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“So. You dyed your hair.”
Roman was staring at Virgil with a raised eyebrow. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the corners of his lips were twitching into a smirk.
Virgil rolled his eyes, running a hand through his newly purple hair. “It seems so.”
“Purple, the color of your soul, hmm?”
Virgil scoffed. “Shut up, Princey. The color of my soul is black. Though, you’d have no way to relate I suppose. Your soul is as white as your…whatever your outfit is called.”
“It is a prince outfit, thank you very much. It’s much more refined than your hoodie.”
“Yes, it is. My hoodie is casual, comfortable, informal, and practical. It’s something I can walk down the street with and not get weird stares,” Virgil agreed pointedly.
Roman huffed. “As if you would voluntarily walk down the street.”
“True,” Virgil said, walking into the kitchen.
Roman frowned, following him. “Just where are you going?”
Virgil snorted. “I’m just getting food, Roman, no need to send an army. Why are you so curious? Not done with teasing me?”
Roman huffed. “I wasn’t done talking to you.”
“You can do it just fine while I make ramen.”
“Ramen,” Roman tsked, shaking his head in disapproval, “so unhealthy. You’re not in college, Virge. Mix things up a little!”
“The only thing I’ll be mixing is the ramen when I put it in the boiling water.” Virgil took the ramen from the pantry.
“Is ramen the only thing you can cook?”
“So what if it is?” Virgil exclaimed indignantly, stealing water from a recently heated tea kettle to pour into a pot. He lit the flame, watching the water quickly start to boil.
Roman chuckled, walking into the kitchen but stopping just inside the doorway. “No one will judge you.”
“Except you.”
“Except me.”
“You say that like you can cook!”
Roman’s jaw dropped in offense. “How dare you insinuate such a thing of a prince, you…you…” Roman’s face was pink, he couldn’t think of a scarring nickname he could be sure wouldn’t hurt Virgil.
“You what? I’m not wrong; history doesn’t say princes can cook.”
“And it speaks lower of emos.”
Virgil poured the ramen into the boiling water. “Emos aren’t in history books, Sir Sing-A-Lot.”
Roman rolled his eyes. “Not the point, Hot Topic.”
Virgil laughed at the nickname. “You still think I’m hot, don’t you?”
Roman’s cheeks flushed. Virgil took a fork from the silverware drawer and started to stir the ramen.
“Well? It wasn’t a fully rhetorical question, you know.”
“Pssh, of course I don’t. Besides, a prince doesn’t need the validity of others.”
Virgil’s heart dropped, his face contorting in disappointment. Luckily, he was facing away from Roman and to the ramen pot instead. He put the flavor packet into the pot.
“Your self-esteem wouldn’t last a day without Patton and you know it.”
Roman sighed, deciding to ignore Virgil’s statement. “How’s your ramen coming along?”
“That eager for my undivided attention?”
“No, I was thinking I could have your leftovers.”
“You say that like I won’t eat the whole pot, and like you didn’t call ramen unhealthy earlier,” Virgil said with a laugh. “Besides, even if I had leftovers, you wouldn’t get them. You’ve been teasing me ever since I dyed my hair.”
Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Even so, how would you eat the whole pot? That’s a lot of food.”
“I haven’t eaten today.”
“It’s seven o’clock!”
Virgil shrugged. “Time is a construct; an illusion meant to keep the human race in line.”
“Oh, stop it, you pessimistic conspiracist.”
Virgil rolled his eyes. He got two bowls out of a cabinet. “If you still want ramen, you better stop teasing me.”
Roman hummed, taking a step closer to Virgil. “Something tells me you’d give me some anyway.”
Virgil finished pouring the ramen into the two bowls, giving Roman the significantly smaller portion.
“Where’s my fork?”
“Get your own, I’m not your maid.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. The silverware drawer is right in front of you.”
Virgil took a fork from the silverware drawer, walking over to Roman to give it to him. He held it out to the prince, a smirk on his face.
“Is this okay? Or do you have a special fork I should know about?”
Roman snatched the fork from Virgil’s fingers, approaching the emo slowly. He backed Virgil against the counter. “Cheeky.”
“How would I know? You likely have a special spoon too, and a knife, and you probably argue with Logan over writing utensils.”
Roman placed his hands on the counter on either side of Virgil, leaning closer to him. Virgil’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t have a special object, but a person…”
“Stop it, Princey,” Virgil said quietly, voice lacking anything relating to confidence or conviction.
Roman raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want me to? You don’t sound like it.”
Virgil opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.
“I didn’t think so.”
Virgil bit his lip and looked down.
“Too socially awkward for a kiss, emo nightmare?” Roman teased.
Virgil glanced up at him with a glare, bottom lip still between his teeth.
Roman leaned in closer. “Keep biting that lip and I’ll have to bite it for you.”
“Oh, shut up, already,” Virgil murmured.
He brought Roman in by the collar of his outfit for a searing kiss.