#just for science take off that shirt Toto

[starklyn]

If Toto bad, why so hot ?

#just for science take off that shirt Toto #who do you think you are #looking that good #how can he look so sexy and cute at the same time #toto Wolff #f1 #formula one #mercedes amg f1

[starryknight09]

One last good-bye

Febuwhump Day 15: “Run. Don’t look back”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Run.  Don’t look back.” Rhodey pushed him forward.  Peter stumbled, looking at the man in shock.

“Go!” Rhodey yelled.  This time Peter listened.  He knew he’d be useless in this fight.  And Rhodey could fly.  Peter couldn’t.  Sure, he could swing, but only when there was something to stick to, which didn’t exist in the middle of this rocky wasteland.

He took off, sprinting as fast as he could in the direction of the Quinjet, not looking back.  They’d wandered far enough away that the Quinjet was out of sight, so he hoped he was going in the right direction.

“Helping Dr. Strange will be fun, you thought.” He mumbled to himself as he ran.  “Yeah right.”

He could hear the repulsors firing from the War Machine armor but the sound was barely audible over the stampede of all those things running at them.  He wanted to glance back to make sure Rhodey was ok, but he knew he couldn’t chance it.  He didn’t need his super hearing to hear the creatures gaining on him.  Rhodey could take care of himself.  He was a big boy.  A louder bang sounded in between repulsor blasts.  Rhodey must be pulling out the bigger fire power.

Run. He thought to himself.  Don’t turn around.  Don’t turn around.

Why had they ever agreed to help Dr. Strange in the first place?  This was way beyond his pay grade.  Some other evil wizard was messing around with bad sorcery and now Peter was running from weird spooky undead creatures.

“Karen.” He gasped.  “Any luck with the comms?”

“I’m sorry Peter.  Something is still jamming my communication abilities.”  Damn.

They never should’ve split up.  Whose bright idea had that been anyway?  Right.  Sam’s.  Peter hadn’t known him before, but it seemed like the whole being Captain America thing had kind of gone to his head.

“The enemy creatures are gaining on you.” Karen warned.

“I’m aware!” He tried to run faster but he didn’t think it worked.  He knew it’d be bad news bears if any of these things bit him.  Dr. Strange had been clear enough about that.  His only consolation was that he was in the Ironspider suit, so if bullets couldn’t pierce it, he was pretty sure these ugly things teeth couldn’t.  But he wasn’t absolutely 100 percent sure.  Besides, the suit wouldn’t save him if was overrun by these things.  The sheer number of them would crush him.  Not a great way to go.

They were getting so close he could smell them and the pungent smell of rotting flesh and garbage made him want to gag.  

Must run faster.  Must run faster.

Finally, the Quinjet came into view.  Oh thank god.

“I recommend you increase your velocity.  At this current pace you will not reach the Quinjet before you’re overrun.” Karen informed him.

Shit.

“Help!” He screamed, hoping another group had returned to the Quinjet and would hear him.  “A little help!”

A growl sounded behind him.  Way too close.  He turned around.  And immediately regretted it.  Man, they were as ugly as they were stinky, and he only had about a thirty foot lead on them.

This was not good.  This was so not good.

In the split second he glanced backward, he tripped.  He flew through the air before crashing to the ground and rolling across the rock laden dirt terrain.

I’m going to die.  This is how Spiderman goes?  Really?  He thought as he tumbled.

The instant he stopped, he rocketed back to his feet and started running again, even though he knew it was pointless.  Those things were right behind him.  He didn’t want to turn around and look.  He didn’t want to know when death would be coming.

But then from one second to the next, he had an idea.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.  Sure, he didn’t have firepower and he couldn’t fight these things hand to hand, but he still had his webs.  Just because they couldn’t swing him anywhere didn’t mean they were useless.  He spun back around, trying not panic at the fact that the creatures were only like ten feet away as he shot his webs out across the entire line of them, sticking them together.

They fell and that caused their comrades behind them to trip over them and fall as well like a line of dominos.  It wasn’t a definitive solution, but it’d bought him some time.  The Quinjet was getting closer, and now he could see people running down the ramp toward him.  Sam and Bucky.  Wanda and Clint.  Scott and Professor Hulk.  Dr. Strange.

He wasn’t going to die after all!

And then the other wizard guy showed up.

Ok.  Maybe he’d spoke too soon…

Dr. Strange glided through the air to meet the other wizard guy in a collision of colors.  Peter thought his gold sparkle transporting rings looked cool, but whatever spell he’d just cast put them to shame.  Multicolored glitter sparkles fell from the sky like rain, landing on his skin but not hurting him.  They rested there for a few seconds before fading away.  A moment later he realized the noise behind him had greatly decreased.  He risked a quick glance backward and gaped.  Any creature touched by the glitter stuff started gradually fading away until they disappeared altogether.

It took him another few strides to realize he didn’t need to run anymore.  Nothing was chasing him.  Dr. Strange had eradicated the entire undead creature herd with one spell.  Wow.  There was definitely something to be said about the magic or mystical arts or whatever the man called it.

“Kid?  You ok?” Sam asked, reaching him a few seconds after he’d stopped.  The man clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down.

“Yeah.” He answered as he tried to catch his breath.  “I’m good.  So…now what do we do?”

Sam glanced up at Strange fighting the other wizard guy, the two of them periodically clashing in the air as they both fired colorful spells.  If it’d been dark out Peter could’ve almost made believe he was watching fireworks.

“Hell if I know.” Sam admitted.  “I draw the line at street magicians.  This wizard shit is beyond me.”

Peter huffed out a laugh.

“Hey, where’s Rhodey?” He hadn’t seen the man since he’d ran and hoped he was ok.  He couldn’t imagine the man hadn’t gotten away with the War Machine armor.  He took a few steps back in the direction he’d came, searching the horizon.

“Don’t worry.  He’s right there.  See?” Sam pointed up in the sky where Rhodey was flying toward them.

Right.  He didn’t know how he’d missed him.  His heart rate slowed.  Mr. Stark’s best friend was fine.  Peter hadn’t been able to save his mentor, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his family, not if he could help it.  And Rhodey was definitely part of Mr. Stark’s family.

“Watch out!” Sam yelled, but the warning came too late.  He’d been so focused on Rhodey he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the wizards battling.  His spidey sense flared in warning, but too late.  He tried to dive out of the way, but the range of the spell’s blast heading toward him was too large to evade.  The globe of red light enveloped him, and everything went black.

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he sat up before he was even fully awake, the adrenaline from the battle still churning through him.  He’d been hit.  Where was he hit?  He ran his hands over the front of his body and looked down at it, but he didn’t see any blood.  And nothing hurt.  But…wait.  What?  Why wasn’t he wearing his Spiderman suit?

“Ok.  What the hell.” He mumbled to himself, holding his hands up in front of his face as if they could tell him.  But they were bare.  And he had on jeans ith one of his science pun t-shirts, which was the outfit he’d been wearing before he’d put on the Ironspider suit earlier.  Weird.  Last he’d checked he’d left his clothes in the Quinjet.  Maybe someone had changed him out of his suit and into his clothes?  He frowned.  That made no sense.  

Where was the Quinjet anyway?  Everything was a lot quieter.  He glanced around, taking in his new surroundings, and his face slackened in shock.  Because he definitely wasn’t in the barren rocky wasteland where they’d been fighting that wizard.  In fact, his surroundings didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before.  Was he even on Earth?

“Oh shit.  Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” He muttered.

The ground he sat on looked like water, but its surface was solid.  He slapped his palms down and watched as ripples expanded outward from them, like what would happen if you dropped a stone into water.  But he wasn’t wet or sinking.  Ok.  This was officially freaky weird.

“Where am I?” He whispered and stood, doing a full circle to try to orient himself.  It didn’t help.  Everything looked the same.  The weird blackish blue ground he stood on stretched out as far as the eye could see.  No other pieces of landscape pierced it.  The line of the horizon was only perceptible because the blue of the air was just a shade lighter than the ground.  The whole aesthetic was dizzying and kind of trippy.

And then he looked up.

“Holy shit.” His heart leapt into his throat.  The sky was a dark expanse of stars and galaxies.  And he could see a few large planets that looked almost close enough to touch.  It was terrifyingly beautiful.  He reached out and tried to poke at one of the closer ones, a red giant with rings.  It was too far away to actually touch, but the spot where his finger poked made the air ripple out in the same way it had on the ground, like the atmosphere was composed of gelatin that jiggled when touched.

“What the hell...” He definitely wasn’t on Earth.  What kind of spell had he been hit with?  Had he been transported somewhere?  Banished?  Was it reversible?

“Underoos.” Came a voice from behind him.

Peter stiffened.  He hadn’t heard that voice in months.  The last time had been on a rubble strewn battlefield, fighting for his life, and the life of the entire universe.  Terror gripped him.  He was afraid to turn around, and at the same time, he’d never wanted to do anything more in his whole life.  He turned.  And there he was.  Mr. Stark.  Standing there without a care in the world, hands in his pockets with sunglasses on and a characteristic grin on his face.

“Mr. Stark.” He whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

“Hey kid.” The man’s eyes softened as he took him in.

Peter just stared, brain unable to comprehend that this could possibly be real.  He didn’t know what to say.  He’d imagined so many times what he’d say if he ever saw Mr. Stark again, but now he could barely make his mouth move to form words.

“But—  How—” He stammered, not even sure what he was trying to ask, and then a thought struck him and his eyes widened as he asked, “Am I dead?”

“No.” Mr. Stark reassured him then clarified, “Well, not technically.”

“What does that mean?  Not technically dead?  So, am I not technically alive either?” His tone got higher pitched even as he tried not to panic.  He knew there were more important things to talk to Mr. Stark about, but he couldn’t think about anything else until he knew what was happening to him.

“You’re in the in between.” Mr. Stark explained.

He frowned.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The man said, face showing his disapproval.  And Peter couldn’t help the small smile that cracked across his face.  He’d missed those looks from Mr. Stark.

“Then how do I go back?” He asked.

Mr. Stark shook his head.  “There’s nothing you can do.  We just have to wait.”

Not the most comforting answer.  “But if I’m in the uh in between, how are you here?”

“It’s too complicated to explain, but let’s just say I’m here to keep you company.” Mr. Stark smiled again.

And Peter finally let himself enjoy the fact that he was standing there with Mr. Stark.  Something he’d wished for more than anything.  He wasn’t going to waste it even if his own fate was uncertain.  In the next second, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around the man.  He was substantial.  Whole.  Mr. Stark wrapped his arms around him and hugged him right back.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t know how that was even possible, just like he didn’t know how he could hug his mentor since supposedly neither of them had bodies right now, but it was happening all the same.  

“I missed you.” Peter whispered into the man’s neck.

Mr. Stark brought a hand up to the back of his head and tangled it in his hair.  “I missed you too kid.”

Peter didn’t know how long they stood there hugging.  Not that it mattered.  Time didn’t exist in this place.  He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

And Tony didn’t say anything.  And he didn’t pull away.  He just kept holding him.  For as long as Peter wanted.

Peter tried to soak it all in and memorize every detail of the moment.  The smell of Mr. Stark’s aftershave, the scratch of his beard, the warmth of his embrace, how absolutely protected and safe he felt.  He tucked away every sensation and feeling so when he needed to in the future, he could close his eyes and recall it.  Because he knew he’d never get another chance at this.  

“It’s not fair.” The words came out before he’d even decided to say them.

“I know.” Tony agreed.

“I wish you could come back with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Do you…do you regret it?” He whispered his question.  One of the things he’d always wondered.

“No.” Tony answered without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because there was no other way.”

That was true enough.  Dr. Strange had told Peter something similar.  If Mr. Stark hadn’t snapped, they would’ve lost and everyone would’ve died.

“But do you regret inventing time travel?  You could’ve lived a full life with Pepper and Morgan.” Peter had always felt like he’d been partially responsible for taking that away from him.  The way everyone had told the story, he’d been the catalyst for Mr. Stark inventing time travel.  And now he got to have this time with Mr. Stark when Morgan or Pepper never would, and that made him feel even more guilty.

“No I couldn’t have.” The man said pulling away so he could cup Peter’s face in his hands.  “Because I didn’t have you.”

The tears in Peter’s eyes slid silently down his cheeks.  “I wish you wouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t.  I had to.  No regrets.” Tony smiled at him and Peter marveled at how it could be so soft and so sad at the same time.  “I love you kid.”

“I love you too.” He said back and fell forward back into a hug.  After another long minute or so, Peter gathered enough self control to pull away again.  He couldn’t stay glued to the man forever.  No matter how much he may want to right now.

As Mr. Stark let him go, he kept his hands resting on Peter’s shoulders, and Peter remembered another thing he wished he’d gotten the chance to say when Mr. Stark had been alive.  The man had done so much for him. Had become something of a father figure to him.  And he’d never verbalized his appreciation in any way.

“I uh I never thanked you.” He said.

“You never had to.”

“Still, I want to.  Thank you.  For everything.”

“You’re welcome Pete.” Mr. Stark smiled.  “But no thanks are necessary.”

“Is there anything I can—"

“I don’t think we have much time left.” Mr. Stark interrupted with a frown.

“Oh.” A short burst of panic hit him.  He didn’t want to leave Mr. Stark.  “What-what if I want to stay?”

“No.” Mr. Stark answered firmly.  “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not your time yet.”

“So I can’t choose to stay?” He asked, but even as he did, he knew he never would.  He couldn’t do that to everyone he loved at home no matter how much he missed Mr. Stark.

“No.  That’s not how it works.  And you wouldn’t really want to stay anyway.” Mr. Stark said in his typical all-knowing fashion.

“I know.” He said sadly and then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Shoot.”

“What’s it like here?”

Tony gave him a peaceful smile, eyes twinkling as he answered, “Wonderful.”

It didn’t fix anything, but it was a small consolation at least.  A weird feeling started somewhere near his belly and spread, like a buzzing, tugging sensation.

“Time to go Pete.” Mr. Stark said, his smile turning sad.

“Mr. Stark.” He whined and leaned forward to give him one last hug.  He hated the feeling of being torn away from him.  Hated how similar this whole thing felt to getting dusted on Titan.

“I know.” Mr. Stark shushed as Peter clung to him.  “But it’s ok buddy.  It’s going to be ok.”

Peter gripped him tighter, but he could tell it was a battle he was going to lose.

“Bye kid.  I love you and I’m so proud of you.” Mr. Stark whispered.

“I love you too.” He said frantically, worried any second he’d be torn away and unable to finish what he wanted to say.  “And I miss you so much.”

He tried to hold on, but in the next moment, he was finally ripped away.

“No.” He protested desperately.  “Tony!”

“Tony!” The man’s name was still on his lips as his eyes snapped open.

“Hey, you’re ok.” Rhodey said from where he was crouched down next to him.

“I…I…what?”

“That wizard guy hit you with a spell, but Strange finally figured out how to reverse it.” Rhodey explained.

Peter blinked and looked around, recognizing his surroundings.  He was lying on a couch in the Sanctum.  It all came back to him.  The fight.  The other wizard guy.  Getting hit by the red spell.  Mr. Stark.

“I saw Mr. Stark.” He blurted out and Rhodey’s eyes widened.  

“I did.  I saw him.” He insisted, worried the man wouldn’t believe him.

Rhodey looked up at someone behind Peter’s head.  Peter craned backward and noticed Dr. Strange standing there, a neutral expression on his face.

“It’s possible.” Dr. Strange said.  “The spell sent him somewhere where he was neither alive nor dead.”

“Mr. Stark called it the in between.”

Dr. Strange nodded and Rhodey looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Interesting that Stark was able to cross over into that place.” Dr. Strange said.  “You must have a strong connection with him for that to have been possible.”

Peter nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he remembered all that they had said.

Rhodey kept staring at him, his mouth open like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t figure out what.  If it’d been him, Peter knew what he’d want to know, so he answered the man’s wordless question.  

“He’s ok.”  Peter said with a small smile.  “He’s happy.”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

[ultxmately]

The group at Conventions

Lance:

- his first impression of them were that they're just for major nerds and the whole thing was pretty pointless and dumb

- newsflash Lance, you're a fuckin nerd too

- went with Pidge and Hunk for the first time to see a Marvel panel and kept going back after that

- loves buying plushies and jackets

- seriously it's a problem

- hes always wanted to cosplay but he always holds it off to the last minute so he'll usually either end up going decked out in merch clothes or a costume he bought online

- he still really wants to make his own costume one day tho

- one time he met Chris Pratt and almost cried (totally cried) when he signed his shirt

- Pidge has pictures of him in the center of a bunch of Spiderman cosplayers

- Lance claims it was the closest to a cult he will ever get to see in person

Hunk:

- is mostly there for comics, he loves going to those booths to buy new issues

- is perfect for navigating through crowds because people kind of part the way for him

- is of course the mom of the group

- "ok so we have that panel at four and the meet and greet at five. It might be cutting it close but we should be good if we take a bathroom break beforehand. Speaking of which we should probably take one now, too. Also whens the last time you ate, Pidge? I say we have lunch in about half an hour before it gets packed"

- has thought about bringing a baby leash for Lance and Pidge because they like to wander off so damn much

- doesnt like to cosplay much but he'll do it in a group setting

- hella good at spotting those good deals on merch (which is good because otherwise Lance would go into debt)

Pidge:

- total nerd but it's great

- mainly comes for video games and the occasional anime

- once cosplayed as a Homestuck character and Matt will never let her live it down

- (she got horns stuck to her head)

- is really good at making fake weapons or masks for cosplay so she'll normally set up an etsy shop a few months before the con to rake in some extra cash

- matt has suggested to open a booth but she'd rather walk around with her friends

- pin hoarder. As in,,, she literally only buys pins,,, maybe a sticker for her laptop here and there but you get the idea

- "Pidge at this rate you're gonna run out of clothes to put them on" "I am an innovator, Matt, I will find a way"

Matt:

- isnt it obvious that hes an anime nerd?

- never cosplays the same character twice

- cant wait to meet up with his fellow nerds and freak out over new seasons

- Pidge is his impulse control

- She's put a limit on how much merch he can buy

- it's mainly spent on prints and figures

- theres a video floating around on the internet of him dressed as Narruto dancing to Africa by Toto with one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes

Keith:

- he and Shiro met the group at a con

- Keith sets up booth every year to sell prints and zines

- He's actually a fairly well known artist

- He and Lance got into a lot of fandom related arguments at first until Hunk told him that Lance has bought like three of his works online in the past

- Lance will never forgive him

- On the days he isnt running his booth, he likes to walk around and look at all the cool weapon replicas

- shiro has stopped him from buying a sword or knife on more then one occasion

- knows a couple other artists and likes to meet up with them

- his bedroom walls are pretty much covered floor to ceiling with posters and art

Shiro:

- mostly there for Keith but still freaks out over DnD stuff

- Has gone to several tournaments and gotten in the top three

- If hes cosplaying, it's as his DnD character

- Hes actually fairly well known in that community

- Like Hunk, hes also there to make sure everyone doesnt die

- "Keith did you eat lunch? I told you to take a break an hour ago here drink some water weve been walking around a lot. Actually let's all find somewhere to sit down for a few minutes. Did we lose Lance again? I think he said he was gonna go check out that booth over there but let's all agree to meet back here in half an hour before we go to that panel"

- a lot of people ask if his scar and prosthetic are real and Keith wants to murder them

- Shiro just rolls with it and incorporates it into his DnD character

Allura:

- loves cosplaying as Wonder Woman or Stevonnie from SU

- She also loves studio ghibli, it's all she spends her money on

- She once entered a raffle and won a signed book full of concept art

- it is her most prized possession

- Coran almost spilled soda on it once and it's a miracle hes still alive to this day

- little kids like to come up and take pictures with her and she loves seeing how excited they get

- every once in a blue moon a guy will come up and start quizzing her about certain things and without fail everytime she'll purposefully spoil something for them and watch the life drain from their eyes

Romelle:

- didnt actually know what Comicon was until Allura brought her to one

- She automatically fell in love and now she and Allura have it down to a science

- they both come in with a game plan and schedule down to the second

- Shes a huge fan of cartoons like Steven Unirverse, Bee and Puppycat, Adventure Time, you get the idea

- Cosplays as Sailor Moon or some other older anime character

- Shes often asked to pose in group photos and she happily agrees

- her bed is covered in plushies that even outnumber Lance

- loves buying fan made clothes and going to panels

#this is me projecting because i cant go to sdcc : #vld #lance #keith #hunk #shiro #pidge #matt #allura #romelle #vld headcanons #vld au #voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #hunk garret #pidge holt #katie holt #pidge gunderson #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #matt holt

[lovelylogans]

my true love gave to me

ships: platonic lamp, prinxiety, logicality

warnings: drinking, swearing, food mentions, jokes of the “it’s so cute i’m going to die” variety

words: 14,210

read on ao3

Twelve broken cookies, eleven homemade ornaments, ten crumpled solo cups, nine choreographed dance numbers, eight pissed-off mall elves, seven kept promises, six kinds of wrapping paper, five mismatched shoes, four doofus roommates, three different drinking games, two mugs of coffee, and the smell of smoke at 4 AM.

The original song might be catchier, but honestly, Virgil prefers his version. Even with all the hilarity and hysteria.

Something is burning. The smell's what wakes him, and it takes him about three seconds to identify the scent of smoke.

Fantastic. Virgil loves starting the day with a surge of adrenaline straight out of the gate.

Virgil stumbles out of bed, managing to avoid bouncing off the wall, and careens his way to the kitchen, feeling a little bit like his body is a bumper car being piloted by a sugar-high toddler. Distantly, he thinks he probably should have put a shirt on, in case he has to flee the building at the tail-end of December, but he can't really bring himself to care about that just now.

He comes to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen, and makes a sound that could only be compared to a particularly inquisitive squeaky hinge.

Two heads snap around from where they are focused on something on the kitchen table. Virgil leans a little to see what it is and nearly overbalances. He thinks he can hear his adrenal glands screeching to a halt in sheer confusion. Logan, wild-eyed, throws himself casually atop the kitchen table, and Roman is beaming at him at full wattage.

"Hello, friend-o!"

If the rest of Virgil's brain cells were awake, that would be the point where the Kill Bill sirens would start going off. Firstly, because Roman only calls people friend when he wants something from them. Secondly, the last time Roman and Logan teamed up in the shroud of darkness it resulted in what Patton politely terms as "a science experiment mishap" and Virgil terms "sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order." Thirdly, there is still the scent of something burning.

As it is, he's too distracted by the brightness and eagerness of Roman's smile. His currently awake brain cells have folded up the list currently titled "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" and is beating him about the head with it. God, why does he have to live with his crush, it's the worst thing ever.

His brain finally seizes on a talking point, and he says, "Fire?" in a voice still gruff from sleep. Belatedly, he crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"No, no, nonononono, what?" Roman says, laughing the fakest laugh Virgil has ever heard while exchanging a frantic look with Logan, who is posing on the table in a way that wouldn't be out of character for Roman, but for Logan looks like the least natural pose possible. Logan is also currently gesturing to Roman to get Virgil to leave the room, as if Virgil can't see him.

"You look sleepy, Virgil," Roman says, voice sugary-sweet, arm wrapping tight around his shoulders and steering him away from the kitchen table of mystery. Roman's arm is very warm, and his body is a tense warm line against Virgil's side. The material of his sweater is very soft along his bare skin. Virgil is quietly dying, just a little. "Aren't you just so sleepy?"

Virgil's body traitorously leans into Roman, and he mumbles, "What are you two doing?"

"Shh, nothing, nothing, don't you worry your pretty little head about it," Roman says, and Virgil is aware he's being steered out of the kitchen and thereby away from whatever apocalypse-worthy thing Roman and Logan have deemed fit to create in the dead of night, but he's also very very tired. And also, Roman just called him pretty.

"But I smelled smoke," Virgil says, sleepy and confused and a little punch drunk off human contact, and before he knows it, Roman has shoved him unceremoniously onto his own bed. 

"Did you?" Roman asks, attempting to wrap Virgil in all the blankets like the world's most emo burrito. 

Virgil tries in vain to wriggle his arms loose, which results in a five minute detour of the conversation while Roman attempts to bundle him up and Virgil attempts to keep the ability to breathe without being smothered to death.

This ends with Roman laying mostly on behind and slightly on top of Virgil, pinning him to the bed, and Virgil making a few token wriggles of malcontent but really mostly kind of enjoying the weight and heat of Roman's chest to really try anything. He is very warm. He should probably be trying to get back up again but all his brain is capable of is a half-asleep stupor, stunned and lazy with it.

"I know what you're doing," Virgil mumbles from where his face is mostly squashed into the pillows. He now knows what it's like to be the little spoon with Roman, this is going to ruin his life, but also this is the best thing that has happened to him this week.

"That's nice, Virgil," Roman says distractedly, and Virgil feels the sensation of Roman's arm leaving his body. He supposes this might mean that Logan and Roman are having some kind of gesticular conversation behind his back, but as Virgil is pinned, he can't exactly eavesdrop. Eyes-drop? Since he'd be looking at it.

Virgil wants to laugh. Patton would like that one.

Patton. If Roman's snuggle-warfare is going to work—and it probably will, at this point of exhaustion Virgil's only requirements for sleep are "vaguely horizontal" and "warm" and Roman knows that—then Patton will be the only one making sure the apartment doesn't explode, and Patton sleeps with the kind of force that would make hibernating bears weep with envy.

He is the last line of defense. If it were just Roman or just Logan awake, Virgil would leave them to it. But Roman and Logan are a duo to be reckoned with. Logan and Roman are the type of people who are convinced whatever they'd create would be used to ascend to the astral plane with Africa by Toto blaring in the background. Roman and Logan are the type of people who think they could create something that would be used to unlock the final secrets of alchemy. Roman and Logan would merrily burn down the whole apartment complex if it furthered one of their brain children.

Virgil has a sudden and terrifying mental image of being tackled by dozens of tiny Roman-and-Logan look-a-likes, whilst they both cackle proudly in the background.

Right. Okay. Either he needs to caffeinate or sleep, and he can do neither of those could happen while they're in danger of Roman and Logan realizing An Idea.

Virgil pushes himself up onto an elbow, intent on going to see what Logan was blocking from sight, and very suddenly, Virgil is on his back, Roman laying on top of him with a wild light in his eyes.

"Um," Virgil says, because now he knows how Roman feels on top of him this is the best and worst EVER, "you, uh, realize this is just making me more curious. Right?"

Roman's weight on top of him is—nice, to say the least. There's an odd sense of comfort from being boxed in like this, which is saying something, because if it were anyone else Virgil would probably be halfway to freaking out. As it is—

Roman blinks down at him, elbows on either side of Virgil's head, close enough that Virgil can pick out all the little golden flecks in his eyes. "There's nothing to be curious about," he says, high-pitched. "I, um. What if I just really wanted to tuck you in?"

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Sure. And Logan wanted me to draw him like a French girl, and the smoke was just a scented candle, right?"

"I'm so glad you've understood the situation," Roman says brightly. The fact that he is currently on top of Virgil hasn't fazed him at all. "Now, don't you feel better? Relaxed enough to sleep? Preferably until noon?"

Virgil's eyes narrow. "I'll accept your terms," he says warningly, "if you promise me that whatever you and Logan are doing won't affect our security deposit."

"No, no, of course not," Roman says soothingly, and adds, more seriously, "Really, Virgil. I promise. You know how protective Logan gets over the deposit. The most danger we're in is a couple of burnt fingers, maybe." He pauses, and then leans in close enough that his lips are brushing Virgil's ear FUCK, "It's a matter of Logan's pride, really. I'm doing him a favor."

Virgil really hopes that Roman cannot feel his pulse from where their chests are pressed together. "Logan's pride?" He whispers, half to the air and half into Roman's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"Mmm," Roman hums into his ear. "He required a bit of creative flair for a certain someone's present."

It clicks then. Patton. Of course. In the cover of night, when Patton would only be roused by the sound of sirens, and even that was a stretch. He supposes they just hadn't counted on Virgil's panic response. Logan and Patton's mutual crushes were the worst kept secret within the apartment, except, it seems, to Logan and Patton themselves, who were both equally convinced they would be resigned to pining away in misery forever.

"Ah," Virgil says. "I'll, uh. I'll just stay here, then. Where you've tucked me in so nicely."

He waits patiently, trying not to spontaneously combust, and adds, "You, um. You can get off of me now, Roman, you've got me convinced."

"Oh!" Roman says, and he draws back, clearing his throat as he awkwardly clambers off of Virgil. "Of course. Ah. Sleep well."

A little cold, very conscious of his bare chest, Virgil draws the blankets around himself tighter and turns back onto his side. Distantly, he sees Roman going to where Logan is standing in the doorway, and he can hear the low murmur of Logan's voice, too soft for him to catch, but he can definitely see the way Roman's shoving his shoulder as they walk away.

When he's certain that they're out of sight, Virgil turns his face into the pillow and screams a little.

2 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

In the morning—actually the morning, it's a Christmas miracle—Virgil rolls out of bed and tugs on a shirt, this time, before slouching to the kitchen.

"Mornin', kiddo!"

A warm mug is pressed into his hands. Virgil doesn't even look to see what it is before immediately working on transferring the contents of the mug into his body, right now. Bless Patton, it's coffee, because Patton knows that Virgil would chug an entire pitcher of coffee if given the chance.

When he breaks to breathe, he makes a grunting noise of greeting at Patton, who smiles and asks if he wants eggs or cereal. 

"Whatever you're having," Virgil mumbles, and starts drinking more of his coffee. He glances around the kitchen surreptitiously—there are no obvious signs of damage, which means Roman kept his promise.

Patton goes about pouring them two bowls of artificially bright cereal, and Virgil pours himself another mug of coffee.

"Good morning!" Roman trills, swooping into the kitchen with all of his usual obnoxious morning-person-ness. Virgil, huddling over his cereal bowl, is suddenly very conscious of his unbrushed rat's nest of hair. He makes another sound of greeting that could be perceived as friendly.

Roman angles his smile at Virgil, and Virgil tries his best not to choke on his cereal. Roman probably knows exactly disarming he is, and he certainly isn't above flirting to get out of trouble, as shown by the last science experiment mishap/sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order/time the landlord marched in to have a talk with Roman and staggered out looking like he'd seen the face of God. How does he not even look slightly disastrous in the mornings, life is unfair.

"What's the plan for today, Padre?" Roman's asking, making himself a mug of tea, or whatever, because Roman's a functional adult who's severed his ties to caffeine, whereas Virgil is stuck in a dark and captivating affair with it. 

But Patton's frowning at the doorway, fiddling with the sleeves of his cat hoodie, the one Logan had gotten him after a hard week that turned into a hard couple of months, and he has subsequently worn religiously. "That's odd," he says, in an undertone. "Usually Logan's up by now, I wonder if he's sick?" He turns his big, doe eyes onto Virgil. "Did he look sick yesterday?"

Virgil opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Logan's tired because he was up at 4 AM trying to clandestinely make something for Patton with Roman, but Roman's already winding his arm around Patton's shoulder, shooting Virgil a look as he does so. 

"Maybe our resident Einstein's just taking a bit more rest, hm? It is break, after all. I'm sure he'll love whatever idea you've got planned for us." Roman squeezes Patton's shoulder, shaking him a little bit, comfortingly. 

"You think so?" Patton says, a little breathless, looking like his eyes will start glimmering like some kind of anime protagonist any second now.

At that moment, Virgil manages to look out into the hallway, and leans hard enough to see Logan, who is straightening his necktie and staring at himself in the mirror. Virgil presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Primping? Roman's style, definitely. But not Logan's. Unless—

"Hey, Patton, he's coming down the hallway," Virgil says loudly.

Logan jumps in the hallway, glowers at Virgil as he weakly smooths his hair back, and then clears his throat, striding into the kitchen. He goes straight to the fridge, pulling out that niche organic jam that Patton bought once and is now a permanent staple on their shopping list because it was a jam that both Roman and Logan actually liked. He places two slices of bread into the toaster, and pours himself a mug of dark, bitter coffee.

"What were you saying, Patton?" Logan says, attention on the toaster so he can't see the aggressive heart eyes Patton is sending at his back. Virgil's phone buzzes, and he glances down at it.

sir sing-a-lot: can we shove them under some mistletoe today?

Virgil's lips twitch, and he smirks at Roman in agreement, rolling his eyes. 

dark and stormy knight: honestly if i have to endure another logan monologue about "feeLINGS????" i might actually go full rom-com and lock them in a closet together

Roman snorts, inelegantly. Virgil might die, it's one of the cutest sounds he's ever heard. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" has that sound on it like fifty times, but Virgil doesn't care, it's going on there again.

"Well," Patton says, straightening himself up, "There's this thing me and my friends used to do as kids, and I thought it could be fun, you know, to make sure we all get into the Christmas spirit!"

There might be someone who would deny Patton something when he's looking so excited, but that person absolutely did not live in this apartment building.

"Sounds fantastic!"

"Fine by me."

"Adequate."

Patton laughs, looking delighted and a little confused. "I haven't even told you all what it is yet!"

"Doesn't matter," Roman declares. "Logan decided what we did yesterday, Virgil decided the day before, and I've got dibs on tomorrow. Today is your day, Pat."

They did. Logan decided on going to see a rendition of A Christmas Carol, an option Roman had joyously agreed with, and then they'd had a group dinner after that. Virgil's day had been marathoning Christmas movies, munching on popcorn and candy canes and Patton's cookies. 

Logan nods from where he's smearing copious amounts of jam over his toast. Virgil is busy slurping the last of his coffee, but he manages to give a thumbs-up of agreement.

"Okay," Patton says, after everyone's finished their breakfasts, and holds out a Santa's hat. "Everyone, take a name! If you get your own, put it back."

The other three shuffle around, and Logan sticks his hand in first, then Roman, then Virgil, then Patton. Of course, Patton draws his own name, so they have to do it all again, and Virgil glances at the name scrawled in Patton's sloppy print. Logan.

"Everyone got it?" Patton says, and the other three nod. "Okay, who's got who?"

They all blink.

"I thought this was secret Santa," Virgil says.

"No, it's Not-So-Secret Santa, there's a twist," Patton says happily. "See, look, I got you, Virgil."

"I got Patton," Roman says.

"Logan," Virgil says.

"Roman," Logan says, holding up the scrap of paper as evidence.

"Ooh, that works out so well!" Patton squeaks happily. "Okay, so the rules of Not-So-Secret Santa are pretty easy to follow. Since you've got me, Roman, and Virgil's got Logan, you two are on a team!" 

A team. On a team with Roman. Virgil doesn't care if Patton tells them the rules to Not-So-Secret-Santa are to immediately punch your person in the face, he will break Logan's nose if it means he spends extended alone time with Roman. Logan's a bro, he'd understand, he'd probably do the same to Virgil to ensure alone time with Patton.

"So that means you and me are together, Logan," Patton says, and they take a moment to exchange Totally Platonic Longing Eye Contact Between Best Buddies, before Patton clears his throat and looks back down at his scrap of paper, then at Virgil and Roman. 

"Anyways," he says, "there's a dollar limit—five or ten, ideally—and a time limit, too, but we'll decide on that when we get to the mall and see how busy it is. We just get a gift—something small, or cheap, or funny, or something you think the person would like, that's all."

Oh God, the mall. Two days before Christmas. A Sunday. It's going to be a zoo.

"So get thinking, and get dressed!" Patton says happily. "We'll head out once everyone's ready."

Right. A cheap gift for Logan. What would Logan even want? Logan's one of the least materialistic person he's met. 

A vision blooms in his mind, rapidly, and Virgil feels himself grinning as he reaches for his usual hoodie. It's perfect. It's wonderful.

"Dear God, you look absolutely unholy," Roman comments as they both step into the living room, carefully fastening a bright red scarf around his neck. Virgil narrowly avoids stepping into the Christmas tree, as he has been since Patton put it up. The things is mostly decorated with a sparse collection of ornaments Patton and Roman made in their spare time, the chain of colored paper Virgil and Logan had spent a long, dull day making that loops around the tree three times, and truly obnoxious amounts of tinsel and fake snow. It's horrific. Virgil loves it. 

"I've just thought of the perfect gift for Logan," Virgil says brightly. "It's just a matter of making sure they've actually got it."

Roman grins at him, a little confused but happy nonetheless, but Logan and Patton are stepping into the living room, and they all bundle into Patton's car. Patton puts on some CD of instrumental Christmas music that Logan loves, because he's super gone and has probably listened to it sappily whilst drawing hearts and doodling Logan into all his notebooks. Logan smiles when he hears it, and Patton looks as if he is about to ascend through the roof of the car.

Virgil looks down at his phone when it buzzes.

sir sing-a-lot: ffs please don't tell me that he put this on because of logan sir sing-a-lot: wait, of course he did sir sing-a-lot: because they're in LOOOOOOOOOOOVE 

dark and stormy knight: how much you wanna bet that they're late meeting us because of all the breaks they have to take to stare into each other's eyes

He glances over as Roman's phone buzzes, and watches him grin at the screen. Virgil directs his own little smile towards his phone screen.

sir sing-a-lot: i think we have a Holiday Mission, Brendon Urie

If he wasn't in the same car as Roman, he would absolutely be pressing a hand to his chest in shocked awe and flattery. As it is, this is going on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list.

dark and stormy knight: first of all i am not worthy second of all ???

sir sing-a-lot: Operation Mistletoe sir sing-a-lot: i promise you that by the time school resumes the nerds will be making lovey-dovey eyes at each other with full knowledge that the other likes them back, and so hopefully they will contain their sap to their own rooms

dark and stormy knight: you have to do literally nothing to convince me

sir sing-a-lot: so clearly the first step is this shopping trip, but how much can we coordinate if we're shopping? 

Virgil angles a look at Roman, who's staring at him, eyebrows lifted.

dark and stormy knight: so what do you propose?

 If he's judging by the state of the parking lot, Virgil would say they're completely and totally fucked. He takes a couple seconds to draw some deep breaths before they all exit the car, because crowds aren't exactly his favorite thing, much less driven-mad-by-holidays crowds, but he isn't going to be the person to strike down all the fun. He can handle this.

Suddenly, someone's hand is around his wrist, and he hears Roman shout, "COME ON, VIRGIL!"

He angles a look back at Patton and Logan, but all they do is send him equally coordinated winks, because Virgil had freaked out in front of Logan about the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list and Logan had called in Patton in a panic about emotions and also Virgil's anxiety, so there's no help at all there.

He doesn't have time to reflect on that before Roman's pulling him, half-running through the parking lot, and into the door, where Roman adjusts so he's holding Virgil's hand, everything is FINE—

"Okay," Roman says brightly, "if I recall correctly, your gift for Logan's over this way, come on, hurry, we have to lose them—"

"We don't have to lose them, they're walking across the parking lot like normal people," Virgil complains, but he follows along to where Roman's pulling him.

Down ten dollars and hiding his purchase in a shopping bag, Virgil trails after Roman as he trawls the various stands for the perfect gift for Patton. It doesn't take him very long to find one, and the various things needed to dress it up to Roman's standards, and Roman's leading him to a relatively quiet alcove. Passing suburban mothers give them the stink-eye, because clearly two college-aged boys in a small space could mean nothing good.

"Okay," Roman says, hands on his hips. "So, first things first, we need to find out where Patton and Logan are, and then sneak up on them."

"So how do we find Patton," Virgil muses.

Roman pauses, tilting his hip, and then snaps his fingers. "I've got a plan."

Five minutes later, Virgil is being glowered at by a woman who is juggling two babies, but he cannot bring himself to care, as Roman is pressed into his side.

"If this doesn't work we're going back to my plan," Virgil grumbles, which is going back to the car, locking themselves inside it, and leaving Logan and Patton to wander the mall for them for however long Roman and Virgil can stick it out.

"It'll work, trust me," Roman says confidently, glancing down at his phone and then scanning the food court, and then immediately whacking Virgil's shoulder in excitement. "See, what did I tell you!"

There, at the edges of a line for the cookie booth Roman Snapchatted to Patton, are Patton and Logan.

"Princey, I take back all my words of doubt," Virgil breathes. God, he really shouldn't have doubted it—cookies were Patton's ultimate vice.

"As you should," Roman preens, and then, "What do you think they're talking about?"

Virgil flattens his voice into his best Logan impression. "Cookies? Anything you desire, Patton."

"Oh, Logan," Roman catches on, sending the bounce factor in his voice to over nine thousand, "The only thing I could possibly love more in this world than these cookies is yo-ouu!" His voice goes into a ridiculously high-pitched Mariah Carey impression, and Virgil has to muffle his laughter against his hoodie sleeves. 

They cycle through a variety of topics that Logan and Patton may or may not have been discussing, including: how dashing, suave, and debonair Roman is, how cool and edgy Virgil is, the possibilities of eloping to Vegas, how they were going to give Virgil and Roman all of their winnings from Vegas, and the dog they were all going to adopt right after this.

Logan and Patton eventually get close enough that they can hear them, though, and Roman and Virgil duck down even lower, shushing each other, still giggling a little.

"—think Roman and Virgil are doing, anyways?"

Like that, the laughter's gone. Please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, Virgil thinks, his latest attempts at telepathy. God, that would be the worst reveal ever, and already Virgil is starting to hold his breath.

"Well, it's not last year," Patton says, "They've come a long way, haven't they?"

They share a laugh. Virgil doesn't think Roman's breathing, either.

"They have," Logan agrees. "I thought that living in the same apartment would've aggregated their relationship, not softened it."

"It did at first, though," Patton says. "Remember that time they were yelling at each other, and I was kind of upset and you took me out for milkshakes?"

Roman and Virgil exchange a look of surprise. The fact that neither of them had heard about this—

"At one AM," Logan says, voice a little softer, the way it only ever softens around Patton. "And we got cookies from that late-night bakery and parked on the roof of one of the parking garages."

Roman's hand grips his upper arm, and Virgil looks at him. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DATE, Roman mouths exaggeratedly, and Virgil nods in agreement.

"And we sat on the hood of your car, and you told me all about—"

"—the planet's rotation slowing down because of tidal forces. I remember."

They're staring into each other's eyes, and seriously, how the hell do they not understand that they're in love with each other, Virgil's going to knock their heads together if Operation Mistletoe doesn't work. But Roman's never broken a promise to him, and then the vendor's calling them forwards, and Logan's already digging out his wallet.

"Logan, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Logan says, stubborn, and that—hits Virgil in a way he didn't expect. Because Logan runs budgets five times over, goes down to argue with the admission's office on a monthly basis about his various scholarships and tuition costs, pinches pennies like his life depends on it. And Patton knows it. They all do.  

"Well," Patton says, soft. "Only if you let me buy you coffee later."

Logan doesn't respond, only hands Patton his cookie. Patton's smiling, happy and a little sad, and Logan clears his throat.

"So, do you have any ideas on what to get Virgil? I'm pretty sure I know what I'll get Roman."

Roman tugs at Virgil's arm, and they hustle as discreetly as they can after Logan and Patton. It takes a little while to shake off the sense of seriousness that settled over them before, but it only takes Patton innocently lifting up an electrically pink hoodie and asking Logan, "For Virgil?" to send Roman into hysteric laughter.

Virgil shoves him, and apparently it sends him into a grandma, and the grandma goes flying into the mall Santa display, bumping her against the sleigh and sending the presents in the sack on the sleigh flying. A swarm of mall elves descend upon them and immediately threaten escorting them from the premises if they insist on causing trouble. Being rounded up by eight people in curved shoes and belled hats just makes Roman laugh harder as Virgil desperately apologizes and hopes that neither Logan or Patton look to see what the disturbance is.

Virgil gets his revenge, though, when Logan dryly suggests to Patton that he could buy Roman some music that isn't Broadway or Disney in addition to his other gift, to expand his horizons, and Roman looks so offended that Virgil chokes on his own spit laughing at him, which makes Roman thump on the back, then rub his hand up and down his shoulders.

"You—your face," Virgil wheezes into his hoodie sleeves, and at last manages to compose himself, straightening to stand, Roman's hand still gentle between his shoulder blades, which stretches to his arm wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him in for a friendly little hug. 

Or at least, that's how he's sure Roman thinks of it. Virgil's heart is doing a happy little tap dance in his chest, complete with overenthusiastic jazz hands, and Virgil lets himself soak in it, just for a few seconds. 

Then he pulls away, looking around. "Did we lose them?"

Roman curses, stepping back and turning in a circle, before both of their phones buzz.

sunshine personified: hey there!! logan and i noticed that you're just behind us! want to stop and exchange gifts in starbucks?? we can walk around some more after if you both want!

"Caught in the act," Roman sighs, and sends a suitably cheery response back. He takes Virgil's hand, and says, "So, we'll walk around more, and maybe conveniently lose them?"

"Sounds good to me," Virgil says, mouth dry. Roman's hand is warm, and his fingers lace neatly between Virgil's. Right on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, then.

Roman looks around, squinting around the crowd. "Starbucks can't be that far from here, can it? Which way is it again?"

They end up doubling back towards the food court, where Patton has somehow snagged them a table and is waving at them enthusiastically as Logan sips on a coffee Virgil's sure Patton bought for him, like he's not entirely sure Patton is real. 

Virgil picks up his order—peppermint mocha, because now his coffee is festive—as Roman beguiles Patton and Logan with the story of how Virgil knocked him into a little old lady, and ended with them being threatened by the elf cops. Virgil flushes and groans in all the right places, even going as far to hide his face in his hands again, and Patton reaches over to rub his shoulders bracingly, and—

It's nice. It's really, really nice. The day's been really nice. The tiny gremlin that lives inside Virgil's brain is just waiting to see what will go wrong, but he ignores it the best he can. The day has been good. He's having fun. He just has to, you know, ignore and repress all of his feelings to ensure that keeps happening. He shouldn't be feeling anxious or nervous or depressed or anything, it's—fine. He should be fine. He is surrounded by people he loves and who love him back and they are having a nice day out.

"Gifts time!" Patton sings, wriggling excitedly in his seat, and he claps his hands. "Should we exchange and open them all at once, or one at a time?"

"One at a time," Roman says, smiling brilliantly, and he holds out his shopping bag to Patton. "For the one who came up with the idea today, hm?"

"Aw, Roman," Patton says, blushingly, and accepts the bag as Roman doffs an imaginary cap. Virgil smiles, trying to make himself really feel it, and decides to narrow his focus on Patton.

Patton squeaks happily over the adorable stuffed kitten Roman bought him, with a sky-blue ribbon-collar ("for accessorizing," Roman declares) and Patton happily squeezes Roman into a little side-hug. 

"So, Virgil, here's yours," Patton says, passing across the plastic bag, and Virgil draws out... a thing? It looks like a tiny stuffed monster.

"It's a worry doll," Patton says, picking it up and opening its mouth. "See, you can write down whatever's stressing you out and put it in its mouth! So, um. So even if you aren't in a place where you can talk about it with us, there's still someone to hear about it, in a way."

Virgil is fully aware that his face is doing something, but he doesn't bother to hide it. God, Virgil doesn't deserve to even be on the same continent as this man. Because Patton knew all of it—the way he was raised by parents who seemed, at best, mostly confused by him, and stepped back from disciplinary action at a young age, because they thought he was a good kid, when in actuality Virgil was just scared to break the rules, overridden by irrational thoughts of getting kicked out and punished. Because Patton knows how Virgil's words get all tangled and and choked up, caught in his throat and in his chest, and how Virgil could barely manage to fumble out a request for help even on his worst days. And Virgil is working on it, he really is, but—

Virgil reaches blindly and grabs onto Patton's wrist, squeezing tight. He doesn't quite want to leap over the table to hug him, so this is going to have to do for now. A corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile, and he's staring at the hideous little burlap monster that's landed between them—and then he looks up at Patton.

"Thank you," he says, and he's proud that his voice comes out sounding only a little croakier than normal. 

Patton's hand grabs his wrist back, and he squeezes tight, voice warm and gentle. "You are so very welcome, Virgil."

They both squeeze one more time, and Virgil draws back first, clearing his throat and gathering the little worry monster to his chest, avoiding everyone's eyes as he downs about half of his coffee. When he feels slightly more normal, and also like he's about to pass out from air shortage, he resurfaces, clears his throat, and shoves the shopping bag at Logan. He could really use a laugh just now, to break the tension.

Logan's brow creases as he looks into the bag, and creases further as he draws out his gift.

"What is this," he says flatly, staring at it.

"It's an emoji pillow," Virgil says, inordinately pleased with himself. 

Logan turns it around, as if to compare the done-ness of his face to the crying-laughing hysteria of the pillow.

"Thanks," Logan says. "I hate it."

And that's it, the deadpan needed to snap the tension—Virgil starts laughing first, shortly followed by Patton, and Roman's booming laughter does Logan in—his straight face cracks, and he starts to laugh, too, looking resignedly at the pillow and then back at Virgil and at the pillow again, but Virgil's gone on the certain type of laughter that only comes after someone has come very close to crying. 

As their laughter is dying down, Logan, smirking, hands over his bag to Roman, who unwraps it with glee, and blinks, confused, pulling out a gold-backed mirror, glancing into it and back at Logan.

"A mirror?" Roman says.

"Truly, you'd like nothing more than to receive yourself," Logan says, and Roman's free hand flies to his chest and there's a reappearance of his offended face, and Virgil's cackling at him again, arm wrapped tight around his stomach, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

"Look," Patton says, holding the emoji pillow next to Virgil's face, "it's you!"

That sets everyone off, then, and Virgil can't even bring himself to care that there are hordes of people turning to stare at the four college boys guffawing stupidly at an emoji pillow.

Yeah. It's a nice day out.

CHRISTMAS EVE

"Oh, what a beautiful mooooooorr-ning! Oh what a beautiful day! I got a beautiful feeeeeeeeeeeeeling! Everything's going my way!"

Virgil jerks awake, and it takes him a few moments to comprehend what is going on just then.

Roman, who is currently holding a travel cup of coffee directly under his nose, must have serenaded him awake, which, his voice, god fucking dammit, and also he must have been out already, because he looks all dashingly windswept and handsome, cheeks a little flushed from the cold, fuck Virgil's life.

Virgil accepts the coffee and goes about putting the majority of it into his body as fast as he can, and emerges, blinking at him and making a hand gesture that he hopes conveys explain.

"I've decided what I'm doing today, and it will graciously go towards Operation Mistletoe," Roman declares grandly. "Of course, if you're uncomfortable with it, we can always brainstorm, but I really think—"

Virgil grunts at him, gestures a go on, and starts drinking the rest of his coffee. Roman waits patiently until he surfaces again.

"A Christmas party," Roman blurts out, and Virgil blinks at him.

"A what," he says, voice a growl, roughened from sleep. 

"It won't be anything too crazy," Roman adds soothingly. "Just some theater people, maybe some of Logan's nerd friends, and some people Patton knows. Some mistletoe, a bit of a tipsy confession, and we've got a classic rom-com on our hands."

Virgil blinks. He's pretty sure there's dried drool on his face, and he's shirtless again. Why does Roman always see him at this time of day.

Roman leans in closer, and adds, soft and beseeching, "Virgil, I promise, if you aren't comfortable, I won't do it, we can make it something else—"

Promise. Roman has never, ever broken a promise for as long as Virgil has known him. Roman takes his word very seriously. It's on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list. It's one of the things Virgil really admires about him, crush aside.

Virgil takes a second, and says, "Promise me I won't be stuck with clean-up?"

"Promise!" He practically sings. "I'll handle all of it, Virgil, you're just in charge of making sure that they're in the same room as each other. They'll gravitate to each other anyways. Oh, this will be wonderful," he declares, and whirls his way out of Virgil's room, leaving Virgil to blink at his coffee and belatedly scrub a hand up and down his face.

When Virgil finally emerges from his room, Patton and Logan are sitting at the table as Roman pitches his party proposal, in full Dads mode.

"Virgil said he was okay with it, too, so it's just you two to agree," Roman adds, nodding to Virgil, and Patton and Logan both swivel to look at him.

"Are you?" Patton says.

"Yeah," Virgil says, pouring himself another mug. "Sounds fun. Roman said it wouldn't be too big."

He can practically hear their exchanged glances—the "Virgil Agreed to Socialization!" one—and Patton says slowly, "Well, as long as you know that since it's your party—"

"My cleanup, yes, I know, Virgil's already told me," Roman says brightly. "Invite anyone you want, it'll be just a lowkey little thing—"

Roman picks up his phone, looking like the world's busiest little social butterfly, and Virgil slurps down more coffee. They're in for an interesting day, and an interesting night. If Roman's plan goes as he thinks it will, then Operation Mistletoe will be done. Another promise kept.

For most of the day, Virgil barricades himself in his room. It's nothing personal against any of his roommates, and they all knew it. If there's going to be a big social event, then Virgil needs to charge for it. So he spends most of his day watching A Nightmare Before Christmas, scrolling through social media, and listening to his favorite albums. He gets a text from Roman to start expecting people at 9, which really meant 9:30, but regardless, he drags himself out of bed at 8 to start getting ready.

Eyeliner, eyeshadow, and because Virgil's leaning into the Jack Skellington today, he goes with a dark lip stain. The theater people Roman's invited will love it. He tugs on an outfit—dark ripped jeans, black t-shirt, Christmas sweater shockingly similar in design to his favorite hoodie, gutterstomping black boots—and slouches out of his room, into the living room.

He takes a couple seconds to stare, his brain currently blaring "YOU SHIT, YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ROMAN AND NOW YOU'RE RESIGNED TO SUFFERING IN SILENCE HERE ARE ALL THE REASONS" as his eyes sweep up and down what he can see of Roman's outfit, from behind—he's wearing a tight red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a well-tailored pair of black slacks, the only ridiculous, incongruous thing with his outfit is his own pair of boots—more suited for adventuring than gutterstomping. 

Virgil clears his throat, tearing his eyes towards where Roman's eyes would be, and says, "Anything I can do to help?"

Roman spins, and his eyes do an up-down-up-down-up-down-up over Virgil's outfit, coming to rest on his makeup. Virgil shifts—he's second-guessing it already, maybe he just looks like an idiot, he can wipe it off, and change his whole outfit too, actually.

"Is it too—?" Virgil starts, and Roman practically shouts, "NO!" so loudly Virgil startles a little.

"I mean, ah, no," Roman says. "It's perfect. You look perfect."

Virgil scuffs the toe of his boot along the floor, clears his throat, and swallows, before he repeats to his feet, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Patton might need help," Roman says, "you should check."

Virgil nods, and heads to the kitchen, where Patton is surrounded by plates of cookies, and he's setting a tray of cookies onto the stove, presumably to cool.

"Anything I can do to help?" Virgil repeats, and Patton whirls around.

He's wearing a sweater that declares Bah Humpug, with a picture of a pug wearing a santa hat on it. It's bedazzled. Very adorable. 

"Look at you, kiddo, that makeup's so neat!" Patton exclaims. "We're just waiting on this last tray to cool, really, but maybe you could open up that pack of cups over there and set them on the table—?"

Virgil nods, and tears open the plastic surrounding the red solo cups. He places them carefully on the table that holds a modest selection of alcohol, including a bowl full of punch and supplies to make eggnog. Virgil straightens the bottles, cursory, and starts a conversation with Patton about dogs and Christmas. Patton's plating the cookies when Logan's voice comes floating down the halls.

"I look ridiculous," he complains.

"You look hot as hell, shut up, I wish I had your arms," Roman responds.

Virgil and Patton exchange looks, and Patton's toting the plate out into the living room, Virgil hot on his heels. 

Roman's saying, "Logan, really, cut loose, you deserve it," and suddenly they veer into sight from Logan's room. "Tell Logan he looks hot," Roman complains.

Logan's wearing...something that definitely came out of Roman's closet. It's a white shirt, short-sleeved, almost like the usual style of polo shirt that he usually wore, but then Virgil noticed the mesh. It's almost a classy amount of mesh, if such a thing exists, in a sort of floral pattern. Belatedly, he realizes that Logan's wearing makeup, too, something that makes him look even sharper and more angular, and a bit of glitter? It works for him. It works for him really, really well.

There's a clatter, and Virgil turns a little to see Patton, slack-jawed, the plate of cookies on the ground, the cookies hopelessly crushed. Patton is not even slightly moving to pick them up.

Logan's arms go to awkwardly cross over his chest, before he seems to remember something, and instead shoves his fists into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Uh," Patton says, "You, uh. You look. Uhm. Good!" He says, proud of himself for seizing on a word. "Really. Really good. Uh."

Logan straightens his posture, a little. "Really," he says, uncharacteristically timid.

Virgil says, "That style... really works on you."

"What, yeah, that," Patton agrees, and actually shakes himself, and looks down at the plate. "Oh no, the cookies!"

He crouches to pick them up, and Roman shoves Logan forwards.

"Logan, help Patton, I've just remembered I want Virgil's advice on the sound system," Roman says cheerfully, and suddenly Roman's grabbing Virgil's sleeve and yanking him into the living room.

"That's the closest I've ever seen Patton to giving bedroom eyes," Roman hisses into his ear.

"How did you convince Logan do a makeover sequence?" Virgil says.

Roman looks very innocent, and says, "Logan might be a couple shots ahead of us, and also I may have told him that Patton likes his arms. So."

"You're evil," Virgil snickers.

"I'm going to make Operation Mistletoe happen," Roman says. "It'll be a goddamn Christmas miracle."

"You didn't actually want my opinion on the sound system, did you?"

"Nope, sorry. We're leaving them alone together as much as we possibly can this evening, Gerard, that was the plan."

"What is it with you and these flattering nicknames lately," Virgil says.

Roman grins like a shark, all teeth, and doesn't say a word. 

It doesn't take all that long for people to show up—they make a beeline for the booze, which is unsurprising, and Roman presses a drink into his hands.

"I know you're not for mingling, so do what you want," he says. "But Mistletoe will happen. Discourage anyone flirting with either of them."

Virgil nods, mission received, and goes to give his scariest snarling face to anyone who tries to approach Logan.

He really only has to snarl at two people, considering Logan's locked up in a corner with Patton most of the time anyways, and so Virgil ends up drifting around the edges of the room, eyes narrowed.

The party's still filling up, people arriving every couple of minutes, and Roman's the life of the party, greeting people, directing them towards the drinks and snacks, laughing and cracking jokes. Virgil feels at peace, at least, as at peace as he ever does at parties—people are giving him space, he can see the people he came with, this is his home turf. 

The music is mostly in the background, no one dancing yet, people collected in clusters and filling themselves up on alcohol and Patton's snacks. Virgil figures he may as well follow their example. He goes to grab a cookie.

At some point between Virgil going to the kitchen and coming back out with a half-eaten snowman in his hands, the theater horde has taken over the sound system, and some song from La-La Land is playing as they're all sitting in a loose circle. Someone has brought some of the alcohol out from the kitchen, so it's more easily accessible. It's easy to see why.

"Who is most likely," muses a girl Virgil recognizes from a few of Roman's shows, "To shoplift?" 

Everyone points to someone, with a few people more common than others. The ones with more people curse a little before they start to drink. Roman's eyes catch on his and they brighten, and he waves Virgil over to sit next to him.

"What's this?" Virgil asks, tucking his legs in to criss-cross.

"Who's most likely," Roman says. "Basically, ask a question, and if two people point at you, you have to take two drinks. Or however many people, you have to take that many drinks."

Virgil nods. Self-explanatory enough.

"You good to play?" Roman asks.

"Yeah, sounds fun," Virgil says.

There are several things that he miscalculates, which he realizes as people are complaining about this game and demanding a new one.

One, it's hot in here, with the increasing amount of human body heat and the fact that he wore a sweater. Two, he's a lightweight regardless, but three, considering how rarely he drinks, his tolerance is pretty shit anyways.

Basically, he's one and a half mixed drinks in, and he's reached a point of tipsy where he's much more... smiley. His thoughts are a little looser, slipping away from him so much easier than they usually did, and things were just a bit funnier. Not drunk, not even close, but it's enough of a reality check that he decides to add more mixer and less alcohol to his next drink.

Patton and Logan sit next to them for the next game, and Virgil grins, bumping shoulders with Patton in camaraderie. 

The people have settled on sip sip shot, which is really just making Virgil realize how little he knows about drinking games. But Patton doesn't know either, so that makes him feel less alone. God, he loves Patton. Patton's the best human being on this earth.

"It's like duck duck goose," Roman explains. "Except the duck is sip, which means you sip at your drink. And goose is shot, so you have to chase the person around the circle. If you win, they take the shot. If you lose, you take the shot."

Virgil and Patton both nod in comprehension, and everyone squirms into a tighter circle configuration so there would be optimal running space. Virgil's smiling still. This reminds him of being a kid at recess, except he never had friends when he was that little, so this is just. Even better. 

Someone's hand taps his head. He takes a sip of his drink.

It's a pretty even routine, occasionally broken by yelling and clapping and heckling, but Virgil never gets chosen to be goose, which is just fine by him. However, Roman is, which is much less fine by him, because that means Roman's not sitting next to him anymore. Virgil tries his best not to pout. He's not entirely sure if he succeeds.

The game dissolves a lot like the one before it; people start getting distracted, and branch off on their own, which just causes the whole big group to concave on itself. Just as well; Virgil's finished his drink.

"Virgil!"

He turns, and grins as he sees Roman, who looks very suddenly knocked off-kilter—most people expect Virgil to be a sullen drunk, or maybe even a handsy one, not a giggly drunk. Roman knows he's a giggly drunk, though, so maybe he just—forgot? Or something.

"Roman!" Virgil says, matching his tone as best as he can, and Roman shakes himself, squeezing between a couple of people.

"I've had an idea, and Valerie's volunteered to help us along," Roman says, gesturing grandly to the girl next to him. "We need to beat Logan and Patton in beer pong."

Virgil blinks. "Um, why?" He's down to destroy Logan, at any time, but this seems like a random idea. But he will win. That much is guaranteed. Virgil is not above cheating to ensure it.

"Because," Valerie says, "the losers have to do body shots off each other."

Virgil is suddenly not so dedicated to winning.

"I'm in," Virgil says, wondering how many throws he can fumble without Roman noticing he's doing it on purpose. Probably a lot. Virgil isn't very athletic. Plus he's tipsy.

Roman turns to Valerie, squeezing her shoulder. "Find Patton and Logan for me? Virgil and I are going to set up the table."

His fingers lace with Virgil's again, and Virgil doesn't bother hiding his smile as Roman tugs them towards the kitchen, as they shuffle around plates to counters and Virgil grabs a stack of red solo cups.

"How many?" He asks.

"Ten each side," Roman says, carefully stacking plates and bowls of snacks on the counter, and Virgil obliges, placing them in careful pyramids. Roman's just filling the cups with punch as Logan and Patton both step through the door, Patton a little wild-eyed, Logan cool with focus.

"Prepare to lose," Patton declares joyously, nudging Virgil in a friendly way as he skips over to his side of the table. Virgil sticks his tongue out at him.

He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Roman as Roman chivalrously accepts Valerie's offer of a ping-pong ball, before he turns to Virgil, holding it up in front of him.

"Blow on it?" Roman asks, voice low, lashes fluttering, just a little. Virgil notices he has something sparkly and golden on his eyes that he didn't have at the start of the party. "For luck."

Virgil smiles, and obligingly huffs out a warm breath over the ping-pong ball, over Roman's fingers.

"Suck it, losers," Roman declares, pompous, and then immediately sinks the shot. Virgil whoops in encouragement.

Logan rolls his shoulders, angles a glower at them, and then tosses; he misses, and Roman and Virgil both boo him.

The game continues, and as each cup vanishes, people gather round to watch them. There's more heckling and more cheering for each side, but oddly, Virgil doesn't mind the attention, even when he misses more shots than he makes. Logan is horrible enough that it evens out. But it turns out that Patton is actually a secret master at beer pong, so it's mostly Patton and Roman keeping pace with each other. 

They get down to three cups on each side. Roman arches his brows at Logan, before turning and bending over, wiggling his hips enticingly at Logan.

Logan scoffs, shoving his glasses up his nose. "That's not going to work," he says, and then immediately whiffs his shot. "Okay, that worked," he admitted, quiet, as Roman straightens up with a whoop.

"My secret weapon—my ass!" Roman declares proudly, and elbows Virgil, conspiratorial. "Do you know how many games of beer pong I've turned around because I decided to show off my ass?"

Virgil snorts, accepting the ping-pong ball. It is a fantastic ass, and it has its own little carefully detailed section on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, but he's not about to inflate Roman's ego right now.

Patton's version of a distraction is screaming a curse word, which shocks Virgil so terribly he ends up accidentally throwing the ping-pong ball into a bystander's face.

"Patton, I am surprised at you!" Roman teases, and Patton, flushing, just shrugs, tossing him the ping-pong ball.

"We do what we need to do," Patton says. 

Logan starts rapping Blackalicious' Alphabet Aerobics, and although it is a fantastic sight, it doesn't faze Roman, who sinks his shot, and smacks his hand against Virgil in a celebratory high-five. It does, however, derail the game for a solid three minutes, as some theater kids start beatboxing for Logan, and cheer him on, dancing along as Logan finishes the rap with a smug little smirk, people clapping him on the back and whooping at him.

Which means it's time for Virgil to distract Patton. 

"WHEN I WAS, A YOUNG BOY," Virgil screams at the top of his lungs, at a pitch that makes him sound at best like a wailing cat, and Roman bends double, cackling, even as Virgil continues shouting the lyrics to "Welcome to the Black Parade," miming the instruments and headbanging as hard as he possibly can. A few of the gothier-looking theater kids join in, unable to resist the call of their people, and Virgil is lost in the truly unique sound of a horde of drunk college emos trying their best to imitate guitars with truly horrible screeches.

"Shake it off, Pat, shake it off!" Logan declares, clapping his hands on Patton's shoulders and shaking him a little, but it was shitty timing for them, because it was right at the apex of Virgil's killer air guitar solo.

"WE'LL CARRY ON! WE'LL CAAAARRYYY OOOON! AND THOUGH YOU'RE DEAD AND GONE, BELIEVE ME—"

Patton throws. Bounce. It hits the edge of a cup and clatters off, and the people roar. Two to three.

"That's okay, we'll get 'em next!" Logan declares, arm soundly around Patton's shoulders. Patton looks too delighted by this development to really be upset about missing his shot.

Roman sways a little on his feet, and Virgil reaches out, touching his hip to steady him, and leans in close.

"You got this," Virgil breathes into his ear.

Roman nods, looking the most serious he has ever looked, takes aim, and tosses the ball.

It sails in a beautiful rainbow arch, landing in the left cup.

The crowd around them screams. Three-one. Roman's pumping his fist in the air in victory as the crowd heckles Logan, telling him to drink, but Virgil doesn't care, because Roman's grinning at Virgil, who grins back and wraps a happy arm around his shoulders, pressing his nose into Roman's cheek in a moment of perfectly happy drunken camaraderie.

"It's on!" Logan declares, squashing the cup and dropping it at his feet, as he and Patton had for the previous eight. "It's on!" He bumps hips with Patton, and leans forwards exaggeratedly, squinting at the cups as people yell "send it back!" at him.

"Who even WAS Rosalind Franklin," Roman yells, but it doesn't deter Logan—he sinks it, and Virgil groans, taking the cup and shaking out the ping-pong ball before he starts to drink, Logan screaming, "She was a VISIONARY, that's who!" in the background.

Virgil has seen a drunk Logan get emotional over Rosalind Franklin, so maybe this wasn't the best path to start him down on, but Virgil crushes the cup and drops it, shaking out his hands and rolling his shoulders. Last cup. Two to one.

Roman's hands are bracing on his shoulders, squeezing, before he leans into Virgil's space, hand drifting down to his waist to squeeze, just a little, wow, this is not good for his focus.

"Shut your eyes," Roman says, and Virgil lets his eyes slide shut, blocking out the sight of the crowd, of Logan and Patton, of Roman in his space. All he can feel is the artificial warmth from the alcohol pooled in his belly, and Roman's hands on him, steadying and warm.

"Take a deep breath," Roman intones, and Virgil does as he says, taking a deep, even breath in and letting it out, squaring his shoulders. 

"Let it all fall away," Roman says into his ear. "The crowd's not even there. Logan and Patton aren't even there. It's just you, and the ball."

And you, Virgil wants to say. No matter what Virgil tries, he can't block out Roman. 

"Now," Roman says, "open your eyes, focus on that cup, and crush it. If you sink it, I promise I'll let you blast any emo song you want."

Virgil opens his eyes. He spins the ball in his fingers, and hesitates, before holding it up to Roman.

"For luck," Virgil says, looking at him through his lashes. Roman smiles, brings Virgil's hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers, before meeting eyes with Virgil as he blows out a cool breath, mouth a perfect o shape.

Virgil tries his best to smile like that hasn't affected him at all, and turns to face the table, narrowing his eyes.

"Just you, and the ball, and the cup," Roman says, hand drifting to the small of Virgil's back.

And you, and you, and you, Virgil thinks, and tosses the ball.

The resulting scream is deafening.

"VIRGIL!" Roman screams, and Virgil turns to face him, mouth open a little in astonishment. "VIRGIL, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN, YOU DID IT!"

Virgil lets out an odd, aborted half-laugh of astonishment. "I did it?"

Rather than answer, Roman's arms close around him, and suddenly, the room is flying, Roman's arms tight around him as he's spun in the air, and Virgil's laughing, the world a technicolor bleed of colors and Roman's arms keeping him secure and safe and happy, and it's over too soon, but Virgil wraps his arms around Roman's shoulders, hugging him back, tight, trying to communicate all of his complicated feelings through this one hug.

"You're the best teammate ever, you know?" Virgil says into his ear, and draws back, but not enough to unwind his arms from Roman's neck.

Roman's about to say something, opening his mouth, one of his hands curling around Virgil's wrists as if to keep him there, when Valerie yells "BODY SHOTS!" and Roman and Virgil both turn away from each other with a start, looking over to where Patton's fidgeting a little and Logan's trying not to squirm as Valerie applies the salt to his neck.

"Your lime," Valerie says, and Logan sticks it in his mouth, trying his best not to move too much, as there's a shot glass tucked into his waistband.

"PAT-TON, PAT-TON, PAT-TON," people start to chant as Valerie steps back with an elaborate twirl of her wrist, as if to say the floor is yours, and Patton steps forwards, adjusting his glasses. Logan says something to him, too low for Virgil to hear over the chanting, and Patton shakes his head, before Patton leans forwards, licking a broad stripe up Logan's neck. He drops to his knees, knocking his face into Logan's thigh before managing to close his lips over the shot glass and tipping it back, surging to his feet and sucking the lime from Logan's mouth into his mouth.

"I feel like I just watched my innocence die," Virgil comments, at a loss for other words. Patton winces from the acidity of the lime, and Logan looks—well, he looks like Patton's just hit him with a train, a hand coming up to his neck where Patton licked it.

"What innocence," Roman snorts, and Virgil whacks him a little.

Patton's lying on the kitchen table, though, doing as Valerie directs, grimacing but placing the lime into his mouth, propped up on one elbow, the other hand tugging his sweater away from his neck. Virgil can see why, because now Valerie's pouring the tequila into the hollow of Patton's neck, and Logan still hasn't moved his hand from where Patton licked him, staring at where he's laid out on the table.

Logan screws his face up in determination, though, and licks the salt line on Patton's chest, bending his head to suck the tequila out of the hollow of his throat, and Patton seems like he's about to faint, head tilting back as Logan presses his mouth against his skin. Logan bites the lime from Patton's mouth, snatching it away.

"No, I see what you mean," Roman muses, and Virgil snorts back. Roman tugs on his hand, and says, "C'mon, let's blast your victory song."

Virgil grins, letting himself be led away, and says, "In for some danger tonight, then?"

"Oh, always with you, Virgil," Roman says, looking at him over his shoulder, before leading him to the sound system and grandly presenting Virgil with his phone.

Virgil's tongue pokes through his teeth as he scrolls through Roman's extensive music library, and then he says "Ah!" as he sees the song he wants, pressing play, and his body starts rocking to the beat, an absent-minded bobbing.

The same goths from before come flooding into the living room, and Virgil grins, tilting his head back as he joins their voices in song.

"AM I MOOORE THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR YET?!"

Suddenly, Virgil is twirling, and Roman grins when he stops, their hands twined together again, and Virgil laughs, head tilting forwards, before he tries his best to keep up.

Roman dances like it's a language that Virgil doesn't know, effortless and graceful and—okay, yes, sexy, he looks incredibly sexy when he dances—but Roman always looks like he's having the time of his life whenever he dances, sings, performs, and Virgil finds himself unable to focus on his feet when Roman's beaming like that. Besides, he and Roman are too busy singing along to Fall Out Boy to really pay attention to technique.

Roman's hands are getting sweaty in his, and Virgil's sure his are doing the same, but he can't bring himself to care all that much—watching the way Roman moved, hearing him sing, that was what was taking up his attention at the moment, and all too soon, it ends.

There's the plucking of notes, something Virgil thinks he's heard maybe once or twice before, but Roman's ears practically perk up, spine going straight, and he can see a similar response in all the theater kids.

"Roman!" Valerie's yelling, waving an arm, "I need my dancers for this one!"

Roman turns to look at Virgil, and Virgil waves him off, grinning.

"Go on," Virgil says, "be a big Broadway nerd. I'll be okay."

"Well," Roman says, and squeezes his hands. "If you insist."

"I do," Virgil says, and at last their hands drop, and Virgil wanders off in search of a drink.

When he comes back, canned margarita in hand, Valerie's finishing off "All That Jazz" with all the verve of performing it live in front of a crowd, and Roman is currently helping hoist her into a split, a hand bracing her thigh, the other clinging to her hand, like it's no trouble at all.He hopes no one tramples over their horrible-wonderful tree, or the presents underneath—Patton had tried to get them to wrap all the presents with one wrapping paper per person, to make it more organized, but somehow two other kinds had gotten in there, so it's just a mess of colors and tags. Virgil takes a moment to be thankful for their high ceilings, and settles into an armchair that's been shoved out of the way to enjoy the show. 

Virgil applauds enthusiastically when they finish out the song, along with the theater nerds who didn't know the choreography, the science nerds Logan invited along, and the nerds Patton knew were on campus over break. 

He really should have expected this when Roman said a ton of his theater friends were coming over, because it seems they've landed in Roman's Broadway playlist, people singing and dancing and pretending with imaginary props. They shout for who sings what, swap in and out depending on who knows choreography, and every time, Roman's in the thick of the scrum, belting his heart out, twisting along to choreography and improvising to some degrees of success.

West Side Story's prologue, Roman dancing along to the Jets', snapping and twirling and leaping to his heart's content. 

Pippin, Roman doing his best Fosse as someone Virgil doesn't recognize belts out Glory, his movements, Roman twirling an imaginary cane and doffing an imaginary cap, hips cycling and crooning along in the background.

Sound of Music, Roman charming and serenading Valerie, Valerie hopping along the couches as they duet Sixteen Going on Seventeen, theater people doing a variety of ballroom dances as a form of background dancing.

Grease, Greased Lighting, Roman smoothing his hair back and popping the top few buttons of his shirt, thrusting hips and funny faces and precise gesticulation, and he even sends a wink at Virgil, where he's sipping his drink. Virgil flushes, and smiles a little, hiding it behind the can.

This is the point where Patton and Logan stand on either side of his armchair, and Patton says teasingly, "Having fun, Virgil?"

Virgil tucks his knees up to his chest, and says, "Well, Roman is."

Patton grins, ruffles his hair, and passes him another unopened can of margarita, before grabbing Logan's hand and tugging him off to the kitchen.

Virgil meets eyes with Roman, and Roman's eyes are lit up excitedly as he takes a second to gesture in their direction, before he resumes his number at full enthusiasm.

Footloose, the titular number, and Roman's sweaty and bright and so full of life, glowing with it, and they mostly let the preprogrammed voice handle it, theater kids dancing, goofy and bright, Roman spinning and twirling between partners, trying to dance with everyone, laughing and chattering and bright.

Grease again, Born to Hand Jive, Roman on the periphery as two more people Virgil doesn't know take center stage, swinging and lifting their partners and throwing them, and Virgil would be much more worried if it wasn't for the alcohol. 

Heathers, Freeze Your Brain, and Virgil knows this one, so he stands and sings as everyone does their best dramatic JD, Roman surging over to Virgil as they sing together, trying their best to dance to such depressing lyrics. The song ends, and it leads into one Virgil doesn't know, blinking owlishly at the speakers, dropping his empty can belatedly.

"Rooo-MANNN," Virgil hears at least three people yell, and Roman laughs, messing his hair before he takes center stage, stomping and clapping along to the beat. 

"You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?" Roman asks the crowd ruefully, and there's a loud cheer of NO, and Roman laughs, ducking his head, before he starts to sing along, poppish and exaggeratedly eager, hips shaking as he claps along.

"LOOK—AT—MY—ASS, LOOK AT MY THIGHS—"

Oh no. Virgil knows what song this is now. And Roman is going all out on the choreography.

"I'M CATNIP TO THE GUYS! THEY CHASE MY TAIL, THEY DROOL AND PANT—WANNA TOUCH THIS BUT THEY CAN'T!"

Virgil is going to have a stroke. 

"ALL THE BOYS WANNA COME AND PLAY," Roman belts, snaps and winks at Virgil, "SNAP MY FINGERS AND THEY OBEY, WHY DO THEY FOLLOW ME ROUND ALL DAY? WATCH ME WHILE I WALK AWAY—"

This is it. This is the day Virgil's soul vacates his body. It's been a good run.

"I BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! FEEL HOW HOT IT'S GETTING!"

Virgil does not need Roman to tell him how hot it's getting, thank you.

"BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! AND WHEN YOU'VE GOT 'EM SWEATING, SPRIIIING THE TRAP! THEY CHEER AND CLAP!"

Clap, clap. Roman's having a great time. Virgil distantly wonders why the theater kids associate the Bend and Snap with Roman, and if he survives this, he will certainly ask him later.

"NO TIGHT MEN, CAN DEFEND, 'GAINST THE BEEEEEEND AND SNAP!"

Distantly, Virgil recalls how Roman said his ass was his secret weapon. He cannot help but agree. He is watching Roman tackle some ass-centric choreography, and it is honestly a wonder as to how Virgil hasn't fainted yet from where he's standing on the fringe of the circle of theater kids surrounding Roman.

But more people are jumping in to fill in parts, but Virgil cannot stop staring at Roman. What the fuck is his life. 

The song both takes forever and is over too soon, and for the first time, Roman steps out from performing as the girls get ready for a rendition of the Cell Block Tango.

He's still grinning, fanning himself. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and he never rebuttoned his shirt, so Virgil can see the top of the expanse of his chest, his hair sweaty. Roman pushes it out of his face.

"Phew!" He declares, and Virgil is trying his hardest to untangle his tongue from the knot it's formed, so instead mutely gestures to the kitchen.

"Drinks, great idea, Virgil," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, and they both go out to the hallway, where Virgil stops dead and whacks Roman on the shoulder, shoving his hand over Roman's mouth when it looks like he's about to start screaming. 

Because Patton has Logan pressed back against the wall, kissing him hard. One of Logan's hands gripping Patton's shoulder to keep him from leaving, the other where Virgil can't see. And Patton's cupping Logan's face with one hand, the other tight on his hip. And they are not stopping.

Virgil yanks Roman into the kitchen before they get caught.

"Holy fucking shit," Roman scream-whispers as soon as they're safely out of sight. "Logan did it!"

"Operation Mistletoe!" Virgil cheers, and Roman cheers back, "Operation Mistletoe!" And they smack a high-five, then Virgil, laughing, surges forwards, hugging him tight.

Roman smells like sweat and cologne. Virgil can feel his still-quick pulse from where he's pushed his face into Roman's neck, and Roman laughs as he hugs Virgil back, a hand bracing the back of his head, an arm strong around his waist.

"You always get so giggly when you're drunk," Roman says, sounding fond. "It's like the natural order's been swapped."

Virgil hesitates, tangling his fingers into Roman's shirt. T hen they shift, so they're still in each other's arms, but staring at each other.

"Well," Virgil says, mouth dry as he fiddles with Roman's collar. "Lowered inhibitions, you know?"

"I know," Roman says.

"Is it weird?" Virgil says.

"You're always weird."

"I—I mean, do you... like it?"

"I always like you, Virgil." Roman says, voice soft, and his eyes are soft too, and this is it, Virgil can feel it, the air heavy with potential. 

Roman's so stupidly beautiful. His eyelids are coated in that glimmering gold that Virgil noticed before, and it brings out all the gold in his eyes, the gold that magnetizes Virgil, like some kind of magic. The sweat on his face glints in the low light, accentuating his cheekbones. He's still smiling. He looks like some kind of beautiful statue come to life.

It's Roman—a year ago, Virgil would have laughed at himself for this, thought someone would have been joking. But he knows Roman so much better now—Roman, who hides his insecurities so well it looks to so many outsiders that he doesn't have any. Roman, who works so hard to make sure that all of his work is perfect and up to his standards. Roman, who's trying to improve himself every day. Roman, with his ridiculous nicknames, and his fancy posing, and constant singing. Roman, who lights up so much whenever there is music, or dancing, or laughter. 

Just. Roman. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list is so long and so varied it could be turned into a book, and Virgil finds something new every single day to admire and love about him.

So why can't he say any of this to him? The old, constant frustration, trying to reach inside of himself only to choke on whatever he wants, needs, to say, like he's on the verge of tears the whole time. Like the words trip and stumble on the way to his tongue, and fall into a sixteen car pile-up complete with flames and screaming. And he doesn't want to mess this up.

He really, really doesn't want to mess this up.

"What?" Roman asks, edged in a laugh. "You're staring at me."

Virgil makes a frustrated noise, says, "Words," and then grabs Roman's collar, pulling him forwards, and pressing his lips against Roman's. 

Roman makes a noise of surprise, and Virgil presses closer, lips moving against his.

In all honestly, Virgil thinks tongues are kind of weird, but when his tongue first meets Roman's, that belief goes straight out of the window. The kiss is consuming, and slow; Virgil's in the lead, his tongue pressing against Roman's first, and he could feel Roman's body against his, muscles relaxing, and Virgil tangles his fingers into Roman's sweaty hair because he does not want him to leave. He knows he's inexperienced, but he hopes it's still good for him anyways, because this is amazing. Roman's arms are still around his waist, and he kisses him harder, Roman's mouth hot and insistent, and oh wow, okay, wow—

"Wait," Roman breathes, and then he pulls back. "Wait, wait."

Virgil freezes, and Roman pulls back, staring at him, mouth open. The sight of Virgil's lip stain smeared around his lips, his mouth, gives Virgil a surge of something to his stomach that he wasn't expecting, at all.

"What?" Virgil breathes, and Roman's eyes squeeze shut.

"You're drunk," he groans.

"I don't care," Virgil says, and Roman's hands land on Virgil's wrists, gently tugging his hands from his hair, and his eyes are still closed as he brings Virgil's hands to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently at his wrists. He looks—blissful.

"I do," Roman says, and he opens his eyes, meeting Virgil's. "It's—it's important, Virgil, you're—important." He presses a hard kiss against Virgil's left palm, then presses his cheek into Virgil's hand, holding Virgil's hand against his cheek.

You're important. Virgil swallows, slides his thumb along Roman's cheekbone. He loves this stupid noble idiot.

"I—I know how much you hate anyone saying this, but we'll talk later, all right? When you're sobered up. I promise."

Virgil's eyes squeeze shut. I promise. And Roman never breaks a promise.

"But you—I mean—" Virgil huffs out a breath, and says in a rush, "We're, like. On the same page. Right? This isn't—?"

Virgil doesn't get to say what this isn't, because Roman's cupping his face.

"Look at me, please, Virgil," Roman says, and Virgil opens his eyes reluctantly. 

"You're one of the most important people in my life," Roman says, eyes half-lidded. "I didn't—I didn't say anything, because I didn't know if you—and I wanted—I want—"

"What?" Virgil says, his voice hushed.

"You," Roman says, strangled. "I want you."

It doesn't sound sexual, not at all, despite the fact that Virgil had his tongue in Roman's mouth a minute ago. It sounds like Virgil is the beautiful princess that Roman's been questing for, like in some ridiculous Disney movie.

The door to the kitchen opens, and Virgil and Roman leap apart, as if it isn't obvious by looking at Roman's mouth what they've been doing, and someone shouts, "Roman, it's Rent time!"

Roman sighs, looking out at the party, and back at Virgil, eyes full of conflict.

"Go on," Virgil says, soft. "You're the life of the party."

Roman's fingers card through Virgil's hair, and Virgil leans into his touch. "Later," he says. "Later. I—I promise you're not alone in feeling this. It's just—" he smiles, sudden, huge and bright. "You just have the worst timing, Virgil."

Virgil laughs, and steps back. Roman runs a hand through his hair, and heads back out to the living room. 

Virgil's alone in the kitchen. Suddenly, he doesn't want to watch Roman singing. He doesn't really want to talk to anyone just now, actually.

He steps into the hallway—empty now, Logan and Patton must have relocated—head full of confusion, and stops in the bathroom to scrub off his makeup. He slouches quietly into his room, toeing off his boots, wiggling out of his jeans, tossing aside the sweater, and pulls on the ridiculous Peanuts-themed Christmas pajamas Patton got him.

He curls up in his too-big bed, and hugs a spare pillow close.

You're important, you're important, you're important.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Virgil wakes up to a distant headache, a dry mouth, and sweating like a fiend.

He opens his eyes, and the events of the night come rushing back.

Apparently, when Roman said sobered up, he meant first thing in the morning, and by that he meant as soon as you wake up, because Roman, shirtless, has replaced the pillow—a little spoon, and Virgil tries his best to keep his breathing even and calm.

Cool, so Roman decided to come cuddle last night? Awesome, tight, love it. Virgil's not quietly flipping his shit to himself at all.

But—wait—somehow, miracle of miracles, Virgil is awake before Roman. 

Virgil carefully props himself up on his elbow, and resigns himself to waiting to watch Roman wake up. 

He doesn't have to wait very long.

Roman stirs, face scrunching up, and he makes a groaning noise to himself, turning his face into the pillow, only to make another distant noise of complaint. A stretch works its way through his body, like a cat, and Roman blinks his eyes open at last.

"I knew it," Virgil says, sleep having ground down his voice. "There was no way a person was so inhumanely peppy in the mornings."

"Virgil!" Roman says, voice similarly scratchy, and he flips so that they're face to face. "How are you?"

"A little hungover, a lot nervous," Virgil admits, and Roman says, "Oh, I brought in some water, it's just—"

Virgil turns, and there's a little hangover pack on his table—a glass of water, advil, a couple mints. Virgil takes the medicine, downs the water, and sticks the mint into his mouth, offering the other one to Roman, who takes it, smiling, sitting up, too. Virgil notices belatedly that he's still in the slacks he was wearing last night. And also, Virgil is wearing Peanuts-themed pajamas.

"The apartment's all clean," Roman says. "I have no idea who, but five separate people have left behind a single shoe, I've no idea how or why. And Patton's got all the presents under the tree."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Roman says, and clacks his mint against his teeth, shifting, and blurts out, "I lied."

Virgil stiffens, like ice is flowing into his veins.

Roman doesn't seem to notice. "Logan and I weren't making Patton a Christmas gift."

Virgil blinks. "I—what?"

"We weren't working on making Patton a Christmas gift," Roman repeats, leaning forwards. "Operation Mistletoe was, in fact, a two-pronged plan. Logan wanted to get together with Patton, and I—I wanted to get together with you—so we tried to make a plan."

Virgil blinks, and says again, "What?"

"Patton told Logan and I about Not-So-Secret Santa after you went to bed, so Logan and I decided to throw the selection."

Virgil blinks. "You cheated?"

"I know, Patton would be very disappointed in me," Roman says. "Logan didn't know that I was going to follow him, though, that was just a you and me thing. And Logan and I decided to make a plan for the party—the body shots were Valerie's idea, but I did come up with the Bend and Snap bit."

"It was a very good bit," Virgil says faintly.

"And if the party didn't work, then, well, there were a lot of plans, there would have been some actual mistletoe involved—"

Virgil snickers, and then he pauses. "Wait, then what was the smoke?"

Roman looks sheepish. "We, ah. We burned the lists of bad ideas."

Virgil snorts, and Roman smiles.

"So, ah," he says, and looks nervous. "I've, um, kind of been in love with you for a while now, so—"

"Oh," Virgil says, breathless, then, "Cool, same."

"Same," Roman snorts, and suddenly, he's slithering forwards, hands cupping Virgil's face. 

Warm. He's so warm, and his lips are so soft, and the way they move with Virgil's speaks of experience that Virgil doesn't have, but that's okay, that's more than okay, and he tastes like mint, and Roman's kissing him long and soft, and Virgil feels warm, too, lit up from inside, like some kind of magic that only Roman was privy to, like Roman's trying to give him something, and Virgil tries his best to receive it, give it back.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," Roman whispers, and Virgil groans, throwing an arm over his eyes before he starts to laugh.

"What, like yours aren't just as bad? It's the bunny suit from A Christmas Story."

"I obviously have the panache to pull it off," Roman sniffs, and grins at Virgil. "Look at you, Eeyore-rable."

Virgil boos even as Roman's situating himself on Virgil's lap, and Roman says, "Like adorable? Adorable Eeyore?"

"Crossing references, doesn't count," Virgil says, grinning even as he arches up to meet Roman's lips again.

"Which plan was it?" Logan's voice comes from the doorway, and Roman yelps, throwing himself over Virgil like Virgil was the one whose virtue needed protecting, as if Roman was the one wearing a shirt.

"Logan!"

"I mean, I'm assuming it was either Plan A or Plan C, but—"

"Shut up, it was Plan B!" Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder. "Would it kill you to knock?"

Logan angles a severely disapproving look at Virgil. "Plan B? Really?"

"I have no idea what that means," Virgil says.

"My hips are very seductive and my ass is entrancing, Logan, they made you miss that shot last night," Roman huffs, and it clicks.

"Oh, my God. B for Bend and Snap?" Virgil says, over Logan's spluttering.

"Are we having a party in here, or something?" Patton asks, materializing in the doorway, and Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder again, Virgil grinning and cupping the back of his head.

"It's Christmas!" Patton declares. "Get up, get up, there are presents! And cocoa! And mistletoe! Put on a shirt, Roman! I'm so happy for you two! Virgil, I love the jammies! Come on!"

Virgil, laughing still, gets pulled from bed.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year.

#text #sanders sides fic #my fic #christmas fic #logicality #prinxiety #logan #patton #roman #virgil

[pilindiel]

Out of Time for @bringobaggins |AO3|

A VERY HAPPY JEANMARCO GIFT EXCHANGE TO YOU, ALEX!!!  I saw that you already commented and I’m so SO glad you liked the story.  <3  You’re an angel.

Pairing: JeanMarco

Rating: T

Word Count: 1929

Excerpt:

The sky is tar-black, no remnants of cocktail-blue left, and for all I know that color may never grace it again. The instrument in my frozen fist beeps in terror, but I can barely hear it over the roar of thunder.

I want to fall to my knees but my muscles are too tense, too numb from the cold. Who knew Jean Kirschtein would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer, watching the end of the world at twenty four years old?

I sure fucking didn't. It’s a shit way to go.

The sand stuck on the wind whips at my clothes, scraping my skin as the storm howls just off the coast. I feel numb with the torrent of rain sinking down through my skin, soaking my clothes, making me feel just as heavy as the world does.

Not that there will be much of a world left after this.

The sky is tar-black, no remnants of cocktail-blue left, and for all I know that color may never grace it again. The instrument in my frozen fist beeps in terror, but I can barely hear it over the roar of thunder.

I want to fall to my knees but my muscles are too tense, too numb from the cold.

Who knew Jean Kirschtein would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer, watching the end of the world at twenty four years old?

I sure fucking didn't. It’s a shit way to go.

We first heard of the storm a couple of weeks ago. It was barely a blip on the radar then, something so innocuous we almost ignored it completely, but our intern was adamant there was something off about it.

Marco had come to us off the tail end of a military deployment. You could tell - just by the way he was built - that he hadn't left because he wasn't tough or strong enough . His resume was impressive enough that he’d already been offered a full-time position once his internship ended in July, but none of us had any idea that we wouldn't make it past June.

He carried himself with an easy attitude, a kindness that most people don't show in Jinae. It was like the sun scorched the care out of them, but it only brightened his outlook.

When the storm was brought to our attention, everyone brushed it off.

We get cells like that all the time in Jinae, Reiner had assured us, not even meeting our gazes, Don't worry about it.

There was a distance to his eyes then, a far-off look, and I wish I had had the courage that day to confront him about it. If I had, maybe we wouldn't be here.

Maybe we could have stopped it.

Marco and I spent god knows how many hours tracking this beast, spent countless nights with lukewarm coffee between us and his reassuring hand on my shoulder as we poured over maps and data. Looking for a solution, trying to figure it out.

We barely showered. Barely ate. I remember so little of it now, the numbers swirling in my head just like the wind and the rain, the formulas trapped in the violent tornado crawling toward our tiny city. I try to cling to the science I've sworn by since I was a child, but none of it can explain the storm encroaching on us.

I find my heart crying out for a different kind of warmth, a different kind of comfort, and I feel childish when, in the face of certain demise, the only thing I can remember from those long nights are the smiles I shared with Marco, the jokes and the laughter. I remember the way my heart soared with every brush of his hand, the way his eyes crinkled whenever I said something he liked, and the way the honey flecks in his irises shined when I dared to meet his gaze.

I think now of the walk we took one night on this very beach. It feels like years ago now, but I can still remember the way the moonlight had framed him, how his broad shoulders filled out his striped t-shirt and how I was certain no one could pull off cargo shorts like he could. I remember how the flip-flop of his sandals against the backdrop of the sighing sea was the most comforting sound I had ever heard in my life.

I think about how our fingers brushed when we walked and I wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to hold his hand in mine and whether the corners of his eyes would crinkle then, too.

I’m almost sure they would have.

As it stands now, there's nothing but the rain and the swell of the water, the dusty taste of salt on the back of my tongue and the sting of tears that I wish could fall.

I don't know how I even hear the crunch of Marco's boots in the sand over the pounding of my heart and the cries of the sky, but I turn to him all the same.

He's so handsome. Flushed and beautiful even with the darkened, deadly backdrop, and I give him a smile I know is pathetic. Somehow, I have a feeling he'll always bring a smile to my face.

“ Jean,” he says, breathless. He gaze is trained on me even as mine averts.

The two-way radio clipped to my belt statics with warnings, but they fall to the wayside just like everything else does in Marco’s presence.

I shift into work mode. It's the only thing I know how to do.

“ Did you see the radar before you left the office?” I yell over another roll of thunder, “The TOTO we left out is already gone. Pretty impressive, huh?”

Marco shakes his head and he looks lost, helpless. He steps closer, into my space, and I don't have the strength to push him back. I don't know if I want to.

I don't know if I ever wanted to.

He says my name again and I can't tell if I'm shaking from the cold or something else. His eyes are intense, as wild as the storm, and I can't bring myself to shake free from the hold he has on me.

“ How fast do you think the winds are?” I ask, choking on the words, trying to get rid of the reality of what lies before us, “I tried to measure it earlier but the anemometer broke - ”

“ Shut up,” he chides. He places his hands on my trembling shoulders and the rain leaves tracks down his cheeks, moisture clinging to his eyelashes. Freckles paint his skin, dancing across the bridge of his nose, and I'm lost in him. I'm lost and I don't think I want to be found.

Marco presses his forehead against mine and it jolts something through me – something warm and intense and I don't...We can't do this now, it's not worth it to do this now –

Not at the end of everything.

Marco's grip on me is firm and reassuring, his thumbs brushing my rigid shoulders. I force myself to look up, to meet the intensity of his stare.

I feel Marco's words more than I hear them and it sends me reeling as the space between us ignites. “Shut up for a second,” he breathes. Our noses brush, a delicate gesture, and I can't stop the way my eyes flick down to Marco's lips, can't stop the way I part mine expectantly.

I don't know who moves first. I don't know why . Maybe it was the need for comfort, the desperate pull, the desire for companionship at the end. Maybe it was a build up over sleepless nights and quiet words, or maybe it's just the desire to express all the things we left unsaid, an attraction neither one of us could really deny. Maybe it's the silent promise of what could have been, what we could have had if we could have had tomorrow.

All I know is that the tears that I've held back begin to fall as we slot our lips together.

My hands are shaking, eyes squeezed shut, and I press closer to him than I've ever dared. He's cold against me but I can feel the flutter of his heart through his ribs. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and I fist my hands into his shirt, just to pull him ever closer.

He kisses me hard, desperate, and I wish I could move in a way that brings that warmth back into his skin, that brings that crinkle back into his eyes.

But he's as freezing as the wind, and everything tastes like salt.

I knot my fingers in his hair, using my grip to shift our angle, to kiss him deeper, and Marco sighs brokenly into my mouth.

We only part to breathe, but even that feels fleeting.

When my eyes refocus, I realize Marco has moved me so my back is to the storm and the only thing I see is the torment in his expression. His face is twisted in anguish and guilt and I search for footholds in the deep brown of his eyes but slip on rainwater.

“ This won't make sense to you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into my skin, “But the storm? It’s… It's my fault.”

I shake my head and my heart pounds, stomach twisting in knots. “You can't...Don't beat yourself up over this,” I admonish, “This is just a freak storm – ”

“ - I'm so sorry,” he continues like I said nothing, pulling me close to him and kissing my neck affectionately. My gasp hiccups in my throat as I try to understand the unfurling tapestry of the world around us. “I...I've done this so many times and I just...Just once I wanted us to...I wanted – ” He swallows and buries his nose into my shoulder. “I wanted you . Just once.”

The wind howls, spiderwebs of lighting streaking across the sky, and Marco shakes in my arms with a weight I can't fathom.

I want to ask why. I want to know what he means. I want to know how he knew about this storm, why he insists on taking the blame. I want to understand.

I want to kiss him again.

The sky is darker now - the world around us darker still. It’s almost over, and I think Marco and I both know that by now. This ends one way, and it’s almost time now.

I run my fingers soothingly along the nape of Marco’s neck, playing with the hair I find there, and he sighs against me. Marco nuzzles closer, holding me tight, and it's like the world melts away just for a moment.

“ If this is the end of the world,” I mutter, “I'm glad I get to spend it with you.”

Marco buries his face into my neck. My skin feels wet where his eyes are touching me, eyelashes soft as they flutter and twitch.

“I’m-I’m glad,” Marco starts, voice uneasy as he mumbles against my skin, “I’m glad I got to have you this time.”

This time .

The thunder roars loudly, and the wind screams louder still. It’s getting worse and all I can do is cling to Marco, to breathe him in while I still have strength in my lungs to do so.

Who knew Jean Kirschtein and Marco Bodt would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer. I sure didn’t.

But I suppose it’s not the worst way to go.

The sky cracks one last time, darkness comes, and all at once, there is no beach.

No Marco.

No me.

No world left behind to mourn.

The sand on the wind whips at my clothes, scraping my skin as the storm howls just off the coast. and I feel numb with the torrent of rain sinking down through my skin, soaking my clothes, and making me feel just as heavy as the world does.

Not that there will be much of a world left after this, anyway.

#jeanmarco #jeanmarco gift exchange #jmge #bringobaggins #snk #attack on titan #pil writes #HAPPY HOLIDAYS LOVELY #toasty posty

[thedarkrose17]

I decided to post chap 1 and 2 of the Uni au cause I'm tempted to rewrite it but I'm unsure. It's hard though cause I've never been to uni so like maybe it could turn into a high school or college one. I dunno.

Together this all is around about 7,729 words...Fuck and it's from like 2016 

Chap 1:

"You sure you have enough here?" Thace asked, carrying Keith's only bag filled with, as he put it, "everything he needed."

Keith looked up at his father, securing a box in his arms with "KITCHEN" wrote on it crudely in black marker.

Thace was a tall muscular man, skin a little lighter than Keith's, with bluey grey eyes and black hair spiked into what Keith classed as a "Wolverine" hairstyle. He looked somewhat intimidating, possibly due to the fact he served in the forces and had that scary military look about him.

But really, how could you find a man scary when he was wearing black crocks, ripped faded jeans and a white t-shirt with "DILF (Dedicated, involved, loving father)" printed across it.

Keith was the complete opposite of his dad. He was short with jet black hair in a small ponytail. He sported black eyeliner and purple contacts along with black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt with "AC/DC Back in Black" printed across it in bold text, the only bit of colour in his outfit were his boot like converse that were a bright red.

"Are you trying to embarrass me? And you do realise that's not what it means… Like at all." Keith replied, ignoring the question and gesturing at his father's t-shirt. He checked the number on his key. Flat 3. Least it wasn't too far. First floor, so that was a bonus.

Keith seemed to blank out his dad as he scanned the doors, he only seemed to stop once he realised Thace was no longer near him.

"Fuck… Where's he gone?" Keith huffed, scanning around almost frantically before spotting him talking to a tall boy with black hair with a white tuff at the front. The boy had a scar across his nose, a white shirt and dark blue jeans with a black checked shirt wrapped around his waist and what looked like combat boots. The thing that drew Keith's attention the most was the guy's prosthetic arm, damn that must have sucked.

Did he go here? How did his dad know him?

Thace seemed to look over pointing at Keith, causing the tall boy to glance and say something. Ok that was it, he was going over before he-wait. Shit, he was rummaging through his wallet.

Keith grumbled and rushed over.

"-And here he is… Keith, Shiro… Shiro, Keith. Shiro used to serve too. He's studying Psychotherapy now. He's in his last year."

So that's how his dad had easily struck up a conversation with this guy.

"Hey its nice to meet you. He wouldn't shut up about you." Shiro said with a friendly smile.

"You're gonna show him the bowl cut picture aren't you?" Keith muttered to his dad grabbing the bag from him. "On that note… I'm leaving. Nice meeting you Shiro."

Keith growled and seemed to rush off to his flat number, struggling for a several minutes to put the key in and open the door. But finally, in the end he managed and kicked the door open gently, walking in with his limited supplies.

The moment he entered, he seemed to hear someone singing Toto's Africa chorus off key, along with someone else saying something along the lines of "Aren't you "blessing" it with too much?"

"Nah Hunk… The Vodka adds flavour," the voice that had been singing replied.

"There's flavour, then there's just drowning the cookie mix in alcohol," the one called Hunk added.

Keith raised a brow, slowly walking forward until he saw the people behind the voices now pouring cookie mix into what looked a tray for cupcakes.

One was a heavy set guy, dark skinned with a orange band around his head tied over dark brown hair. He wore a baggy red shirt and green shorts, Keith couldn't see much of a pattern on either from his view but he knew the guy probably had a Steven Universe t-shirt on. He could see half of a "Cookie Cat".

Then he spotted the off key singer, still singing Africa but into a wooden spoon. He was lanky and had olive skin, a baseball shirt with blue sleeves that said "I didn't choose the dank meme life , the dank meme life chose me." and tight blue jeans. Honestly he was attractive and Keith couldn't help but blush slightly.

Keith seemed to stare at the pair as "dank meme" boy danced around still singing until Hunk noticed Keith and jabbed his friend.

"Er… Lance… Someone's here," Hunk said, gesturing at Keith.

Keith blinked a few times, awkwardly standing there before offering a somewhat weak smile.

"Hey I'm Keith," he replied, struggling to hold his box of kitchen supplies.

Lance seemed to scan Keith for a moment, making him a little uncomfortable before speaking.

"Hey roomie. Name's Lance, that's Hunk." he gestured to the big guy and smiled.

Keith awkwardly tried to wave, panicking as he almost dropped the box. He sighed and slowly headed to the closest counter, placing it there for a moment.

He walked over to them moments later.

"Jeez you're arriving late aren't you? Classes start today and you're just pulling in," Lance said raising a brow.

"I was delayed in getting… things sorted." Keith replied, not really wanting to go into it. Instead he changed the subject, "why vodka cookies?" he asked raising a brow.

"Boredom and curiosity mostly," Hunk replied causing Keith to snort.

Lance seemed to look at Keith again as Hunk kept an eye on the cookies as they cooked. Lance noticed that "Hot Topic" (well he'd never actually call him that yet) only had one bag, how would he survive with so little? Lance himself had brought enough stuff to fill a medium sized people carrier.

"Keith… You sure you don't need more than just one bag?"

Keith rolled his eyes and smirked slightly.

"You sound like my dad and no I've got ev-" Keith seemed to pause rather abruptly as he heard the door open, he swallowed and turned his head to see his dad. "Speak of the devil," he muttered quietly.

"You managed alone? Are you sure you haven't forgot anything?" Thace asked Keith who shook his head.

"No I'm fine. Please don't come in and embarrass me."

Lance and Hunk seemed to stare between Keith and his dad, doing a few double takes until Keith walked over and the man gave him a hug with a one arm.

"Socialise, ok?" Thace muttered before finally leaving.

"What the fuck!" Lance cried as the door shut, causing Keith to turn around.

"What?"

"That's your dad! He's so-"

"Big? Scary? Nah he just looks it. He's pretty much a big loser honestly," Keith replied with a smirk.

After explaining a little more about his dad and making his roommates laugh, he noticed the time; his classes would be starting soon. Reluctantly, Keith grabbed one of the vodka cookies once they was done and headed on his way.

The cookie was terrible. It was more vodka than cookie and extremely mushy. He'd never really enjoyed alcohol so he wasn't surprised he didn't enjoy the cookie. Hopefully there wasn't enough vodka in each to actually make him drunk, what a wonderful first day that would be. Not.

Keith yawned, stretching as he made his way back to the flat. It was lunch break and his body was feeling a little drained already. At least his roommates were ok, they wasn't tools and they didn't bully him so it was a start.

He thought about what he could eat. He could just rummage through his bag and put the pop tarts he brought in the toaster and have that to keep him going before his next class. He'd eat lunch a little later.

Keith slumped, opening the door and walking into the flat. He rummaged through his bag and grabbed the pop tarts before he finally noticed a small girl on the counter with a screwdriver against the toaster.

Light brown hair pushed back by thick oversized glasses, green shorts and a black oversized t-shirt with "they're out there." across it, maybe she was a fellow conspiracy theorist like himself. Her brown eyes didn't even look up at him, completely fixed on the toaster.

"That's Katie, everyone just calls her Pidge." Lance suddenly said startling Keith. Where had he come from? Was he staring at him? Blushing even? Or had he drank some of the leftover vodka?

"She's a kid, she doesn't look old enough to be here…" Keith replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "What's she studying?"

Pidge opened her mouth to reply but Lance interrupted.

"Computer science," Pidge frowned at him then returned to the toaster. Lance continued to speak as if she wasn't in the room with them, "She's a child genius. Maybe she's on some sort of like programme, like skipped straight to uni. I don't know, she doesn't speak to me much, just destroys the toaster!" he emphasized the last part causing the young teenager to look up and scowl.

"Don't use the toaster. There's like a chance it'll blow up your food." Lance added.

"Fuck you. It only blew something up once," Pidge finally spoke.

Lance flipped her off and looked back at Keith, noticing the pop tarts in his hand.

"Don't tell me you were gonna have those for lunch." he muttered, folding his arms, waiting for an answer but all he got was a blank stare followed by a sheepish smile.

Lance grumbled and unfolded his arms. Grabbing Keith's hand, he dragged him towards the door. Keith was sure for a moment he felt his heart stop and was almost positive that Lance was tipsy.

"Where are we going?" Keith asked after he was dragged out of the door.

"Store. You're not having pop tarts for lunch you quiznak." Lance grumbled causing Keith to laugh a little. He'd never been called a fuck like that before.

After that there was silence between them until they reached the shop.

"So where are you from?" Lance asked, catching Keith off guard.

"Japan originally. Moved to Korea when I was five with my parents," he replied as he grabbed a basket and scanned the shelves.

"You know any?"

He nodded, "I know a bit." he said in Korean before translating it to the tipsy grinning Lance.

"It's been a while so it's probably rusty but I can understand Korean, fluently." Keith stated. "What about you, where are you from?"

"Cuba, and yeah I can speak Spanish fully." Lance added proudly as he grabbed some Ramen off the shelf and tossed them in the basket then dragged Keith into the next aisle, grabbing several cans of fizzy drinks, several different brands of coffee, followed by an unhealthy amount of junk food.

The trip took longer than expected, but thankfully they made it back just in time to enjoy their ramen before class.

"So what are you into? Anime?… Manga?… Video games?…" Lance trailed off.

"Never actually watched animes, read Mangas, but I'm more of a conspiracy theorist myself." Keith sighed, taking a fork full of noodles and ramming it in his mouth.

"You've never seen Cowboy Bebop? Tokyo Ghoul? Ok I'm gonna change that," he paused for a moment, laughing a little. "Conspiracy theories? Like Bigfoot? Aliens? All that? I think Pidge is really gonna get on with you."

Keith blushed and nodded. Lance wasn't taking the piss out of him right?

"Yeah, I've liked them since I was a kid." He took another mouthful of noodles and swallowed.

After that the conversation continued, going between "how the moon landing was faked" to "How badass Spike Spiegel was" both seeming somewhat interested in the others topic, until the noodles were gone and both had classes that'd start in a few minutes.

Surprisingly, both had class together; Lance was doing Aviation Management, while Keith was on a Aviation Studies course. It made sense they'd have some classes together. Thankfully, Lance had sobered up rather quickly, singing Tank from Cowboy Bebop the whole way there, in key this time, as he walked with Keith. Keith didn't mind honestly, it was strangely cute in its own way.

Class was a drag. He practically rushed out when it was over, Lance following closely behind.

"So any other roommates I should know about?" Keith piped up.

"Well you saw Hunk… He studies Mechanical Engineering and has a job, so you might only see him randomly, Pidge you'll find in random places… Then there's Shiro and Allura, the oldest ones here; he's 25 and she's 23. We jokingly call him dad and he hates it… They're dating so you might accidentally walk in on a make out session at some point, we all have…" Lance shuddered, looking over at Keith who was removing the elastic band from his hair.

Lance watched as his hair fell and seemed to stare a little before frowning. Sure it was cute but it wasn't the 80's.

"You have a mullet? Seriously? The eighties called they want their hair back."

"Oh fuck you," Keith muttered, glaring daggers. If looks could kill, Lance was sure he'd be dead by now. It seemed to be a touchy subject for Keith and Lance didn't want to pry just yet.

Lance sighed and changed the subject quickly.

"You're gonna love Allura. She's the only British one in our flat, ironic since we're in the uk I know but still. International students gotta stick together, am I right?" When Keith didn't respond, Lance continued regardless, "Anyway, she looks like a model and she's on the fashion course. She does Textiles I think or something like that… She's honestly really hot, I think you'll agree when you see her."

"Er…Keith didn't really want to be having this conversation now, but it was better sooner rather than later right? "I'm not interested in girls," he replied eventually, gaining a surprised "Oh." from Lance.

"…That's not a problem is it?" Keith asked, biting his lip, eyes darting nervously. From that look alone, Lance could tell Keith had probably dealt with people who did have a problem with his sexuality before.

"That you're gay? No dude it's fine. I'm bi so why would it bother me?" Lance replied, smiling a little. "It's no sweat, everyone else will be cool with it. Don't worry."

Keith swallowed audibly, seeming to slow down until Lance put an arm around him and he tensed.

"I swear they're the coolest people ever. They're not gonna judge you dude, I swear." Lance said, walking with the now trembling Keith.

Keith's head said otherwise. His thoughts bubbled up with negativity, finally exploding like a volcano. His anxiety spiked, so many doubts and bad memories echoing around his head. It was all too much.

This was the one thing he didn't want to happen. Especially in front of one of his roommates, a guy he'd pretty much only just met several hours back.

His skin drained of colour and his body was visibly trembling, his breathing was extremely quick and panicky. He swallowed and gasped frequently like he was struggling to breath as his heart smashed over and over against his ribcage. He hiccuped and sniffed loudly as tears dribbled down his face.

Everything felt closed in and the sound of Lance's voice felt strange and far away for a few minutes. He felt weak and he knew he had to sit down.

This was embarrassing. Why was this happening?

He figured he could manage it pretty well but today something just snapped. Maybe it was due to the people he wasn't used to and the places and just everything, everything that was new and weird and not like home at all. Not that home was much like home anymore.

Lance was pretty sure at this point Keith probably had been bullied or something along those lines. Sure he'd probably fought back but still, something bad like that still stung a lot.

Of course, that wasn't the whole story behind it, but that didn't mean he couldn't help Keith.

Lance guided Keith to the flat and opened the door, peeking around to check no one else was around. Once the coast was clear, he walked in with Keith, sitting him on the couch. Lance could tell the teenager was embarrassed and honestly, if it had been him, he wouldn't want an audience either.

"Ok… Just breath. Take deep breaths. I'll get some water. Just, er… try and focus on breathing, you're safe I swear," Lance said getting up and quickly grabbing a cold bottle out of the fridge, rushing back to give it to Keith.

Keith seemed to guzzle it, drinking half the bottle, then stopping and taking a few deep breaths. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, getting eyeliner on the back of his hand as he did.

He froze as Lance dragged him into a hug, but felt too exhausted to protest or even move.

"You looked like you needed one," Lance muttered, looking down at him. He didn't want him to budge honestly, not after having a panic attack like that. At least if he was here he could make sure the guy was okay.

Keith sniffed, rubbing at his eyes and taking another drink, resting against Lance's chest.

"You complain if I snuggle on the couch," a voice announced and Keith recognised it as Shiro's but he was too tired to react, let alone move.

Shiro walked around the counter and Lance scowled.

"This is different, gilipolla. Don't be an ass Shiro." Lance huffed, looking at Keith as he stared up blankly at Shiro.

"Oh? Thace's son… Keith? He's our new roommate?" Shiro asked and Lance nodded.

"Yeah he's our roommate. And we're in the middle of something."

"Cuddling? Cause it looks like that," Shiro replied.

"Fuck off, something happened. I'm helping him through it," Lance grumbled.

"Panic attack?"

Lance raised a brow, confused. How did he guess that?

"Er, yeah… How did you-"

"Thace said he has them. Plus I know the feeling, kinda." Shiro muttered, raising his prosthetic arm, "PDST." Keith didn't even reply , just clung to Lance and stare around in an exhausted state.

Why hadn't Keith said anything about his panic attacks? Maybe he figured it wouldn't happen if he was lucky or he could hide somewhere when they did. Lance didn't want him doing that honestly. Dealing with stuff like that was bad enough, but dealing with it on your own? Lance couldn't even imagine what that must be like.

They talked a little longer and Keith dozed off against Lance.

After a few hours he was awoken by an unfamiliar voice. He blinked and looked up at Lance who was fast asleep, then focused his eyes to find an unfamiliar face right in front of him.

He screamed and woke Lance. The lanky teen huffed and sat up.

"Allura did you scare him?" Lance grumbled, looking at the dark skinned female.

Her hair was long, silver and wavy, eyes as blue as the ocean. She wore a pastel blue floaty dress and - yep Lance was right - she looked like a model.

"I didn't mean to. I was just wondering why you was asleep together on the couch," she replied with a soft British accent.

Keith rubbed his eyes and sat up, panicking slightly as he checked the clock. 7:30pm, well that wasn't too bad.

"Er..." he blinked and yawned looking at her. She seemed nice honestly.

"Keith is it?" she asked, and he nodded, unsure on what to say. Lance laughed, and oh gosh his laugh. It was a warm, sweet laugh and honestly Keith would be lying if he said he didn't gasp softly. Thankfully, Lance didn't seem to notice.

"I'm Allura," she chirped happily and he smiled.

"Lance told me about you and Shiro," he replied with another yawn. How could he still be tired?

Allura scowled at the olive skinned male, who grinned back in response.

"Hey I've got an idea, but first I really need food." Lance pipped up, his stomach growling loudly making Allura roll her eyes.

"Good news for you, Shiro's cooking for us all again. It's almost done."

"So that's what the burning smell was," Lance joked, sitting up on his knees and spinning round so he was sat backwards on the sofa. One of the many advantages of having the living room and kitchen in the same space was that you could just look over the counter to check on food.

The way Lance was sat up, legs straight from the knees up and leaning over the top of the sofa onto the counter, meant that Keith could admire his ass. Sure it was kinda flat, but still…

Keith blushed and decided to talk to Allura to distract him.

"Is it always like this?" Keith asked her, motioning to Hunk and Pidge camping out in the corner of the kitchen, seeming to have a similar idea to Lance.

Allura giggled and nodded, "Pretty much. Shiro hates it, but he always makes enough for us all regardless."

Dinner was a rather big seafood paella and honestly it was amazing.

Shiro acted almost dad like during the whole meal.

Lance had leaned back in his chair and had his feet on the table at some point. This earnt him a stern telling off by Shiro which made Keith laugh, well snort, and it looked like Lance had stopped functioning when it happened too.

Pidge had flicked a prawn at Lance and it had started a mini food fight, which Lance tried to end by catching the food in his mouth. It ended in a telling off by "dad" Shiro, and again Keith was trying not to laugh too much and failing.

Honestly, this was just what he needed after… earlier. It was a good distraction.

Once they had finished Lance placed his feet back on the table and leaned back, closing his eyes. He said it made him feel comfortable, honestly Keith figured it was just something to piss Shiro off.

Lance opened an eye and spoke up after a few moments.

"You know what would be a good bonding exercise? A night out." Lance suggested, the others agreeing before he finally looked at Keith. "What do you say?" He lowered his voice slightly, "Think you'll be up to it after y'know…"

"Er sure sounds good," he replied with a smile. Honestly, he couldn't say he'd ever been out in a group before. Not to mention it would be another good distraction.

"But first how about a little drinking game?" Lance added with a smirk.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chap 2:

The drinking game Lance had suggested was Beer Pong, and whilst Keith was familiar with it, he'd never actually played. He'd seen it being played in films and it looked easy enough. The pong part looked fun, the drinking part… not so much.

“Ok we're gonna play it different than normal cause there's too many of us. You throw and you have to drink the contents of whichever cup you throw it in, ok?” Lance explained. Keith's stomach knotted up as he stared at the several plastic cups. Lance said no two drinks was the same which only caused more anxiety. He'd never drunk anything alcoholic before, he was completely sure he wouldn't like it or that he'd get tipsy straight off the bat - there was no way he'd have a natural tolerance. The only one who didn't get to suffer was Pidge, due to the fact she was under aged. She instead sipped a glass of orange juice and watched.

Her gaze seemed to focus on one cup in particular and Keith was unsure why. Maybe she knew something he didn't? Either way, it only made Keith all the more nervous. Lance was up first, sticking his tongue out when he aimed, then threw the ping pong ball. He seemed to lean forward until it landed in a cup, looking over nervously once it did. Keith wondered why Lance would be nervous; this was the guy he'd found making vodka cookies. Why would a simple game like this scare him? "What did it land in, dad?" he asked, looking at Shiro with a smirk. Keith snorted at the look of annoyance on Shiro's face then looked at Lance who seemed to be blushing and looking directly at Keith. Why was he blushing? "Shot of vodka… And stop calling me that." Shiro grumbled, handing the cup to Lance who downed it, shuddering as he did. Keith figured Lance would be able to manage it so him downing it wasn't much of a surprise. "Woo~! Ok Hunk, you next." Lance grabbed the ball out of his now empty cup, and then threw it at Hunk who caught it, rubbing it on his shirt to dry it off so it wasn't slippery. Hunk sighed and threw it, somewhat relieved when it just missed the cups entirely.

"Aw c'mon, Hunk. You didn't even try to aim," Lance complained.

"N-no, I did. I'm just bad at this game, you know I am, and I know you know I am." He also knew that there was a bad one in there somewhere, which he didn't want to get.

 Lance always put a bad drink in there.

If it wasn't something spicy it was something that was so strong it'd feel like it had been made in the depths of Hell. Allura was next. She looked cheery and confident, barely aiming as she threw. Her ball landed in a WKD fruit vodka mix which made Lance scoff and grumble. Then Shiro was up, he seemed to smirk at Lance who flipped him off as he threw. The ball bounced once, twice; and then promptly fell off the table only adding to Lance's smugness.

Keith backed up, letting Shiro go again, the older man wanting to regain his lost pride. This time it in ordinary whiskey which Shiro downed in one, staring Lance straight in the eyes, unblinking, as he did. Keith backed up again, insisting Hunk take another go.  He watched, twiddling his thumbs as the big guy aimed, and swallowed as he heard a sigh of relief from Hunk. He'd gotten beer.

Lance walked over to Keith as he watched the jet black haired teen let yet another person go before him, this time Allura.

“You just gonna keep letting the others go again?” he asked Keith with a smirk, who rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed.He gasped the moment Lance placed a hand on his back and patted him gently. Could he just stay in this moment a little longer?

“Don't be nervous. It's just a drinking game. Nothing bad’s gonna happen, I swear.” After that, Keith walked up the table, looking somewhat nervous, but determined as he threw the ball. He could see Lance and Pidge staring at him and that only made it worse. Why was he so jittery? It was just a normal drinking game, right? That's what Lance had said. The ball landed in a cup causing Lance to cheer, then smirk, and Pidge to pipe up with a "Be prepared." What did she mean by that? Ok that made him a little bit more nervous as he watched Lance grab the cup. "Fireball whiskey~...Have fun," he joked, handing the cup over. Fireball? That sounded like a nightmare drink already from the name alone. Did he really have to drink this? Keith stared at it blankly and pinched his nose, causing Lance to raise a brow. He had to drink this or he probably wouldn't live it down. "...Have you ever drank before? Ever been drunk?" Keith shook his head before trying to down the fireball whiskey only to cough a few times and pull a face. It was disgusting honestly and he'd gladly never touch it again. In fact, his throat was burning now, on fire even. Was that normal or not? Panic rising, he dashed off towards the kitchen sink. He quickly fumbled with the tap until the water was a nice ice cold and stuck his head under, drinking until it eased the depths of hell that was his throat. He might have been acting a tad dramatically but he didn't care. "What, Mr Emo and son of Big Tall Military man has never even had a proper drink in his life?" Lance chortled, knowing that anyone that had would definitely not act like that. "No wonder you haven't been drunk before; we're about to change that buddy. Get your coat on. We're all going out," he announced with a grin. Their night on the town was met with some delays. The first was the fact that Allura and Lance had decided to change before they left; and the second was Lance having to hunt for his wallet, but thankfully that didn't take too long. It also didn't take too long for them to reach the club's and bars. Lance scanned the names before dragging everyone into a nearby club. He'd loudly announced it was the best place to meet people.

This didn't seem like a positive thing to Keith. Surprisingly it wasn't as bad as he expected. Sure the music was so loud he could feel it vibrate through him, but still not as bad as he thought it would be. He'd been to concerts that were louder. Lance and Allura made their way to the dance floor immediately, Allura dragging Shiro along with her with a giggle. Keith meanwhile headed over into a booth a little bit away from the pounding bass music. He didn't dance, he struggled to socialise, the quite frankly the bright lights were hurting his head; so he'd just quietly sit there and have fun his own way. Hunk had followed, asking Keith what he wanted and ordering them both a drink after Keith had glanced quickly at the drinks menu on the table. Hunk seemed reluctant, warning Keith about his drink choice but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. If only Keith knew how badly he was going to screw himself over. "Club not your thing?" Hunk asked once their drinks came, causing Keith to look up. "That obvious?" Keith replied as he stirred up his cocktail. As soon as he'd seen the name Zombie cocktail, Keith had picked it out, he'd  be lying if name alone wasn't enough for him to want to get it. "I feel you man. I hate the trashy dance music they play in here. It's way too loud but Lance likes it," Hunk said leaning in and raising his voice above a shout so Keith could hear him. Hunk meanwhile just had a plain cider drink which he took a sip of before continuing. "Pretty sure everyone could see how nervous you were," he paused and smiled a little. "It's gonna be great. But..Isn't that cocktail a little too much for you?..You've never drank before." "I think I'll manage," Keith muttered ready to take a drink before Lance came over interrupting him mid-sip. He was singing something but with the roar of the music Keith had no idea what. The olive skinned teen had a blue umbrella topped drink in one hand and a pitcher of something that was clear and fruity in his other. It was probably vodka. Was vodka like his favourite drink or something? He took a drink of the margarita before leaning over the table so they could hear him, slight redness in his face. He was probably already tipsy. "Zombie?" he asked glancing at Keith's drink. "You're gonna fuck yourself over big time." Lance laughed a little.  "You're gonna be gone before the next song comes on." Keith blinked for a moment as Lance scooted into the booth next to him making him blush. Why did he have to be so close. Their legs was practically touching and Keith could feel his face getting hotter and hotter. Lance placed the pitcher in the middle of the table causing Hunk to pull a face and push it to the side. He wasn't drinking that crap. "I mean you've never drank before. This cocktail is gonna kill you," Lance paused noticing some panic in Keith's eyes. "Not literally, mullet. You've have to drink about..." Lance frowned and started counting on his fingers. "Five? Six? A lot of these. One after the other." Keith had been half expecting Lance to chant chug honesty, but he was surprised he'd got a warning off him over his drink. Granted what idiot would chant chug over a cocktail? "Dad probably won't be happy when he finds out about this." Lance muttered and Hunk agreed. Lance looked over at Shiro who was dancing with Allura, his hands on her waist. "$30 says they're gonna bang later," he muttered, Hunk raising a brow. "...Why would you bet that?" Hunk asked and Lance laughed. "Shiro's gonna kill you if he hears you calling him that. Or if he knows you're betting on his sex life." Keith laughed, looking down at his drink. He wasn't sure if it was sheer stupidity or rebellion but he decided to drink it.

It hit him instantly. The last thing he recalls after that moment is somewhat distressed no's as he tries to drink as much as he can before Hunk could pry the glass from his hand.

What idiot chugs a cocktail? This idiot.

Keith figured he'd done it to forget a few things for a while. It hadn't been a great year so honestly something like this was a Godsend.

The next thing he remembers is being dragged up onto the dance floor his vision is blurry but he thinks it's Allura. He smiled and danced with her for a while.  Honestly something he wouldn't even think of attempting sober.

After a maybe an hour (he's not sure) he's dragged away by Lance and he danced with him, well it was more of he stared at Lance's hips move to the rhythm and tried  not to get an erection something almost impossible as the olive skinned teen continued.

He placed a hand against Lance's waist gently as the music changed but he's stopped as Lance spots an attractive girl and went to dance with her along with tried to chat her up. Emphasis on tried.

Keith felt jealousy surge higher and higher as he watched the female practically grind against Lance's junk. The nerve of some people. He didn't even know her and he already strongly disliked her.

He gritted his teeth and continued to watch until it was too much and he stormed over. He grabbed Lance's arm and dragged him away getting an annoyed "what the fuck!" from Lance as he made him spill his drink and takes him away from the girl.

Keith grabbed Lance's shirt hearing the boy complain about how he was gonna stretch out the fabric before he dragged him into a deep kiss quickly silencing him. Lance dropped his glass in surprise and was ready to return the kiss. But then something forcefully dragged them apart.

He'd blacked out after that, a big gap in his memory as he had a pint of water being pushed in his hands. His vision was blurry and he tried to speak but honestly he was too drunk to even form a sentence.

"Drink it." a stern voice said. Shiro.  When did he get here?

Keith blinked and took a sip , the whole room spinning as he did. He was still in the club.

Shiro didn't look too happy and it only changed to worry the moment Keith stood up in the booth almost falling, placing his hands against Shiro's chest to stop himself.

Shiro grabbed Keith and the drunken teenager looked up at him,face red thanks to the drink. He could see a strange mix of worry, anger and concern mixed on his face.

"Bathroom...D-Dad." he slurred out causing Lance to laugh as Shiro huffed at the name. He wouldn't complain about it now and he definitely wasn't letting Keith go there alone.

"Lance. Go with him."  he said looking over at Lance who seemed to protest. Shiro helped the teen out of the booth and walked him over to Lance who pulled a face.

"Fine." he huffed, placing an arm around Keith and guiding him there. Lance had a drink in his other hand and took a drink before opening the door and guiding Keith into the bathroom.

Lance was drunk too, though he wasn't as bad as Keith who pretty much couldn't stand up straight at this point. Lance had figured Keith would be a lightweight but the beer pong before probably hadn't helped either.

Lance seemed to ask Keith something maybe along the lines of "do you feel sick?" but he didn't even register it. Keith just stared blankly causing Lance to grumble and mutter something along the lines of "You better not throw up on me."

Keith leaned in and kissed him and whilst it surprised Lance, he returned it eagerly. Keith wrapped his arms around him supporting himself. He probably shouldn't be doing this. They was still getting to know each other. It was too early for this right?

Then another blank spot in his memory. He was back at the booth with Lance next to him. Both of them being scolded by Shiro. He could taste vomit strongly in his mouth and it made him gag which Lance squirmed at almost screaming "Not again."

Keith looked over at Lance noticing a big stain on the teen's shirt. He figured he'd threw up on him but honestly he couldn't remember.

"I sent you in there to look after him, to make sure he didn't fall or get taken advantage of. So why do I go in there to find you making out with him!" Shiro growled.

"He kissed me first..Then it just..Happened..Then he threw up on me after he saw you..." Lance muttered with a pout , pouring himself a drink from a fruit scented colourful pitcher. He sighed and took a drink. "You owe me a new shirt by the way mullet" he grumbled poking Keith's cheek who tried and failed to swat his finger away.

"He's drunk...You should have been lo-"

"I'm drunk too.."Lance replied with a huff. It was hard to believe considering he barely slurred and his face was barely red.

"Why did you let him order a cocktail!" Shiro hissed folding his arms. So someone had told him?

"I didn't. I wasn't even there. Hunk was." Lance replied taking another drink glancing at Keith who took a sip of water hoping it'd help with the vomit taste.

Shiro glared and looked over at Hunk who took  a drink of whiskey and coke and gulped.

"I tried warning him Shiro. He wouldn't listen." Hunk replied with a sigh. "We both tried."

"Thace is gonna kill me when he finds out." Shiro muttered holding his head.

It was after this point where Keith's memory is completely blank. He doesn't remember leaving the club or going back to flat. He just knows his mouth tastes like vomit and his whole body hurts and for some reason his hair is slightly damp. He doesn't know why.

He opened his eyes with a groan, feeling a pounding in his head as he did. First thing he spotted was an empty bucket on the floor with string around the handle and figured he's probably walked into his room and had it booby trapped with the a bucket of water waiting to land on him as he opened the door.

Except that thought completely vanished when he looked around the room. This wasn't his room. He just knew. Judging by the space posters and cork board filled with family photos he knew this was someone else's room but he wasn't sure who's.

Keith began to panic, feeling an arm drop against him only made him panic more. Was this real? Who's room was he in?

He stared at the arm and paled, quickly getting up and rushing into the bathroom as his hangover took control. Pale hands gripped onto the bowl and he heaved, panicking as he heard footsteps coming closer.

After a few moments, he felt a breeze and then something fluffy what he recognised as a blanket, draped around his shoulders. He slowly stood, stumbling when he realised he was naked and quickly tugged the blanket around himself and turned around jumping as he did.

"You ok?" It was Lance. His arm was around him before and Keith was in his room. Technically his bathroom now.

Keith froze , staring at Lance, he was wearing a blue and gold bathrobe to Keith's relief. Keith hunched and Lance noticed, his brows knitting together as Keith's face scrunched up. No please not that. Lance didn't want him to start crying. He'd feel awful if he did.

"Hey er...Just come here. I'll explain what I remember ok? Just please...Don't cry." he said grabbing Keith's arm and dragging him back into the bedroom. Lance sighed and paced explaining what he remembered ,  the kiss on the dance floor, the bathroom make out which made Keith groan and cover his blushing face.

Then he explained what Keith didn't know.

"We all came back..Shiro and Allura went to his room and you came with me...We stumbled in and it turned out Pidge booby trapped the room so that was fun..Getting soaked." he paused looking at Keith and smiled nervously. He should just get to it.

"Er..We..Kissed...Clothes came off...And you can probably guess what happened next..." Lance rubbed his head and smiled weakly heading over to the other teen, putting an arm around him and bringing him into a hug.

"I'm not complaining though...Just so you know it doesn't make things weird between us...Well it doesn't for me..."  Lance said giving Keith a little squeeze.

He seemed to relax in the hold resting a hand against Lance's chest. He noticed his arms  and legs was littered with bruising he figured he'd probably fell a lot and bumped into things.

"It doesn't for me either." Keith muttered  looking up at Lance. He was blushing and Keith couldn't help but smile.

Lance got up after a few minutes grabbing something off the floor and throwing it against Keith's arm.

"Put your boxers on. Not everyone wants to see your dick." Lance called out laughing a little.

Keith blushed and quickly stood, putting the red boxers on whilst trying to keep the blanket around himself at the same time which was impossible.

Afterwards he stumbled out of Lance's room, blanket tightly around his body. Lance followed closely behind in just a pair of blue boxers with Marvel characters littered across them.

Keith winced at the light, tugging the blanket over his head to form a hood. He noticed Pidge on the counter fiddling with the toaster again and then Hunk sat on the couch talking with her.

He then noticed that Shiro was cooking and Allura had her arms snaked around his waist saying something to him that was making him laugh.

"Soo how was last night?" Pidge piped up with a smirk causing everyone to turn around and look. Keith could feel his face heat up and Lance huffed ,folding his arms.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Lance replied heading over to the couch and sitting down next to Hunk.

"It was a tie between you four who made the most noise." Hunk said looking at Lance and Keith , then Shiro and Allura.

"Hunk." Shiro grumbled before rolling his eyes.

Keith seemed to awkwardly wonder around somewhat embarrassed until Lance dragged him onto the couch and onto his lap. He was sure he squeaked almost as it happened.

Allura smiled a little nudging Shiro.

"Look how adorable they are." she said smiling at the pair.

He sighed but he had to agree. If was almost like they was dating even though they wasn't. It was too soon honestly for them to be.

Lance wrapped his arms around the blanket bundle that was Keith, muttering something about him making him warm.

"Do you have class today?" Lance asked and Keith looked at him, nodding.

"Do you wanna stay here?"

"Yeah...I don't think I can face today."  Keith muttered smiling up at him.  He rested his head against Lance and heard two audible "awws" causing him to blush. One from Allura and the other Hunk.

Lance leaned in whispering to Keith so quietly the others couldn't hear.

"Me gustas." he whispered with a smile laughing at the surprised look on Keith's face. He seemed to understand that.  He did say something one day before class about moving around from country to country thanks to his dad.

Keith watched him, laughing slightly. It was breathy and honestly Lance found it adorable.

"I like you too, You quiznak." he whispered with a smile.

By lunch everyone except Keith and Lance had left. The pair just lied around in their boxers getting to know each other.  Keith learned Lance had a huge family along with a dog called Bilbo Waggins and he'd be lying if he said that didn't make him laugh and a parrot called Eggolas and by names alone Keith figured Lance liked Lord of the rings.

Meanwhile Lance learned Keith just lived with his dad, Keith didn't say anything about a mother, he avoided talking about it completely. He learned Keith had a macaw that was mostly red called Skittles.

After that Lance had set his laptop up to the TV and the pair had curled up watching the full season of Cowboy Bebop. Lance cried at the end a lot and Keith rolled his  eyes putting an arm around him. Keith had to admit he enjoyed the anime honestly and being around Lance so long.

"Gets me every time." Lance sniffed rubbing at his eyes.

"I admit it was good." Keith said giving him a little squeeze. He blushed and swallowed looking at Lance before speaking again.

"So..What's next?.." Keith asked leaving Lance confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Like where do we go from here?..Are we just friends?..Or like friends with benefits...Or like are we something more?" Keith asked.

#I don't know what to do with this

[sambethe]

EC FF: Without Saying Goodbye

A/N: For @piratesbooty63fan, who requested a canon divergence scene of what might have happened if Lucas wasn't Glinda's husband and he was with Dorothy when she returned to the farmhouse after escaping Glinda's palace. This is probably a lot sadder than you hoped. I’d say sorry, but canon made me do it.

(BTW, ask box always open for Emerald City writing prompts. I’m opening on pairings or writing gen.)

Words: 1900 | Rating: PG | ao3

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“You were quiet on the ride.”

Dorothy sat on the bench beneath the window, idly petting Toto who was curled next to her, head perched on her lap. She shrugged at his words, but otherwise didn’t turn from staring out into the distance beyond the window.

Lucas bit back the frustrated sigh he wanted to give and instead turned his attention to the wrecked room that surrounded them, working to clear the floor of debris in order to make room to right the table.

“You couldn’t force her to leave,” he said after a while, “she wouldn’t have allowed it. The other girls wouldn’t have allowed it.”

He started at the hollow thud of Dorothy’s boot kicking at the wood front of the window seat.

“She’s just a little girl. She shouldn’t have to be a pawn in a war.” She kicked her heel at the panel again. “There shouldn’t have to be a war.”

“It’s not yours to decide. She’s where she belongs.”

She huffed and Lucas turned to the upturned chairs, righting them and pushing them off to the corner of the room. When he cleared enough space, he glanced back to Dorothy, finding her still on the bench but staring at him rather than out the window.

“Help me with this table.” He nudged his chin at where the table sat on its side.

“What?”

“We may be here a day or two, might as well make it so it’s livable.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but stood, hesitating a moment before she stepped forward. She walked towards the far end of the table, keeping herself out of his reach as she did. He stood at the opposite end and gripped the table’s edge. Once she mirrored him, he slowly counted down from three.

Once the table was righted and she stepped away, Lucas stepped into her path as she made her way back to the window. He caught her wrist as she started to side step him and tugged her to him, wrapping his arms around her as she fell against him. She stiffened in his hold and he bit back another sigh, missing the easy nature that existed between them before they stepped foot within Glinda’s palace.

Yet another thing taken, he thought as he nosed at the side of her head, taking in the scent of her hair. After a few moments, he whispered her name against her temple.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me. I could have convinced her, or at least gotten her outside and shown her –”

He soothed his hand down her arm and gave a small smile, mostly for himself, when she appeared to press into his touch. “Leith’s where she belongs.”

Dorothy pulled back but not away, glaring up at him.

“You can’t mean that. None of those girls belong there, to be used like that. To be cast aside when pushed too far.”

“Do you think your Wizard is any better? Do you know what he’s done to this land, to these people, in the name of his Science?”

“Do you?” she bit out, yanking her arm from where he had gripped her and stalked away.

Lucas cringed and stepped back. His memories were still difficult to parse, to sort those that were truly his from those imposed by Glinda’s magic.

“We should eat,” he offered to the back of her head, watching her until he saw the slight nod of her head as she returned to staring out the window. “I’ll go see what I can catch.”

It was dark by the time he returned, a brace of rabbits in hand. He had taken more time than was strictly necessary. He had walked the long way along the edge of the farm’s fields on his return, trying to tamp down his anger, still unsure who it was most directed at –Glinda, Dorothy, himself.

Dorothy had started a fire while he was gone, and she and Toto were curled together on a pile of pillows she had gathered to the side of the hearth. He stood in the doorway and watched them, wanting desperately to crouch down and join them. Wanting to have Dorothy’s thigh press against his, her warmth seeping through the fabric of their trousers to his skin. To have her tell him more tales of Kansas, to be able to now share some of his own in exchange. To be reassured that they were in this together. Whatever this was.

“Are you going to come inside?” she asked, her hand steadily petting Toto as her eyes remained focused on the flames.

He nodded and clomped his boots against the door’s threshold, shaking loose some of the caked-on mud before toeing them off and pushing them into the corner. Padding towards the kitchen area, he went about dressing the rabbits, working quietly as Dorothy hummed a tune he didn’t recognize.

Leaving the game to roast on the fire, Lucas stripped off his leather coat, dropping it and his sword to the bench of the window seat before settling down on it himself.

Dorothy reached out a hand but he didn’t move. “Come here,” she said after a moment, shuffling to make room for him within her nest of pillows. “I don’t want to fight,” she continued once he dropped to his knees next to her, his hands braced on his thighs. She reached out again and slipped her hand around one of his own, lacing her with his. He squeezed back, offering her a small smile before shifting to move closer to where she sat.

“How do we go forward?”

She shook her head and offered him a sad, half smile. “I don’t know.”

He reached out, running his fingers beneath her jaw, his thumb swiping at her chin. He smiled back as she tilted her head towards his hand, moving so that his hand ended up tangled in the hair at the base of her skull.

“How about we eat and then get some sleep? Maybe it will clear our heads,” she said after a few moments.

He nodded and let out a deep breath when she sank into him, her head resting on his shoulder. He snaked his arm around her waist, his hand settling at her hip while hers crept around his stomach before winding in the fabric of his shirt. Not wanting to break the spell of the moment, he began to tell her a story of how he learned to hunt small game. How he would tag along after his cousins, trying to remain unseen, until eventually they would call him out. How they started to complain when he began to outpace them, despite them having showed him how to wield a knife.

She laughed when he told her of how they once threw him into one of the small rivers, and he smiled at the sound of it. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as his fingers began to play with the edge of the thin undershirt she wore.

Once they finished dinner and the few dishes they found unshattered were washed, Lucas sat down once again next to her. He wound his arm around her, pulling her to him so that she settled between his legs, her head resting back against his chest. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, drawing his fingers along the soft skin he found, but not wanting to press his advantage for more. Not with her warm against him, the weight of her hand wrapped around to the back of his thigh a welcome comfort. It was more than he knew he deserved, especially with all that he said – all that he had done – while they were within Glinda’s walls.

They sat in silence as they watched the firelight die, the only sounds the pop of the occasional ember and their soft breathing.

“We should get some sleep,” Dorothy whispered, brushing her hand over his on her stomach.

Lucas nodded, shifting back and letting her go. He didn’t follow as she stood, and she turned and raised her brow to him in question. “I meant for you to come too,” she said, and held out her hand.

When he still hesitated, she sighed and bent down, taking his hand and tugging on his arm to encourage him to stand. He complied, handing a few of the pillows to her once he was upright. “We may want those,” he said. “Let me tend to the fire and then I’ll join you.”

Dorothy didn’t answer, but took the pillows he offered and made her way to the ladder leading to the lofted bedroom.

He took his time tending to the fire, banking it in hopes it would last them the night. He also hoped his delay would mean she was asleep by the time he followed her to the loft, wanting to delay until morning the argument he knew would need to be continued. But as he climbed the ladder and the room came into view, he found Dorothy awake and waiting for him.

She was stripped down to just her shirt and underwear. He eyed the long line of her bare legs, the shadows cast by the candle next to the bed flickering across her skin.  

“Dorothy,” he whispered and took a step back.

She shook her head and leaned forward, reaching out her hand as she did downstairs. “Please, don’t go.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, stopping himself from taking another step back.

She reached down, tugging at the ends of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. Once she dropped it to the floor, she looked up at him. He swallowed hard enough to feel his throat bobbing as she firmly held his gaze.

“There will be time tomorrow to argue,” she said, reaching back to open the clasp of her bra. “Can we just have this tonight?”

*

She could hear Lucas’ soft snores from where she sat on the stop step of the ladder. She knew she needed to go, that she would need as much of a head start as she could get if she wanted to reach Emerald City without him catching up to her. But instead of moving, she watched the candle light that remained play across his chest. The sputtering light caught on the red and blond tones of his chest hair, highlighting them, causing them to glow before falling into shadow again.

His words from their first stay in this house echoed in her head.

There’s only one person I fight for, since the moment we met. And you for me. Remember?

She wished she could still believe those words, could trust they were on one another’s side.

She sighed and grabbed her flannel, slipping her arms into it before crouching up enough to turn and creep down the ladder. Reaching the lower floor, she grabbed her bag and jacket and tip-toed to the door, grabbing hold of the knob and turning it slowly. She held her breath as she pulled it open, hoping the hinges wouldn’t squeak and give her away.

She glanced back, eyeing the ladder one last time, and whispered, “I wish you could come too,” before slipping through the door and pulling it shut behind her.

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Tagging @fairytalesandtimetravel, @captainswanandclintasha,& @sybbelle, so I can spread the heartbreak around.

#emerald city #emerald city ff #dorothy x lucas #knock knock #kansas knight #my ff ec #prompt me