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“You don’t like caroling, do you?” Roman asked. Virgil’s face went slack and he looked up at his big brother with wide eyes.
“What do you mean? I love caroling,” Virgil insisted, and he clutched the old song book to his chest like it was the most important thing in the world. Roman wrinkled his nose down at him.
“Mom and Dad love caroling. I love caroling. You don’t.”
Virgil felt a flicker of panic in his chest. If he admitted that he didn’t like caroling, then they’d stop . They’d go home, and Roman would sit down in front of the window and look out the window sadly. He’d sing the stupid carols, but he’d do it alone and in their house and he’d make his own Christmas a misery fest. If Virgil admitted he didn’t like caroling, then things would get bad .
“I do,” Virgil insisted. “I love it. It’s the best part of Christmas.”
“What do you love about it?” Roman asked, and Virgil flinched as his big brother met his gaze. Roman went on, folding his arms. “You don’t love caroling. You hate going up to stranger’s houses. It’s why you hate trick or treating, even though you love everything else about Halloween. You hate singing, too. You only ever sing carols when we’re out caroling, so you don’t love that you get to sing. Let alone that you have to sign in front of strangers, I think you hate that the most. Why do you even come out with us? You know you could stay home with our other brothers.”
“I love caroling,” Virgil argued. “The hot cocoa’s yummy.”
“The hot cocoa?” Roman snickered. “You hate hot cocoa. I saw you pour a cup out in the street last year, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you saying no whenever Miss Margie offers you a cup.”
“I like hot cocoa!” Virgil argued. “Who doesn’t like hot cocoa?”
“Right, sure, you like it,” Roman agreed, a large grin on his cheeks. “Alright, well you still hate the sweaters, Ruby Gloom.”
“I like them!” Virgil protested. “They light up, what’s to hate about them?”
“That they blink,” Roman pointed out, and he pressed the button that made the lights on his sweater blink on and off. Virgil squinted, trying not to flinch at the speed they blinked at. Roman sighed and turned it off. “Come on, Vivi. You can tell me you don’t like it, I won’t get mad. Remus hates caroling, and I still love him, don’t I?”
“I know you love me,” Virgil muttered quietly. Roman sighed and got down on his knees in the snow.
“Virgil. I can’t make things better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. I already know you’re lying. Do you want to go home? I can take you home. Mom and Dad can have their fun, and we’ll go find something quiet to do.” Roman offered. Terror squeezed at Virgil’s lungs, but he couldn’t make himself speak, just staring at his older brother’s earnest face as it stared right back at him.
Roman sighed and stood up, taking Virgil’s hand in his. “Okay, let’s go find Mom and tell her where we’re going.”
“No, wait!” Virgil cried out, yanking at Roman’s arm. “We can’t leave!”
“Why not ? You hate it out here!” Roman asked, his face incredulous.
“You love caroling!” Virgil shouted finally, and Roman’s mouth popped open in surprise. Virgil stood his ground, his hands tight on Roman’s wrist. “I like caroling because you love doing it. I just want you to be happy. I want you to sing because you like to sing. And I wanna come with you so that you get to really do it. So you get to sing and perform and drink watery hot cocoa and eat tiny candy canes and freeze your nose off just to sing to people who barely even want to listen.”
“Aww,” Roman said, and Virgil yelped as his older brother scooped him up into a hug. “There’s my adorable little Scrooge of a brother.”
“I’m not a Scrooge!” Virgil griped, kicking into midair. “Put me down!”
“I love you too, Virgil!” Roman declared, as he lowered his baby brother back onto the floor. “But I’m not gonna make you do something you hate. I’m gonna take you home anyway, okay?”
“But what about—?”
“I’ll go out again tomorrow,” Roman said. “But not with you. You can stay home all cozy by the heater with Remus and Jan, okay? I’ll bring you back some tiny candy canes.”
Virgil huffed. As long as Roman wasn’t going to wilt inside all December long, then he didn’t mind too terribly that he wasn’t going to be going out with him to sing carols. After all, Virgil did hate going up to strangers’ houses. And he hated their version of hot cocoa. And the songs. And the rapidly blinking lights. And the snow .
“Can we watch Home Alone?” Virgil asked, and his big brother laughed.
“Sure thing.”