Chapter Text
Virgil lifted one hand to the door, waited a beat, and then pulled it back to his chest, resuming his pacing. A sigh ghosted past his lips as his other hand brushed his purple fringe away from his face.
He really thought he was over this by now. This constant question of whether or not invitations to the other sides’ rooms were genuine or just another attempt to include the pitiful, lonely, little Anxiety.
They don't really want you here. They’re just asking to be polite. You’re really taking advantage of them by coming.
Virgil tightened the hand in his hair, gripping the longer parts in the back as he screwed his eyes shut. A deep breath in. Hold. And… back out.
The anxious side let the muscles in his hand relax again, his hair falling past limp fingers as Virgil reached down farther to grip at the back of his neck. His pacing faltered and he turned to face the door.
They want you here. They wouldn't have gone out of their way to ask you if they didn't.
Another breath in, held, and out. Virgil let the tension in his shoulders bleed out of him, slumping down into his hoodie as he reached out to knock on the bright red door with lightbulbs around its frame.
Just as he was about to knock, the door swung open.
Before him stood Roman in full princely regalia, silhouetted by the bright light spilling from the room behind him. The creative side smiled at him blindingly, making Virgil slump further into the comfortable lining of his jacket.
“Ah! There you are, my violet shaded vagabond! We simply cannot start without our player one!”
Roman’s hand snached Virgil’s wrist and before the darker side could react, and Virgil was pulled forward into the light.
Roman’s room in the mind palace was the room Virgil had visited the least. And by least, he meant never.
Obviously, he spent most of the time in his own room, the dark walls soothing his frayed nerves after a long day of interacting with literally anyone. There, he could recline onto his bed and slip on his over the headphones, allowing the worn in leather of the ear guards and the soothing tones of Castle of Glass melt away the ache behind his eyes.
He loved slipping under the covers of his bed, the coolness of inoccupation making the sheets slightly chilled. Laying down and feeling the bed turn from cold to warm with his body heat was a grounding sensation- something he could focus on when his brain was full of fluff or unwanted mutterings.
It was a safe space for him. When the others entered his room, they felt their own thoughts become more frazzled: even Logan was affected by the power of his room. Yet Virgil himself did not fear that feeling of Too Much rising from his stomach into his throat. The feeling of his blood flipping from too warm to too cold suddenly was like listening to a favorite song after not hearing it, the feeling of his skin prickling with doubt like a hug from a loved one. Or, at least how he imagined a hug would feel like. Patton had tried on multiple occasions, but Virgil had a knack of avoiding anything that made him too uncomfortable. He always was more Flight than Fight.
He did not enjoy feeling anxious per say, but the feeling was familiar. A favorite pair of shoes- the ones that you slip on everyday without having to tie them. They knew each other. It was him and he was it.
Next to his own room, Virgil spent most of his time in Logan’s room. Like his own room, Logan’s room was somewhat darker than the others, the lighting a facsimile of natural lighting Thomas would experience throughout a normal day if he were in a room with a few windows.
Logan said this was to ensure that he himself would not fall out of touch with the time of day that Thomas was experiencing and therefore he could at least attempt to mimic a natural circadian rhythm within Thoma’s own mind. Virgil though it was all covering for the fact that, despite Logan’s bookish nature, the dude loved, well, nature. Anything that could imitate real life and the outside was preferable to the stillness and sterility that the mind palace could become.
Beside the lighting, Logan’s room was outfitted with comfortable, ergonomic chairs, reading nooks, and a few small desks for writing. While most were often occupied with Logan’s own academic pursuits and interests, he always left the one near the corner open for any of the other sides. Patton came to color, saying the room helped him to focus on shading inside the lines. Roman came to write, saying that it was helpful to use this room for outlining before heading back to his own room to figuratively (and unfortunately sometimes literally) putting meat on the bones of his creations.
Virgil himself found the desk a great place to simply lounge and let his thoughts file into neat little compartments, no longer the dumpster fire it could sometimes become. Here, he could sort through his own mind, no longer bombarded by every last possibility he could come up with.
It was a calm room. One devoid of emotion.
However, just like his own room to the others, Logan’s room too could become overbearing.
Patton once likened spending too much time in Logan’s room to feeling your brain become lodged in jello, disconnected from everything, even your body. The clarity was good for a while, but became disconcerting after a while. Never concerning or worrying or anxiety inducing, but disconcerting. The room would not allow you to be concerned.
Logan called this feeling “dissociation from emotions.” Virgil called it terrifying. Disconnected from his feelings, Virgil was just a mess of improbability, sorted into a purple, edgy filing cabinet. He wasn't himself.
When he was sick of his own lonely four walls, and when Logan’s room became too much for him, Virgil often found himself in the common area.
The common area of the mind palace mirrored Thomas’ own living room area, complete with L-shaped couch and weird tan-yellow circle dot painting thing.
It was a good place to hang out, if one that was prone to interruptions. Patton often bustled around from place to place. The paternal side loved to have the TV on while he cooked or cleaned of just hung out, glancing at the screen every so often to laugh or gasp at the goings on of the characters.
Roman ran through often as well. Bouncing ideas off Logan if he was there, joking around with Patton while he worked, or watching the TV if he was feeling drained or in need of that little pick me up of inspiration.
Virgil himself could admit that white noise and unobtrusive company was exactly what he needed sometimes. But definitely not all the time.
Very rarely did Virgil find himself wanting to go into Patton’s room.
Despite its cute atmosphere and lovable occupant, Patton’s room really wasn't a place that Virgil needed to be. Sure, sometimes when Virgil was in need of a good cry session, he would make the short trek over to Morality’s room with headphones in hand and tissues stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.
Patton would leave him a corner to himself, where Virgil could hunker down into one of the tacky, paw print covered bean bag chairs and… well. Lets just say that Virgil was glad that his eye shadow was a physical manifestation of his emotional state rather than actual makeup, or everyone would know what it was he got up to in Patton’s room.
Patton was nice enough not to bring it up with Virgil or the others, only offering a, “Better out than in, I always say!” in the worst impression of a scottish accent whenever Virgil got up to leave.
It never failed to put a smile on his face, even if his eyes were still a little red around the edges.
But other than those once in a blue moon meetings, Virgil never needed his emotions heightened. He was heightened enough as he was thank you very much.
Not to mention the fact that Patton’s room seemed intent on shifting to display its occupant’s past. Virgil really never needed a reminder of what it was that was behind him. He thought about it enough as it was, without pictures materializing in front of tear filled eyes.
Yep. He was definitely in Patton’s room the least.
Well, Virgil thought as he flinched away from the blinding light of Roman’s room as he was pulled quickly through the threshold, second least.