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It had snowed much harder than Virgil had thought it would and as far as he could tell, there was no way neither Logan or Patton would be able to dig their car out of his driveway in order to get home.
The door slammed shut behind Patton, his cheeks flushed and the hat tugged over his ears coated in an outer layer of snow. He looked apologetic. “I can’t get it out.”
“I’m sure Virgil doesn’t mind,” Logan said from his position on the couch, laying on his back while swaddled in a blanket. He hated the cold more than anything and was certainly far from upset about being locked inside a warm house with even warmer company.
“Course I don’t,” Virgil said, assisting Patton in taking his outerwear off, “I’ll get something for you both to wear to bed. You can sleep in the guest room.”
Patton leaned in and kissed Virgil’s cheek before rounding the couch to snuggle up next to Logan.
As Virgil turned and walked up the stairs to his bedroom, he could hear Logan retaliate because the gloves hadn’t truly kept Patton’s hands warm when he attempted to conquer the snow moments before.
The corners of Virgil’s lips twitched up into a faint smile from their interactions, their happiness contagious and the love they had for one another causing a wave of nostalgia to rush through him. He grabbed the sweatpants and shirts before heading back downstairs.
It was hardly a surprise when he found that the two lovers were already asleep, breaths rising and falling in time with the crackling fire. Patton had found a way to curl his body up against Logan’s despite the other refusing to move and taking up the majority of the couch. Had it not been so sweet, Virgil would have burst out laughing.
Virgil folded the change of clothes and placed them on the coffee table for whenever they woke up, heading into the kitchen to make himself a mug of hot chocolate. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, a whine with every footstep, and Virgil quietly prayed that the two sleeping men in his living room would be able to ignore the racket.
His coffee machine was hardly any quieter, caring not who it woke. Virgil leaned back against the counter, arms crossed against his chest in an attempt to conserve his heat, figuring that it was up to fate whether or not the tyrannical machine woke his guests and he should instead focus on staying warm.
Once it was done, he finished off his treat with a spiral of whipped cream, cupping the mug in both hands to warm his palms before daring to take a sip.
The fall of heavy footsteps clattering outside disturbed the serenity of his kitchen, an intruder less than fifty feet away from him standing on his back porch. Virgil froze, lowering his mug and placing it on the island counter top in his kitchen.
But before he could even make a move to press his palm against the freezing brass knob, there was a soft clicking noise and when the door was thrust open, the howl of the cruel wind. The figure stepped inside, thick winter boots leaving a trail of snow in his wake as he took two steps. A gloved hand shut the door behind him. The wind’s wail ceased.
Virgil’s breath caught in his throat, fury rising so his skin prickled and steam spouted from his ears the way his abandoned cup of hot chocolate did. His hazel eyes reddened as he stared Roman down, lips pursed to hold his tongue so he wouldn’t say anything he would end up regretting.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Clearly not the response Roman had expected upon his return but he recovered with a witty reply, “Well I couldn’t go down the chimney, now could I?”
Ex-lover or not, Virgil had trouble not hauling him into the living room and tossing him into the fire to show him just what it would have felt like had he gone down the chimney.
He didn’t clarify either, gaze fixated on the other as he waited for an actual reply.
Roman reached up, probably to take his scarf off, but Virgil reached out and grabbed his wrist. Roman paused, Virgil’s hand tight and threatening, and he couldn’t even put his hand down if he wanted to.
“You’re not staying” was all Virgil was capable of saying through his anger.
But Roman stood his ground, clearly wanting something. “We need to talk.”
“We talked already.”
“That was hardly talking it out,” Roman rolled his eyes. Virgil’s grip on his wrist tightened.
“No, it wasn’t talking it out. It was talking,” Virgil said through gritted teeth.
Roman lifted his other hand and was surprised with the effort it took to pull Virgil’s hand away. He rubbed his wrist once he was free and dropped his hands. “It wasn’t talking, it was yelling. You, specifically, at me.”
“Like you didn’t have your clever remarks thrown in there before you stormed out.”
Roman pursed his lips, eyes narrowing as he looked down at Virgil. He had always hated that, their height difference. Even if they were the same in other departments, Virgil always had to look up. In fierce arguments, it made him even angrier.
“Look I . . . I don’t want to fight, Virge,” Roman said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. To steady his heartbeat, no doubt, he always breathed hard during their verbal disagreements.
“And we don’t have to, just leave.”
The comment was so sad that Roman almost did just that.
But instead, “Take a walk with me.”
Virgil took a step to his right to glance out the back door where Roman had entered from. The storm was raging on and it wasn’t pleasant, to say the least.
“In this weather?” he asked. The anger was momentarily replaced with shock rather than laced with his every word. But he shouldn’t have been surprised, Roman was always one for dramatics.
“If Santa can do it, so can we,” he shrugged, reaching a hand out to offer it to Virgil but quickly moving to pretend as though he was dusting a bit of snow off his shoulder.
“I’ll get my things. Stay here. Pat and Lo are sleeping in the living room but don’t wake them or let them know you’re here,” Virgil instructed before turning away, brows furrowed as he went into his basement to grab his snow gear and to silently wonder what the hell he was doing.
Roman didn’t deserve another chance, and Virgil was well within his right not to give him one. But this wasn’t another chance, it was just a walk.
He returned after a few minutes, suspenders holding up his snow pants and boots tucked underneath them. He had on three jackets, the heaviest causing him to sweat in his house but he knew that the moment he stepped outside, he would freeze. He had grabbed Patton’s hat after the few minutes he spent searching for his own were unfruitful. But he couldn’t find either his or Patton’s gloves so he’d be forced to go without.
Roman was where he had left him, fiddling with a string that had loosened from his hat. By trying to pull it off, more of it came undone. Virgil grabbed a pair of scissors, placing one hand on Roman’s chin to hold his head in place as he cut it. The exchange was silent, something they had done before, and Virgil hadn’t even realized what he had done until Roman was inches away and staring into his eyes.
Virgil pulled away when the other’s gaze traveled inches southwards, coughing into his elbow and hiding his reddened cheeks when he returned the scissors to the basket of miscellaneous items in the kitchen.
Roman had his back to him, hand on the knob to open the door by the time Virgil was facing him again. They both stepped outside quietly, Virgil shutting the door behind him.
They were silent as they went out the gate, rounding Virgil’s house and heading towards the front.
But after a moment, “How did you get in?”
Roman reached into his pocket, showing Virgil the key that he had given him years ago.
“Why didn’t you go through the front door? Or you know, knock?”
The flush on Roman’s cheeks wasn’t just from the cold. “Because you don’t want me here.”
Virgil nearly laughed, the response, of course, what he expected, “So it makes more sense to break into my house?”
“I used a key,” Roman replied, Virgil able to hear the grin in his words. So his own smile faded because it hadn’t been a joke to begin with, he just thought that the other was unbelievably stupid and he wasn’t sure what else he had expected.
Roman’s smile dissolved with his.
They were silent again, the wind speaking for them as snow blew into their faces. Their skinned reddened from the cold and Virgil had his hands tucked into his pockets, already shivering from their short exposure.
“Well, what is it you want? Left a shirt or something? A sex toy?” he asked, managing to keep his tone neutral. As if he was removed from the situation, a being that cared not of the answer. Like it didn’t matter.
“I left most of my things,” Roman replied. Virgil hadn’t been entirely direct with his question so Roman wouldn’t be entirely direct with his answer. Dance around it until they were both on common ground and knew what the other was thinking. “But I didn’t come for that.”
Virgil held his tongue, waiting and watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Roman was staring at their shuffling feet, jacket zippered to his nose and hat pulled down to his brows. Very little of him was showing but he was still an open book, one Virgil was tempted to lean over and flip through. To caress his spine despite all of the layers separating them. But he kept his hands in his pockets, fingers trembling even more.
“You know I don’t mean the things I say,” he began.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Virgil countered.
“Not when I’m angry, no. When we fight . . . I say things that I know will hurt you because I am hurting. It’s dirty and cruel.”
It certainly is , Virgil thought it reply. But he remained silent, their conversation replaying in his head. He hadn’t been much better, though. His words had been a whip to Roman’s back, lashing at his exposed skin and causing him to crumble.
Roman’s fight or flight response had kicked in and after all the fighting, he had flighted.
But days later, he had returned to the nest.
“I love you, Virgil,” he said, voice so soft that Virgil wasn’t entirely sure he was even meant to hear it. “I know I haven’t said it much or appreciated you as much as I should have, but I do."
Virgil nodded, taking his right hand out from his pocket and placing it over his rapidly beating heart. Roman stopped, surprised by the gentleness in the touch, and glanced down at the hand lingering on his chest. He could feel the other’s skin through his layers, whether it be love or something else he didn’t know.
“I know you’ve been busy with work,” Virgil mumbled in reply, hand trailing up to touch his face. His fingertips were like ice, but Roman still nuzzled into the hand. Both of them were surprised that they were so loving with one another so soon. But the screaming wind had numbed them both, bodies and souls.
“Christmas is a busy, stressful time,” he nodded, taking his hands out of his pockets and encompassing Virgil’s hand with both of his, “but it is no excuse.”
It wasn’t, no.
Roman shook his head, allowing the jacket to slip down and reveal the lower half of his face. He pulled Virgil’s hand close, breathing hot air onto the frozen skin before pressing his lips against his knuckles. It sent a jolt through Virgil’s body and he subconsciously stepped closer.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, soft lips still worshipping Virgil’s chapped skin. He didn’t do well in the cold, the hand lotion he bought never preventing his skin from cracking.
Virgil nodded, still not daring to speak. He slowly pulled his hand back, not a yank out of disgust but instead to warm himself in his pocket, before taking a step to the right. A step away. Roman hid his hurt well, always had.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said under his breath, Roman watching the words rise and swirl in the air in the form of steam.
“We’ve been together for so long,” he replied, keeping his hands to himself. But the pain had wove its way into his words, on display in black spirals. He was so open that Virgil flinched, knowing that the other trusted him completely. In a way Virgil didn’t think he could ever trust him again.
“We have,” Virgil nodded, swallowing hard. They were standing in front of their house, not Virgil’s, theirs. Had bought it together. Had bought it with marriage and a family in mind. Three bedrooms , Roman had said, for the little ones.
The little ones never to come.
“And that’s it?” he asked, pausing between the words to catch his breath. It was too much.
A nod.
Roman nodded in reply, dropping his hands to his sides and lowering his head in defeat. A knight that hadn’t made it in time to slay the dragon and now looked upon his kingdom, the ashes that remained of it.
He glanced over Virgil’s shoulder, the white Christmas lights he had thrown over their bushes glimmering and the animatronic deer surveying the land before it. His purchases, of course. But Virgil loved the deer, loved their house. Their home.
“How did you get here?” Virgil asked, a sigh if nothing else.
“Walked,” he mumbled in reply.
“From where?”
“Pat and Lo’s, I’ve been staying with them.”
Virgil’s heart sank and he lowered his gaze. Of course he went to stay with their best friends, had probably even bitten back his remarks when the pair had told him they would be spending time at the house. Called it Virgil’s house.
The fact that he was here before Virgil showed him just how brave the other was. Showed all the things he did for Virgil. For one, Patton and Logan lived ten minutes away by car.
“Well, they’re stranded and sleeping over.”
“I see.”
No offer to go inside and join them, neither was sure if it would even be on the table. If it would ever.
“It looks beautiful in the snow,” Roman said after a moment.
Virgil turned and glanced to look back at the house, “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”
“Told you the deer was a good investment.”
Virgil couldn’t help but laugh, surprised that it hadn’t sounded half as broken as he felt. Roman’s eyes turn to him, Virgil knowing that the relatively sad sound surely the cause of whatever look was in his eyes.
Instead of lifting his coat to cover himself and smother his laughter, he turned to meet Roman’s gaze.
It was intense, a crackling fire in the hazel he had never seen before. Snowflakes coated his lashes, doing nothing but enhance the heat of his gaze. And it was hardly Virgil’s fault that he took two steps closer, soon chest to chest with the man he loved to get a better view of those eyes.
“And so do you,” he whispered, voice carrying to his ears in the wind.
“What?” Virgil asked, feeling Roman’s breaths trickle down the side of his cheek.
“Look beautiful in snow,” he clarified, his hand - somehow ungloved - reaching up to trace his exposed jaw. His hands were warmer than Virgil’s cheek so Virgil subconsciously leaned into the touch.
His fingers trailed to his lips, brushing against them before slipping under his chin, tilting his head up just so. Virgil waited, eyelids having fluttered closed.
And he waited.
He waited a moment longer before opening his eyes to see Roman’s flooded with tears.
Virgil tensed up in the other’s embrace, not sure when Roman’s arm had gone around his waist. But he was trapped, staring at the other’s tears with wide eyes. He didn’t know what to do, never had when Roman cried.
To be fair, he cried a lot for many different reasons, seemingly proud to flaunt his emotions (or at least to not repress them like every other man under the sun). During movies, whenever he saw puppies, that one time during sex, and whenever he saw Virgil dress up in a suit. But Virgil had never made him cry (the suit and sex aside, both apparently so good that Roman couldn’t hold back), at least not for a reason anything remotely like the one at hand.
He had never caused him so much pain before.
Roman dropped Virgil’s chin, moving to wipe his eyes but Virgil caught his wrist. He squeezed it before his hand slipped into his, interlacing their fingers, and he rose onto his tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.
And Roman, tears and all, kissed back with every ounce of fire in his soul.
Virgil met his partner’’s passion and didn’t pull back despite how it seemed to burn his lips. Roman eased into him, the tears falling down Virgil’s cheek after their initial descent from Roman’s eyes before Virgil lost his footing on the icy sidewalk and he stumbled back. With his arm still slung around Virgil’s waist, Roman stumbled back as well, both of them collapsing in a snowbank.
Virgil yelped, pinned under Roman’s weight and squirming as the other’s laughter rattled in the wind. They struggled to pull away, this only causing more snow to slip down their coats and brush against their skin.
But Virgil managed to jump up, unaware that Roman had been leaning down to kiss him and instead, face planted into the snow.
It was Virgil’s turn for the wind to carry his howls of laughter for miles.
He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and wheezed as he grinned from ear to ear. Roman glanced up, brows furrowed and nose scrunched from the cold. Still laughing, Virgil ran his fingers over the skin to brush the snow off Roman’s cheeks and offered him his hand to pull him up. Roman took it, unable to scowl with Virgil’s smile so bright.
They didn’t let the other’s hand go as Virgil guided him to the front porch, wiping his boots off before opening the door and stepping inside. Roman stopped, Virgil only realizing when he too was halted. He glanced back at their joined hands, following the trail up to Roman’s eyes.
“Can I come in?” he asked, a plea.
Virgil had forgotten what had happened, and when it hit him again, his smile faded. But he didn’t drop his hand.
Couples fought, even the best of them. But not every partner would walk 3.7 miles during a snowstorm to see their lover, unsure if they would even be invited inside, or would remind said lover now that he was happy what had happened knowing it might jeopardize any chance of him staying. Because he put Virgil’s happiness before his own needs.
Because he was a good man. And he loved him.
“Yes,” Virgil breathed, tugging at his arm and pulling him inside, “you came all this way and expect me to send you out into the cold?”
“Well you already did,” Roman said, his voice lacking malice. He was teasing him.
Virgil gave him a playful glare in reply, pulling Patton’s hat off and unzippering his jacket.
“Watch it. I am willing to give you a hot shower and a warm bed.”
Roman’s face brightened as he pulled his boots off and placed them by the door, “With you?”
“We’ll see.”
Roman nodded, meeting Virgil’s gaze and smiling as the other went to the kitchen. “I’ll bring a hot chocolate up.”
He counted to three after the other was out of sight before pulling out a relatively small box wrapped in green paper and tied with a beautiful red bow. He felt tears press against the back of his eyes once more but he kept them at bay, closing the front door to their home before placing the gift beneath the tree.
The clock struck midnight just then and as he turned to glance at the crackling fire, he half expected to see Santa Claus slip down the chimney because of all the miracles occurring. And Roman found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in months.