Warnings: sketchy, weird, possible suspenseful, references the devil
Word Count: 1326
Author’s Note: This fic is a product of hexcellent writing advice from @theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly, a song from @novagalaxy4real ‘s playlist, my old aesthetic, and a heaping helping of The Devil’s Carnival
Virgil opened his eyes, 'well,' he thought, 'this is new.' He'd had plenty of nightmares over the years in many different styles: silent black and white film, realistic, cartoon, horror, and more, but he'd never had a nightmare about a carnival.
He was standing in front of a ticket booth at night outside what looked like an old, decrepit carnival with a fence around it. To be fair, he'd never been to a real carnival, but the absence of a sign with the name of the place on it was a bit sketchy. Another odd thing, the calliope music he could hear from somewhere inside one of the tents was playing some kind of waltz.
But, it was his nightmare, and he would just have to play along until he woke up. Virgil stepped up to the ticket booth where a thin, balding old man stood.
“Ticket, please,” the old ticket-keeper said, his voice low and gravely.
“I don't ha-” Virgil was surprised when he looked down and saw a ticket in his hand. It read: “Carnival: Admit One” with the number 666 printed on each end. 'Well, at least they'd gotten his number right,' he thought, ruefully, before handing over his ticket.
The ticket-keeper gestured him to enter and Virgil went to the gate, which opened without visible provocation. Virgil stepped through, and the gate squeaked shut behind him, closing with a metallic clang.
The dirt paths of the carnival twisted around faded yellow and red tents, past buildings with peeling paint and dilapidated shutters, and by booths, once brightly lit with cheerful signage, now dark with cracked and faded signs, where there were still signs at all. Virgil walked through with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. There were hardly any people there, which meant it was probably a jump-scare nightmare or a chase nightmare. He shuddered, he didn't like either of those. The Calliope music still played faintly from...somewhere, he couldn't pinpoint the direction.
A 'hobo clown' sat on the ground at the corner of a game booth. As Virgil passed, he held out his hat, ratty and with a few holes in it, wordlessly asking for change. Virgil dug in the pockets of his jeans, surprised to find a dollar and some spare change. He grabbed all of it and dropped it in the man's hat, hurrying on. The clown looked a bit sinister, and he didn't want to be around him any longer than necessary.
Virgil wandered along a path between two tents, passing by a tall, muscular man with a large scar on his face. The man held a whip and glared at Virgil as he passed, but he didn't speak or follow him. Virgil was a little surprised, his dreams were usually a lot more, well terrifying than this by now, not that walking past the carnival workers was enjoyable, but they weren't chasing him or harassing him or tearing him limb from limb. Virgil's shoulders relaxed a smidge, maybe this dream wasn't so bad.
He walked past a merry-go-round where a woman made up to look like a broken china doll stood. She crooked her finger at him, gesturing him to follow her. Virgil mentally shrugged and followed her towards one of the tents. She slipped inside a flap in the tent, there was a sign on the ground that looked like it had fallen down from over the flap that read “Employees Only.” Virgil stopped. The woman's hand appeared through the opening, crooking her finger again. He rolled his eyes and turned around, walking away. 'Nice try lady,' he thought, 'use it on someone who isn't gay next time.
Virgil finally heard it, the calliope music growing louder as he approached the center of the carnival. He followed the music towards a large, circular tent and walked around it, looking for an entrance. He finally found one that read “All Welcome” and entered. The same strange waltz he'd heard when he first arrived was still playing, all at once comfortingly odd and familiar.
Inside the tent were a few rows of seats, all empty, and the center 'ring' was clear, empty save for one man with purple hair standing back to him in a warm yellow spotlight. Virgil took in the man's tight black pants and shiny black boots, such a startlingly clean contrast to the faded, grimy look of the rest of the carnival and its employees. The jacket he wore was startlingly crisp and clean too, white with red and gold trim. His hair fell perfectly too, and Virgil knew who it was.
'It's a nightmare,' his mind shouted at him, 'this won't end well!' Virgil didn't listen, couldn't listen to it. He was drawn forward like a moth to a flame, stepping into the center ring and into the spotlight. The man turned around and Roman, handsome, princely, exasperating Roman smiled at him. His heart fluttered, this felt different. This didn't feel like a nightmare. It felt like...
Roman bowed and offered Virgil his hand looking up at him through his lashes. Virgil felt him put his hand in Roman's without consciously choosing to do so. Roman settled Virgil's hand on Roman's shoulder and set his on Virgil's waist. Virgil stood, stock still as Roman took his other hand in his and began to lead him through a waltz. Virgil had never danced, had never been good at it and had never tried to improve, but suddenly he was gliding, almost floating on air as Roman lead him through the lilting pattern of the dance around the tent.
Virgil paid no mind as the spotlight followed them, took no heed as the tent filled with the carnival employees, and was completely oblivious even as the owner of the carnival, Satan himself entered. He wasn't aware of anything outside of their little pool of light, or even outside the circle of Roman's arms. Roman lead him through a few gentle turns and a couple more showy steps and Virgil matched him gracefully in their strange duet.
“Is this a nightmare?” He finally asked Roman in hushed tones when his partner had finished promenading him.
“No,” Roman replied, just as softly, with a tiny smile twitching up the corners of his lips. “This is a dream.”
Roman spun Virgil again and sank him into a gentle dip, kissing his lips. Virgil's eyes slid shut as he kissed Roman back.
And then Virgil was falling, waking up when he fell off his bed. He groaned and rubbed the back of his head.
'All in all, it had been a nice dream,' Virgil mused, taking stock on the pain in his head, back, and butt, nothing seriously damaged, just in pain, 'even if the end was unexpected'.
A tousled head of purple hair peeked over the side of Virgil's bed.
“I told you your bed wasn't big enough for both of us. You're sleeping in my bed tonight.” Roman reached over the edge of the bed to help Virgil up.
The moment Virgil took Roman's hand, for a split second, it felt like when Roman had taken his hand in the dream, but the moment ended and Virgil stood with a small wince that made Roman frown.
“You're not hurt too badly, are you,” the princely side asked, looking concerned.
Virgil rolled his eyes at the delayed expression of care.
“I'm fine, Princey, and my bed isn't too small, your ego is just too big.”
Roman scoffed, his expression of concern disappearing instantly. His eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“So? How was your first ever dream!?”
Virgil looked down at Roman, sitting back on his heels in the middle of Virgil's bed, his hair disheveled and a child-like grin on his face.
“It was...” he trailed off, trying to find a word to describe it. His mouth quirked up in a nostalgic little smile, “weird. It was wonderfully weird.”
