Chapter Text
Virgil sat on the couch binging Christmas movies like he did every year. He would never admit it, but he always liked those really cliche, cheesy Disney movies because they were a good time waster. Not to mention all the darker hidden themes in them which made them fun to analyze. The movie snapped to a commercial break and he stood to get a refill of his popcorn.
Surprisingly, he felt himself looking forward to Patton’s Christmas party, which was almost concerning knowing that Virgil has never looked forward to a party once in his life; but he knew Roman was going to be there with him, which was a very comforting and exciting thought. In fact, he could feel himself getting giddy and delirious again thinking about him. It was as if just Roman being existing in the same space as him was enough to make him excited about doing anything, even mundane tasks like grocery shopping or going to the DMV. He’s never felt that way with anyone before; Gods, that man was turning him soft.
He heard his phone ring and internally hoped it was Roman calling him, a cheesy grin plastering his face as he fished for his phone out of his pocket. The butterflies in his stomach faded, the grin slipping off his face and being replaced by a look of disappointment as he read “Unknown Caller ID”. As much as he wished to decline it and move on with refilling his popcorn, he’s too anxious to ignore it. What if Patton got stuck on the side of the road and was using a different phone trying to reach him? Or maybe it was his workplace; they often called him from different telephones – which he found annoying.
Lady luck was never on his side, bad luck had a tendency to follow him wherever he wound up, and unfortunately today was no exception, it seemed. As he moved his hand to reach towards the green button he managed to drop his phone on his foot, causing him to yelp and kick it, before it landed right underneath the oven.
He groaned annoyedly, taking a moment to nurse his injured foot before crouching down and slipping his hand under the tight space between the floor and his oven, feeling around blindly for his phone before his hand caught something. He quickly latched onto it and pulled it towards him, relieved to find his phone in good shape. Lifting it up, he winced when he noticed a crack in the screen. Well, good shape for the most part.
The ringing has now long stopped and Virgil was about to call them back before noticing a new texture on the back of his phone. Flipping his phone over, he noticed the back of what looked to be a thick, small piece of paper. Not thinking much of it, he stood to go throw it away before noticing that there was something on the back. It wasn’t a thick scrap paper, it was a photograph. His eyes widened as he immediately recognized the photograph. The bottom read in pen “12-19”. Almost exactly one year ago by a few weeks. He didn’t even know he still had anything like this still around since he left. He suddenly felt too hot and his fingers felt numb, completely unable to tear his eyes from the photograph from the year that’s haunted him since.
In the photograph there were two men grinning at the camera. One was holding a cake and the other had his arm wrapped around his shoulder. Virgil had thought he had gotten rid of this photo along with everything else. Why was this still affecting him? He didn’t understand, it was so long ago, this shouldn’t be happening.
Virgil remembers when that photo was taken. It was on his birthday, and it felt like things were finally looking up. Within their third year of dating, Nate and Virgil began fighting a lot over everything lately. But on that day, Virgil actually thought that things were going well because Nate had bought him a cake and had picked out some movies for them to watch. However, he doesn’t feel the same hope and nostalgia he might’ve thought he would feel upon seeing it. Instead, he feels ash in his mouth and regret in his stomach like a rock similar to the crushing feeling from the week after when his whole life crumbled before his very eyes.
His jaw went numb, helpless to only stare against his will at the photo that opened up his carefully locked and hidden box of ugly memories that he kept in the very dark corner in the back of his mind.
It was at that moment he realized he was struggling to breathe, and he snapped out of his hypnosis, dropping the photograph hastily and trying to focus on his breathing. He was having a panic attack, he quickly recognized.
He fumbled with his phone and struggled before successfully tapping Patton's contact.
"The number you have dialed is unavali--"
Virgil hissed in his half-panic, half-frustrating state before hanging up and, without thinking, tapped Roman's contact.
The phone barely rung twice before Roman picked up and Virgil just word vomited, not even sure what he was saying into the phone, but whatever he said activated something in Roman and Roman sternly told him that he would be there right away and hung up the phone, the loud beep of the phone loudly in his ear causing him to flinch.
Now with nothing to distract him, he tries to focus on his breathing, his whole body shaking badly.
He chooses to move his jello-feeling legs to the living room and sits on the floor, holding a pillow. He’s trying to focus on his breathing, because it still feels too hard to breathe for some reason. He can hear a distant noise but cannot tell where it's coming from, because he can’t breathe and it's so hard to see or hear or feel anything. It's so hard to see or hear or feel anything. Why can’t he see or hear or feel anything when he would like to see or hear or feel anything?
1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8
He feels like he is drowning, there isn’t enough air, is he dying? This must be what dying feels like. He cannot see or hear or feel anything and it is cold and he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, he cannot–
He hears something, finally. He hears a noise. It's muffled but slowly gets louder, and eventually he feels something. Weight. On his shoulder. All at once, everything comes crashing back like a semi truck hitting a tree. He can see and hear and breathe and feel again! He can see…, Roman? What’s he doing here?
“You called- called me, remember?” Roman says to him, gently, but shakily, like he’s seen a ghost. He looks washed out, his hair a mess and his face stained in concern. The look on his face made Virgil feel sort of embarrassed. He does actually remember calling Roman, but for some reason he didn’t really think he would come.
Virgil felt something sticky on his face and reached up to wipe it away to find his cheeks soaked. He pulled his hand back to find clear, sticky liquid; was he crying? He doesn’t remember crying.
“Are you ok now?” Roman asks again, hand still laid upon Virgil’s shoulder, assuring him of the weight of the real world; that he was still here, and he was safe in his apartment.
“Ye-yeah.. Yeah, I think so.” his voice sounds broken up and feels raspy. “Sorry.”
Roman relaxed and sat beside him, “I’ll have you know that as a valiant knight, I always have damsels in distress needing a prince to help them” his voice was clearly trying to convey relaxed playfulness but Virgil could still hear the strain and shakiness behind it.
Virgil choked out a stale laugh, but it came out almost as a cough.
He is still shaking, the intense feelings washing away slowly. He takes a shaky breath, deciding to just try to ground himself right now.
After a few cycles of his box breathing technique, which he had learned back when he met with a therapist for his anxiety, he begins to slowly reintroduce the memories to himself. He mainly just knows of flashes and moments of intense feelings. He looks around, his apartment still looks the same. He finally stares at the TV and it all comes back. He was watching movies, and he went to the kitchen, and he found a photograph…
“The photograph.” Virgil said aloud, not necessarily meaning to say it aloud.
“Uh, what photograph?”
“I need to find it.”
“Oh– ok! But first, um, are you sure you’re alright. You still look like you need to catch your breath.”
Truly Virgil didn’t know if he was ok, but he felt like he would be once he found the photo, so he just nodded and with shaky legs, he rises from the couch and uses the furniture around the room to steady himself while Roman trails him like a golden retriever; both of them looking around for a photograph. Virgil is afraid to find the photo, he actually doesn’t even want to. He’s afraid of triggering the same attack from before; but it would haunt him knowing it was still in his house, and he didn’t want it there.
After pushing over the chairs and flipping over every rug, finally, after what felt like forever, Roman lifted something over his head triumphantly, “I found it!”
Virgil only took a short glance to confirm it was the right photo
“Aww, this looks like a sweet ph–”
“I need you to get rid of it.”
Roman stared, surprised. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, “sorry?”
“Please.”
“Ok, I will.” he watched as Roman looked around before spotting a trash can and approached it.
“No,” Virgil butted in, “like, get rid of it. Make sure its gone for good.”
“Do you have a garbage disposal?” he asked, and Virgil nodded, watching as he made his way to the kitchen sink and placed the photo into it. He hesitated for only a moment, before the beautiful sound of mechanical whirring filled the near silent air of the apartment. The sound of paper shredding has never brought so much relief to Virgil. He felt as though all the air he didn’t realize was missing filled every inch of his lungs, and the shaking in his body eased with every passing second.
With his anxiety lowering, also returned his common sense, and suddenly he felt extremely humiliated. What was he even doing right now? Roman could’ve been working or doing something important and Virgil made him panic and come here just because Virgil couldn’t stop freaking out over the past.
“Well, that was tear-able.” Roman jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “That was one that Patton taught me.” But Virgil could only stare down at the garbage disposal that just shredded his past. But before Virgil could dig himself down into a spiraling hole of shame and self-loathing, Roman broke the tension.
“Woah, is that The Muppets Christmas Carol?!” Roman broke out into a large grin, and immediately, Virgil remembered that he never turned off his TV.
“Wh- uh, no. What are you talking about.” he quickly rushed over, scowling at the smug look on Roman’s face as his TV had the title “The Muppets Christmas Carol” right on screen over the shot of the paused movie.
“You like the Muppets?” he asked in awe, “not even the darkest of souls can resist the magic which bewitches the hearts of all in the dead of winter?”
“Pfft,” he scoffed, “I mean yeah. What's not to like about it? It's got ghosts, puppets, and the prophecy of a scummy old rich man watching himself die from greed.”
Roman gasped, hand flying to his chest in a dramatically teasing way, “he learns his lesson in the end! And you cannot tell me the wonderful solo from Meredith Braun didn’t strum at your heartstrings.”
Almost as naturally as breathing, they dissolved into the banter that was so familiar, the apartment filled with laughing and teasing remarks as both of them taking playful jabs at the other, until Virgil felt himself completely relax. He hasn’t actually felt this relaxed in a while, in fact, he was beginning to feel a little lightheaded from how giddy he was getting; though he’d never admit it.
He watched Roman wave his arms wildly as he spoke passionately about Which Christmas Carol Version Is The Best, when he came to the realization that Roman had single-handedly distracted him from his anxiety attack by encouraging him to talk comfortably about something non-consequential. No one has ever done this with him before. Patton has helped with panic attacks, but in a protective-older-brother way, mainly trying to encourage Virgil to talk about the thing that was upsetting him while using sympathetic language; which wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t what he always needed. And Nate never knew what to do with him whenever he had an attack.
“–And that’s the best version of Christmas Carol. Wait, Virgil, are you even listening?” Virgil noticed it now, the teasing tone was almost covering it, but Virgil could hear a twinge of concern, softness underneath. Like he would immediately stop if Virgil asked him to. He suddenly felt his stomach flip, as though he had ingested a bag of pop rocks, a wave of excitement and fondness overtaking him, and he thought briefly about how Roman didn’t know just how much this meant to him.
He rolled his eyes playfully, “sorry Princey, your monologues might put me to sleep.”
He gasped again in faux offense, “you know what!” he stood abruptly, causing Virgil to freeze slightly, this move unexpected. “You and I are going shopping.”
“..Shopping?”
He nodded decisively, “you need to get out of this stuffy apartment, and I do not see a single Christmas ornament around here; which is just criminal if you ask me.”
Virgil stared up at Roman, who had offered him a hand, and a look on his face that gave him space in case he wanted to say no. His jaw went slack before he felt a grin attempt to creep up onto his face, completely betraying him. He attempted to smother it with his hand, mumbling, “whatever, dork.” and he grabbed hold of his hand to lift himself up, pretending not to notice when Roman didn’t let go.
The next few hours went by in a dazzling flash. Between running in the pouring rain, the thrift store completely decked out in glittery, shiny decorations that covered the shop head to toe. The snickering of the two boys as they made fun of various odd decor and ugly sweaters together until they eventually left, back to sprinting in the rain with hands of a random assortment of christmas decorations. They bickered about what decorations should go where and eventually, they were standing in the apartment, staring at the now decorated apartment. Nothing really matched, not with the green and red star fairy lights, and the assortment of outdated knick knacks that currently took residence on almost every surface of his living room, and most of all, the half-broken fake christmas tree with not a single matching ornament on it. A glittery gold and red orb that looked like a small child made it, one snoopy themed orb, an orb that had a bat on it over a cemetery themed background – which Virgil had picked out, given it matched his aesthetic and love for Halloween – and many more odd ones that all clashed against the tree.
It was hideous. It was the ugliest thing Virgil had ever seen in his life, and he smiled; because when he looked at it all, he thought of Roman and how he had helped him do all this, and how he was the reason any of this happened. Roman was beaming, staring proudly at the tree like it was his own child. Virgil felt an itch to yank him down by his collar and kiss him senseless, like it’d be his last chance. Because he was stricken in awe at all of it, nothing felt real yet it was the most real he’s ever felt in his life.
Roman glanced down at him with a lazy smirk, bumping his arm against Virgil’s playfully. “Guess we make a pretty decent team, don’t we, Jack Smellington?”
Yearning is a funny thing; it reminds us of what we want that we don’t have; or what we have but want more of. That’s what it’s built off of: want. Maybe, Virgil thought, if he closed his eyes tight enough, he would have everything he ever wanted. Or maybe there wouldn’t be anything he wanted at all, instead just the soft reassurance of existence and time in the places he’s been to and will be. Some believe in infinite universes; which was totally something that Roman would definitely believe in, and in each of those universes, he could do anything, or be doing anything. But in this universe, all he wanted to do was stare into the deep amber eyes of this man like he’d hung the moon. He could feel his carefully crafted dignity slipping through his fingers, but a part of him didn’t care.
So they remained like that for a few moments, just staring at each other silently, as if they were having a million years worth of words between them in those short few seconds in his apartment on that very day.
Roman glanced between his eyes to his lips, and Virgil thinks he can see the want in his eyes as well.
They have kissed on a balcony on the outskirts of a university, and in Roman’s bedroom, but never in Virgil’s apartment; and that changed immediately as they closed the gap between them, pushing themselves into the other until their bodies were flush with the other, Roman’s arm wrapping against his waist and Virgil’s hand planted into Roman’s hair.
The kiss was soft and gentle. It wasn’t lustful or overly passionate in a way that screamed desperation but instead a love letter, a thoughtful thank you that was passed through body language instead of words. Virgil felt weightless with this sort of touch, his brain fuzzy as he could think of nothing else. Only the heat from their conjoined bodies and the way Roman’s hand pressed lightly into his back and the feeling of the slight tender sting of his lips pressed down on Roman’s.
And like that they drifted apart, the cool air from the room quickly filling the space from which wasn’t there only moments before as they panted for air.
Virgil couldn’t quite look him in the eyes, but felt Roman’s thumb brush gently against his waist as he watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed and vaguely wondered if things were working out for him after all.