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Roman will be honest, he’s not the most innocent when it comes to appreciating just how adorable Virgil is. Come on, he’s too cute! He’s sharp as a tack and turns into a startled little kitten afraid of his own sneeze, it should be illegal. Add that to the fact that he’s a blushing mess when Roman flirts with him and his brain just goes ‘too pure to process.’ So cute.
That doesn’t mean, however, that he’s immune to remembering where he literally can’t help but smile when Virgil’s being super cute. Intentionally or not. His face is so cute, and his cheeks just light up with this adorable flush and ugh. It’s not fair. It is manageable—at least he teases Virgil about it being manageable—for the most part. It’ll be the slightest hint of color in Virgil's face as he turns away or shoots some snappy remark back at him or shoves Roman away from him. Or a split-second of watching his face light up as he learns something new or is about to absolutely annihilate some uneducated plebe. Sometimes he’ll get lucky with a particular line or look, and he’ll grumble and pout about it for a few seconds but even those roll off pretty quick. Virgil's used to him by now. That makes it harder.
But sometimes…oh, sometimes it’s too much.
They’re rehearsing for their play. Don’t ask him to remember the full name, it’s some quote that he’ll never get out in just the right order, so they call it the Cottage Play. He’s the secondary male lead, Virgil's one of the courtesans. One of the side plots is their romance. Got it? Great. It’s a very fluffy romance and fits their friendship dynamic perfectly and maybe they got told to stop drawing so much attention when the side characters had more chemistry than the leads. Not their fault!
Here’s the thing though: because it’s a period play, there’s a dance scene. Roman’s not too proud to admit he threw his head back and groaned when they got to it in the read-through because he knows his mom and his dad will be there watching and if his technique isn’t perfect, Logan is getting a call.
“Wait, who’s Logan,” Virgil asks a few months later when they’re at his house to run lines, “another ‘family friend?’”
“You could say that.” Roman groans, getting up and shaking his arms out. “He’s my dance instructor.”
“Hold on, your what?”
He levels him with a look. “You’ve met my parents, you’ve seen this house.”
“Of course you had ballroom dance lessons as a kid. That’s on me. I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”
“No, no you shouldn’t.”
“…for like, how many years?” Roman glares at him. “How many? How old were you?”
He sighs. “It started when I was nine. Ended at fifteen. Are you happy?”
“Very. And what a proper young man you’ve grown up to be.”
“Alright, you know what?”
Virgil shrieks as Roman lunges for him, bolting up off the couch and rushing for the door. He manages to catch Virgil around the waist and swing him up into his arms, spinning him around and tackling him onto one of the couches. That is to say: definitely not being the proper young man he was supposed to grow up and be.
They’re both laughing by the time they crash back down onto the cushions. Virgil shoves at his chest to get him off only to squeak and grab hold of his shoulders when he almost pushes him off the couch.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on, hang on, you—you got it?”
“Yeah, I got it, I got it—ah shit—“
“Grab the back of the—oh—okay don’t grab the back of the couch!”
“We got it? We got it, we’re good. We’re good.” Roman sighs and looks down at him, panting and pushing the hair out of his face. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Still think I’m a proper young man?”
“Absolutely not.” He reaches up and flicks his nose, laughing when he lets out a squawk. “Definitely not.”
“You try and act dignified when someone flicks your nose, you brat.” Of course, when he simply tilts his head and blinks up at him with that stupid, stupid innocent look on his face, Roman sighs. “You’re expecting it, I can’t do it now.”
Virgil just giggles.
Roman sighs, letting his forehead flop down to hit Virgil's chest. They really should practice, huh. He heaves himself up with a sigh that would make his dad proud, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair.
“Come on.”
“Where’re we going?”
He spreads his arms wide, spinning around as if to mock the empty ballroom. “To act three, scene six, or whatever the hell it was.”
Virgil sits up, leaning over to grab his script. “Sure, what page was it?”
Roman laughs. “Funny.”
“Listen, you may have some incredible psychic ability to memorize page numbers faster than humanly possible, but some of us are peasants.”
He pauses, smile fading. Does he—he really thinks—wait, what?
“Virgil, put down the script and get your ass over here.”
He looks up at him like he’s grown another head.
“Look, the sooner we get started, the better the chance we can get this done before one of my parents walks in and decides Logan needs to be called.”
“Started on…what?”
“Uh…dance practice?”
He huffs. “You actually want to practice that?”
“My goodness,” he mock-gasps, holding his hand over his mouth and clutching his chest, “are you insinuating that we don’t rehearse something? How scandalous.”
“I will throw this at you.”
He chuckles, waving at Virgil again. “Come on, it won’t take long, just make sure we know how to move around each other.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Huh?”
Virgil shifts on the couch, flicking through his script. “I don’t know how.”
Roman frowns, taking a step closer. “How to what?”
“How to dance.”
“If the way you choose to wait for the campus bus is any indication—“
“This kind of dance, dipshit.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing fancy, we’ve already been accused of pulling focus too much. It’s just gonna be like the ones the school throws, you know those.”
The sound of the pages turning in the still room are enough to rip the humor from his lungs.
“…Virgil?”
He looks up at him, his face perfectly blank, but he can see the way something dances just behind Virgil's eyes and in the way his hands twitch slightly on the pages. He huffs, mostly in disbelief, walking over to the couch and putting his hands in his pockets.
“Now you’re gonna tell me no one’s ever asked you to dance.”
“No one ever has.”
Now it’s his turn to look at Virgil like he’s grown another head. So many of those school dances and not one, not one person asked Virgil to dance? What is this travesty?
“Well,” he sighs, “this is outrageous and must be remedied immediately.”
Virgil's brow furrows in confusion. He smiles and steps back, just enough to bow and extend his hand, remembering Logan’s voice of keep your back flat, hand out toward your lady, head up so she can see your face.
“May I have this dance, my dear?”
“Roman—“
“Come on,” he coaxes, “you don’t want the first time to be in front of everyone, do you?”
He looks at him a moment longer, probably trying to figure out if Roman's making fun of him or not—he isn’t—and at last, stands and takes his hand. His smile widens and he backs up, pulling Virgil further into the room.
“Okay, so,” he starts, shifting his weight, “it’s been a while since I’ve had lessons and I don’t think I’ve ever taught anyone like this before—“
“Oh, I’m so full of confidence.”
“—but,” he continues, giving Virgil a look, “try and be patient with me. But you’re good at learning, I’m sure you’ll get it quickly.”
He drops Virgil's hand and he can feel himself getting back into the way to stand, how to move. Huh. Maybe it is just like riding a bike. His weight drops into his hips, chest opening, feet shoulder-width apart as he lets go.
“Something that I found helpful when I was learning how to dance is to get the steps first before I tried it with someone else.” He gestures between them. “Lot less worried about stepping on someone.”
“I would like to not get stepped on, yes.”
“And I would hate for my foot to rudely get between yours and the floor.” He winks as he tries to glare at him. “So, do you know how to do a box step? We’re theater kids, I assume—“
“Yeah, yeah, uh, I think so.” Virgil looks down at his feet, hesitantly moving his left foot forward. “It’s uh—no, wait a minute, hold on—ah!”
“Easy!” Roman catches him deftly by the elbow as he crosses his legs too soon. “Don’t start falling for me yet, honey, we’re not there yet.”
“Yeah, yeah, you fuck off and leave me alone. I got it now.”
“There you go, see? Knew you got it.”
“That’s like—the first thing they teach you in Theater Kid 101.”
“No, the first thing they teach you in Theater Kid 101 is that about 70% of the people you’re gonna meet are queer.”
“Correct.”
“So you’ve got the box step down, good.” He moves to stand in front of him, one hand on either shoulder to make sure they’re square-on. “Here’s the thing: you start going backwards.”
“Backwards? Oh, right, okay, so…” Virgil furrows his brow, gesturing with his hands to himself, to Roman, to the floor. He gets distracted enough that the very tip of his tongue pokes out. It’s adorable. “…this one first?”
Roman shakes himself, coming to just in time to watch Virgil hesitantly step back with his right foot. “Yes, wonderful, that’s it. Then apart…together, and then you come toward me.”
Virgil steps forward only to stop short, head flicking up to catch his gaze. He raises an eyebrow.
“Something wrong?”
“You, uh,” he stammers, their noses about two inches apart, “you didn’t step back.”
“Oh,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side, “I didn’t?”
“…literally—“
“Alright, alright,” he laughs, giving Virgil's shoulder a tug, “let’s try again. I’ll move this time.”
He squints.
“I promise!”
They try again, his hands on Virgil's shoulders as he watches their feet. They walk through the steps a few more times, pausing when one of them messes up—
“Okay, I’m fucking up because I’ve never done this before, but you, Mister Dance-Classes-For-Six-Years—“
“You’re distracting me, Virgil, I’ve never had such a wonderful student before.”
“Oh my god, leave me alone.”
“Never.”
—but they manage to get it down. Honestly, he’s gonna blame it on the fact that he’s not used to walking through waltz steps without having his arms positioned properly. That and he can hear Logan going ‘Chin! Chest! Wrist!’ in his ear the whole time.
“You’ve picked this up very quickly, my dear, are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Nope.” He gives his arms a little shake. “But the theory I get.”
“The theory…” He shakes his head. “Shall I teach you how to do turns as well?”
“Do we have to?”
The imperiousness in Virgil's voice startles a proper laugh out of him. As if he just stamped his foot and pouted a little more, he could easily be Roman about…eleven years ago.
“So that’s a ‘no,’” he chuckles, “alright, fair enough.”
“No, no, I mean, we can if you—if you want—“
“I’m sure Logan would be very displeased to know I was not teaching you turns,” he teases, straightening up and getting ready, “but I suppose we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Virgil nods, not looking at Roman's face, rubbing his shoulders as the tops of his ears turn red.
Oh. Oh, this is going to be fun.
“Do I need to teach you how to stand, too?” He holds his hand out, palm up. “Your hand, my dear.”
“I’m not your dear.”
“Perhaps not in the eyes of the aristocracy,” he says lightly, “but let’s not worry about them right now.”
Virgil rolls his eyes and places his hand in Roman's. He clasps their hands together, smiling at the way Virgil's gaze follows as he holds them up.
“Just like this, there you go, lovely. Give me your other hand.” Virgil rests it gently on his shoulder, smiling at the warm weight of his palm. “There. Just there. Now I’m going to hold you here…”
Virgil lets out another noise as Roman pulls him closer, arm around his waist. He chuckles at the sudden wide-eyed expression on Virgil's face. Very deer-caught-in-headlights. He’s so blushy.
“Come on, honey,” he chuckles, “don’t distract me with how adorable you are.”
Virgil blinks a few times, valiantly ignoring the way his ears are bright red as his hands twitch a little from where he’s placed them.
“Am I—am I supposed to hold you, or just rest my hands here?”
“Don’t be nervous about touching me.” Roman squeezes his hand for emphasis. “That’s how this is supposed to work.”
He waits until Virgil squeezes his hand back to smile and give him a wink.
“This is just a simple waltz,” he continues, “we’re not doing anything fancy. Just let me move you and I’ll make sure we go slow at first.”
“Okay.”
“Ready? Do you want a count-in, or are you good to go?”
“Are we—“ he looks down, shifting his weight a bit in his grip— “are we standing right?”
“Try and keep your chest up, but other than that, yes, you’re fine. We’re not the focal point of the scene, so the only person who’s really going to be watching you is me.” He winks. “And you could never disappoint me.”
He scoffs. “Okay, let’s—start now?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “you’re going backwards first, remember? Ready, here we go…”
He looks down, watching their feet. He allows himself a small smile at how hard Virgil's trying, the same determination from the classes channeling into the give and take of his weight in Roman's arms, the fluid movement of their steps. But of course, one doesn’t spend a dance looking only at their feet.
“Hey,” he calls softly, “my eyes are up here.”
“I don’t want to step on you!”
He chuckles, reaching to lift Virgil's chin to get him to look up, that’s it, keep your eyes on me, now—oh, honey, I can feel how warm your face is.
Even his hands feel warm in Roman's.
“Keep acting like this and I’ll think you have a crush on me or something.”
It’s as if a switch flips in his brain. Virgil blinks, giving his head a little shake, before a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and his gaze lands on something over Roman's shoulder. Roman frowns, continuing to move them across the floor.
But that’s it. They’re just moving. He’s dancing, or at least he’s trying to.
Virgil’s just kind of…walking.
Maybe it’s just Virgil getting used to it, maybe that’s it. God knows he was moving like the Tin Man for the first hour before Logan all but smacked him upside the head to get him to relax—counterintuitive, by the way. But the longer they go, the stiffer Virgil gets and the more he starts to look down at the floor. Roman tries distracting him, coaxing him into an argument, talking about the play, something, anything, but Virgil gives him one-word answers or trails off entirely, focusing on the dance again until Roman prompts him.
Something’s wrong.
“Hey, hey, honey,” he calls, all teasing gone from his voice, pulling them to a gentle stop and wrapping Virgil's arms around his shoulders proper, “look at me.”
Virgil looks. His gaze keeps switching from one eye to the other. Roman pulls him closer, arms around him in a hug until he blinks a few times and focuses on his face.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
He gives the poor thing a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Virgil sighs, his head bowing. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Roman leans forward to rest his chin on top of his head. “What’s up?”
Another sigh, Virgil's breath warming the skin above the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know. I just…this feels…weird.”
He hums. “Is it how close we are? Or where my hands are?”
“No, no, it’s not that—clearly,” he says with a huff, lightly knocking their heads together, “I just…I don’t know.”
Roman pulls back a little, giving him room to breathe. Virgil scrubs his hands over his face and lets out a frustrated noise.
“Also eye contact is the worst.”
“I know.”
He takes another deep breath and Roman's chest clenches at the way it shudders at the end. “I think…I think it’s because it’s a form of intimacy that I really don’t get.”
He flaps his hands a little.
“‘Cause like—theoretically—“
“You’re killing me with the ‘theoretically,’ honey.”
“Fine, in principle, this should just be something you do, right? You’re at a…dance or a ball or whatever, a party, and someone comes up and asks you to dance and that’s fine.” He gestures between them but his gaze is off who knows where. “You should—it’s not supposed to be that intimate, or whatever, it’s just supposed to be fun.”
Virgil presses his fingers to his temples, eyes squeezing shut.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, it just—I’m not used to it, I don’t get it, I know that’s not fair to you, I just…I just…”
“Hey, hey,” Roman calls, opening his arms again, “c’mere, you c’mere.”
He tucks Virgil's head under his chin, rubbing firmly up and down his back.
“It’s okay, honey. Take a second. No rush.” They breathe each other in for a moment. “This is new for you. It’s gonna feel a bit weird. And you’re right. There’s a lot of weird stuff tied up with dancing that can make it extra strange. Or awful.”
A soft huff against his shirt.
“Do you want to stop?”
A pause, then he pulls back and scrubs his face again. “No, because you’re right. I have to get over this for the play anyway and it’s better to do that here with you than in front of everybody else because I know it’s gonna get worse with everyone watching.”
Something about the matter-of-fact way he says it tugs a smile back onto Roman's face.
“And I trust you enough to know that you can respect my need to have this…not be a thing.” He shrugs helplessly—never a good look on Virgil. “I really don’t know what to do though.”
Roman doesn’t either. They stand there for a few minutes in the giant room. Far away, a clock ticks.
“Come on,” Virgil sighs after a while, “let’s…let’s try again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Maybe if I push past it we can make it work.” He holds his arms up, waiting, and after a moment, Roman comes to join him. “Thanks.”
“Virgil.” He looks up. “Thank you. For trusting me.”
“Of course I trust you.”
His words create a twinge at the back of Roman's throat as he clears it. “And just for the record? The only person you’re going to have to dance with is me. No one else. If you need to…to step out of character, insult me the whole time, ramble about The Nightmare before Christmas—“
Virgil giggles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders and Roman melts, the authority he tried to inject fading right to fondness.
“…you do whatever you have to do, okay? I got you.”
“Thank you, Roman.”
He nods. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, his eyes falling shut for a moment before he shakes his head, “I really think I’m just overthinking it.”
“You do overthink a lot.”
“Too much input.”
He chuckles. Too much input, indeed.
Too much…
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“Can you close your eyes for me, honey?” At Virgil's confused expression, he lifts his hand and lightly taps the side of his head. “Maybe take down the input levels a bit?”
Roman’s going to be honest, he doesn’t expect Virgil to just nod and close his eyes. Suddenly confronted with the reality that Virgil is just standing here, eyes closed, in his arms, Roman’s throat tightens.
“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as strangled as he feels, “ready? Here we go…”
He pulls Virgil close, starts to move, and oh. The rush of having Virgil trust him this much threatens to send them both staggering. He was not prepared, repeat, not prepared for how much it would feel just to have Virgil like this.
Oh, god, now he’s going red.
When did my mouth get this dry?
In an effort to combat that, he starts offering little corrections. Pick your feet up a little more, stand up a little taller, tap out the beat on my shoulder if you need to. Virgil listens to each one, adjusting his technique just enough to let him start to focus on himself.
But Logan isn’t here anymore.
Matter of fact, no one is here anymore. Instead of the adrenaline rush of hiding away, sneaking a dance in, or trying to be the slightly too flirtatious instructor trying to coax the student into letting their walls down a bit, now…now the room feels different. A small pocket of intimacy, just for them. No one else. His focus narrows down to the slight furrow between Virgil's brows, the slightly slick press of their arms against each other, the soft pads of their socked feet on the tile floor.
They dance.
No music except the creak of the vents and the soft rustle of the wind outside. No luxuries except time giving them just long enough to breathe. No audience except each other.
The idea of having to do this on stage, under the bright lights, in front of wandering eyes that would have no idea how much this means…Roman's skin crawls ever so slightly and he finds himself pulling Virgil even closer.
“Can I…can I kiss your forehead, honey?”
“Just warn me before?”
“Ready? Three…two…one…” His nose brushes the edge of Virgil's hair as he chastely kisses his forehead.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t try and look up, right?”
“Depends,” he murmurs, pulling him just a little closer, “will you let me kiss your cheek?”
He doesn’t reply, simply tilts his head. Roman kisses him there too, bringing them into a slow circle and then to a halt. Their eyes open.
They stand there for a moment. Just a moment.
Then Roman reaches out and gently, gently, flicks Virgil's nose.
He has about three seconds to laugh at the way he looks exactly like a startled kitten before he’s bolting for the door.
They make it through rehearsals fine, just because the director is focusing on the leads and just roughly gives everyone else their marks, telling them not to move so much. They actually get complimented for staying in character because it turns out everyone else was sneaking looks at the leads. Roman didn’t notice shit because he’s too focused on Virgil, and Virgil, well, Virgil has his eyes closed.
They talk about adding little bits to their characterization, making sure their behavior during the dance scene doesn’t seem off from the rest of the play. Virgil’s a little more reserved, Roman’s a little more tactile. They end up being asked to come up with a mini scene for each of their pairs to help make it seem more dynamic, and well…
“Should we just do a silent version of what we did?”
Virgil agrees and now at least Roman doesn’t have to hide being overprotective.
Hell, even the director pulls them aside after the first dress rehearsal.
“Look, you guys are doing great,” they say, “but you guys do know you’re not the focus, right?”
“Are we pulling too much attention?”
“Yeah. I’m watching you guys more than the leads.” They scrub a hand over their face. “I’d move you to the back, but Roman’s one of the only trained dancers, so…”
Virgil nods. “Okay. We’ll dial it back.”
“Great, thanks.”
An elbow finds its way into his ribs as the director leaves. “That means you need to tone it down, I’m not doing shit with my eyes closed.”
“You’re being adorable, that’s just as bad.”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
But it’s not until opening night that it gets real.
First show jitters hit everybody. They’re able to turn most of them into excitement until right before they’re supposed to go to places for the dance. Virgil’s fiddling with his hands as Roman comes up beside him.
“Hey,” he whispers, taking one of them, “only on me, okay? I gotcha, you do what you gotta do.”
Virgil squeezes his hand, he squeezes right back, and they’re on.
It’s the least professional he’s ever been. Virgil is in his arms, his eyes closed, but he’s stiff and tense as they turn about the floor. Roman's only half paying attention to the scene and leans down, putting his back to the audience to whisper in his ear.
“Just on me, honey,” he whispers, daring to cuddle Virgil a little closer, “I’m right here. No one’s gonna touch you.”
Virgil's eyes flicker open and they almost, almost break character for a moment. Then Roman nods and he nods back and off they go. And then he couldn’t care less about how much attention their little scene is pulling because Virgil is here and he’s dancing and Roman wants to wrap this moment up in his arms and keep it safe forever.
Of course, the show must go on, and their cue to dance off stage comes and they leave, letting the leads have the rest of their scene. He sweeps Virgil into a tight hug as soon as they’re in the wings, quick changes be damned.
“You were great, honey.”
“So were you.”
The rest of the show goes off without a hitch and by the end, they’re both breathless and beaming. Backstage is a scramble to get costumes off and plain clothes on and out to the audience. It’s staggered this time; Roman’s parents could only come tonight, Virgil’s family and Janus can only come tomorrow, and Remus and Patton can’t come until Friday.
Roman’s out first—thanks to many fewer layers of clothing—and he spots his parents weaving through the crowd. His mother catches him in a hug and his father beams.
“You were wonderful, dear,” his mother says, “simply incredible. How do you feel?”
“Tired,” he admits with a laugh, “but good.”
“I’m sure.” His father pats his shoulder. “Which scene was your favorite?”
He doesn’t stop the smile coming to his face. “…the dance scene.”
“Oh, of course,” his mother says, clapping, “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you and Virgil. I know I should’ve been paying attention but I kept getting distracted!”
She elbows his father.
“He had to tell me what happened.”
“Well, I knew between you and Logan, someone had to be paying attention.”
“Wait,” Roman says quickly, “Logan?”
“You didn’t think you could have a dance and we wouldn’t invite him, did you?”
His father frowns as Roman tenses, ice in his chest. Logan is here. Logan saw. Logan saw Virgil. “Son? Are you alright?”
“…I wish you would’ve asked me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” his mother says, and she does sound genuinely sorry, “I thought it would be a nice surprise, not upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” he says quickly to two disbelieving looks, “it’s just…it took a lot to get Virgil comfortable dancing with me, and…well, you know how he can be.”
His father hums sympathetically. ‘Well, you are no longer his student, and neither is Virgil.”
“I know.” But part of him is nine years old again and his shoulders are already pushed back. “Where is he?”
“I think he went to the restroom.” His mother starts looking around. “I thought I saw him over there somewhere.”
“There he is.”
And sure enough, that’s Logan moving through the crowd. Roman draws himself up, ignoring the concerned look from his father, as Logan nears their little group.
“Now, this can’t be the same little boy I had in my studio,” he says, looking Roman up and down, “far too put together.”
Roman folds an arm behind his back and bows. “Logan.”
“Roman.” Logan bows back. “Look how much you’ve grown, my boy. Finally grown into those shoulders.”
“They do belong to me, they might as well fit.”
“Mm.” Logan eyes him. “So how do you think you did?”
“I think the play went very well.”
He chuckles. “Be that as it may, how do you think you did?”
Roman gestures to his parents. “We were just talking about it.”
“I told him I couldn’t stop looking at them, it was just so captivating,” his mother adds, “it made the scene feel so real. Like we were really in a ballroom full of people.”
“The director asked us each to come up with our own idea for the scene,” Roman says quickly, “to make it feel more authentic.”
“Oh, that’s such a good idea! Was it hard, then, to stay focused on the leads as well?”
“Actually, we got told we were pulling too much focus in rehearsal.”
His parents laugh. “I can see why.”
“Was it your idea, then,” Logan asks, “to be in the front?”
“No.” Roman’s hand twitches behind his back. “The, um, the director wanted us up there since I’m one of the few cast members with some dance background.”
“Mm.” Logan sniffs. “Well, your positioning was certainly better than some of the other dancers, but I see you still haven’t kicked that nasty habit of dropping your chin.”
Roman tenses. “I’m not your student anymore, Logan.”
Logan waves his hand dismissively. “Once a student, always a student, isn’t that right?”
His father clears his throat. “Is Virgil on his way out?”
“Yeah,” Roman mutters, turning to leave, “I’ll go find him.”
Virgil is just coming down when Roman catches him, his gaze snapping to Roman's face and softening instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Honey,” Roman says as gently as he can, “Logan’s here.”
He hates the way Virgil's suddenly stiff as a board. He cups his shoulders and pulls him closer.
“I didn’t know—“ I’m sorry— “I’d have told you.”
“I know, it’s okay, it’s not your fault.” Virgil closes his eyes for a moment, then holds his arms out. “Hug.”
“C’mere.” He holds him as tightly as he wants, murmuring against his forehead. “I gotcha, remember?”
“Yeah.” When they let go, he takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
He holds Virgil's hand as they weave back through the crowd, eyes scanning for who spots them first.
Luckily, it’s his father, whose face splits into a smile when he sees Virgil, stepping closer to meet them and reaching out to gather him into a hug.
“You were wonderful, sweetheart,” he says so softly Roman can’t help but grin, “congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Roman’s mother mouths ‘sap’ over his shoulder, rolling her eyes fondly as his father continues lavishing gentle praise on Virgil. Roman shrugs—because who is he to talk—and his mother shakes her head with a grin.
“Like father, like son.”
He smiles as his father gives a slightly embarrassed caught and turns. His mother, of course, sweeps forward to squeeze Virgil’s shoulders.
“I thought you were incredible, dear. You should be proud.”
“I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you weren’t waiting for ages.” Virgil brushes a bit of hair back from his face. “Thank you, by the way.”
“Oh, no, not long at all.” His mother gestures at her own dress. “Believe me, I understand.”
“It’s just so many layers.”
“I can imagine. Is it very heavy?”
“I mean at this point, honestly no, ‘cause I’m used to it, but at first—“ Virgil makes a face— “I was not faking being out of breath at any point, no.”
“Mm.” His mother gestures to Logan and Roman brushes the back of his hand against Virgil’s. “This is Logan, he used to be Roman’s dance instructor.”
Virgil nods. “Hi, yes, I’ve heard about you.”
Logan bows, his gaze trained on Virgil. “You must be the courtesan I’ve heard so much about.”
“Well, only on stage, and only for about two hours.”
“Mm.” He nods to the others. “We were discussing the dance scene just before you arrived. Tell me—Virgil, yes?—Virgil, tell me how you think you did.”
He's not your student, Roman wants to say, he’s not yours. Leave him alone.
“I think the scene went well. I mean—it’s hard to coordinate big scenes like that without blackouts, especially when there’s a transition in the middle like that one.” Virgil turns to Roman. “That’s something we were worried about with the lights and the cues and the lines, but…I think it went pretty well. How about you guys, did it seem at all weird to you?”
“Now, it worked fine to me.”
“I didn’t notice anything. Although—“ his mother leans close— “I have to confess I was mostly paying attention to you two and not to whatever else was going on.”
Virgil laughs. “Oh, god.”
“Roman said the director had you make up your own little scene?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, whatever you two did certainly worked.”
“Did you tell them we got yelled at for being too captivating?”
“Oh, yeah.”
His father laughs. “You certainly were captivating enough for these two.”
Logan hums. “Yes, I must say I’ve never seen Roman dance quite like that before.”
Virgil doesn’t quite flinch, but his hand bumps against Roman’s and he takes it. Squeezes.
“I thought it was an interesting choice,” he continues, “for you to dance with your eyes closed.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
Virgil shifts. “Interesting how?”
“Well, you are meant to savor the intimacy of dancing with a partner. To look into each other’s eyes and be able to celebrate being so close.“ Logan levels a gaze at the two of them. “And yet you keep your eyes closed. As though you don’t want to see him.”
Virgil nods, a pensive look on his face. “That’s one interpretation, yeah, definitely. Is that how you saw it too?”
“Oh, I saw it as you taking comfort in him.” His mother, ever the savior, clasps her hands. “Like you two were creating your own little pocket of the ballroom for yourselves. As if no one else were even there.”
Yes, Mom, you get it.
“I thought something similar.” His father nods to Virgil. “Because you did look at him once, right near the beginning. And then you sort of…well, I’d say your character relaxed into it.”
Roman smiles. “It’s funny how many different interpretations can come from one scene, isn’t it?”
“Right,” Virgil says, “especially with all the different subtexts we bring to anything. You’re a dancer, so your interpretation is going to be different from theirs, from ours, yeah. It’s cool.”
Roman has to hide how pleased he is that Virgil separates them so effortlessly, something Logan also picks up on, given how he bows his head.
“Are you not a dancer, then?”
“Oh, god no. I walk into walks like I’m magnetized to them.” He shakes his head. “Speaking of which, I’m starving.”
“How is that a segue?”
“Because I’m hungry and I said so.”
His parents insist on treating them to dinner and they all move toward the exit. Logan catches his wrist as they duck out the door.
“Have I,” he says quietly as Roman turns, “offended you in some way, my boy?”
I’m not your boy. Roman swallows. “I apologize if I seem rude. I didn’t expect you and the show was…draining.”
Logan lets him go but folds his hands. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your attempts to prevent me from speaking.”
Roman doesn’t say anything.
“And you were—forgive me, you were almost shielding the young man from me.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I simply wish to know why.”
Roman takes a deep breath, gathering himself. “Your feedback and critiques are often given unprompted. And you tend to be blunt and unyielding in what you think.”
He nods to Virgil.
“It took a lot of work for Virgil to feel comfortable dancing at all, let alone with me or in front of any audience. I am proud of what he’s done. I don’t want him to feel anything less.”
Logan looks at him with an unfamiliar expression, before it breaks into a soft smile. “You were protecting him.”
“What?”
“That was my interpretation,” he says, reaching up to pat his shoulder, “while you were dancing. You were protecting him, as you should be. Well done, Roman.”
As it should be.