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“I usually go and sit on a surface that isn’t meant to be sat on, because when tomorrow comes I will be faced with even more challenges, and I am too overwhelmed to be worrying about what is and is not a chair.”
The first time it happened Roman thought it was a joke. Turns out he was the joke. It was rare that Roman exercised outside of the Imagination, much preferring to work up a sweat by stabbing dragon witch spleens than a gym rat routine. But every once in a while he took over the living room, when the others were topside with Thomas, or when he was in a creative rut (the Imagination could get… difficult if Roman wasn’t in total control).
He was struggling with a script, Logan’s harping prodded under his skin, disrupting his creative process. So an exercise mat was spread over the carpet, Spotify playing lowly on the TV, and Roman was beginning a fifth repetition of push-ups when his arms gave out underneath him in surprise. An unexpected, previously unnoticed weight plopped itself right on the small of Roman’s back, and in doing so scared him shitless for about two and a half seconds. He oof -ed as the air was knocked from his lungs, shoulder cracking unpleasantly when his elbows were overexerted. He turned his cheek against the mat’s rubber to look over his shoulder at what had interrupted his work out.
“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Virgil who was sitting, criss-crossed and giggling uncontrollably, on his back. “Why are you like this?”
“Because you’re an easy target.”
He had a cup in his hands, undoubtedly an energy drink, which he sipped cheekily through a straw. His face was infuriating; purple hair obscuring his eyes, eyeshadow twinkling faintly at their edges. His smile was shit-eating and Roman had to physically force himself not to laugh at the hilarity of their situation. Well whatever, nothing but some extra weight training. He picked himself up on his elbows, rolled his shoulders, then resituated his hands on the mat. Virgil was jostled as he started the push-ups again. If the slight knock of plastic against knuckles was anything to go by, he’d nearly dropped his drink.
“Okay, but how? I’m not made of styrofoam.”
If Roman could’ve shrugged, he would have. A noncommittal hum would have to suffice.
“Pretty sure your brain is, why wouldn’t the rest of your body follow?” Virgil kicked his side. He laughed, “You’re just light, that isn’t my fault. Or perhaps I’m incredibly strong.”
Virgil dug his heel into the base of Roman’s neck, the soft fabric of his sock making the threat somewhat less effective. Roman, still push-up-ing, reached a hand back to whap at his ankle. He grabbed his forearm and pinned it between his shoulder blades.
“If you’re so strong,” Virgil challenged, and the wicked twitch of his brows was audible in his voice, “Two more reps like this.”
Roman didn’t need to accept out loud. He straightened (ha!) his arm, and took a deep breath in.
“Down,” he said, following his own instructions, “Up, one. Down…”
“Oh dear God.”
The second time was just plain annoying, and he was sure Virgil was fucking with him for revenge. They’d all cast votes for movie night, and apparently Roman had rigged it one too many times. When he looked into Janus’ hat and gasped in fake surprise, everyone in the room groaned. Nonetheless Patton pulled up Hercules on Disney+, and they all settled into their respective seats on the couch. All except for Virgil, who sat right on Roman’s knees, blocking his view of the TV entirely.
“What the hell?” he said, bouncing his legs in an attempt to knock Virgil off, “I can’t see!”
“I know.”
“Get off, you charlatan!”
“Make me, Hercu-loser.”
“Why you little-”
“Kiddos!” Patton yelled from his spot against Logan’s shoulder, stretched out so far his legs draped across Janus’ lap, “If you aren’t gonna watch the movie, then at least watch your language.”
“But Patton-”
“Nope!”
“But he-”
“Nuh-uh!”
The room lapsed into quiet after that, their little spat forgotten by everyone but the participants. Virgil was still perched on Roman’s knees, and Roman still couldn’t see a lick of the screen. The music of Lillias White and Roz Ryan were the soundtrack to their silent rage. Prods to the back and kicks to the shin were exchanged, up until I Can Go the Distance when finally, finally Virgil shifted and Roman had a view over his shoulder.
The compulsion wasn’t completely insane, Logan was in the room so it had to make some semblance of sense. Therefore Roman didn’t question it, he was always a man of action anyway. He leaned forward and rested his chin on Virgil’s shoulder, humming along with the movie. On top of him Virgil went still, his constant fiddling with the strings of his hoodie tamped. Roman didn’t care. If he considered it anything at all, it was payback. Virgil chose to sit on him? Then he had to live with the consequences.
By the time Hercules made it to Zeus’ temple Virgil had relaxed again. Roman didn’t notice when he scooted further onto his lap, and didn’t say anything when he leaned back on his chest. And in return Virgil didn’t complain when arms circled his middle, fiddling with the fingers in his lap rather than his hoodie strings. Neither of them mentioned it once the movie ended.
“Princey?”
Virgil’s head popped through the cracked doorway, the rest of his body still obscured. Roman hadn’t noticed him until that moment, but apparently he’d been there for quite some time, given the put-upon expression on his face.
“I’ve been knocking for five minutes, are you coming down for dinner or not?”
Ah, that explained it. Roman finally turned away from his desk, spinning on his chair to face the open door, Virgil standing about two steps into the room now. He stretched his neck and shoulders, eliciting flinch-worthy cracks of relief after far too long in the same position. From downstairs he could smell whatever Patton was cooking, something with paprika and cumin apparently. Only then did he notice how hungry he was, a loud stomach growl punctuating his thoughts. But as good as dinner with the “fahm” sounded…
“I’m in the middle of editing next week’s script, can you just put some in the fridge for me?”
Virgil shut the door to his room, inside proper at this point. A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows, one of which was dyed purple (when did that happen?), and Roman tried not to stare at the small frown on his lips.
“But Patton made enchiladas, reheating those is just disrespectful.”
He wasn’t wrong, the microwave took away the crunch that Patton had perfected. He looked at the half-edited script in front of him, and mourned his lovely dinner. A shake of his head, and a sigh worthy of Logan were the final stamp on his resignation to a crunchless meal of leftovers.
“I really have to finish this…” he said, swivelling his chair back to face the desk. Virgil caught it with his foot, and turned it back towards him.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked. Roman felt his gut contract, full of nothing but guilt and hunger. He shrugged. Virgil scowled. “Come on, you’re eating dinner.”
“I told you—” But he was cut off when weight pressed down on his thighs, and Virgil was suddenly much closer to him. “This again? Really?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the P. Roman let out a long-suffering sigh. “Either you come down for dinner, or you work like this for the rest of the night.”
“You’re like a cat, you know that?”
Virgil was sitting on him again, sideways across his lap, leaning back on the armrest of the chair. Roman has to reach around him to get to his computer. It was supremely inconvenient. His stomach grumbled, digging him even deeper into his hole. No doubt, Virgil felt it, if the victorious smirk on his face was anything to go by. Exactly like a cat on a laptop. Roman sighed, desperately grasping for an angle.
“If you stay here, you won’t get dinner either,” he said. Virgil just raised an eyebrow. “You are terrible.”
“Oh, I’m the worst,” said Virgil, too gleeful for Roman’s liking. Although, it did make the shriek he let out when he hefted him into his arms, and princess-carried him downstairs, all the more satisfying.
It was evening, and Roman was sitting on the living room couch, with his earbuds and a notebook. The windows looked out on the street, which was really the Imagination. He kept it familiar, and in good weather most of the time. Often it matched the current state of Thomas’s neighborhood. Rain pattered lightly on the leaves, dripping onto the sidewalk. The cloud cover was sparse, and Roman enjoyed the way the golden light of sunset glowed on his notebook paper, warming the white to a buttery yellow. He took a deep breath, and let his eyes fall closed.
Despite the atmosphere, Roman felt writer’s block eating at the edges of his mind. It hadn’t been a good day. Thomas was stressed beyond belief, and it was affecting them all. Virgil hadn’t left his room since breakfast. Roman tossed his notebook, and heard it thump onto the couch cushion a few feet away. He could feel the tell-tale beginnings of a headache.
The stairs creaked as someone walked down them. Roman didn’t bother to see who it was. Patton was most likely coming down for a snack. He just hoped he didn’t try to talk to him. And he didn’t, because it wasn’t Patton.
This sensation was growing familiar, and he could tell it was Virgil immediately. First he planted his forehead in Roman’s neck, cheeks sticky with salt. Roman didn’t even startle, only held him so he could crawl into his lap, and wrap his legs around his waist, without toppling both of them off of the couch. Virgil sunk his face into his shoulder, and clung. Roman let a hand wander into his hair.
They didn’t speak. Virgil didn’t cry, but it was obvious he had been before coming downstairs. Roman didn’t mind the humidity on his skin. He just held him closer. He wondered when they’d crossed this particular milestone. They had hugged before, once or twice. Roman was a pretty affectionate guy in general. But this was new. Roman was honestly surprised Virgil didn’t go to Patton instead. Somehow, though, this made sense. He began rubbing circles into Virgil’s back, resting his chin on the crown of his head. The thought crossed his mind, This is just what I needed. And he knew Virgil was thinking the same thing.
For once, all the sides were in the same room, and everything was quiet, simultaneously. It was beyond peaceful. Roman was on the couch with Patton and Janus, Logan was sitting at the desk with his computer, and Remus was lying on the floor, as was his wont. Virgil was technically in the kitchen, but Roman counted it for the open layout. Everyone was within eyesight. Once again, Roman had his notebook out, writing while Janus read, and Patton scrolled through his camera roll.
Virgil emerged from the kitchen with a steaming mug in his hand. He stood for a moment, observing, before putting his drink on the coffee table and approaching the couch. It was normal, at this point. Virgil crawled into Roman’s lap, making himself comfortable, before pulling his phone from his pocket, and plugging in his earbuds. Roman wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Virgil’s shoulder. He took a break from his writing, and stoll an earbud. They’d been watching TikToks for five minutes, before Roman realized the others were looking at them.
“What?” he asked.
Janus snickered, glancing between them and Remus, apparently sharing a private joke. Logan looked at them contemplatively, while Patton’s gaze was mushy and fond.
“Oh, nothing,” Patton said, and went back to his phone with a smile.
Roman knew exactly what it was, but kept it to himself. He squeezed Virgil, who relaxed further into him, with a fond smile of his own. He enjoyed this new normal, more than he’d ever admit. And he knew Virgil, pliant and happy in his arms, did too.