Exposure Therapy
Title: Exposure Therapy
Word Count: 3281
Summary: If Roman can practice enough scenarios, maybe the inevitable will hurt a little less. Hurt/Comfort Romantic Prinxiety. Ace!Roman.
Warnings: aphobia/internalized aphobia as a central focus, angst/hurt/comfort (heavy on all three), scenarios of rejection, crying, cursing, misunderstanding.
A/N: I wrote this in one sitting. One of those fics that comes from a personal space. An exploration of internalized aphobia—something that I’ve begun to learn does not go away after realizing you are ace. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine. <3 Love you all.
Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge , @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon
…
Roman stares unseeing at the carpet right in front of Virgil’s sock-clad feet. Most of the lights are off, leaving only the lamp by the couch to cast the room in a soft warm glow. Part of Roman wishes he could turn it off and disappear into the darkness. Anything to avoid the confused, hurt look in Virgil’s eyes that he can feel pressing down on his shoulders.
“You’re ace?” Virgil’s voice seems to echo with disgust.
“I’m sorry, Virgil—” Roman reaches a hand out blindly. Virgil takes a step back.
He shoves his hands harshly into the pocket of his hoodie. “So… So what, you were just leading me on? This entire time? I mean…” He waves an arm. “What the hell, Roman?”
Roman clenches his jaw as his eyes burn. He blinks hard to clear them. “That wasn’t my intention. I just… I was just scared—”
Virgil scoffs. “Scared? Grow up, Princey.”
“Virge, I—”
Virgil is crossing the room and for the briefest second, Roman thinks maybe he’s walking towards him. But the Anxious Side brushes past Roman and starts to head up the stairs. “Save it. I don’t think this is gonna work out.” Then he’s gone. He’s vanished up the stairs and the Prince stands in the Commons alone with the silence until he hears Virgil slam his door shut.
Roman breathes out shakily. He presses a hand to his mouth as it if might steady the air leaving his lungs.
“Again,” he says aloud once he’s sure the word won’t tremble. “The kitchen, this time.”
The scene blurs around him in a swirl of fragmenting color. Roman waits, closing his eyes and bringing clarity to the image in his mind as it takes shape around him. He takes a few slow breaths before he opens his eyes. The kitchen is a perfect recreation of the one in the Mindscape that mirrors Thomas’s apartment.
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