#please kindly defenestrate yourself out a window thank you

[nom-de-plume-system]

Fun fact for fictives:

You do not need to be exactly like your canon counterpart! You don't!

Nobody has a say in what you should be, and if they try to, you do not have to listen to them!

Because you are you and you very well could have had different friends, upbringings, events in your life, likes/dislikes, and plain and simple just be not like your canon self for any reason at all, including no reason.

You do not need to be 100% canon compliant to be a "valid and acceptable fictive"!

[virmillion]

And They Were Roommates

i know i said hiatus but i crapped this out in one go in my phone notes app and it’s not edited but i mean,, i think it’s funny and that’s what matters,,,,, right?

words: 1551

warnings: some swears, sarcastic first person author

Roman stretches his legs out, flexing his feet and pushing his hands into his thighs. “This plane,” he announces, “is too damn crowded, and I am too damn long.�� Beside him, Logan stirs, dropping his fancy schmancy neck support pillow on the ground. “That floor is too damn dirty.” Logan swats Roman’s arm and retrieves the pillow with a sigh. “You are too damn violent.”

“I could very easily leave you at the airport,” Logan says. His eyes leverage themselves somewhere around Roman’s nose, crossed enough to be out of focus. “Where did you put my glasses?”

Roman definitely doesn’t scoop the glasses (that he stole) out of his bag (that used to be Logan’s), and he definitely doesn’t place them upside down on Logan’s face (which looks remarkably angry right now). “There ya go, buddy!”

“Fix them.”

Roman definitely doesn’t let a few more curse words peter out in varying languages (that he learned from Logan’s textbooks (that he also stole)). Like the true and kind friend he is, he readjusts the glasses so Logan no longer has to squint, and can instead glare comfortably at Roman.

“This is your captain speaking, please note the seatbelt lights have been turned on. Kindly take your seats for the remainder of this flight, return your trays to their locked position, and buckle up. Thank you for riding with—”

“DEMON!”

“—airlines.”

Logan huffs another sigh at Roman for his outburst. “Was that really necessary?”

“If John Mulaney doesn’t like them, neither do I,” Roman says, heartily ignoring the miffed looks on the faces of the people surrounding him. “Better out than in, I always say.”

“First of all, that’s not even a relevant quote, and second, Shrek? Really?” Nudging his glasses higher on his nose, Logan sets about tucking everything into his carry on bag. With a considerable jolt to the plane, the neck pillow goes flying (in the plane that’s already flying (flying squared (flared))).

By the time the plane finally scrapes onto the track at the airport, Logan is remarkably close to punching Roman (not that he hasn’t already). “What is going on with you today? You don’t typically act this strange on flights, in my experience.”

“I also don’t typically have to meet my roommate after exiting said flight. We all have feelings, Logan, so get used to it.” Roman tugs his suitcase from the baggage claim, flippantly swinging it over his head with (pretty much no) consideration for his fellow humans. (Whether a few middle fingers raise to greet him is TBD (totally believable dude.))

“This Angel character sounded perfectly fine over the computer. I doubt you’ll encounter any problems, and even if you do, I’ll be there as a buffer.” Logan puts a little more care into grabbing his own luggage, trailing Roman into the streets. “If anything, you ought to consider yourself lucky for finding someone seemingly normal in a creative major.”

“What’s your beef with writing majors? Do they get all up in your grill?” To say this earns a smack from Logan is an understatement (but detailing exactly how pink the resulting handprint is might get this story flagged (gotta keep it safe for the kiddos, you know)).

“Just keep moving, I’ll make sure we don’t get lost.”

The reds and yellows of the trees pepper the sky like so many fireworks, slicing interruptions through the cloudless field of blue. Roman grins, rolling his shoulders forward to hitch his hoodie higher up (which he definitely didn’t buy online (with patches to match his school mascot and colors (because that would be nerdy))). With the barely-there breeze trumpeting autumn’s arrival, he can almost smell the crisp bite of chilled apples in woven baskets (he spends a lot of time at cider mills). Logan allows himself the smallest trace of a smile at how much Roman seems to enjoy himself, soaking up what little sun there is. At the sight of his soon-to-be campus looming a few blocks ahead, Roman lets out a whoop (which may or may not annoy the little old ladies near him (with their little yapping dogs (that have little sparkling bows (that still don’t outshine Roman’s little sparkling awe)))).

“Look, Logan, there it is! There’s the prison that I’m gonna inhabit of my own volition, where I’ll have a roommate that might pour whipped cream on my pants or put warm water on my hand! The possibilities are endless!”

Deciding to ignore the not-quite-correct pranks Roman’s dreamed up, Logan grabs his friend by the hand and yanks him back from the crosswalk. The little old ladies with their little yapping dogs snicker as a pickup truck tears through the traffic light, honking the whole way. Roman offers them his best award-winning smile, blissfully unaware of the bits of chocolate smeared over his teeth (not to mention the frappucino stains on his upper lip (of which there are many (Roman hasn’t brushed his teeth in a while))).

“—on the sixth floor, which really sucks because I was so close to having the devil’s number, you know? Would’ve been awesome, shoulda coulda woulda, yeah?”

Once Logan finally catches up to Roman (who definitely didn’t sprint through the next two traffic stops (or to the front desk (where he definitely didn’t hassle the lady (who is now pleading with her eyes at Logan (who wants no part of this))))), he slings his carry on bag to the floor with a grunt. “You could’ve waited for me.”

“I could’ve done a lot of things, just like I was telling Alice—”

“Lisa.”

“—Lisa here, because there’s just never enough time, you know?”

Logan slips a five over the counter to the tired lady, who accepts it with a nod. “Just get him to his room and we’ll call it a day.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll get right on that. Roman, if you don’t sling your butt up those stairs right this second, I will personally ensure that Angel defenestrates you.” (Roman thinks that defenestration is the act of tearing down rainforests (Logan has never bothered to correct him (he finds this hilarious (Roman does not)))).

Having sprinted to the top of the stairs, Roman easily beats Logan to the room, feeling remarkably similar to a king in his wonder at swiping a card to open a door (he’s not actually a king (but you knew that (his last name is Andrews (which you didn’t know (I didn’t even know that until writing this (I made it up for shits and giggles)))))). The two bunks, which are spaced as far apart as possible, border a room on the edge of chaos (or glory (which one it is depends on your perspective (and on your knowledge of catchy songs from the twenty first century))). The one closest to the window proudly displays a collection of purple and black blankets, as well as an absurd amount of pillows (anywhere from ten to ninety (take your pick (it’s probably closer to ninety))). Nestled in the mountain of cushions is a lanky boy, who lets out a wholly disgusted grown as Roman walks in.

“I cannot believe my luck. Roman, you walking piece of literal human garbage, I’m supposed to be rooming with someone named Philip.” The boy shoves himself off the bed, revealing a second boy underneath. “See, Patton, I told you I had a bad feeling about this.”

“Virgin? The man himself, I can’t believe it! You signed up with a fake name, too?”

Logan sighs as the second person (Patton, evidently) unfolds themselves from Pillow Mountain. “Care to explain?”

“Both of our friends signed up with abstract nicknames for some reason. Pretty funny, if you ask me.” (Logan didn’t ask him (okay, technically he did, but not about whether it was funny (he only wanted the facts (he did not get ‘only the facts.’))))

(This is the part where I, the author, am supposed to elaborate on the goofy hijinks that ensue (I don’t really feel like doing that (so just pretend I did and move on (long story short, Virgil and Roman were childhood friends that grew apart and met back up.))))

“Well, I guess I’ll see you on my next vacation, then?” Patton wraps Virgil in a tight hug (but not the other way around (because I don’t want to get bashed for writing people out of character)) before slipping out the door with Logan in tow. Roman turns to Virgil in their now-empty room, surrounded by boxes to be unpacked.

“I cannot believe we both lied about our names and ended up rooming together,” Roman says, sitting on his suitcase. “That is wild.”

“Right, and it’s definitely not fate. Don’t even get started with that fate nonsense on me, because I won’t have any of it.” Virgil pulls an appropriately moody pout and leans on the window, staring forlornly at the night sky (because that’s all he seems to do anymore (just give him something to brood over and that’s Virgil, let’s be honest (because I don’t feel like tossing in another nonsensical problem to be solved with romance here))).

“And it’s definitely not fate that brought us back together when our last game of tag ended with me being 'it’.”

Virgil whips his head around. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Roman cocks an eyebrow. “Try me.”

———-

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