#MMM: If you could make sure he gets enough food because he hasn't the last month- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

farfromsugafanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Lock & Key

Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

Warnings: cursing, dirty jokes

Synopsis: When Jungkook ditches you on your birthday, your friendship looks like it’s about to crumble. Your friend group becomes tired of your bickering and decides to take the matter into their own hands. Somehow, you and Jungkook find yourselves handcuffed together.

"Have you guys found a present for Y/N yet?" Jin asked, picking up his third pizza slice and taking a large bite, the cheese stretching as he pulled it away from his lips.

"You haven't gotten it yet? Her birthday dinner is tomorrow," Taehyung said. His eyes were tired, but he'd still insisted on joining the party despite having just gotten off a long train ride, as he hadn't seen his friends from high school for months. "I got her the first two manga in that series she's been wanting to read."

"Mmm," Jin said, seeming to consider Taehyung's choice of gift. "I need mine to be really special. He finished his pizza to the crust and turned it 180 degrees and bit into the end. "Jungkook, you're closest to Y/N. What are you getting her?"

Jungkook turned, wide-eyed towards Jin. The younger's face was already a bit flushed from the beers and from the mention of your name. "I'm paying for her part of the meal tomorrow and I got her tickets to that musical that's only in town for one night."

"Woah, that's gonna be hard to beat," Jimin said, "Y/N hasn't stopped talking about that musical since they announced it. Remember how she went crazy over it in the group chat?"

"I'm sure Y/N will like whatever you get her," Jungkook said. "She isn't very picky and she'll appreciate it because it came from you."

"I know. I just have something special planned and I want it to be perfect." The six other guys looked to the eldest expectantly. Jin sighed. "Gosh, fine, I'll tell you. I plan on confessing to her tomorrow."

"What? You like Y/N?! Since when?"

"Woah, congrats man!"

"You'll make such a cute couple."

The group fell to chaos, but Jungkook was notably the least excited. At the mention of Jin's plans, he sunk back against the wall and took a large bite of his pizza, followed by a gulp of beer.

"I'm not sure when I started liking her," Jin said. "I just kind of realized that I do. I figured we are friends and I'll regret it if I don't give it a shot."

"Are you sure her birthday is the best time to confess?" Jungkook asked, finally piping up. "What if things don't go well and you ruin it? Are you going to do it in front of everyone?"

"I thought about it and I'm going to wait until after the meal. Maybe I'll be able to steal her away for a few moments after she opens our gifts."

Jungkook's nose wrinkled and he was obviously unsatisfied with the answer. Yet, he dropped it and reached for another slice of pizza. "Why does it matter to you Jungkook? It's not like we all still won't hang out or that you'll never see her."

"Y/N's been hurt before. I'm sure you remember how upset she was after Minsung. I had to sleep in her bed for two weeks because she'd wake up crying. I never want her to feel that hurt again."

"Jungkook, I won't hurt her. She's more likely to hurt me. Why do you care so much about her heart being broken anyway? You're not the one who broke it and you aren't responsible for fixing it. Y/N's a big girl, she can handle herself."

Jungkook pouted. "I have to pee," he said, standing up and leaving the room, carrying his pizza slice with him.

vVv

An array of appetizers were spread across the table, a few bites taken from each. You were just waiting on the last three to show up: Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. You expected them to come together as they had been nearly inseparable in high school. As Jin finished off one of the appetizers, you spotted Jimin and Taehyung walking in. You got up and rushed towards them.

"Happy birthday!" Jimin and Taehyung said, nearly tripping each other as they ran to hug you. "It's been too long, Y/N!" The two boys had moved out of the city for college and you rarely got to see them. You didn't know what you do if Jungkook--your best friend--had gone with them.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it! Come on and sit down, we're just waiting on Jungkook."

The appetizers were gone and the missing chair at the table remained. Worry grew in your throat and you glanced down at your phone for the umpteenth time to see if he had texted you. Even, just a simple "Running late!" or "Stuck in traffic!" would calm your nerves.

"Have you guys heard from Jungkook at all?"

The other guys all shook their heads and gave you sympathetic looks. You'd put off ordering, but it'd been nearly an hour since most of you arrived and you didn't want to keep the staff waiting any longer. "All right, let's order."

"I'm sure he just got stuck in traffic or something, Y/n," Jin said, reaching out and tapping your hand.

Your heart dropped as you read his last reply. You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you pushed them back before the other guys could notice.

"He's not coming," you said.

"What?" you heard someone ask, but you were too focused on not allowing your spiraling thoughts ruin your birthday and holding back tears to register who it was.

"He said he got a date or something. I don't know, but come on, we can enjoy this without him."

Due to the solemn looks on their faces, you knew they saw right through your facade. You and Jungkook had been best friends since elementary school where he accidentally trampled you when he was racing his friends. Despite ending up with a badly skinned knee and a couple of bruises, you were fine, but Jungkook had insisted on taking you to the nurse's office anyway. He pretended to sprain his ankle just so he could sit and keep you company.

What had happened since then? You'd never felt like your friendship was dwindling when it came to Jungkook. Whenever either of you dated, it didn't make a difference. High school graduation didn't separate you. Not even when Jungkook forced you to a haunted house in high school and laughed when he saw the stain on your jeans and realized you'd peed your pants in fright.

Despite ignoring for Overwatch or coming to your apartment just for the free food, he always ended up doing small things to make up for it. You often found chocolate bars stashed in the odd drawer or cupboard to make up for all the food he steals. After he finished laughing, Jungkook allowed you to wear his sweatshirt to cover it and bought you new jeans. You still had that sweatshirt stashed in your closet somewhere.

vVv

The tears stopped by the end of dinner, but now anger ran down your spine. How dare he skip your birthday for someone he just met? He'd never done anything like this before, he was the one person in this world that you could depend on, and now he's not. You feel a pang of sadness in your stomach and reach out for your portion of the bill, which Jungkook had promised to pay for.

"Stop," Jin said, reaching for the bill you'd just barely wrapped your fingertips around. "You're not paying. We'll split yours." You nodded, powerless to the eldest's tone.

After the bill was paid, everyone got up and starting readying to leave. You had taken a taxi, expecting Jungkook to take you home afterward. Jin seemed to notice, his brown eyes melting when they met yours.

"Hey, come on, I'll walk you home."

You nodded and waved goodbye to the other guys as you all walked in opposite directions or climbed into taxis. You didn't catch the other guys thumbs upping Jin and giving him reassuring smiles.

"Thanks for coming," you said. "Even though it kinda got ruined."

"I'll always come, Y/N."

"Oh, when I get a hold of his bunny ass--"

"Go easy on him, Y/N. I'm sure he has a better reason than he told you."

"He better be on his death bed then."

Jin let out a snort, which caused you to smile, but the smile soon faded and so did the fake happiness the anger made you feel. Now you just felt hopeless and felt the tears stinging in your sinuses again.

"Do," you said, already your voice faltering. "you think I'm still enough?"

Jin stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Am I still enough for him? Maybe he found a better friend," you said, your gaze painting the sidewalk. "I mean, I always rely on him. He's always my shoulder to cry on. Maybe he finally got tired of it. Got tired of me."

Jin placed a hand on your shoulder. It felt odd, as Jin wasn't one for skinship, but his touch was comforting, even if you were imagining it was Jungkook's. Except you couldn't, Jungkook's touch was old, familiar, warm. Like the fireplace at your grandparent's house or when your car is completely heated on a snowy day. Jin's--sure, it was warm--but it wasn't Jungkook.

"No, no, of course not," Jin said, moving to hug you, your cheek hitting his chest. "That could never happen. You and Jungkook have been friends for years. If he was gonna get tired of you, he would've already."

You scoffed, half in laughter and half in fear. "Thanks."

"Okay, but seriously, Jungkook cares about you. A lot." Jin paused and sighed. You looked up, noticing his eyes weren't on you, but rather he was looking up. His eyes looked glazed, but you didn't remember him having any drinks. "He wouldn't allow himself to lose you, Y/N. Trust me."

The rest of the walk was filled with a comfortable silence. It was only a few more blocks from where you'd stopped, so you reached your apartment in just a few minutes.

"Thanks for walking with me," you said. "Sorry, I got kinda sad halfway through."

Jin shook his head and reached to move a piece of your ponytail that had escaped from the hairband and fallen roguishly over your head.

"You don't need to apologize for your feelings, Y/N. Just promise me you won't kill the kid. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding."

You nodded, although you weren't convinced that Jungkook didn't now hate you for reasons you didn't know.

"Thanks," you said. "For everything."

Jin nodded. "You're welcome." He turned and walked into the night and you turned your back before he disappeared.

vVv

"How did the confession go?" Jimin asked, as soon as Jin walked into the small apartment he shared with Yoongi, which was now cramped with six bodies.

"It didn't."

Jimin and the other faces in the room all contorted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't confess."

"But, why? Wasn't that your plan? Don't you like her?"

"She loves someone else," Jin said, his voice deeper than usual, his heartbreak captured in the back of his throat. "And, someone else loves her."

vVv

Two Days Later

You hadn't heard anything from Jungkook since the night of your birthday and you weren't sure what hurt more--the fact that he didn't care enough to explain himself or that he had seemingly replaced you. His Instagram was full of stories and posts of him with the girl you assumed was the one he skipped your birthday for. She was beautiful with large dark eyes and curly hair. His arm was around her shoulders and then eventually her waist. He must really like her because you remember how it took Jungkook nearly two years just to feel comfortable placing an arm around you.

You huffed and threw your phone onto your bed as you ran your hands through your hair. You were still mad, but you didn't want to lose your best friend. You remembered Taehyung mentioning how all the guys were getting together for Overwatch.

You hardly thought as you headed towards Jin's and Yoongi's apartment--the largest of the apartments belonging to those in your friend group.

You didn't bother knocking as you entered the apartment. You found the seven guys all crowded onto two couches and watching Taehyung and Jungkook. They didn't notice you until you slipped in and placed your hand on Jimin's shoulder—who jumped at your touch.

"Y/N!"

All seven heads turned to look at you. Most breaking into smiles and friendly greetings and offering you snacks.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asked, his voice breaking through the revelry. He was normally so soft-spoken, but at this moment, his voice grated through the air.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"You weren't invited here."

Your stomach turned. He'd never spoken to you like this, ever. Jungkook was normally the happiest when you showed up unannounced.

"Since when do I need an invitation, Jungkook? This is Jin and Yoongi's place, not yours."

Jungkook didn't respond but instead unpaused the game. Taehyung barely had time to close his mouth from watching the two of you that he fumbled with the controller as he realized Jungkook had restarted the game.

"Oh, so you're just gonna ignore me then?"

You rolled your eyes at how typical this was of all your ex-boyfriends. Towards the end of the relationship, they always ignored you for something else. Sometimes it was someone else, others it was their job. And yet, others, it was video games.

Jungkook had been there with you for all of these failed relationships. He said you deserved someone better, someone, who would never leave you or ignore you. You thought he was the only constant in your life, the one person who would never leave you, but now, he was just like all the rest.

Tears stung your sinuses. You dug your feet into the carpet and grabbed onto the back of the couch, trying to focus on the game. The guys had gone back to talking amongst themselves, eating, and watching the game. Yet, the air felt different, you caught concerned glances flicking your way and Jin silently offered you a slice of pizza which you declined, only eliciting another puppy-eyed look from the eldest of the group.

Jungkook was close to winning and the tears were soon beginning to simmer and your hands balled into fists. Before you could think or stop yourself, you marched around the couch and reached for the cord that was connected to the Xbox. The screen went black and all the eyes in the room shifted to you.

"Y/N?! What the fuck?!" Jungkook said, his voice rising. "I was about to win!"

"Jungkook, we need to talk and you're being an asshole."

Jungkook's ears were red and his eyes hard as steel. "This is ridiculous, Y/N. You came here uninvited to talk to me and when I go back to playing games because that's what I'm here for, you unplugged the system and demand I talk to you. And, I'm the asshole?"

You wanted to scream and pull your hair out. Yet, the thing you wanted most was to cry into Jungkook's oversized, black T-shirt because you knew it smelled of his cologne.

"Jungkook, you skipped my birthday party and you said we could talk about it, but it's been two days and I just want my best friend back."

"Y/N, why can't you just take the hint you're not wanted? This was supposed to be a guy's night and now you've had to come in here and ruin everything. You're way too clingy, like, this is why they always leave you."

"Jungkook!" Jin said.

You barely registered as the other boys chastised Jungkook as your vision blurred from the tears. You swore you saw his face soften before your eyes were totally filled with tears, but you couldn't be sure.

"Y/N," Jin said. You felt his hand come to rest gently on your shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you home."

vVv

A few days later you found yourself standing outside of Jungkook's apartment. You knew Taehyung and Jimin were staying with him, so you secretly hoped one of them would open the door.

The hallway was silent and dimly lit. It felt like midnight despite being noon. You softly knocked on the door, the sound--while quiet--seemed to echo down the hallway. You weren't sure what you were going to do or say when he opened the door. You were only sure that you missed the way he used to show up at your place at midnight with ice cream sandwiches or the way he let you borrow his sweatshirts when you were cold or couldn't sleep.

Thirty seconds passed and you knocked again. Firmer this time, each knock ringing out in the empty hallway.

"Jungkookie," you said softly.

You heard footsteps on the other side of the door. They were faint, but you recognized them from when he slept over at your apartment when you were sick or going through a rough time.

You listened as the door unlocked and slowly opened. He only opened the door a crack, just enough to peak out, as if you were an unknown person knocking on his door. As if you didn't know the layout of his apartment or that he kept all his mess concentrated to the common areas and his bedroom immaculate.

"Y/N...what are you doing here?"

His voice was softer than the last time you spoke. You knew Jin had told Jungkook how much you cried as he took you home and how you didn't answer his texts all night.

"I just wanted to see you," you said. "We don't have to talk or anything. I just miss you."

Jungkook didn't say anything. His eyes scanning over you. Your hair was unwashed and pulled into a bun and you wore sweatpants and a T-shirt. Dark circles outlined your eyes and even though it had only been a few days, your face looked thinner and your skin languid.

Another set of footsteps approached and the door swung open wider. Taehyung stood there in just his boxers and munching on a piece of toast. His eyes widened when he saw you and he glanced over at Jungkook, who's eyes were looking down at your feet.

"Hey, stop being a dick and let her in."

"Put on some clothes then," Jungkook said, his voice quiet and low, almost a growl. He swung the door all the way open and disappeared into his apartment.

Taehyung met your eyes and shrugged. He offered a small smile as you walked into the apartment. You hadn't brought anything with you, not sure exactly what would happen.

"I won't stay long," you said. "I just wanted to see him."

"At least have breakfast with me," he said, dropping two pieces of bread into the toaster.

You nodded and fell onto the couch. You'd done this countless times. At 4 in the morning after a night out, you'd collapse on Jungkook's couch still in your heels and your makeup slowly wearing off. You usually woke up the next morning in Jungkook's bed, your heels set by the door and your makeup at least mostly wiped off. At 6 pm as you leaned against Jungkook's shoulder as the movie started, your hand diving into the popcorn bowl in his lap. Most of your favorite memories happened on his couch.

"I hope you like Nutella," Tae said, handing you a piece of toast.

You laughed. "I love it," you said. "How do you stay so fit eating like this?"

Taehyung was still in his boxers. While he didn't have a six pack, he certainly wasn't hard to look at and the slight toning of his stomach showed he was putting in some effort.

"I'll gain five pounds just from eating this," you said, and despite your words, you took a large bite.

"Then you should have another," Jungkook said from the other side of the room. You hadn't noticed him there, he must've slipped in when Taehyung distracted you with the toast. "You're getting too skinny."

"I didn't ask you, Jungkook," you said. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back, your toast abandoned on the arm of the couch.

"I'm just worried about you."

"Since when? When you stopped texting me? Or, when you ditched my birthday party for someone you just met?"

Jungkook's eyes turned soft in the way that would usually make you melt. But, you kept your eyes off of his and your spine straight.

"Y/N..."

"Listen, Jungkook, I might've come here cause I missed you, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you."

Jungkook didn't say anything. Silence filled the apartment and after what felt like an eternity, he left to his bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Taehyung asked.

You nodded. "I think I just need a nap or something. I'm getting a headache." You looked around the apartment. There was only one bedroom and both Taehyung and Jimin were staying with Jungkook during their visit. "Where are you sleeping?"

Taehyung nodded and gestured toward the couch. "There," he said.

"Oh," you said. "Can I borrow it for an hour or so?"

"Be my guest. But, you know, even though you two are fighting and all, I bet Jungkook would let you have the bed."

You shook your head. "No," you said. "I'm not asking him for any favors and the couch looks more comfortable anyway."

Taehyung shrugged. You laid down and turned your back to him, missing the knowing smile as he cleaned up. You listened as he cleaned up and got dressed before leaving the apartment. It wasn't long before the tears came and you sobbed into the couch cushion as quietly as you could. The last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to emerge from his bedroom and find you like this.

He'd seen you cry dozens of times and you'd even held him as he sobbed into you. You didn't mind crying in front of him, but you knew it would destroy him to see you like this and to know he was the cause. Even if you mad at him, even if you were losing him, you didn't want to crush him.

You didn't remember falling asleep, but when you awoke, his scent was everywhere. You pressed your face into the pillow and stretched out your legs comfortably. You sighed until a thought crossed your mind. Pillow?

You opened your eyes and found yourself in Jungkook's bedroom. It was dark and the covers were pulled up to your chin. Jungkook wasn't in the room and from the empty feeling in the air, he wasn't in the apartment either. Your phone was next to you on the nightstand and plugged into Jungkook's charger.

You glanced at the time and realized your nap had lasted three times longer than you anticipated and you sat in bed as you realized that you probably needed to go home. However, before you could pull your eyes away from your lock screen, a text notification from a couple of hours ago caught your attention.

vVv

"Hey, sorry, I'm late," Taehyung said, walking into Jin and Yoongi's apartment where the other five boys were already crowded on the twin couches. "Y/N showed up at Jungkook's and I needed to see what happened."

The others all looked at Taehyung expectantly. "Jungkook doesn't know about this, right?"

"We didn't tell him."

Taehyung nodded. "Well, they're definitely in love with each other. Jungkook was jealous as hell and Y/N's heartbroken. I could practically see Jungkook splitting in half when he realized how upset she was."

"Well, didn't you all notice how when she started crying after he got mad at her for unplugging the Xbox, how he just broke? I don't think he cared about the game anymore, but then Jin swooped in and stopped it before he could apologize."

All eyes swiped towards Jin and he shrugged. "What? She was to the point of crying. I didn't know what he was going to do and I didn't want to upset either of them more."

"Does he know that you never confessed?"

Jin shook his head. "He never asked."

"Jin!" all the guys said at one.

"That would change everything! He probably thinks you and Y/N are together."

"It's pretty obvious we're not."

"I don't know the way you intervened during the fight and walked her home. It could be seen as you protecting her."

"Well, whatever, what's the plan? We have to get them to make up somehow. And confess, cause they're gonna drive us crazy pining after each other." Jin looked around at the other faces and all of them were, in turn, watching him.

"Well, we need to force them to be alone somehow," Namjoon said. "We could try locking them somewhere, but that's gonna be difficult cause the party is here and none of the doors lock." Eyes wandered as they tried to find a solution and eventually, Jin's eyes fell on the TV where a cartoon cop was catching a criminal, the handcuffs snapping down on the culprit's wrists.

"I think I might have an idea."

vVv

Taehyung and Jimin were taking the train back to their college town in the morning, so that meant you'd all spend the night before getting drunk and gorging yourselves on all the pizza you could.

Jin and Yoongi offered to host the party and a few of their neighbors offered up their apartments so everyone could spread out. You all invited your extended friends and neighbors if everyone came, you didn't doubt the party would probably get out of hand, but that was half the fun.

As you brushed on your blush and primped your hair for the final time, you felt butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook was going to be there. There was no way he would miss out on a good party and the opportunity for free food and drinks.

You wore a short white dress that was admittedly a little shorter than you would normally wear. But, with Jungkook ignoring you, you wanted attention and you didn't really care who it was from. Plus, you liked the way it hugged your curves and how when paired with the perfect heels, made your legs look longer.

You arrived a few minutes early to the party with the expectation of helping set up, but the party was already in full swing. When the elevator opened, people crowded the hall with cups in hand and music blasting from Jin and Yoongi's apartment. At this rate, the cops would be called in a couple hours, unless Jin and Yoongi had talked to all their neighbors beforehand, but you highly doubted it.

You waded through the bodies and found your friends all invested in a game of beer pong. The younger three on one end and the older four on the other. The older ones were currently winning and you smirked as you remembered just how good Yoongi was at the game.

"Need help?" you asked, placing your arm around Taehyung's shoulders, the heels allowing you to do so easier, although it still looked slightly awkward.

"Ah, finally! Someone who can rival Yoongi!"

You laughed, trying not to allow your eyes to wander over to Jungkook who was standing closer to you than he had for weeks. "Who's turn is it?"

"Yours if you want."

You nodded and walked up to the table. You angled your arm and aimed for one of the back cups, even if you missed, it may still land in one of the front cups that remained. You tossed the ping pong ball and it sailed perfectly into the cup.

"Yes! Drink up, Min Yoongi!"

Yoongi smirked and took the cup and downed it. You two had played this game countless time, both won and lost countless times, to the point that it was no longer about winning, but rather, who could get the other drunk quicker.

Yoongi aimed his shot and tossed it flawlessly into the cup right in front of you. You took out the ball and downed the cup. The beer was pretty much tasteless which meant it went down easily but left a bad taste in the back of your throat.

After a few shots back and forth, you had drunk twice more and Yoongi once. You were aiming up another shot, intending to tie it up when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked behind you and caught Jungkook's eyes.

"Are you gonna let us play?"

"Do you want to win or not?" you said, turning back and aiming up your shot. You were already a little tipsy and your head ached as you concentrated.

"Y/N, it'll be no fun to get drunk so early," he said. "Come on." His voice was soft and familiar. He'd done this dozens of times. Prevented you from getting too drunk or going home with the wrong guy. He brought you back when the alcohol began to take over. This time--however--you turned away and aimed the ball. Missing.

Yoongi tosses the ball in what appears to be a haphazard fashion, but it sinks straight into a cup. You pick it up and bring it to your lips, but before you can drink, the cup is being knocked from your hands and the beer spills almost entirely onto your dress.

You see Jungkook staring at you wide-eyed--the obvious culprit--his hand still gripping the cup.

"Jungkook!" you yelled, people turned in your direction, but your yell was soon forgotten as the music continued. All but your small group turned back to their own conversations. "Would you stop trying to be my friend? You made it quite obvious you no longer wanted our friendship and you just keep screwing everything up!"

"Y/N, I..."

Tears were beginning to fill your eyes and the only thing you wanted to do was get drunk and forget this night happened. You stepped forward to push through the crowd when someone grabbed your wrist. You knew from the touch that it wasn't Jungkook and when you glanced back, Jin's lips were upturned in a small smile.

"Wait, Y/N," he said. "I'm really sorry about this."

You cocked your head in confusion, but before your lips could form words to ask Jin what he was apologizing for you felt something click onto your wrist and found a handcuff locked around your wrist and you noticed the other was locked to another wrist. You followed the chain and met Jungkook's dark, confused eyes.

"Have fun, kids. We aren't unlocking you until you talk everything out."

vVv

Ten minutes later you stood in the kitchen as Jungkook tried to work a kitchen knife into the lock. The beer was slowly making your dress more and more see-through and you glanced around the room.

"Jungkook, can we try this somewhere else?"

He looked up at you with his brows furrowed in confusion. You hadn't managed to say anything before his eyes widened and he quickly shrugged off his flannel. It caught on his cuff and he struggled to get the sleeve over the handcuff and chain.

"Fuck it," he said, taking the knife and cutting into the seam where the sleeve met the shoulder.

"Jungkook isn't this a bit drastic? We can just go into the bathroom or something."

"No, it's okay. I can just cut off the other one later."

He brought around the uncut sleeve and brought over your shoulder and brought the cut sleeve over the chain and up your arm. The way the flannel hit it ended up covering your entire dress and draping across your bare thighs.

As soon as you were covered and comfortable again, he once again tried to unlock the handcuffs and your hand was at his mercy as he moved the knife point back and forth in the lock.

"Jungkook, this isn't going to work. You're just gonna end up hurting one of us."

Jungkook sat the knife back on the counter looked down dejectedly at your cuffed wrists. You couldn't help the pang of hurt in your stomach. Jin had handcuffed the two of you so you would talk and all Jungkook could focus was on how to get the handcuffs off without talking.

"Maybe we can break the chain," he said. "If we both pull, our combined strength might be enough."

Your wrist was already starting to become red and raw because Jin had accidentally snapped the cuff on a little tight, but before you could protest, Jungkook began pulling on the chain.

You immediately yelped in pain and your wrist attempted to escape the pain, causing your body to fold in on itself. You found yourself crouched and leaning against the counter, your arm almost straight above your head to remain close enough to Jungkook's so that it didn't dislocate the joint.

"Y/N?" Your name was barely audible over the music and the people around you many of which shot odd glances or coy smiles your way.

"It's tight, Jungkook. Jin accidentally locked it too tight. Can--can we just go talk and get these things off?"

Jungkook nodded, seeing your teary eyes from the pain and helping you to your feet. His free palm came to rest on your shoulder and his handcuffed hand grasped your wrist and he slipped two of his fingers between your skin and the cuff. It was the first time he'd touched you since before your birthday and you felt your knees go weak and something shifted in you with his touch. The plate tectonics of your heart shifting suddenly and with no warning.

"Let's go to the bathroom, first."

You were confused as he pulled you into the bathroom and situated you against the counter. He reached into the cupboard behind you and pulled out some lotion and squirted it onto his handcuffed hand. He rubbed it softly onto your wrist where the handcuff had rubbed the skin red and raw.

"Better?"

You nodded and looked up at his face which hovered not far above yours but was focused down on your wrist. His jaw was clenched and his features were stiff. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the sleeve he'd cut from his flannel.

"I think if we roll this down we can put it between the cuff and your wrist. It might make it feel tight, but it won't hurt you so much."

He rolled the sleeve down under it was a single cuff which he carefully slipped over your hand and under the cuff. It did work, your skin feeling relieved from the lotion and the cloth, although it did still feel slightly too tight.

"Thanks," you said. "But, maybe we should get out of here. I don't want your girlfriend to get the wrong idea."

Jungkook met your eyes. "What? Girlfriend?"

"The girl you went on the date with?"

"Oh, it uh, didn't work out."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There was a long pause as Jungkook continued to adjust the cuff to ensure it stayed. His eyes were focused on your wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For saying you were clingy and bringing your exes into this. I'm sorry for everything."

You looked down at him, your free hand coming to play with the hairs that grew around his ears. His hair was longer than you'd ever seen it and you smiled as he seemed to lean into your hand.

Jungkook finished adjusting the cuff and looked up at you. "I think Yoongi's room is empty. He didn't want people in there, but I bet he won't mind if it's us."

You nodded and followed closely behind Jungkook as you walked through the crowd to Yoongi's bedroom. It--like Jungkook had said--was empty. The two of you flopped down on the bed and despite laying a foot apart your fingers continued to brush against each other as you adjusted your wrists in the cuffs.

"I can't figure out why Jin handcuffed us," Jungkook said. The music was just a series of thumps now and even though it was still loud, you could no longer make out the lyrics and could hear Jungkook's voice without him having to raise it. "I thought he wouldn't want us to hang out anymore."

"What?" you asked. "Why would Jin care if we hang out?"

Jungkook turned and looked at you. His hair was wet from sweat and his hair curled in thick tendrils over his forehead. "Aren't you and Jin dating?"

"What? No! Jin and I are just friends. What makes you think that?"

"Jin told me he was gonna confess to you at your party."

Jungkook pulled his gaze from you and focused up at the ceiling. You thought back on that night. Jin had been acting more generous and gentlemanly that night, but you just chalked it up to it being your birthday.

"I didn't even know he liked me. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was with Jin and you didn't want to interfere?"

"That's part of it."

"What's the other part of it?"

His eyes came back to yours and you felt his fingers brushing against yours. But, it wasn't just the millisecond brushes as he adjusted. No, his fingers were practically intertwined with yours.

"Y/N, we've been friends so long...I don't want to ruin it..."

"Jungkook, it's already ruined."

There was a long tense silence between the of you. His fingers fully intertwined with yours. It was far from the first time you'd held his hand, but it felt different. It was softer, yet more intense at the same time. As if your hand were porcelain that could break at even the slightest touch.

Jungkook moved so quickly that you have no idea how he came to hover above you. His free arm resting above his head and the one handcuffed to you still intertwined with yours to the side. "What would've happened if Jin had confessed to you?"

"Kookie?"

"What would've happened?"

"I-I would've turned him down."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm in love with someone else."

His lips were on your before you even finished the sentence. He was gentle but urgent as if he'd been waiting two thousand years to kiss you.

"I'm still mad at you for skipping my birthday party," you said when he pulled away. "I don't care if you're in love with me, your cute ass still has a lot of making up to do."

Jungkook smiled as he leaned down placed a small kiss on your neck. "Well, I never got to give you my gift."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out two tickets. You grabbed them from his hands and you smiled as you realized it was for the musical you'd been dying to see.

"It's tomorrow," he said. "Pretty good first date, yeah?"

"Hey, don't get cocky yet!" It was hard for you to hide your smile and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction, so, you just leaned up and kissed him.

vVv

You woke up the next morning enveloped in Jungkook's arms and his one-armed flannel. You looked up to see him scrolled through his phone, but when you squirmed, he looked down at you.

"Good morning, baby," he said.

"That sounds so weird."

"What, baby?" He smirked and giggled as you reached up and playfully hit his shoulder.

"Wait," you said, looking at your unbound wrist. You looked down and found the handcuffs on the bed. "They must've uncuffed us last night."

"I hadn't even realized," he said. A blush appeared on his face. "I didn't want to let go of your hand."

"Aww," you said, reaching up and ruffling his hair. "You're such a softie."

Jungkook smirked and grabbed your wrists. "Hey, I'm not completely a softie."

He held your wrists and glanced down at the handcuffs. "Maybe, we should keep these."

#bts #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fan fiction #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts friends to lovers #fan fiction #jungkook imagine #jeon jungguk #jungkook fluff #jungkook friends to lovers #btsfanfic #bts fanfiction #originally posted on wattpad #farfromsuga

300 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 7 years ago

Text

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

1K notes · View notes