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Half an hour. Half an hour it had taken to regulate his breathing, to stop the heart palpitations and remind himself that he wasn’t going to die, that he couldn’t die. And still after a further half hour, his body was tense, movements jittery and sharp, his hands still trembled. It was all just so aggravating after a point. What Virgil wouldn’t give for the attacks to stop. To never feel that hot, numbing dread fill him again. It had been made worse this time by the fact that his phone lay forgotten in the kitchen, and he had been paralysed and unable to move for the best part of an hour with no distractions and nothing to help calm him save for his own grounding techniques. And sometimes they could only do so much.
Finally, Virgil managed to uncurl himself, stiff and sore from tension, and take a few shaky steps to the door of his room. He pulled his hoodie strings tight, gripping them so hard that his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want them to see him like this, to realise how pathetic and weak he truly was. And if they did notice him, he didn’t particularly want to see their reactions.
Creeping down the hallway, the anxious trait could hear their voices from the commons. Patton playfully teasing Logan with science puns, the latter varying between groaning and trying to explain why the jokes were entirely illogical. And Roman, of course, was singing. Judging by the way his voice faded slightly then increased in volume again, he was dancing too. And in the background, Moana was playing. The noises muddled with Virgil’s own thoughts, grating on his already heightened nerves. Not that he minded Patton and Logan’s playful arguments or Roman’s singing. And Moana was a fantastic film with some really cool, dark theories at its core. But right now he just needed calm and quiet, and time to stop the vicious cycling his own head was already putting him through.
Just a few more steps and he would have his phone. He could blast his music and try to tune out entirely. He was so focused on his mission, in fact, that he didn’t even notice that Roman’s singing was suddenly very close. That is, until he collided with Roman himself, crashing against his chest, bringing his dramatic rendition of ‘How Far I’ll Go’ to an abrupt end.
A moment of horrified silence, then:
“Hey, deep, dark, and depressing. You threw off my groove!”
Virgil gulped, instantly looking down at his feet, fists clenching, chest tightening, breath cutting short. Once again, he had ruined their fun. He had probably managed to ruin whatever friendship he was beginning to form with Roman, and the other side had been working so hard to make sure he felt welcome. This was how he repaid him? Ruining their movie night, smashing into him mid song. He felt Roman’s hand on his wrist. Was he angry? Virgil couldn’t bring himself to look up in order to find out. He was a bother. He was a nuisance, a pest, a disorder. And how could a disorder ever truly be accepted, be loved?
The movie played on in the background. Patton and Logan continued their debate, Logan talking over him from time to time and every noise, every line of dialogue, the chatter between his friends, and Roman was talking too but he couldn’t hear a word clearly. He just knew it was loud, loud, loud, and everything was just getting too much, too much, too MUCH!
Tearing his arm out of Princey’s grip, Virgil turned and did what he did best. He fled. Speeding down the hallway, slamming the door to his room shut behind him and sliding down the wall to settle in a corner of his room, tucked up in a tight ball, hands fisted in his hair, tugging harshly.
Roman hated him. He had always hated him. Because anything good or happy or pure, he always managed to mess up. When had he started crying? He was used to this. Used to not being enough, used to being unloved and unwanted. So why was he crying now? Loud, horrible sobbing ripping from his throat, leaving it feeling raw and tight. He couldn’t breathe right. He tried counting, but he couldn’t focus on the numbers. All he could think about was every horrible thing he had ever said or done to one of his counterparts, especially Roman. How many times had he been blatantly mean to him, rejecting his ideas, pulling them apart, arguing over nothing just to spite him.
The shadows around Virgil seemed to deepen, his eyeshadow darkening as his room adjusted to and exacerbated his heightened state. Exactly what it had seemed to do to the others when they had come to retrieve him, honing in on their fears and insecurities and bringing them to the forefront of their minds. And for the literal embodiment of anxiety, that could be a dangerous thing.
He leaned into the wall next to him, too shaky, too tense to keep himself supported upright. Having something to lean on gave him one less thing to worry about as his mind spiralled through every possible outcome of this situation. Roman would have told the others by now, they would know how much of a killjoy he was, how much of a freak. He would lose the friendships he had worked so hard for so long to make. He would—
A gentle knock, almost inaudible over his own rapid, shaky breathing, over his tiny whimpers and gasps and sobs. And then, “Virgil…? You know, my dark knight, you needn’t suffer alone anymore. May I come in?”
Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but no words would pass his lips, seeming to get caught in his throat. He gulped, resting his forehead against his knees and trying to regulate his breathing before trying again, managing nothing but a squeak. Roman wanted to help. He had made an effort to come to his rescue and he couldn’t even speak to answer him.
The door creaked open slightly, “Virge, I… I’m coming in anyway. I can’t help feeling that I am to blame for this, and it is my duty to right this wrong-” Roman cut himself off, taking in the sight of his friend, curled in so tightly on himself, tears staining his face, smearing his make up. He closed the door behind him, crossing the room and settling down a few feet from the anxious trait. He hesitated, unsure of what to do next, “I… Oh, Virgil. I’m so sorry. Do you… Mind if I touch you? Hold your hand, even?”
Virgil hesitated a moment, taking a few deep breaths and holding out a shaking hand, pulling back slightly a moment later, “Y-… You don’t… Hate me…?” He slapped a hand over his mouth. Damn that echo to heck.
Realisation dawned on Roman and he stared at Virgil, heart aching. He sighed softly, moving to sit in front of the other, trying to catch his gaze, “You’re having an attack, aren’t you? Is that why you didn’t join us for movie night?” A slight nod, more tears, “And I yelled at you. I… I meant it in jest, but I hurt you in doing so. I must learn to think before I act. Virgil, you know I could never hate you. None of us could. You are so important to all of us.”
Virgil glanced down as both of Roman’s hands cupped his free one, giving a slight squeeze. He didn’t meet his eyes again. Not yet. “But I ruined your fun. I probably killed the atmosphere in there.”
“It felt wrong without you anyway,” Roman smiled, moving one hand to give Virgil’s knee a gentle squeeze, noting how much the other was still shaking. The next moment he found himself almost knocked back by his counterpart launching into his arms, letting out what must have been months, if not years of pent-up emotion out in the form of full body sobs, face buried against his shoulder. He gently wrapped his arms around the other, holding him, rocking him gently until his body stopped convulsing, his breaths became more regular, less gasping and choked.
Ever so gently, Roman gripped Virgil’s shoulders, pushing him back so they finally locked eyes. He smiled slightly, cupping his cheeks, “You’ve messed up your raccoon shadow, emo nightmare,” he chuckled, gently wiping at the smeared dark tracks, clearing away the evidence that he had been crying. “That is next level edgy. I doubt even you could handle it.”
To his surprise, Virgil actually laughed, playfully swatting at his hands, though his own still trembled. He gripped Roman’s sash, trying to quell the shaking, “Thanks, Princey. For… All of that.”
“What kind of a prince would leave a damsel in distress?” He smirked, standing and extending a hand to Virgil to pull him up, “Come on. You’re staying in my room tonight. We’re having our own movie night. Your choice.”
“Can we binge watch all of Gravity Falls?”
“Virgil, you look exhausted. I bet you don’t make it through the first season.”
“A bet? I like it. Winner gets to send texts to Patton and Logan from the loser’s phone.”
“Deal.”
By the end of the third episode, Virgil had fallen asleep with his head on Roman’s chest, calmed by his heartbeat with one hand still gripping his sash. Roman carefully turned the TV off, then the lights, and pulled him close. He never did hold Virgil to his end of the bet.