was only so big, and their feelings were inescapable. Within a few days, they’d confessed a love that had been budding all the time they’d known each other, a love that was the real reason they continued to live together, despite not really having to. A love that neither of them understood in full, but desperately wanted to learn more about.

They’ve only been dating for a few short weeks now, and so many things are still unsaid, still unknown, but it’s a hopeful kind of mystery, one that Virgil’s happy to explore. Virgil slides into bed beside Logan, immediately pulling him close.

“Don’t forget it’s our turn to host movie night tomorrow,” Virgil reminds Logan, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pausing. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Logan says, hoping Virgil will believe him. A foolish thought, really. Virgil turns over, flicking the bedside lamp back on, no longer allowing Logan’s insecure to be shrouded in darkness.

“Bullshit,” Virgil says sharply, but worry permeates his voice all the same, “You just went all stiff – also, I know you. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Logan lets a sigh roll past his lips as Virgil stares intently, his chin propped on his arms and eyes studying every aspect of his expression.

“Okay,” Logan says, sighing again because he wasn’t expecting to have this conversation tonight, “I’ve been wondering…”

“Yeah?” Virgil asks, coaxing softly.

“I’ve been wondering… if you think I’m a good boyfriend.” The look that flashes across Virgil’s face is positively incredulous.

“What?! Lo, what kind of question is that? Of course, I think you’re a good boyfriend! I love you.” Virgil’s spine straightens as he bolts into a sitting position.

“I love you too,” Logan says, sitting up too and meeting Virgil’s somewhat frantic gaze, “Very much. It’s just… I’m not sure if I’m doing what’s expected of me.”

“What’s expected of you?” Virgil asks, confused as ever, “Babe, what the hell are you talking about?” Logan reaches for his glasses that are set on the nightstand on, slipping them on with a slightly trembling hand.

“I haven’t taken you on a real date yet.”

“Okay, yeah, but I haven’t taken you on a real date, either,” Virgil counters, “It’s a two-way street. Also, we hang out all the time. We go get coffee or to movies together constantly. I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as I’m spending time with you.” Logan only slightly resents the warmth that blooms in his chest as a result of the sentimental statement. Virgil’s always been exceptionally good at making Logan feel better, but that can’t hinder the fact that self-consciousness has cocooned him.

“I – well, I-I enjoy spending time with you too, obviously,” Logan stutters, his hand settling near his neck reflectively before he remembers he’s in his pajamas, and as a result, void of a tie to straighten, “But it feels like there are things largely expected of me that I haven’t done.” Virgil quirks an eyebrow.

“Like what?”

“I haven’t ever gotten you flowers.” Virgil can’t help it; he lets out a laugh.

“Babe, they die in a couple of days. I don’t need you to buy me flowers.”

“Yes, but, the other day you got me a coffee and a brownie from that bakery I like just because you were ‘thinking of me’,” Logan says.

“I was thinking about you,” Virgil says, “Is that what’s getting you so worked up? A pastry? You get me coffee all the fucking time, L.”

“But- but it’s different now. You’re my boyfriend, and I… I haven’t been doing enough.”

“Oh, Logan,” Virgil coos, a tone of voice that makes Logan feel light and airy, “Baby, no. Is that what you think? That you aren’t doing enough for me?” Virgil asks, taking Logan’s hand in his. Logan does his best to swallow the building lump in his throat.

“I… I suppose,” Logan muttered, shame tinting his words.

“And yet I’m the one with crippling anxiety,” Virgil mutters, half to himself, before squeezing Logan’s hand, “I’m so sorry, babe. I had no idea you felt this way.” Logan averted his eyes.

“You had no reason to. I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve known,” Virgil says, his thumb grazing a gentle circular pattern over his boyfriend’s knuckles, “I need you to know that you’re absolutely enough for me. Logan, you’ve been my best friend for years, and I’ve loved you for nearly as long. We’re not exactly taking the convention route here – and that’s okay! We don’t need to go on ‘official’ dates right away. You don’t need to buy me flowers – hold on, do you want me to buy you flowers?” Logan bit his lip, but the blush that infiltrated his face was incrementing all the same.

“Okay, I’m definitely getting you flowers.”

“Y-you don’t have to.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said, though not unkindly, “I love you, Logan Croft, and I mean that with all my heart.” Logan lets out a deep breath, leaning his head against Virgil’s shoulder, their hands still linked.

“I love you too. Very much. I apologize; I’ve been acting irrationally. It’s just…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Virgil insists, and Logan wants to believe him, “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Silence settles over the pair for a long moment, and Logan is about to turn the lights off and pull the covers back over them before Virgil speaks up again.

“Do you still want to do Movie Night tomorrow? We can reschedule if you want.”

“Yes,” Logan answers, lost in the beautiful rare sight that was Virgil without his makeup (Not to say that the eyeshadow isn’t a good look because really, it is). Logan often can’t believe this wonderful person, so incredible and full of wit and dark humor has chosen him. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone. I know everyone was looking forward.” “They’ll live, if you don’t want to,” Virgil says, his tone not shying away from seriousness, “I mean it, you know. I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” Logan takes a deep breath.

“And you are comfortable, then?” Virgil blinks, confession settling onto his face.

“Huh?”

“You’re comfortable telling our friends about us,” Logan clarifies, “Roman, Remus, Patton, and Janus. You’re alright with telling them?”

“I’m comfortable with whatever you’re comfortable with,” Virgil says simply, “And if you aren’t, then we’ll wait. Okay?”

Logan can’t help but feel surprise wash over him. He supposes he’d expected Virgil, so riddled with anxiety and self-doubt, to have a similar reaction, a similar hesitation. But he isn’t. He seems perfectly fine with telling their friends about the status of their relationship.

It isn’t as though Logan expects a poor reaction. It’s not exactly a secret that Logan and Virgil have feelings for each other and have for some time. But for whatever reason, Logan can’t shake the self-doubt that he isn’t ready, that maybe something’s missing. Virgil is ready, though, and he’s keeping him from that. He doesn’t want to do that, regardless of how irrationally scared he may be.

“Feelings are… a difficult thing,” Logan manages, though his words aren’t quite cooperating with him.

“Yeah, they can be.”

“I don’t always know how to make sense of them,” Logan continues, “Oftentimes, I feel so blindsight by them. And… I’m sorry, for how hesitant I am. And how much of a learning curve loving you has been.”

“You don’t need to keep saying sorry,” Virgil urges. Logan worries his bottom lip, his head still resting on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Be that as it may, I’m glad that I’m learning. I can’t thank you enough for your patience and understanding… We should, uh, continue movie night as scheduled.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“I’m positive,” Logan says (he is by no means positive, but it sounds a lot better than ‘maybe’).

The roommates drift to sleep not long after that, whispering repeated words of love and affirmation. Logan can’t help but feel a little better, despite the self-doubt that’s been eating at him.

In the morning, Virgil wakes to find breakfast prepared for him.

“You’re too sweet, Lo. You didn’t have to,” Virgil says, greeted with a kiss.

“No, but I wanted to.”

Later, when Logan arrives home, he finds a small bouquet of blue flowers sitting on the table addressed to him, and his heart soars.

=+=

By the time that everyone has arrived for movie night, Virgil isn’t too sure what to expect. He’ll give Logan as much space as he needs, just as he said, but Logan’s had an uncharacteristic pep in his step all day long, and it doesn’t seem to be diminishing, even in the company of friends.

“I think we should watch a romance,” Roman declares, earning a groan from his brother.

“UGH – you always want a romance. Where’s the flavor? The blood and guts?” Remus asks, earning a playful swat from Janus that does little to shut him up.

“It’s Logan’s turn to pick a movie out,” Virgil points out, and suddenly all eyes are on the nerd, “It’s your choice, L.” Logan thinks for a moment, eyes scanning the films on the shelf.

“The Princess Bride,” he says, earning a look of surprise from everyone in the room. “What? Is no one interested?”

“It’s not that,” Patton says softly, his shock just as evident as everyone else’s, “It’s just kind of a… surprise, coming from you, teach. That’s all.”

“That’s gotta be the understatement of the century,” Roman declares dramatically, “This nerd, picking such a movie has to be some kind of scientific anomaly or something!”

“Would you all rather we watch something else, then?”

“No,” Virgil cuts in, fondness evident in his voice, “No, that’s the movie you chose. Let’s watch The Princess Bride.” The rest of the group continues to mumble about the surprising choice, but no one raises an issue with it and the movie is popped in and Janus puts some popcorn in the microwave. When the timer beeps, Virgil nudges Logan.

“Hey, L, can you get the popcorn?” Virgil asks and Logan nods. He rises to his feet, before cupping Virgil’s cheeks softly, their lips meeting just briefly before he pulls away.

“As you wish, my starlight.” Virgil breaks out into a blush as he watches Logan retreat into the kitchen and the friend group breaks off into chatter.

“I knew it!” Roman says.

“That’s the worst lie I’ve heard in a while,” Janus snipes, “Let’s be real, Roman, you had no idea.”

“Awww, you guys,” Patton coos at an embarrassed looking Virgil, “Why didn’t you say anything? This is so sweet!”

“The emo nightmare and the nerd are screwing!”

“REMUS!” Several voices screech, but Logan’s riding the wave of emotion far too much to pay much mind to what’s going on in the next room, especially when Virgil sneaks up behind him and wraps him in an embrace, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You little shit,” Virgil mutters affectionately, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Nice reference.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, turning around in his arms with a bright smile.

Logan knows he still has a long way to go in terms of understanding his emotions and acclimating to being in a relationship, but he’s sure this is a good start. Virgil thinks so too, kissing him in the kitchen until Remus walks in and wolf-whistles and the movie begins. Logan and Virgil hold each other the whole way through, their smiles unwavering.

=+=

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