Chapter Text
A strong wind buffets their face, sweeping unrestrained hairs right into their eyes and nose. Romulus gazes out across the busy and so lonely city from over the high banister fencing in the open balcony. They give a small smile to no one in particular, remembering scraps of a long forgotten conversation with their brother: a debate neither had successfully argued about who would make it to Broadway first. A pointless race, and yet they had won, hadn't they?
Romulus sighs and turns to lean with their back resting against the banister. They pull out from their pocket a crumpled, folded-up sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper, scrawled over in pen. Several lines are scratched out and rewritten. Romulus considers if there are any last changes they want to make before hastily stuffing it back in their blazer pocket. Fuck it. Good enough.
It's time to fly.
Romulus moves quickly, pulling a deck chair over to the edge of the balcony. They'd lost count of how many floors of stairs they'd climbed until they found an unlocked apartment. It was actually outstanding that they'd found an unlocked door in New York; they had expected to have to get all the way to the roof. But instead, this unwitting soul had left the door open for them, their deck chair an easy step stool for Romulus to climb up on top of the banister, facing the building.
Romulus wasn't scared. This was a long time coming. They didn't want to answer any more questions. They just wanted to see their mother and brother.
More likely see my fucking old man though. Can't be helped now.
Romulus inhales deeply as the wind pushes at their whole body now, threatening the precarious balance keeping them tethered to this moment. The smells of human consumption and waste are lost all the way up here, all they can smell is a dash of salt off the ocean, the heartiness of garlic and onions from someone cooking on their balcony like some kind of maniac— it’s a New York winter night for goodness’ sake— and the faint fruity scent of pomegranates.
Romulus takes a deep breath, eyes drifting closed. Even Icarus had makeshift wings. All they have is a note and a jacket.
The banister falls away from beneath their feet. Wind rushes up from under them as though to try and catch them with unsubstantial hands. They spread their arms and smile softly for no one again.
Broadway, here I come.
Virgil slumps down the hallway into the kitchen. Normally, he'd sleep in until Logan insisted he get up for breakfast, but today was a publish day and he would spend all morning anxiously refreshing the hits counter and iTunes comments and their show subreddit to see the audience response in real time. He hums happily at the smell of coffee left in the pot and grabs his favorite mug to make a cup before Logan can reprimand him for the sugar and caffeine.
It only makes your anxiety worse, V. Why not switch to decaf or herbal tea?
Virgil chuckles at Logan’s voice in his head. Always looking out for him as annoyingly as possible. He makes his coffee and grabs a banana before looking for his roommate out in the living room.
"Good morning, Virgil. Anxious already?" Logan speaks almost before Virgil has entered the room.
"Nah, can't open my eyes yet. I'll worry about the episode when it drops," Virgil shakes his head and skillfully flops on the couch without spilling a drop from his nearly overfilled mug. He drapes his legs over Logan’s lap to annoy him, to which Logan responds by setting his laptop on Virgil’s legs. It's a good, balanced system. Virgil feels the heat of the battery and the mechanical whirring of the laptop fan through his purple plaid pajama bottoms.
"How long you been up, Specs?"
"Ah, maybe 2 hours? I did a final listen through, just to be sure. I know how excited you are about this episode—"
"When do you sleep? You were up most of the night editing, dude," Virgil cuts him off. "You always preach the value of sleep to me and never do it yourself."
Logan doesn't respond, staring intently at his laptop with his mouth hanging open slightly.
"Yeah, okay. Ignore me. You know I'm right," Virgil chuckles and sets his mug down on the coffee table so he can focus on peeling his banana. "Today's episode is gonna blow minds—Romulus is so cool—"
"Virgil—"
"Now he speaks," Virgil snickers and takes a bite of the banana.
"We have to cancel the episode," Logan says in a shaky yet determined voice. "We can't—"
Virgil bolts upright, "What do you mean 'cancel the episode'? We've never missed a week! Everyone will flip out!"
"Virge—"
"I won't hear it, Lo. We both worked so hard investigating and interviewing for this one—"
"They're dead."
"Who's dead?"
"Romulus. This morning."
"No. No way. We just talked to them three days ago," Virgil shakes his head, unwilling to hear what Logan’s saying.
"Well, apparently it was a suicide," Logan replies calmly, turning his laptop for Virgil to view. The story features a prominent picture of the Hollywood star laying on top of the crumpled wreckage of a car, looking peaceful enough to be asleep.
"They're calling it the sequel to the most beautiful suicide because of how they landed—"
"Shut up! They can't— there's no way that's them—" Virgil snaps, pushing the laptop away with his foot.
"Watch it! I'm not lying to you, Virge. I'm sorry but they're gone. We can't release the episode today. It would be dishonorable to their memory—"
"You can't believe everything printed by the tabloids, Logan. That's probably just a set photo—"
"It's the New York Times. With police statements and everything."
"It can't be—"
"Look, I know you're a fan of their work. We at least owe it to Romulus to reinvestigate, right? See what this turn of events means to the original case?"
Virgil looks away from Logan, “I suppose you’re right. It would probably be terrible publicity for the podcast…”
Logan hums, “Actually… the SEO would be brilliant— maybe we should publish?”
“You just said we shouldn’t,” Virgil huffs and swivels to sit up, “let me see that article?”
Logan hands over the laptop, still silently trying to calculate the pros and cons to posting an episode with some of the last words of a dead celebrity the day he died.
Virgil moans as he reads, curing his knees up to his chest and handing the laptop back, "They– They had a note in their pocket… I'm gonna be sick…"
Logan nods slowly, “I’m sorry, V. It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”