No Consuming This Media Isnt Enough I Need To Go On A Walk And Think About It To Music

no consuming this media isnt enough i need to go on a walk and think about it to music

Roman, entering Logans room: Logan could you he-

Logan, dancing in his room to the my little pony equestria girls soundtrack, on full blast, doesn't hear Roman:

Roman, watching, slowly gets out his phone and records him:

Virgil, rises up next to Roman, tries to hold back his laughter as he joins in watching him:

Logan, doing a spin, finally notices them, blushes, rushes to turn the music off, it doesn't turn off until the third try. After a long, awkward silence, Roman and Virgil burst out into laughter.

Logan: If you tell anyone-

Roman: Oh I'm definitely telling everyone.

Virgil: Roman cmon. That's not something we should do.

Logan: Thank y-

Virgil: We should use it for blackmail purposes.

Roman: Genius!

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 4: Second Morning

wordcount: 1.9K

~~~~

The next morning, Virgil wakes not to birdsong, but to the sound of his alarm.

Blech, mornings. Morning jobs are evil and should be abolished.

Virgil reaches for his phone, but it isn't on the nightstand where it's supposed to be. The nightstand isn't on the floor where it's supposed to be. Virgil reaches out further, searching, and overbalances.

He falls.

This is going to hurt.

Virgil lands, and the floor is a lot closer than it's supposed to be, and also a lot cleaner. The wind is still knocked out of him, but he didn’t land on anything but carpet. It's carpet that was recently vacuumed, even, judging by the lack of dusty smell.

Too many things are not how they are supposed to be. Virgil opens his eyes and looks around.

This isn't his bedroom.

The alarm is still going off. Virgil spots his phone on the floor near him, and he turns off the alarm.

This isn't his bedroom. Virgil yawns. He'd been sleeping on a couch, but it wasn't his couch, either.

Oh, yeah. He'd fallen asleep at Remus's brother's house again. Oops.

…

He has work.

He hadn't meant to still be here right now. He's supposed to be in his own bed, in his own tiny apartment, sleepily snoozing his alarm. Not here.

He'll have to figure out a different bus route. Does the bus even go by here? He's pulling up the bus schedule when his phone informs him that it has been way too long since he plugged it in, and fucking dies.

“Fuck,” Virgil whispers, with feeling, and then again, a little louder, “Fuck!”

He scrambles off the floor, trying to think. An adrenaline spike does wonders for chasing the sleep-fog out of his brain, but it doesn't usher in logic.

Deep breath. Okay. What does he need?

He needs to get to work on time.

Breathe.

What are his obstacles, and what can he do about them?

Problem: He's not home to catch the bus. Solution: Catch the bus from here. Problem: He doesn't know if the bus goes by here or which one or when or what connections he'd need to make. Solution: Look it up. Problem: His phone is dead. Solution: Plug it in. Problem: No charger. Solution: …

Solution: …

Solution: Ask for fucking help.

Virgil spins and leaves the room. They might not have a charger that'll fit his phone, and it would take too long to get it to a level where he can actually look anything up anyway, but they can at least tell him if there's a bus stop nearby. They might even be willing to look up connections for him.

Luckily for Virgil, his hosts are all in the dining room when he bursts in.

“Good morning,” Calico says, already looking concerned. “What's wrong?”

“Is there a bus?” Virgil asks.

“A what?”

“A bus,” Virgil repeats. “A bus, does a bus go by here? I have work, I'm going to be late, and I can't look up the bus schedule because my phone is dead!”

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Calico says soothingly, and Virgil wants to scream because it is not okay, he's going to be late for work. He doesn't scream, because that would not be helpful and Calico is just trying to be nice, but he wants to. “Roman can drive you. Right, Roman?”

“Absolutely,” says Princey, whose name is apparently Roman, and gets up. “I'll get my keys.”

Calico portions out some omelette from the pan in the middle of the table, and gives it to Virgil. “Here, eat,” he insists. “You slept through dinner, you shouldn't miss breakfast too.”

Virgil scarfs it mechanically. If Princey is going to drive him, he probably has enough time to eat, but the lingering edges of panic tell him not to waste any time savoring the flavors.

“Do you have any things you need to gather before you go?” Nerdbot asks. Virgil shakes his head.

Well. “My pool noodles I guess,” he says. He probably shouldn't just leave those here for them to clean up. Nerdbot nods and leaves the table as well.

Roman comes back as Virgil finishes the plate of omelette. “Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Nerdbot hands Virgil the pool noodles, and Calico hands him a buttered bagel. “Eat it on the way,” he says. Princey leads Virgil out to the garage, and they get in his car.

It's red, and fancy-shaped, with a swoopy silhouette instead of what Virgil considers the car default.

Roman hands Virgil his phone once he's buckled, open to the map app, and starts to back out of the garage.

Virgil hesitates. “Can we stop at my place first?” he asks. “I could really use a change of clothes.” He'd really rather not go to work in a Halloween costume he's been wearing for over thirty-six hours.

“Sure,” Princey says. “Which way?”

Virgil puts in his address, and the phone gives him directions. “Left,” he says, the tight band of anxiety finally loosing from around his lungs. It's not entirely gone yet, and won't be until he clocks in, but he's doing better. Princey pulls out of the driveway, and they're off.

Soon, they're pulling up in front of Virgil’s apartment. He'd managed to eat the bagel and navigate at the same time, and they've arrived a bit before Virgil is usually out the door. He really might make it to work on time.

“I'll wait here while you run up and get changed,” Roman says, and Virgil nods. He shifts the pool noodles so he's holding them with the same arm as the phone, and uses his other hand to open the car door.

He dashes up the stairs, unlocks his door at the speed of fright, and dumps his armload on his bed. Virgil strips quickly, and grabs his apron and the first set of clean clothes he sees. He wishes there was time for a shower, but there really isn't. Even if there was, he isn't about to make Princey wait that long for him.

He smears some black eyeshadow on to hide the tired bags under his eyes, grabs his necessities from his previous pockets, and he's back out the door.

“Very fast,” Princey compliments as Virgil rejoins him. “I saw a bus go by.”

“Yeah, that was my usual ride to work,” Virgil says, buckling up. “We can take a more direct route and beat them there. Head out the way you came in, and then take a right at the light.”

They do, in fact, beat the bus there. Virgil heaves a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, man,” he says. “I owe you my life. Do you want some coffee? I can give you my employee discount.”

Roman smiles at him. “I would love some coffee,” he says, and turns off the engine.

There aren't any other customers in line when they go in, just Jayden behind the register.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he greets. Virgil rolls his eyes and comes round to clock in.

“Oh my gosh I love your hair,” Roman enthuses. “That is absolutely gorgeous, did you do it yourself?”

Jay's hair is gorgeous. It's mostly dyed in deep shades of blue, with a few streaks of greens and purples and the natural black. He has it in at least fifty slender box braids, which today are tied back in a loose plait running down his back. 

“Oh, no, my friends and I had a styling party,” he answers, which is the short version of the truth he uses for casual conversation with customers—especially white customers. Virgil happens to know that said styling party had been stretched out over more than a week, working their hair in increments so as not to damage it. Virgil had been invited to a few of the sessions, and is responsible for several of Jayden's braids, and some of the color.

“That is a fabulous idea; I should arrange one the next time I dye my hair,” Princey exclaims. “I've been planning to do it in every color of the rainbow!”

“Nice,” Virgil says. Princey's ear-length hair is currently what appears to be a natural brown, with reddish tips. “Stripes running front to back or side to side?”

“You know, I hadn't considered that part,” Princey says, and Virgil laughs. “What do you think?”

Virgil shrugs, and Jay considers Roman.

“Front to back, with the red on top and purple over your ears,” he says. “Perhaps with the red a bit off-center so the stripes are different sizes. That way if it’s not perfect it'll look intentional.”

Roman grins. “I like you,” he declares. “Do you want to come to my styling party?”

Jayden grins back. “Let me know when you plan it and I'll check my calendar.”

“Have you ever dyed your hair?” Roman asks Virgil, whose hair is in fact currently dyed.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, then admits, “I'm actually blond.”

“You're blond!?” Princey cries. “Oh, that is unfair, Gerard Gay! Please trade with me, I beg of you!”

“Why?” Virgil asks.

“Because then I wouldn't have to bleach!” Roman says. “I could redye my hair as soon as the roots grew out, rather than having to wait until enough has grown that I can bleach it without touching the last dye job!”

“Well, unfortunately I don't know how to trade hair colors,” Virgil says. “I think it's genetic.”

Roman groans dramatically, slumping against the counter. “The world is against me,” he complains into the glass. “You wouldn't even miss it, you dye it black! Brown is as easy to make black as blond! Easier, probably!”

Virgil reaches over and pats him sarcastically on the shoulder. “There, there,” he says. “Would coffee make you feel better?” That is why they'd come in here, after all.

“No,” Roman says grumpily, but he straightens and looks at the menu.

“Give him my discount,” Virgil says to Jayden while Roman decides. Jay flashes him a thumbs-up.

“Are the chocolate croissants good?” Roman asks.

“Not as good as what you're served at home, but yeah.”

“Hmmm.” He considers a bit longer, then orders a croissant and, with a decent amount of dithering over flavors, three coffees to go.

Jayden tells him the total and Roman pays, dropping his change and some extra bills into the tip jar. Virgil passes him the croissant, and he eats it while Virgil finishes making the coffee.

“You want a carrier for these?” Virgil asks, already putting them in one. Roman's only got two hands, after all.

“Probably best,” Roman agrees, and Virgil slides the coffee over to him. “Do you need a ride home after work?”

“Nah, I'll take the bus,” Virgil reassures him.

“Alright, if you're sure. See you later!” Princey balances the coffees in one hand so he can wave with the other, and he's off.

“So,” Jay says once the door closes behind him. “Where'd you get the suave edition of your trash rat?”

“Two-for-one special,” Virgil says. “Met him at a Halloween party Remus dragged me to.”

“Well, keep him.” Jayden nods toward the door. “Man just tipped us double what I charged him.”

~~~~

Chapter 5: to be posted Saturday, August 31 2024

chat look what I just made :>

I'm worried about the structural integrity of a few of them (Roman's in particular seems like it might break) so I might remake some of them in the morning

Role Reversal

Roman kept mentioning that he doesn’t like transformations and it kept reminding me of Patton turning into a giant frog and Janus disguising himself as other sides. It would be very cool and epic if you could make some Roman angst based off this concept (no pressure obviously) – anon

The song "I Am in Great Pain, Please Help Me" by Crywank reminds me so much of Roman (specifically, your brand of Roman angst). I was wondering if you had the spoons for it, to write something inspired by it? No pressure to, ofc! – anon

Perhaps something where Roman is comforting Logan and then after Roman leaves, Logan is like, “Wait, shit, I should have been comforting YOU!”. You know the scene in What Makes A Perfect Gift where Logan asks for Roman’s input and Roman looks genuinely surprised? The angst potential for Roman not thinking he’s needed at a BRAINSTORM is so slept on. I know you’ve had a lot of Roman angst asks lately so I understand if you don’t want to do it, but I definitely wanted to ask just in case! – anon

Roman angst disguised as Logan centric. Logan Sherlock fic about him trying to figure out why Thomas’s mental health is so bad. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: roman being insecure, logan being insecure

Pairings: logince can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3143

Logan feels stressed about Thomas's mental health and goes to Roman for help discussing a possible upcoming video, only for Roman to accurately guess that Logan's feeling insecure about his own role in keeping Thomas happy and healthy. Little does Logan know: there's more going on than meets the eye and it isn't until later that he realizes Roman's far more fragile than anyone could've guessed. After that, well, there's really only one course of action.

If Logan had not been paying very, very close attention, there is every possibility that he could have missed it.

He almost did; despite being entirely focused on his goal, he has to admit that it wasn't something he saw as necessarily related, and as such, dismissed initially as not relevant to solving the problem of why Thomas's mental health had been in a steady decline since the wedding. However, upon further reflection, he can conclude that not only was the sudden tightening of Roman's expression related, it was most likely the strongest indicator he's seen since he began.

"Sorry, Specs, I think my hearing cut out of a second there." Roman scratches the back of his head almost sheepishly. "Can you—can you say that one more time?"

"I believe it would be helpful for Thomas for us to do another 'low-key' video, as it were, and for you and I to work together."

"Yes, I heard that part."

"As we want to focus on recapturing some of Thomas's whimsy and zest for life—" here Roman's expression quirks towards amusement— "it would be apt for you to try and recreate some of the dreams Thomas has held onto in the past."

"Right, but not like—"

"Including transforming into those he aspired to be or the roles he aspired to fill," Logan finishes, frowning when there's that momentary tightness in Roman's smile again, "do you concur?"

"I—so I'm all for helping Thomas fall in love with his dreams again, you know, but, um…" He twists his fingers together. "I'm not sure that this is…the best way to do it?"

"You are the embodiment of Thomas's Hopes and Dreams. Who else would be better equipped to help me?"

Roman blinks as if he hadn't been expecting the comment. Which is in and of itself a little odd; Roman typically never passes up the opportunity to remind them of his standing in Thomas's psyche, nor to claim credit for half of the things Thomas does even when it's far more of a group effort. "Right, but I don't see how me turning into various things would be helpful."

"Thomas is a very visual learner. It's been proven in the past via various theater productions and other activities that he thrives in environments where he can immerse himself in what it is he's doing. By having you, his Creativity, directly mimic the dreams he wishes or wished to obtain, we draw a more substantial connection between the Thomas that he is now and the Thomas he aspires to be."

Roman's mouth works. Logan frowns.

"If you have something you want to say, Roman, by all means, speak your mind. This brainstorm won't be nearly as successful if only one of us is contributing."

"Where is this coming from, Logan?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"This." Roman gestures back and forth between them. "This sudden need to 'fix' Thomas. You've been pretty clear with the rest of us that you don't think staying 'in his head' would be helpful, not when you're working so hard on your lists that you want him to do."

"Well, it's been pretty clear those aren't working, so—"

"But they have been. You know they have been—we all celebrated when Thomas finally managed to clean his kitchen and you were right, he did feel better afterwards. Your methods were working, are working."

Logan swallows. He did feel very accomplished after the last bowl had been placed in the cupboard, and no one had been happier than he when Thomas not only made himself dinner but cleaned up afterwards, but this was different. "Thomas deserves the drive to go after what he wants as well as doing the maintenance required to sustain his current lifestyle."

Roman nods. "And what sorts of things are those?"

"Roman, I don't understand—"

"Please," he interrupts, holding up his hands, "humor me?"

"You're the one who's Hopes and Dreams," he protests feebly, "you're Creativity. I'm not going to be good at coming up with them."

"Just try. You're better at it than you think."

"O-oh." He blinks. "Thank you, Roman."

"Of course."

"Uh—well, I think Thomas has a passion for filmmaking that he hasn't fully realized in shooting the YouTube videos due to the constraints of the channel."

"Okay."

"He's been enjoying doing the modeling shoots for Instagram as well. And he has a few shows that he wants to catch up on—not a dream, I know, but something he wants to do."

"That's good, Logan. What else?"

"Does he still have the dream of being an actor? On a more professional level?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Well, there you are, then."

Roman nods. "And if we go off of your transformation idea, what—what exactly would I be transforming into?"

He furrows his brow. "Well, you would be—if you were doing—I suppose you—ah. I see your point."

"It's not that there's something Thomas isn't that we need to make him into," Roman says quietly, "we can just remind him of the things that are already inside him that he can chase and pursue."

"…that is a very valid conclusion to have reached."

"He doesn't have to work all the time—I think both you and I know the dangers of letting yourself believe you can," he says with a gentle nudge to Logan's shoulder, "he can give himself time to rest and work on things that he wants to, not things that he has to."

"And I suppose making another video would be counterproductive to this aim, as it requires a level of work that would not be outweighed by the reassurance it might provide."

"I don't know if I would've said it nearly as well as you, but yeah, pretty much."

Logan sighs, closing his notebook with an almost despondent flap. "Then I suppose I have nothing else to work on."

"Good."

He frowns at Roman. "'Good?'"

"Well, now that means you can do the things that you want to do."

"M-me? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Did we not just go over how important it is to not be consumed by work all the time?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Did we not just talk about how it's necessary to rest and do the things you want to do from time to time?"

"I don't—"

"Did you not just say that you have nothing else to work on right now?"

"I know what you're doing," he says, meaning for it to come out accusatory and missing dreadfully, "it's not going to work."

"Me convincing you to take time for yourself and enjoy spending your time how you want to spend it isn't going to work?" Roman grins, leaning forward onto his elbows, propping his chin on his hands. "Are you sure?"

"Roman," he warns.

"What? It's not like I was the only one who came to this conclusion about Thomas a second ago, you were instrumental in figuring it out, Specs."

"Roman."

"And we all know that you're way smarter than I am, so if you're going to take your own advice—which you should, then—"

"Alright!" Roman laughs as Logan buries his face in his hands, trying not to smile too obviously at the praise or blush from how many compliments Roman's just given him, "you've made your point, you can stop now."

"I think you mean I've just reiterated your point, but that's alright." A warm hand pats his shoulder. "You're doing great, Logan. You don't have to stress out about this right now. Thomas has earned a break and so have you, okay?"

"…I suppose there are a few things I've been waiting to do that could occupy my time."

"There you go!" Roman claps his hands and gets up, affectionately ruffling Logan's hair and dodging his attempts to swat him. "Let me know how it goes, I'd love to hear about whatever you're working on."

Logan aims another swat at his shoulder and misses, watching Roman sink out. He shakes his head, unable to keep the growing smile off his face as he thinks about his own projects. Yes, there are several things he could do, he could work on refining the data for the experiment, he could read that study he's been eyeing for a few days, he could look over the manuscript he's drafting…

It isn't until he gets back to his room with a different notebook open on his desk that he pauses.

Why had Roman been upset at the suggestion of transformation?

They had agreed upon resting and doing what they wanted, letting Thomas do what he wanted. They had agreed that resting was good, pursuing one's own passions was good. What about transformations had rankled Roman so? He hadn't directly addressed it—something virtually unheard of for Roman. Perhaps it had been something to do with the act of transforming itself? But no, Roman had always been among the first to thrill at being someone else, or pretending to be someone else. What had caused such a dramatic shift?

What sorts of transformations had they done recently? There had been the whole thing with Remus—Logan suppresses a shudder as he remembers Remus's song and everything that happened in it—but Roman had been unconscious for most of it. Aside from that, it had been…

Well, Janus had been transforming into them more often than not, but that was him, mostly, not Roman. And Patton had become the giant frog, but that hadn't really affected Roman that much either. No, the last time Roman had been the one transforming, it had been…for…

Logan stands up, eyes still fixed on a point in the distance as his mind races.

Roman hadn't transformed for himself. It had always been at the whim of someone else. Roman was Hopes and Dreams—Thomas's Hopes and Dreams. Roman did things for Thomas. He was Thomas's wants. Despite how often they all called him selfish, he…he didn't really fight for the things that he wanted.

Could he name a single thing that Roman wanted that wasn't something for Thomas?

I think you and I both know the dangers of believing you can work all the time.

There's nothing that Thomas isn't that we need to make him into.

"Oh, Roman," he whispers into the quiet room, "when did you get so good at hiding?"

He doesn't want to know the answer, but his mind is already coming up with a helpful list of every time he can remember where Roman let himself get pushed to the side, overruled, scolded, overlooked, for the sake of someone else. He thinks about the times where Roman had been obviously uncomfortable with what they wanted him to do, and then did it anyway. He thinks about how long it's been since he's actually heard Roman say what he wanted, not what Thomas wanted, not what Patton or Janus or even he wanted.

How long has it been since someone wanted Roman for Roman?

He looks back down at his desk and pulls out a different notebook. He's underestimated Roman. He won't go into this upcoming conversation unprepared.

***

He knocks on Roman's door as softly as he can, waiting for the quiet come in to push it open. Roman looks up from his—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Oh, Roman," he murmurs before he can stop himself, crouching next to Roman's slumped figure and carding a hand through his hair, "I'm so sorry."

"N-no, I'm sorry, 'm sorry, I can—" he scrubs a hand harshly across his face— "it's fine. What, um, what do you—"

Another sob interrupts him before he can finish asking if Logan needs anything, which only makes his chest ache all the more. He eases himself down next to Roman's buckled legs and wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders, pulling him close enough to wipe a thumb across his cheek.

"Shh," he says when Roman tries to speak again, "don't stress yourself. I'm not here for anything other than this, little one."

The pet name rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, but at the slightly wounded noise that leaves Roman's lips, he resolves to use them as often as he can. He scratches his nails lightly against his scalp, shushing him again when he tries to stifle another sob.

"I'm here because I realized I'd hurt you earlier," he continues, still speaking gently, "and I did not attempt to comfort you in any way. No, no—don't pull away from me, dear. Shh, don't fret, don't fret, I'm not upset—look at me, Roman, do I look upset?"

Roman's eyes, still filled with tears, roam frantically over his face. Logan keeps his expression as soft and open as he can, letting the concern write itself plainly over the furrow in his brow. After another moment, Roman sniffles and he's already reaching for the tissue box he can see perched haphazardly on the end of the desk. He takes it with a grateful mumble and blows his nose with a honk.

"You were right. You don't need to change to be worth something, or to be fixed. You don't need to become something you're not—oh, darling, hush, now," he says when Roman's eyes grow wide with distress, "I'm not angry, I'm not—oh, you poor thing."

For Roman had begun to sob in earnest, trying in equal parts to pull away from Logan's embrace and push himself near into his chest. Logan slides an arm under his legs and pulls them into his lap, tucking Roman's face into the crook of his neck and kissing the crown of his head. There's a moment where Roman tenses and he fears he might pull away, but then he all but collapses into him and buries his nose in Logan's shirt.

"There you go, little one, shh, it's alright. You can cry, crying is good. You're alright, you're safe, I'm right here." He runs his hand up and down Roman's back. "Shh, shh, that's it…that's it, my dear."

"Sorry—'m so sorry—"

"Shh-shh-shh, no apologies from you, not about this. You're overwhelmed and overworked, it's perfectly alright for you to be emotional right now. You can let it out, I don't mind at all. In fact, I'm here to help."

"Help?"

"Mm. You took great pains to comfort me earlier, even when I did not ask, and you," and here he gives Roman a little shake, "have not let anyone comfort you in quite a long time. So yes, I am here to comfort you, to help, and if that means letting you cry in my lap for as long as you need, then that is what I shall do."

"It's so hard," comes the sniffling whisper from under his chin, "I keep—I keep trying to be what they want but they don't know what they want and then it's my fault and I can't—they keep changing and wanting me to change and I can't—"

"Shh, shh…hush, my dear, it's alright. That's right, just let me hold you…"

They spend a great deal of time like that, curled up on the floor. Logan keeps carding his hand through Roman's hair, soothing away the more violent of sobs with gentle touches up and down his back or patting his chest. How long has Roman been holding this in? How long has it been since their prince has let himself fall apart without remorse? And how long has it been since they took pains enough to notice?

He pulls himself from his own thoughts when Roman's head turns, bumping slightly against his chin. He tilts his head to press a kiss to his temple, leaning back just enough to see the blotchy face come into view. Taking another tissue, he carefully dabs up the last of the tears he can see, holding it so Roman can blow his nose again.

"…thanks, Logan."

"Of course, my dear." He raises an eyebrow at the little shudder that goes through him. "No?"

"N-no, yes. Yes. Very much yes. Sorry."

"None of that now, my dear. Do you feel any better?"

"A little bit."

"That's excellent. Shall we sit here for a little longer, or do you want to move somewhere a little more comfortable?"

"C-can we just stay here for a little longer?"

"Of course we can." He runs his thumb over Roman's cheek again. "I am truly sorry it took me so long to figure out what was going on, little one. But I'm here now."

Roman averts his gaze and once again Logan is struck by how different Roman is right now; no longer does he see their fiery prince who so eloquently made him take his own advice mere hours ago, instead he sees a shell of a Side who shies away from a gentle touch like a dog too scared to eat. The comparison alone is enough to coax him to lean forward and kiss his cheek, cuddling him against his chest.

"I'm here now," he repeats, "let me look after you."

"You will?"

"Yes, Roman, I will. I'm right here—" he pulls him a little closer— "I've got you, little one, you're alright."

"I don't know what to do."

"Right now?"

"…anymore."

Logan's heart clenches in his chest and he forces the ache away, running his thumb over his cheek once more. "Well, what do you want to do right now?"

"I want to stay here."

"Then we shall stay here. And when you're ready to figure out what you want to do next," he says, adjusting them until they're both comfortable as can be, "I will be here to help."

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Jonah Magnus sent that twink to get vored by a taxi because he felt threatened in his position as everyone's sugarbaby.