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The first time Roman disappeared, Virgil didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t particularly unusual for Roman to disappear, as he was prone to heat of the moment ideas and impulsive decisions, which often involved long trips into the Imagination or hours spent holed up in his room. Sure, recent events had had an extremely negative impact on Roman, and sure, Virgil could tell that something had been off with him ever since, but he took Roman’s temporary disappearance as a positive thing, a sign that Roman was finally starting to get back on his feet, that he was starting to feel better mentally. Looking back, Virgil could’ve kicked himself.
The second time Roman disappeared, Virgil was a bit more alert. After Roman’s return from wherever he had been (the Imagination, presumably), he had seemed more off than normal, almost constantly becoming lost in thought and preoccupied. Granted, it was quite common for Roman to be distracted by his own mind, he was a ‘space cadet’ as Patton would often say, a ‘head in the clouds’ kind of person, but this… this was different.
Roman looked more worried, more concentrated and serious. His eyes, once bright and shining and full of light, now looked dull and bleak, as if all the life had been sucked right out of them. Roman’s face, normally quite happy and animated, now wore an expression of sadness and he had an almost permanent line on his forehead from the constant look of anxiety he had.
Of course, this shift in behaviour wasn’t exactly unexpected. After the turmoil of having Janus’ harsh, stinging words thrown at him and Patton’s good hearted, albeit incredibly misguided and confusing, attempt to prove how good of a person Thomas was, Virgil had found Roman sobbing in his room, his normal princely outfit thrown on the ground and his skin blue with bruises. Virgil had stayed with him that night, holding Roman close to his chest and letting him cry as much as he needed. He had eventually fallen asleep in Virgil’s arms, exhausted and broken, and Virgil had stayed there, torn between the overwhelming amount of concern and anxiety for Roman and the red-hot fury towards Janus and Patton that threatened to consume him. After much internal debate, he had decided that anger would just worsen the situation, and Roman needed him more than anything, so he stayed.
A week after his breakdown, Roman disappeared for the first time, returning a couple of hours later, looking physically unharmed, although he had a heavy expression on his face. A couple of days after that he disappeared again, this time for longer, almost a day, and when he returned he looked exhausted and his white prince shirt had a huge rip in the side. Virgil had asked about it, but Roman had just smiled and brushed it off. Virgil noticed the smile, like all the other smiles of late, didn’t reach his eyes.
The third time Roman disappeared, Virgil grew actively concerned. Roman had been gone for a day and a half, leaving in the early morning and returning at noon. Virgil couldn’t sleep that night, lying awake with worry as he waited for Roman to return. When he finally did come back, he seemed incredibly preoccupied, barely noticing his surroundings. Whenever Virgil talked to him, he seemed to immediately snap out of thought and the anxious expression he seemed to constantly have would be quickly replaced by a beaming smile, and just for a moment, Roman would seem like his normal self, his voice bright and dramatic, and his gestures wide and enthusiastic. But then Virgil would notice how his eyes stayed dull and empty, how his smile seemed that bit too bright, how his voice felt a little forced, and Virgil’s heart would sink, because he knew under the mask of theatrics and smiles, Roman was hurting.
The fourth time Roman disappeared, Virgil waited almost obsessively for him to come back. He sat outside the door to the Imagination for hours, staring intently at the clock on the wall, watching as the second hand made it way around the face as the minutes passed by. Virgil stayed there for hours, sitting crossed legged on the floor of the hall, fiddling with his hoodie and scrolling through his phone to try and distract himself from the overwhelming anxiety he was feeling. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he was suddenly awoken by the sound of the door opening. His muscles felt stiff from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in, and his brain was still quite foggy, but none of that mattered when he saw Roman walking through the door. Well, limping to be more exact.
Virgil stood up as fast as he could, ignoring how tired and sore his body was, and made his way over to Roman, just in time to catch him as he fainted. Virgil shifted his arms, trying to adjust the unconscious side as gently as possible so as to not to hurt Roman’s already obviously hurt body, trying to get him into a position that allowed Virgil to carry him. After a bit of a struggle (Roman had quite a solid build and was quite muscular from all the fighting he did in the Imagination (often in the name of defending his honour and other dramatic reasons) but Virgil was also quite strong (after all he was fight or flight) so while Roman was far from light, Virgil was still able to lift him) Virgil managed to carry Roman into the creative side’s room, which was opposite the entrance to the Imagination. Virgil gently lowered Roman onto his bed, lying him down in a way that meant that if Roman threw up, he wouldn’t choke and die.
Virgil stepped back to examine Roman’s body, assessing the damage. Roman’s clothes were torn and stained with blood and dirt, and through the rips in the material Virgil could see cuts and gashes littering the skin underneath. There was a large gash across Roman’s calf, where the pantleg was torn and covered in blood. Roman’s face was pale, except for the large bruise across his right cheek, which was an ugly bluish-blackish colour, and his forehead was shiny with sweat. Virgil gently lifted his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Roman’s ear.
Roman’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around, slightly disorientated. Virgil kept watching him, studying Roman’s reaction. His eyes met Roman’s and for a brief moment Roman’s face seemed to relax a little, the corners of his lips tugging upwards ever so slightly, before his face quickly clouded over, as if remembering something alarming. He tried to sit up but immediately fell back down with a gasp of pain. Virgil, who had moved quickly to try and stop Roman from getting up, moved slowly back, arms still raised slightly as if on alert.
Roman looked back at Virgil, his face looking rather panicked. “Virgil,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “Virgil, please, I… I have to go back. I have to defeat it.”
Virgil just stared at him in disbelief, part of him astounded by the pure idiocy of Roman, who just mere minutes before had been unconscious and was gravely injured, wanting to go back to the place where he had gotten those injuries, and the other part of him shattering because that was how little Roman cared about himself. Roman wanted to go back, most likely get himself killed in the state he was in, and for what? To defeat this thing (whatever ‘it’ was)? For a little victory?
“Roman, you can’t be serious! You literally fainted the moment you walked through that door and you want to go back? Have you seen the state you are in? You are going to get yourself killed!”
“You don’t get it,” Roman exclaimed, voice still hoarse and weak. “I need to.”
“No!”
“Virgil, please.”
“No, not again. Please!” Virgil was almost begging, his eyes starting to fill with tears. He couldn’t lose Roman, not now, not again. He’d spent hours, days, waiting and worrying and hoping with all his might that every time that Roman returned he would be okay. And this time Roman wasn’t. Virgil wasn’t going to risk losing him again.
Roman must’ve seen the look on Virgil’s face, because he didn’t attempt to move again. Virgil took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He turned and walked into the ensuite bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a first aid kit. Virgil gently moved the pillows around to help elevate Roman’s body into a sitting position and handed him the glass and a painkiller. Roman took a small sip and swallowed the medicine, feeling rather nauseous from the pain, and set it down on the bedside table. Virgil looked pointedly at him but said nothing as he began unbuttoning Roman’s shirt.
“Hey, wait – what are you doing?” Roman said hoarsely.
“I am unbuttoning your shirt,” Virgil explained, as though it was obvious (to be fair, it was obvious).
“Why?”
“So I can fix up your injuries. I didn’t bring a first aid kit for no reason.”
“I don’t need fixing up. I am perfectly fine!”
“Roman, you were unconscious less than 10 minutes ago, you are bleeding badly and you can barely move. I am going to fix up your injuries so you can stay alive. Let me do it.” Virgil’s tone was firm and strong, and he hoped Roman couldn’t hear the silent plea in his voice.
Roman sighed and settled further down onto the pillows, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. He did want the pain to stop, as it was almost unbearable, but some smally stubborn part of him hated this weakness he was feeling. Still, he began to relax slightly as Virgil deftly unbuttoned his shirt and slowly peeled it off.
Virgil surveyed the bare chest in front of him, trying his best to focus on the injuries as opposed to the well-defined muscles. He knew logically that Roman worked out, and he had seen the outlines of those muscles underneath well fitted clothing, but this was completely different. Virgil dragged his attention from the muscles and tried to make a list of the various wounds that covered Roman’s torso. There were a plethora of small scratches covering his skin, especially around the hands and neck, as those were to most uncovered. His skin was varying shades of blue, black, purple and yellow, caused by the multitude of bruises in varying stages of healing. There was a deep cut along his left bicep, looking as though it had been caused by a claw of some sort, which was arguably the worst wound on his torso, although a close second would be the gash across his stomach, which was small and clean but had bled a lot. Virgil grabbed the wet wash clothe he had brought from the bathroom and gently started to wipe down Roman’s torso to remove any dirt and excess blood that was covering it. He tried to ignore Roman’s flinches as he went over his wounds, knowing that it was necessary for him to know what he was working with. Once that was done he dabbed the antiseptic cream onto any open cuts. This one evidently stung like hell, as Roman let out a sharp yell and grabbed Virgil’s shoulder tightly.
“Sorry,” Virgil murmured. Roman just shook his head gently and closed his eyes, indicating that it was okay. Virgil continued, putting bandages on any wounds that needed them.
“Where do you keep your t-shirts?” Virgil asked. Roman pointed to the top drawer of a chest in the corner of the room. Virgil made his way over, got one out and threw it at Roman, who picked it up and gingerly put it on.
Virgil made his way back to Roman, knowing he would have to deal with his legs next. “Is it ok if I cut off your pant leg?” he asked, not wanting to strip Roman of his pants (Roman’s bare chest was fine but this felt a little too intimate) but also wanting to be able of help clean up the large wound that was on Roman’s calf. Roman looked slightly horrified, but slowly nodded. Virgil got a pair of scissors from the pen holder on Roman’s desk and cut off the pant leg at the knee. He gently peeled the fabric off the leg, which was rather difficult given that the blood had caused it to stick to the skin. Eventually he had freed the leg, which left him in full view of the large wound that was on Roman’s leg. It was a rather jagged wound, evidently caused by something like a stick or rock (or claw, Virgil thought, remembering the cut on Roman’s shoulder) and Roman’s entire calf was covered in drying blood from it. Virgil once again wiped down the skin surrounding the cut to clean it, careful not to irritate the wound as much as he could, and he gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on it.
“What caused this?” Virgil asked apprehensively. He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but he felt like he needed to, and it would be good to at least know the reason why Roman had been disappearing so much.
Roman mumbled something inaudible, a look of guilt and slight fear returning to his face.
“What was that?”
“A…. manticore-chimera,” Roman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Is that why you were going into the Imagination all those times? To fight a manticore-chimera?”
Roman nodded sheepishly, wincing sharply, although Virgil couldn’t tell whether that was due to the antiseptic cream that Virgil was now applying to the wound or in response to Virgil’s expression, which Virgil hoped masked how angry he was feeling.
How could Roman be so stupid, putting his life in danger like that to fight a bloody manticore-chimera? Was he trying to kill himself? Virgil had spent hours, days, making himself sick with worry over Roman’s disappearances, and all because he was fighting a bloody manticore-chimera! Did Roman even know how much he meant to him?
“Why would you do that?” Virgil tried to remain calm, but his anger must’ve shown because he noticed a couple of tears rolled down Roman’s cheeks, leaving tracks in the thin layer of dirt on his face. Roman took a deep breath.
“I just…. I thought…. I thought maybe if I could just prove myself, prove that I can be a hero and defeat the villain, then maybe…. maybe Thomas would consider me one again…..” Roman voice wavered and broke as he spoke, and tears continued to fall from his eyes, and he just looked so broken.
Virgil’s heart sank and his anger dissipated as he looked down at Roman. Virgil knew that the events that had happened had had a huge affect on Roman. He had spent many nights holding him as he cried, comforting him the best he could, trying to be there for him. He had tried day in a day out to prove to Roman that he was enough, more than enough, that he loved him, cared for him, more than anyone. Maybe he had failed. Maybe the damage had already been done. God, he was going to kill that snake!
Virgil drew his attention back to the wound on Roman’s leg, which he had been cleaning up while he talked, and began wrapping bandages around it, careful to put enough pressure where the padding was to stop any excess bleeding. Once this was done, he returned his attention to Roman, who was still crying, tears leaving tracks along his cheeks.
Virgil gently cupped Roman’s cheek, kneeling down next to the bed so he was more at eye level with him. “Roman, you don’t have to prove yourself. Trust me.”
Roman looked away, turning his head into Virgil’s palm in an attempt to move his face away from Virgil’s. Virgil’s heart almost snapped as Roman moved, knowing that Roman didn’t believe him.
“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone Roman. You are enough as you are, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a complete idiot.”
Roman still didn’t turn to face Virgil.
“Roman, you know you’re my hero, right?” Virgil said, his voice gentle and quiet. Roman did turn his head at that, looking at Virgil with such broken hope, as if he desperately wanted this to be true, but couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Virgil tried to soften his expression as much as he could, trying his best to convey how genuine what he was saying was. He wanted Roman to believe it so badly it hurt.
“Roman, you’re the fire in Thomas eyes, the passion he has when he is doing something he loves, the drive he has to do it. You are the reason he gets up every day, the reason he made what he loves doing his job, because you pushed Thomas too. You are the spark that starts the fire, the wind in the sails, pushing us forward when I hold us back. You are that warmth and happiness you feel when performing or creating, the exhilaration of a new idea, the joy when people compliment creative work. You are the one who makes Thomas follow his dreams and achieve them, the one who always comes up with those clever nicknames and wordplay that make me smile, the one who allows Thomas to fall in love. You are the thrill of a new crush, the warmth of romantic love and the contentment of relationships. You love and care more deeply and truly than anyone I have ever, and while that may hurt sometimes, it is a beautiful thing to love like you do. Sure, you sometimes maybe go a little overboard with your passion and sometimes you mess up but when you make a mistake you apologise almost immediately, which is something I struggle with and really admire about you. You are the most brave, honourable, creative, loving person I know. Roman, you make us better - you make me better.”
Virgil’s voice was strong and gentle, conveying a level of emotion and genuineness that Roman was unprepared for. He wanted to believe what Virgil said was true, and on some levels he did, for it would take a very talented actor to lie so convincingly (Roman should know, he had had experience with ‘talented actors’), but some stupid little part of his brain was yelling at him that this was all a trick, that Virgil was just going to use him the same was Deceit had. Build him up only to tear him down.
Roman started crying, fully sobbing at this point. Virgil’s thumb gently rubbed his cheek, wiping away the falling tears. Virgil removed his hand for a moment and moved over to the other side of the bed, climbing on next to Roman. He wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulled him as close as he could (being mindful of Roman’s various injuries). Roman curled up against Virgil, letting him hold him close, and sobbed into Virgil’s chest, soaking his shirt. Virgil didn’t mind though, as he simply moved his hand up and down Roman’s arm in a calming motion, allowing Roman to cry as long as he wanted. After several minutes, Roman finally calmed down and his tears stopped.
He looked up at Virgil almost guiltily. “You really mean what you said?”
Virgil nodded gently, heart breaking with the knowledge that Roman needed to double check. “Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”
Roman looked down and nodded almost imperceptibly, his head still pressed against Virgil’s chest. Virgil tightened his grip around Roman and his face into Roman’s hair. Roman took a deep, shaky breath.
“It’s just… ever since the events, ever since him… it is so much harder to believe good things about myself… or that people see good in me. I know logically that people love me, I mean they must, I’m me!” Roman said jokingly, a little bit of his normal self shining through. “But I have these insecurities, I’ve always had them, that just make it harder to truly believe it sometimes. And… ever since him, it seems almost impossible to believe that I am good, that I am worthy. He used me, flattered me, manipulated me, to get his way, and it hurt. It broke me. And I want to believe you so badly, I do, but my brain doesn’t, because believing and wanting hurt me so much last time…” Roman’s voice wavered and trailed off.
“I just thought…. that maybe if I fought something, if I acted like a hero should…. then maybe I could prove to Thomas, prove to him… prove to myself that I was a hero, that maybe I didn’t deserve everything that had happened, that maybe I was loveable. I feel like I have to prove that I really am what I am meant to be, this princely persona that I have built up, the hero I was always meant to be, because if I’m not a hero… if I’m not a prince… who am I?” Roman seemed to be talking to himself more than Virgil now, his voice becoming slightly quieter and breaking slightly as a couple of tears fell from his eyes.
“And I am just so sick of this endless game of torture I play with myself, so tired of this constant need to prove myself, so done with the stupid voices in my head picking me apart and pulling me down. I never feel like I am good enough for anything. My ideas aren’t original enough, my best isn’t good enough, I am wrong, I am broken and I just mess everything up… and I am so sick of being so fucking insecure…” Roman was openly crying now, his words punctuated by small sniffles and sobs. “Every offhand comment feels like a dagger to my heart, every single wrong look my way is magnified in my mind, everything is so personal, because being creativity you put your life and soul into your work, and when it is rejected, even the slightest bit, it feels like someone took your heart and smashed it into a thousand pieces. And I wanted it… so badly…”
Roman didn’t even need to say what ‘it’ was, Virgil already knew. The callback. The event. The thing Roman had been hoping and dreaming and wanting for as long as Virgil could remember.
“And he came along… and I wanted to do what was right, something I had messed up with you. I learnt from my mistake, I did the right thing, I was friendly and nice, and I tried so hard to not villainise him, I really did… but as always I made a mistake. I was wrong. I don’t know why I was even surprised…”
Virgil tightened his arm around Roman but didn’t say anything. He had heard snippets of this before, in the quiet nights where he had stayed with Roman while he sobbed the pain away, but this was the most he had heard Roman say about it in the longest time and he didn’t want to mess it up.
“I was so blind… I genuinely thought he liked me, that all those comments he made were genuine, until I realised… that everything he had said, every compliment, every nice word my way, was just another lie, that he never really thought those things… and to tell you that hurt was an understatement. It crushed me… crushed the life out of me… I tried so hard to do the right thing, I really did. I really tried…”
“All I ever wanted was to be a hero… all I ever did was want…”
Virgil gently stroked Roman’s arm as he cried the last of his tears. “It’s okay,” he murmured into Roman’s hair. “It’s okay.”
“Do you really love me, Virgil?” Roman mumbled, almost inaudibly.
“Roman, I love you more than I have loved anyone else. I care for you, so much. And if you don’t believe me now, that’s okay, because I am more than happy to spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to convince you that I care and that you are worthy of love.”
Roman moved his arms so that they were wrapped around Virgil’s torso and squeezed gently. “I love you too Virgil… so much… thank you.” The words were almost inaudible given that Roman had mumbled them into Virgil’s hoodie, but he still heard them and planted a small kiss on Roman’s forehead in response. Virgil was about to say something else when he heard small snores coming from Roman. He smiled gently, knowing that Roman was probably exhausted (he did faint earlier) and that he needed the sleep. Virgil adjusted his position so that he was lying down more, once again careful not to apply any pressure to Roman’s injuries, and wrapped his arms gently around the sleeping prince. He planted a kiss on Roman’s forehead and let himself drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Roman was protected in his arms.