#'you already told me that poster was the first thing you'd grab in a fire'

[derl30]

ALTERED STATES REVIEW TIME!

OK, this tumblr is, today, a vehicle for me to review ALTERED STATES. And you (the one person who stumbled on this review two-hundred years from n- oh who am I kidding, when the aliens from A.I. who show up to thaw out Haley Joel Osment and the teddy bear who was the real hero of that movie find this) should be very excited about this. Because this movie is insane. And highly entertaining.

Yes, the movie poster looks like ass. If I told you this was a movie where William Hurt (not the William Hurt from that awful 90's Lost in Space remake, or the one who slept through an entire performance as Duke Leto in the Syfy miniseries of Dune. This is before the body snatchers got him) took ayahuasca and got in a isolation tank and it blew his mind so hard he started devolving into a neanderthal and creating dimensional portals and he couldn't stop because he was addicted to finding the truth of existence... Well you wouldn't get that from this poster, would you? So let's move on. Shall we?

The film opens in 1967 with William Hurt's character, psychopathologist Edward Jessup, already immersed in a sensory deprivation tank, whilst his colleague and “buddy” Bob Balaban (he's just Bob Balaban in everything I'm not giving you his character's name look it up yourself if it's bugging you so much) oversees.

Now, you may notice I put buddy in quotes. The reason for that is that Jessup is a self-obsessed ass who seemingly has no reason to be around other people unless he can expound to them one of his various monologues. Bob Balaban barely gets a word in edgewise throughout the entire film. Bob Balaban.

See, Jessup loves the sensory deprivation tank experience. Unsurprisingly, as it allows him to be completely alone with himself for hours.

Later, at perhaps the lamest party ever, a bunch of faculty are chilling out and listening to the Doors. Everyone we see is talking about Jessup. Why? Well, much as Jessup is obsessed with himself, everyone else seems to follow suit by being obsessed with him. One young woman, Emily, (Blair Brown) is introduced to him in this very shot below as he arrives at the party:

Notice how is framed in holy light? There is a closeup after, of him framed in blinding glowing light followed up with a zoom in on Emily's face, enraptured with this incredible dynamic man. So much so that the moment he tries to make a goddamn sandwich she starts grabbing his celery (get your mind out of the gutter) and flirting with him. Which for these two that means talking science, immediately. Talking more at each other than with each other. This is often the way with Paddy Chayefsky's scripts.

PAUSE

Paddy Chayefsky is doubtless one of the great American writers for the screen. He wrote Marty, The Hospital and Network (which is a fucking incredible piece of work). He got an Oscar for all three. He also wrote this movie (Altered States, remember? Good lord) and disowned it completely three weeks in to production. His scripts tend to have very intelligent, driven characters at the center, who monologue extensively at each other. These scripts are not attempting to sound naturalistic.

Ken Russell, however, directed the film. He, like Chayefsky, is top notch at what he does (Direct. I said he directed the film like a second ago, come on keep up). His films, like Women in Love, The Devils, (which was banned in several major countries upon release and has never been shown publicly in its full, uncut form (by the way it's a masterpiece)) the Who's Tommy, Gothic, and Lair of the White Worm are all fucking gonzo nuts. I mean like, when you gave this guy the reins, you were going to Overthetopsville and there will be no stops on this trip. And god bless! I love directors who GO for it!

You're getting the chance to make a movie. Stop hemming and hawing and hit me over the head with what you want to say! Film is a visual medium, USE IT!

I feel I might have made my feelings clear here. So, moving on...

Ken Russell and Paddy Chayefsky immediately started butting heads, right from the start. Chayefsky was a BIG deal, and he wanted control over the picture in a BIG way. Ken would listen to his suggestions on everything to lighting and set dressing, and politely tell him, “No.”, and continue being the director of the film. Chayefsky hated him pretty quickly.

He had much more control over films like The Hospital. Which, if you watch The Hospital, well, it shows. You've got great actors (George C. Scott, Dame Diana Rigg (Dame may be the greatest official title of all time)) saying great dialogue. But its just two very witty bitter people sort of expounding on topics and speaking at each other and suddenly admitting they are in love and discussing what drapes they will have to buy for their new home. It's utterly preposterous, and it doesn't work in the way Sidney Lumet got it to work in Network, by literally making one of the lead characters realize his life is turning into a ludicrous soap opera.

So of course Ken tried to humanize, naturalize, the dialogue sequences. And it works! The film feels more human than the Hospital or Network. Despite the fact that Jessup is literally becoming more and more inhuman throughout the film. One of the ways he does this is by having the character's eat, drink, and work on other things during the dialogue sequences. This is perfectly normal in film, it's called giving the actor “business” to do, during the scene. Chayefsky HATED this. “They are mumbling my precious dialogue! Chewing through it! Sucking it through a straw!” Sorry, Chayefsky buddy. It works for the picture. Chayefsky also felt the actors were too emotional with his dialogue. Right. See, they call that acting.

UNPAUSE

Which brings us back to the first meeting of Emily and Jessup at the party. They are eating during this important scene! I can just picture Chayefsky seeing this, and running to the studio brass to tattle and get Ken Russell fired (as he got Arthur Penn of Bonnie and Clyde fame fired before Ken Russell came on board).

Emily and Jessup are, true to Chayefsky form, extremely intelligent, driven people and hearing them discuss topics such as anthropology and schizophrenia is quite interesting. It's just that what is to come, film being a visual medium, will eclipse just about any dialogue, no matter how good, from our mind thingys.

The two give up on the science talk and go straight to banging on her couch. After, she asks what he was thinking about. His answer is priceless. “God. Jesus. Crucifixions.”

She smiles.

Bwahahaha! Oh Paddy Chayefsky, you sure know women.

He admits he used to have religious visions. She listens to him from the sweaty couch whilst he sits naked on the floor, and starts going on about his father's horrible death of cancer and his loss of faith. And he admits to her that he's a nut. Her response is to call him a fascinating bastard. I think Lucas may have taken notes for Padme and Anakin.

So naturally, they get married immediately.

But none of that matters because Jessup gets back in the sensory deprivation tank and has his first vision. A nightmare of his dying father and lost faith in christianity. It's pretty great, filled with foreboding hospital rooms, his father's face being covered in a burning Shroud of Turin, everything covered by horrible blood red clouds and then THIS FUCKING THING SHOWS UP AND ITS ALIVE AND WRIGGLING

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

excuse me...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The many-eyed goat is slaughtered over a gold bible and suddenly Jessups screwing Emily again and we enter a blood vessel looking thing and the vision ends and he never mentions this again. Oh. Okay,

Emily continues on about what a nut Jessup is as they make marriage plans. Her monologue:

“You're an unmitigated madman. You don't have to tell me how weird you are. I know how weird you are. I'm the girl in your bed the past two months. Even sex is a mystical experience for you. You carry on like a flagellant... Which can be very nice, but I sometimes wonder if it's me that's being made love to. I feel like I'm being harpooned by some raging monk in the act of receiving God. (Emphasis mine)

"And you are a Faust-freak Eddie! You'd sell your soul to find the great truth. Well, human life doesn't have great truths. We're born in doubt. We spend our lives persuading ourselves we're alive. And one way we do that is we love each other, like I love you. I can't imagine living without you. So let's get married, and if it turns out to be a disaster, it'll be a disaster.”

It's a disaster.

As in, by the next scene. It starts off happy enough looking, they have kids and people are smiling. And hey, wow it's seven years later! But, well, see, whoops, they are getting a divorce. Well, not they. See, he is divorcing her because he considers the seven years with her a complete waste.

She still loves him, desperately. He doesn't give a shit about her or the kids. He tells Bob Balaban this, straight up. And then starts bugging him about deprivation tanks and Hinchi Indians in South America who have sacred mushrooms that can really fuck you up.

It's at this point you would like for Jessup to be hit by a Mack truck. But the movie continues on. By the way, this is one of the kids he doesn't give a crap about:

That's right. Drew Barrymore's first role is a kid that William Hurt doesn't give a shit about. Something that William Hurt would make a career out of with narcoleptic performances in Lost in Space and Syfy's Dune. So, Emily takes the kids to Africa for her anthropology work while Jessup goes to South America to go deeper into his own creepy mind.

The Hinchi Indians agree to allow him to participate in the drug ritual. They enter their holy cave.

This shot is beautiful. At this point the film becomes increasingly gorgeous. Ken Russell has started to go into overdrive, ladies and gentlemen. Buckle. Your. Seatbelts.

The Indians grab Jessup's hand and cut him, freaking him out. They pour his blood into the drug mixture. They begin to drink. Then he takes a sip. The intensity of the film here has quadrupled. The vision begins, fireworks going off all around him. He sees cave paintings of humans and komodo dragons and this:

The proper life he left behind with Emily. He's convulsing, sweating. The Indians are all around, masked. Snakes. He's laughing in pain. Energy spills from the void. A snake under the parasol strikes and begins to strangle him. He and Emily march toward a nuclear explosion as energy pours from the cut on his hand, becoming a lizard. From within a sandstorm, Emily watches him, naked. Jessup looks at her, entranced, as the soothing sands cover them both, slowly.

It's a beautiful sequence. A perfect film sequence. I can't overstate how strong the vision sequences are from this point forward. Great visual effects work and the madman mind of Ken Russell create something unforgettable, with it's own pace, independent from the rest of the film.

Jessup awakens with a komodo dragon laying before him, ripped to pieces. The Indians and the others all claim he killed it in rage. Jessup remembers nothing, takes samples of the drug to reproduce it, and goes back home.

Back home, Jessup keeps doing as much of the drug as he can and having Bob Balaban record results. They can't up the dosage any more so Jessup hops back in to the self deprivation tank to create a more extreme experience.

In his next session, Jessup states he is having a vision of early man, hunting a deer and killing it. Suddenly he states he is one of them, killing the deer. He begins to grunt like an animal. The two pull him out. He's incredibly pale, blood seeping out of his mouth. He can't speak, and has difficulty breathing. He insists they do an X-ray. It shows that there is a vocalizing lump in the front part of his throat. Jessup claims that his body had begun to revert to a simian state. The medical doctor agrees, stating the throat X-rays looks like that of a gorilla.

Luckily his throat returns to normal. So Jessup finishes up his day by having over a student of his and sleeping with her.

Our hero, people!

At this point we hardly feel sorry for him as his body suddenly begins to twist and bulge in the middle of the night, shifting in and out of neanderthal shapes. It's a horrific sequence, disturbing as hell. You certainly didn't expect the film to shift into body horror.

Jessup feels normal after a while. but sees visions of lava explosions, the birthing of the Earth all around him. Not a good sign.

He goes to pick up Emily from the airport the next day. She asks how he is doing.

“Oh, fine.”

Yeah right.

Emily has been told what Jessup has been doing and is worried, which of course pisses off Jessup even more. The guy is obviously obsessed with reaching the truth and root of existence, much as Emily surmised earlier, and we see he has no fear of even losing his own soul, again true to her word. The only thing that allows us to give a shit about him at this point is that Emily cares for him and she's decent people, okay?

So back Jessup goes into the tank with his ayahuasca or whatever it is. Alone. The tank door opens from the inside.

The hand that pushes it open is covered in thick hair. He's devolved.

Ape-Jessup escapes the tank room and chases a janitor around the building. Again, this scene is fucking freaky as hell. We can't get a good look at this screaming animal that was Jessup.

The janitor gets a guard to help and chases after him into the boiler room, where we finally get a good look at him when he assaults the security guard and escapes.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ape-Jessup runs through the city at night, making his way to the zoo where he kills a antelope and eats it. The Ape-Jessup sequence goes on way too long, but is nonetheless unforgettable. The makeup is much more convincing than the above picture suggests, and whoever performed Ape-Jessup did an admirable job.

The cops find an unconscious Jessup in the zoo and bring him in. Emily picks him up and questions him. Jessup admits everything that he can remember. He also admits that he probably killed that security guard. And once again doesn't seem to give a shit. Prick. He calls it the most supremely satisfying time of his life.

Even Emily seems disgusted with him. But, she's also fascinated with what he's accomplished. As an anthropologist, his transformation fascinates her. And so, she agrees to help oversee his next session. Big mistake.

Before the big session Emily and Jessup romantically reconnect, and then into the climactic session we go!

Get your popcorn ready!

After a few hours in to the session, the video monitor shows Jessup begin to literally melt apart like goo, reverting to primordial ooze, the very beginning of existence. An attempt to open the isolation tank doors blasts everyone unconscious, as light and energy pour forth. Emily is the only one left. She sees Jessup's life energy pulse from within the tank.

Rain pours down around them. The pipes on the walls twist and turn like jelly. The ground is covered with a pool of swirling fog and energy. Emily advances toward the vortex of the tank.

In the emptiness of the beginning of everything, Emily seizes the energy before her and reconstitutes Jessup.

They take him home. While he sleeps, Emily rages over the fact that she loves such a insane bastard, and can't get over him. And, then, after Bob Balaban leaves, leaving Emily alone, Jessup wakes up.

He sweetly admits that the truth he learned was that there was no learnable truth, just unknowable horror, and all that's real is human experience. And he'll be a good boy from now on. Well too bad!

Because that horrible truth isn't done with him, and it's back to goo-Jessup! Emily tries to help him, grabbing him, but this in turn effects her, turning her into a shimmering lava form of herself. Both of them begin to self-destruct as Jessup, enraged, watching her in pain, struggles to retake his humanity, slamming himself into the wall, reforming himself through sheer will and physicality. He grabs her and brings her back, mirroring what she did for him during the final session. They embrace naked in the hallway. He finally admits, “I love you, Emily.”

Fade to credits.

Awww true love!

What can I say to sum up? Awesome 80's practical effects. Genius wacko go-for-it Ken Russell directing. Out of this world vision sequences. A awake and actually remarkable performance from William Hurt. An occasionally turgid but often fascinating script by the ever ornery Paddy Chayefsky. Whats not to like?

Well, the ending is a little rushed. The ape sequence goes on for a little too long and takes up perhaps too much of the films overall running time. The central love story is, well... a little hard to swallow, but hey, I guess there really is somebody out there for everyone. Even self-absorbed, deadbeat, cheating, sensory deprivation loving, ayahuasca dropping, Harvard teachers with a messiah complex!

And on that note, aliens from A.I. Artifical Intelligence, have a good day, and don't leave poor Teddy alone with no one to keep him company!

Sayonara!

[monsterlovinghours]

So... I found an interesting tweet and was wondering if you'd write something sexy for it.... "In Vietnam it's a popular belief that if you are single in your 20s there is a ghost following you and hindering your romantic life because it wants to be with you and I just want to tell my personal ghost to quit being a coward and fuck me already." Also I claim the ✨ Emoji, if that's okay?

That’s fine with me, Starburst! holy fucking moly this took me forever to finish and this turned out way longer than i had originally planned but fuck this is such a neat idea and it just kinda snowballed but it’s finally done hurrah!!!!

fem!reader, just bear with me i am soft and full of feelings and i need to self insert

Bitter tears stung her eyes as she unlocked the front door to her empty apartment. Her empty, cold, lonely apartment. Another unsuccessful first date, ruined before any real potential could be reached. Everything seemed to go wrong; first her car wouldn't start, then her Uber was late, the table next to theirs at the restaurant was noisy and obnoxious, and the movie they had wanted to see had been sold out. Her date hadn't offered any suggestions to further the date, just sighed and took her home. He didn't even try to touch her, barely looked at her, and that stung more than she cared to admit, to feel invisible and undesirable. If he was the first, second, or even the fifth, it might not have hurt quite so badly. But the numerous dates she had gone on since entering her twenties had all gone the same way, ending too soon without a single spark of chemistry. Was there something wrong with her? Was she that repulsive?

Sighing, she swallowed her tears for the moment and walked dejectedly to her bedroom, dropping her purse and keys as she went. Down came her hair from the careful twist she had pinned it into, Mediterranean blue waves spilling down her back, her dress shed and her shoes kicked off. Makeup removed and dressed in panties and an oversized shirt, she slipped into bed, curling up with a pillow hugged to her chest. Finally, she let the tears come, sobbing out her hurt, her frustration, her loneliness. She had thought that perhaps this would be the one that went somewhere, that she'd finally break the cycle and maybe, just once, she'd have the chance to feel wanted, to feel seen. To love and be loved, like everyone else. But no; either she was entirely unloveable, or some force out there was deliberately fucking things up for her. In desperation, she angrily muttered through her tears, "Whatever cosmic entity has decided that I'm going to be lonely and hurting forever, could you either fuck off or come fuck me yourself?"

Thud

Something fell from her desk, something relatively heavy, and she sat up with a start and a gasp, her heart hammering. Her journal had fallen to the floor, lying open on a date that was still several months in the future, and the pen that she kept tucked in the pages…was standing upright on the page, scribbling something onto the paper. Her heart rose up into her mouth, fluttering sickeningly. That...was...not normal. Slowly, she slid out of bed, approaching the journal as if it were a live thing, dangerous and fanged and unpredictable. The pen finished whatever it was writing and fell over, and she knelt to read the message it left behind.

i thought you'd never ask babe

She sat back, her eyes darting around the space as if she could catch a glimpse of the mysterious specter that seemed to be listening, watching. Her voice soft, hesitant and tremulous, she asked, "Is someone there?"

Instantly, the pen flew upright again, scratching something out just below its previous message.

been here the whole time sorry about your date. 

"Oh my fucking god," she breathed, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Who...who are you? How long have you been here? Are you the one fucking with my love life?"

whoa one question at a time babes

To calm herself, she took a deep breath. "How long have you been following me?"

5 years 

"Jesus." She let out a breath, unsurprised to feel her hands shake as she ran them back through her hair. "Why?"

its complicated id rather tell you face 2 face

Her brow furrowed, getting to her feet to switch on her light. "Okay. So come out and talk to me. Why are you hiding?” The pen scratched across the paper insistently.

invisible not hiding

“So...make yourself visible?” She crouched by the journal, noticing that the pen was digging into the paper so hard it was nearly tearing it. 

Can’t until you say my name

“So what’s your name?”

Can’t tell you

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, throwing up her hands in exasperation. The pen suddenly flew across the room, where a poster that had been hanging on her wall swung loose, then fluttered to the ground. Her poster of the constellations. The pen was circling something, a name...the name of a star. 

“Betelgeuse?”

Almost excitedly, the pen wrote next to the star, the words jagged and sloppy.

Two more times!!!

She paused, wondering if this was truly a good idea. “Beetlejuice.”

One more one more one more please baby gimme one more

One beat, then two, then she threw caution to the wind and spoke the word one final time. “Beetlejuice.”

Her light flickered, as if to announce the sudden appearance of a very real, very solid looking figure standing with their feet planted on her poster, wearing a suit of dirty black and white stripes and a grin that could light up a small town. “You said it! You finally said it! I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for five fucking years and you finally said my name!” Before she could speak or even breathe, he had all but lunged for her, wrapping her up in his arms, the smell of damp earth filling her lungs even as he tried to squeeze the breath out of them. Ineffectually, she squirmed in his over-enthusiastic embrace, trying to wriggle away, to take a minute to process what the fuck was happening and who the fuck was standing in her bedroom right now. 

“Wait wait, hold on, so...your name is Beetlej-”

“Shhhhh!” He clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking his head vehemently. “Don’t say it. I’m sorry babes, but I’ve waited too long for this to go tits-up now.” He lowered his hand slowly, that grin resurfacing. “Okay, so I know you’ve got a lot of questions and you must be pretty excited to meet your own personal ghost but before we get to the boring stuff I gotta do one thing first.” Without giving her a chance to ask, his hands slid to her waist, pulling her to him even as he dipped her back and kissed her, his lips like ice, though surprisingly soft. What surprised her most was not the kiss itself, but rather her lack of aversion to it; she tried to tell herself it was because she hadn’t been kissed in so long that she was desperate for any kind of affection, even the strange, otherworldly, and rather abrupt kind. Oddly enough, she even found herself kissing him back, her fists gripping the lapels of his coat as he set her upright again. That Cheshire grin still hitched the corners of his mouth high, and his gaze raked over her like a physical caress, cool, white hands still curved in her waist. 

"Alright. Fire away, babes, ask me anything."

"Um…" Her head spun, thoughts racing, heart still pounding a chaotic timpani in her ears. "Did...did you say 'my own personal ghost'?"

"I sure did. You're one of the lucky gals that gets a ghost attached to ya when you reach adulthood. And you've got the luck of the draw, sweet stuff, because you managed to snag the Ghost with the Most!" His thumbs hooked into his suspenders, though oddly enough, two hands still stayed clasping her waist.

"And you...you've been fucking with my dates...screwing around with my love life for five years?"

Her voice raised a bit in pitch, and he had the presence of mind to look sheepish. "Sorry about that, but none of those schmucks were good enough for you. I had to scare 'em off, you're mine."

"Excuse me??" She broke his grasp, stepping away from him as her brows knitted together in hurt and anger. "I've spent five years convinced there was something wrong with me, that I was repulsive or unattractive or unlovable, because no one ever made it past the first date, and you waited this long to tell me that it was you the whole time? Do you have any idea how worthless I felt after each failed date? How broken a-and defective I felt? How-”

“Hey hey, take it easy for a second, dollface!” He grasped at her wrists; until he grabbed them, she hadn’t realized how wildly she was gesturing. “Look, I tried. I’ve been trying since the moment I saw you to get you to talk to me. It ain’t exactly easy for the dead to communicate with the living. But you knew I was there, didn’t you? Hasn’t every house you’ve lived in felt just a little bit haunted?” She paused, thinking back to all the doors she had closed but hadn’t opened, the objects on the floor that had been sitting secure on a shelf when she’d left, the quiet moments when she couldn’t sleep when she swore she could feel eyes on her. Encouraged by her pause, he continued. “You breathers are stubborn, you just don’t wanna see what’s right under your noses. Until tonight, I barely had enough influence on the living world to push a piece of paper off the desk. But you...you called for me. You finally gave in and called for me.” He grinned again, and though the fangs should have made him seem frightening and demonic, he just seemed...relieved. “I was finally able to tell you my name, and let me tell ya, there hasn’t been a single sound in my very, very long existence sweeter than you calling my name.”

She took a deep breath in, processing everything he had told her, everything that had happened in...god, had it only been three minutes? “What did you mean when you said that...I was yours? What does that mean?”

He shrugged, pulling her closer, his hand pressing against the small of her back. “Means you’re mine, babe. It means that you’re my girl.” Something dulled the gleam in his eyes, and to her surprise, the green in his hair began to fade to a deep, shamed violet. “I was there for every night you fell asleep cryin’ over some guy who would have only hurt you in the end. It gutted me that I couldn’t do anything to help. You’re my baby, and I don’t like to see you hurt, and I really don’t like being the one to hurt you. But it had to be done. You didn't belong with any of them." He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut as his hair faded back to green, as if he were forcing the color to appear. "We're wasting too much time talking when I should be kissing you."

"W-We just met!" The outrage on her voice felt like a show, a dutiful proper response to finding a green-haired, handsy ghost in her bedroom. But she hadn't once tried to wriggle out of his arms, unconsciously leaning closer when his hand slid up her spine.

Beetlejuice shook his head, stepping into her, strands of pink peeking through the green of his hair as he felt her body against his, solid and oh, so warm. "We've known each other for years, honey. You may not have had a face or a name, but deep down you've always known I was there. If I was just some stranger, you'd have run for the hills by now." She wanted to argue, but as much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right. His presence felt familiar, like a memory from her past she had all but forgotten about, but the emotions attached still lingered. It was why she hadn’t struggled when he reached for her, hadn’t tried to shake off his grasp, had kissed him back. His grin widened when she didn’t argue or protest, and he pulled her close, her body flush to his; he all but purred at the way her lashes fluttered, her hands naturally settling on his shoulders, as if they had done this a hundred times.

“Let me kiss you,” he rasped, holding her chin in his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, babe, please...let me give you a real kiss.” There wasn’t much more than a fraction of a second of hesitation before she nodded, gaze flicking to his mouth just before the distance closed and her brought her lips to his. With that first urgent kiss out of the way, this one was softer, more patient, sweet, and when she felt his tongue trace the seam of her lips, she parted them without question. Oh, it was wonderful, more so than she had ever dreamed, to be kissed like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, to have hands pressed so close to her skin, as if she would slip from his fingers and shatter if he let go. She wasn’t quite sure how they had ended up on her bed, but the softness of the duvet embraced her as he laid her back, kneeling over her. She moaned as the tip of his tongue flicked against hers, the sound echoed as he tasted the first flickers of her pleasure, soft and tremulous, like the first stretch of the wings of a newly emerged butterfly. 

“I wanna touch you,” he growled, his kisses trailing down her neck. “Fuck, you taste so good already, baby.” One of his hands rested at her collarbone, waiting for the invitation to slip lower. “Please, honey, let me pull your shirt up? Wanna feel just how warm you are under there…”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, leaning up on one elbow. He seemed confused, perhaps just a touch annoyed, but he stopped. “All those years you spent following me around...did you ever…” She gestured to herself. He smirked.

“Of course not. Not that I didn’t want to, sweetness, but when I saw you for the first time, I wanted you to be able to see me back, y’know?”

“And when I...had...alone time?” She arched a brow, and his grin widened. 

“Didn’t see a thing. Scout’s honor. Though, I definitely heard quite a lot. You know, you’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are.” Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned her head to the side in an attempt to mute the color rising in her cheeks. “Nope, huh-uh. Keep those eyes on me, babe.” His fingers gripped her chin again, bringing her gaze back to his. “I want you to keep looking at me, no matter what.” She nodded, and he grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Good girl. Now, lemme get a look at you.” Perhaps not quite as slowly as he should have, he grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted it, groaning as her breasts came into view, soft and tipped with dusky pink. “Oh fuck,” he nearly whimpered, and she moaned as his hips pressed into hers, seeking warmth and friction. “Such a gorgeous little thing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen you come in from the cold, saw these little beauties all stiff and hard through your shirt, and wanted to tease them with my tongue until I had you moaning and squirming.”

She shivered, letting loose a soft sound of want as he settled his weight more firmly over her, purring like a cat as he leaned down to kiss her nipples, first one, then the other. A moan left her as she felt his tongue softly lick at one stiff peak, her hand tangling in his hair, which to her surprise pulled an answering moan from him. Seems she had found a weak spot.

Oh, she had never dreamed that this would feel so nice, his mouth at her breasts, sucking, kissing, licking, teasing. His hands, still cool but warmer than before, squeezed the full flesh, kneading restlessly, and she arched her back, pulling her shirt off all the way and moaning. His scruff tickled her skin, made her shiver and break out in goosebumps, and she let her fingers drift through his hair, causing him to spill little growls and purrs against her skin.

"Ohhhh, baby," he groaned, lifting his head, his hair a deep rose pink, his pupils wide, drinking in the sight of her. "Baby girl, I've dreamt of this moment for five years, I wanted to make it so good for you. But I don't think I can wait." His hand slipped down her body, palm flat to her skin to touch as much of her as he could at once, then slid between her legs, inside her panties to cup her sex, the heel of his hand pressing into her clit. She keened, her toes curling, and he groaned in response. "Please, babe," he murmured, pushing the tip of his middle finger into her. "Please?"

"Yes," she said, with no hesitation, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, god, please."

There it was again, that mega-watt grin, his mouth split wide with joy. "Thank you, doll, fuck...oh, I've been wanting this for far too long." He sat up, and in the time it took for him to be upright again, his clothing-suit, tie, and all-had vanished, leaving him naked and visibly throbbing. His hands shook as he pulled down her panties, his cock twitching as he saw her bare for the first time. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my god…” Nearly the same temperature as her now, he touched her, thumb rubbing her clit as he pressed two fingers inside. “Has any guy ever done this to you before," he asked lowly, his free hand sliding up her thigh as he watched his fingers slide in and out of her. 

"No." Her answer came immediately with a shake of her head, hips rolling against his hand. "No one."

"I knew it." He grinned, withdrawing his fingers and popping them in his mouth with a deep groan. "Knew you'd wanna save this for me." Licking his lips to savor her, he crawled over her, grasping himself to guide his cock to her entrance. The tip pressed inside, and he groaned, shivering as he saw her teeth come down on her lower lip. "Feel okay?"

"Feels great," she murmured, reaching up to hesitantly cup his cheek in her hand. "You can move, honey, you won't hurt me." Her heart gave a funny little stutter as he nuzzled into her palm, as if craving her touch. He began to rock his hips, so shallow and gentle, widening her for him, though she could see the strain it put on him to go slow, the tension in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. Any last doubts she had about him melted away as she fully understood the care he was treating her with. To wait so long for somebody, to be with them every second and watch them laugh and cry and hurt without you, to ache with the need to touch them and be near them, and for the object of your affections to not be able to see you, let alone touch you...she could only imagine how frantic for her he must feel, but he was taking the time to consider her comfort, setting a slow pace despite the fact that it must be torture for him. “Beej?” She spoke the nickname softly, and his gaze focused on her with laser intensity, teeth exposed in a grin. “You don’t have to take it so slow, I won’t break.” Her thumbs stroked over his cheeks, slipping down to cup the sides of his neck and trace his jaw. “I want you to...to feel me. I made you wait so long, honey, but you can make up for lost time now. Don’t hold back.”

A thousand expressions crossed his face at once, his hand sliding around the back of her neck to lift her head, pressing his forehead to hers. “Baby,” he rasped, sounding on the brink of some tremulous emotion, “are you sure? I want this to be good for you-”

“This is as much for you as it is for me. If...if we’re really meant for each other, then isn’t it my job to take care of you, too?”

Beetlejuice let out a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, his lips pressing desperately to hers. “How did I get so fucking lucky to land a babe like you?” And with a snap of his hips, he was fully hilted, his eyes rolling back to the whites as she jolted in his arms, her wet warmth squeezing him, gripping him so tight. A string of curses left his lips, some in a strange language she suspected wasn’t from anywhere aboveground, and she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, anchoring herself to him. “Fuck, that’s it, babycakes,” he crooned, his hips rolling, groaning with each delicious slide within her velvet. “Ohhh shit, you take me so well...yeah, fuck, you feel so damn good, sweet stuff. You doin’ okay?”

Oh God, was she ever. It was a little uncomfortable at first; while he was average in length, he more than made up for it in width, and there had been a strange burning as she stretched to accommodate him. But that sensation of fullness, of movement, of joining...was indescribable. It felt like breathing for the first time. Like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Like the ceasing of a lifelong pain she had grown too used to to notice until it was no longer there. “Yeah,” she answered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m great. P-Please, you can go faster.”

He looked stricken at the glisten of her eyes and the tremble in her voice. “You sure? We can stop if it hurts, babes, I don’t-”

“No.” Her hands shot up to thread through his hair, yanking on it to pull him down into a kiss, the first time she had kissed him. “God, no. It doesn’t hurt, honey, it feels...oh, you feel so fucking good…” To emphasize her point, she squeezed her walls around him, bucking her hips up, and he groaned, shuddering against her. “More, please, I need more of you.”

His mouth left hers, but his lips wouldn’t or couldn’t seem to leave her skin, kissing across her cheek, the delicate shell of her ear, down her throat. “Fuck, say it again,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat as his pace increased, pushing harder, faster, the sense of something on the verge of collapse filling the room around them.

She knew what he meant, and she smiled, combing her fingers through his hair, neck arching as her hair spread across the pillow. “I need you,” she repeated, her body meeting his, rising up as he pushed down, rolling and cresting and crashing like waves against the shores of her bedsheets. “I need you, please.”

Whatever splintering dam had been holding him back finally broke, and he latched his teeth into her throat with a cry, slamming into her with unrestrained passion, marking her at her pulse, her collarbones, even just under her jaw. She was his, his, and no one else could ever have her now. She had called him, accepted him, opened herself to him in so many ways, in ways he never dreamed a beauty like her ever would. Praise dripped from his lips like rain, showering her in attention and bite marks. Her back curved, her body alight with sensation, each nerve electrified as she held him tighter and tighter, curling herself around him and letting herself get lost in him. This was everything she had wanted, everything she had been missing, in the world’s most unconventional lover. Affection, pleasure, desire, playfulness, care and attention. Her heart melted, her entire self surrendering to him; she felt it now, felt the rightness of his claim. She was his, body and soul. She always had been. 

His moans changed in pitch, his thrusts frantic, mindlessly chasing his pleasure as he took her hand, pressing it into the bed beside her head as his fingers wove between hers. “Babe, fuck, I’m gonna come...can I come inside you, baby? Huh? Can I fill you up, sweetness, fill you up and make you come with me? Please, baby girl, I’m so close…” He growled, nipping at her earlobe. “Let me make you mine.”

She nodded, almost too breathless to reply. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, I’m already yours.”

He groaned, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it back before releasing it. “Say it again. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m y-oohh fuck!” She cried out, cursing as his free hand began rubbing her clit, hard and fast, tripling her pleasure all at once. “I’m yours!”

“Again, babes…”

“Yours, Beej, I’m yours!”

“Louder, baby, scream for me!”

“Yours!”

With a shout, he broke, his entire body shivering as he came, cool and so deep within her she could practically taste it. The fingers at her clit didn’t let up, and moments later she was following him, her pleasure crackling through her, spreading like lightning across a stormy sky through her body. Her vision faded, dimmed, but the light of his smile and the sound of his voice remained clear as day, grounding her as the muscles in her body unfurled one by one, her body collapsing against the bed as the pleasure faded slowly. There was the sensation of something dripping down her thighs, something wet and just slightly cooler than her own skin, and a delicious little shiver went through her at the sensation, heightening the little aftershock tremors. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, lowering himself to rest his head on the pillow of her breasts, “that was worth the wait.” His hands cupped them, pressed them together as he buried his face between them. For a few moments, everything was silent and still, his lips skimming her skin in little butterfly kisses as she stroked her fingers through his hair, catching her breath. Then, she heard something, heard his voice, heard a muffled voice murmur something that sounded suspiciously like, “I love you.”

“What was that?”

Lifting his face ever so slightly, but not looking up at her, he said loudly, “I said you have nice tits!” The words tumbled out of him a little too quickly, and the sudden flush of pink in his hair was a sign that he hadn’t meant for her to hear him, or perhaps he hadn’t meant to speak out loud at all. Either way, she didn’t press the matter, smiling secretly to herself. His kisses, however, became firmer, his tongue even darting out to flick against her skin, and she moaned, wriggling against him as his lips began to migrate south. 

“Where’re you headed, honey?”

“God, I like hearing you call me that.” He grinned up at her, licking over her navel. “What, you didn’t think I was done with you, didja? No way, dollface, I’ve got five years of lovin’ to make up for.” 

She could have made the argument that they had tons of time to make up for those five years, but as his fingers spread her open to allow his tongue to lap at her clit, the sentence was erased from her mind, her hips jolting up into his mouth. It had been worth it, she decided as his clever, hungry mouth sent her spiraling into one frenzied orgasm after another. All the heartache and tears and lonely nights had been worth it, since it had all lead up to him. For the first time, she felt wanted. Felt loved. Felt truly, finally seen.

[spicycreativity]

A Place Where I Can Breathe - Ch 2

Chapter: 2/7 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: Brief depiction of light dissociation Excerpt: Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV. "Uh, Princey?" Virgil said, tilting his head at them, but Roman wasn't listening. "Don't tell him," Logan advised, shoving down his own annoyance at the error.

Virgil peeled another poster off the wall and laid it down on his bare mattress. Without the sticky tack pinning it flat, it rolled itself back up into a tube shape. Quietly singing along to the music blasting from his speakers, Virgil adjusted it and rolled a purple rubber band down to its center. Then he put it with the rest of his posters, in an open-topped cardboard box exactly identical to the ones he’d been imagining up as necessary. The weight of his newly blank walls bore down on him hard and he chewed absentmindedly at his thumbnail before catching himself. He clenched his hands into fists instead and worried at his lower lip as he surveyed what was left of his room.

It would have been faster and easier to ask Roman for an assist. He could have had Virgil’s entire room moved (and renovated) in less time than it took him to wave his hands. And he would wave his hands, and give a self-aggrandizing little speech, and hold it over Virgil’s head until he found something else to congratulate himself for.

So, no, despite their fledgling alliance, despite the direct invitation, Virgil wouldn’t be asking Roman for favors anytime soon. And besides (not that he would ever admit it out loud), there was something undeniably grounding, something real, about doing the work with his hands. He just hoped his empty room would take the hint and follow him upstairs.

As he worked, he became aware of eyes on him. It was a slow dawning, an uncomfortable tingle in his spine that morphed into a full-body itch. Spite kept him from turning to look, focused on packing away the meager contents of his closet. He knew that Janus would come, and he was determined to not care. Let him face the consequences of his actions for once in his life.

From the doorway, Janus watched. He watched Virgil reverently fold imaginary band tees he would never have the courage to wear. He watched Virgil ignore him. He watched Virgil prepare to forsake the only family he had ever known.

The uneasy stalemate grew more tense by the second until they were both buckling under the weight of words unsaid.

It was Janus who broke first. Where the embers of Virgil's anger could smolder endlessly in his chest, Janus' temper reared up at the slightest provocation and struck with its fangs, and would not be satisfied until the threat was gone. "Tell me you didn't actually buy that little 'family' act."

Virgil's knuckles went white around the Paramore shirt he'd been folding. If Janus had come to patch things up, he was making a mess of it. "There's nothing to buy. They're not liars upstairs." He didn’t need to add ‘unlike here ;’ it went both unsaid and mutually understood.

Janus narrowed his eyes and doubled down in his attempt to make Virgil catch his meaning. "It's awfully sweet that you want to think that, but let's not forget that your precious Patton is the whole reason you're down here with the rejects in the first place."

"Yeah? Well, he’s also the main reason I’m heading up now.” Virgil resumed folding up his shirt. There was no sense in letting Janus upset him, not when it was Virgil who had the upper hand. He had made his decision.

"Yes, and I’m sure he and Roman weren't just being nice to spare their own feelings.”

Virgil was quiet for a long moment, methodically re-folding the shirt and placing it into the box with the others. "Would it kill you to just be happy for me?" he demanded, turning back to his closet without sparing so much as a glance at Janus. He stared at the few remaining shirts without really seeing them, heart hammering against his ribcage. He had been hoping to slip out quietly and let Janus cool down. Despite last night’s tension, he really hadn't intended to burn any bridges. But since Janus was being so generous with the kerosene…

In the doorway, Janus straightened. He dropped his hands to his sides, staring at Virgil like he'd never seen him before. Something uncomfortably like defeat crawled up his spine. "So you really think this is going to end well for you?" It went against his nature to speak plainly; even now the truth metamorphosed painfully on his tongue, becoming a venom-drenched mockery of itself.

Virgil had never liked the process of drawing the truth out of Janus. It always involved effort on one of their parts, and too often Virgil was the one left untangling the knots when Janus was the one who had tied them. He was just about sick of it. So he left the truth raveled up inside Janus' words and grabbed a shirt at random from his closet. "Yeah. I do."

Janus faltered and went still. Virgil could see it out of the corner of his eye, and the sick sense of satisfaction made him smirk. He really was tired of the eternal chess match that came with talking to Janus and it felt good to score a point for himself.

When Janus felt cornered, he struck. But this ? Virgil hadn't cornered him, he'd boxed him in . There was nothing to strike at. Just blank white walls and the chemical odor of lighter fluid.

For a moment, there was no sound but Virgil's music. Virgil imagined another T-shirt to fold. MCR. Long sleeves. Soft jersey under his hands.

Janus knew perfectly well what Virgil wanted from him. But courage wasn't in his function; neither was vulnerability. He stood still in the doorway. No motion but the rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his irises as he watched Virgil tape up his box of T-shirts. It should have been an easy choice: his pride for Virgil's friendship. But the scales pitched and swung and refused to balance, and Janus was silent.

"Tell me why you came here," Virgil dared him, searching for yet another reason to not look Janus in the eye. He settled for imagining a Sharpie so he could label his boxes.

Janus was silent.

"I know you wanted something."

Silent.

"Say it."

Silent.

"Then go."

Silent.

Janus turned on his heel and walked away. Resentment bloomed in his chest. Virgil had gone for a weak spot on purpose, had set Janus up to lose one of two things he held dear. Let him leave, then. If it turned out to be a mistake, they would find out soon enough. And if it didn't, well…

At least Janus had his pride.

Virgil scoffed at the sight of Janus slinking away like a cat, head high and shoulders back.

Virgil had never expected to lose Janus, but he supposed it did make sense that things would end this way: not with the cheap words he threw around like a high-roller's banknotes, but with a chill and deadly silence.

"Whatever," Virgil said to no one. He picked up one of his boxes and headed for the stairs.

Janus was nowhere to be found; Virgil figured he was probably sulking in his room with the lights off, plucking at threads that would never hold knots.

That, or planning some sort of revenge. Virgil tried not to shudder. After all, there wasn't really anything Janus could do to him, not when Virgil had this much conviction in his decision. Janus preyed on insecurities, driving wedges of doubts into the cracks that already existed in the foundations of long-held beliefs. And Virgil had allowed himself no doubts. Not today. Not about this.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice Remus on the stairs.

Remus had been making no effort to hide, but, realizing that Virgil was going to pass by without noticing him, sprang forward to block his path. "Boo!"

"Fuck!" Virgil flinched and pulled the box in tighter to his chest. He glared at Remus and took in a few deep breaths, leaning against the bannister while he waited for his head to stop spinning. "What was that for?"

"Take a wild guess, Little Boy Boohoo." Remus slapped the top of the box just hard enough to make the contents shift and rattle, rage boiling in his chest. "Y'know, when you said you got Raptured, I didn't think you'd actually go through with it."

"Remus, come on." Sadness ached in the back of Virgil's throat. He hadn't wanted this. For all that Janus and Remus had teased him about spending time upstairs, he hadn't expected this kind of anger from either of them, was still reeling from their unabashed hostility. They were friends . Well. They used to be.

"Cum on what?" Remus asked, leaning in. "Your face? Your tits?" Fire blazed in his eyes and he made no effort to quell it; he wanted Virgil scared . It served him right for picking Roman.

Virgil seemed to read his mind. "You know I'm not choosing them over you guys, I just-- I can be friends with all of you. I can help. ”

"No," Remus said, meaning every word of it. "You can't."

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing down his doubts. "But you guys are the ones making me choose. I-- Look, I'm sure if I told them how much you mean to me--"

"They'd start inviting us up for tea and orgies?" Remus bared his teeth. "Face it, Virgil. They want to change us just like they changed you," he bit the air in front of Virgil's face, "into a toothless little lap dog. And the second you stop playing by their rules, it's back in the dungeon with the rest of us wolves. And you know what wolves get: Dark screens and pens out of ink and knots that won't stay tied."

"Maybe I don't like being a wolf," Virgil said, sticking with the metaphor out of habit. It usually made Remus happy to have his ideas acknowledged. "Maybe I'm changing for my own sake."

Remus sneered at him, aiming to wound. "Patton must give really good head."

"Get out of my way," Virgil said, fury burning cold in his lungs. "I'll be back down soon for the rest of my stuff."

Remus stepped aside, but planted his boot on the railing opposite the wall before Virgil could take so much as a single step. Nothing about Remus could be repressed or contained, not his anger, not his glee, not even his sadness. It escaped now, despite his best efforts to get a leash on it. "I just never thought it would be you."

"What do you mean?" Virgil asked, studying Remus' wistful face. His heart gave a dangerous lurch. "Actually? I don't care. Move."

Remus let his boot drop with a heavy thud, forcing Virgil to step over it. "You're making a mistaaaake," he called after Virgil, pitching his voice up in a shrill sing-song lilt. A parting gift to the traitor.

Virgil winced, but kept walking. If he was making a mistake, at least it was his mistake to make.

At the top of the stairs, he batted at the doorknob until it turned enough to allow him to fall through the door. He kicked it shut behind him and paused to catch his breath.

Then Roman popped up from the couch, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Hey there, 5 Seconds of Bummer."

"Jesus!" Virgil jumped and fell back against the wall, chest aching.

"Careful, don't let Elder Patton hear you say that. What's with the box?" Roman looked Virgil up and down, examining the coal black eyeshadow and the way he cowered against the wall. Whatever he was doing, he seemed unharmed, if a little freaked out. Not that that was unusual.

"I'm moving," Virgil said, only just managing to hold back a sarcastic ' genius .'

"Really?" Roman's smile was so bright it was almost dazzling. "Say no more!" He straightened, puffing out his chest. "Let's see, where should we put you?" He paused, drawing mental pictures. "By Logan, I think. Right across from yours truly.”

Virgil squinted at him, but he realized Roman’s intent a moment too late. "Oh, I don't--"

"Shh." Roman focused on his desired effect, pictured Virgil's room and all its contents moving upstairs. He would have a bright purple door with a black iron door knob. Oh, and a little 'keep out' sign with a skull on it. And a new bedspread with purple patches, to match his hoodie. And of course, he couldn't forget Virgil's actual possessions (whatever they were) right where they were supposed to be. "There!"

Virgil ducked his head and raised his eyebrows, dropping his hands to his sides now that he had no box to hold up. He almost mourned the loss of it, the comforting weight on his chest. "'There'?" he repeated.

Roman beamed at him. "I moved your room for you!" Virgil opened his mouth, Roman assumed to complain about his precious privacy or whatever, so Roman raised a hand to stop him. "Now, now, no need to thank me." He paused, thinking it over, and regretted his choice of words. "No, wait, do."

"Uh, how about I hold off on that until I actually see my room?" Virgil stared expectantly at Roman, who bounced on his toes. "Lead on, Macduff."

"That's not the line and you know it," Roman complained, but he turned to lead Virgil to his room. "It's ' lay on, Macduff,' and--"

"Yeah, yeah," Virgil interrupted, already regretting his teasing. "And then they fight."

"Don't tempt me, " Roman said. Then he winced. "Ah, like, friendly fighting! Between bros! Good, old-fashioned, manly sword fighting between two dudes…" He paused to take a breath, faltering, hoping for a rescue that did not come, "who are friends. Friendly sword dudes." He cleared his throat and repeated, "Friendly sword dudes."

Behind him, Virgil smiled. For all his boasting, Roman really was trying to be more pleasant. Maybe Virgil should try to extend a hand as well. Unfortunately, "Sure," was all he could manage.

He followed Roman across the living room and up another set of stairs until they came upon a long corridor lined on either side with doors. "It's like a hotel," Virgil observed.

"Go in already." Roman nudged Virgil with his hip.

Virgil resisted the urge to smack him, reminding himself that Roman wouldn't know he was just playing. Instead, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and walked down the hallway to his door. "It's purple."

"Oh, good, you're not colorblind."

"Was that a big concern for you?" Virgil didn't wait for a response before pulling the door open and examining his room. Everything seemed fine, from his band posters to his pet spider in its terrarium. Everything aside from the bedspread.

Roman kept glancing between it and Virgil, wiggling in excitement. "Well?"

"Um, yeah." Virgil forced a smile. "It looks nice. Thanks, Princey. I, uh. I like the purple."

"I knew you would!" Roman gave himself a round of applause and pushed past Virgil, throwing himself down on the bed. "Come feel. The purple patches are fleece."

"Okay…" Virgil crossed the room, trying not to look as tense as he felt. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and put his hand down on the fleece, mind frustratingly blank. "Yeah, that's soft."

Roman nodded in satisfaction. "So," he said, "how does it feel?"

"...Soft?" Virgil repeated, flicking his eyes to Roman's face for just a moment.

"Not the comforter." Roman sighed. "Your great escape! You're finally free from Bialysnake and Doom."

Virgil tilted his head. "Not your best work," he said, mostly to avoid answering the question.

"Oh, everyone's a critic." Roman examined his nails. "But come on, doesn't it feel better to know you won't have to deal with those freaks anymore? I can't even imagine how you made it this long, and that's saying a lot for me. Thank goodness you let us rescue you."

Virgil forced back the instinctive wave of anger that Roman would talk about his friends that way. They weren ' t friends anymore. And maybe it would feel good to vent a little. "I'm glad to be gone," Virgil said with conviction, imagining Janus and Remus listening at the door. "It's gonna be really nice not having to deal with all the mind games and, and random tangents and… weird communication problems."

"Go, Virgil!" Roman said, a little surprised at Virgil's candor. "That really must have been Hell for you."

Virgil, as a rule, avoided lying. Even white lies made him feel sick and panicky. But for just one incandescent moment, he lost control of his temper and let the bonfire blaze in his chest and the smoke pour out of his mouth. "Yeah." If he said it out loud, maybe he could make himself believe it. Maybe he could crush the remaining ache of betrayal, the longing for his friends. "It was Hell. I'm not going to miss them at all."

Roman gave a low whistle "I'm glad we got you out of there."

"Lucky me." Virgil rubbed his fingertips along a patch of fleece as guilt, cloying and viscous, lapped at the back of his throat.

It was funny, he thought, reflecting on the look of earnest conviction in Roman's eyes. When Janus said that 3 plus 3 equaled 7, he was getting at something. When Roman said that 3 plus 3 equaled 7, he believed it. That could be a dangerous combination someday. Maybe it was better like this. Now Virgil was in a better position to keep Roman and the others safe from whatever vengeance Janus and Remus might choose to inflict upon them.

"Hey," said Virgil, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Maybe we should get out of here. Y'know, before you go all--"

"Fright Night?" Roman frowned, bored with the idea. "That's so last episode. Can't you just turn it off?" Almost to himself, he muttered, "A nifty little Roman trick."

"Turn off my anxiety?" Virgil repeated, incredulous.

"No, no, of course not." Roman waved a hand to dismiss the idea. "Just make your room a little less kooky, spooky, and ooky." He snapped his fingers twice.

"No?" said Virgil.

"Let's see." Roman indicated the switch on the wall he had just dreamed up. "Go ahead. Pull the lever, Anxiety!"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "It's not a lever."

"I could make it a lever," Roman said, a touch petulant. "A long one, too, so you can walk into it and jab yourself right in the ribs every time you try to turn the lights on."

"Alright, I get it," Virgil put up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry I talked bad about your anxiety lightswitch." He got to his feet and flipped the switch, all the while staring expectantly at Roman. "Feel anything?"

"Profoundly unchanged." Roman stood up as well and rocked forward onto his toes. "Ah, well. I guess I wasn't in here long enough to tell the difference. Suppose that's why we leave the nerdy science stuff to the Great Logician."

“Where are the others, anyway?” Virgil asked, longing for an escape from one-on-one conversation. His nerves were already starting to fray.

“I don’t know.” Roman leaned against the wall and fidgeted with one of Virgil’s decorative spiderwebs. “Logan’s probably holed up in his room making a spreadsheet of Thomas’ vitamin deficiencies or something equally as boring.”

“And Patton?”

“I don’t know, man, it’s not like I keep them under surveillance.” Roman rolled his eyes, annoyed with the questioning. "I suppose I should summon them up to say hello." He gave Virgil a sidelong glance.

Virgil shrugged. "I don't really care either way, to be honest. But maybe don't bother them if they're busy "

Roman wasn't listening. "Let's see, probably shouldn't do it in your room… To the hallway!" He bounded out the door leaving Virgil to follow him at a shuffle.

It was fine, Virgil had to keep reminding himself. Roman meant well, and maybe his antics would keep Patton from rolling out the welcome wagon. The thought of special treatment made Virgil's toes curl. Just because he didn't want to be insulted all the time didn't mean he needed to be babie d.

Roman's voice cut through the noise in Virgil's head and he planted his hands on his hips. "You're not listening to me at all, are you?"

Virgil gave a fake smile. "I got caught up in the sound of your voice."

"Hm, well." Roman sniffed, playing the part. "My talents are wasted on buzzkill philistines." He paused. "Buzzkill-istines."

Virgil only made a face, so Roman sighed and brought up his arms to summon Patton and Logan, proclaiming as he did so, "Look who I rescued from the dungeon!"

"Hey," said Virgil, bristling, but the chaos was already underway.

"Yay!" Patton threw his arms out wide. "It's Anxiety!"

"You never say 'yay,' when I come around,” Roman complained.

"Hi, Patton," Virgil said, not wanting to be rude.

Logan chimed in, "Roman, it would be incredibly disruptive if Patton said 'yay' every time you entered a shared space--"

"I didn't ask for a read , you pirated nerd processor. I'm just saying a little appreciation would be nice."

"Anxiety is our guest !"

Patton still had his arms out. Virgil caught his eye. "Was that-- Is that for a hug or…?"

"Only if you want one!" Patton said.

Roman threw his hands up in frustration. "It's like I'm not even here! You never offer me hugs."

"If you are referring to Patton, he hugged you three times yesterday by my count." Logan paused and pushed up his glasses. "Possibly more times than that, if I wasn't present to witness them."

"Aw, Roman, did you want a hug, too? Group hug?"

"I would prefer not to--"

"No, no, that's quite alright."

"Does anybody want a hug? 'Cause my arms are getting tired."

" I don't," Roman said, obviously pouting.

Virgil pressed his fingertips to his forehead, exasperated. Then he stepped away from Roman and let Patton hug him like he obviously wanted to.

It was hard for Virgil to not shudder at the sudden heat and weight on him. With his senses already open and taking in more information than his brain seemed to want to process, touch was an added stressor, more unwanted sensory input.

But it was important to Patton, and his voice was genuine when he said, "Thank you."

"Ugh, enough already!" Roman said, dropping his arms so he could cross them again. "Isn't anyone going to congratulate me for rescuing our dark-and-stormy damsel?"

Virgil seized upon the opportunity to slip out of Patton's arms and step a healthy distance away. "I'm sorry, which part was the rescue? Was it the part where you ambushed me in the living room and took my stuff?"

"Roman, it's not nice to take what doesn't belong to you," Patton said.

"No, Padre. Ugh." Roman groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "I helped him move all his stuff."

"That does explain the new violet variance," Logan said, nodding at Virgil's door.

Roman muttered, "That doesn't make sense; you just wanted an excuse to use alliteration," but it was barely audible under the sound of Patton screeching in delight.

"Uh," said Virgil, wide-eyed. "How long do you think he's gonna go?"

"Three," said Logan, unphased.

"What?"

"Two."

"And one," Roman said.

Patton drew in a deep breath. "Kiddo! You're gonna live with us now?"

"Yep," Virgil said, ducking his head.

"This is so exciting! We have to celebrate!"

"We really don't," Virgil muttered, backing into the wall. The last thing he wanted was--

"A party!" Roman said, driving his fist into his open palm. If he couldn't be the object of adoration, then he could at least be in charge of something.

Virgil sighed, swallowing back a swear. He suddenly longed for the safe familiarity of Janus' gentle taunts and Remus' wild-eyed enthusiasm. He had grown so used to people knowing his limits, to having his needs anticipated and boundaries accounted for.

It crossed his mind to flee, to run back down the stairs into the basement with apologies on his lips. At least his old demons were familiar ones. He knew how to handle it when Remus got too wild or when Janus got sulky and jealous. And the ache, the ache of being so cruel, well, he knew how to ride that out too.

What Virgil did not know how to handle was the rambunctious enthusiasm of three (well, two) optimists who were far too excited about being his friends.

Oh.

Realization and guilt slammed into Virgil's chest, a flying tackle of empathy. All Patton and Roman wanted to do was be his friends, and Virgil had the nerve to be put off by it.

He shook himself and tuned back into the conversation just in time for Roman to address him directly, "And you just have to sit there and look pretty." A beat. "Pretty scary." Patton turned his disapproving gaze on Roman, who was already in the process of trying to extricate his foot from his mouth. "Ah, um, pretty… scarily… pretty . Because it scares us… how pretty you look."

Virgil decided to let that one go as a show of goodwill.  "...Thanks."

"Yep," Roman said, utterly failing to stick the landing. "Anyway, enough talk! We have festivities to attend to!"

He sank out, and Patton after him, until it was just Virgil and Logan in the hall.

"I do not understand him," Logan admitted.

Virgil just shook his head, privately wondering if the same placating behavior that worked on Remus would work on Roman too. "Just go with it, I guess."

Logan nodded. "Before we join the others, I did want to tell you: Please do not hesitate to ask if there's something I can help you with."

"Hesitating is the name of my game," Virgil said, misunderstanding.

Logan adjusted his glasses, hiding his confusion behind his hand. "Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. I only meant that--"

It clicked for Virgil. "I get it, Logan. Thank you."

"You are welcome, Anxiety. I believe your presence here will be of benefit to us all." Logan sank out, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Virgil sank out after him, suddenly terrified at the idea of being alone with his thoughts.

Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV.

"Uh, Princey?" Virgil said, tilting his head at them, but Roman wasn't listening.

"Don't tell him," Logan advised, shoving down his own annoyance at the error.

"Just go with it," Virgil repeated, a reminder for the both of them.

"Took you two long enough!" Roman shouted from the kitchen. "Professor Necktie, get in here and help Patton with the measuring cups."

"I got it!" Patton exclaimed. "A third of a cup and a fourth of a cup are pretty much the same thing, right?"

"Oh," said Logan, already in motion. "No."

"What about me?" Virgil asked.

Roman popped his head through the kitchen doorway, nearly knocking into Logan. "I already told you, Sweet Coraline--"

"Da, da, da," Patton chimed in.

"--just sit there and look--"

"Scary."

"Is it Interrupt Roman Day?" Roman threw his head back and rolled his eyes.

"No," said Logan, before realizing the question was rhetorical.

"Wait," said Virgil, "So I'm just supposed to sit by myself in the living room while you guys…" He tried to remember what Roman had said before, but he really hadn't been listening.

"While I bake and Patton tries to drink vanilla extract," Logan said.

There was a sound suspiciously like a small plastic bottle hitting a formica countertop. "Uh, Roman, why don't you keep Virgil company?" Patton suggested. "You know what they say about too many cooks. Or… bakers, I guess."

"What do they say?"

"I don't remember! You'll have to chef back with me later."

Virgil winced. Roman shot him a commiserating look. "Fine, I guess we can both sit and look pretty. Comes naturally to me anyway."

"Great," Virgil said.

"Well, Simple Plan, do you want anything to drink while I'm up?"

"'Simple Plan'?" Virgil repeated, confused. "That one wasn't even a real nickname, you just named an emo band."

"Look, I can't be on all the time." Roman made a face. "Do you want a drink or not?"

"Could I have a coffee?"

"Coffee?" Roman stared at him. "It's 2:00 pm!"

"Oh, so there's a wrong answer?"

"Alright, alright. How do you take it?"

"With milk."

Roman nodded. "How much?"

"What?"

"How much milk?"

"I don't know, I don't measure it out," Virgil tried to keep the incredulous look off his face but couldn't quite manage it. "Just, y'know, with milk."

" How much milk, Virgil?"

"I don't know!" Virgil put up his hands. "Until it's a nice beige color."

"How beige?"

"What do you mean 'how beige'? Beige is beige!"

"Alright, fine," Roman huffed. "But you're not allowed to complain if it's wrong."

"Deal," Virgil said, nodding.

Roman turned to go back in the kitchen and Virgil threw himself down on the couch with a huff. Roman got wound up about the weirdest things.

Unlike Virgil, who only got wound up about normal things, like if the person at the door was really the pizza delivery person, or if they were secretly an assassin sent to kill Thomas.

Reasonable fears.

Virgil ran his hands down his face and sighed. Despite his earlier desire to be alone, and despite the reassuring sounds of controlled chaos from the kitchen, doubt crept into the corners of his mind.

He bounced his leg and tried not to look at the door to the basement. The living room and kitchen were technically common areas, even if the so-called 'Dark' sides usually kept clear of them.

Janus or Remus could burst in at any second and ruin everything. Roman, at least, seemed to be under the impression that Virgil had hated every waking moment as a Dark Side. If he ever found out that they had been friends...

Virgil forced himself to take several deep breaths. Everything would be fine. Roman, Logan, and Patton were his friends , and they wouldn't judge him for how he had acted before.

...Unless they did .

"Coffee!" Roman said, barreling into the living room with far too much confidence for someone holding a full coffee mug.

"Jeeze!" Virgil jumped and clutched at his chest, his pulse hammering against his hands. "Stop doing that!"

"Stop entering rooms?" Roman said sarcastically. He sat down next to Virgil on the couch and set a coffee mug on a mismatched saucer down on the coffee table. "There."

"Thanks," Virgil said. He thought about teasing Roman for having made it the wrong shade of beige, but decided against it. They were still getting used to each other and Virgil didn't know how far he could push without hurting Roman's feelings. "What about you?"

Roman held out his hand and he was suddenly holding a champagne flute full of sparkling water. "Don't you worry about me."

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a blithe "oops!" from Patton and a long sigh from Logan.

"How about them?" Virgil asked. "Can I worry about them ?"

Roman waved a hand and sat back. "I guess worrying is your job."

"Yep," said Virgil, glancing again at the basement door.

They fell silent for a moment, but Roman was never one to leave an awkward silence untouched. "So, what do you usually do for fun? Or was it more of a Cinderella situation?"

"You really think I'd take that kind of treatment lying down?" Virgil asked.

"Okay, so, what? Do you practice your eyeshadow for hours on end? Write angsty poetry?"

Virgil sighed, thinking about all the things he couldn't give away. "I mean, I guess I listen to music?"

"That's a great idea!" Roman said, a little too quickly and loudly. He waved his hand at the TV. "Go… Plug your phone into that, make it do the thing."

Virgil got up and began fumbling with the assorted wires at the back of the TV. "Are you sure? It's not exactly party music."

"Well, it's your party." Roman smiled. "You call the shots. And…" He hesitated, embarrassed. "Well, you know. We appreciate you, scary screamo-emo music and all."

After a fair amount of fiddling with the remote and plugging random cords into random sockets, Virgil finally got his phone hooked up to the TV.

"There!" Roman said happily, flashing his teeth again. " Now it's a party!"

Virgil sat back down on the couch and tried to make a pleasant face back. He had hoped that the music would make him feel more at ease, but all it did was bring back painful memories of bass filtering down into the basement, of complaining with Remus and Janus about their upstairs compatriots' taste in music.

Even now, the bass crawled into him and buzzed painfully against his bones, vibrating in his skull. With his heart already racing from the caffeine, the throb in his chest became almost painful. Virgil stared, wide-eyed, at the floor trying to keep his breathing in check. If he could just focus on what Roman was saying…

What was Roman saying? Virgil watched his lips move, but all he could hear was the thrum of the bass. Was this even real?

It took Roman a long moment to realize that Virgil wasn't listening, his attention turned inwards rather than outwards. Realization came with an unpleasant twist of concern in his stomach. Virgil was staring at the floor, his eyeshadow a sickly gray.

All thoughts of irritation and playful pouting fled Roman's mind in an instant. "Uh, hey. You okay?"

Virgil took too long to respond. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He blinked hard, drummed his fingers against his temple. Awareness came back to him, marginally less unpleasant than it had been before. "Do you… do you mind if I turn the music down?" Surely that was no great transgression.

"Sure, be my guest" Roman said, truly ambivalent. He smiled a little and hummed to himself as Virgil fumbled with the remote.

"Hey, kiddos!" Patton stumbled out of the kitchen, Logan's hand firm between his shoulder blades. "Logan says I'm not allowed in the kitchen anymore." He smiled, unbothered, and sandwiched himself between Virgil and Roman on the couch. "Is this okay?" he asked Virgil.

"Yeah," said Virgil, unsure if he meant it. He leaned a little into Patton's side and decided it was okay. More than okay. Where it had overwhelmed him before, the gentle warmth of Patton's proximity now grounded him and calmed him down.

Like…

Like Remus did.

Roman, oblivious to Virgil's inner crisis, tossed his head. "Did you try to eat the dough again?"

"No," Logan called from the kitchen. "He tried to make glitter slime with the egg whites."

Virgil and Roman made twin faces of disgust; Patton only laughed and said, "I was egg-slime-ted to try something new!"

"Oh, no," Roman murmured, drawing one hand down his face.

Virgil raised an eyebrow and said, "Was it at least food grade glitter?"

"No," Logan answered, still out of sight. "It was craft glitter."

" What were you making?" Virgil asked, then realized his mistake. "Uh, before the egg slime."

"Cupcakes," Patton said.

"I already told you that," Roman said.

"Sorry, man." Virgil gave Roman a fake smile. "Sometimes when you start talking, all I can hear is refrigerator noise."

"Funky beets," Patton said, nodding.

Virgil stared at him. "You keep beets in the refrigerator?"

Patton wasn't listening. "Ooh! Brocc-n-roll!"

The conversation dissolved into increasingly dubious vegetable puns, which Virgil avoided contributing to. He was more than content to sit back and watch Roman's and Patton's energies bounce off each other as the conversation grew increasingly absurd.

It was moments like these that made Virgil think, maybe things would be okay after all. Change was scary but Virgil had his friends.

Logan emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, uncharacteristically ruffled. Flour left chalky marks on his shirt and tie, and glitter clung to his fingers despite all his efforts at the kitchen sink.

"Hi," Virgil said with a lazy wave. "Please stop them."

"What are they doing?" Logan asked. "I stopped listening when they started making puns." He sat down in the chair that sat perpendicular to the couch and looked expectantly at Virgil.

"Still puns," Virgil said. "Endless puns."

"It's fine," Roman said. "We can be done with puns."

"Only if you ask nicely!" Patton said. They all peered at him expectantly. "You said no more puns," he said, confused. "Should I have made one?"

"No need, Patton," Logan said hurriedly.

"Digging the new look, by the way," Virgil said by way of pointing out that Logan was covered in flour.

Logan squinted at him, puzzled, then looked down at himself. "Ah. One of the many hazards of working in a kitchen." He imagined his clothes clean and nodded in satisfaction at the result.

Unable to help himself, Virgil added, "Other hazards include: Setting your stove on fire, setting your self on fire." He paused, thinking. "Ants."

Patton took his cue to counteract Virgil's anxiety. "But if you don't take the risk, then you don't get the reward!"

"Cupcakes!" Roman said with equal enthusiasm.

The oven timer beeped.

Logan frowned. "It hasn't even been two minutes."

"I got impatient," Roman said, and kept going to try to talk his way out of a lecture on hard work. "And besides, don't we all have better things to do than sit around and wait for cupcakes to bake? Such as eating cupcakes?"

"Roman's right," Patton said.

Logan considered this, pushing up his glasses. "I suppose I could use the extra time to get some work done."

"Wow, Teach, you're leaving us just like that?" Virgil said instead of asking Logan to stay.

"Not before cupcakes he's not," Patton said firmly. "Roman?"

"Say no more." Roman made an extravagant hand gesture, and a tray of cooled, perfectly frosted cupcakes appeared on the coffee table.

"I was going to frost them," Logan said. "And I do have to wonder what the point was of having Patton and I bake in the first place."

"Oh, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Roman waved Logan off. "Anyway, Purple Menace, it's your party. You get the first cupcake."

"Thanks." Virgil grabbed one at random before he could start worrying about if there was a right or wrong answer. "So," he said, forcing himself out of his comfort zone, "since it is my party and all… Do you guys think you might want to spend the rest of the day with me? Only if you want to. It's cool if not."

"Of course we will!" Patton said, only just resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Virgil.

"Yeah," Roman said readily, "sure."

They all looked at Logan, who nodded. "If that's what you want."

Virgil looked down to hide his smile.

--

Virgil kept unusual hours at the best of times, plagued by insomnia and racing thoughts.

Tonight was no different. In fact, tonight was worse. After the day ended and the warmth and comfort of his friends faded away, Virgil found himself alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts that kept straying to Remus and Janus. The reality of their anger at him twisted in his stomach and stoked the fires of rage in his own chest until he was burning with it. Some friends th ey were, turning on him the second he tried to improve his own situation. They knew better than anyone just how much he'd disliked tormenting Thomas and antagonizing the others.

Virgil let out an angry huff and punched the volume button on his headphones. He knew better than to try to go to bed when he was this worked up, so he turned to his tried and true method of drowning out his thoughts: turning up his music until he felt it in his jaw.

It didn't work.

Virgil ripped his headphones off and tossed them away from him, careful even in his anger to not do anything that would cause them to break. He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. It was late enough that everyone else was probably asleep. He could go down to the kitchen and eat shredded cheese straight out of the bag without any questioning eyes on him.

He sank out of his room and popped up in the kitchen so focused on his goal that he didn't even notice Patton standing by the sink.

Patton in turn didn't notice Virgil until they both jumped in fright at the sensation of something in their peripherals.

"Oh!" Patton covered his mouth with his hand and took in a deep breath. "You scared me, kiddo!"

Virgil fell against the fridge, taking in a few deep breaths of his own. "Likewise."

Patton looked Virgil over, raising an eyebrow at Virgil's attire. "Late night?"

"Pretty much always. What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep," Patton said, glancing at Virgil to check in with him before continuing, "I was kinda worried about you."

Virgil shuffled over so he could nudge Patton with his hip. "C'mon, worrying is my job."

"I know," Patton said fondly. "I just… I want you to know that we care about you, and… Well, I just keep thinking about what you probably had to put up with living with Deceit and the Duke, and I'm a little concerned they might, y'know, try something."

"Oh," said Virgil, as a shot of panic rang his body like a bell.

"But don't worry!" Patton said. "We'll keep you safe!"

"Oh, dear." Janus flashed into view between them and looked at them both in turn. "Safe from what? "

"Um," said Patton, blushing up to his ears. "Heya, Deceit."

Janus dipped his chin and fixed Patton with an amused smirk that he had never practiced in his bathroom mirror. "Morality." He leaned back against the counter and waved a hand. "Oh, don't let me interrupt you. Please do tell Anxiety what it is you're going to keep him safe from."

"Ah," said Patton, fidgeting. "Um. It was sort of a private conversation."

"You can trust me." Janus touched his fingertips to his chest, expression open. "Have I ever given you a reason not to?"

"I guess not, no."

"So go ahead." Janus stared Patton down, delighting in his discomfort.

Virgil recovered his wits and only just managed to keep himself from snarling like a dog. "Leave him alone."

"Me?" Janus grinned at Virgil, revealing mismatched canines. "I'm harmless."

A sudden memory flashed through Virgil's mind: He and Janus eavesdropping on their upstairs neighbors. "Wait, were you just waiting by the door for me to show up?"

"No," Janus lied, spitting out the word too quickly. He saw no need whatsoever to let Virgil know that Janus had wanted to check on him and make sure the Lights weren't unduly punishing him for the perceived transgression of having once been 'Dark'. In fact, he'd gone into this with no intention of interacting with Patton at all, but he never could resist the opportunity to make a dramatic entrance.

"Dude." Virgil scoffed, smiling incredulously. "That's so lame."

Janus examined the back of one hand, propping up a facade of cool indifference. "More or less lame than listening to the same My Chemical Romance song 58 times in a row?" Janus teased, sweeping his gaze down Virgil's face. "By your estimate?"

Virgil was about to answer when he noticed Patton staring at him in confusion. He caught hold of his anger again and injected it into his words. "Did you actually want something or did you just come around to try to scare me?"

"This was a common area last time I checked," Janus said, pretending to look around.

Virgil would have liked to have pressed him. For all his scheming and planning, Janus had never mastered the art of the contingency plan. If Virgil taunted him, told him to carry on with his business in the kitchen, Janus would stutter out an excuse, turn tail, and flee.

But there was Patton, watching their rapport with interest and concern, and Virgil couldn't risk handing him any more pieces of the puzzle. Even Patton, who saw the best in everyone, seemed to believe that Janus and Remus had held Virgil hostage all those years. What would he say if he knew the truth?

Virgil took Patton by the hand. "Don't let us stop you, then. Come on, Pat." He sank out, hoping Patton would follow him to his room.

Patton took the hint and rose up by Virgil's door. He looked around uneasily at the spider curtains and the white webbing strung across the walls, but no wave of wild-eyed panic struck his mind. "That's funny."

"Haha," Virgil said, instantly regretting his weak attempt at humor. "Sorry. What's funny?"

"I'm not quite as scared as I was last time," Patton said.

Virgil stared at the purple-plated switch Roman had made earlier. "No way. No way that worked. Ugh, he's going to be insufferable if he finds out." Patton smiled vacantly and nodded. Virgil said , "Don't say anything to Roman, but you should be good to spend time in here with me. I-if you want to."

"Do you want to talk about what just happened?" Patton asked, not moving from the doorway. Even in the absence of blind panic, he could still feel phantom legs crawling across his bare skin if he stared at any one piece of spider decor for too long.

"I don't know," Virgil said, sighing heavily. "Are you okay?"

Patton couldn't help but shudder as he tried to tear his eyes away from Virgil's spider tank. He swallowed down his fear. Virgil needed him. He could be brave if it meant helping Virgil feel better. "Oh, don't worry about me." He forced himself not to think and crossed the room so he could sit next to Virgil on the bed. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Virgil said, unable to look Patton in the eye. This was his drama to worry about, not anyone else's. He shouldn't-- couldn't burden Patton with this. Lies danced on the tip of his tongue, so bitter he could almost taste them. He wondered if Janus could sense it, if Janus was laughing at him on the basement stairs. "It's over between us," Virgil said.

"Was it…" Patton hesitated. "I mean, were they… It's just that you're so sweet, and Deceit and the Duke are so scary . And… I mean, Deceit never comes into the kitchen. D'you think he was going to--" Patton broke off with a shudder. " Try something?"

Virgil couldn't even bring himself to protest at the idea that Patton didn't find him scary anymore, awash in nostalgia; half-formed memories of coffee on hazy mornings, reluctant cuddle piles on the couch, bickering for the sake of it, all warming and chilling him at the same time. "Maybe," Virgil said. It wasn't technically a lie, he told himself, just a misdirection. And if it kept Patton safe from Janus' mind games then Virgil would tell a thousand lies, never mind what that said about him. "He can be pretty scary when he wants to be.

"And you're okay?" Patton asked, still concerned. "You still seem pretty shaken up." Virgil was pale and his eyeshadow had gone dangerously dark. Patton wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and never let anything bad happen to him again, his chest ached with it.

"I didn't like how Deceit talked to you," Virgil said, and a burst of anger formed out of the fear for one incandescent moment. Janus had been playing a game with Patton, but it wasn't fair when Patton didn't know the rules. Janus would weave threats and insults into his words but never once speak impolitely or out of turn, and push and goad and tease until he found a breaking point. He had pinned Patton's back against the wall in less than a minute and would have kept toying with him just for the game of it had Virgil not stepped in. Virgil had been the victim of this trick before, in much more lighthearted circumstances. Janus would put words in your mouth and then condemn you for them with the holier-than-thou countenance of a tithe-stealing priest. "He's dangerous to talk to. Promise me you'll come get me if he ever catches you alone, okay?"

"Sure, kiddo." Patton didn't fully understand, but if it was important to Virgil, then it was important to him, too. He held up his pinkie. "Pinkie swear."

"Oh," said Virgil, softening. "We don't have to--"

"It's legally binding," Patton said seriously.

Virgil smiled despite himself and hooked pinkies with Patton. "Okay. Pinkie swear."

Patton drew his hand back and smothered a yawn behind it. "Sorry, kiddo, it's just a little be-yawn-d my bedtime. But I'm happy to stay up with you as long as you need!"

Guilt flooded Virgil's mind, choking out rationality and guiding him toward panic. "Oh, jeeze, I'm sorry. I won't keep you up."

“Aw, it’s okay,” Patton said, not missing the way Virgil’s body tensed up and his breathing quickened. “I’ll stay up with you all night if you want me to. We could even make a blanket fort. Just maybe…” He wiggled in place, thinking of spiders again. “Maybe in the living room or the hall.”

"It's okay, Pat." Virgil stifled a yawn of his own, burying his face in the collar of his hoodie. "Think I'm gonna crash soon, anyway." A small, cruel part of him protested at the idea that he would need special treatment and desperately wanted to throw it back in Patton's face. He wasn't a sweetheart, he wasn't a baby. He didn't need to crawl into a blanket fort with Dad just because he was a little stressed.

Okay, so he was a lot stressed, but he still didn't need coddling. He wasn't Roman .

"Should I go, then?" Patton asked, glancing at the door. He had seen Virgil's face go sour and adjusted his approach accordingly. It went against his nature, against his function, to leave someone upset without doing everything he could to fix it, but he was perceptive enough to grasp that Virgil wanted space.

Virgil nodded and yawned again, the ugliness draining from his face as though it had never been there at all. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Virgil." Patton stood, but hovered in the doorway. "Want me to get your light?"

Virgil kicked off his shoes and nodded. "Sure." Virgil hoped that Roman hadn't shuffled his clothing around too much. He wasn't in the mood to hunt for his pajamas in the dark. "See you in the morning?"

Patton nodded, turned off the light, and left.