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The bell above the entrance to Out and About chimed as the door swung inwards, the puff of warm air and smell of pastries loosening the tension in Virgil’s shoulders. The door fell into place behind him as he hung up his snow-dusted coat—he smiled at the jackets already haphazardly strewn across the hooks, familiar leather and denim and down in the shades of his friends signaling his status (yet again) as the last one to arrive. Though, Roman wasn’t even off for another thirty minutes, so Virgil stopped himself before falling down that rabbit hole of self-loathing. He waved to the table where Patton was currently sidled next to Logan in the corner booth, both of them sat across from Remus and Janus—their faces were flushed from the cold and already bright with laughter, but Virgil knew Roman would forget the rest of the world entirely if not reminded of their biweekly after-hours confabulation, so a venture into the kitchens was necessary. The group returned his greeting, before falling back into the passionate conversation that resounded around the shop, twinkling against the glass and settling into the wood. Virgil chuckled as he ducked under the counter, pushing open the heavy doors into the kitchen.
Virgil sucked in a breath, opting to lean on the doorframe for support rather than interrupting… whatever his boyfriend was doing. Roman was a vision, sleeves pushed back, hands dusted with flour, twisting loops of dough over and over before setting them aside—Virgil vaguely identified them as pretzels, but the way that even fluorescent lights struck Roman like a sunset to marble clearly took precedent. Virgil cleared his throat, hating to ruin previously-said perfect moment, but nonetheless aware of the endless teasing the pair would suffer if they spent too long on their own. Bastards, thought Virgil, as Roman looked away from the task at hand, shaking himself out of his reverie. But his smile came back just as fast and twice as brilliant when he recognized Virgil, immediately making grabby-hands at his person. Virgil giggled (which he would never admit to anyone other than the witness, but it was sort of the point that it stayed between the two of them—it was the point of this time alone in the first place), and made his way into Roman’s arms. He was sure his shirt was getting dusted in flour and spices, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when all he could sense was Roman—yeast and oak and love and warmth and home.
“You’ve made me a sap,” Virgil whined—though it came out as more of a mumble, thanks to the position of his face pressed into Roman’s shoulder. A rumble, as Roman laughed, loud and strong, and against his reputation, Virgil smiled like the lovestruck fool he was, and tucked himself further into the crook of Roman’s neck.
“As much as I love surprise hugs from my paramour,” Roman fiddled with the hair at the nape of Virgil’s neck as he spoke, “I do need to get back to baking if we’re ever to join the others.” Virgil huffed, ever the dark cloud Roman adored;
“Do we need to though? I mean,” Virgil unentangled himself slightly, pulling back only enough to grasp the strap of Roman’s apron, “really, I think they’ll be able to handle thirty minutes on their own, don’t you?” He looked up at Roman innocently through his lashes, like he wasn’t absolutely certain that he was what Roman would rather be focusing on—they both loved their friends more than life itself, but sometimes, after a long day of running Out and About and *literally* saving the world, a moment alone together was what they really craved.
“You,” Roman flicked Virgil’s nose, leaving a trail of flour in the process, “can be a terrible influence. Besides, you love helping me bake!”
"No, I love watching you bake—there’s a difference.” Though, in reality, Virgil’s words held little weight, as he had already found another apron and had begun tying the straps around himself. Roman cooed, and Virgil bit back another giggle—as long as he was going to help, he could at least keep himself from giving Roman any more ammo against his reputation. Thus, the pair got to work, kneading and twisting. Pretzels weren’t exactly difficult, but Virgil wasn’t usually a kitchen guy in the first place. The third time his pretzel came out too twisted and small, Virgil stepped back with what could only be described as a growl. He pressed his palms into his eyes, and focused on his breathing.
“Hey, no worries, babe, okay? Trust me. Can you look at me?” Roman circled his own hands loosely around Virgil’s wrists, a presence but not a force. Slowly, Virgil moved his hands from his eyes, smiling sheepishly as his boyfriend gave him a small “yay.” His shoulders slumped a little from the stress, but Virgil had calmed down for the most part.
“Thank you, Ro.”
“No worries, my darling,” Roman squeezed his shoulders, “Do you want to stay with me, or go sit with the rest of the group while I finish up?” Virgil considered his options for a moment, savoring Roman’s touch.
“Can I stay with you? I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be, but I want to be around you. You make me feel safe, but like, you know,” he started backtracking, “not in a gay way or anything.”
“Of course you can. And,” Roman said, kissing Virgil’s nose, “I love you, too.” Virgil blushed scarlet as Roman returned to his task, perfectly aware of the stuttering mess he had just made (even though he’d never admit it). Refusing to give in to the teasing, Virgil pressed his lips into a thin line before settling himself onto the counter, perched to watch Roman. He spent as long as he could watching before getting antsy—and when he got antsy, he got curious.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to use powers to make breads and stuff that takes this much work?”
Roman hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, but I like doing it this way. It’s not the same when it’s done with… whatever powers use. What do they use? Vibes?”
Virgil chuckled, sending a flurry of flour falling down on both of them with a flick of his wrist. Roman looked at the faux snowstorm with glee, and then at his boyfriend with admiration. Virgil didn’t show off often, but, when he did, it was for Roman (he laughed at how that was nearly always the case).
“It’s more of a feeling, I think.”
“So what I’m hearing is that I’m right—vibes,” Roman said wiggling his fingers for emphasis, the pretzels all parboiled and ready for baking. A parting (if it could be called that, as Roman was only walking across the kitchen to the oven and back) kiss was shared as the pretzels began their journey to deliciousness.
“So,” Roman grinned devilishly, clapping his hands together, “The timer is set for twenty minutes. Thoughts on how to fill the time?”
Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Without raising suspicion? With our group of friends?”
“Powers, Virgil, show me more magic things! Please?” Roman pleaded with his puppy dog eyes, nudging himself as close as he could get to Virgil. In their current position, Virgil was almost taller—a truly amazing thing to be, if Virgil was being honest—craning his neck to get an awkward view of his boyfriend was not the best of times. But now, he could breathe Roman in like the light and airy pastries he had such a way with, and take him all in at once without having to drag him down to his own level. It was a nice change of pace, and Virgil—Virgil wanted to give Roman everything he wanted. So he concentrated his energy, and…
Roman shrieked.
“What a drama queen,” Virgil sighed, fonder than he’d have liked, looking up at Roman as he hovered maybe a foot above the ground, taller once again. He giggled as he swung his arms, attempting to remain balanced (though, in reality, he really had no impact on it—it was all Virgil, except for the joy). Roman made for Virgil’s hands, an invitation and a request and a declaration of love all in one. Virgil accepted, taking Roman’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers together—somehow, Roman’s smile grew even wider, and he tugged, pulling himself closer to Virgil.
“You,” Roman began, kissing Virgil’s forehead,
“Are,” His cheek,
“Perfect,” His jaw,
“Wonderful,” His nose,
“Amazing,” The corner of his mouth,
“Superb,” Roman breathed, finally kissing Virgil square on the mouth—they bumped flour-covered noses and their teeth clicked at first, but there was so much warmth that neither could bring themselves to care. Virgil smiled into the kiss, pulling Roman ever closer, holding him tight as his concentration turned from keeping him floating to keeping him close. Virgil hummed, pleased, before being rudely interrupted by the tinny ring of the timer. Roman pulled back reluctantly, giving Virgil one last chaste peck before making his way to the oven to remove the pretzels. He began transferring them to the cooling rack on the counter, and, not for the first time that day, all Virgil could do was stare—Roman was glowing, like, literally. It was faint, a remnant, or maybe a reflection of Virgil’s own powers, but it was there nonetheless. It cast Roman in a light similar to that of a sunset, breathtaking and golden and entirely overwhelming. Virgil’s breath hitched when Roman turned to look at him, and suddenly he was feeling much too small, and not at all worth the man in front of him. He decided to start small with confronting his insecurities:
“Hey,” he whispered, reverent and somewhat strangled. Roman laughed, and kissed him, still unaware of his own aura and its effects on his boyfriend. He picked up the plate of pretzels—half salted, half cinnamon-sugar—and offered Virgil his hand. He took it, gently, and stepped off the counter with Roman’s help. Their aprons were hung on the hooks, and they made their way out into the foyer of the cafe.
Patton was behind the counter at the drink machines, while the other three had spread themselves out across two booths, covering the floor and tables with papers and bags and… dice? Something of the sort—moving on. At the sound of the doors opening, Patton turned to greet Roman and Virgil, flicking his wrist to keep the coffees making themselves, but when he saw the two of them, he froze.
Regaining his composure, Patton grinned and waved. “Heya kiddos! How was baking?”
“Wonderful—look, pretzels!” Roman presented the tray with a flourish, earning a small round of applause from Patton—the others were thoroughly enamoured with their conversation, and had yet to notice the addition of the last two members of their group—but all good things must come to an end.
Remus finally looked up at the sound of laughter and clapping, and immediately smiled wolfishly—which was fitting, because he then wolf whistled obnoxiously. The trio behind the counter turned in confusion, as did Logan and Janus, pulled out of their debate about the morality of cannibalism. Logan looked like he was staring at a three headed dragon:
“Virgil, what did you do?”
“Uh,” he said, turning again to look at Roman, who was only glowing brighter, “Made pretzels?”
“Dude, you’re GLOWING!” Remus had jumped over a table and was leaning over the counter to poke and prod at his brother’s face.
“Huh,” Roman remarked, extending his arm and turning it over, “I guess I am.”
“Fascinating…” Logan had Roman’s other arm in his hands, and was closely examining how the light reacted to his touch. Virgil couldn’t help but feel a little excluded—he went from having all of his boyfriend’s attention to none of it, which was fine, and Virgil could live with that, but he didn’t think there was anything wrong with being a little jealous from time to time.
“Okay, okay, my boyfriend glows, lets eat,” Virgil huffed, stretching and wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders—as he preened under all the attention, his aura doubled in size, casting the shop in a soft light.
“Gross,” Remus wrinkled his nose, mouth full with half a pretzel, “Get a room.” Roman squawked at his brother’s teasing, and turned to Virgil to defend him (though all he did was shrug, it was enough to appease Roman). Somehow, in all the chaos, Patton, Logan, and Janus were able to carry the assorted baked goods that were left after closing, and the several drinks, to the table without incident. Janus and Logan had resumed their argument, this time interspersed with moral questions and praise from Patton—though, really, he was just paying attention because Logan looked awful cute when he was passionate. Virgil snapped his attention back to the twins, who were still arguing, albeit playfully, but far too long for his taste—he yanked Roman along through the opening in the counter (ignoring the offended noises of both brothers), and over to their friends. The remaining three fell into their places in the booth, as careful as they could, being themselves and all—and with their arrival, the night truly began.