ao3: “like you would know”
rating: T
warnings: prinxiety, hanahaki disease, blood, remus :p
genre: fluff and humor
description: Roman has a secret. Unfortunately for him, his brother knows it. ( day 11: “I tried not to let these things affect me. They affected me quickly and obviously.” — Richard Laymon @tsshipmonth2020 )
"You realize it's obvious that you like him, right?" Remus asks. Roman sputters, his face burning hectic red.
"I have no idea what you mean," Roman insists, haughty.
"I literally just caught you staring at Virgil's ass," Remus points out. Roman's blush intensifies.
"Shut up," Roman hisses. "He'll hear you."
"Will he?" Remus asks in interest. "I can say it louder. HEY V-" Roman claps his hand over his brother's mouth, cringing when Remus licks the palm of his hand.
"I probably have a disease now," Roman mutters, wiping his hand on the fabric of his pants and dragging Remus to the dubious safety of his room. At least there, he can soundproof the damn thing, no matter what Remus chooses to shout about Roman's feelings for Virgil. Asshole.
"I know something else, too," Remus singsongs, sitting on Roman's bed and kicking up his shoes. Roman cringes. He's going to have to do so much laundry later.
"What?" Roman asks. "And get your shoes off the furniture."
"Do you really want my bare feet on your bed?" Remus asks.
"...No," Roman says. Remus cackles in delight.
"You gonna tell your big bro that you've been coughing up flower petals?" Remus asks smugly.
"You're my little brother," Roman corrects automatically, then flushes as red as his sash. "What?"
"Looked in your garbage," Remus says, sticking a hand in his pocket and pulling out a handful of bloody purple flower petals. Some of them are still stuck together. Roman scrunches his nose in disgust.
"Stay out of my trash," he says. "And that means nothing, I'm sure. A mere aberration."
"Or it means that you have something you won't tell Virgil because you're an idiot, and it's going to kill you," Remus says bluntly. "And as much as I'd like to be the only Creativity around here, I'd rather do it like Scar and Mufasa you to death, not watch you do it to yourself because you're too much of a coward to open your mouth and vomit up those juicy, juicy feelings for old Virgey."
"Don't say juicy in that context," Roman says. "And that- you don't understand, I don't want to upset Virgil, what if my feelings aren't returned?"
"Then you'll come back here, cry on my shoulder, go through a dozen pints of ice cream, and sing all the sad Disney songs you know," Remus says impatiently. "It's easy. You just talk. I do it all the time!"
Roman swallows. His throat aches, phantom pains from the flowers slowly engulfing his lungs stabbing the delicate tissues. Remus made it sound so easy. Maybe it was easy when you were a literal trash rat who spouted all your feelings at the top of your lungs, but that- that had never been Roman. Dramatic gestures, of course, but this... This is too important.
"Virgil might surprise you, you know," Remus says, surprisingly serious. "Even if he doesn't reciprocate your feelings. It's better than dying, isn't it? Maybe it's not. Hey, can you imagine lying under a garbage truck while-"
"No," Roman interrupts his brother hastily. "No, I can't. I don't even know what to say."
"It's easy," Remus says. "Here, lemme get Virgil so you can practice on the real deal."
"Wait, no-" Roman says, alarmed, but before he can do anything, Remus has disappeared and Virgil stands, blinking and confused, in his place.
"Roman?" Virgil asks hesitantly. "What is Remus up to?"
"Being an idiot," Roman mutters. "I don't know. I- I'm sorry. You can go. This is a dumb idea, I shouldn't-" He rambles, and as he rambles, he can feel the thorns sink in deeper. He coughs, broken and wet, and feels flower petals fill his mouth.
"Are you okay?" Virgil asks, peering at his suddenly rapidly paling face. "I uh, I can get Patton and Logan, um-"
"I'm fine," Roman insists, spitting the petals out as discreetly as he can into one hand. "I simply..." He sighs. Maybe Remus is right, loathe as he is to admit it.
"Remus thinks that I should tell you something," Roman manages to grit out. "I uh...well. I'm in love with you," he blurts out, like yanking off a band-aid. Virgil blinks at him.
"I'm sorry," Roman says, his heart sinking even as the flowers slowly start to disappear. "I shouldn't-"
"You're an idiot, Princey," Virgil says, flinging himself at Roman and burying his face in Roman's very baffled shoulder. "I've loved you for months. Remus has been trying to get me to confess ever since he found me writing your name in cursive hearts in my poetry notebook."
"That's- you write poetry?" Roman asks, distracted. "Wait, no, I-" He coughs, harder this time, and the last purple flower pushes its way into his mouth. He yanks it out and stares at it in surprise. It's beautiful.
"You had Hanahaki disease?!" Virgil squawks. "Oh god, Roman, I- I had no idea, you- oh my god, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Roman says, carefully setting the purple bloom on his desk and turning back to take Virgil into his arms. "I'm amazing. I feel like I could fly. You?" Lavender spreads under Virgil's eyes as he grins tentatively back.
"Same," he whispers.
"Toldja!" Remus's cackle fills the air. Roman flips off his brother without looking at the door and after a moment, Virgil follows suit. Remus snickers.
"I owe Logan five bucks," Remus says. "I thought it would take more for you to confess."
"You bet on my death?" Roman shrieks, outraged. Remus flees the room, laughing the entire way.
"Anyway," Virgil says. "I love you. Is that- is that okay?"
"It's brilliant," Roman assures his newfound love, tightening his embrace. "May I kiss you?"
Virgil's eyes are very soft when he murmurs, "yes."
Echoes of the Past is a month-long prompt event held in the month of October focusing around the creepy, eerie, or otherwise existential! Each day has a different quote to act as a prompt, which you can interpret however you like!
What can I make for the event?
Anything you’d like! Art, fic, moodboards, cosplay, song playlists, edits, etc! Any and all content is accepted as long as it follows the rules!
Do I have to follow the prompts?
Nope! The prompts are there to provide a starting point, but feel free to deviate! If there’s only a few ships you’d like to focus on for the month, you can do so! You can skip days or post multiple pieces on the same day too. This is meant to be a fun, stress free event!
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If you’re participating in the event, make sure to use the tags #tsshipmonth2022 & EotP2022 as well as tag this blog in your post! You don’t need to submit anything directly to this blog, just tag it if you want your work to be reblogged here!
What if I have questions?
Message us! We are happy to answer questions and we are really excited for the event!
Echoes of Our Future, Ch. 1: Where is Everybody, Pocket Protector?
Where is Everybody, Pocket Protector? - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
CW: Swearing (right out the gate, thanks, Remus), spoopy/horror
For @tsshipmonth2020 Echoes of the Past October Writing Event. Day 1: "Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see." — Edgar Allen Poe
---
“Hey, Pocket Protector, where the fuck is everybody?”
Logan closed his eyes and counted down from seven when his bed suddenly creaked and Remus’ half bored, half grating voice announced his presence in the room.
“Can’t you ever knock, Remus?”
The Creative Side seemed to ponder the question, drumming and somehow clacking his fingers against his chin. Finally, he shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice muffled. “Then why don't you?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions, Nerdy Wolverine.” he disappeared and there was a delicate knock on the door, but before Logan could stand to answer it, Remus reappeared, sitting cross-legged in his desk.
“Remus! I was in the middle of something! My schedules—” he snapped, then his voice softened when he realized Remus wasn't actually touching his desk, but instead was hovering an inch above it's surface. He sat back in his chair, his quiet sigh of exasperation sounding more like a growl. He massaged his temple wi5h one hand and glared up at Remus without speaking, certain whatever he said, he might regret.
Remus just grinned and pointed to Logan’s head. “That’s why!” He hopped off and conjured a chair identical to Logan's, but flipped it around and sat backwards on it, arms crossed over the back where he tested his chin. He batted his lashes up at Logan with a little cackle. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” He shivered and Logan couldn't tell how much was for show and how much was genuine. “Terrifying, but cute.”
Logan rolled his eyes and swiveled his chair back to face his schedules. He'd nearly worked in the new adjustments they'd needed for the YooTooz filming, even after the schedule had been thrown into shambles from the last minute photo shoot. “What is it that you want, Remus? I am quite busy.”
“You may be brilliant, Lo Lo, but you don't always listen.” Remus rested his cheek on his own arms, watching for the light bulb moment.
“Wait,” Remus grinned and sat when Logan finally exclaimed. “What do you mean where is everybody?”
“You even phrased it in the form of a question!” Remus clapped.
Ignoring the outburst, Logan continued. “The others should all be—” He glanced at his watch and his eyes grew wide. Was it really that late already? He looked longingly at his perfectly made bed—somehow Remus’ use of it as a trampoline hadn't marred the smooth bedspread. Logan had been hoping to get at least a few hours of sleep before the others rose but surely even Virgil would’ve slunk down for a cup of coffee by eleven am.
“Well, I imagine they've finished breakfast and are…” He perused the day’s calendar. “Roman planned to finish a fresh draft of the script for the next video, Virgil and Janus are due to see Picani in a half an hour and Patton is usually elbow deep in cookie dough by now.”
Remus leaned forward, his face suddenly serious. “Do you smell cookies baking, Lo Lo?” He met Logan’s eyes and there was a flash of genuine worry behind their constant manic dancing in their sockets. “Cause I sure don't.”
“Nobody's out there, Lo. It's just you and me.”
“Remus!” Logan closed his eyes and let his head hang back against the headrest. He took in a slow, measured breath before his eyes snapped open and he glared at the Creative Side. “If this is just one of your stupid pranks.”
“You know none of my pranks are stupid, Lo Lo. Childish? Dangerous? Demented? Sure.” He shimmied his shoulders, manic grin painted across his face. “Never stupid.” Logan remained silent and simply raised one eyebrow. “I swear, Lo. no prank. NObody’s out there. You don't know how relieved I was to still see you.”
That nearly broke all of Logan’s willful suspension of disbelief but he signed again and slowly got up from his chair. He glared at Remus and straightened his tie, then held out his hand toward the door. “After you,” he said, lipss pulled into a tight scowl.
“Thanks, Lo Lo. C’mon.”
Remus opened the door and they were n’t in the upstairs hall, but they stepped through ot the living room, as though they stepped right through the DVD case next to the stairwell. Logan turned around and touched the wall, looking for a trap or any remnants of whatever door or portal they must have just slipped through.
“I don’t understand, Remus. We were just in my room. There’s no way you were able to accurately replicate my bedroom.”
“Lo Lo…” Remus began.
“And this looks just like Thomas’s living room. Where have you taken us—”
“Lo Lo, look…”
Logan finally turned away from the wall and looked out toward the kitchen. The dining table and the counter were still there, but in the place of the kitchen was a large revolving door, slowly spinning. Logan approached it slowly, nearly close enough to touch it before Rmeu suddenly yanked his hand back.
“Don’t just go touching things you don’t understand!” Remus scoffed and rolled his eyes. He picked up an empty soda can off the kitchen counter and tossed it at the revolving doors. It fell to the floor and was swept along in the movement of the door until it completed its circle and the little can reappeared, bouncing and rolling along on the floor, continuing to be rolled along by the door.
“Good thinking, Remus. A trial run.” Logan tilted his head, brow furrowed, and watched the can go through three rotations. Each time it reappeared, it appeared undamaged, and, although he wasn’t keeping an accurate time, seemed to emerge at a consistent rate. He looked around on the counter and plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and tossed that inside.
The apple behaved similarly, bumping along in a different compartment than the can, but appeared undamaged on each revolution. “I think before we try it ours—” Logan turned to face Remus but stood frozen, mouth still forming his last word. Remus turned around and looked.
The entire living room was gone. The patio, the staircase, everything was just gone, swallowed up in an empty grey mist. Remus grabbed another apple from the counter and beamed it across the room. It should have struck the glass sliding doors, or at least the blinds.
They never even heard the apple land, the sound swallowed up by the thick grey mist.
“We gotta get the fuck outta here, Lo Lo!” Remus started to pull Logan toward the revolving doors. The refrigerator was half-enveloped in the same mist and he could no longer see the kitchen window.
Logan scanned the room, eyes casting uselessly into the grey mist. There was no sign or sound of anyone else. They must have all gone through the door already. His eyes landed on the empty dining table and he tugged Remus’ sleeve. “Wait, were those always there?” He pointed to a folded street map with print too small to read from where they stood, a book with a gold gilded cover that looks suspiciously like the frame of the revolving door, and a key.
He picked up the book. It was blank, save for an inscription on the first page. Logan read it aloud.
"Believe in nothing you hear, and only one half that you see." — Edgar Allan Poe
“Poe? Really? Who gives a fuck!” The mist had begun to swallow up the table, as well. “None of us are gonna be there in a minute, let’s go!”
Still clutching the book, Logan scooped up the map and the key just before Remus dragged him through the door and the world went black.
ao3: “treat or trick”
rating: T
warnings: prinxiety, dukeceit, logicality, halloween party, food, innuendos because remus
genre: fluff
description: The sides have a Halloween party. ( day 31: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” — William Shakespeare, The Tempest @tsshipmonth2020 yay i finished the month! happy halloween! ^^)
"Hell is empty and all the devils are here," Roman intones, an ominous shadow falling across his face as he enters the living room.
Only to be promptly smacked in the arm by Virgil.
"Don't be such a drama queen," Virgil says lazily, rolling his eyes. "And speak for yourself."
"Virgil, you are literally dressed as the devil emoji," Roman points out. Virgil's face reddens a little.
"Yes, well, you're the Phantom of the Opera, you aren't exactly a devil," Virgil snipes. "And I don't want to hear about how Erik is totally the worst, especially when Patton is over there, dressed as the Giant Pumpkin."
"Hi, guys!" Patton says cheerfully. He's switched out his regular glasses for jack o' lantern shaped glasses in bright orange. Virgil wonders if he can actually see anything.
"That's makeup, right, Logan?" Virgil asks, seeing that Logan is dressed as a mad scientist. An awkward pause ensues. "....Right, Logan?" He persists.
"I don't want to talk about it," Logan finally mumbles, his face turning red under the soot.
"I do!" Remus chirps, dressed in- Virgil squints.
"Are you supposed to be doing the walk of shame?" Virgil demands, incredulous. "At a Halloween party?"
"I'm a preview of a few hours from now!" Remus remarks lasciviously, with a little shoulder shimmy.
"You're ridiculous, is what you are," Janus says, a fond note in his voice. He's dressed as Jekyll and Hyde, the scales on his face gleaming.
"Right, so we're all here," Virgil says. "Now what?"
"Now we watch Halloween movies and eat candy until we burst," Roman says proudly, at the same time as Remus exclaiming, "Halloween orgy!"
"Never, you fiend!" Roman shouts, his expression twisting into disgust.
"Well, not with you," Remus defends. "Everyone else, though..." He twiddles his mustache and leers.
"No," Logan says, deadpan. "Save it, Remus."
"Y'all are no fun," Remus sulks.
"So which Halloween movies?" Virgil asks, dragging the subject back with all the strength he could muster. "I assume slasher movies are out, thanks to Patton."
"Friday the 13th!" Remus suggests.
"I just said no slasher movies," Virgil says. "What about The Nightmare Before Christmas?"
"This is Halloween, this is Halloween!" Patton sings, his glasses slipping down his nose until Logan fixes them for him.
"Acceptable," Logan says, surreptitiously brushing off some of the soot on his face.
"Nightmare, it is," Roman says, slipping the appropriate DVD in and settling on the couch between Virgil and Patton. Virgil sneakily holds hands with him, lacing their fingers and giving them a squeeze.
"Gross!" Remus calls from the top of the sofa.
"Shut up!" Virgil says, as the beginning of the movie plays.
"Popcorn!" Patton exclaims, pausing the movie. "We forgot about popcorn! We should- Logan, why are you shaking your head like that?"
"Is that what happened?" Virgil asks, struggling not to laugh. "Is that why you yelled for no one to check the kitchen before the party?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Logan says, his face brick red again under the soot.
ao3: “won’t you let me in”
rating: T
warnings: analogical, vampire au, blood, food
genre: hurt/comfort
description: Virgil isn't really used to visitors. Especially ones at his fourth floor window. ( day 12: “Am I walking toward something I should be running away from?” — Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House @tsshipmonth2020 )
"So let me get this straight," Virgil tells the man lurking outside his window at three in the morning. His window on the fourth floor, no less. "You are a vampire. You are desperate. You want me to let you in and let you feed from me, but you swear you won't kill me, on your mother's life. Even though she's probably been dead for a century."
"I am aware this is fairly desperate and foolish," the vampire says, somehow hanging onto his window ledge. "But I am desperate, and you are the only one who appears to be awake and by a window."
"What's your name?" Virgil asks. The vampire hesitates a little, and he wonders why.
"Logan," he finally reluctantly provides. Virgil pauses, studies the vampire's face through the window glass, and his jaw sags open.
"Wait a minute!" Virgil exclaims. "You- you're that missing college student, aren't you? The one who went missing back in January, it was all over the news. You're a vampire now, what happened?!"
"Someone had a guilty conscience," Logan says shortly. Bright blue eyes briefly dim. "I apologize for taking up your time," he adds stiffly. "Please do not inform anybody else that you have seen me. I tried to visit my family afterward. It did not go well."
"Wait," Virgil blurts out, swallowing hard. He can't believe the next words out of his mouth. "I wanna let you in."
"Are you sure?" Logan asks. He looks almost as hesitant as Virgil feels. "I don't want to take your blood or enter your domicile without your consent. I don't-" He swallows convulsively, and Virgil wonders again just what happened to him. Nothing good.
"Yes," Virgil says. He opens the window with shaking hands, carefully lifting out the screen so Logan can enter. He does so surprisingly gracefully, although his foot immediately hooks the end table and he faceplants into the carpet. Virgil has to try very hard not to laugh as he fits the screen back in. Logan can use the front door to leave.
"So," Logan says, once he has climbed to his feet. Thankfully, his glasses aren't broken, although he does have to adjust them. Virgil wonders why a vampire still needs glasses. Logan's wearing a blue hoodie and jeans, but he's still got a tie loosely cinched around his neck, flopping outside the hoodie. Nothing like what Virgil expected a vampire to look like.
"So do I just...let you bite my neck or..." Virgil trails off, feeling awkward. Logan's taller than him, but not by much, and he still has a looming presence that's difficult to describe. Virgil thinks it's the vampire effect.
"I could bite your wrist if you prefer," Logan offers. "The neck is more difficult to hide."
"Oh," Virgil says. He hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, okay, the wrist works," he decides, yanking up his hoodie sleeve and offering his right wrist before he can chicken out. Logan blinks at him like a befuddled owl, before he gently presses Virgil to sit down on the couch.
"I do not think you should stand," is all Logan will say.
It doesn't hurt. Virgil's surprised it doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel like anything really. He can't focus on anything, just the pleasant lassitude spreading through his body. All too soon, it ends as Logan lifts his head, a smear of red across his lips.
"I have band-aids," Logan informs him, rummaging in his hoodie pocket and pulling out a box of them. It is crumpled and torn, but it looks about half full with band-aids. Logan picks one out and carefully affixes it over the two bloody dots on Virgil's wrist, gently tugging Virgil's sleeve over the bandage.
"You should drink something," Logan tells him. "Juice, maybe. Do you have juice?"
"Yeah, orange," Virgil says lazily. "In the kitchen."
Logan brings him the carton.
"I didn't know where the glasses were," Logan admits. "I didn't want to intrude more than I already have." Virgil waves a lazy hand at him.
"Don't mind," he says. He drinks some of the juice. It tastes very sweet to him. Very pulpy. He giggles.
"Oh," Logan says. "Oh, I think you're having some kind of reaction to being bitten. I am so sorry. Normally people just go to sleep afterwards." He fidgets with his hands, his face drooping into a frown.
"I should go," Logan says. Virgil reaches out, snagging his sleeve as he turns to leave.
"Stay," Virgil implores. He's not sure why he doesn't want the vampire with the haunted eyes and incongruous tie to leave, but he suddenly, fiercely doesn't. Logan should stay. They could figure things out in the morning. "Please?" He adds. "Do you need to avoid sunlight, I have blackout curtains-"
"I don't like sunlight, but I won't burst into flames," Logan says. He tilts his head to one side a little. "Thank you for your concern, though. It is...unexpected."
"You are the politest vampire I know," Virgil says. "And the only one. But that's besides the point. Stay."
"I will," Logan acquiesces. "If only to look after you and make sure that you do not react poorly to me biting you."
"Hey, whatever works," Virgil says, letting that lazy feeling spread through him again. Logan's eyes are very soft, watching him.
"Sleep well," Logan whispers, grabbing the blanket from the back of the sofa and tucking it around Virgil. "I'll stay...Virgil. I'll stay."
ao3: “i’m having a great time”
rating: T
warnings: logan angst, considering ducking out, depression
genre: angst, open but hopeful ending
description: Logan ponders ducking out when a certain side stops him. ( day 10: “It may be the wrong decision, but fuck it, it’s mine.” — Mark Z Danielewski, House of Leaves @tsshipmonth2020 )
It's the only logical thing to do.
Logan massages his throat, still sore from Janus's cane yanking him out of the way. Janus has apologized, and Logan believes him, but the fact remains that Janus still did it. Janus still replaced him. Janus unmasked himself. That's what hurts the most. Logan is aware that Janus appeared in a different...format, but it still stings.
The fact remains. Thomas doesn't need him. Oh, Thomas still requires some degree of logic. But if Logan ducks out, Thomas will still have some logic. It won't be like Virgil. He just won't have Logan specifically, not like this, and he thinks maybe that's only for the better.
"Thomas doesn't need me," Logan says out loud, his voice slightly hoarse. "Not anymore." Maybe he did once upon a time. Logan could remember the thrill when Thomas listened to him, when the others cared about what he had to say. But those moments have grown fewer and fewer over the past several years. If there is a particular element of his job missing from Thomas's general subconscious, Logan is positive one of the others will pick it up. He feels bad potentially adding to anybody else's work load, but not enough to stop himself.
A breath of yellow from the corner of his eye, and Logan whirls to see Janus standing there, hesitant and awkward-footed, silver tongue silent for the moment.
"Why are you here?" Logan demands.
"You-" Janus stops. "When someone tells a big enough lie, it summons me," he explains. "I can always hear lies in the mind palace, but the significant ones automatically draw me."
Logan blinks in confusion.
"Your senses must be mistaken, Deceit- Janus," Logan corrects himself. "I have told no lies."
"I disagree," Janus says softly. "I hear lies, Logan. I heard yours."
"What is it?" Logan asks.
"Thomas does need you," Janus says, and Logan freezes.
"Inconceivable," he says through stiff lips. "Try again."
"I'm not lying," Janus insists. "Thomas doesn't just need logic, Logan. He needs you. You're so important and your contributions should be valued. You-"
"Should be," Logan repeats. "Should be, but they aren't." His voice strengthens. "I know what to do, Janus. Please don't try to stop me."
"Ducking out wasn't the right decision for Virgil," Janus says, a wince on his face when he mentions the anxious side. "It's not for you."
"It may be the wrong decision," Logan says softly, "but fuck it, it's mine."
"I won't let you leave quietly," Janus promises, a sad look coming into his mismatched eyes. "I'll get the others, Logan. I'll get Thomas."
"Do it then," Logan says, sitting down on his bed. "If you believe I am so important..." He hesitates, but he cannot make himself say prove it.
"You are," Janus insists. "Please, Logan. Let me show you."
"You can try, I suppose," Logan acquiesces, reluctant to duck out right in front of the other side. "But if you are wrong..."
"If I am wrong, then I won't stand in your way any longer," Janus says, although Logan doubts that. There's too much stubbornness in those eyes. Logan sighs, pushing up his glasses.
"Fine," Logan says, still reluctant. His throat still aches. His heart still hurts. He has not embraced the welcoming numbness that ducking out brings.
ao3: “the loss of hope”
rating: T
warnings: analogical, royality, sickness, food
genre: sickfic
description: Roman's sick. Well, they're all sick, to be fair. But Roman is extra sick, and Virgil is tired of it. ( day 27: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” — Dante, Inferno @tsshipmonth2020 )
Virgil carefully tapes the handmade sign in place on Roman's door. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here is scribbled on the paper in Virgil's fanciest handwriting, with little doodles of storm clouds and jagged lightning bolts around it in purple and yellow.
As he tiptoes away, he comes face to face with Logan, who raises a single eyebrow.
"Am I wrong?" Virgil challenged in a whisper, just as the ever-present clang of Roman's bell rang out, and they heard his sick-addled voice beg for a glass of juice.
"....No," Logan says after a moment. "No, you're not."
Patton comes trotting up the stairs, carefully balancing a glass of juice, only to nearly drop it when he sees Virgil's newest contribution to the door.
"Virgil!" Patton whispers in a shocked tone. "Virgil, he's sick."
"He's insufferable," Virgil hisses back, digging out a tissue and blowing his nose, then banishing the used tissue to the ether. "And he's not the only one who's sick! We all are!"
"He's the worst off," Patton argues, as the bell rings again. He darts another glance at the door, but he doesn't take the sign off, just enters. Virgil hears Patton's muffled voice telling Roman that he had brought his juice.
"Come on," Logan suggests, taking Virgil by the hand and leading him downstairs. Virgil coughs, stumbling after his boyfriend. Logan settles him on the couch, draping a blanket over him, as Virgil protests.
"I'm fine," he insists as Logan sticks a thermometer in his mouth.
"You have a fever," Logan says. "You are not fine." Virgil sighs.
"What about you?" Virgil asks. Logan summons another thermometer and pops it into his mouth.
"No fever," he reports after a minute or so. Virgil huffs under his breath. "I'll get you some medicine, and then you can rest," Logan says softly. "Patton and I can take care of Roman for now."
Virgil barely manages to get his medicine swallowed before he's out like a light, wrapped up in a soft purple blanket and resting on the sofa. Logan looks down at him with a gentle expression, before the familiar clang of the bell calls him away once more.
Two days later, Roman thunders down the stairs, a familiar paper crumpled in one hand.
"What's the meaning of this?" He bellows. Virgil stands up, giving a two-fingered salute.
"I see you're feeling better," he says, and sinks out to his bedroom, laughing all the way.
ao3: “but promise me this”
rating: T
warnings: platonic dukeceit, crying
genre: hurt/comfort
description: Remus doesn't want Janus to leave. (day 7: “Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. I would write the words a thousand times if they’d be strong enough to hold you here.” — Victoria Schwab, Gallant @tsshipmonth2020 )
He's going to leave.
Remus knows that. He knows that Janus doesn't belong down here. Doesn't belong in the dark, in the shadows, in the rot. He belongs with Virgil. With the others. He belongs with the light. He is self preservation. He is good.
Remus is not.
Remus is selfish.
Remus is greedy.
Remus doesn't want Janus to leave.
Which is why Remus is currently breaking Janus's door down, board by board, while Janus sleeps. Or at least, he was sleeping. Now he is awake and standing just a few inches from Remus, his face screwed up and tired and annoyed, and Remus can't make sense of the words spilling from his lips. He sounds like a Peanuts character, and it frightens him, because normally, Janus is the only one he understands when he feels this way.
He's managed to fuck up even this.
A tap on his wrist brings him back to himself, at least a little bit, and he looks up with startled, wet eyes to find Janus's ungloved hand tapping a familiar rhythm on his wrist. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight. Remus falls into the rhythm, his chest hitching.
"-Remus?"
"I understand you," Remus whispers, and bursts into tears. Janus's arms wind around him as they stand, separated by the jagged bottom half of Janus's broken door, and if that isn't symbolism, Remus doesn't know what is.
"Remus, what's wrong?" Janus asks, gently wiping away his tears as he starts to wind down. He is snotty and weepy and gross, but Janus pulls a handkerchief out of nowhere, dabbing at his face with soft hands.
"I don't want you to leave," Remus says, tiny and choked and miserable. "Stay. Stay with me. Please." He knows it's futile. Expects Janus to step away. For his face to shutter closed, for the gloves to return.
Instead, Janus presses him to the front of his pajamas.
"I'm not leaving you behind," Janus murmurs. "Never, Remus. I might- I think I'm going to end up moving up there. But I'm taking you with me. Everyone else can deal. I know Thomas has started to accept you more."
"He thinks I'm gross," Remus says. He sounds a little proud.
"You are," Janus agrees. "But that's okay. You're allowed to be gross. Gross and loud and messy and- and you, Remus. And I'm not going to leave you."
Remus thinks he can be forgiven for the fresh tears blotted into the fabric of Janus's pajamas after that. It's Janus's fault, after all.
