#I’m not tagging the transphobic wizards. you know what the goblins are supposed to be. that one sucks

[date-a-jew-suggestions]

Me seeing a fantasy or sci-fi universe made up of entirely fictional peoples and cultures: okay but which ones are the Jews I can project onto.

[sign-from-god-complex]

every way that matters

Summary: “They were domestic; they were comfortable; they were happy. Patton and Virgil were Patton and Virgil, but they were never in love.”

Pairing: Queerplatonic moxiety (even if that isn’t how they label it).

Warnings: Homophobic/transphobic/aphobic parents mentioned.

A/N: I hadn’t actually written aromantic Virgil before this which truly is a crime, so I decided I needed to rectify that. Especially considering that, after analogical, moxiety is the relationship I see the most like a qpr.

Tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @idosanderssidespromptssometimes 

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"Do you wanna get married?"

Virgil pauses in the stroking he's doing of Patton's hair—an absent-minded action he's been performing since the moment Patton arrived, plopping down on the couch beside him and sticking their head into his lap. He's not entirely sure he's heard them correctly.

"What?" Virgil ensures to keep his voice level, projecting an aura of calm he may not necessarily feel.

His emotions are darting about inside his chest, kicking at his stomach and pulling apart his ribs and yet Virgil's body remains relaxed. Patton always managed to do that to him.

There's a sigh from Patton—nothing irritated or frustrated as far as Virgil can tell. Just... tired. They've been tired a lot recently. They claimed it was the long hours at work—"You know me, Virge! You don't have to worry!"—and Virgil wished he'd pushed them just a little bit harder on what was really going on.

Patton squints slightly into the overhead lights as they roll over to their back. They're barely able to meet Virgil's eyes but he avoids it anyway, gaze trained on the way the flickering light of the television reflects onto the coffee table.

"I said, do you want to get married?"

"Yeah, see, that's what I thought you said," Virgil frowns, and he's not entirely sure where they are anymore but he's hoping Patton can give him some kind of landmark, "I just don't know why."

They'd never been like... that. Patton and Virgil had been a lot of things, but never that. 

Patton and Virgil had been childhood best friends, sitting together on the swing set, falling off the monkey bars and begging for a chance to visit the other when they're sick. Years filled with muffled giggles spawned from silly jokes, losing teeth and sticking up for each other.

Patton and Virgil had been rebellious teenagers sneaking out to grab milkshakes at 2 am, dying their hair or growing it out, sitting on that same swing set and discovering more about themselves and how they fit together. Years filled with late-night discussions, losing bits of their innocence and learning all the things that, according to their parents, they weren’t supposed to know.

Patton and Virgil had been roommates who barely needed to communicate to understand each other, who could finish each other's sentences but preferred to let the other speak; who have a routine so ingrained that deviation is almost unthinkable. Years filled with soft silence, losing their built-up walls and the safety of knowing the other is always close by.

They were domestic; they were comfortable; they were happy.

Patton and Virgil were Patton and Virgil, but they were never in love.

"My mom called again." Patton's voice is not as shaky as it could have been, Virgil is sure, but it isn't far from it.

With that statement, though, Virgil did have a landmark. In a sea of non-sequiturs and out of the blue proposals, Virgil could always count on Mrs Hart being a transphobic, homophobic, aphobic bitch. Maybe it wasn't a complete explanation, but he’s beginning to see Patton waving at him from his destination—a lantern somewhere in the darkness, guiding him home the way they always did—even if he hasn't yet arrived.

Patton sits up, pulling their head from Virgil's lap with a rush of breath—it sounds pained, the cold of the air around them seeping into their skin. They move back into Virgil's space rather quickly, throwing their legs over Virgil's and tangling them together, draping Virgil's right arm over their shoulders.

If it had been anyone else Virgil would have huffed and pushed them right off, but it wasn't anyone else. It was Patton.

"I can't do it anymore, Virge!" They bury their face into Virgil's hoodie and Virgil tries not to worry about the last time he'd washed it—Patton had seen much worse from him in the past. "I can't sit here again and listen to her drone on and on about settling down with a nice girl and having two point five kids and a white picket fence, I'm going to go insane."

With their last word, Patton grips the front of Virgil's hoodie tight, forcing him to meet their gaze—something desperate, broken and a long time coming.

"And you're you, V! My parents think you're a terrible influence, my brother looks at you like you've hung the moon and you're..." Patton trails off, their face going soft.

Virgil can't tear his eyes away from the way they're looking at him. It's so difficult to figure out what that gaze holds but he thinks it might be love. A different, more nebulous kind of love; one that's impossible to describe but so easy to feel from every way they're pressed together, to regular coffee orders and Not-Date Nights, to the way Patton smiles—big and bright and stupidly proud—when Virgil laughs at one of their puns.

"You're my best friend," they finish and Virgil knows them well enough to know all of the hidden meaning in that, "Why wouldn't I want to marry you?"

They don't love each other like that, but maybe that's okay.

Virgil was sure in a thousand universes, a thousand Pattons were asking the exact same question and none of those Virgils had any more of a choice than he did. 

The hand in Patton’s hair had stilled with their change in position, but Virgil threads it back in now, gently tilting Patton’s downcast gaze to look him in the eye. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” Patton’s eyes are wide like somehow they were surprised Virgil had agreed and truly, he wasn’t sure why. Virgil’s quite sure he would do anything for Patton.

And beyond that, Virgil wants it. More than he ever thought himself capable of wanting something so blatantly romantic and sappy. He isn’t so keen on the idea of standing in front of a huge crowd of people, dressed to the nines, proclaiming how much they love each other—that was much too performative for his liking—but he was entranced by the aftermath.

The idea of being married, of coming home to Patton every day, dropping a kiss on their forehead and asking how their day had been… It wasn’t too dissimilar from what they have now but he loves what they have now. He doesn’t ever want that to end.

“Yeah, Pat.” Virgil is surprised by the way he can’t stop himself from smiling, his chest feeling lighter than it had in a long, long time. “I’d love to marry you.”

Patton’s face lights up like the sun. They throw their arms around him, babbling thank you’s and I love you’s and Virgil responds in kind. And in between all the smiles and hugs and chaste kisses, Virgil is hit with the realization that that is something he never thought he would say and have it be true.

Because, though Patton and Virgil may not love each other the way you would expect, they do love each other.

In every way that matters.