Beware the Ides of May

Okay.

He could do this. He was going to do this, and it would be fine. 

Virgil let out a shaky breath as he read his boarding pass one more time, even though he already knew that it said what it was supposed to say, as he joined the line that was snaking toward the gate. All he had to do was have his boarding pass scanned, walk down the little walkway, and get onto the plane. He’d sit in his seat, buckle himself in, and then things were no longer in his control - and that would be just fine.

He dragged a hand through his hair as he stood in line, shifting forward in small, partial steps as the line inched forward. The person behind him was way too close and this space was far too loud and too full - but it was fine. He’d told himself it would be fine. 

This was good for him. He was getting out of his comfort zone. The place he was going was safe, even if his body didn’t seem to believe it yet. 

He had no idea what he was going to do once he actually got there, but right now the goal was just the getting there part. One step at a time.

Doing this by himself was honestly terrifying, and he sort of hated it already, but it was going to be good. It would be. 

Virgil had heard about the mutant convention through a friend on Discord. A place where people like him - people with extra abilities - could go and meet and mingle, or whatever people did when they gathered in large groups. The idea to go had sounded great at the time. Brave, even.

He finally reached the front of the line and slid his boarding pass across the scanner, holding his breath until it beeped green.

The attendant gave him a quick, practiced smile. “All set. Have a nice flight.”

Virgil returned the small smile, nodding once and quickly slipping through the doors.

Okay. Yet another thing down. He’d already been through more things than he’d wanted to deal with. 

Security had been its own special kind of disaster - struggling to get his boots off and onto the belt in front of everyone, then realizing too late he still had his jacket on because his brain had been entirely too occupied with the boots. The agent had had to remind him, which felt like its own kind of failure.

Then there was the lingering fear that he’d somehow accidentally packed something illegal in his bag. He didn’t own anything illegal, obviously, but still. His brain wasn’t especially interested in logic when it was stressed.

At one point, he had a brief but very real panic about forgetting his passport - despite the fact he wasn’t actually leaving the country.

After that came smaller issues. Being alone, with no one to lean on. Being hungry because he’d decided against buying anything - since that would require deciding what to get, standing in another line, and the very real possibility of being perceived by the person at the register as either stupid for his choices or stupid for needing them in the first place. And then, worst case, being told he couldn’t bring that extra item onto the plane at all and having to abandon it anyway.

And then there was the time. Checking it. Rechecking it. Checking the gate number. Rechecking that too. Approximately forty-seven times, just to make sure he hadn’t misread something crucial.

It had been a hell of a morning.

Technically all he had to do now was find his seat and try to make himself as small as possible for the next few hours. It shouldn’t be too hard - he wasn’t big to begin with. But he already knew he was in a middle seat, so the smaller the better.

Of course, it was pretty far toward the back. Of course, by the time he reached it, both seats beside his were already occupied. 

Because of course they were.

He paused at the row, chest tight as he tried to decide what he was going to do now. He had to explain to someone that this was his seat. Someone who was undoubtedly unhappy he’d shown up at all.

So how was he supposed to-

“Oh, hey man. Is this your seat?”

Virgil’s eyes snapped up.

The man in the aisle seat was looking at him, giving him an easy smile like nothing complicated was going on at all - and unfortunately, Virgil’s gay brain immediately alerted him that the smile belonged to an inconveniently attractive face.

“Here, sorry.” He added as he began to stand. “Let me just get up so you can slide in." 

Virgil nodded, taking a step back to give him room. 

Another detail quickly hit him.

The man stepped into the aisle fully, and Virgil’s thoughts very helpfully stalled for a moment.

He was tall. And not “tall for a plane” tall - tall tall. Broad shouldered, long limbed, clearly one who needed more space than the average person. Virgil barely came up to his collarbone.

Oh, he just had to be pissed Virgil had shown up. If there was ever a man who needed the extra legroom…

Virgil slid in quickly, shoving his bag under the seat in front of him, and immediately began working on getting his seatbelt in place.

The man sat back down beside him with a quiet exhale, working on adjusting himself back into the limited space available with what had to be very familiar resignation. 

“All good?” He asked, glancing over like he was genuinely concerned.

Virgil nodded - then nodded again, a little too quickly.

“Awesome,” the man said warmly, smile still in place. “I’ll try not to take over your space too much or anything. But if I do, just let me know, yeah? I’ll do what I can.”

Virgil gave him an awkward thumbs up.

The man raised an eyebrow, slightly bemused but not pushing it.

They settled.

Immediately, Virgil became very aware of how little space there was between them. One broad shoulder already brushing against him, long legs that couldn’t help but tip over a bit into his space. The person in the window seat had headphones fully over both ears and their eyes closed, potentially already asleep.

This was just perfect.

It was one of the many times that Virgil found himself cursing the universe or whatever had decided on the comedy of errors that was his life. 

He had an, admittedly, pretty cool power. Understanding any language he encountered, spoken or written, like it was his own. It should have made him useful just about anywhere in the world.

But there was one very specific, very inconvenient extra detail.

He couldn’t speak.

Virgil was completely mute.

He relied on nodding, signing, and, often, writing things down. He made it work. 

It just meant that moments like this - forced, lengthy proximity with strangers - came with an extra layer of exhaustion most didn’t have to consider.

Virgil leaned back in his seat, letting his head rest against it as the rest of the passengers settled in, hoping that the next few hours passed as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Things actually went pretty smoothly from there.

For about forty minutes. 

The flight attendant with the beverage cart appeared at the end of their row. 

“Hello! What can I get you to drink?” she asked, smiling.

“Diet coke, please.” The man at the end of the aisle answered easily.

Then it was Virgil’s turn.

As the attendant retrieved the drink, Virgil quickly leaned forward, reaching for his backpack so he could pull it out from the seat in front of him. His notebook. He needed his notebook. Why hadn’t he taken it out earlier? His bag caught.

Of course it did.

He tugged again, a little more urgently this time, but it didn’t budge.

The man beside him turned at the sound, glancing over to see what was happening. “Oh, are you stuck?” He asked lightly.

Before Virgil could react, he leaned in and reached down as well.

Their hands met on the bag strap.

Great. He was so much of a disaster that just a bit of hand contact with a hot, kind stranger was going to make him spiral even further. It was exactly what he needed on top of the anxiety he’d been dealing with all morning, and his stuck backpack, and the fact that, because he could speak every single language except out loud, he couldn’t order himself a damn ging-

The man let go of the bag suddenly and turned to the flight attendant. “We’ll get this unstuck in a bit, but I don’t want to hold you up. Could you please get him a ginger ale and just set it on my tray for now?”

Virgil froze.

“Of course,” she responded with a nod, getting Virgil’s drink and setting it down before moving on.

He let go of his bag strap and turned to stare at the man beside him, watching his green eyes study him in return. It looked like he was deciding something.

Virgil wasn’t focused on that, though - more stuck on how he’d just ordered for him. The exact thing he wanted, too. Was it a lucky guess? And even then, why would he have even tried to guess in the first place?

The man seemed to make up his mind. He pulled Virgil’s tray table down and set the ginger ale on it - which also cut off his ability to reach his backpack. 

He then let out a small sigh and turned toward him slightly.

“Alright, this is gonna be a little weird, but uh…” 

He began, then did something Virgil absolutely didn’t expect.

He slid his hand - large, warm, surprisingly soft - into Virgil’s, slowly lacing their fingers. 

Virgil immediately short-circuited.

“I’m Roman. What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

That should have been a very easy question. One most people would not struggle with in the slightest.

Unfortunately, most people weren’t currently holding hands with an extremely attractive stranger.

They also, for the most part, didn’t require the notebook that had just been cut off from him. What was he supposed to do without it? Point at himself? Like that meant anything.

He assumed Roman didn’t know sign language, why would he? And even if he did, it wasn’t like he would know the sign for his name, he’d have to spell it out. One letter at a time, and he’d never been good at doing the sign for the letter R, because of his stupid tiny hands. So it would have been:

V. I. Stupid half R. G. I. L.

“It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.” Roman said, watching his expression. 

What the hell? How did he-

“I have to assume we’re heading to the same convention.”

The same convention? The- 

Oh. 

The mutant convention. 

Roman was a mutant too. That was… 

Shit. Could he hear his thoughts? “Yes.” 

Oh god. 

This was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to anyone in the history of the world. 

...Fuck. Did he hear him earlier when he was thinking about how hot he was? Roman laughed softly. “If you mean before I started holding your hand, then no. Though… That probably doesn't help much now, if you didn’t want me to know.” 

Virgil was going to die here.

Wait. But if he could hear him now, why didn’t he hear him before? “It’s a contact thing.” Roman said, lifting their joined hands slightly, as if to remind him. As though Virgil could have possibly forgotten that they were holding hands.

Oh. 

That explained the ginger ale thing. 

“Yeah. When our hands touched on the backpack.” Roman nodded. “Oh, I can help you get your bag unstuck, if you still need whatever was in there. I just figured you probably didn’t anymore.” 

He was right - he didn’t need the notebook anymore. Not if Roman could hear him. 

…Huh, no one had ever heard him before. This was the very first time. That was something.

“Oh, so you’re mute?” Roman mused, clearly thoughtful rather than judgmental. “Wow. I’ve never met anyone mute before.” Virgil blinked. 

Was there another explanation for why he’d said nothing this entire time? That grand revelation didn’t exactly count as breaking news, genius.

Then it struck him again that this man could hear his thoughts.

Roman laughed, lifting his free hand to cover the bottom half of his face.

“And here I thought you were a timid little thing. But the mouth on you!” Roman said, shoulders still shaking with amusement.

Virgil felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a smirk as he lifted his own free hand, pointing at his mouth. The one that didn’t make noise.

“Oh, you know what I mean - don’t give me that.” Roman responded quickly, still laughing.

Virgil let Roman laugh for a moment - his warm, pretty laugh - before he tried thinking at him intentionally for the first time since this bizarre interaction began.

I didn’t give you anything, technically. It seems more like you’re the one just taking things.

A flash of amusement crossed Roman’s face. He released his grip on Virgil’s hand, splaying his fingers so it would be easy for Virgil to pull away if he actually wanted to. 

“Then let go.” Roman dared.

Virgil paused for a moment, eyes flicking down at their hands - his slim fingers laced through Roman’s much larger ones. He scowled slightly and squeezed instead.

Roman wrapped his fingers around his hand once again.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes.

This is just… Convenient. Even if it’s weird.

“Sure.” Roman responded teasingly, but then he moved on. “And yeah… This is kind of a first for me too, honestly. I normally don’t do…” He gestured at their hands again. “This.” Virgil’s eyebrow rose again. 

What, holding strangers' hands on planes?

Roman breathed a laugh. “Well, yes. But I meant more like… Using my power so obviously. Normally it's a much more… fleeting, in-passing type of thing.” How? You said it needs contact.

“Yeah, but I can do that with eye contact too. As long as I can maintain it. Which, normally, I can do for long enough to get anything important.”

Virgil’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

So, we didn’t need to be holding hands?

Did this giant, gorgeous man just want to hold his hand?

Wait. 

Shit. 

Fuck.

Roman’s cheeks might have darkened slightly, but he didn’t comment on the inadvertent thought. “Technically no, but you didn’t really seem like the type who loves eye contact.” …I mean, I probably could have handled it. Roman raised an eyebrow and turned to fully face him, locking those beautiful green eyes on him very purposefully.

 Virgil immediately looked away.

Okay, okay. Point taken. Jeez. Roman laughed softly, settling back into his seat.

Virgil had to take a moment to recollect himself before turning back to the man next to him. 

So, uh. This convention thing. Do you know how it works? Like - how do we know it’s safe for us to be in there, and that no one gets in who shouldn’t and stuff? Things had gotten better for mutants in recent years, but that didn’t exactly mean broadcasting being one was the safest idea for most people.

“Oh, I actually do. This is the sixth year they’re doing it, and they always set it up at the same time as another event in the same convention center.” Roman explained. “Then they have volunteers take tickets and direct people into the right hall. If someone just wandered into the wrong area - or is trying to get in with bad intentions toward us - they just get redirected to the other event.” 

How do they know who to let in? “Well, it’s all mutants running it. My mom volunteers every year, she’s one of the main people overseeing the group at the turnstiles. She has a kind of mutant sense - and she’s basically a lie detector.” Roman added with a fond huff. “Imagine growing up with that. Anyway... She just watches people coming in. If someone doesn't have a power and isn't with someone who does, she or someone else - like a telepath or something - will ask them where they’re headed.” 

He shrugged. “It’s sort of the best they can do. But it’s worked so far.” Oh, wow.

Virgil sat with that for a moment. That had been one of his biggest concerns about the entire trip. He did want to go - he wanted to meet other mutants and see more people like him in one place - but the idea that something could go wrong had been sitting in the back of his mind the whole time. It was scary enough doing this alone, but-

“You’re not meeting anyone there or anything?” Roman asked, surprised.

Virgil blinked.

Would he ever get used to someone who could read his thoughts? Probably not.

His brain unhelpfully supplied that he hoped he’d get the chance to try though. Having Roman in his life seemed like it would have an untold number of upsides - even if they only stayed friends.

Roman coughed slightly, suddenly very interested in the fingernails of his free hand.

Virgil's gay brain and its unhelpful gay thoughts were officially on his shit list. 

Roman huffed a surprised laugh but still left him to it.

My friend who told me about it couldn’t make the trip, but I wanted to try and go. I’ve never done anything like this before, so I was giving it a shot. It’s been…

Anxiety-inducing. Awkward. Awful. Terrifying.

...Okay so far. But I’m not looking forward to getting checked into the hotel or getting myself to the convention center or… Several other things, honestly. Roman turned back to him. “Ah, I get that. This kind of thing can be really scary. But hey. You’ve got me, at least.” He smiled, then lifted their joined hands up slightly. “And if you don’t want help, you can tell me that too. I know part of this kind of thing is doing it yourself. But if you want backup, I’ve got you, alright?” Virgil smiled softly, giving him a small nod. 

That was honestly the best thing this very hot Good Samaritan could have said.

Roman exhaled dramatically, raising and lowering his shoulders. “Dude, you can’t keep doing this to me.” Virgil blinked. 

What?

“You didn’t even realize you did it that time, did you?” Roman shook his head.

“Thinking about how hot you think I am when you’re as cute as you are,” Roman complained, smiling as he lowered his voice - lower than it already had been, even though it had been carefully subdued the entire time. “I work in a bar, do you have any idea how many wild, drunk thoughts I ignore on a nightly basis? But you? Just sitting there being all adorable and shit? Completely sober? It is not the easiest thing to deal with.”

Virgil’s immediate thought was to defenestrate himself out of this plane.

He wasn’t cute! Or adorable! 

He was… Spooky.

And emo. And intimidating. And mysterious. 

He wore black constantly. He listened to music with entirely too much screaming in it. He had spent years cultivating his image.

Okay, maybe he was shorter than average. 

Maybe his cheeks were a little rounder than he would have preferred.

But that didn’t-

He wasn’t-

And Roman was definitely the one who was-

Oh god.

Roman’s grip on his hand loosened slowly, drawing Virgil’s attention back to him as he splayed his fingers again.

“...Did you want a little privacy?” Roman asked, his own cheeks faintly pink. “I’m getting the impression that this is little more… behind the curtain than you might have intended. Not that I’m upset about it.” Oh fuck. 

Shit. 

Roman could still hear him. 

He was spiralling and Roman with his ridiculously beautiful face and inconveniently pretty eyes and his unfairly-

Roman pulled his hand away completely.

The absence hit a lot harder than Virgil would have anticipated.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

No longer holding Roman’s hand had benefits.

Roman couldn’t hear every single stupid thought that crossed his mind.

That was, admittedly, a pretty big one.

He also couldn’t feel how sweaty his palm had become. 

Or how badly his hand had been shaking.

Those things were nice too.

Unfortunately, there was one very big drawback.

He wasn’t holding Roman’s hand anymore.

Which, as it turned out, was a much bigger issue than all those other things combined.

And honestly, realizing that felt like a completely new set of problems.

Virgil immediately wiped his hands on his jeans, trying to rid them of his sweat.

The fact that he was apparently preparing to hold Roman’s hand again was information he was choosing not to unpack at this moment. Especially since he didn’t have anyone listening to make him confront the inconvenient things his brain loved to supply him with. 

And, of course, now that he was finally alone with his thoughts again, his traitorous brain wasn’t supplying him with gay little observations about how Roman’s hands had somehow been both soft and strong, or how pretty his smile was, or how safe he made him feel-

Okay, scratch that. 

His brain was still very much on its usual bullshit.

Virgil exhaled slowly, as if that would somehow reset all of that nonsense. 

It did not. But, after a beat, he held his hand out again anyway. 

It took a moment before Roman’s hand slid back into his, fingers lacing comfortably through his like it was where they belonged. 

Virgil forced his eyes up from their hands to meet Roman’s gaze.

…Sorry. That was… Embarrassing. I didn’t mean to get all weird on you.

“Oh, I mean… It didn’t bother me. I just didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable.” Roman said, smiling softly, cheeks still faintly pink.

Still. I, uh. I’ll try not to do that kind of thing again. Roman huffed a quiet laugh, the pink in his cheeks deepening just a little. “Don’t do that on my account… It was honestly really sweet. It’s not like you were trying to feed my ego or anything. It was… really real.” 

Virgil was red up to his ears, but he swallowed and tried to keep his thoughts in order - though he was very much back to staring at their hands again. 

...I guess there’s one positive thing about me, then. I won’t ever lie to you. “Hey, don’t say that.” Roman said quickly, making Virgil look up again.

Roman was still smiling, but softer now - less teasing than before. “I know there’s a lot more than just one positive thing about you. I just haven’t gotten the chance to find them all yet.”

Virgil nearly choked. He didn’t even know where to begin with that. Though, eventually, he did manage to settle on something.

...That was completely unfair. How can you just say shit that sweet? “Oh, it’s easy with the right muse.” You are going to kill me. 

Roman laughed. “Sorry, it just comes naturally to me.” He paused for just a moment. “…Hopefully you get used to it?” Virgil smiled, warm despite himself. 

Hopefully not.

“Oh, so two can play this game, huh?” 

Maybe.

Virgil let out a breath, eyes dropping to their hands again for a moment before he looked back up at Roman.

So, uh… It wouldn’t be the most traditional first date, but… do you want to go to this convention with me?

For a split second, Roman just looked at him. Then his smile widened and he let out a quiet breath of a laugh.

“I don’t think a single thing about us is going to be very traditional,” he said. “So yes. That sounds perfect to me.” 

He lifted their joined hands a little higher than before - then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Virgil’s knuckles.

Virgil went completely red. Asking about a potential date had already been a lot of him. And then Roman just went and did that? 

This man was really going to kill him.

…You really could warn me before you do stuff like that.

“Where would the fun in that be?” Roman replied easily, smiling like he wasn’t about to ruin Virgil’s ability to function even further. “...Especially when you blush that cute.” That is exactly the kind of thing I mean! “I know.” Roman replied, far too pleased with himself.

Virgil huffed and looked down at his lap again, while Roman let out a soft, fond little laugh beside him.

After that, things blurred a little.

Joking and talking and casual flirting all bled together until neither of them were paying attention to anything else anymore.

Time slipped past without either of them noticing.

It really only caught up with them when the plane started to descend.

The announcement about tray tables and stowing bags cut through the cabin, pulling them both  back into the present and out of the little bubble they’d formed around themselves.

They began idly cleaning up - still casually holding hands, which made everything slightly more difficult than it needed to be, but neither of them seemed inclined to fix that.

They didn’t actually let go until Roman had to lean down and finally get Virgil’s bag unstuck, and then again when he had to stand and retrieve his own carry-on from the overhead bin.

As Roman handled retrieving his bag from amongst a group of strangers’ shifted belongings, Virgil looked around at the other passengers on the plane. Most of them were standing despite having no space to move just yet, the line slowly inching forward as people ahead of them made their way off the plane and into the airport.

Tension was already starting to creep back into his stomach.

The airport. Navigating through crowds of people. Finding baggage claim. Finding the right shuttle. Checking into a hotel. Getting around an unfamiliar city. 

Things that were hard enough on their own. Things that were so much worse by himself. It was probably the twentieth time since he’d set off on this trip that he’d wondered why the hell he’d decided he wanted to do all of this completely alone.

Roman shifted his backpack onto one shoulder and turned back toward him.

Then he held out his hand. 

Virgil took it immediately, smiling as Roman laced their fingers together and gave him a gentle tug to help him up to his feet.

“Come on, Virgil.” He said softly.