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Virgil was caught in a whirlwind with Remus.
He never really thought himself prone to sappiness or anything. But this absolute catastrophe of a human being had to go and gel with him in ways he’d never expected.
Remus loved to text him things that’d mortify him if caught by customers or coworkers. Horse cock dildos, the strangest and most obscure porn imaginable, shit posts, and shock sites. It often led to a game of “who can break the other’s brain fastest.”
Remus routinely won that game.
Remus was sweet, in his own unique way, knocking him out of his head with lewd public displays of affection. The way it all made bystanders stare was embarrassing and hilarious, if Virgil was honest. Remus’s unshakable confidence in all of it emboldened him – not one to enjoy making scenes under any other circumstance.
The way Remus’s brother would react with exaggerated disgust and insult was priceless. Remus often took charge in the matter. Virgil chalked that up to sibling privileges, but he’d be lying if he said knocking the guy off his egotistical pedestal wasn’t satisfying. Roman was the embodiment of the “do you even lift, bro” meme. Calling the man Gaston just fit too well and, given the siblings’ predilection for dramatics, he assumed it wasn’t too barbed.
Remus’s blessing only encouraged him in the matter.
It painted a very different picture than how they got on in private. One would assume things got rather sordid, but it was a lot less sexual than outward appearances. Virgil found himself thinking about the Shrek movies when it came to the thing he had with Remus. It was a constant source of debate on who was Shrek and who was Fiona. They weren’t lying to everyone, it just became the way they showed affection for each other.
The Disney formula didn’t really work for them but as days lead to weeks lead to months, they had a good thing going.
By contrast, there were Roman’s over-the-top gushy romantic overtures with various guys passing through the gym. The guy would laugh with a big smile, bowing dramatically, and use excessive flowery language. Many of whom Virgil assumed to be “conventionally attractive”.
Virgil never noticed the guy with any hanger-ons, though. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.
The guy seemed about as unflappable as his trashy boyfriend.
That was until he noticed how the guy was looking more intense than usual during one of his workouts. Virgil was a little bored and wanted to redirect his frustrations from work somewhere else.
“Why the long face, Prince Underarm Stink?”
It was mean, and more than a little hypocritical, but the twins liked their garlicky foods and the guy was glistening in his own sweat. The predictable look of indignation in his face was too good not to mess with, Roman dropped the weights to squawk back, “I don’t remember wanting to tune into Vomity Central today! Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Not really. Got my sets done and waiting on your brother. The usual.”
“And yet you choose to pester me! I was about to hit a new PB!”
“It’s just pretty fucking funny, man.”
Roman gave a heavy sigh, “ ¡Santo Dios! Why did Remus have to shack up with someone like you?”
“Someone like me?”
“I just don’t get his taste in people. Or LACK thereof!”
Virgil did feel a stab with that one, sometimes he still couldn’t answer that. But he buried that for the sake of talking shit, “Jealous, party of one?”
“I-”, Roman’s face flickered uncertain before it changed back to that familiar bravado, “I AM NOT-”
Remus had fantastic timing in barging into the middle of this, cackling, no less. “Taste? ¡Mira quien habla! ”
-
A couple days after that, Virgil got a text from Patton. It was moments before he clocked out.
“Hey, kiddo! Can you report to the gym break room at 1300?”
That was in about a half an hour, he was glad he packed a lunch and a few de-stressors, too.
“What’s up?”
Virgil met Patton a little before he met Remus. It was amusing to find out Remus had quite the history with him. Pat was like a weighted blanket of a person sometimes, for both of them, really.
“Nothing! I just have a surprise waiting there for you!”
He wasn’t the biggest fan of that s-word, most of the time, “Ngl, if you were anyone else…”
Virgil paused and added, “Got nothing planned ig. Alright.”
-
As expected, Virgil saw Patton at the entrance of the room wearing a warm smile and waving him over.
“Okay. Spill. What-?”
As he approached the threshold and Patton stepped aside, he saw Roman sitting at the only table in the room. Virgil whipped his glance toward the pseudo-father-figure.
Patton innocently whistled, “Now, why dontcha talk to each other like mature adults?”
“Whose side are you on!?”
“TEAM HARMONY, kiddo.”
Virgil thought, “I’m not even going to ask.”
Patton left the room, grinning as Virgil shuffled inside.
Virgil grumbled as he plopped himself opposite to Roman. He deliberately avoided eye-contact as he unpacked his lunch. It was some gado-gado – a salad with hard boiled eggs, fried tofu, and spicy peanut sauce.
Roman’s face was screwed into that intensity again, furiously scribbling into a sketchbook and not talking either.
Virgil remembered being told by Remus that Roman had an artsy side, but never really had a chance to see it for himself. Virgil twirled his fork in his food, staring at it but taking a few furtive glances at what the guy was drawing. Virgil gave an acknowledging hum while chewing on his meal.
Roman only grunted, the sound in the room mostly coming from the pencil scratches. He was drawing various Disney characters embracing each other, quite a few gay and non-canon pairings, and getting more upset about it.
Virgil thought, “Are we just gonna be cavemen about this or-?”
Virgil got through half his salad before getting frustrated and pulling something else from his backpack. His own sketchbook, which was much more beat-up looking, and a chewed up ink pen. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to draw, but he decided to go with Jack and Sally.
Virgil fondly chuckled to himself thinking about Remus- Remus would be the kind of guy with the hubris to usurp Santa with thoughtless glee.
The pencil scratching stopped and Roman was looking at Virgil. Another silence before Virgil said the first actual word there, “What?”
Roman looked like he had a lot more to say, but mumbled, “Didn’t know you were an artist, too…”
“It’s more of a side thing, hobby, whatever. I’m not that g-”
“Better than my brother… or Pat, bless his heart.”
Virgil snorted, “Didn’t expect to be complimented by you of all people.”
Roman flushed a little and stammered, “Y-yeah, well. I was actually going to say-”
He puffed himself up obnoxiously, “Not as good as ME!”
Roman let out a broken laugh and deflated a little.
Virgil was annoyed at first, but if he was honest, Roman was a lot better at the art thing than he was. Extremely clean lines, complicated poses, and everyone stayed (also annoyingly) perfectly on model. Virgil sighed, “You know what? You just might be right about that, Romano.”
Roman looked surprised, “R-really?”
“Dude, don’t make this weird.”
Both of them clearly had no idea what to say after that and their gazes went back to their sketchbooks.
Virgil blew his hair out of his face and asked, “Can you- can you tell me about your drawings?”
Roman’s face flushed again, as if only then realizing the gaffe of what he was doodling, “It’s just some silliness, really.”
Virgil was starting to realize that he was poking a sore spot, but wasn’t entirely sure what.
“I’d be a damn hypocrite to judge you for liking cartoons.”
“No, it’s not that. Well, not ONLY that. Ag- why do you care all of a sudden!?”
“Pat shepherded you into here and didn't explain anything, too?”
“W-well. Kind of. Padre just told me it looked like I needed it. Whatever that meant.”
Virgil laughed and Roman was not amused, “What’s so funny?”
“Wait, let me just-”
It was rough but Virgil sketched the two of them in one shirt, labeled “Get Along.” It was abundantly clear what was Virgil’s main artistic influence, too.
Roman’s pout cracked, “The audacity!”
“Okay, but seriously. That’s a lot of- shippy stuff. And yet-?”
Roman slumped back and groaned, “I’m single? Are you going to rub that in my face? AGAIN!?”
Virgil’s thoughts simply answered that with an, “Oh.”
Virgil was honestly committed to thinking he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so he stopped looking after high school. He figured out he was somewhere on the ace spectrum as a freshman, so not being with someone wasn’t going to be the end of the world to him. But then Remus oh so gracelessly landed on his… Fist.
It made him second guess all the bullshit about how exciting and confusing it was to have a partner. He hated the idea of somehow being an incomplete person otherwise, but at least Remus felt like a matching puzzle piece. Remus would say they were more like a pair of crusty cogs the universe decided needed to be knocked up with some lubrication. Either way, he understood a little more about what people saw in finding someone like that.
He figured if it was that “easy” for him, he thought Roman was bound to have better luck. Maybe they’d pry out that stick up Princey’s butt. The thought made Virgil snort, despite himself.
Roman’s face somehow grew even more sour and he threw up his hands, “Looks like the answer is YES!”
Virgil shook his head frantically, “N-no. I’m. I’m sorry.”
Roman was shocked, “What.”
“Look. I’m sorry. I’ve been a colossal dick. Happy?”
Roman was back to being confused, “So-rry? … Colossal?”
“Fff-forget that part!”
Roman clearly liked seeing Virgil squirm.
Virgil gave a defeated sigh, “I’m not going to pull the ‘I know how you feel’ card. I guess I kinda get the whole feeling of not being enough?”
“What makes you think that?”
Virgil wasn’t sure if that was about Virgil or if he unintentionally slighted Roman, “I didn’t expect anything like Remus to happen in my life. There isn’t a rule book for this shit. Can we start over, here? I want to be less of a-”
“Trifling ass-ailant of my emotions?”
“Yeah. That.”
“… forgive me if it’s going to take me time to believe that.”
After an awkward pause, Virgil wanted to change the subject, “how long have you been doing the art thing?”
There was a glimmer of something in Roman’s face upon the question. It looked a little like how Remus would before launching into one of his own harebrained Rube Goldberg schemes. Roman restrained himself around Virgil, but he cracked a smile while he talked about his interests.
Eventually, there was another silence. Less awkward and more companionable.
They lost track of time sketching away.
---
More than half a decade ago, Roman had the displeasure of meeting Virgil. He was floundering about something that made him feel broken, for so much of his life.
A handful of years ago, he met Janus for the first time – at least he thought it was the first time. They helped him find out one of the (many) things that were “wrong” with him.
There really wasn’t a rule book for someone like him – someone who never understood romantic attraction. Someone who thought the feelings he felt for others were divorced from that and something more physical and less “palatable”.
Romance remained an overly abstract ideal he couldn’t meet, but he still found himself enjoying the aesthetic. Janus indulging him in such a way was healing.
Janus (and Logan) helped the rest of the crew understand and it became as normal as any other relationship in their group.
A year ago, Roman was in the hospital for a stupid mistake. A repeat mistake he really should have learned from the first time. He relentlessly hated himself for making it.
Several months ago, he was discharged with chronic kidney disease.
He was made to face more things that were “wrong” with him. Some things ran deeper than that note on his chart.
Janus had insight, had personal experience with chronic illness. He struggled to apply their beliefs to himself. Janus could blame no one for their psoriasis, nor would they. Roman could only blame himself, he should’ve known better.
A few weeks ago, Janus gifted him a vibrant red rollator with glittery, white-and-gold lightning bolt accents to it. As much as it suited his taste, he was only getting started on accepting the new normal. It arrived on an Easter Sunday – for some bizarre reason.
This day, he had just finished another intense and tiring physical therapy session at the gym.
There, he sat on the mobility aid to gather some energy. Fatigue often made it all too easy to fall into a spiral. At that point it was a coin flip whether he kept any amount of composure, so he hoped no one was in the break room.
His legs felt like overcooked noodles and he had to dig deep to make it inside. He didn’t bother to transfer to a chair and slumped over the table. He buried his face in his arms and tried not to cry.
He wasn’t sure if he took a couple winks like that or how long he was sitting there when he heard something sliding across the table toward him and someone clearing their throat. He didn’t look up immediately, he failed to not cry at some point.
He knew he should probably drink some more water.
He heard someone take a seat across him, followed by some scribbling noises. He peeked up, still not wanting to show his face to anyone – it was Virgil. Virgil went through a lot of sketchbooks, but they were always covered in band stickers and other things Creepy Cookie Appropriate.
He glanced down to find a glittery red one in front of him, a couple drawing pencils, and a vinyl eraser. He thought he was being subtle until Virgil spoke up, “Hey. Want to take your mind off stuff?”
Roman growled, “No.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I’m not your dad.”
Virgil went quiet and dropped into his own version of Daydream Mode.
Roman felt like this was some sort of challenge, the way the Emo would smirk at him occasionally, igniting his curiosity and annoyance. He buried his face and pouted. Roman could also hear a little bit of the music coming from Virgil’s earbuds.
The silent treatment went on a while longer.
Roman groaned, “You always have impeccable timing, Hot Topic.”
Virgil snorted and Roman sat up to look at him. Roman swore he looked like he was dragged out of the same cemetery his brother and Virgil danced out of.
Roman leafed through the red book and acquiesced, “Fine, you win this round.”
“Don’t gotta be Dr. Do-The-Most all the time, man.”
After laying a few composition lines down, Roman grumbled, “… thanks.”
“Eh, no problem.”
They settled into their ritual of scribbling and occasionally sharing their progress.
