#remus has synesthesia

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Virgil was sitting in the center of his room. Not his bed (or the couch, rather, as Thomas was standing in his living room), that was too bouncy, moved too easily, wasn’t stable enough. Not good for his plan of curling into a ball and not moving until the world ends, and maybe not even then.

He was exhausted from the wedding. All those people, all that social interaction ... okay, sure, there wasn’t a lot of social interaction (almost none from the bride and groom, in fact) considering Thomas just sat on his phone the whole time, but still! There were a lot of people there and Virgil didn’t like it. Of course there would have been less people at the callback ...

And that thought only made Virgil sink further into his anxiety-ball form, hugging his knees closer and tucking his head in further. He couldn’t remember if he started rocking in place before or after he started crying, but that’s where he was when he heard a soft pop and smelled Axe body spray — and lots of it.

“SO,” Remus said settling next to Virgil’s huddled form, his extravagant outfit rustling loudly, “it turns out all the video games they’re gonna reference are rated E for Everyone. Lame.” 

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, more tears leaking out. He bit his lip to keep his whimpers in and willed himself to stop shaking, which didn’t do a whole lot. Remus was quiet, which is never a good sign (but neither is him not being quiet so who really knows).

“... Is it a Bad Day?” Remus asked, a touch softer than his regular volume, and Virgil’s heart seized. Back before Thomas was aware of any of them, the Others would help Virgil on his Bad Days. It usually had varying degrees of success, but it was better than nothing. He hadn’t told any of the Light Sides about it. He didn’t want it to get back to Thomas that he used to be on the other side of things — of course that ship officially sailed. And sunk. Worse than the Titanic. “Is it a no talky day?” Remus continued.

Virgil didn’t move for a long time. They had a whole system worked out before Virgil left, before Janus kicked him out, before the Others figured out something was wrong with Virgil Before. For days when he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want anyone around him. He still remembers all of those signals. He knows that if he just holds up a closed fist, Remus leave him alone.

He slowly releases one hand’s grip on his legs (ow his fingers are stiff. How long has he been in that position?) and raised one finger. Their old signal for yes. 

Remus hummed. “Well that works for me. I have an idea for a nightmare I’m working on, so I’m gonna use you as a soundboard. So it starts with Thomas falling into an abyss, usual stuff right? But then he lands in the middle of that horror movie he saw when he was twelve that scarred him for life, you remember that? Of course you do, you’re the one in charge of the Deep-Seated Issue part of the brain.”

And on and on Remus continued, talking about first his nightmare idea then whatever random thought drifted into his brain. Even though the content of his rambling was often violent, disturbing, or both, just having another voice in the room to listen to, to drown out the static in Virgil’s brain and the loud voices coming from upstairs (it sounded like Roman, Patton, and Thomas were fighting) was helping.

At one point, there was a soft pop and the room smelled faintly like a nail salon. Virgil turned his head, still huddled in his Virgil-ball, and saw various nail polishes spread out before Remus. He had acrylic nails on (did he have those when he came in?) and had a bottle of nail polish remover at his lips. “Y’know, the liquid is blue, but it tastes green.” Remus said matter-of-factly.

“Dirt tastes red.” Remus had said once when they were younger when things were easier.

Virgil frowned. “But you said Janus’s pancakes taste red. Do his pancakes taste like dirt?”

“No, that’s a different red,” Remus said like that made all the sense in the world.

“Okay, but what does red taste like?” Virgil asked, still thoroughly confused by the conversation taking place.

“Like pancakes and dirt!” Remus cackled.

Present-day Remus shrugged, took another swig, and screwed the cap back on the bottle of nail polish remover. He picked up a bottle of black nail polish and beat it against the palm of his hand. “Gimme your hand,” Remus said, but made no move to grab it. Virgil mentally checked himself on how he was feeling about touch. Twenty minutes ago, it would have been a hard no. Now, however, he limply offered his left hand to the other Side and reburied his head in the Virgil-ball. 

He felt the cold varnish spread over his fingernails. He was vaguely concerned over what Remus was going to put on his nails, but he knew Remus was too proud of his creations to make a mess (unintentionally, that is. Intentional messes were still a possibility). Plus his nails were always chewed down to the quick, so there wasn’t exactly a large canvas for him to work with.

Remus was just finishing his other hand (“Don’t immediately put it back in the Virgil-ball,” Remus lightly threatened when he finished the first hand and placed it on the carpet next to him. “No smudging my masterpiece.”) when they heard it. Deceit’s tune, coming from upstairs, sounding like it had some kind of retro game filter over it. Virgil tensed (but didn’t move his hands) and Remus snapped his fingers and turned on the TV. The music came through the speakers, louder and more clear. Remus was quiet for a moment (again, not a great sign) then muttered, “Did I drink too much nail polish remover, or is Youth Pastor Ryan a giant frog?”

Virgil peaked over his knees at the TV screen and ... no, Remus didn’t drink too much nail polish remover (well, no, he had, any amount of nail polish remover is too much to drink, but Patton was a giant frog). The others were all pixelated and looked to be standing in a broken version of Thomas’s living room. Patton and Roman were on one side, and Thomas and Janus were on the other, Janus standing protectively in front of Thomas. Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

“Janus please, don’t do this,” Virgil pleaded. “I’m only trying to protect Thomas —”

“So am I,” Janus said, his voice frustratingly cold and collected. He was standing at the threshold between the two sides of the mindscape, holding the door open and “encouraging” Virgil to go through it.

“I can’t go over there, I’m not one of Them!”

“But you’re not exactly one of Us either, are you?” Janus said, his mismatched eyes narrowing in accusation.

Virgil laughed once, incredulous. “All this because my name is different from you guys?” He thought it was just an innocent observation Janus made. When his insomnia sentenced him to another sleepless night and he threw on his gray hoodie before heading downstairs for a two AM cup of coffee, when he got down to the kitchen and saw Janus sitting at the table looking pensive about something, when he started talking to Janus as just a thing to do, when the conversation shifted from friendly chatting to an interrogation, he had no idea it would end like this. With the man he once thought of as family kicking him out in the middle of the night.

“It’s more than that and you know it!” Janus yelled, his control slipping just slightly. He caught himself and lowered his voice (though he didn’t have to. Remus snored louder than anything and the other one’s room was the furthest from the threshold) and repeated, slowly, “It’s more than that, and you know it, Virgil.” Something like sadness flickered across his face, briefly. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he murmured.

Rage boiled in Virgil’s gut, and he exploded. “It doesn’t have to be this way! You’re the one doing this! What happened to ‘family’, huh? What happened to ‘it’s us against the world, now’?” Virgil’s voice caught in his throat and his vision blurred. “Or were those all lies, Deceit?”

Janus’s eyes hardened. He opened the door wider. 

Virgil scoffed. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Whatever.” He stomped across the threshold, jostling Janus on the way even though there was plenty of room to avoid him. He blinked harshly. That side of the mindscape was always brighter, even in the middle of the night. That’s why Virgil’s eyes watered and leaked down his cheeks, no other reason, just that.

He glared over his shoulder one last time at Janus. Was that regret in his eyes? Remorse? Whatever it may or may not have been, no words were spoken between the two as Janus closed the door, and locked it once again.

“Look, look!” Remus said, bumping against Virgil, bringing his attention back to the present. On the TV, everyone was un-pixelated and back in Thomas’s in tact living room. Deceit took off one of his gloves, and held his bare hand up flat, like a witness swearing in to testify in court.

“My name is Janus,” he said. Virgil and Remus looked at each other wide eyed. It was Janus’s idea to keep their names hidden from the others in the first place (hence why Remus blurted his out right away. Someone tells him not to do something and that’s the first thing he does).

Their shock was interrupted by the sound of Roman snorting. Virgil winced, reminded of when he revealed his own name and Roman (badly) stifling laughter at his expense. “Janice?” the prince said incredulously, laughing behind his hand. “What are you, a middle school librarian?” Remus snorted at that joke but otherwise kept quiet. Roman laughed some more then reasserted, “It’s a stupid name.”

Janus huffed in exasperation. “Oh, Roman, thank God, you don’t have a mustache,” he simpered, “otherwise, between you and Remus, I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is!”

A bottle of nail polish remover flew threw the air and crashed into the TV, breaking the screen and stopping the scene unfolding in front of them. Any other time, Virgil would have freaked out at such a display of violence, but he was too busy staring at Remus, now standing and breathing heavily. 

Virgil knew why. Way back Before, the four of them had sat down and made a list of things never to call each other, not even in a fight. Virgil’s list was the longest. Remus’s was the shortest. It only had one thing on it, one thing that Remus never wanted to be called under any circumstances. “Re—” Virgil started, his voice croaking from how little it was used all day.

The others and Thomas didn’t know what that phrase meant to Remus, but Virgil knew. And Janus knew. Janus knew, and even though he wasn’t saying it to Remus, he still said it. 

“Whatever,” Remus muttered. He waved away his nail art supplies and put the TV back in its place, this time turned off. He whirled around and stormed out of Virgil’s room. “Whatever,” he said again before slamming the door behind him.

Virgil slowly leaned to the side and laid down on the floor (careful not to smudge his nails which, though creepy, came out very good). He laid there as Remus slammed his door. He laid there as Roman sank into his room and turned on loud music to drown out his sobs (it didn’t work). He laid there as Patton and Logan and Janus went back to their respective rooms, Thomas’s dilemma apparently solved without ever needing to call on Virgil.