#patchwork fic

Roman rolls his eyes. “What time is your date with Logan?” he asks, once Patton has finished replying to his soulmate and flopped back onto his bed with a contented sigh.

“Four o’clock, at the fountain in the main quad”, Patton says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him face to face!”

“Yes...” Roman busies himself cramming yet more outfits onto the already overstuffed rail in his closet, while studiously avoiding looking at his own, conspicuously bare arm.

“Have you arranged when you’re gonna meet Virgil yet?” The question was inevitable; it’s not Patton’s fault that Roman was hoping not to hear it.

Roman pauses in the act of hanging up a prince costume he's sure he'll find an essential use for at some point. "We're thinking of meeting tomorrow instead", he replies, keeping his tone light. "Virgil's stressed about moving in and navigating the new place, even with Logan around, and we figured after all these years we can survive another day apart."

“You don’t mind waiting?” Patton sits up, frowning, and Roman tries not to squirm under his gaze.

He grimaces. “Well, okay, I'm not thrilled about it, but I want to do what’s best for Virgil. And besides, now we’re on the same campus, there’s a chance fate might intervene.” He presses his hands to his chest, his expression morphing into the smile of an incurable daydreamer. “An encounter of destiny, unplanned, between two souls bound to each other! Doesn’t that sound so much more exciting than something planned?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you guys both want!” Patton smiles, uncapping his pen once more and drawing a heart on his arm. As soon as Roman turns away to continue unpacking, he bites his lip. Beginning a new message to Logan, he thanks the universe, not for the first time, that his soulmate and Roman’s are best friends too.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Logan finished unpacking over an hour ago, taking pleasure in carefully organising his small selection of semi-formal clothes and his more extensive collection of books. Now, he sits relaxing at his desk, reading information about the college in between messages too and from Patton.

Reaching the end of a paragraph, he glances once more at his left arm and notices a new stretch of blue ink dancing its way into being across the skin. He frowns thoughtfully as he reads the words. Hmm…

He looks over to where Virgil is lying back on his bed, surrounded by messy heaps of his unpacked belongings. His eyes are closed and he's listening to music on his headphones, shutting out the chaos and unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, Logan knows that exclusion doesn't extend to himself. They've been friends since middle school, and the neurodiversity that brought them together has given them a shared need for space and stability. Virgil finds organising his room a trial, so, on Logan's advice, he's pacing himself. First, he unpacked by dumping everything out of his bags, and now he's taking a break before tackling the more substantial chore of organising it all for the year ahead.

Watching Virgil twitch slightly to the beat of the music, Logan considers. Patton's concern is a reasonable one. Logan was surprised himself by Virgil's reluctance to meet Roman, and while he didn't press the issue at the time, his soulmate has offered a different perspective. Perhaps some subtle investigating is in order after all.

“Virgil”, he begins, to get his roommate’s attention, “Why are you delaying meeting Roman? I realise you find the prospect of meeting new people a stressful one, but surely you cannot consider Roman a stranger after so many years of communication with him?”

Virgil grimaces, opening his eyes and rolling over to face Logan. “Take a wild guess”, he grunts. “I’m putting it off because I know he’s gonna be disappointed. I’ve been able to make him think I’m cool and edgy in writing, but that won’t last two minutes in person when I don’t have all that extra time to think about what to say.”

Logan frowns. “I have never read any reputable reports of people being disappointed when meeting their soulmates. On the contrary, most studies have found a remarkable degree of compatibility between even those with markedly different personalities.”

“Tell that to my anxiety, L.” Virgil sighs, propping himself up onto an elbow. “It’s just a massive step, you know? Feels like too much to handle on the same day as moving in here.”

“Entirely reasonable.” Logan gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It was not my intention to pressure you into meeting sooner. Still, I want you to know I am confident that when you do meet Roman, you will find him happy to accept every side of you, even the ones you struggle to accept yourself.”

“Maybe.” Virgil clearly isn’t convinced, but Logan decides to drop the topic for now. If he’s still refusing to meet Roman tomorrow, they can discuss the issue further then.

He glances at his watch. "I need to leave soon for my planned meeting with Patton. Will you be okay without me?"

“Already?” Virgil groans, flopping onto his back once more.

“We arranged to meet an hour before the new students' assembly to give us ample time for conversation." He hesitates, trying not to sound reluctant as he adds, "If you need to come with me, I am sure Patton will understand."

Virgil shudders. “Hell no, I don’t wanna watch you being sappy and weird. I’ll be okay. Probably turn my music up and kill time by organising some of my stuff.”

Logan nods. “A sensible idea.” Picking up his bag, he checks he has everything he wants to take with him, then takes a deep breath. “I will see you later. Please send me a text if you need me. I may not see it immediately, but I will be sure to check periodically in case.”

Hand on the door handle, he freezes abruptly as an unexpected wave of nervous adrenaline hits him. Distantly, he’s aware of Virgil asking if he’s okay, and he nods despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest. “Text me if you need me”, he repeats, the words a mantra of friendship. Then the handle turns, and he is on his way.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

It’s 3:55 when Logan arrives at the fountain, his usual precise punctuality waved in the hope of seeing Patton's. He sits down on the curved stone seat, hands gripping the concrete to still their shaking as he scans the crowds moving around him. The walk across campus has helped to clear the nervous fog from his mind, but the way his heart is pounding, a less scientific thinker would say it was trying to escape his chest.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, he doesn’t notice Patton until the man is six yards away, his long stride rapidly closing that distance. Logan freezes, his heart continuing its thudding beat but somehow doubling the rate, and he has to force himself to breathe. He stands on shaking legs, his eyes fixed irresistibly on the figure now standing before him.

Patton beams down, all tan skin and cotton candy sweater. “Logan?” he asks breathlessly, and Logan’s head nods mechanically as he stares.

Patton's smile somehow widens even further, and he shakes his hands at his sides as if needing to expend some of his boundless excited energy. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Face to face, I mean! Is it okay if I shake your hand? It sounds silly, but I kinda need to touch you so that I'll know you're really real!"

Something in Logan’s chest relaxes, letting him breathe more easily at last. “I assure you I am no illusion”, he says, smiling as he holds out his left hand.

Patton stares at it, then giggles, and Logan suddenly understands the metaphor of being hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“I forgot we’re opposite-handed!" Patton explains, holding out his own left hand to shake Logan’s eagerly. “I mean, I knew, obviously, but it’s somehow different seeing it in person. Like, now I really know, you know?”

"Indeed, observing for oneself is generally more impactful than hearing information secondhand.” Logan smiles up at him. “You are taller than I expected. For some reason, I assumed you would be approximately my height or shorter, although I now realise that was irrational of me."

Does he sound silly? Perhaps, but he’s unexpectedly overwhelmed by the feelings Patton is eliciting in him. They’ve been having written conversations ever since their soul connection formed, and over time a friendly intimacy has developed between them. Several years have passed since he became aware of the warm sensation thoughts of Patton bring to his chest.

But now, having the man standing before him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and the affection in his smile... Hearing his voice and the soft lilt of his accent... Logan has never felt so much all at once before, and it's sending his usually tidy thoughts swirling and scattering like papers in a sudden breeze.

Patton laughs, and the sound shoots another arrow of giddy heat into Logan's chest. "Guess we never thought to tell each other our heights, huh? I'm kinda glad I'm taller than you, though, wanna know why?"

“Why is that?” Logan asks, dazed.

Patton beams at him. "'Cause it means I can wrap you up in a great big hug like I've always wanted to! If you're okay with it, that is?"

Logan nods emphatically, finding his expansive vocabulary buried beneath the sudden lump in his throat. As Patton wraps strong arms around him and rests a warm cheek on his hair, his eyes prickle with what he’s confused to realise are tears. The sensation is so rare, it takes a moment for him to connect them to the glow of happiness spreading through him. With a contented sigh, he raises his own arms to hug Patton back, settling comfortably into his embrace.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

Virgil sits on the edge of his bed, frantically bouncing one knee as he wonders if he should set out alone to the assembly. Deep in his spiralling thoughts, he startles hard when his phone buzzes with a text from Logan.

“Salutations,

Would it be possible for you to make your way to the event without me? I realise it may be selfish, but I am keen to spend as much time as possible getting to know Patton better. You are welcome to sit with us if we encounter you when we get there.

- Logan”.

Dammit. It’s what Virgil was expecting, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He hates both crowds and formal events, and the thought of walking into this combination alone causes bitter dread to pool in the pit of his stomach. Plus, going without Logan means he’s almost guaranteed to end up sitting next to total strangers. He shudders.

Still, he refuses to make Logan worry. Firing back a quick “I’ll be okay”, he puts his earphones in and tries to lose himself in the music as he makes his way across campus to the venue.

Head down, eyes fixed on the ground a foot ahead of him, he tries to forget just how many people are heading the same way he is. As he approaches the hall, he becomes vaguely aware of a loud voice talking nearby. The small part of his mind paying attention concludes it's a telephone conversation, since only one side can be heard.

“But you can’t just abandon me to sit on my own!” the voice wails. “What will people think?! Yes, I’m sure he is handsome and smart and wonderful, but bros before souls, that’s what I always say. Well, okay, maybe I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now! Yes, I know, I can hear him. You're right, his accent is cute. I can’t wait to hear my soulmate's- OUCH!!"

A flailing arm thuds into Virgil, who is nearly thrown off balance by the shock of the impact. He looks up, glaring daggers, to find the loudmouth scowling back with equal fury.

“Watch where you’re going, clod!” the overdressed stranger rants.

“Same to you, watch where you’re flinging your arms!”

"I'm having an important conversation-"

“What’s the point in waving your arms around when the person on the phone can’t even-”

They're interrupted by an official-sounding voice ringing out over a tannoy, reminding everyone that the assembly will begin soon and they should hurry inside and find seats.

The disparate parts of the crowd begin to converge, pushing into the hall, and Virgil and the loud stranger are carried along side by side in the flow. They find themselves pushed together to sit on the end of a row of chairs, and although Virgil is still annoyed, he takes some relief at having the aisle seat.

“How did I get stuck next to the emo nightmare?" he hears his neighbour grumble under his breath.

“Karma for being a nightmare yourself”, Virgil mutters, and the stranger at least has the decency to blush.

Their bickering might have continued indefinitely, but at that moment the MC steps up to the microphone to begin their welcome, and an unspoken truce descends.

*****

When at last it's over, Virgil sits back in his chair and sighs wearily. "That was even more boring than I thought it would be", he remarks to no one in particular.

Of course, the stranger beside him responds as though it were directed at him. “I’m surprised you heard any of it with your earphones in the whole time. I could hear your music all the way through!”

Virgil turns and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, maybe you wouldn't have if you hadn't been leaning over so close to me. You were practically on my lap!"

The stranger huffs, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I had a choice! It was the only way I could see past that mountain of a guy in front of me!”

“Well, sorry I didn’t realise you were so keen for a good view of some guy standing talking.” Virgil scowls. “So you could hear my music, huh? Is that why you kept tapping your fingers on your knee? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to my legs! And besides, I defy anyone not to tap their fingers along to Panic! At The Disco!”

“Wait, you recognised it?” Virgil frowns at the thoroughly preppy-looking guy next to him. “I wasn’t exactly the mainstream stuff. I didn’t take you for an emo.”

“If you must know, my soulmate's an emo, and he introduced me to them. I might not share all his tastes, but as a theatre kid, I always appreciate theatrical flair."

Oh right, soulmates are a thing. Virgil gives a grunt that could mean anything, turning his attention away from the stranger's continued rambling. He watches as more and more individuals and groups make their way to the exits. All the freshmen are meant to be here, which means Roman must be somewhere amongst them. For the first time, he almost regrets never asking for a photograph or more detailed physical description. But he always feared Roman would expect the same from him in return, and then be disappointed or put off by his ever-present hoodie and black eye shadow.

It doesn’t help that the vague description he’s been given of “Tall, with brown hair and blue eyes”, could fit far too many of the students here, including the one tapping a foot and making impatient noises beside him.

With a sigh, Virgil stands up, switching his music back on and turning up the volume as he waits for a gap in the flow of bodies. As soon as one appears, he steps into it, letting himself be absorbed and carried away towards the door. As he moves away, he’s distantly aware of his former seat-mate speaking, but he’s too stressed, too busy trying to blot out the strangers surrounding him to think of looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Roman sighs, flopping dramatically backwards onto his bed. It's been a long day, and he wants to relax, but his mind buzzes restlessly with frustration.

Patton sent a text to say he’ll be getting dinner at the dining hall with Logan, and while he did say Roman was welcome to join them, Roman has no desire to play third wheel, thank you very much. Besides which, he can't shake the petty resentment that his hopes of a destiny-driven encounter with Virgil have apparently been dashed. Instead, he got stuck with some other emo, who, while admittedly very cute, had the cheek, the absolute bare-faced audacity to zone out while Roman was speaking to him and then walk away without even a goodbye!

With a huff, Roman rolls over and glares at the time. It’s 7:15 pm, earlier than his and Virgil’s usual chat time, but he needs to feel connected to his soulmate right now. With a surge of misery, he realises he’s lonely, as well as more envious of Patton and Logan than he’d like to admit.

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulls out the red glitter gel pen he reserves for soul-to-soul talks, and writes “Hey, stormcloud, are you free?” on his left arm.

After a few moments, a spidery dark purple reply writes itself onto his right arm. “Yeah, wanna talk now?”

"Patton's off with Logan, and I need to vent!" He underlines "vent" three times, as emphatic in writing as he would be out loud.

“Is that all I am to you? A listening arm?” It’s followed by their own version of a “:P”, to show that Virgil is joking.

“Of course not, my shadowling! But I’ve had the most boring day, and I'm lonely~".

“Yeah yeah, Logan’s ditched me too, remember? Did you make it to the assembly? I looked for you”.

Roman groans, then does his best to reproduce the sound in writing. “Uggghhh, I did, and I got stuck next to the most annoying guy ever!”

“Hah! Can’t have, because the most annoying guy was sitting next to me. He kept fidgeting and getting in my space through the whole thing”.

Roman grins, standing up and moving to the sink, where he rinses the red ink from his arm to make space for more, Virgil must have the same idea, because a moment later the purple text begins erasing itself too.

“I wish I could’ve sat with you”, he writes, as soon as his arm is dry.

“Same”. There’s a pause, and then, “Kinda regret not meeting you today”.

Roman stares at the words, running his left hand unconsciously through his hair. Destiny might have denied him a chance first meeting, but if Virgil has changed his mind, there’s no reason for them to hold back any longer. Decision made, he uncaps his pen and writes “Want to meet now?” before he can lose his nerve.

The seconds tick by with no response, not a drop of purple ink appearing, and he begins to worry he’s misjudged Virgil’s feelings. Then, at last, three letters appear, small but undeniable:

“Yes”.

“Yes!!” Roman echoes in a yell to the empty room, leaping up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Then he hesitates, sitting back down on the edge of the bed as he realises he doesn’t know where Virgil’s room is. Or even if he’s there, for that matter.

Besides which, while Virgil did accept the offer, his reply wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Best to make certain he really wants to do this first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting”, Roman writes, adding a smiley face for good measure.

This time there is only a short pause before the words appear. “Yeah, the whole assembly thing made me wanna see you properly”.

Roman takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremor of excitement rushing through him. “Okay!” he writes back. “Want me to bring anything? I have a popcorn maker and every single Disney movie!”

“Seriously? You brought a freaking popcorn maker to college?”

“We always said we’d have movie nights when we finally met up, eating popcorn and talking all through the films!”

“You are so unbelievably extra”.

“You love it!”

“Yeah, I’m weird like that.”

“So, no popcorn?” Roman asks.

“Are you kidding? Of course bring popcorn!”

Roman grins.

*****

He takes his time making the popcorn, giving Virgil space to adjust to the change in plans. As he does, his thoughts drift to his grumpy seat-mate from earlier, and he remembers wincing as the guy picked at his chipped black nail polish during the endless speeches.

That gives him an idea…

“How about we paint our nails while we talk?” he suggests. “It’s relaxing and we’ll look good!”

“Sure”, appears on his arm. “I’ve only got black and purple though.”

“Fear not, my dark and stormy knight, I have every colour of the rainbow!” Roman grabs his makeup pouch and empties it onto his desk, separating out a selection of his favourites. These he puts back in the pouch, then it goes into his bag with the tub of popcorn.

“I’m ready to head out!” he writes on his arm. “Where’s your room?”

There’s a pause, then the address appears. But before Roman can lower his arm, Virgil adds, “Brace yourself for disappointment”.

“Why?” he writes back, frowning.

“I’m just… probably not gonna be as cool as you expect”.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not as cool as me!” He replies immediately, then hesitates. Virgil has been vulnerable with him, and he should repay the honesty.

“I’m nervous too”, he admits, “But this is us, remember? We’ve spoken every day since we turned ten and our soul bond formed. We’ve listened to each others’ favourite music, watched each others’ favourite movies, and stayed up all night talking. We’ve shared our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. Even if we weren’t soulmates, you're my best friend, and I love you. Nothing's going to change that.

*****

It's a short walk across campus to Virgil's dorm, and nervous energy quickens Roman's strides. At last, he finds the right number door and gives a firm knock. Slowly, cautiously, it opens to reveal...

“You?!” Roman practically screeches.

“Seriously?!”

“I cannot believe this! Are you actually telling me you’re Virgil?”

“How many ginger-haired emos from Milwaukee do you think there are on campus?!”

“You’re Virgil...” There’s a pause as Roman’s expression visibly cycles from indignant, through dawning realisation, to settle on contrite. “Sorry about, you know...” He waves his arm, and Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry you clobbered me with your arm?”

“Well, yes… I was talking to Patton and didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sorry I wasn’t, you know, watching where I was going.” Virgil looks down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I know I’m annoying. If you’re gonna leave, just go.”

Roman frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might be annoying, but you’re my best friend! I came here to eat popcorn, riff on Disney movies, and hug you, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done all three!”

Virgil looks up, finally managing a lopsided smile. “You sure?”

“Of course! And besides, I bet I can be twice as annoying as you.”

With a snort, Virgil steps back, opening the door further to let Roman in. “Good to know fate made the two most annoying guys in the world soulmates.”

Roman grins. “Soulmates about to have the best evening ever!” he replies.

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

Chapter 1: Anniversary.

Robin stood in the ballroom with a champagne glass made of pure diamond, he was dressed in a deep purple doublet made of pure silk which cost more than some homes, he should be happy. But it was the first anniversary of his wedding to Queen Ruth, so how could he possibly be happy?

He had heard the rumours of course, everyone had, before he was married to her: she was rumoured to be the daughter of a fairy and a king, to have once been the kindest purest soul, that there had once been two princes not just Prince David, that she had withstood abuse from King Robert and was finally free when he died, that she was heartless to all even to her only child. He had heard them but it wasn’t until he took her hand in marriage that he understood how right the rumours were.

He hadn’t expected the marriage to be one based on love, he wasn’t stupid, he was young and expected to help produce heirs to continue Ruth’s family’s rule, and Robin got… well he got to be king, and if his father had his way he would be king as soon as Ruth and David died before their time.

Robin didn’t want to kill them, even after David had been the one to spill about his relationship with the scullery maid Marian, even after Ruth started to hit him. Robin didn’t want to kill them and he hadn’t thought he’d get a choice.

But Robin hadn’t been able to hate David for long, only a few weeks into his marriage he fell in love with the boy, and a week or so after that he decided no matter what he would put David first, that David was his son even if they didn’t share blood. David had been one of the only sources of light in the last year, in fact in Robin’s entire life.

The other source of light Robin had met on his wedding night, and it certainly wasn’t Ruth. No, King Robin had been dancing with other royals, as was his duty, when he was paired with a minor royal, the daughter of Prince Henry, they had both been subtly laughing at one of the traditional dances they were expected to perform. The slipped out of the ballroom to a quieter room, neither had wanted to stay in that room with all those bloodthirsty royals. They had gotten to talking and had found that they had hit it off. Their lives were similar, they had loved one of their parents and been abused and controlled by the other, they had both tried to escape only to have their loved one killed, and Robin had a new son, David, while Regina had two boys, Henry and Roland. They hit it off on other subjects too, they both had the same sense of humour, they both wanted to do what was good for their family and for strangers, they both liked the same books and had watched the same plays. They stayed in the room talking for three hours before they were discovered. They had both agreed to lend each other support, to continue their conversations, to write to each other.

They had met at first just the two of them, but soon they would bring their sons along, Robin had never seen five year old David smile so much. And Robin had smiled more than he had in his life. At David. At Henry. At Roland. And at Regina…. He smiled a lot at Regina.

They had fallen in love.

He had been hoping to bide his time, he was waiting until the opportunity where both his father and Ruth were away from the castle, then he would run away with Regina, taking David with him. But recently Francis had been losing his patience, he had expected Robin to have an heir by now, and to have killed David. There wasn’t time to wait for the opportunity. They had to run. Tonight.

Regina had already left the party, to finish packing ready to sneak away from Cora. Ruth had long left the party, she didn’t like spending time around people who smiled, she didn’t like joy, Robin was just happy that she hadn’t decided to end the party early by killing someone. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Robin had told David to pack quickly, just the things he really wanted, Robin had already prepared a bag with clothes for the both of them and some food, along with money to get the five of them far away from this land and to Arendelle.

——————————————————————————————

“Excuse me, your highness.”

Robin turned. It was a small red haired teenage boy, thin and pale, he knew he was one of his father’s servants. This couldn’t be good. “Yes?”

“Your- erm, Prince Francis asked me to pass on this note.”

“Thank you.” Robin took it and pulled the wax tab to open it. ‘Meet myself and your Queen upon the heath. This is about your heir.’

Robin swallowed. It was about David? What the hell was going on? Why were Ruth and Francis there together? Robin wouldn’t put it past Ruth to be won over by Francis, to do away with David, he had seen how dark she had become. He would not let either of them touch his son.

——————————————————————————————

Robin raced his horse to the nearby heath where Robin had met Francis many times. It was dark and damp but the stars and the moon shone above head, a little bit of light to guide him on his way, as his mother would have said. The figure of Francis was clear despite the dark thanks to a glowing deep purple flame floating in the air.

Ruth was there, he shouldn’t be surprised that Francis was telling the truth he was a bastard but he didn’t often lie, at least not to Robin, but he was surprised to see Ruth smiling.

Robin glanced from smiling Ruth to his father nervously. “What is this?”

“Well, our Queen has news for you, but first I have to talk to you, my son.”

Shit, did they know he was going to snatch David and run?

“My loyal, faithful, obedient son.” Francis was smiling but it wasn’t friendly, it was a sneer.

He was mad, super mad, this wasn’t good, Robin would have to think on his feet.

Francis waved his hand and suddenly an invisible sparkling pair of handcuffs encircled Ruth’s hand. She stopped smiling but there was a magical patch appeared on her mouth to stop her from saying anything. Francis could use magic, thought normally he preferred to inflict pain with his own hands: up close and personal.

“Father-.”

“No.” Francis growled. “You were tasked with killing the queen, and the brat.”

Robin could see anger in Ruth’s eyes. “I was… I was waiting to produce an heir.” He lied.

“Congratulations, my son, you’ve produced one.” He looked almost regretfully at Ruth.

“W-What?!”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Francis sighed. “You disappointed me. I know of your plan, with the brat and with that, that common -“

A sudden fire of bravery alit inside his heart. “Do not talk about David or Regina like that. They are better, kinder, people than you will ever be.”

Francis’ face scrunched up. He looked at his son as though he was a particularly unpleasant type of unidentifiable algae. “Why on earth would I ever want to be kind?”

Robin’s stomach turned. When he was a child he had hoped his father was secretly kind, that he was wearing a mask of evil for some reason, later he had hoped he would turn good. Now Robin knew that he genuinely didn’t understand being nice or kind or good.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“You? I think you mean what am I going to do to this entire kingdom. Someone close to you helped me prepare something special. You disappoint me Robin. This was all going to be ours, power was finally within our grasp, nearly.” He sighed again, a heavy genuinely disappointed sigh. “Anyway, let us try again, in a new kingdom. It will require a sacrifice though. Only this time, you will do as you are told.”

Robin steeled himself. “Father-.”

Francis drew a shining dagger from his belt.

With one flick of the wrist the dagger went flying, cutting Ruth’s throat before imbedding itself in a tree with a flunk.

Robin hadn’t loved Ruth, he hadn’t even liked her, hell he hated her but as he watched the blood spurt out of her throat in forced silence thanks to Francis’ magic, Robin let out a yelp of protest. But he couldn’t move for fear of it being done to him too, and he would leave David defenceless. “B-But she meant nothing to you! She wasn’t a sacrifice-!”

“I wasn’t lying about your child. That’s the sacrifice I am making.”

“You’re deranged!” But as he spoke Ruth’s blood rolled through the dirt into a dip in the ground Robin was only just noticing…. It was bubbling as though it was being boiled.

Green fog rose from the sordid ground thick and fast, engulfing them and spreading quickly across the entire kingdom.

“What the fu-.”

——————————————————————————————

When the fog faded all the people had gone.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

There was a weird bell ringing.

No.

It was his alarm clock buzzing.

Robin groaned. He needed a holiday, a vacation as it was called in this realm, realm? He meant country, of course. He pushed himself to sit up in his bed, everything was in its usual place but it felt strange, he felt strange, he had had the strangest dream… his father… David… nope, it was gone.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and forced himself out of his bed.

He went about his usual morning routine; he showered, trimmed his beard so it was fashionably short yet present. His work ‘uniform’ was all pretty similar, an expensive suit in grey, navy, or black, a well fitting shirt, and a tie. He dressed and spritzed cologne before heading downstairs.

He headed to the kitchen and prepared what was sure to be the first of many coffees that day. He didn’t bother to start breakfast, he’d already decided to grab food on the way to work, instead he headed into his office, he had already gotten things in order the night before but he took them out of his briefcase and flicked through some of the cases he was working on, he flicked through emails, sending quick rather curt replies to several, he was ready for work early.

That was the easy part.

He headed back upstairs, stopping before he could reach his own bedroom door, he pushed it open and walked in.

He perched on the side of the bed and flicked on the bedside lamp on. He smiled for the first time that morning when the little blonde head came out from inside the burrow of blankets on the bed.

David wasn’t even awake properly yet and there was already a pout on his face and a small whine accompanying him being woken up.

“Hey there, Sunshine. It’s time for school, we’ve gotta get going soon.” He tugged the blankets down knowing if he didn’t David would try and bury back down again, especially today, even if David didn’t understand why.

David pushed himself to sit up, a mini-mirror of his step father’s waking up habits, he rubbed his eyes with his fists, but instead of moving to stand up he slumped against him, hiding his face against Robin’s soft cotton shirt. “Daddy I’m poorly.”

Robin frowned, David never admitted to being sick, even if he was puking his guts up he would claim he was okay.

“I’ve gotta stay home with you.”

Robin squeezed his eyes and let his head drop as he realised exactly why it was David was admitting to being ‘sick’, he had been doing this all week but he seemed okay. He pressed a kiss onto the top of his blonde slightly curled hair, David looked at him with those beautiful blue puppy dog eyes. He pretended to feel for his temperature quickly, he was a little warm but that was due to being wrapped up to his forehead in layers of duvet and blankets for the past ten hours. “Hmm, you don’t seem to have temperature, do I need to take you to see the doctor.”

“No!” David pulled a face. He didn’t like doctors clinics and hospitals, they smelt weird and he didn’t like Robin having to say some things quietly to David’s doctor, he didn’t like not knowing if Robin was about to disappear. “I just need to stay with you.”

“Davey, you’ve got to go to school, it’s the law. If you still feel poorly at the weekend I’ll take you to get checked over and I’ll stay home with you next week.” He promised.

“It’s not fair.” David crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

“I know.” Robin soothed. He stood up off his bed and picked him up under his arms placing him down so he was forced to stand up and start getting ready. “Go the loo mate, I’ll get your school uniform out, we really need to get a move on or we’ll both be late.” He rolled his eyes as the little boy made his way out of his room, deliberately making his footsteps as loud as possible without outright stamping.

Robin grabbed David’s uniform, he went to local the public school, Storybrooke Elementary but they still wore school uniforms, it reminded Robin of his own primary education back in England, he’d hated wearing them too.

He grabbed what David needed and laid it all on his bed, quickly making his bed as he did so, their housekeeper would be coming today to put new bedding on but Robin liked the house to look at least a little neat before she got there. He had gotten that from his mother.

——————————————————————————————

Robin went downstairs and grabbed the food he had gotten ready the night before and packed it into David’s lunchbox, then he went hunting for the signed forms for David’s field trip, and the cheque for his after school care for the next month, and for David’s homework and reading books, he never understood how the kid somehow managed to lose everything even if Robin did his best to put them safe.

David came down the stairs still pouting, Robin knew he didn’t realise that it was actually just adorable not in a ‘win them over’ sort of way. It didn’t work on Robin. It really, really, really didn’t.

“C’mere mate.” He crouched down and straightened up his polo shirt collar so it was straight and the buttons were done up. He quickly switched which feet David’s shoes were on. He grabbed David’s brush to try and tame his wild hair at least a little. “Perfect.” David’s face showed it was anything but. “C’mon Davey, kindergarten isn’t that bad.”

“I wanna stay with you.”

Robin nearly broke hearing how sad he sounded. “I know, I would love to spend the day with you too. But you know what daddy does for his job, right?”

“You make sure people don’t get in trouble?”

“Well,” fuck, “kind of, I help people who don’t have anyone else to help them, I make sure they don’t get in trouble for things they didn’t do.” He also, sometimes helped people who did do it, though legally he never asked it was just easier that way, and sometimes he helped people who did have other people but also had money and could pay him so he could afford to help those who needed it most. But that was a little complicated to explain to a five year old.

“Do you understand why I need to go to work today?” He still felt bad. David nodded and he felt worse because he knew he couldn’t win. “Good boy. Let’s get some breakfast, yeah? We can go to Granny’s cafe.”

——————————————————————————————

David had cheered up enough by the time they were seated in Granny’s that Robin wasn’t double guessing pulling a sickie.

Robin drank tea and ate eggs and toast, while he had treated David to waffles.

“Remember to drink your milk.” He nudged the glass closer to him. “It’ll help you grow up big and strong.”

“Did you?”

“Of course! It’s how I’m so tall and strong!” He showed off his muscles, pulling a funny face to make David giggle. He felt surprisingly flattered when David drank his milk despite the laughter.

Robin heard someone clearing their voice and ice ran down his spine, he found himself clutching the cutlery as he turned around. Francis. He didn’t look happy. “Father. It’s good to see you. You’re looking well.” He didn’t look unwell but he definitely looked angry, but Robin couldn’t begin to think why. He also was surprised to see him stood in line to get coffee here- his large house was between Storybrooke and his offices in the city, the opposite direction. Why would he need to get coffee here when he could get some from a million other places?

“Hello Grandad Francis.” David greeted politely.

Robin looked at his son how he often did, with pride, but he couldn’t help but wish that Francis was a few hundred miles away from the two of them.

“David.” Francis greeted curtly. He looked at Robin and David curiously. His jaw clenched in thinly veiled and unreasonable rage. “What a nice stepfather - stepson outing.”

Robin didn’t have to look at David to know that upset him, hell it upset Robin too. He had been in David’s life since for nearly three years half of David’s life, and had been David’s only parent for the past two years - he was the only one who could claim to be David’s father, he wasn’t a step anything. “Father, it was nice bumping into you, but I must take David to work, I have cases to examine at work.” He smiled but it was as cold as Francis’.

“Ah yes, of cause. Perhaps lunch then?”

“I’m sorry, I have a business lunch. Perhaps another time?” He was not about to give a date for when, not if he could help it.

Emile nodded, and Remy wrapped a reassuring arm around his shoulders, hugging him close. Emile buried his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, breathing in that faint but reassuring aroma of leather, Starbucks, and something uniquely Remy that for him always meant home.

Remy leaned his head against Emile’s, feeling the soft purple hair tickle his cheek. “Sofa?” he suggested, and Emile nodded in reply, clinging on tightly and barely raising his head as the taller man guided him gently over to the couch. There, he finally let his knees give way, and collapsed into the welcoming embrace of both the soft cushions and Remy.

At last, some of his tension began to ebb away, encouraged by Remy’s comforting murmurs of “It’s okay, babe, I’m here”, and “You’re home now, you’re safe, it’s gonna be fine.”

Gradually, his grip on Remy’s shirt relaxed, his white knuckles unfurling until his palms were laid flat against his boyfriend’s chest. He slid them down and around Remy’s waist, hugging him tightly before finally moving back to give him a watery smile.

“Bad day, huh?” Remy asked gently, when experience told him Emile’s voice might be ready to return. “Was it, like, a patient you couldn’t help?” The therapist took most of the stresses and difficulties of his job in his stride, priding himself on finding ways to get even the most reluctant clients to open up. But when his methods failed and he couldn’t help someone in pain, the feelings of not having done enough, or been enough, hit him hard.

Emile nodded, his hand finding one of Remy’s and giving it a squeeze of acknowledgement and thanks.

“So, do you wanna talk about it?”

Emile shook his head. “Can’t. Patient-doctor con… confidentiality.” His words were soft and halting, but determined.

“Oh yeah, that thing. The gossip-killer.” Remy sighed. “Well, could you at least give me, like, an outline? No names, just the part that’s upset you, so I’ll know how to help.”

Emile took a deep breath and released it slowly, considering. Then he nodded. “It was the last session of the day”, he explained. “New patients for couple’s therapy, a man and a woman. The guy was a bit quiet, withdrawn, but that's the way it goes sometimes. I told him no pressure, he could speak when he felt ready to.”

“And I’m guessing he did?”

“Did he ever”, Emile mumbled, scraping both hands through his hair and grimacing. “Halfway through the session he suddenly leapt up, like he couldn't keep it in anymore. He said, ‘I'm sorry, I'm gay. I'm in love with a guy from work.'"

“Damn, girl, that sucks”, Remy murmured sympathetically. “Did the woman yell at him? I bet she yelled.”

Emile took another deep breath and buried his face in his hands before continuing. “Yeah, she did. At him and at me. And she was so loud...” He shuddered at the memory, pulling his cardigan sleeves over his hands and pressing them to his ears.

“That’s rough, babe.” Remy rubbed his boyfriend’s back soothingly.

"Comes with the job, sometimes", Emile mumbled. He sighed, pushing his sleeves back up so he could rub his face with his palms. "I didn't like it, but I understand how she felt. All that time together and it was never real. Two words and it all came crashing down!" He looked despairing at Remy, his face wet with silent tears. “It got me thinking, what if that happens to us?”

Remy took his hand, expression serious, and looked him in the eyes. “Babe”, he said, “I’m gay. I’m in love with a man, and his name is Emile Picani.”

Emile made sound between a giggle and a sob, taking back his hand to swat Remy gently with sweater– or rather cardigan-paws before nestling against him once more. I just got scared, that’s all”, he explained softly, his eyes tracing the geometric pattern of the frieze running around the walls of the room.

He closed his eyes, the pattern suddenly becoming too much. Reaching out blindly, he found Remy’s hand once more and curled his fingers around it, brushing his thumb over the familiar shapes and textures.

“I got scared, Rem”, he repeated in a murmur. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d keep on shining like the gem you are”, Remy told him, his voice low but firm. “But I’m not going anywhere, babe, this fusion is stable. The real question is what I’d do without you to lure me into bed each night with cuddles, and out of it each morning with breakfast.”

At last, Emile's lips overcame the tears to curve into a smile, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his boyfriend. “It's for everyone to eat together, that's the essence of together breakfast", he quoted, looking up to meet Remy’s eyes.

“You’re darn right it is, babe! And it’s, like, a billion times better than the caffeine I used to live on.”

Emile gave a lopsided grin, reaching up to ruffle Remy's dark hair. "Seems to me you still live mostly on caffeine", he teased.

Remy stuck his tongue out. “Sure, but now I have, like, actual meals too, because I get to look at a gorgeous guy while I eat. Speaking of, what do you wanna do about food tonight?”

He glanced across at the calendar on the wall and Emile followed his gaze, knowing what he was thinking. From this distance, it was too small to read, but they both knew what was written in today's square: "Date Night!" in Remy's bold handwriting with a heart drawn around it by Emile, a reminder they scarcely needed of their regular evening devoted to each other's company.

They usually went out on date nights, to see the latest animated movie, or to eat at their favourite restaurant, or sometimes even for a gaming session at the local arcade. But there was no way Emile could cope with that tonight. After the emotional meltdown he’d endured, his heart and his nerves would need more time to recover before he’d have the strength to face the outside world.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled. “I know you were looking forward to the movie, and it will have stopped showing by next time.” He forced a smile at Remy. “You go without me. I’ll make a hot chocolate and watch a couple of episodes of Ducktales, then have an early night.”

“Hell no!” Remy shook his head firmly. “You think I wanna see a movie without you, babe? We can wait and watch it together on Netflix. I am not-” - he reached out and booped Emile’s nose to punctuate his statement - “Not leaving my Em all alone after a shitty day at work. Would David ditch Nani for a movie? I think not.”

“You’re darn right he wouldn’t!” Emile’s face relaxed into a grin and he leaned his head on Remy’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. “I guess they’d make the best of it and find a way to have a fun date night at home.”

“Mm-hm”, Remy agreed, pressing a kiss to Emile’s purple hair. “Then that’s what we’re gonna do. Tell you what, babe, you go change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. Gimme five minutes to set up, and we’ll make this the best date night ever.”

Emile gave him a tight squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek, then headed to their bedroom to find his favourite comfort clothes. As soon as he was out of sight, Remy set to work transforming their mundane living room into a cosy and intimate venue for a date.

If there was one thing Remy excelled at, it was turning anywhere into a comfortable place to nap. When Emile returned, wearing an oversize Steven Universe hoodie and his softest sweatpants, he was greeted by a magnificent pillow fort, large enough to house them both while still feeling snug and secure.

The sofa and chair cushions had been upended and stacked to provide a structure over which almost every spare blanket in the house had been artfully draped. The remaining few covered the floor inside, with a comforter spread on top to give the couple a place to sit or lie as they chose. At one end stood the cornerstone of the fort, the sturdy back of their sofa, positioned to provide a leaning place as well as the main support.

“How did you do all this so quickly?!” Emile exclaimed, flapping the dangling sleeves of his hoodie.

Remy shrugged nonchalantly, grinning. “Babe, when you have brothers like Roman and Virgil, you get a lot of practice building dens! We were always making castles, or caves for dragons, or just places to hide from everything.”

Emile laughed, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “You’re so talented!” he joked, rubbing their noses together. “Coffee connoisseur, fort-construction expert, fashion icon, and cuddler extraordinaire! I hit the jackpot with you.”

“Nah”, Remy murmured, leaning his head against Emile’s. and closing his eyes. “I’m the lucky one. Thanks to you, I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life.”

“Hmm? And what’s that?” Emile asked, letting go to smile questioningly up at him.

Remy turned away, pushing up his ever-present sunglasses as a rare hint of pink coloured his cheeks. "Doesn't matter. Come on, let's get this date night started. Want to sort out some music while I make us drinks?”

“Tell you what, you choose the music and I’ll make the drinks”, Emile suggested. “I know how many marshmallows I want, and that number is all of them!”

Remy rolled his eyes and groaned in mock horror. “Girl, I don’t know how you can stand all that sugar. I don’t even like whipped cream on my Starbies!”

As Emile laughed and turned to head to the kitchen, Remy added under his breath, “And besides, you’re sweet enough already.”

Emile spun back around, his face lighting up with a gleeful grin. “What did you just say?” he asked eagerly.

Remy’s blush deepened. “Nothing. Just go get those drinks”, he mumbled, making shooing motions.

“Hmm~?” Emile leaned closer, a smile teasing his lips as he peered at Remy. “It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded like my sassy boyfriend said something mushy!”

“If you heard it the first time, there’s no way I’m gonna say it again!” Remy whined, hiding his red face in his hands.

Emile laughed. “Well okay then, but I’m watching ya, sweetheart!”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Remy turned to their music collection to pick a soundtrack to their evening. Steven Universe songs usually helped to lift Emile’s mood, but any playlist including It’s Over, Isn’t It would be a terrible choice this time. Something else, then. Emile had handed the decision over to him, so maybe… His hand hovered over his Queen anthology, then drew back. Tonight was for comforting Emile, not twirling him around the kitchen singing at the tops of their voices. There would be plenty of other evenings for that.

Instead, he settled on something classical, turning the volume to a level they’d be able to hear but could comfortably talk over. Swaying a finger idly along to the opening bars, he closed his eyes and breathed in the mingled aromas of brewing coffee and hot chocolate from the kitchen. He could hear Emile begin humming softly to the music, a sure sign he was already feeling more at peace. A rare softness came over Remy’s face as the sound and the scents combined to fill him with an overwhelming feeling of warmth and love. He hesitated for just a second, debating with himself, then slipped into their bedroom to collect something in case he wanted it later.

When he re-emerged, he found Emile making himself comfortable in the fort alongside a tray containing his own hot chocolate, Remy’s black coffee, and a bowl of sweet and salted popcorn. Remy settled down beside him with a grin, slipping one arm around his boyfriend’s waist as he picked up his drink with the other, breathing in the aroma with a satisfied hum.

The steam clouded his sunglasses, so he took them off and placed them to one side. There was no need for them in here, no bright lights or strangers for them to shield him from. Here there was only Emile, and Remy had no need to hide from him.

Looking back at his boyfriend, he met warm eyes shining gently behind rounded frames. He smiled, letting his gaze wander to take in the fading purple hair, the freckles that scattered and danced across pale skin brightened by a faint pink blush, and the soft lips they’d agreed he wouldn’t kiss directly, but whose touch was a frequent delight on his cheeks, his nose, his temples, his hands.

The familiar soft creases formed around Emile’s eyes as he smiled back, wriggling to get comfortable before leaning back into Remy’s embrace, sipping his hot chocolate through a thick layer of melting marshmallows.

Watching, Remy suppressed a chuckle at the pink and white moustache accumulating on his boyfriend’s upper lip. “Hey, Em?” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble.

“Hmm?” Emile looked around, and Remy gently swiped the residue onto his thumb, then licked it away. “You genuinely are, like, ridiculously sweet”, he told his boyfriend, with a grin.

Emile laughed, a bubbling sound of pure joy that filled Remy’s heart with warmth and light. He gazed adoringly back, wondering how he’d ever worried they might not be the right fit. He would gladly spend an eternity hearing that laugh, seeing that smile, tasting the sweetness of Emile’s presence in his world.

He wrapped his arm around his boyfriend once more and Emile hummed contentedly, leaning against him and resting his head on Remy’s shoulder.

“So, how was your day, sweetheart?” Emile asked. “I sure hope it was better than mine.” For a moment his smile faltered, and Remy gave him a sympathetic squeeze.

"I had a pretty lazy day, tbh. I went to the mall and had lunch at Starbucks, then came home and watched that space documentary your nerd of a brother lent me."

Emile sat up abruptly, beaming. "That's great! Logan will appreciate it. I know he sometimes goes overboard trying to ‘educate' you, but he’s just sharing his special interests because he likes you!"

“Yeaaahhh~", Remy drew out the word, grimacing as he did so. "Well, in that case I guess I'm gonna have to try again, because I fell asleep about ten minutes in." He groaned. "God, he'd better not test me on it. The last thing I want is a pop quiz next time I see him. Like, I get that he means well, but some of us are happy wallowing in our ignorance."

“I know." Emile leaned his head against Remy’s. "But I am proud of you for trying. I think Logan just feels left out sometimes, because you're happy to taste all Patton's new recipe ideas and talk with him and me about cartoons. L thinks real space facts are more interesting than Steven Universe, and it frustrates him that none of us feel the same."

“Yeah, I guess so." Remy stretched his legs out before him, wriggling his toes. Then his lips twisted upwards into a wicked grin. "You know, I'd kinda like to see him face off against Virgil. Logan's Scientific Space Facts (TM) versus Virge's alien conspiracy theories. We should, like, get them talking about it sometime, then sit back and watch the fireworks."

Emile stuck his tongue out at him. “You said that about Logan and Roman, and look what happened! They ended up having a three-hour argument about Shakespeare in iambic pentameter!” He booped Remy’s nose. “You’re an agent of chaos, Remy Sanders. Pure, unstoppable chaos.”

“And gorgeous with it!” Remy smirked. “You love me, babe, admit it.”

“Mm-hm.” Emile wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, kissing his forehead. “You’re right, I do love you. You’re the most entertaining real person I’ve ever met.” He winked. “I hadn’t planned on finding you quite this entertaining, as Rose said to Greg, but here we are.”

“Here we are”, Remy murmured, nuzzling Emile’s hair. “It’s been a while, huh, babe?”

Emile smiled, picking up one of Remy’s hands and beginning to trace gentle shapes with his forefinger on the palm. “Mm. I’m glad I stopped by Starbucks on the way home that night.”

“Yeah, me too”, Remy murmured softly. With his free hand, he began idly playing with Emile’s hair. “That was such a crazy night. You probably remember more of it than I do; I was, like, a total wreck back then.”

Emile closed his eyes contentedly. “Maybe, but I still like hearing you tell your side of the story.”

Remy grinned, drinking in the view of Emile’s relaxed smile and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. “Sure thing, babe”, he agreed. “So, that night? It was kinda late and the place was practically deserted. I was sitting all alone in a corner, drinking, like, my third espresso because sleeping after dark always gave me nightmares.”

Emile waved an arm, his eyes still closed. “You had a bad case of loneliness”, he said. “You needed more cuddles and cartoons!”

“You know it, babe.” Remy chuckled. “Anyway, there you were, looking like I felt, with your hair a mess and bags under your eyes, but you were still the cutest thing I’d ever seen.”

Emile laughed, his cheeks glowing pink in the soft light. “It had certainly been a tough day. Too many patients who didn’t want cartoon analogies for their problems.”

"Yep! And just like today, your voice had decided it was sick of trouble and was gonna hide from everything. So all you could do was point at the menu and mouth what you wanted to the barista."

“But she didn’t understand.” Emile groaned at the memory. “She got more and more frustrated, and so did I, and then...” He grinned at Remy, an unspoken cue for him to continue.

“Well, I could lip read because of Virgil having the same problem when he gets, like, panic attacks. So I put down my coffee, rocked up to the counter, and said-”

"'Just get the cute gentleman his grande Caramel Cocoa Cluster Frappuccino, with whip. And I'm gonna pay for it because he looks like he deserves a break!'" Emile burst in, blushing brightly and grinning at the memory. "I hadn't even noticed you before that, but when I turned around you looked even more exhausted than I felt."

“Yeah”, Remy smiled wryly at the memory. “Insomnia’s a bitch, babe, and she had her claws deep into me back then.”

Emile reached up and gently kissed his cheek. “I know, and I promise I’ll be here so you don’t have to go through that again.”

Remy interlaced their fingers with a relieved sigh. “You’re an angel, Em.”

Emile smiled wryly. “Not everyone would agree with that. Remember, I’ve been kicked out of three different offices for ‘excessive noise’, ‘disturbing other users of the building’, and inappropriate ukulele playing during a tenants’ meeting’.”

He sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through Remy’s hair. “Face it, starbabe, you’re one of the few people willing to put up with me on a daily basis.”

Remy leaned into his touch, contentedly closing his eyes. “Yeah, we’re both disasters, babe. But I was, like, way more of a disaster before I met you.”

“Likewise”, Emile murmured, kissing his cheek again. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, today or back then.”

“You turned things around pretty quickly, even then”, Remy pointed out. “We kept giving each other awkward smiles the whole wait, and when your drink was finally ready, it just, like, made sense to sit together. And after a few sips of that ridiculously sweet mess, you recovered enough to say thanks, and to... talk with me. We just, like, started chatting, and one thing led to another. I still don’t know how I managed not to scare you off.”

“Gay magic”, Emile suggested, leaning affectionately against him once more.

“Sure.” Remy snorted. “I mean, that would certainly explain how I ended up lying on the sofa, with my head in your lap and you playing with my hair. Because otherwise I have, like, no idea.”

Emile grinned. “Well, magic or not, it was definitely gay! I suggested therapy might help with your insomnia, and you refused because you said if I were your therapist, you wouldn’t be able to date me. And I pointed out that you could always get a different one, but… I think your brain was a bit scrambled by that point, because you put your arm around me and told me firmly that you didn’t want to date another therapist, you only wanted me.” He blushed. “I said you should sleep on it and see if you felt the same way when your head was clearer. So you decided to try to sleep on my lap, which you did.”

Remy nodded, grinning. “It was the best I’d slept in years, and when the barista woke me up trying to tell you it was closing time, I opened my eyes, gazed up at your adorable face, and said, ‘That was amazing, babe, you’ve gotta let me sleep with you again sometime!’”

Emile laughed, his face burning at the memory. “And I said, ‘Only if you take me on a date first’, and then you said-”

“’You’re on, how about Starbucks?’” Remy chuckled. “You asked if we could at least catch a movie first, and I told you sure. And then you got all eager and started telling me about every animated movie that was on, and asking which I’d most like to see. You just, like, lit up with enthusiasm, and I realised then that I was gone. I wanted to spend the rest of my life seeing your smile and hearing you talk about the things you love.”

“That’s so pure and cheesy, Rem”, Emile teased affectionately, reaching out to cup his cheek.

Remy leaned into the warmth, closing his eyes. "I guess you have that effect on me, babe", he murmured, pressing a kiss to Emile’s palm. His face was burning, and he wondered if Emile could feel the heat of it.

When Emile moved his hand, Remy slid down to nuzzle his boyfriend’s neck, breathing in the sweet mingled aromas of coffee, marshmallows, and Emile. A scent so similar to the one that night, five years ago, but now it filled his heart with a warmth and contentment he could never have imagined back then.

God, he was really going to do this, wasn’t he? The gift in his pocket, which had started out forgettably light, now weighed heavy and constant on his mind. He was going to do this, here, now, tonight. His heart was pounding, his mind scrambling to recall the words he had planned through a giddy haze of nerves and excitement. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, there was a hoarse edge to his voice.

“Emile?”

“Hmm?”

Emile's small noise of response, and his questioning, expectant, utterly intimate expression were enough to conquer Remy's final shreds of hesitance. He was ready. They were ready. It was time.

He kept one arm wrapped loosely around Emile’s waist, while the other reached surreptitiously into his pocket, fingers closing around the small box hidden there. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice light so it wouldn’t betray his nerves.

“You know, babe, I bought something for you earlier. I was gonna wait for, like, the perfect moment, but I guess I’ve realised now that every moment with you is perfect.”

“Sap”, Emile mumbled, grinning as a bright blush spread over his face.

Remy shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin in return. “Yeah, but Olaf was right, some people are worth melting for.” He took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm his racing heart. “I thought this Remy rider could keep on riding alone, but now I just wanna be wherever you are. So...”

He pulled his hand from his pocket, opening the box to reveal a gold ring inlaid with a ruby, a sapphire, and a garnet. He raised his eyes, full of hope and anxiety, to meet his boyfriend’s. “Wanna make this a permanent fusion, Emile?”

Emile’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open with a squeal in the back of his throat that grew in volume and intensity until as last his brain recovered enough to translate his emotions into words.

“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” he yelled, volume control temporarily forgotten in his excitement.

“Uh, yeah”, Remy mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I got Roman to help me figure out what to say, although most of his suggestions were Disney references and, like, way over the top.”

Emile shook his head, his eyes shining. “It was perfect, he said firmly, taking the ring and slipping it onto his finger. “Perma-fusion, activate!” He launched himself into Remy’s arms, then added as an afterthought, “Oh, and of course I’ll marry you, too!”

Remy laughed, his face ruby red as he hugged his fiancé tightly. “Yeah, I got that, babe”, he murmured, pressing a kiss to Emile’s cheek. “And I’ll stick around for good, I promise. Life always tastes sweeter when I’m with you.”

********************************************************************************************

@metaphoricalpluto @the-prince-and-the-emo @musikasworld @softestlittlepuffball @evilmuffin @xxladystarlightxx @suyun-doo @pearls-of-patton @patton-in-name @shesavampirequeen @daring-elm @gabe-killed-me-with-ace-cream

Also gonna tag some people who like Remile:

And then there are cats! With their velvet-soft fur and the contented motor sound of their purring. To Patton, the chance to make a cat happy will always be worth the sniffles and itchy eyes his allergy brings.

He loves the blue of the sky on a clear day and the soft warmth of sunshine on his skin. Long walks ending in picnics, or lazy days spent relaxing on the beach. Gardening, and then enjoying a cool drink among the bright colours and fragrances of the flowers.

But he also loves the rain! The sound of it drumming against the windows when he’s safe and warm inside, and the freshness of the air after a storm. The way each leaf sparkles with droplets, and the radiant colours of the rainbow.

When he gets to experience winter beyond Florida’s warm borders, he relishes the crunch of fresh snow under his boots and the fluffiness of it in his hands. The glint of sunlight on icicles, and the cosiness of fuzzy winter sweaters and curling up near an open fire as the early darkness falls outside.

And then there’s food! So many favourite flavours that make him fall in love with every mouthful. Cakes and cookies: chocolate chip, triple chocolate, red velvet, and even the oatmeal raisin cookies that Roman refuses to touch. And as if all the sweet delights weren’t enough to satisfy him, there are so many savoury ones to enjoy! The tang of pizza, hot or cold, and the soft-firmness of pasta seasoned with a love that doesn’t need romance to make it taste delicious.

But most of all, more than anything else in the whole world, Patton loves his famILY. He loves the way Logan’s eyes light up when he gets to share information on a topic he’s passionate about. The way he fiddles with his necktie when he’s flustered, and his hesitant, awkward, yet heartfelt apologies when he realises he’s unintentionally hurt someone’s feelings. The thought he puts into gifts for them when words alone cease to be enough.

Patton loves Virgil’s small, amused smiles when he thinks that no one’s watching, and those rare but precious laughs he can’t quite manage to suppress – especially when they’re at one of Patton’s jokes. And he loves the deep and genuine caring Virgil shows in his own subtle ways, and his determination to protect them all even at his own expense.

And then, of course, there's Roman. Roman with his boldness, his loud gestures, his dramatic flair and theatricality that liven up every conversation. But also those softer, quieter moments when he ceases to be Roman-the-prince, or Roman-the-actor, and becomes simply Roman-the-friend. Patton loves his big dreams and his big heart, his passion and his devotion.

And as for Thomas… Patton feels so proud of him every day, a father’s pride in one he has watched grow and blossom since the day he was born. Patton sees how hard he tries, how much he cares for his fans and his abiding devotion to each one of his many friends. Of course he loves Thomas, how could he not? As a father, as a friend, and as his own emotional heart. A love beyond words.

Patton is aromantic, but every day he falls in his own kind of love with the sunrise or the sunset, with the music of his favourite TV show or the colours of his favourite clothes. With Roman’s swirling cursive and the timbre of his voice. With the steady rhythm of Logan’s typing and his unconscious murmuring of facts as he works. With Virgil’s soft humming, his sweater paws, and his inner strength. Patton watches over them all with a soft smile and a platonic love strong enough to conquer even the melancholy feelings that life still brings him sometimes.

Patton is aromantic, and with his heart overflowing with so much love, he will always be complete.

Well, it would take more than a bit of sunshine to brighten the dark pit of sadness in his heart. He squinted against the glare, pulling his coat around him like a shield.

Now that he was outside, it occurred to him that he didn’t have a clue where to go. The shops would be crowded with people, and bright lights and decorations were the last things he wanted to see.

Instead, he turned towards the residential streets, trying to fix his gaze straight ahead as he passed house after house adorned with strings of lights, wreaths, and in one case even a six-foot inflatable Santa. Each lit window offered a glimpse into images of domestic holiday bliss. Tall trees, laden with baubles and other ornaments; walls festooned with thick, glittering, multi-coloured tinsel; families, talking, laughing, and playing games together.

Virgil sank deeper into his coat despite the unseasonal warmth of the day, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed on the ground before him, quickening his pace in his desperation to escape. Step after step, moving faster and faster, as though he could somehow outrun his own loneliness.

His head began to ache from the tension as he unconsciously gritted his teeth against the tide of painful memories threatening to engulf him. Thinking about the past wouldn’t change anything, it was dead and gone. Too bad the present wasn’t much better.

Turning into Church Street, he squinted against the sudden glare of the shallow afternoon sun, shining too brightly for his throbbing head yet too low to shield his eyes against. In desperation, he took a sharp left turn through an open gateway onto a footpath leading away from the road. He paid no heed to where it lead, until the looming wall of a building sheltered him and he looked around to find himself in the local churchyard, surrounded on either side by gravestones dotted like islands in a sea of roughly-cropped grass.

Well, a graveyard suited his mood. His self-esteem was already six feet under.

The low sun cast an almost ethereal glow across the churchyard, softening the view of weathered headstones and carved memorials. Virgil breathed in the silence, letting his mind adjust to this new, less overwhelming atmosphere.

For want of anything better to do, he decided to take a walk around. No one else was there to bother him, and there was an air of such peace that his tension began to melt away. His shoulders lowered from their position close to his ears, and his spine unfurled to nearer its proper length.

Absent-mindedly he let his eyes roam over the graves, taking in the variety of different styles: Simple headstones with nothing but writing. More complex ones with carved decoration of flowers, crosses, or even angels. Towering memorials with full statuary, or chest tombs raised box-like above the ground. Even among the majority of plainer ones, there were a multitude of different ages and types of stone on display.

His left hand began to ache as if longing to reach out and touch the old headstones, but he resisted. Some voice at the back of his mind reprimanded him for even considering it. To touch a headstone, it scolded, would be like touching the stranger buried there: inappropriate somehow, an invasion of their personal space for all they’d been dead for decades.

So instead, he walked carefully between the graves, treading warily around the bare patches of ground where no markers remained but the unevenness still suggested someone had long ago been laid to rest there.

But the ache in his hand grew stronger, more insistent, his right hand joining in with the nagging urge to reach out. Some force seemed to draw them almost magnetically towards the stones until, at last, he gave in and reached out to brush his fingers lightly against a worn headstone.

He had expected it to feel cold, rough, clammy somehow, but instead it just felt ordinary.  Carved smooth, and holding a lingering hint of warmth from the day’s sunshine. He let his fingers rest gently against it, and then, on a whim, he crouched down to read the name on the front.

Logan Crofter An ordinary sort of name, it told him nothing at all about who this person had been. Probably a man, with a decent but unexceptional lifespan if the carved dates were correct. But this had been a human being, with hopes and dreams, favourite foods and a particular way of speaking. A whole life, now reduced to a few words on a slab.

He moved on to crouch beside the next marker. This one was far more worn, clearly older as well as having been carved of less weather-resistant stone. Even so, when he looked closely, he could still read the name recorded there.

“Patton Hart”, he murmured aloud. “Sounds nice.”

He sat back on his heels, a wistful smile ghosting his lips despite his melancholy. There was something unexpectedly relaxing about spending time with the dead. They didn’t judge, didn’t criticise or nag him, didn’t pester him for attention or walk away when he was speaking. Perhaps he would stay a while longer with them, since they were such peaceful company.

"Mr Hart, Mr Crofter, d'you mind if I sit down here for a minute?" he asked.

He waited for a moment, expecting nothing yet nevertheless feeling he should give time for an answer. The air was still but for the barest whisper of a breeze, like a gentle sigh, not enough even to move the few leaves still clinging valiantly to the birch tree. A blackbird chirped at him from a nearby patch of brambles, then was gone in a flutter of rapid wings.

Silence. With a shrug, he sat down on the short, soft grass between the graves, carefully avoiding contact with either. After all, lightly touching a stranger's shoulder was one thing, but to accidentally sit in their lap would just be awkward.

He was tired, beyond tired, with a weariness that had seeped so gradually into his bones that he hadn’t until that moment been aware of it. But now, sitting on the soft grass in a place of utmost peace, all the exhaustion he had suppressed for so long seemed suddenly to fill him.

He patted the grass around himself and came to a decision, shifting to lie down on his back and look up at the sky. The ground was cold but dry, and the grass cushioned his back against its unevenness. With the thick wool of his black coat beneath him, he was surprisingly comfortable.

He watched the clouds drift slowly by, forming, disintegrating, then forming anew at a pace so different from that of the busy world beneath them. Closing his eyes, he let his breathing slow to that same unhurried rhythm, listening with half an ear to the chirrups of sparrows going about their business in the more neglected, overgrown corners of the churchyard.

A slight breeze brushed over him, and he turned his attention to the sensation, his focus shifting from hearing to touch, then on to smell as the air stilled once more and he took in the scent of the grass beneath and all around him.

One by one, he let his muscles relax as his pulse slowed to a resting pace. Then, feeling finally completely calm, he let his eyes slowly open once more.

For a moment he stopped breathing, his heart rate spiking and his mind racing as it tried to comprehend what his eyes were telling it. Standing over him was a man, wearing a polo shirt and thick-framed glasses and gazing down at him with concern. Virgil could clearly see the way his forehead creased between his eyebrows, could have counted each stripe of his necktie if he’d felt so inclined.

And yet… Unfortunately for his rational mind, he could also see through him, up to where clouds were still passing by unconcerned against the blue of the sky.

Virgil tried blinking and rubbing his eyes, but to no avail, the man remained there watching him, his frown deepening as he observed the reaction. Virgil stared back, his fight or flight instincts trying to calculate the quickest escape route. But the roll-scramble-dash plan was stripped from his mind as a second figure joined the first and his head filled with nothing but static.

*****

When he came to, he found the two figures crouched next to him, one on each of the graves plots to either side. They both looked worried for him, and the second one kept moving as though to touch him reassuringly, then pulling back with sadness in his pale eyes.

Virgil sat up abruptly, still ready to flee but less panicked knowing the strangers weren’t about to touch him. Carefully he looked both figures up and down, taking in the second one’s casual clothing and the cardigan tied around his shoulders, as well as his semi-transparency. The two watched him in silence, waiting patiently for his next move.

“You’re ghosts”, he stated at last. It wasn’t a question; no special effects could be that good with no technical equipment around.

“An astute observation”, the more smartly-dressed spectre commented. “And it appears that you can see us. This is highly unusual.”

“Sorry for disturbing your nap", the second one added, "But we don't get many visitors these days, and no one has ever laid down between our resting places before!"

“Huh. So I guess you’re Mr Hart?” Virgil asked. The spectre nodded, and he turned to the figure with the necktie. “And you must be Mr Crofter?”

“It’s Professor Crofter, actually”, the ghost corrected. “Although under the circumstances, I believe simply ‘Logan’ will suffice.”

“Logan”, repeated Virgil, testing the name aloud now that he had a face to fit it to. It had a solid, grounded ring to it that seemed a perfect fit for the serious man. He nodded. “Thanks, Logan, I’m Virgil. Pleased to meet you.”

“Having a party without me?” a voice cut in, and Virgil turned sharply to see the spectre of a young man, dressed in centuries-old fashion and leaning jauntily against a raised chest tomb nearby.

“Uh… Thomas Sanders?” he asked, hesitating for a moment before remembering the name he’d read there.

The ghost scoffed. “Hardly. Do I look like a Thomas? No, Mr Sanders’ tomb just happens to have been placed over the spot where I myself was buried several centuries earlier. A perfectly likeable chap, but I was most certainly here first.”

“Now, Roman, be nice!” Patton reprimanded him in a stage whisper. “You wouldn’t want to give young Virgil here the wrong impression, would you?”

For a split second, the new ghost's face contorted in alarm, but he quickly schooled it into a charming smile.

“Greetings, young man, you have the honour of addressing Prince Roman! Delighted to meet you.”

He held out his hand as though to be kissed, then quickly withdrew it when Virgil merely stared in confusion.

Logan cleared his throat. “He’s not actually a prince”, he noted.

Roman straightened up and glared at him. “Well, I should have been!” he declared passionately, “And I would have been if only my father had seen fit to marry my mother! A trivial technicality which society nevertheless deems sufficient to deprive me of my birthright!”

Logan rolled his eyes, while Patton carefully avoided the knight’s wild gesticulating to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Never mind, Roman”, he murmured sympathetically, “You’re still a brave and noble knight, and you’ll always be a prince to me.”

Logan sighed and turned away from the pair, beckoning Virgil to move a little further away. “Roman is… a character”, he confided, keeping his voice low. “He’s not a bad person, and I greatly appreciate Patton’s efforts in teaching him modern English, but being a rational man some of his attitudes and theatrics try my patience. I’ve done my best to educate him in scientific developments through time, particularly in my own field of astronomy, but he has proved a singularly reluctant student.”

Virgil frowned. “Speaking of which, aren’t you kind of young to have been a professor?” he commented, then mentally scolded himself, afraid Logan would take it as an insult.

On the contrary, however, Logan smiled in a way that was almost smug. “I appear as I did when I first gained my professorship”, he explained, “And while you would generally be correct in your assessment, it so happens that I was the youngest professor my university had ever appointed.

“Huh, so you get to choose, then?” Virgil asked, curious. “You’re not stuck looking the age you did when you died?”

“Not at all!” Patton told him, smiling broadly as he joined them once more. “I may not look it, but I was 104 when I died! I go with this look because it’s the age I was when my first grandchild was born. That was the crowning moment of my life, just like Logan’s professorship was for him.”

“That's actually pretty cool", remarked Virgil. "How about you, Sir Roman? What made you pick that age to appear as?"

Roman scowled, but it seemed to be directed at the world in general rather than at Virgil. “This is the age I died at”, he complained. “Struck down in my prime by cruellest fate!”

He pressed a hand to his chest and threw back his head in an exaggerated tableau of tragedy.

“So, did you die in battle, or what?” Virgil asked.

The knight gasped as though pained by the question, and turned back to Patton, who put an arm around him and patted him gently on the back, murmuring soothingly.

Logan sighed and leaned closer to Virgil. “He took an arrow to the knee and died from the resulting infection”, he whispered. “It’s yet another thing he’s still bitter about. All that lingering resentment is the reason he’s never moved on.”

“Huh, I see." Virgil pondered those words for a moment before an obvious question presented itself. "So… How come you’re still here?” he asked. “You had a decent life, right?”

Logan sighed with unexpected wistfulness, catching Patton and Roman’s attention. As they moved closer to listen, he began to explain.

"It's true that I had a good life. I was highly successful in my field of research and earned the respect and admiration of my peers. However..." He sighed again. "My greatest dream remained frustratingly beyond my reach."

“So what was your dream, then?”

Logan looked up at the sky, his face relaxing into a distant, melancholy smile. “For almost my whole life I dreamed of discovering a planet – or more than one – beyond our solar system. Of proving beyond all possible doubt that there are other worlds out there, however strange and uninhabitable they might seem. That was the dream that kept me working long after others had gone home each day, the spark that ignited my passion for research. It drove me to discover new stars, new galaxies, yet somehow that single goal always eluded me.” He shook his head, sadly. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t let myself die until I had succeeded. But willpower alone proved insufficient to conquer death.”

“Oh, that’s rough, I’m sorry”, mumbled Virgil, and Patton attempted to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It passed through him like smoke, without so much as a tingle.

“We’re all here because we have some kind of lingering regret”, the man explained, giving up on the attempt. “In my case, I stayed because I couldn’t bear to leave my family behind. But… They’ve all moved away since I died, and they haven’t visited in years.”

“Didn’t you have, like, a wife?” Virgil asked. “Wouldn’t she be dead by now? It’s been decades. How come you haven’t moved on to be with her?”

Patton looked away, his form fading slightly, its glow diminishing as though whatever spark remained within him dimmed at the memory.

“We weren’t close”, he said quietly. “We were friends when we were young, but… We lead separate lives, especially after the children left home. I had always… preferred men, and we just drifted apart.”

“Wait, you mean you’re gay?” Virgil asked. “Same! But in that case, why did you even marry her?”

“Things weren’t always how they are now, kiddo”, Patton told him sadly.

“Patton died in 1984 at the age of 104”, Logan pointed out gently. “A simple calculation will tell you he was born in 1880, at which time male homosexual relationships remained very much illegal. Which is not to say they didn’t occur, of course, but society gave little choice but to follow its dictates or face the worse it had to offer.”

Patton nodded. “It was illegal for most of my life, so I did what was expected of me. I got married at twenty to a nice girl I’d grown up with, started a family, and got myself a respectable job making furniture.”

“Oh”, mumbled Virgil, feeling suddenly guilty for having brought it up.

“I had a happy life, mostly!” Patton assured him. “I wanted a family more than anything, and every single one of my children and grandchildren meant the whole world to me!”

He smiled, but Virgil couldn’t help noticing the hint of melancholy still in his eyes. Perhaps he still regretted not having been able to experience both romance and a family, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t seen his family in so long, and he missed them all so much. Either way, Virgil was overwhelmed by a powerful desire to do something to help ease his sadness.

“I could look them up when I get home”, he suggested. “They’re probably on social media of one sort or another. If you give me some names, I’ll do my best to track them down and see how they’re doing.”

Patton’s eyes widened behind his round glasses. “You can do that?” he asked, and Virgil fleetingly wondered how a ghost could sound breathless with excitement. “You would do that for me?!”

“Sure!” Virgil told him. “I mean, no promises or anything, but I’ll try my best to find them.”

A breeze laced with December ice swept by, and he shivered involuntarily. The sky was noticeably more cloudy now, and in a little over an hour the sun would begin to set. Logan noticed his glance to the west and raised a hand to silence the others' chatter.

“You should leave soon”, he suggested with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You’re alive, unlike us, with a living body to take care of.”

“He can’t leave yet!” Roman exclaimed. “He barely arrived, what… How long ago was it, Patton?”

The older man tried to force back up the smile that had faded at Logan's words, but it fell away again immediately. "I don't know, Roman", he replied sadly, "But I think Logan's right. Virgil has a life, and he needs to live it, not just hang around here with us oldies.”

Virgil buttoned his coat and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fend off the gathering chill. “I’ll come back”, he told them. “Very soon, so wait for me?”

“There’s not much else we can do”, Roman pointed out. “We’re stuck here, perhaps forever, doomed to watched the world move on without us as we- Mmph!” he finished indignantly as Logan clamped a hand over his mouth.

“We would be delighted to see you return”, the scientist assured Virgil. “However, I want you to remember to always put your life and your living friends first.”

Virgil nodded his assent, resisting the urge to ask “What living friends?” as he turned to face Patton. The grandfather looked back at him sadly, his faded eyes filled with the memories of too many goodbyes, too many loved ones lost forever.

“I will come back, I promise”, Virgil told him firmly. “Trust me, please?”

Patton nodded, lifting his arms to hug himself as a substitute. Virgil turned away, biting his lip and blinking away the tears pricking at his eyes.

Don’t be so over-emotional, he mentally scolded himself as he walked along the path to the gateway through which he had entered not so very long ago. You just met them, and you can see them again whenever you want to.

Can you? a treacherous shadow whispered in his mind. Maybe they were wrong about being able to see them any time. Or maybe you fell asleep on the grass and imagined the whole thing…

He couldn’t help but turn around and look back towards where he had left his friends behind. But he had already stepped beyond the gate, out of their realm, and the high stone wall of the churchyard blocked his view.

For a moment he paused, uncertainty wavering his conviction. Then a decision was reached, a path chosen, and he continued on his way home.

*****

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Patton asked softly, his eyes still fixed on the gateway through which Virgil had disappeared.

“Of course he will!” Roman scoffed. “No one would turn down the chance to see me again! And he seemed to like meeting both of you, too.”

Logan was silent for a long moment, contemplating how best to balance cold reasoning with reassurance. “I believe there is a high probability he will return”, he said at last. “Roman is, for once, correct in his assessment that Virgil enjoyed our company. Of course, we can never fully anticipate how the living will choose to spend their time, but… I believe he fully intends to keep his promise.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “And besides, he’ll probably end up here in time anyway. It’s merely a question of how long we have to wait.”

“You just couldn’t leave it on a happy note, could you?!” Roman exploded. “Look what you’ve done now, you’ve gone and upset Patton just when he was feeling better about things!”

“I don't want him to diiiieee!" Patton wailed, his ghostly form vibrating with distress. "He's such a good kid, I want him to live a long and happy life like mine! Better than mine!”

“This is ridiculous, you’re both completely overreacting.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t resist ruining the mood!”

“All I did was articulate the perfectly reasonable conclusion that-”

“Please, padre, stop sobbing! Logan was just being stupidly negative as usual.”

“I was not!”

“Uh, guys?” a confused voice broke through their arguing.

Logan and Roman both turned abruptly in surprise, and Patton’s face lit up with a joyful smile at the sight of the black-clad figure once more in their midst. Virgil rubbed the back of his head nervously, turning faintly pink at having three pairs of ghostly eyes staring at him.

For a second there was silence, and then:

“You see! I told you he’d come back!” Roman cried triumphantly.

“I never said he wouldn’t”, Logan bit back impatiently. “All I said was that it might not be for a while.”

“My grasp of time might not be the clearest after all these centuries, but even I can tell he’s only been gone a few minutes!”

Logan frowned and turned back to Virgil. “Loath as I am to admit it, Roman is correct on that point”, he said. “May I ask the reason for this swift return?”

Virgil shrugged. “Well, I only live a few minutes away”, he explained, “I just never thought of visiting this place before today. So I just put on an extra sweater, and, uh...” - He held up a large bag - “I fetched some things. I dunno if ghosts celebrate the holidays at all, but I thought I’d bring some gifts. And then, of course, I realised you wouldn’t be able to touch them, but I figured maybe we could still look at them together?”

“That’s so thoughtful!” Patton squealed, trying and failing to wrap his arms around the young man. “I knew you were a good kid. Didn’t I say he was a good kid?” He looked around at the others for confirmation, his pale eyes shining as he positioned one ghostly arm approximately around Virgil’s shoulders. And perhaps it was an illusion, but, insubstantial as Patton’s form was, Virgil was almost sure he could feel it.

“We might not have much time today”, he cautioned them all, “But I’ll come back tomorrow, okay? And the next day, too, because you better believe I’m not gonna sit at home alone on Christmas Day when I can spend it with you guys instead.”

He put the bag down and opened it, then pulled it away with a snort when Roman and Patton each leaned forward to try to peek inside.

“Nope, Logan first, since you two are so impatient”, he teased. “Logan, I don’t have any books on astronomy right now, but I’ve got this science encyclopedia that’s only a few years old, and it’ll probably have some new discoveries and stuff we can read about? I mean, I can just turn the pages and let you read it if you prefer, but I haven’t actually read much of it, and it’d be cool to learn some new things, so...”

“I would be delighted to read it with you”, Logan assured him, his voice measured but his eyes shining. “And if you wish for a broader understanding of any of the longer-established topics, I am well-versed in most major branches of science and would be more than willing to aid in furthering your education.”

“Uh, sure”, said Virgil, “We’ll see how it goes.” He turned to the next ghost. “Now, Patton… Like I said, looking up your family will take a while, and I can’t promise I’ll find much, so...” He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, as with his other hand he held out a photo album. “I brought this. It’s got a load of old photos of me as a kid, and I thought maybe we could look through it together? And I could tell you about them?” He dropped his gaze, his confidence in the gift wavering.

After a moment of tension, the silence slowly filled with a growing whine, increasing in pitch and volume until Virgil looked back up in alarm. Patton's eyes were wide and flooding with joyful tears, and although his hands were clasped tightly to his mouth, they couldn't contain the sound of sheer delight escaping him.

Virgil relaxed, a relieved chuckle escaping him as he breathed once more. "I didn't have the greatest childhood", he warned, "So there's some stuff I might not wanna talk about much, but it'll be good to look back at the good times for a change."

Patton nodded frantically in agreement, and Virgil turned at last to the final member of the group.

“Roman..." The knight leaned forward eagerly, trying to see into the bag as Virgil reached into it again. Virgil hunched deeper into his coat under the scrutiny. "I, uh, wasn't sure you'd be in the history books", he confessed, "Or at least, not more than a passing mention, so..." He pulled out a notebook, the deep red cover embossed with gold. "I bought this ages ago and then never actually used it for anything, but I thought maybe you could tell me your story? Like, all about yourself and what happened in your life."

The ghost's mouth fell open in shock before the corners expanded upwards into a delighted grin. "You want me to talk about myself?" he asked eagerly. "You want me to talk about myself?!”

“Uh, yeah, that’s the idea. I’m guessing I’ll take a while, so we’ll have to leave it till tomorrow to start, but I wanted to tell you now so you wouldn’t feel left out.”

“Of course!” the knight exclaimed. “I shall contain my reminiscences until time allows me to share them unabridged!”

Virgil hid a lopsided grin, bending his head to pull the final item from the bag: a blanket. “Where would be best to sit?” he asked nervously. “I don’t wanna bother anyone by sitting on their grave.”

“Oh, never mind all that!” Roman told him, dismissing the very concept with a wave of his hand. “We can just perch on Thomas’ tomb, here. I do it all the time!”

“He doesn’t mind?”

“Hardly!” said Roman with a grin, seating himself on the raised stone. “He was only a ghost for a few days before he moved on. No regrets, you see, so he won’t mind at all!”

Virgil spread the blanket across the middle of the tomb, then cautiously sat down on it beside Roman. As Logan and Patton took up position on his other side, he opened the encyclopedia to the first page.

They would have looked a strange group to any observer who could have seen them, but Virgil didn’t care. With his three new friends around him, for the first time in too many years he felt happy, and cared for, and hopeful for the future.

Shut the feelings out, shut them down, put on the mask and put on a show. Patton must never know how you’re feeling.

He composed himself as best he could and opened his eyes… only to find the other man watching him with such a wistful, almost longing expression that he almost reeled from the emotional impact it had.

He swallowed, suddenly acutely self-conscious, and felt his face burn. Roman had never claimed to be particularly bright - his intelligence was the sort that understood sentence structure and dialogue flow rather than how to solve equations - but now the pieces of a jigsaw slotted together in his mind to produce a picture he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

“You’re my hero!”

“Is this the guy you were telling me you have a crush on?”

“He’s not my boyfriend and never will be.”

“Virgil housemate just had his heart broken by someone he harbours romantic feelings for.”

Patton had feelings for him, and he’d broken his heart. And now that Roman knew, what was he going to do about it?

His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and he tried not to stumble as he moved to the centre of the room and looked around. Above the desk there was a large pin board covered with photographs, and he scanned them absently as he tried to get his emotions back under control. Some of the pictures were of flowers and cute animals, others of people most of whom Roman didn't recognise. Patton was in only three: one with Virgil outside the art museum, one with Remy, and one with two people who looked like his parents and three teenagers Roman supposed were younger siblings.

In each one Patton was smiling brightly, exuding joy and affection for those he was with, and Roman suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in one of those photos, smiling by Patton’s side. He shook his head, forcing the feeling away, and turned his gaze elsewhere.

The remainder of the room was cluttered with a mixture of scrapbooks, knick-knacks, stuffed toys, and DVDs. The bookshelves were stuffed with a jumble of fiction and cookbooks, the only history books visible being those required for the course.

Roman tried to act nonchalant, but wherever he tried to focus his eyes, they kept drifting of their own accord back to Patton. Not for the first time, he cursed his overdeveloped romantic streak. Of all the people to develop an attraction to… It could be worse, a treacherous thought reminded him. At least this one’s single, and not straight.

Patton sat down on the dove-grey bed cover and patted the spot beside him. Roman smiled awkwardly as he followed, carefully keeping his knees pointed towards the centre of the room rather than at his companion.

What on earth should I say? “I like you, you like me, let’s snuggle”?

Don’t you dare, brain, I’m watching you. Come on, I need a light, casual conversation starter.

“I never expected you and Virgil to be housemates”, he began at last. “How did you meet? You seem so...different.”

Patton grinned. “We are, but we get along great! We got talking in the first year when I saw him at the museum and went up and complimented his hoodie."

Roman tried to imagine how that conversation would have gone, but couldn’t. Either it was beyond his creative block, or it was just too bizarre.

“How about you and Logan?” asked Patton, tilting his head to one side. “You’re pretty different yourselves. I’d never have guessed you were friends.”

Roman shrugged. “We met at fencing club in our first year”, he explained. “Logan joined because it’s a structured, mentally-challenging sport with minimal physical contact. I joined because I wanted a chance to fight with swords.”

Patton nodded in understanding. “You wanted to be a knight, right?”

“Well, yes...” Roman confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

Patton beamed, his face lighting up in a way that made Roman’s head spin. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “After all, you were my knight in shining armour outside the club.”

Oh, calm down, Roman! He could feel the warmth of another blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Say something! Anything! Change the topic before he notices how red you are!

“You’re the real ‘Knight’” he found himself saying. “Do you have any idea how envious I’ve always been of your surname?”

What the hell, brain?!

Patton bit his lip and ducked his head, but he couldn’t hide his grin or the red flush spreading across his face. Roman took a deep breath, trying to think past the butterflies and find a safer topic of conversation.

“I, uh, don’t have the time for fencing anymore, sadly”, he said with forced lightness. “Or the energy, to be honest. I’ve been far too stressed with everything else I’ve got going on.”

“Hmm~ Is that what Virgil was supposed to help you with?”

“Well that was part of it”, Roman admitted. “He was trying to help me learn to relax. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with writer’s block, and I hoped that would cure it.”

“Oh yes! Your writing!” Patton’s eyes widened. “You never told me! What kind of things do you write?”

Wrong topic! Abort! Roman’s stomach clenched and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, unconsciously moving his knees to point even further away from Patton. “Well, I write a lot of poetry”, he said, his eyes on the wall, “And also...fanfiction.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head to see the response. To his surprise, Patton was almost glowing with excitement.

“That’s so cool!” he breathed. “Which series do you write about?”

Roman swallowed, a half-proud, half-embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve written a few alternate universe pieces with Disney characters”, he said, “But I currently write mainly Dragon Witch Chronicles fics.

Patton squealed – he actually squealed – and leaned forward with his eyes shining. “What name do you write under?" he asked eagerly.

Roman flushed. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll look up my work, and that would just be embarrassing!”

“Aww...” Patton’s face fell, but then he shrugged. “Oh well, if you write Dragon Witch Chronicles fics, I’ve probably read them already anyway.”

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” Roman implored him desperately. “Please don’t mention it to anyone, it’s a secret!”

Patton frowned. “Don’t your friends know about it?”

“No way!” Roman almost shrieked. “I can’t tell them! If they knew, they’d be sure to-” He broke off and shuddered. “In any case, they must never find out. I have to hide it from everyone even remotely linked to our course.”

Patton tilted his head slightly to one side, his soft brown eyes full of sadness and concern. “That sounds exhausting”, he remarked.

The words hit Roman like a heavy jousting lance. The truth of them, the external acknowledgement he hadn’t known he so desperately needed, went through him like a shockwave, and a sob wrenched itself from his chest past his lips before he could even think of trying to stop it.

Patton reached out a hand, but as before he hesitated and then pulled back. “Maybe that’s why you’re finding writing so hard?” he suggested gently. “Virgil always says he can’t create if he’s not honest. His art is an expression of himself, so if he hid who he truly is, he wouldn’t be able to make anything good.”

Roman swallowed, taking some deep breaths before he risked speaking. “M-maybe...” he admitted. “I used to love writing, but now it’s always a struggle. The thought of even trying makes me nauseous.” He shook his head sadly. “Can I even call myself a writer, if I never seem to write anymore?”

Patton chewed his lip for a moment, looking down at the bed cover and stroking his fingers gently back and forth over it. “You know, I don’t think it’s only writing that makes you a writer”, he said at last. “I may not write myself, but the way I see it, you’re a writer because writing means so much to you, and because you feel so lost when you can’t do it. I think writing’s a part of who you are, even when you don’t write.”

“But I’ve barely written for months, Patton!” Roman wailed. “The only things I’ve managed to write were a poem after I walked you home that time, and then a short story about-”

He broke off abruptly. He was not going to tell Patton what that fic had involved. No way. If the subject matter weren’t embarrassing enough, there was always the risk he might recognise it.

“Hmm~ Well, do you know what’s stopping you?” the man asked, ignoring the sudden stop. “Why does the thought of writing make you feel so bad?”

Roman shook his head and sighed. “There’s so much pressure, so much competition. I feel I’m devoting all I have to it, and yet no matter what I do, I can’t keep pace with all the faster, better, more talented writers out there.” He turned away and put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched with the effort of suppressing the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

When he managed to speak again, it was in tight, broken tones. “I need to do it, but… But I can’t… I can’t risk failure…”

There was silence for a minute, and despite his fears, Roman's curiosity pushed him to risk looking at Patton. The other man was chewing his lower lip again, his head tilted characteristically to one side.

“Do you think, maybe, you struggle because you’re trying so hard to compete?” he suggested, a touch cautiously. “I mean, you said you started writing because you enjoyed it, but you don’t seem like you’re enjoying it now. So why keep trying to force yourself?”

Roman swallowed. “Because I… I need the praise”, he said, his voice soft and cracked. “I need the acknowledgement, the proof that I’ve done something worthwhile.”

“Is that the only reason you write?” Patton asked softly, a hint of something like disappointment in his eyes.

Roman shook his head firmly. “No, but still, I can’t help but worry. What if nobody likes what I write? What if, after weeks of pouring my time and effort into a story, no one cares? With every creation I show to the world, I put my heart on the line. I risk apathy, rejection, and downright hate.”

“I’m sure no one will hate it”, Patton gently assured him, “Not if it’s something you’ve put your heart into creating.”

Roman gave a short, bitter laugh. “Don't be so sure. And besides, apathy is almost as bad, and I've experienced that many times. Hate may cut, but apathy bruises."

Patton blinked back the tears trying to well in his eyes. “I know it hurts, but… If other people don't enjoy your creations, that's their loss, not yours. What matters most is that you like what you’ve made.”

Roman sighed, his voice coloured with exhausted helplessness. “You must understand, nothing stings like rejection. Nothing tears my soul and strips away my confidence more than pouring my heart and soul into creating something and then releasing it into the world only for the world to disregard it. And I need people to tell me my writing is good, that it means something to them, that I’m contributing something to the world to justify my existence!”

Patton leaned back away from him, eyes widening in alarm, and Roman grimaced as he was hit by a sudden wave of self-disgust. Just when he’d realised he liked Patton, he had to go and scare him off. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The adrenaline seemed to drain out of him, and he slumped, eyes downcast. But when he cautiously raised them again he saw none of the expected revulsion on Patton's face.

Patton was leaning forward, head tilted to one side and forehead creased in concern.

“That’s not...” he began, quietly, hesitantly. “You don’t...” He broke off again and bit his lip, frowning as he tried to find the right words to say.

Roman waited, a tiny flicker of hope reigniting somewhere inside him. Maybe, just maybe, all hope wasn’t lost after all.

Patton took a deep breath and blinked rapidly - Were there tears in his eyes, too? Then at last he spoke.

“You don’t need to justify living, Roman. And if you have a purpose… Have you ever thought maybe it might be just to enjoy life? To make the world a little bit better in whatever way you can, even if it’s just by sharing your smile?”

“But writing is what I do!” Roman wailed. “I’m not like you, I’m no good at being kind, or making people happy! Without writing, I’m nothing but selfish, stubborn, insecure… - Feel free to stop me at any time! - I’m arrogant, egotistical...”

Patton smiled and shook his head. “You’re creative, caring, brave…” he looked down shyly, turning pink, “...Not to mention very handsome.”

Roman smiled wryly, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face. “Writing is what I do”, he repeated quietly. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the one chance I have to make something of myself and make my family proud of me.”

Patton frowned, picking awkwardly at the bedspread. “Have you spoken to your family about how you feel?” he asked.

Roman shuddered involuntarily. “I’ve already disappointed my parents by being gay, I can’t fail at this too.”

“They don’t accept the fact you’re gay?” Patton asked gently, leaning forward in sympathy.

“They wouldn’t kick me out or anything”, Roman quickly assured him. “They just… try to ignore it. They don’t say anything, but I know from their silence they don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry”, Patton said sadly. “That’s horrible.”

Roman shrugged and looked away. “Ever since I came out, they’ve tried to pretend it never happened. I’m an only child, and they were…very unhappy that I was dramatically reducing their chance of biological grandchildren.

“Do you want children?” There was a slight shift in the air, and Patton seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for a response.

Roman hesitated. “I’m not sure”, he replied uncertainly. It was always my parents’ priority, not mine, but… I suppose I would like to be a father someday. Assuming I can ever get a well-enough paid job to support a child.” He sighed. “Not that there’s much hope of that if I fail my degree.”

Patton shuffled a little closer, his soft eyes fixed on Roman. “What would you choose for your future, if you didn’t have to worry about qualifications or what your parents might think?”

Roman swallowed, feeling his face heat up further but unable to take his eyes from Patton’s as he asked himself what he really wanted. Right now, the only answer his brain was giving him was Patton.

“I’d lo- I’d like to write”, he said at last. “To be a- a writer, a proper author, you know? A professional, making a living writing stories. That’s been my greatest dream for years.”

Patton’s whole face seemed to shine, the brightness of his smile bringing a deeper blush to Roman’s cheeks. “That sounds wonderful, he breathed. “What kind of stories would you write? Fantasy? Ooh, or maybe historical fiction? Is that why you’re studying history?”

Really, it was uncanny how easily this man seemed to read Roman like he himself was a book, with the secrets of his heart written out for those caramel eyes alone. He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes away to watch the wall.

“I’ve always loved historical fiction. Tales of knights and princes, heroism, chivalry, romance… I dreamed of studying those times and turning what I learned into stories of my own. And the stories were even more appealing when they had a generous sprinkling of fantasy. Dragons to fight or to tame, sorcerers good or evil weaving fabulous spells… I saw it all so clearly in my mind, and it wasn’t long before I began re-enacting my favourite tales and then creating my own – escaping my mundane everyday life into the role of hero in a dozen different fantasy lands.”

Patton leaned forward, his eyes wide as he drank in everything Roman said.

Roman smiled wistfully. “When I grew old enough that wearing a prince costume and wielding a plastic sword became frowned upon, I stopped acting my stories out and instead settled for writing the scenes from my mind onto paper.”

He turned to see Patton's reaction and found him gazing with rapt attention. "What do you think?” he asked nervously.

“I bet you’d look amazing in a prince costume”, Patton replied with feeling.

Roman cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Yes, well, in any case, I decided that studying history would help with my writing, even though the reality turned out to be depressingly short of happy endings. I endured the school history lessons convinced that if I could just get through this module, this year, this particular bit of tedium and misery I’d eventually be able to study the things I really wanted to. But now that I’m here, I’ve realised I still don’t enjoy it and I never will.” He shook his head and sighed, his shoulders slumping as he looked again at the wall.

Patton shook his head. “You didn’t realise the past was never like it is in those stories?” he asked.

Roman turned back to face him, his eyes dull and rimmed with shadows. “I wanted so much for it to be real that I managed to convince myself”, he confessed. “And when the illusion finally crumbled, it was too late to turn back.”

“It’s never too late”, Patton said firmly. “Never.”

“I’ve wasted years, Patton. Years spent chasing an impossible dream. I know now that what I truly want is to spend the rest of my life writing stories. Every spare moment I have, free from the tedium of my course, I devote to dreaming up new fantasies to escape into.”

He sighed wearily. “In all honesty, it’s losing myself in those stories that's kept me going this far. And now..." He swallowed as a lump rose to restrict his throat and tears once more flooded his eyes. “...And now I can’t even seem to do that.”

There was silence for several minutes, as Roman leaned back against the wall and Patton chewed his lip, staring down at his own knees. As Roman replayed the conversation in his mind, an awareness gradually stole over him and he sat back up with a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry”, he said, with an apologetic smile, “I shouldn’t have been so negative about studying history. You probably love it.”

“Mm...” Patton bit his lip, and Roman was suddenly acutely aware he’d never even considered how he might feel about their course.

For a long moment the man was silent, then, “I find the past...comforting”, he said at last. “I can cope with even the most horrifying bits because they’re over, they’re gone.  The present is too raw. You hide from it in fantasy worlds, I hide from it in the past.”

The sadness in his eyes caused flames of anger to flare suddenly in Roman’s chest. “Is this because of… You know, how the class treat you?” he asked, his voice edged with fury.

Patton hesitated and then nodded, his eyes still averted. “That’s part of it”, he mumbled, “It was worse at school, but back then I could go home to my family at the end of each day, and they'd make it all better. I miss them all so much.“

His eyes filled with tears, and Roman internally panicked. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! How do I stop him crying?!

Patton sniffed, removing his glasses for a moment to dry his eyes. "Lessons here aren't so bad", he assured Roman, "As long as I find a seat early and keep my head down. And I know I can always talk to Virgil, I just don’t like to bother him when I know he has troubles of his own.” He sighed. “I just wish I knew what people think I’m doing so wrong.”

Suggestions flitted through Roman’s mind, a mix of his own observations and comments he’d heard from others. He could give Patton a list of reasons why people thought he was childish and weird, but…

“If they don’t appreciate you, that’s their loss”, he said firmly. “I don’t want you to think you have to change for them. You’re warm, and kind, and fun to be with, and… I like you. I really do.”

Patton turned to look at him, his eyes wide. “Do you really mean it?” he asked softly. He reached out a hand once more, this time resting it lightly, tentatively on Roman’s arm. Roman felt his heart rate accelerate, and then, as so often, he moved without thinking. His hand was on Patton’s before he knew it, and the pink blush that lit up behind that dusting of freckles made him feel giddy.

“I, um...” he began, and then swallowed. At least one of them should probably have moved their hand by now, but neither had. Instead, he found himself caught up once more in those caramel eyes, so much lighter than his own, and he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that formed on his face.

“I like you a lot, Patton”, he confessed. “So I’d be happy for you to sit beside me in lectures. And to eat lunch together, if you want to.

“What if your other friends don’t want to include me?” Patton asked cautiously. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your friendships just for my sake.”

“Screw them”, Roman said passionately, “I want you.”

As Patton’s eyes widened and his face flared scarlet, Roman’s brain once more caught up with his mouth and he felt his own face blaze.

“I mean as a friend!” The words were ejected from his mouth in a rush, but as he turned away he couldn’t help adding softly, “...Or maybe more, if you’d agree to it.”

There was a long pause where they both looked everywhere except at each other. Then Patton finally murmured, “I’d like that.”

His voice was soft and husky, like the whisper of a breeze in the desert. Thirsty, Roman’s brain helpfully supplied, and he gave it a swift mental kick.

Patton turned his hand and curled the fingers to lightly brush Roman’s. “You’re sure you don’t hate me?” he asked, shyly.

He tailed off as Roman reached forward and placed a finger to his lips.

“Patton, I could never hate you, not now I’ve got to know you better”, he said, softly but with conviction. “You are an absolute angel, and I hope to spend a great deal more time with you from now on.”

He removed his finger and then watched in confusion as his the man’s eyes filled once more with tears. “I- I’m sorry”, he stammered, “I didn’t mean to upset you… I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. Please don’t cry...”

Patton shook his head and sniffed as he tried to blink away his tears. Taking off his glasses again, he placed them carefully to one side so that he could wipe his eyes. It took a few moments before he could speak, and in that time he reached forward to touch Roman’s sleeve once more. He stroked his fingers back and forth over the fabric a few times, then stopped and curled his fingers to gently clutch it.

“I’m not an angel”, he mumbled, his voice still choked with tears. “I’m over-sensitive and disorganised. I make silly jokes and pretend to be happy, even though I know nobody likes me.”

“I like you”, Roman told him fiercely. “And besides, I don’t see angels as perfect. I see them as those people who care about others and always do their best to put them first. Those who strive every day to make the world better in any way they can. And by that definition, you are unequivocally an angel.”

He shifted closer and put an arm around Patton, loosely at first, then tightening reassuringly as the man settled into his embrace.

He gazed down, taking in the view from up close of Patton’s soft waves of lavender hair and the galaxy of freckles covering his face. The tear tracks were still damp beneath his closed eyes, but there was a peacefulness there now, a contentment that warmed Roman’s heart. Never before had he felt so utterly entranced by someone, or so deeply protective of them. As he revelled in the sight and in his newly-realised adoration, words began to form in his mind, and he gathered them up, shaping them into lines that flowed straight from his heart.

“If ever tears are in your eyes

Like salt in caramel

And sadness wraps you in its curse

I’ll fight to break that spell.

I have no castle or acclaim

No fortune to convince

But I will want for nothing if

You’ll let me be your prince.”

Patton lifted his head and gaped at him. “Did you write that?” he breathed, “You’re amazing!”

“You inspire me”, Roman told him. “The only times I’ve written lately have been after spending time with you. You were absolutely right: I can be myself with you, and that sets my creative spirit free. Patton, my dearest, you’re my Erato, my Calliope!”

“I’m your what now?”

“My muse. I feel I could write anything with you by my side!”

The rose-pink flush spread from Patton’s cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “Oh! Well, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can!”

“Simply spending time with you is enough”, Roman assured him. “I can already feel the creativity welling up in my veins! Oh, I could kiss you!”

At the sudden wideness of Patton's eyes and his bright red face, Roman replayed his own words in his mind. Then he felt his own cheeks grow hot at the realisation of what he’d just said. One day, perhaps, he would learn to think before he spoke, but this was clearly not that day.

There followed several seconds of excruciating silence as Roman’s eyes roamed every bit of the room that didn’t contain Patton. When at last he risked a glance at the other man, he found him looking back with a shy smile – a smile Roman’s own lips couldn’t help but mirror.

“Did you mean that?” Patton asked, scarcely above a whisper.

Roman felt a surge of courage. “Every word”, he replied fervently.

Patton’s smile widened. “I think I might like that”, he said, tears welling in his eyes once more.

Before Roman knew what he was doing, he had swept the other man into a hug. He could feel his own eyes stinging, but this time he made no effort to stop himself from crying. Burying his face in the collar of Patton’s shirt, he breathed in the glorious scent as he felt warm arms slip around him in turn.

And suddenly, for the first time in too many years, he felt safe, secure, and cared for.

He tightened his hold, drinking in comfort, as a warm tide of protectiveness spread through him. Their classmates could say what they wanted, could stare, and whisper, and jeer. He would never, ever let Patton feel lonely again.

Then, gradually, the memory of his words filtered through the companionable silence and Roman felt a warmth of a different kind ignite in his chest.

He moved back, pushing Patton gently away from him, then lifted a hand to ever so lightly cup the man’s cheek. To his delight, Patton leaned into the touch, and Roman could see his breath quicken and a new spark appear in his eyes.

They moved together, leaning in slowly but surely to close the space between, until their lips met with a light brush that grew in intensity and all Roman could think was soft, and warm, and home.

*****

“Pat?” Virgil’s voice called through the door several minutes later. “Is Roman in there? He stormed out of my room a while ago, and Logan and I haven’t seen him since.”

Patton pulled back and looked at Roman, who gave him a half smile and a nod. “He’s with me”, he called back. “We were, uh… We were talking about why we chose to study history.”

Roman slammed a hand across his mouth to suppress a chuckle.

“Wait, you were?” asked Virgil. “Actually, forget that, Logan wants to know if Roman wants a lift home. He can stay the night in your room if you prefer, though.”

For a second the two froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Then Patton squeaked “I-don’t-think-that’s-a-good-idea!”, the words tumbling out of him in a shrill rush.

“Well, figure it out quickly, ‘cause Logan’s leaving soon”, Virgil warned.

Roman smiled wryly. Yeah, it was probably best not to spend the night together – even literally sleeping – before they’d even been on a first date. Speaking of which…

“I shall have to leave for now”, he said, “But perhaps we could meet again tomorrow? For a real date, this time.”

Patton looked ready to explode from sheer joy. “Yes!” he squealed. “That sounds great! Where do you want to meet?”

Roman hesitated. While his romantic instincts were screaming at him that Patton deserved a grand gesture, like being whisked off to Disneyland Paris for the weekend, his parents would hardly consider that a defensible use of his student loan. He had better keep things realistic, at least for the first date.

“It’s late”, he said, “And I’m sure we’ll both be tired tomorrow. How about we just go for a walk together by the river, and then get some drinks at Costa. I promise I’ll plan something more exciting for the second date.”

“Second...date...” Patton breathed, his eyes wide as he processed the words. “That sounds wonderful! And Costa will be great, you know I like going there.”

Roman smiled. “Good, because I believe I owe your barista friend an apology. And you as well.” He lifted Patton’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “I apologise from the bottom of my heart for what I said before. I would be honoured to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”

Patton’s enthusiastic response was cut short by a sharp rap on the door and Logan’s harsh tones. “Roman Zito, you have precisely three minutes to exit this room and get into my car. When that time is up, I will drive home whether you are with me or not.”