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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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Suspire
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Pairings: platonic LAMP
Summary: Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined.
Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.
AO3 Link: click here
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It's just a blanket.
Roman is an adult. He has a job. He buys his own groceries, and he pays his portion of the rent on time. He keeps up with his student debt even when some months he hangs on by his fingernails.
It's just a single blanket.
Roman has other things in his life to be happy about. He has his paintings and keyboard. He has his dearest friends whom he lives with. He's active in his local theater community and often lands roles. He has a roof over his head, parents who care for him, a brother who he can stand sometimes. A car that works.
It's just a fucking blanket.
That's what he tells himself over and over as he stares vacantly at the ripped threads. The tear that had been snagged wide open, and the weighted material inside quickly coming outside. He holds it, remembering the marvelous weight on his shoulders, the pressure on his back, the comfort it gave him. The security and warmth. The way he will never feel it again. How he can't go back and fix it.
He can't afford another one right now. It's one of those tight month's budget-wise. And even if he could, it would not be this one.
Roman holds his blanket and unravels alongside it.
***
Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.
He takes longer showers. The sizzling pinpricks of water cascade over him, beating down on his shoulder blades. It's too hot, close to boiling, but the burn is nice even if his skin begs him to stop. If he stands directly under, it's almost encompassing. It's almost enough.
He wears more layers. Roman tends to add a jacket over any attire anyway. What's another sweatshirt under? Or a scarf tied protectively around his neck? It doesn't matter that this too is overheating. His bones are brittle, and he needs to wrap them somehow. The skin is not enough. It bruises far too easily.
The most embarrassing thing he tries is wedging his whole body into or under anything that may work as a substitute. He tears apart his room testing this and that and wants to cry in frustration as he lays on the carpet with his entire mattress smothering him. He steals all the pillows in the house when he's sure the others are out, and he piles them up. But burrowing into them is too soft and leaves him more frustrated. He crawls under the couch one day and nearly has a panic attack when the front door unlocks and Logan walks in. He plays it off as having lost the remote. He can't bear to admit the truth.
That is, until he's left with no other choice.
***
Roman sits at the dining table working on an art project involving thousands of multi-colored beads. His desk in his bedroom simply isn't large enough, so here he is.
Patton enters the kitchen behind him, and Roman knows its him by the smell of his eucalyptus scented shampoo. Then he sees freckled arms emerging over his shoulders, wrists adorned in friendship bracelets, and they snake around Roman's collarbone. Roman's hands fix in mid-air, eyes going blank as Patton presses up against his back and rests his chin on the top of Roman's head.
"You're so creative," Patton praises, and that alone could usually keep him comfortably warm long into the cold night. But everywhere that Patton touches him, every press of muscle and firm flesh, it scorches in the most pleasant burn.
"I can't wait to see it when it's done," Patton says, and Roman can feel the hum of his voice, how it vibrates his scalp and dances down the back of his neck. A shiver shoots up his back, and Roman cannot dedicate his attention to anything else if he tried.
Roman takes too long to respond, too frozen in his posture.
Patton notices. "Kiddo? You okay there? Was I not supposed to see?"
As if the art piece means a damn to him in this moment. What matters to him with eye-opening crystal clarity is that Patton's arms are loosening and his weight shifts so that he's not leaning against him as much. The loss of that is an incomparable grief.
Roman drops what he's holding, uncaring that some of the beads clatter off the side of the table to skitter across the floor. His hands clutch at Patton's wrists and fold them back around his neck. He draws the blessed weight against him once more, and he keeps it there, scared to let it go. Scared to be exposed once more.
"Roman?" Patton's tone is careful now, wary that something is wrong. His head settles back on top of Roman's, but his face nestles into the side of his hair, the edge of his glasses barely grazing. His voice whispers at his ear, "Did something happen?"
Yes, something happened. Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined and he's acting like a child about it. The shame excavates a pit in his stomach. There are depths to it that he doesn't wish to look at, let alone express.
"Can you–" Roman begins, but there's a lump caught in his throat. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, too small and full of trepidation. He swallows and blinks rapidly. "Can you stay? Like this?"
"Hugging?" Patton asks to clarify. Roman doesn't think he's mocking him. Patton would never mock. He wouldn't judge. Not this. Never this. Please don't judge him for this.
"Mmhm," Roman hums, because if he doesn't use words he won't sound so pathetic, yet he immediately fails. The vocalization comes out high-pitched and needy, and tears spring to his eyes unbidden. He doesn't dare blink his eyes now.
Patton doesn't answer at first, and Roman is enormously relieved that they can't see each other's expressions. Roman fears what he would see on Patton's face, and if Patton could see him right now? He doesn't think he could hold on to his composure.
"Okay," Patton says, voice flower-petal soft. "We can stay like this. However long you want. I don't mind."
Patton skims his nose back and forth over Roman's hairline. His hands spread out, palms covering the top if Roman's chest. His hold is a cradle, gentle and safe, and it holds him together and doesn't let him fall apart. The arms tighten around him, compressing, and Roman holds them right back.
***
Patton becomes his saving grace.
He is wonderful in that he needs no explanation. His affections are given freely, without cost, whenever Roman needs them or even when he doesn't realize he needs them. Patton starts to hug him more often and cuddle him during movie nights. He ruffles Roman's hair as he passes by, or he grabs him by the hand when he's excited. Sometimes he'll trail his fingertips over Roman's face in lazy lines that set his mind at ease.
It's exhilarating.
Roman can't get enough. The need never ceases, and Patton is just one person. He cannot always be at Roman's beck and call. Patton has work and outings he leaves for, same as everyone else. And when he's home, it doesn't mean he's available at all hours. Like the middle of the night for instance.
Roman stands at Patton's firmly shut bedroom door like a sad dog. His fists tighten into the thighs of his sweatpants. What did he expect really? That Patton's door would be wide open at two in the morning? That he'd spy light on under the door and get the courage to knock? Patton said he was there for Roman any time, but that doesn't mean Roman gets to take advantage and disrupt his sleep schedule just because Roman is too pathetic to fall asleep without his blanket.
Patton has done so much for him lately. He's good like that, a saint. Roman can't monopolize him. It wouldn't be fair.
Then why does he continue to stand there in the dark hallway? A damsel in distress waiting for his prince to save him? Or hoping the door will magically open and he receive some form of pity.
He's worse than pathetic. He's absolutely rotten.
A sliver of light illuminates the hall, a door squeaking open. Roman nearly jumps out of his skin and looks behind him where Logan stands in the doorway to his own bedroom.
"Roman?" Logan says, looking just as surprised. "I didn't think you'd be up this late. Don't you have work in the morning?"
"Heyyy, Specs," Roman gets out tremulously. He scratches at the back of his head, searching for some excuse. Think of something, damn it. "I uh, yeah. I've got work in the morning. Just...out for a stroll."
"A stroll?" Logan repeats. His brow raises and he's giving Roman that look that he gives him all the time, like he's stupid and not worth his time.
Roman crosses his arms and stares down at his bare feet. "Yeah, I can stroll where I want. What are you, the hall monitor?"
"I never claimed to be, nor would I want to. You live here; walk where you wish."
"Good, I'm glad we've covered this," Roman replies. He whips his head up when Logan breezes by him down the hall. "Wait, where are you going?"
Logan sends him a bemused glance. "I was going to make a light snack before bed. Why are you following me?"
"Don't try to distract me and just answer the question!"
"I did, Roman."
"Oh... well, answer it again!"
That gets an actual snort out of Logan. Roman shuffles behind him into the kitchen as if locked in a gravitational pull. He watches him pull out a loaf from the bread box along with a tub of butter from the fridge. Roman dithers there observing, reluctant to leave. Logan must accept that Roman has no intention of leaving him alone because he gestures to the bread. "Want some?"
Roman looks between the spreadable butter and bread. "Are you just eating buttered bread?"
Logan rolls his eyes. "No, I was planning to eat buttered toast with jam. But if you're not interested..."
"No, you can make me some," Roman swiftly interrupts while trying to make it sound like it's something Logan should be honored to do.
Logan extracts another slice of bread. He plugs up the toaster oven. "So, couldn't sleep?"
"And what if I couldn't?"
Logan sighs, "Not everything is a challenge, Roman."
Roman shifts self-consciously and mutters, "Not with that attitude, Gay Jude."
Logan smiles a little bit after he inserts the bread to be toasted. "Ah, The Beatles. Would you like to hear some interesting facts about them?"
Roman has nothing else to do so he shrugs. Logan enlightens him while they wait for the little ding. Roman snags the jar of crofters out of the fridge before Logan gets a chance, and Roman smirks victoriously at him but spreads the jam on Logan's toast in apology. They eat and drink water, and Logan asks if he's going to go to bed now.
Roman's brows crease. "Actually, why are you up?"
Logan adjusts his glasses, a tell that he's been caught doing something of mild embarrassment. "I was reading a novel."
"That good, huh?" Roman quips with a grin. He and Logan share a surprising amount of similar taste for literature, so Roman doesn't doubt that the writing is less than phenomenal if it's enough to keep his favorite nerd up into the wee hours of the night.
"I would tell you about it, but then you would chide me for giving you spoilers whether or not you intend to read it."
"Mm, I probably will," Roman agrees.
"Then if you don't require anything else, I really must insist we both go to bed. It will be difficult enough to rise later this morning."
"What if I did require something else?" Roman suggests before he can bite his tongue.
And Logan, dependable Logan who at least always hears him out, turns to him fully. "I am all ears, as they say. Which is a ridiculous saying; we only have but two."
Roman doesn't laugh or tease as he usually would. And maybe that tips Logan off more than it should.
"Roman?" he prompts. Because he's so smart, he deduces, "Does this pertain to why you're up so late?"
Roman's gaze strays. It's dark in the kitchen. They didn't bother turning on a light, letting the streetlight guide them from outside the kitchen window. It's too obscured for Logan to see the heat in his cheeks or how he picks nervously at his nails.
Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "It doesn't...not have to do with it."
"You're being vague. That's not like you."
"You don't know what I'm like."
"And you've been defensive. More so than usual. You are upset about something."
Roman just about chokes on air. "What?! No. Nooo, I'm not."
"Was it something I did?"
That punches Roman in the gut. The concern Logan is giving him, it knocks his feet right out from under him and has the truth spilling from his lips. "No, Logan, I just want a hug!"
Roman is infinitely more glad than ever that it's too dark to see. His face is on fire, and he can't look in Logan's direction.
"Happy now?" Roman asks bitterly.
"Roman, if you wanted physical affection, all you had to do was ask."
"What."
He's enveloped in a strong embrace.
Oh. Ohhhh.
Hugs are different. Different people give different hugs. Roman knows this, he does. He's had hugs throughout his life. He's not like, touch-starved or anything. It's just– it's like a reminder. A reminder with all the force of a slap to the face.
He had been so focused on Patton's hugs that he never thought to ask the others. Why would he? He never really did before. Things have just been hard since he lost his blanket, his comfort item. It's not usually like this. Roman's not usually like this, so dependent or desperate for attention.
In Logan's arms, he feels all of that melt away. In fact, his whole body melts into the embrace. A rush of air coaxes out from deep within his lungs as Logan's arms secure around his back. One hand hooks behind Roman's head and pulls him into the crook of his neck. The scent of Logan's faded cologne and laundry detergent fill his nostrils. There's lavender mixed with something else he can't distinguish but is wholly welcome and soothing.
Logan rubs circles into his back, and Roman leans heavily into him. Roman's arms raise like anvils hang off them, and it's all he can manage to circle them around Logan's waist and hang on for dear life.
"Is this satisfactory?" Logan asks. Roman might would answer him if not for the fingers scratching patterns into his scalp. His toes curl in bliss, and his mind sinks into fog. He buries his face further into Logan's neck and shoulder as if he can crawl into Logan's chest and hide there.
"I'll take that as a yes," Logan muses and squeezes him gently.
Roman doesn't make it back to bed for a while.
***
Logan joins Patton in the free affection initiative. Roman wonders if he and Patton discussed this or if Logan is doing it of his own volition. Either way, there is a definite increase in Logan's deviated mannerisms around Roman.
He pats him more on the back. He holds his hand when they sit next to each other. And there's a couple times Logan goes so far as to kiss his forehead. That left Roman blustering and bumbling like an idiot for hours after, because who is this person dressed like Logan? Surely not his nerd. Still, he can't deny the giddiness it evokes.
Things get a bit easier from there. The more it happens, the more he can normalize it. The more he normalizes it, the more he doesn't have to feel ashamed, right? If someone like Logan would go to the trouble...he doesn't have to feel silly about it, right? He can still be taken seriously?
Roman aches less for his blanket. The pain remains, but it's bearable. He feels less likely to break down in a sobbing mess, and that's progress. Right?
Virgil suspects something is going on.
It was bound to happen. He never stops watching out for them or simply watching them. If Patton hadn't accidentally found out about Roman's predicament, Roman thinks that Virgil would have been the first to suspect. As it is, Virgil observes the way that Patton and Logan act around Roman, and it's just enough different than normal. Just out there enough for him to see.
"Are you guys dating?" Virgil blurts out of the blue one day.
It's just the two of them at home, chilling on the couch together watching TV. Roman figured Virgil was having a bad anxiety day from the noncommittal responses he's been giving and how he keeps biting at his nails. Obviously, there have been other topics plaguing his thoughts.
"Who?" Roman asks, because really, who? Roman is single and proudly on a quest to love himself. Virgil knows this. Or at least, he thought he did.
Virgil squirms in his seat like he can't find a comfortable position. "Nevermind, just forget it."
"Well now I really can't forget it."
Virgil groans and buries his face into his hands. "You. And Logan, and Patton. Are you guys dating? If you are, it's whatever. I just would think you guys would tell me."
Roman gives him a semi-horrified look. Not all the way horrified, because Roman is a catch, and his friends are equally catch-worthy, but that's just... that's not how they are together.
"No? Why would you think that?"
Virgil gives him a look. "What else am I supposed to think? You guys have been acting all weird. You can't deny it. I'm not crazy. Or blind."
"Weird how? No seriously, I'm being for real."
"You know. Like all soft? And touchy feely?"
Roman can't help but quirk a smile at how awkward Virgil is acting, as if it pains him to say something so sappy. It's easy to fall into his confident persona. He leans in closer. "Aww, are you feeling left out, Emo?"
Virgil shoves him away. Not with his hand but with his leg because he has to be extra. "Okay, if you're just gonna be a dick about it, I can just go to my room."
And the bravado rushes out as quickly as it arrived. He doesn't want Virgil to leave, and he certainly doesn't want Virgil to entertain the notion that Roman is making fun of him maliciously.
Virgil stays long enough for Roman to fall into contemplation. Virgil peaks up at him and sees Roman looking back at him, completely serious.
"What?" Virgil asks, and there's a bit of a snarl there. Okay, Roman probably deserves that.
"We're not dating," Roman says quietly.
Virgil doesn't believe him. Or at least, he's suspicious of what's not being said. "Then what's up with you guys? Something's going on, and I..."
And Virgil isn't a part of it. He's on the outside looking in. More than that, he thinks they're excluding him on purpose.
Impulsively, Roman says, "Can I ask you something? In all seriousness?"
Virgil's eyes peer at him in narrowed slits, cautious and curious. Roman can see his inner debate, weighing his options of pushing Roman or letting it go or maybe even getting up to leave altogether. It'd be fair; Roman is answering him with a question of his own. Roman isn't sure he would be so patient, in Virgil's place.
But Virgil is more patient than people give him credit for. He nods. "Shoot."
Roman averts his gaze now, suddenly jittery with nervous energy. "Actually, it's more a question of asking you to do something. Can I ask you to do something? And you not laugh at me? Or think I'm weird? You can say no, of course, I just–"
"Roman. Ask away. The worst I can say is no, and I promise not to give you shit for it if I do."
Despite himself, Roman needs a little more assurance. He holds up his hand. "Pinkie promise?"
"Really dude?"
"Virgil, it is a sacred oath."
"Okay, fine, whatever." Virgil threads their pinkies together. "I promise not to be a jerk if you don't."
"Deal," Roman agrees.
"Now, what is it you want to ask me to do?"
"Will you lay on top of me?"
There's no going back. There's no pretending that he misspoke, even as Virgil tilts his head as if he must have heard him wrong. When Roman doesn't budge, Virgil goes stock-still, eyes slowly blowing up wide.
"Uh....what?"
Roman huffs, more frustrated at himself than anything else. "Would you lay on top of me?"
"No, I heard that. I'm just trying to process."
"Then yes or no. You don't need to say anything else. Just yes or no."
And because it's Virgil, he very much has to say anything else. "What do you even mean though? Why?"
Roman groans and waves towards the couch. "Just– you know, I lay on the couch and then you lay on top of me. It's not that complicated, so don't overcomplicate it."
"I overcomplicate going to get a glass or water, Roman. You can't tell me not to overcomplicate you randomly asking me to lay on you."
"I thought you promised you weren't going to be a jerk?"
"I'm not trying to be!" Virgil swipes at his face, his own aggravation mounting. Roman notices that his cheeks are dusted a light pink. "I just don't understand how this relates to anything or why you want me to..."
Roman shrugs sort of helplessly, smile sardonic. "I just do. There's...no trick that I'm playing at, if that's what you're wondering. I want you to lay on me, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. So would you? No wrong answer."
Virgil looks away a couple of times. He thrums his fingers over his knees, tap, tap, tapping. "I mean, I guess?"
"You guess?"
"Sure then. I'll do it, even if I think I'm the last person you would want to cuddle or whatever, but you'll explain after that?"
"Cross my heart." Roman mimes the motion over his chest.
Virgil stands up. He doesn't move far, just stands there gripping the hem of his hoodie while looking lost. "So..."
Roman scoots down on the couch to where he lays back with his head supported by the couch arm, his legs stretching out along the cushions. He shoves away the embarrassment, the shame, the voice in his head asking what the hell he is doing. Virgil watches him closely, eyes squinted and trying to figure out how to approach.
"Get in here, Emo," Roman calls, holding out his arms.
Virgil grunts and clambers over him. He takes too long to figure out where to put one knee, and Roman adjusts. He spreads out a leg to make room and guides Virgil down. The sides of Virgil's jacket hang over him like a curtain as Virgil hovers in the air, afraid to rest fully against him.
"I'll be heavy," Virgil warns. "You're not going to be able to breathe."
"That's fine, I don't need to," Roman says, half-joking. He's more fixated on tugging at Virgil's shirt to get him to close that last foot of space.
"I better not hear you complain then," Virgil says and finally, finally, drops down on Roman, letting his full weight settle on him.
It's everything that Roman has missed.
Roman can sense Virgil's body from head to toe. Their legs, hips, stomachs, chest, shoulders, all of it pinging across Roman's nervous system at every point of contact. Virgil's arms are folded on either side of Roman's torso, and he can feel the lean limbs against his sides like a harness. Virgil nudges his head stiffly under Roman's chin, and Roman wraps his arms around Virgil's back and holds him tightly to complete the full body hug.
He's sinking into the cushions. His muscles release weeks' worth of tension, letting go and relaxing. He's delightfully sandwiched under Virgil's weight, warmed in his closeness. The warmth is dizzying, like little bumblebees buzzing serenely and drowning him in honey, so sweet and cloying. Virgil's hoodie is a pillow under his palms, and Roman can see why he wears the garment all the time. Roman would wear Virgil all the time if he could.
"Is this it?" Virgil asks, seemingly unimpressed by the magic surrounding them. "Is this what you wanted?"
Roman squeezes more. Virgil wasn't wrong, he's heavy but in the most incredible, indescribable way. Despite the pressure, it's like Roman can breathe again. It's perfect, exactly what he's been craving.
"Hug me any tighter and I'm gonna bruise," Virgil remarks lightly, and something about the words or the tone is more than Roman can take. He breaks.
A shudder shakes him as tears spill over in wet streaks dripping down, salty droplets catching in his mouth. It's abrupt and overwhelming, and it's all coming back to him. The grief, the embarrassment, the shame, the desperate need. He can't stop it, can't hide it. Virgil is right here, and if he doesn't hear the whimper that escapes him, he surely can't ignore when Roman full-on starts sobbing.
"Princey?" Virgil says and sits up quickly. He pushes himself up off of him, and the soothing, wonderful pressure is wrenched away. The cold air bites at his skin in its place. Roman's cries devolve into hysterics, and he can't catch his breath to save his life. Virgil is gaping at him. He sees him in all his wretched ugliness. "Oh shit, what's wrong? Roman? Hey, hey, shhh, don't do that. Please, look at me, why are you crying? Talk to me Roman, I won't laugh, I promise."
Words are beyond him. Roman clings weakly to Virgil's shirt, tugging at him, begging him not to leave with actions and desperation alone. How can he convey his heart shattering to pieces? Or his skin eating itself alive? Or his bones splitting down to the marrow? A keening cry pierces his eardrums. It's a sorrowful weep from his own lips, a sound he didn't think he could make. A sound he's heard in the background for a long time and thought would go away if he ignored it.
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Virgil lets out shakily, miraculously interpreting Roman's crazed antics correctly. He stays over Roman, caging him in sweetly with his body. His fingers come up to brush the tears away using the cuffs of his sleeve. "It's alright, sweetheart. Just breathe with me. You're okay, you're okay. I've got you."
Roman is not okay, and Virgil's wild darting eyes share the same sentiment, but if you say a thing enough times, it'll come true by sheer force of will. And if Roman can keep pulling at Virgil, maybe he will go back to crushing him softly.
"What do you want? Do you want this? We can keep laying here. That's okay, Princey. You're okay. You're doing so good, telling me what you need."
Virgil lowers back on him, chest to chest. Roman would hug him in relief if he wasn't too busy turning his face to the side and trying to cover up. He stifles his gasps against the back of his hand. Virgil, thankfully, doesn't pull away his defense. He presses at his chest clumsy and earnest, rubbing his hands over his collar, massaging comfort into him and encouraging him to focus on the motion, to breathe together.
Roman listens to him and hangs on to every word as he talks him through it. Virgil never stops. He speaks far more tenderly than Roman is used to, and it's more astonishing than Logan's recent developments. If Virgil acted like his prickly self, Roman could manage to pull himself together. But Virgil is being lovely in his sweetness, watching him with dark eyes that are ferocious with compassion. It's a gaze that says he'll tear the world apart to keep him safe. Roman doesn't deserve him.
"I'm sorry," Roman whines. It's not enough to sum up his sorrow, yet it's all he has to give.
Virgil looks impossibly more bewildered. He shakes his head and goes back to wiping the tears from Roman's face, so careful in his handling. "Roman, you have nothing to apologize for."
"I'm sorry."
"No, listen to me," Virgil demands and cups his face, making him look right at him. "Obviously, something is going on in that big head of yours. If something is going on, if this has to do with what's up with you and the others, then that's okay, we can talk about it. I'm here for you, man. But if you're apologizing for crying all over me, then I'm gonna affectionately kick your ass. I'd rather you cry here with me than you do it alone or keep it bottled in. That's not healthy. If your brain is telling you that you're a burden to me or something stupid like that, I'll kick your brain's ass too. It can't be mean to you, that's my job."
Roman startles into laughter. It's a sad wheeze more than anything, but Virgil picks up on that. He gives a hesitant, hopeful smile as he brushes his thumbs over Roman's cheekbones.
"There's my Princey. Just keep laughing. I'm a real funny dude."
More wheezy chuckles. More reasons to adore his friend.
"I'm gonna give Patton a run for his money. I've got jokes for days. Wanna hear about belts made out of watches? It'll be a real waist of time."
Roman giggles and leans into Virgil's hands. He closes his eyes.
"And I'll keep going if you want me to. I can do this all day, Princey."
"I'm telling Patton you gave me emotional pun support," Roman murmurs.
Roman can tell by Virgil's voice that he's grinning. "Do it. I'm not afraid."
He opens his eyes again. Virgil moves one of his hands to tuck under his own chin so he can look at Roman more comfortably. The other hand combs through Roman's bangs, straightening them.
"You called me sweetheart," Roman points out in an awed tone.
Virgil doesn't bristle like he expects. If anything, he hunkers down further in his stubbornness. "Yeah? So what?"
"You don't...usually do pet names."
"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
"Is it weird if I said I liked it?"
Virgil lightly flicks his forehead. "It's only weird if you make it weird, sweetheart."
Roman sniffles and wipes at his face to rid himself of any lingering wetness. Virgil allows him time to breathe and get his bearings.
"It's the weight," Roman finally admits. "The warmth and the pressure. I mean, why I asked you to lay on me. I had a weighted blanket, but it got ruined. So Patton and Logan have been helping out where they can. It's easier when they're touching."
Virgil doesn't stop petting at his hair, but he does frown while he parses through his words. "What do you feel like without it?"
"Without the touching and my blanket? Umm, exposed I guess? Anxious. Cold."
"When you don't have your blanket or someone touching you, do you think about it a lot?"
"What do you mean?"
Virgil shrugs, and Roman feels the movement and together with the hair petting, it's enough to have his eyelids flutter and threaten to close. "I mean, when you haven't had that in a while, does it consume your thoughts? Like you're longing for it?"
Roman remembers the night he stood outside Patton's door in the hallway.
All the time. He longs for it all the time these days.
"Yeah," Roman whispers.
"Dude, I think you're touch-starved."
That throws Roman for a loop. "But... I touch people enough? It's not like I'm going years without a hug over here."
Virgil boops him on the nose. "It's doesn't take years. Could just take weeks. Depends on the person I guess. Everyone needs things differently. I think you liked your blanket so much because you were using it to substitute touch. And now that you're starting to get touch more often, your body is trying to adjust. It's like going from eating bread crusts to a full course meal."
"But I..." Roman's mind drifts. Virgil's words resonate as he compares them to his memories.
Yearning, heartache, misery, clinginess, pressure, satisfaction, grief. Is this what's been wrong with him?
"I'm touch-starved?" Roman asks.
Virgil gives him a sympathetic smile. He pats at his head. "I think so. It's not so bad. We can help you."
"You will?"
Virgil snorts and adjusts his position so he's laying more comfortably on Roman, like he's bedding down for the long-haul. "I'm not moving from this spot until dinner at the earliest."
Virgil makes good on his promise. Their roommates come home to find them there, napping the afternoon away. When they wake to the smell of cooking meat, they drag themselves up from the couch and shake the blood back into their limbs. The four of them sit at the table that night to eat and talk.
Roman opens up.
And when he eventually has the money to spare, he doesn't buy a new blanket.
He doesn't need one anymore. He has them.
Virgil/Remus college roommates AU
It's Remus's third year of college. He's majoring in a medical field because it's gross and cool, and he knows human anatomy like the back of his hand.
Remus's major is not his first choice or second or third. But it is the choice that he could live with along with hopefully making his parents proud.
Somehow, his parents still think he's an embarrassment to the family. They often compare him to his twin brother, Roman, who gained major success as a child actor.
It's not Roman's fault, and Roman tries, but there's an unresolved part of Remus that's jealous and wishes he had any attention at all.
Remus has been through a few roommates. They usually request a transfer the first month in. Either Remus is too crass or too loud or too nosey or too gross. Too much in general.
Remus doesn't know how else to be but himself. He's proud of who he is. Doesn't make it any less lonely or easy to make friends.
Remus has one singular friend. Janus who's not even a student at this college, but he does some work for some students for under-the-table pay. Otherwise known as plagiarizing papers for the tired or lazy masses.
Remus meets Janus because someone recommended him as a tutor. Janus never corrects him and continues tutoring him.
Beginning his third year of college in the dorms, Remus does not have high hopes for his new roomie. Mostly he is excited to see how long the new guy will last. Remus gets set up in the room first and waits for whenever his roomie will appear.
The new roomie is Virgil. He's an undecided major, wears an oversized hoodie, has anxiety out the wazoo, and is the cutest emo he has ever seen.
Remus has a type. His type is angry kitten. He does not realize he has a type until this moment. He kinda wants to really keep this one.
Virgil doesn't mind taking the leftover bed, so Remus doesn't have to move his stuff. Virgil's dad is also there to help his son move in. His dad is a therapist (psst, it's Emile), and is like the total opposite to his son in terms of attire and personality.
Virgil is also really close with his dad. It's clear as day in the way he waddles after him like a darkling duck while giving Remus apprehensive glances.
Remus tries to be on his best behavior, he really does. He offers to help them carry stuff, and Emile is delighted, and Remus cracks some jokes that they actually laugh at a couple of times.
Before Emil leaves, he asks Remus to take care of his son. Remus salutes him seriously and says it will be his honor.
As soon as the door closes, Virgil's timidness skyrockets. He admits that this is his first year living on campus and without his dad. Even though Emile promised he's only a phone call away and he doesn't live that far, it's still a lot for a kid to be thrust out of the nest.
Remus cheers him up by asking if he wants to see his bone collection. Yes, you heard him right. He collects bones of dead things. They're stored under his bed which he affectionately refers to as the boneyard.
Virgil rolls with it. He lets Remus chatter, and he doesn't interrupt him. Remus thinks he doesn't know what to say to break the ice, so Remus smashes all the ice for him.
Remus learns that despite this being Virgil's first year on campus, he already has enough credits under his belt to graduate and then some. Apparently, he's been racking them up at breakneck speed with online classes ever since he graduated high school early.
It was Emile's idea for him to attend university life, to push him out of his shell and make friends. Virgil has been homeschooled most of his life because he can't handle crowds and other kids are the worst. He wants to try this for his dad though, to at least be able to say he put effort into it.
Remus respects that. He doesn't understand anxiety. He's so used to throwing himself out there. Who doesn't like attention? But attention makes Virgil nervous so Remus makes a solid attempt to not pay attention to him.
Which of course makes it all the harder. He overcompensates and comes on too strong. He babbles one night their first week into classes about a documentary he watched on Ted Bundy which leads into John Winn Gacey, and then on to the Zodiac Killer.
Virgil stops him at some point, eyes like saucers. "Do you realize you've been talking for over an hour about serial killers?"
Remus thinks this is the part where Virgil applies to switch roommates on the grounds that Remus is secretly a murderer. But instead, Virgil admits he's impressed by how much he knows and asks if he's ever watched Buzzfeed Unsolved.
And then they bond over watching shows together, and Virgil calls his dad and gushes about it, and Remus feels his stomach do a little flip at how happy Virgil seems to want to share this.
It becomes a thing where Virgil calls his dad and gives him updates not only about his life but Remus. Emile always asks about him and tells Virgil to tell him hi.
Remus is dumbfounded. He can't imagine calling his folks every month, let alone every day.
The two of them find a routine after the first week. By which, that means they have no routine. Virgil is a chronic insomniac and Remus can sleep through anything. Whenever Remus catches Virgil finally asleep, he either steps out of the room or sits completely still on pain of death. It helps that Virgil often wears his headphones and blasts music.
There's a time when Remus returns early to their dorm room and hears the slight, muffled sound of Virgil's music coming from Virgil's closet. Curious, Remus opens the closet to find that Virgil has made a blanket nest for himself inside and is fast asleep. Remus closes the door back gently and never tells Virgil that he knows about his super secret napping spot.
For Virgil's part, he doesn't know what to make of Remus for the first few weeks. Remus is flamboyant and proud in his masculinity even when wearing booty shorts. He sings like a hyena and he has those weird 3am pillow talk thoughts but like all the time.
He's also so random that even when Virgil feels anxious, it somehow gets him laughing more often than not. Remus beams during these moments and doubles down, usually becoming even more ridiculous.
Remus notices early on that Virgil skips meals. He doesn't think that it's an eating disorder or anything, because he eats whatever snacks Remus throws at him. Remus is smart though, more clever than people give him credit for, and his eyes often gravitate towards his favorite little emo.
Remus begins escorting Virgil to the food court. Virgil starts eating regular meals again now that he doesn't have to brave the swarms of people alone. The first time the food court is too congested indoors even with a buddy, Virgil crowds close to Remus and holds onto his arm and trusts him to steer them through.
Remus starts offering his hand whenever things get too claustrophobic. Virgil is surprised the first time, because guys don't just hold hands like that. But Remus is far from normal, and Virgil never claimed to be, so he takes the hand when it's offered. He can't look anyone in the eyes while they hold hands, but Virgil refuses to let go.
Holding hands with Virgil quickly becomes Remus's favorite activity. So much that he offers even when they're not around other people. Virgil doesn't always take it, but it makes him go soft in a way that Remus relishes.
Virgil went into university life initially thinking that he would hate it. After some weeks with Remus, he finds enjoyment. He's happy, and his classes are fun, and he never thought he'd befriend someone like Remus. At least, he thinks they're friends. Remus wouldn't hold his hand if they weren't at least friends, right?
Eventually, Remus admits to some of his struggles with his school work. Janus helps, but he's not knowledgeable in every subject(aka, Janus is flying by the seat of his pants and Remus doesn't realize it). Virgil agrees to help for the price of sour Skittles.
Remus learns quickly how Virgil has so many credits. Virgil's got that thing where he reads super fast and has a photographic memory.
"You have super powers," Remus accusses.
Virgil flushes and mutters something about it not being fair that he has built in cheat codes. He seems to be under the impression that this detracts from his successes and that he's not very intelligent.
Remus endeavors to prove him wrong any chance he gets. He compliments him often and praises him for helping him so much. He wants to show that Virgil's effort is its own merit. And Remus proves it to him because his grades do start improving in the courses he struggles with.
There's one night that they stay up late working on one of Remus's research papers. It's worth over a quarter of his grade, so it has to be good. He's got it printed out and ready to take to class, only he gets terribly distracted when getting ready that morning and runs out the door without it.
Virgil wakes up and spots the super important paper on Remus's desk five minutes before Remus's class starts.
Remus is very surprised to see Virgil show up to his class, panting for air and paper in hand.
"You sprinted across campus to bring this to me?" Remus asks, incredulous.
Virgil shrugs, wiping sweat from his brow, "You worked really hard on it."
That's the moment that Remus thinks he falls a little bit in love.