Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For as long as Virgil could remember, his dreams had been weird.

Long, arduous conversations with his therapist had taught him that his resting mind was being influenced by the heightened level of anxiety he experienced in his day-to-day. To the extent that the comforts of his life became warped into something nightmarish.

No two nights were ever the same, either. Everytime he fell asleep, there was some new horror awaiting him. One time, he was frozen as he watched his closest friend, Patton, slowly melt before his eyes. Virgil swore the heat had burnt him too, and when he awoke he was sweating profusely.

Journaling was a coping strategy Virgil had picked up early in life, when the first sparks of constant unease had woven themselves into the fabric of his being. The habit was supposed to ease the stressful conditions in his brain by translating them into something tangible.

And also, manically transcribing everything wrong with him helped get it all out of his head. Temporarily.

But now, as the sun slowly rose outside, those years of journaling experience were failing him. Absentmindedly, he traced the wood grain with his dull pencil.
What was he supposed to say about last night's nightmare... dream?

Comparatively, the dream was far better than the average 'watching your best friend melt' type nightmare. But it was so odd that Virgil was left with simmering discomfort.

Virgil quickly glanced at his phone screen to confirm the date. And that time had actually passed. Before turning back to the blank page.
He sighed.

----

September 28th

A warm breeze blew over his pale skin, inviting him to open his eyes. Warmth was not a sensation Virgil was greatly familiar with. He was cold by nature—bad circulation and all.

But the warmth was more than welcome, as it danced around the wide field of grasses and daisies Virgil found himself in. Bending down, Virgil ran his hand along the tips of the flowers, feeling the softness of their Summer petals at his fingertips.

It was then, with a start, he became aware that he was dreaming.

Lucid dreaming was not a common phenomenon for Virgil. Hell, if he could control his dreams he'd be way better off. Namely, he'd have an okay sleep schedule. Virgil straightened, taking in his surroundings.

What caught his attention first was that this place was, seemingly, pleasant. On the far side of the field, there appeared to be a town. An old-timey town, pulled straight out of a storybook or a picturesque 15th century painting. Beyond the part of town he could see, there was a hill with a castle on top. A proper castle: stone walls, towers, pointy rooves and all! Virgil snickered at the fantastical nature of it all. He had no clue where his brain was pulling all this scenery from.

What caught his attention next was the snap of a twig behind him. Something was sneaking up behind him, and Virgil felt his blood run ice cold. Of course, the peace was all good to be true. Whatever was behind him was about to turn this into a typical nightmare.

Virgil was frozen on the spot.

He could hear the rustling of grasses as whatever it was approached him. His brain was going a mile a minute, attempting to make out how large this predator was based on how loud the sounds of its steps were. But the breeze roared past his ears and wiped that thought entirely.

Virgil felt a touch at his shoulder and he turned and swung. His fist made contact with whatever the thing was, and he closed his eyes.

"Ow!" A voice cried.

Daring to open his eyes, Virgil saw before him a man. Not a nightmarish fiend. The stranger was dressed in fine, regal clothing. Pure white, with a red sash made of velvet decorating his chest, and various gemstones adorning the details of the suit. His skin was tan and his eyes shone a bright green as the light hit them.

The stranger rubbed his face and scoured up at Virgil from where he lay unceremoniously on the ground.

"That's hardly an appropriate way to greet someone," the stranger chastised.

That snapped Virgil out of his spiral, and he rushed the help the man up. The stranger brushed away his assistance and stood, patting down his attire.

"I hardly meant to frighten you," the stranger huffed, flicking off the last of the dirt on his sleeve.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "That'd be a first,"

The stranger frowned and cocked his head. He raked his eyes up and down Virgil's form, taking in his appearance. Virgil had the sense between the fluster of being so thoroughly observed to be wary of the stranger's silence.

"Can I... help you?" he asked cautiously, pulling in on himself self-consciously.

The stranger flinched. He straightened quickly and a charming smile took over his face.

"I must say, I am fascinated by your unusual dress," the strange man gestured to Virgil.

Oh god, what was he wearing? Virgil panicked before looking himself up and down. He hummed; nothing out of the ordinary. Virgil was dressed in his standard purple patchwork hoodie and baggy black pajama pants.

He looked back at the stranger, "My outfit is fine?" He questioned tersely, "You're the one in a weird outfit here." Virgil pointed to the embellished stranger.

The man clutched his pearls, "Me?!" He cried in affront, "These silks are the finest my kingdom can aquire and every thread is sewn by the best of tailors! I am the pinnacle of fashion!" He rambled loudly, exaggerating his gestures.

Virgil stared.

"And you're wearing that in a field, why?" He questioned, feeling a rise of embarrassment that he was also dressed inappropriately for the location. But hey, it was his dream!

The man's face slackened after a second, as he whipped his head around.

"How did I get here?" He whispered to himself. The stranger grabbed at his sash and ran it through his hands.

Virgil let the silence sit uncomfortably for a moment before he huffed. Sure, this was his first time lucid dreaming, but he was vaguely confident that he could fix up something better than this. He shut his eyes tight and tried to twist his surroundings into something more comfortable. That's how these kinds of things worked, right?

In his mind, Virgil pieced together somewhere better. Indoors, for a start. The warmth was great, but somewhere nice to relax inside in the dark would be much preferred. Quiet, enough pillows to make him comfortable, but not enough to inhibit movement. That's where I want to be.

Upon opening his eyes again, Virgil was disappointed to see the world hadn't changed a bit. The stranger stared at him, still with his sash in his hands, as if Virgil had grown a second head. Gently touching his neck, Virgil confirmed with himself that he had not.

"Well this dream sucks," Virgil mumbled to himself.

"Dream?" The stranger asked bewildered, "This is no dream! And, if it were, it would be a dream of mine, not yours!"

Virgil was hardly convinced. He smirked at the stranger's antics, brushing off the notion. Briefly, he pinched himself on the hand.

It hurt.

Virgil startled. Wasn't there supposed to be no pain if he was asleep? Maybe his brain was just that advanced, he could feel sensations even if he wasn't awake. Virgil studied the spot on his hand where he had pinched, seeing the skin had reddened slightly.

"Are you alright?" The voice of the stranger brought Virgil back to the present.

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, only to find he couldn't form any words. What was happening? He thought uselessly to himself.

In the distance, there was a shout. Virgil could hardly make out what was being said, but the stranger seemed to recognize the call. He let go of his sash and straightened it with a pat, turning to find the source of the sound.
"While this has been an intriguing interaction," the man said, starting to back away, "I must leave now. Good day."

"Okay," Virgil said plainly, watching as the strange, dashing man, hurried off across the field. In the distance, Virgil spotted a green figure. Though it was too far away for Virgil to make it out.

As he watched the stranger walk away, Virgil felt himself growing weaker. His legs began to buckle beneath him. In an instant, the world went black and he fell.

Chapter Text

"I swear to god Pat, it was the weirdest thing ever," Virgil emphasized, dropping his beat-up schoolbag on the corner table.

The three of them—Patton, Logan, and him—had long ago established the routine of spending lunch period in the library. Virgil was too easily overwhelmed in the cafeteria, Logan enjoyed having convenient access to various texts, and Patton liked to follow Logan around. The two clearly had something going on between them but Virgil was way too awkward to ask and ultimately didn't care as long as he wasn't always by himself.

Virgil slid into his typical seat. "It felt so... so real" he stressed.

Across from him, Patton plopped into his regular seat as well. "Dreams can feel really real though! I've had plenty of dreams like that," he said.

"Observational studies have shown that one can hypothetically experience realistic sensations during REM sleep," Logan stated matter-of-factly, as he carefully placed his lunch on the table besides his chosen book of the period. "Although the sensation is not the same as it is when one is conscious, the brain can stimulate the experience. During what is referred to as 'lucid dreaming' all five senses feel heightened." He concluded, taking his own seat at the table.

Virgil frowned, "I didn't mean sensation-real," he attempted, "More like, really detailed."

"Ah the wonders of the mind," Patton jazzed his hands with a bright smile.

Patton and Logan both began eating their food, although Logan was far more focused on his book. Virgil picked at the sandwich in front of him, glaring at it as though it had personally wronged him.

He sighed exasperatedly. "At least it wasn't a nightmare,"

"There you go!" Patton exclaimed, turning his attention back to the gloomy teen in front of him, "That's progress! Someday soon you might be sleeping like a normal person." He chimed supportively.

"Where did my brain get all that high fantasy stuff?" He ruminated, mostly to himself, "I don't even like that genre." Virgil was much more the horror type, after all.

"Anything can happen in the dream world," Patton commented, taking a bite of his sandwich and continuing to talk, "One time, I dreamt I was a cat!"

Virgil hummed, amused by the mental image, "You're more of a dog person,"

"I can be both! No need to favor one fluffy friend over another,"

"The brain will incorporate a myriad of recent memories, emotions, and experiences into any given dream," Logan interrupted, clearly still intrigued by the question Virgil had posed, "Have you recently engaged with anything fantastical-themed?"

Virgil tossed the thought around for a minute, but honestly could not come up with a single instance. He shrugged noncommitedly.

"Nevertheless," Logan continued despite the nonanswer, "Lucid dreaming, and dreaming in general, is a highly speculative subscience. There is no method beyond pure observation that one can hypothetically draw conclusions from."

Patton took another bite of his sandwich, "I like thinking that dreams have secret meanings," he smiled, "it makes them more fun,"

"For you maybe," Virgil muttered.

Logan lowered his book for a moment, glancing between the others at the table. "The two of you should use this time outside of class to work on the essay assigned for world history," he suggested, "If your grades are any indication, you both have difficulty with the subject. This extra time would be beneficial for your productivity."

Patton whined, leaning into Logan's side, "What a party pooper!" He cried, playfully smacking at the book in Logan's hands. "My world history grade is fineee" he dragged out.

Virgil snickered at their antics, before taking out his phone and proceeding to ignore the studious advice. Every now and then, he would glance up and watch as Patton sneakily tried (and failed) to snatch the book from Logan the rest of lunch.

When the bell rang to end the peace of lunch period, the boys waved and went their separate ways to class.

The explanations Logan had provided made perfect sense. And really, there was no reason to dwell on the dream as much as he was. But no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't leave Virgil's mind.

----

September 29th

The moment Virgil opened his eyes, he knew it was the same field. The same warm breeze was brushing against his skin, the same medieval castle sat atop the hill in the distance, and the same sound of rustling steps grew louder and louder behind him.

Virgil whipped around, only somewhat surprised to see the same handsome, regal man from the last dream stood in front of him.

"You again?" Virgil bumbled bluntly.

The man smiled, "Ah, so you do know how to greet someone without hitting them," the man taunted, his gloved hands resting on his hips, "But there are still many improvements to be made."

"Hey! You snuck up on me!" Virgil shouted in his defense. "You ever heard of fight-or-flight?"

The strange man looked amused by Virgil's irritation, a mocking grin on his face. And then, just like last time, his face slackened as he looked around bewilderedly.

"How did I get here? Again?!" He exclaimed wildly, "I have to be at the ceremony—I was just at the ceremony!" He grumbled.

"What, did you teleport?" Virgil joked, not really caring.

The strange man waved him off, continuing to look around erratically, "I haven't learnt that spell yet."

Virgil cocked his head. Before he could ask the stranger what that could possibly mean, the man hurried right past him.

"H-hey wait up!" Virgil cried, running to catch up with the fancifully-dressed man. He was almost out of the field by the time Virgil made it to him.

"I cannot slow down for you, I'm afraid," the man huffed, "It is the Day of Equipoise and I am greatly needed," the man offered as explanation, briefly looking back at Virgil behind him but not slowing his pace.

"The day of what-what-huh?" Virgil stumbled, tripping on the cobbled path that extended above the ground at the edge of the field.

"Equipoise. Harmony." The man restated. As if that cleared up anything at all.

Virgil shook his head, "That means absolutely nothing to me, slow down—" he shouted, reaching out to grab at the stranger. His hand made contact with the man's arm, and Virgil was temporarily startled that he was holding it in the first place. It felt so real. So, so real. This was supposed to be a dream.

The two hurried along; the stranger and Virgil in tow, holding tight to the man's sleeve. He kept repeating to himself dream, dream, dream, but there was no way any of this was a dream. Unless his brain was freakishly talented, which it was not. But what other explanation could there be?

The two finally hit the outskirts of the town. For the first time, Virgil understood where the stranger's jab at his 'unsual dress' had come from.

Everyone in the town was adorned in old-timey clothing. The dresses and suits all looked pulled straight from some Renaissance painting. The people were busying themselves with their tasks and chatting amongst themselves as any regular people would.

The further into town Virgil was tugged, the more he realized that these people were actually looking at him. Okay, maybe they were looking at Virgil and the stranger he was clinging to. But still, he was on-edge. A few pairs of eyes met his own, and Virgil felt the familiar terror of being observed creep up his spine. Instinctively, he hunched over, pulling his hood over his head and trying to keep as close to the stranger as possible.

The man in front of him made no attempt to entertain conversation with Virgil, much too invested in getting to his destination as quickly as he could.

As the two scurried down various streets—roads the stranger clearly knew by heart—Virgil realized they were headed towards the castle. The path continued, eventually ascending up the hill where said structure sat.

The stranger hurried towards the large, steel, detailed gate, guards lining the border. A few feet away from the entrance, Virgil finally had the wherewithal to tear himself away from the man.

"Wait!" He said pathetically. The stranger turned to his side to face him, "I can't—I don't... I'm not going in there!" He expressed, crossing his arms over his chest. Several of the guards turned to look at him, examining him closely like a potential threat. Virgil swore if anyone else looked his way he would explode. Into a million pieces. Right here on the road.

The stranger hesitated but turned back around, "I must attend the ceremony, but perhaps we may talk at a later time. Good day, man-with-unusual-attire!" He mocked lightly. Two of the guards opened the grandiose gate as the man neared.

Virgil was stuck in place, unsure of what to do now. He did not want to go into that castle.

He was so confused. Nothing about this made sense to him and he wished so badly he had any control over this weird dream.

In the distance, the strange man's form grew more and more obscure, as that same weak feeling took hold of Virgil's body. In no time, he was falling, just as he had the night before.

So much for no reoccurring dreams.

Chapter Text

Logan tapped a finger on his chin. "Perhaps there is a chemical interference," he pondered, "has your house recently been deep-cleaned?" He inquired of the anxious boy on the other side of the corner table.

Virgil rested his head in his hands dejectedly, "You think I deep-clean?" He mumbled, brushing off Logan's theorizing.

"That statement concerns me," Logan frowned, adjusting his glasses.

"What's the problem Virg?" Patton interjected, "This has to be better than constant nightmares! And you're way more rested," he insisted, leaning back in his chair.

Virgil scrunched his face. But realized with a start that Patton was right. After just two nights in fantasy land as opposed to nightmares, Virgil had more energy than he could ever recall having.

"I don't like being in unfamiliar places," he explained, rolling back his shoulders, "Or when I should have control but don't. Or being watched by a ton of people. Or talking with strangers. Or being outside—"

"So there's a lot of things ya don't like," Patton interrupted his thought spiral, "But there's gotta be something good about this, right? Is that mystery man handsome?"

Virgil glared at the boy across from him, "I'm not even responding to that."

"Why not?" Patton whined, "You're such a Negative Nelly." He pouted, thinking for a moment. "An Anxious Nelly. Anxious Alley."

"I don't believe that's a saying," Logan stated, picking up his book of the period.

"And I—don't believe that you exist. So there!" Patton ribbed back smugly. Logan rolled his eyes.

"If this continues to distress you," Logan addressed Virgil, eyes not leaving the page, "I recommend discussing it with your therapist when you see him next."

Grimacing, Virgil focused his gaze on a faded stain on the table.

Virgil should definitely bring it up at his next appointment. His uncanny dreams were one of the top motivators to go in the first place. Alongside his debilitating anxiety and incapability of functioning normally in social spaces.

It wasn't that he wanted to avoid the unpleasant deep-dive into the catacombs of his mind. Virgil wouldn't do that, definitely not. It was just that he... didn't know how he would explain it. His attempts to express the unnatural phenomenon to his friends the past two days had only led to scientific rants and nonsensical theorizing. Neither Patton nor Logan once worked with the assumption that these dreams were something more than just dreams. Which was fair because what else would they be? But the thought of trying to communicate everything in a formal setting was daunting.

Really, there was no reason to bring it up. Yet. Maybe later, he reasoned with himself.

The dream topic dropped naturally as Patton and Logan fell into easy and entertaining conversation. Virgil sat back, slowly emptying his lunch bag, half watching their antics, and half stuck in his own brain.

----

September 30th

Well, it wasn't the field. Virgil knew it right away without even opening his eyes. There was no whisper of rustling grasses around him, and the breeze brushing against his skin was cooler. Maybe this was something new.

Opening his eyes, Virgil felt a sinking in his gut when he saw that he stood right in front of the highly decorated gate. Right where he had been standing when last night's dream ended.

Wonderful.

There were only half as many guards attending the gate now. But still they all watched him, inspected him. Virgil tensed, already overwhelmed.

"You again!" Shouted a voice Virgil could now recognize. On the other side of the gate, through the bars Virgil spotted the fine stranger. Hurriedly, the man approached the gate, signaling for the guards to open it for the confused and highly-strung boy.

Virgil waved awkwardly, "Hiya," he offered meekly.

The stranger waltzed up to him. "Well now you must come inside."

"That feels like a security threat." Virgil glanced around the stranger at the very armed and dangerous guards stood at the perimeter.

The stranger leaned back humorously, "Is it now?" He teased, "You are not all that frightening."

"You don't know that," Virgil retorted, putting his hands on his hips before moving them to his hoodie pockets, "You've met me literally twice. You don't even know my name."

The stranger smirked, "Then let us fix that," he said like it was the simplest thing in the world, "What is your name, my friend of unusual dress?"

Virgil was still in his hoodie and baggy pajama pants. "Virgil," he shrugged.

The man clasped his hands together, "Problem solved!" He teased. Virgil frowned. "And I am, of course, first Prince Roman of the Light. Honored to make your acquaintance." The man—prince—Roman placed a hand against his heart and bowed his head.

A prince? That made sense, Virgil supposed. The man was decked out in jewels and his outfit looked costly. And he spoke in that uppity tone. Presumably, he also lived in that massive castle right behind him.

Okay, so a prince. Cool. Good thing this was a dream or this conversation would be super stressful.

Was he meant to bow? He wasn't going to bow.

"Follow, follow," Prince Roman gestured for the shorter boy to come with him.

Virgil hesitated for a moment. Looking at the massive ivory and gold structure made him feel so small. But the alternative was standing right here with those guards staring him down, so he let the prince take the lead.

Virgil strode alongside the stranger. Roman. Prince Roman. Ascending the stairs to the castle entrance.

Should he be talking right now? Probably. About what though? He had no clue. Virgil knew nothing about what was happening or where to start.

"So..." he sounded, immediately regretting opening his mouth, "How... did that ceremony go?" He landed on, each word getting more quiet.

Roman smiled, "Perfect! As it always does. I never fail to put on a show," he prided himself. "And neither does my brother. Though his idea of a show is... much different to mine."

Virgil nodded along, acting like he knew what that meant, "Great. What kind of ceremony was it? Equity or something, you said?"

Roman raised an eyebrow, nonplussed, "The Equipoise Ceremony." He stated. Virgil blinked at him. "The balancing of light and dark. That we do every thirty days?" The prince tried.

Sure. "Oh yeah, cool cool."

The prince paused his walking. "You are quite unusual, aren't you? Where are you from?" He inquired lightly.

"Uh, Florida?" Virgil responded, sure that wasn't going to sit.

The prince squinted his eyes, "I have never heard of this 'Florida'," Roman commented, "What is it like?"

"Hot," Virgil dismissed, "I don't think Florida exists here."

"Are you from another realm?"

"Yeah, the real world," Virgil shrugged.

Roman scoured, "I do not know why you seem to believe this is not the real world."

"Oh, okay," Virgil hiked his shoulders. Yeesh, great conversing.

"No matter," Roman disregarded, "I would be most delighted to show you around the palace!" He stepped out from in front of Virgil, gesturing to the opening hall.

Virgil glanced around the room, taking in the decorated scene. The floor was a dark, polished wood with a long purple rug down the center, clearly well maintained. Every inch of the walls were crowned with a painting, velvet curtain, or tall window, letting light dance in and bounce from floor to ceiling. A colorful crystal chandelier hung in the center of the very high up ceiling, patterning shadows at every angle.

Everything in the room looked expensive and Virgil immediately hated it. He forced a smile and gave a thumbs up, as the prince led him to the next room.

For the next while, Virgil was shown various corners of the castle: the opulent ballroom that echoed loudly, the art gallery full of paintings of people Virgil didn't know, the extensive library that would have Logan in an excited fit, the armory with way too many sharp things.

Virgil's face was growing sore from trying to smile and appear interested while the prince rambled about the various memories he had in each location.

Honestly, the man was loud and the least humble anyone could be. He pranced around, light on his feet, always including himself in the castle's history. It was never just a room in the building, it was a room that the magnificent prince Roman had been in and oh that floor should be honored that Roman stepped on it.

It was tiring. A tiring dream. What a concept.

But Virgil kept following the man because if he was left alone in this place he swore he'd never find his way out. Until he woke up. Which he would because, again, this was a dream.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself of that.

The two soon made their way outside, Roman striding and Virgil pulling himself along. The sunlight immediately hit his eyes and he was already upset.

"And this is the way to our gardens!" Prince Roman informed cheerfully, taking Virgil down a cobbled path by a riverside. "When I was much younger, I spent much of my time amongst the fauna trying to make it grow! I was eventually successful, of course."

Roman pushed aside a low-hanging twig, letting go once he walked by. It smacked Virgil square in the face.

"What did you do? Sing to it?" Virgil questioned sarcastically.

Roman laughed, "I tried that once! A simple growth spell was much more triumphant."

"Spell? Like a magic spell?" Virgil lingered cluelessly, picking a leaf out of his hair.

"Naturally," Roman said, looking over his shoulder, "Is magic prohibited in Florida?"

Virgil bumbled, "I guess not? I don't know how they'd do that. There isn't magic."

Roman blinked, frowning down at the pale teen.

The two were stopped in a shaded patch of the gardens, the sun blocked by a large hedge wall to their side. Large, billowing trees looked down on them, leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. A cloying smell of fresh air wafted around them as Virgil stood rigidly like a fish out of water.

Then, Roman smiled. "I will show you," he stated, raising his hand and approaching a nearby tree. Where his fingers made contact with the bark, light burst forth and the tree shook with life. The prince pulled his hand off, and strung through the light a new branch, directing it towards Virgil.

Dream. Right. This was a dream and that made perfect sense.

The magical, glistening branch edged closer and closer to Virgil, and he couldn't breathe. It was approaching slowly and he had no clue what it would do it it got too close and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the thing.

When it poked his cheek, Virgil shouted. "Hey! Stop!"

Roman's face dropped and did a reverse motion with his hand. But rather than moving away, the branch darted out and wrapped tightly around Virgil's arm. He shrieked.

The prince rushed over to him, pulling at the branch. "That wasnt supposed to happen!" He cried, trying to detach the wooden limb from Virgil's arm.

"Who cares! Get it off!" He yelled, tugging at the branch also.

After a painful minute, it was clear the stubborn branch was not going to be removed so easily.

Virgil swore the world around him was shrinking. And growing. Both and neither and his lungs were burning from how he struggled to breathe.

"Everything is perfectly alright!" The prince tried to reassure, "I will fetch my brother. He can undo this!" He patted Virgil's shoulder gently.

Virgil looked up at him silently. If Roman was wanting a verbal response, he sure as hell wasn't getting one.

After a tick, Roman ran off to find where his brother had gone, leaving Virgil alone with the horrible tree. Trapped.

Maybe he could cut the branch? No, he didn't have anything on him to do the job. The wood was strong, too sturdy for him to snap with bear hands. Pulling was doing nothing.

As his brain spiralled, he felt a familiar creeping feeling. The weak feeling that had preluded waking up the last two nights. That was a way out of this mess.

His body toppled over, and he heard the branch smack loosely on the ground. But rather than waking up, he felt strong arms wrapping around him.

He came to slowly, finding himself face-to-face with Prince Roman. His green eyes sparkled in the shadowed light. Maybe too much.

Chapter Text

It took a moment for the feeling to ease.

As the static cleared from his vision, Virgil met the prince's dazzling green eyes shooting concern right at him. Virgil blinked as an embarrassed heat rose to his face. He could feel Roman's strong arms holding him tight in place.

"Are you alright?" Roman asked earnestly, "You were falling."

The prince steadied Virgil on his feet. The anxious teen breathed out heavily, his whole body felt rigid and awkward. He shook his now-free arm.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm good," Virgil stuttered in assurance, still a little distracted by the lingering warmth of the prince.

Roman didn't appear to believe his words, but moved on. "I haven't a clue why that happened!" He insisted, waving his hands frantically, "I swear it on my honor."

Virgil shrugged, "It's fine—"

"It wanted blood!" A voice sing-songed behind him. Virgil startled and twisted, instinctively striking but hitting only air.

Virgil stumbled off-balance. A chuckle sounded at his side, and he saw—now standing beside Prince Roman—another boy who looked similar. Incredibly similiar; he had the same face, was the same age. The only difference was that he had a comical mustache and a different outfit.

This stranger was dressed in fine black raiment, with a forest green sash adorning his chest. His red eyes were decorated with dramatic purple eyeshadow, and his hair was tossed and turned, a white streak at the front.

"Good reflexes," the green-themed stranger remarked, "Hit me again later, I'll tell you how good it feels!"

"I'm sorry," Virgil winced, "I think."

Roman sighed, defeated, "Virgil, I would be pleased to introduce you to my twin brother: second Prince Remus of Dark." Roman gestured to his twin.

Remus waved, "I was drinking river water and now I'm here!"

Virgil slowly waved back. How did he respond to that?

The light prince walked over to where the overgrown branch now rested limply on the ground. Roman bent, grabbing at it and inspecting its angles.

"The tree appears to be placated," he announced, standing and brushing straight his sash, "I do not know what its issue was but regardless, it has been solved."

"It wanted blood," Remus repeated with an uncomfortably wide smile, "Just a little taste!"

"I doubt that," Roman responded half-heartedly.

Virgil cautioned a look down at the wooden limb. It was lifeless on the ground. A shiver ran down his spine. He pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands.

"Can we, um, leave? Please?" He asked of the fantastical princes.

"Of course." Roman asserted immediately, gesturing for Virgil to walk alongside him. "Let us show you to the ceremony hall!" He suggested light-heartedly.

"I can't eat sand inside though, ugh," Remus whined behind them, "Ooh but I can carve holes into painting eyes! I'm coming!"

The three made their way inside. Roman guided Virgil down a confusing series of windy hallways with a steady hand on his back that Virgil was not thinking about at all, while Remus hopped beside them. At one point literally, for some reason.

Eventually, they were stood in front of a set of bold, wooden double doors.

The left door had a sun carved into its center, with flower carvings dancing along the frame. The right door, meanwhile, had a crescent moon carved into its center, with stars decorating its frame. Where the wood dipped, the door was filled with golden sediment. The details shimmered in the candlelight.

Two guards armed with spears stood out front, one on either side. While Virgil was generally unfamiliar with fantasy motifs, he assumed that their presence meant the room was important. The ceremony hall, Roman had said it was. That certainly sounded important.

Roman stood proud with his arms behind his back before the guards—while Remus ran up to the one on the right and poked him several times on the forehead (said guard did not respond to this.)

"Allow us in," Roman ordered, stern but kindly, "I am showing my friend here the hall." At his demand, the two guards reached for the golden door handles to open the way.

Friend, huh? Virgil thought. He wasnt sure why this mysterious dream prince considered Virgil a friend. But he wasn't going to question that of all things.

With the entrance open to the three, Roman motioned his hand for Virgil to enter the unveiled hall.

The ceremony hall was smaller than Virgil expected, especially after being shown the other massive parts of the castle. Yet, it was very intense.

There were rows of cushioned silver chairs lining the entrance, facing towards the far end of a hall where a large, golden throne sat front and center. It was decorated with purple patterning and lustrous gemstones bigger than Virgil had ever seen. From beneath the throne, carved lines in the ground grew and twisted, splitting in two and connecting to two raised pedestals: on the left and right.

Virgil was fiercely intimidated by the entire set up. He tread lightly down the center aisle, doing his best not to touch a single chair or make a single floorboard squeak. Every inch of the room screamed he wasn't supposed to be here.

He eyed the throne up and down as it glistened. Above it hung a painting of a man who looked like both the twins, but neither at the same time. Their father, perhaps? The man was wearing a crown, so he was likely some sort of royal, and had a rolling purple robe that landed gently on the floor.

Roman smiled at him expectantly, "Isn't it marvelous?"

Virgil swallowed, "It's, yeah. Great." He stuttered meekly.

Roman frowned, landing his hands on his hips. "You know Mr. Rainy Day," he teased, displeased, "Very few people will ever see inside this room. You should feel honored."

Virgil shrunk in on himself. "I don't know what it is."

"It's for the Equipoise Ceremony!" Remus shouted from atop one of the chairs, his arms out trying to balance himself, "Where we propagate the magic!" Remus toppled back, hitting the ground with a thud and scattering the chairs.

"No, no," Roman scolded, "Do not say that, that is not how it works."

"Pfft, totally is," Remus retorted, hoisiting himself off the ground with the closest chair. "We take your magic, we take my magic and poof! Magic baby."

"No," Roman repeated, straightening up the chairs Remus had misaligned, "That is not—No. It is a delicate and mystical process of balancing the elements—"

"Magic baby." Remus snapped his fingers at Virgil and stood.

"He's being irritating on purpose. Do not listen to him."

Virgil nodded curtly, "Heard on that."

Roman waltzed back to Virgil, briefly glancing back at his brother who sat backwards on a chair with a mace in one hand.

"The ceremony is held in this room every thirty days. It is the most illustrious time for our kingdom." Roman sounded so proud, holding his hands to his chest.

Virgil hummed in vague interest. "What do you do at the ceremony?"

"As the name suggests—and as Remus prevaricated—we equipoise the two halves of magic: mine being light and Remus' dark." Roman explained elegantly, "That allows for stability in the magical framework. It is crucial." He fluffed his hair, "and an opportunity to show off our skills."

Remus stood and held his hands out at Virgil, "I make things decay!" He delighted.

Virgil grimaced.

"That you do," said a sly voice by the entrance to the room.

Turning, Virgil saw a man walking into the room smoothly with his hands behind his back. He was dressed in yellow attire, with a black cloak and hat. An impious smile sat on his face as he strutted down the center aisle, making his way to Remus' side. The stranger offered Virgil a simple nod but paid him no further mind.

All-in-all, he seemed rather normal. Aside from the half of his face that was covered in scales and the misformed eye resembling that of a snake. Virgil swore the man was passively hissing like the reptile.

Virgil leaned towards Roman. "Is that man a snake?" He whispered, bewildered.

"He is a hybrid, yes," Roman whispered back simply.

Virgil stared, "Is that normal?"

"Quite."

"How does that happen?" He asked incredulously.

Roman shrugged, "A curse somewhere in the family lineage. That is typical for most hybrids."

"Ahh," Virgil sounded dully. Whatever. Dream logic.

Remus drilled up some conversation with the snake-man, speaking with animated gestures while the hybrid stood icy still.

"His name is Janus," Roman introduced in a louder tone, "He is Remus' advisor."

Virgil raised an eyebrow, "Advisor? Does your brother listen to his advice."

"Never," was Roman's immediate response.

"Then why even have one?"

Roman fluttered his hand, "Remus requested one. I am sure he wanted some poor servant to bash around but wound up with Janus instead."

Virgil nodded, "He's way too calm." He grumbled mainly to himself.

Roman hummed and crossed his arms, "I have never gotten along with him," he told the anxious teen, "But he is not my advisor, so that is irrelevant."

"Who is your advisor?" Virgil asked.

Roman scoffed, "I have no need for an advisor. I make the best decisions with myself and the mirror."

Virgil glared at him. Roman was definitely not the humble type.

The light prince sighed, "If you talk with Janus, please be aware of his... habit. Every second statement he speaks is a lie."

"That's not great." Virgil responded plainly.

Roman shrugged, "Snake hybrid."

"Right," Virgil agreed like he understood the context.

Remus ran up to the two of them, standing far too close to Virgil for his liking. "Look I have his hat! It's warm and smells terrible!"

Janus sauntered over to the group. "There is no odor, it is cleaned with all of my clothing." He dismissed, grabbing his hat back from the clutches of the dark prince. "I have seen you around. What is your name?" The hybrid asked, addressing Virgil.

"Virgil," said teen answered, wary.

"You must not be from around here. You look like you fit in." The snake hybrid commented, hands behind his back.

Virgil stuttered, "I don't... think that is the case."

Janus nodded, "I know."

Virgil stared. He was already on a different page to this guy.

"I think you look great!" Remus opined, "The patchwork on your garments looks like medical stiches!"

Virgil held out his hoodie, pulling out the folds in the pattern. "Thank you, I did it myself—"

"Janus is right though," Remus interrupted, "You look really out of place. Like really really. Like everyone look at that out-of-place guy, really."

Virgil pulled in on himself, crossing his arms, "That's not what he said," Virgil grumbled, embarrassment clambering up his chest.

Roman clapped his hands together and gasped. "We must take you to the tailor for a makeover! Come, come!" He insisted, taking Virgil's arm and leading him out. Remus and Janus followed in stride.

As he was dragged through the castle, for the umpteenth time, Virgil wished he had any control of this dream.

Chapter Text

The tailor was an older man who would not speak a word more than he had to. He walked prudently and handled each stitch with a fine and practiced precision. Although the man did little to acknowledge Virgil's presence, Roman assured the anxious teen that he was the best in the kingdom.

"We will have you looking stunning!" Roman asserted excitedly, sitting Virgil into a comfortable plush chair. The prince stood back a few paces, taking in the sight of Virgil. Said teen felt so perceived, he could feel his heart thundering.

"What do we do with this?" Roman wondered aloud, gesturing up and down to Virgil's current look.

Virgil glanced down at himself. Despite wearing a different combination of comfy clothing to bed the past two nights, he had appeared in this fantastical dream world in the same outfit he wore the first. Thankfully, it seemed common for people in this world to wear the same outfit frequently, so that aspect of Virgil's dress wasn't drawing him more attention than he'd like.

Everything else about the outfit however, was.

So he was sort of happy to be ditching it, even if it meant putting aside the purple patchwork hoodie he dearly loved. Virgil only hoped he wouldn't be draped in fashion as eccentric and detailed as the prince's.

Not that Roman didn't look great.

As in, he suited the dramatic get up.

Roman lifted a finger to his chin, "We must keep the purple," he noted aloud, "It matches with your hair." The prince said, gesturing to Virgil's dyed hair.

The light prince turned to discuss his thoughts with the tailor while Virgil bounced his knee impatiently.

Remus jumped down onto the seat to Virgil's right, resting an arm of Virgil's shoulder that the anxious teen immediately brushed off. Only for it to be put right back a moment later.

"What about shoulder pads, ooh!" The dark prince suggested, "With spikes!" He had a crazed energy in his eyes.

Virgil squinted. "No."

"Hmm," Remus considered, "A large feather hat with real duck eggs!"

"No."

"Balloon pants with polka dots!"

"What is wrong with you?" Virgil scoured.

To his left, Janus elegantly sat, crossing his legs and gently placing his hands in his lap. "He will only make more suggestions if you acknowledge him. He does not care much for attention."

Virgil looked tiredly at the hybrid, "Do you always contradict yourself?" He questioned.

Janus sighed, pointedly not looking at Virgil beside him, "I cannot help it."

Virgil stared at him.

Roman waltzed to where the three teens sat, a bright smile adorning his tan face.

He clasped his hands together in delight, "A perfect attire is being tended to right now for you." Roman pointed to Virgil's socked feet, "We're you wanting shoes?" He asked.

"Yes," came the anxious teen's immediate answer. Walking around in just his Jack Skellington socks had not been a fun addition to this dream escapade. Especially when touring a castle with polished floors. Virgil was already highly unbalanced emotionally, he didn't want or need to be unbalanced physically as well.

"Oh!" Remus sounded from a table a few feet away, a multitude of sewing needles poking out of his hands, "I thought you were making a statement! Or religious, or something."

Virgil felt his face warm in embarrassment, "I didn't get shoes when I showed up here, okay!" He defended, crossing his arms self-consciously.

Roman sat on a pouf across from Virgil. "When you 'showed up' here?" Roman repeated in inquiry.

Virgil loosened his shoulders and shrugged. "Yeah, when I sleep I keep showing up here in this—" he cut himself off, remembering the Prince's upset when he talked about this before.

"Dream?" Janus finished his thought.

Virgil turned to look at Roman, who was frowning again.

Virgil ducked his head. "Yeah." Is all he said.

Roman hummed, face deep in-thought, "You appear out of nowhere." He stated, although Virgil sensed the question layered underneath.

"I don't know what's happening, or why." He insisted, closing his eyes hard, "I'm just here."

The tailor sauntered over and informed the light prince that the outfit had been assembled and adjusted. Ready to be worn.

Roman's face lit up and he stood quickly with renewed energy. He tugged at Virgil's arm, leading him to a private dressing space. Roman gave the anxious teen a quick wink and thumbs up before leaving to wait outside.

Inside the concealed space, Virgil was met with a mirror and clothing laid out on a side table ready for him.

He walked slowly up to the mirror and stared at his own appearance before him. He looked as he did when awake: short and pale with deep bags under his eyes and dark eyeshadow. Alive.

He gently touched his face, feeling the pressure in his hand and cheek simultaneously. He examined his black eyes, seeing a shine of light in both irises. Nothing about his appearance was out of the everyday ordinary.

And he felt real.

Logan had told him that his senses would be heightened in a lucid dream. Logically, everything around him could just be built by his own brain.

But there was something that made everything feel unnaturally real. Virgil was struggling more and more to separate this whole experience from reality.

Maybe it was the environment. How the background was filled with the little noises of life: birds chirping, soft footsteps, wind, breathing, the gentle flickering sound of lit fire on candle wicks.

Or maybe it was Roman. And the other people who he had seen and met. How they twitched and moved fluidly, acting on their own and each with their own minute habits.

If this experience the past few nights was all just a dream, then his brain needed to be stamped and shipped directly to the nearest research facility because that shouldn't be possible.

Virgil exhaled and smothered his face with his cold hands. He counted, trying to smoothen out his heavy breathing. If he got too stuck in his thoughts it would send him over the edge. He really, really, didn't want to have an anxiety attack right now. Not when things were finally—seemingly—peaceful.

Just work with the world, he thought to himself. He had to wake up eventually.

Virgil wandered over to the table where his new and hopefully improved outfit was laid out neatly.

As Roman had said, it was purple-based, but blessedly less flashy than the prince's attire.

There was a silken, indigo button-up shirt with long sleeves and drooping bow tie collar, beside deep-black sailor pants. Beneath the table waited standard but high-quality black, leather, lace-up boots.

It looked more tight-fitting than Virgil was used too, and much more fancy, but he was not about to walk out of here and complain. That would lead to a long and dreadful conversation where he tried to discuss his thoughts in a way that didn't upset the tailor or put himself in the spotlight. Just the thought of doing that made his brain melt.

So, he swallowed thickly, and began to dress in the fanciful attire. Virgil rolled his eyes as he did up the bowtie collar. Of course someone like Prince Roman would choose a dramatic feature like that.

Once changed, Virgil gently folded his patchwork hoodie and patted it down on the side table, hoping it would be well taken care of.

His appearance in the mirror disconcerted him, and Virgil shrunk in on himself at the drastic change.

But, taking a deep breath, he hesitantly exited the dressing room, receiving a delighted applause from the light prince at the reveal of the outfit. Virgil fought a smile off of his face, seeing the joy dance in Roman's features.

What had he gotten into?

Chapter Text

Logan folded his hands neatly on top of his book at the corner table as he glared at the boy across from him. "I noticed that you were late to English Language Arts this morning," he stated, interrogated, "Did you have difficulty with transport?"

Virgil and Logan had, coincidently and to Virgil's dismay, shared the same first period every school year since sixth grade. The anxious teen had long ago grown accustomed to having his attendance be informally marked a second time by his studious friend.

Virgil crunched lazily on a pretzel stick, "Just slept in," he mumbled.

Patton cocked his head, "You mean depressed 'slept in' or getting a lot of good sleep 'slept in'?" He inquired.

Virgil rubbed his face with his hand, "As in weird 'slept in'." He dejectedly responded.

Patton's face softened sympathetically, "Another one of those dreams, huh?"

"I think it's a requirement for me."

After his fantastical trip to the tailor had ended with an outfit he was sort of happy with and a prince delighted by the change in attire, Roman had insisted the two resume their tour of the castle. Remus had counted himself out, dragging Janus along with him, leaving Virgil and the light prince alone.

Virgil tried his best not to think about the whole 'is this really a dream?' situation and just live in the moment, but that had never been his specialty. Every time he was shown somewhere new, or got a glimpse of the world's setting sun, or saw Roman smiling down at him, the more the thought bared itself in his overworked brain.

Until he began feeling woozy, that is.

It was a slow feeling. At first, he merely thought that he was out of breath—emos are not typically the most in-shape people–but then the feeling grew stronger. He recognized it as the feeling that preluded waking up. Weird how it was so much slower this time. Passive.

When Virgil's knees began to buckle, he threw out a quick warning to the prince that his time was up for the day, and watched as a look of mild horror fell on Roman's face as he fell.

The world went dark and the next thing Virgil knew he was blinking awake in his bed.

He languidly reached over to grab his phone and check the time, shooting up in a panic when he saw he was already twenty minutes late to class. Had he slept through his alarm? He never slept through his alarm!

And so, with all the grace of someone with limited coordination, Virgil had thrown himself together—haphazardly chucking on his patchwork hoodie and being relieved he still had it—and raced to class. The door squeaked humiliatingly as he opened it and tried to sneak into his seat, feeling the questioning stare of Logan in the back of his head.

Back in the present, Logan adjusted his glasses, "Statistically, a phenomenon that occurs thrice is unlikely to be a coincidence, but instead a pattern." He ruminated, "Thus, it is probable that the dream will occur again tonight, and every night until the underlying cause has been resolved."

"Fantastic," Virgil huffed sarcastically, letting his head drop on the table, "Can't wait."

Ignoring his upset, Logan turned a page in his book of the period, "If you need help catching up on the work you missed in English Language Arts, I can be of assistance." He informed.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "You can just say Language Arts, we know what you mean."

"That would be an inaccurate description of the course curriculum," Logan argued in monotone, "In the United States, the class focuses on the study of the English language and literature, rather than language as a general subject. Hence the specification of 'English' Language Arts."

Virgil rolled his eyes, "Whatever nerd."

Patton rested his head on his hands playfully, "Both work great!" He teased, "But hey, what do I know? I thought there were only 25 letters in the alphabet; I never knew y!" He joked with a mischievous smile.

Logan looked up from his book and blinked at the boy beside him, "That's worrying to hear. You should have been taught the fundamentals of language, including all 26 letters of the English alphabet, by at least kindergarten." He puzzled.

Patton waved his hand at Logan, "English-schminglish," he dismissed.

"If you also need assistance with English Language Arts, you can simply ask," Logan insisted in a concerned tone.

Virgil snickered, while Patton just sighed, an affectionate smile on his face. He patted Logan's shoulder gently while the studious teen just stared.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur.

A strange, unusual, conflicted feeling washed over Virgil's already taxed brain.

On one hand, he had been sleeping better than normal. No nightmares had meant three nights of restful sleep in a row. He hadn't felt this awake in years!

On the other hand, he was so distracted by his new dreaming habits that he was paying far less attention in class than he normally would.

Physics and statistics formulas all pooled together and settled under the spotlight current pointed at the Light Prince himself. One time, Virgil was called on to answer a question but had no clue what the lecture was even about. He had, however, unintentionally come up with at least 20 adjectives to describe the green color of Roman's eyes.

Which wasn't weird at all.

When the final bell of the day rang, Virgil gathered up his things as quickly as possible into his beat up backpack and began the walk home. He couldn't drive—just the thought of piloting a death machine and having to pay attention to so many environmental cues made him want to scream—and his parents weren't going to pick him up given... yeah, given.

So he walked.

Thankfully, it wasn't too long of a hike, and the weather was nice.

There was a warm breeze blowing in the mid-fall afternoon. As it brushed against his skin, it made Virgil think of the field. Of the kingdom. Of Roman—

Virgil grimaced, opening his eyes not even realizing he had shut them in the first place.

His house appeared quaintly in the background.

It was a small abode: single story and painted a deep blue color. The lights were all turned off inside, making the place look abandoned. Which it kind of was when Virgil wasn't home.

Holding out his jingly keychain, Virgil unlocked the front door, letting himself in. He trudged to his bedroom, throwing his bag on the ground beside his ochre desk and fwumping down onto his desk chair. Virgil took a long, deep breath.

He should probably start on his homework.

Scratch that, if he wanted to keep up with his academics, he should definitely start on his homework.

But a heaviness settled in his chest and suddenly everything felt so far away. He brought his feet onto the chairs, encircling his knees with his arms and curling in on himself.

Naming emotions. That's what his therapist had said to do.

He was definitely overwhelmed, that was a big one. Overwhelm was a feeling Virgil was very familiar with. If was suffocating, made his skin burn and his brain shudder.

But that wasn't what was making the weight in his chest pulse and pull. It was a something else he couldn't identify for the life of him.

Virgil released his legs, spinning in his chair to face his desk. In front of him, he examined the dream journal he had been keeping for a while now.

The cover was black, of course, and thick, making the thing heavier than the average notebook. His name was scribbled in white ink in the top right corner unceremoniously.

Opening to the very firsy page, Virgil read the scratchwork writing of a nightmare he had a while ago.

----

February 2nd

Virgil was cold. That was the first thing he noticed: he was much colder than he normally was.

And he was small. Virgil was aware enough to see he was in his house—or at least, a version of it. It was bigger than it was normally, and Virgil was hardly able to reach the door handle of the room without standing on his tippy-toes. The cool of the metal chilled his veins.

He could hear someone crying down the hall. Virgil followed the sound, the walls growing around him with each step he took. His hand ran along the wallpaper, feeling the texture of the paint to keep himself grounded.

There was a light coming from the living room. When he made it to the doorway, he saw a figure on hands and knees, sobbing.

It was his mom.

He knew it was her, but there was something wrong with her. She was sobbing wildly, long hair flowing down and shielding her face. Her body was deformed: sickly, limbs boney and of abnormal lengths. Her voice was distorted. But he knew it was her. Instinctively.

Hesitant, Virgil left the safety of the wall, gingerly approaching his sobbing mother. The crying grew louder as he neared.

"Mom..?" He tried, reaching out a hand to touch her. When he made contact, the figure stilled, like stone. Silent. Virgil couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

He kneeled, brushing the hair out of her face to check on her. But the figure had no face. It was a blank canvas of skin. Witnessing this, the figure began to shake, and the sobbing continued despite her not having a mouth.

A rush of nausea simmered in Virgil's guts as he yanked his hand back. He stared at the thing, watching as the facial skin twitched and trembled like the muscles beneath were trying to function normally.

And then it started to scream.

A shrill scream. Human in a horrific way: a desperate plea for something. For help.

Virgil scrambled back, his legs struggling to push him with little grip on the weird surface of the ground. The sound became louder. Louder. Unbearable loud, and he raised his hands to cover his ears, needing to dull the sound. He crumpled over, tucking his arms against his head, hoping the increased pressure would mute the noise.

And then Virgil had woken up.

Chapter Text

October 1st

Virgil should probably be concerned that he no longer felt a sense of shock when he showed up in this place.

As soon as Virgil had laid down on his mess of a bed, let his head hit the pillow, he knew exactly what his dream would have in store for him. To his surprise, Virgil almost felt comforted by that fact. 'Almost' because his anxiety quickly caught up and had him wondering what the hell was wrong with his brain.

Here, in the fantastical place, Virgil spun, spotting the light prince not too far away, tumbling to the ground.

The first thing Virgil noticed about the prince was that his hair was a mess. Roman's outfit barely looked thrown together. Unusual given how he had shown his deep care for appearence the past few days.

The second thing Virgil noticed was the scour on Roman's face that matched his poorly state.

Virgil wandered to where the prince sat on the ground. "You good there, Princey?" He asked, half amused and half mockingly.

Hearing the anxious boy's voice, Roman snapped to attention. A smile fought his way onto the Prince's face, and Virgil couldn't deny he was a little flattered that his presence was enough to overcome whatever misery the prince found himself in.

Said prince stood, adjusted his posture to be more proper, and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame its wildly ways.

"I am perfectly alright, Doom and Gloom," the prince teased back.

"Rough morning?"

Roman huffed an aborted laugh, "Yes, and a short one as well." He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, "I barely slept a wink last night. And then, come morning, my eyes finally closed right when I was supposed to arise. I was late to my appearances."

Roman brushed down his sash. Virgil watched in awe as with a simple wave of the prince's hand, the lingering dirt vanished.

"I hear you." Virgil affirmed, "I slept in and was late to school today."

Roman smiled questioningly, "You are still attending school?"

Virgil blinked, "Uh, yeah? I'm only seventeen."

"Receiving education at seventeen is far from typical."

Virgil shrugged, "Here, maybe. Where I'm from you have to attend school until you're eighteen. Usually more if you want a better shot at life." He grumbled.

School had never been one of Virgil's favorite passtimes. There were people, so many people. Lessons and lectures exhausted his already tired brain. Endless homework and projects he had to complete kept him on the edge at all times. Overall, school was just a boiling pot of hell for him.

Not that he disagreed with school as a concept. Education was great and a lot of people, like Logan, really enjoyed the chance to learn. Virgil supposed school was the only time he really ever saw his friends, so that was neat too.

Roman shook his head wonderfully, "That is quite fortunate. Your peoples must be highly educated."

Virgil grimaced.

The anxious teen ran his eyes around the room, taking in the grandiose scenery. It was the same room he had passed out in the time before, confirming that he reappeared wherever he last was.

The room, and everything about the castle, was such a dichotomy from everything Virgil knew and still, he could not get used to the illustrousness. His whole body was jittery, a buzzing discomfort. Virgil could hardly stand still.

He saw on the wall before him a painting on in a golden-bronze frame. It was another depiction of the man he had seen painted in the ceremony chamber yesterday.

This one was different, naturally. This time, the man was seated upon a gorgeous throne, confident and calm. His crown was bejeweled with gems of all kinds. Virgil inwardly cringed at how heavy it must be. The man was definitely a royal.

"Is that your dad?" Virgil inquired simply, tucking his hands into the ever so small pockets of his fancy pants.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Roman flinch. "My father..?"

Virgil faced him, a displeased frown settling on the prince's face. Virgil pointed to the painting, "That," he elaborated eloquently, "Is that your dad? Or a relative?"

A few times Roman glanced between the painting and Virgil, his mouth twitching between something amused and something uncomfortable. "That would be King Romulus."

Virgil nodded, "So... how are you guys related? You're a prince."

Said prince studied him for a quiet moment. Then another moment. Then, a grin finally broke out on Roman's face. "How do you think royalty works, my strange friend?"

Virgil stared blankly at the boy, "There's a king—or queen—and their kids are the princes or princessess..?" He said, feeling less and less confident as the prince smirked at his words, "And when the King dies one of his kids is crowned."

"Florida is quite the unusual place if that is how your system of monarchy work."

"Oh, Florida doesn't do monarchy," Virgil put his hands up, "I mean Florida is weird as hell, don't get me wrong. But we don't have any royalty. Other places do though. And that's how they work."

Roman nodded along, seemingly genuinely interested in Virgil's words. "Our two worlds are quite different," he pondered aloud, wonderously, "Here, there is no such passage of royal status from parent to child. There are two representatives of magical kind: now, my brother and I as dark and light." He explained.

Virgil paused, "So, then who's this guy?" He pointed to the painting again.

"King Romulus is the physical embodiment of my light magic and my brother's dark." He breathed deeply, "When our two halves are equipoised, it strengthens the balance and summons forth the King. He is the one who takes on the primary duties of royal life."

The prince turned to face Virgil, his skin golden in the candlelight, and his eyes shimmering, "Hence why it is of the utmost importance that the ceremony be conducted every thirty days. Without the ceremony, there is no King."

The weight of importance plunged into Virgil's chest, and he nodded with a shuddering breath. No wonder the chamber was guarded, and no wonder Roman had panicked when he was teleported away.

"So," Virgil muttered, fighting the weight, "he's like a fusion of your magic?"

A rush of energy beamed in Roman's eyes, "I suppose," he held out his hands, balancing them, "Fusion, equipoise. Both work. Our world uses the latter term."

Virgil shook his head to clear the building fog. "That's weird."

The prince blinked.

Then he threw his head back and laughed. A proper laugh, his hands going to his hips. Roman's laugh was melodic and uneven, singing out in joyful bursts. Virgil stared. It was beautiful.

"You are the only weird thing here, dear stormcloud!" Roman asserted joyfully once his laughter had calmed.

Virgil's face was on fire. His eyes danced in any direction that wasn't Roman's. "Yeah well," he stuttered, "Fuck you.

"Would you care to meet him?" Roman asked after a beat.

"Who?"

"King Romulus, silly," the prince teased.

Virgil stilled, "Uh wuh—yeah okay."

The light prince clapped his hands together, absolutely shining, "Wonderful!" He exclaimed.

Roman lurched forward, taking hold on Virgil's arm right above the hand and leading him down the hall.

"It is mid-afternoon, so he should be in the castle. Likely resting before further appearances." Roman said.

Virgil's face was so red. But not because Roman was holding his wrist. Because he was about to meet a literal King and god he wasn't prepared. How did you talk to a King?!

"Are you sure we should interupt his break?" Virgil pushed anxiously, "He probably wants time to himself."

"No, no, it's perfectly fine!" Roman waved away his arguments, leading the shorter teen through the connected doorway into the throne room, "He always has time for me! And as a guest of multiple days now, it is only right to be in the King's attendance!"

Virgil sighed. There was no fighting that. And there was definitely no fighting the strong grip the prince had on his wrist.

An awkward minute of dragging later, the two stopped in front of a large oak door. Roman knocked twice, opening when a quiet voice was heard inside.

The room was obliviously an office, Virgil could tell that much. A fancy desk covered in books and papers sat front and center, while bookshelves lined the walls. But Virgil had no time to inspect the environment as his eyes locked on to the formal figure sat behind the desk.

The man looked much like he did in the paintings Virgil had seen of him; like the twins but not—as if he were a triplet. His outfit was a deep purple-themed rolling of velvets and linens, and a tired smile adorned his face. His crown, the same one depicted in the artworks, sat atop the desk.

Virgil was stunned when he noticed the man wasn't entirely opaque. He wasn't completely transparent, Virgil could see him, obviously. But he was ever so slightly see-through. As if he were a spirit.

"Good day Prince Roman and, oh! A friend as well!" The King exclaimed. His voice echoed as he spoke, but off-time and quiet, like a whisper was repeating his words.

"Um, hi." Virgil tried lamely, waving as Roman shuffled him into the room.

"This is Virgil," Prince Roman gestured to him, "The stranger from the past few days."

Oh, so Roman had told the King already that Virgil was a weirdo who wasn't from here. Wonderful. That helped make a great first impression. Virgil's heart was racing a mile a minute.

The King nodded, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Virgil." He smiled, approaching the addressed boy, "I have heard Roman's wistful tales of you. It is nice to finally put a face to figure."

The King held out his hand to Virgil, and the teen took it, sweaty and trembling, and shook it as best he could.

"It, uh, is an honor to meet you too, your highness," he stuttered back.

Roman leaned towards him, "You're majesty." He whispered.

"Oh, your majesty." Virgil corrected quickly.

An unreadable expression occupied the King's face for a beat, before an amused laugh huffed from his lips, "You are an odd one, aren't you?"

Virgil swore he grew smaller. If his face could burn any hotter, he was sure it would have been.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"No apologies needed," Romulus assured, "Much better to be odd and true then typical and false."

Virgil caught the King shoot a quick look at Roman, before the man turned back to him with a smile.

"I am afraid I must be going now," Romulus adressed the teens, grabbing his crown eloquently off the desk, "Rest is but a temporary comfort. I'm sure I will see you around, Virgil."

Romulus placed a gentle hand on Virgil's shoulder and gave a sweet smile before slipping out the door.

Virgil swore his entire body was bursting.

Chapter Text

October 4th

“Wait! Do not move any muscles!” A voice shouted far too close to his ear the moment Virgil opened his eyes in the fantastical place. The voice was the one he now recognized as Remus’.

Virgil had half expected this. Yesterday, upon his arrival in the dream world, the dark twin had lunged at Virgil, insisting he stay put while he laid out a notched rope at his feet. The anxious teen was slowly growing used to Remus’ antics—not enough that his voice was fading into the background noise, but enough that Virgil merely rolled his eyes and allowed the uncontrolled prince to do whatever it was he needed to do.

Remus once again pulled out the notched rope (pulled out from where? He wasn’t about to ask). Laying one end at Virgil’s feet, he made his way backwards down the path to Roman.

Said prince had a hand rubbing at his forehead. Come to find out, Virgil’s arrival was as disorienting for the light prince as it was for him.

“It is like I am dragged,” Roman had attempted to explain a few days prior, “Walls do not mean a thing. One moment I am somewhere, the next wherever you are.”

And clearly, the sensation was not an easy one to adjust to, if the prince’s disconcerted look was anything to judge by.

The light prince hazarded a look up, spotting Virgil a way’s away from him. Roman offered a gentle wave, receiving a stern warning from Remus when the light twin attempted to move from his spot. Remus laid the other end of the notched rope by Roman’s feet and began counting aloud.

“Aha!” The dark prince cried triumphantly, waving his arms around erratically, “Exactly 28 feet! I was right and you all were wrong!”

“And that means what?” The light prince asked at the same moment Virgil said, “We don’t know what you’re doing.”

The dark prince grinned something proud and mischievous, tucking a hand underneath his chin, “Virgie appears exactly 28 feet away from mein brüder! I said that yesterday!”

Virgil slumped his shoulders, “You definitely didn’t.”

“Oh well–” Remus spat out nonsense dismissively, waving his hand around.

“That number has significance,” sounded a sly voice Virgil knew was Janus’. The yellow-dressed hybrid flounced up to the dark prince’s side, hands properly behind his back.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “It does?”

“Lie!” Remus announced, booping Janus on the nose, “It was his lie-turn.”

Virgil blinked, “Sure, okay.” He mumbled mostly to himself. He was never going to understand those two.

Now free from the nonsense of his brother, Roman strode over to Virgil, “Walk with me?” He suggested.

Remus shot up, “Ooh, go burn something down! Collect some of the ash for me would you though? I’m trying to expand my collection.”

“I’m ignoring all of that,” Roman asserted.

“Whatevs,” Remus howled, before sprinting off in the direction of whatever whim was leading him now. Janus offered Virgil a curt nod in greeting, before pacing after the wildly prince.

Virgil huffed, “I’d hate to have his job,” he uttered. Catching the inquisitive look of the prince beside him, Virgil elaborated, “Janus.”

“Ahh,” the prince sounded in understanding, “Do not feel for him too much. Janus enjoys the chase.”

Virgil just shook his head.

The two made their way outside, walking down the quaint path along the river at the prince’s insistence. It was a fair day, warm and bright, and the light prince was determined to spend it in the great outdoors, to Virgil’s dismay. Roman leaned back as he stepped, letting the sun lavish his tanned skin. Virgil let his boot scrape against the ground, sulking.

“Must you look so despondent, Rainy Day?” Roman teased lightly, “We are in the presence of the sun.”

“I noticed,” Virgil spat half-heartedly, batting a fly away from his personal space, “I’m not an outdoorsy kind of guy. And I only get to see the sun.”

Roman stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face, “I had no clue you took so much issue with sunlight.”

“It’s not that,” Virgil started, “I’m literally here whenever I sleep so I don’t even see the moon anymore. It hurts my nightowl persona.”

Roman half-grinned, amused and bemused, “You are of the dark then?”

Virgil paused in place, “I like the dark. But you said that like it has another meaning.”

Roman paused beside him, resting his arms loosely at his side. “Magic,” he reminded, “There is both light and dark. I presume your distaste for light is caused by your dark affiliation.”

“I don’t have magic,” Virgil stuttered. The prince faltered.

“You must,” Roman clasped his hands in front of his chest, “Perhaps you do not know.”

Before Virgil could conjure a response, the prince was grabbing at his wrist and gently inspecting his hand like it was a delicate specimen. Virgil swore his organs turned inside out—that was the only way to explain the intense stuttering in his gut and the rapid firing of his heart as the prince turned his hand over and back again.

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed as he moved his hand up and felt at Virgil’s wrist, gingerly placing two fingers at the skin above the radial vein. While Virgil typically felt a coldness throughout his body, right now he felt like he was burning up. God, the prince could definitely tell how fast his pulse was racing.

Rather than point out that fact, however, the prince merely shot a nonplussed look at the hand, a realization radiating from his features.

“You do not have magic,” Roman repeated Virgil’s words, but with an air of mystery and wonder.

“Yeah..?” Virgil stated, confused.

Virgil squeaked when Roman suddenly moved closer, placing his hand this time over where Virgil’s heart was averaging a hundred miles a minute. The anxious teen reeled back, putting distance between them, flailing his arms around.

And then suddenly he was slipping and falling back, landing in the river with a mocking splash.

A heartbeat later, Virgil wrenched himself up, head above the water. He shook his hair, trying and failing to dispel the weight of the water as it sat teasingly on his forehead. On the dry ground, Roman laughed. Really laughed. Virgil turned to glare something fierce at the light prince, pausing when he saw the prince doubled over and clutching at his stomach in mirth.

Virgil pushed through the fluster of the beautiful laugh to cry, “Hey!” Indignant. The prince just laughed harder, “I swear to god I will pull you in here with me!” Virgil cursed, wading over to the edge of the river.

Roman inched back as Virgil neared, positioning himself at a distance safe from vengeful grabbing, continuing to laugh. With an embarrassed huff, Virgil heaved himself out of the water, sitting sopping and pathetic on the bank. He really hated the outdoors.

Roman edged over to the miserable teen, offering out a hand to help him up. For a long second, Virgil considered snatching it and tossing the prince into the water as he had threatened. But when he looked up at the boy, joy emanating from his face, sunlight dancing on his hair, and a light glistening in his eyes, he decided to be merciful. Virgil took the hand, tugged to a standing position by the prince. Virgil slouched, displeased with the extra weight of the water and the general discomfort of soaked fancy clothing sticking to him. He tried shaking the sleeves, hoping to dry the fabric, to little success.

Although Roman had ceased laughing, the lasting energy of delight had him shimmering, “Allow me to assist,” he said, waving his hand up and down Virgil’s figure.

In an instant, Virgil felt his clothes dry, the lingering water vanishing from the threads of the fabric as the wetness dissipated. After a moment, only a few stray drops remained to drip onto the ground.

Roman smiled, Virgil stared.

The light prince sauntered back some steps, sitting relaxed on the grass patch bordering the other side of the path.

“Okay, you have to teach me how to do that,” Virgil insisted, amazement pounding in his heart as he sat beside the prince.

Roman tossed his head around, “I am not sure I can.”

“Hey, don’t gatekeep magic!”

Roman threw his hands up defensively, “Trust me, I do not wish to withhold it from you, but…” he trailed off, taking Virgil’s hand back into his (said teen definitely did not squeak again), “You may be the first I have seen with no magical talent.”

Roman had uttered the words with the same soft tone you would use to let a child down gently. Virgil guessed that fact was supposed to be shameful. But he barely knew enough about this place to feel anything more than a twinge of disappointment. “Yeah, I’m not cool.”

The light prince ran his fingers smoothly up and down Virgil’s radial vein. He hummed, “You can always feel it,” he began, voice low and precise, “Whether you are light or dark, whether the other is light or dark.”

The tender touch of Roman’s fingers at Virgil’s wrist was like a wildfire. Every inch of skin that Roman touched burned and Virgil couldn’t tear his eyes away as the joints moved steadily.

He hummed in interest, not trusting himself to speak.

“For me, as a dealer of light, the dark is like a magnetic pull; the force of opposite,” Roman illuminated, “While the light is a push; similarity.”

The prince looked up at Virgil, meeting his eyes with an intensity that shot lightning through Virgil’s nerves.

When Virgil felt Roman drop his hand, his eyes gazed down. It was then that the anxious teen noticed how close the two had gotten, and awkwardly scooched away, severing the intensity. The prince pulled his eyes away, coughing into his hand.

“I do not feel either from you,” Roman continued, voice cracking, “And I have never known of that.”

Virgil pulled his legs closer to his chest, tapping his fingers against his knee to try loose some of the built-up energy. “I’m nothing special.”

“You are full of surprises,” Roman replied in a tone that sounded a lot like ‘I disagree’.

Virgil shrugged, keeping his gaze to the scenery in front of him, rather than anywhere in the prince’s direction, “I’m not trying to be.”

A warm breeze brushed against Virgil, a feeling he had come to associate with this dream world. The quiet hovered for a relaxing moment, as both let the warmth of the day settle over them. The river ran its rhythmic course.

Virgil saw in the corner of his eye as the prince turned to him.

“What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

The blood in Virgil’s veins stilled in an instant, like a frozen river.

“What?”

“What are you doing here?” The light prince repeated, his words stern but not accusatory, as if he were digging for something but was unsure of what. And Virgil was just as unsure.

The anxious teen shrugged, harboring a familiar sense of erroneous dread, “I told you, I don’t know. I just wake up here.” He insisted, truthfully.

Roman stared at Virgil’s face, inspecting. The anxious teen had no clue what expression could possibly be on his face right now that was so interesting (or perhaps insightful?) that kept the prince’s eyes glued to it, but it was not disguised. If the prince was trying to find a crack between the lies, he was just not going to find one. Something deep in Virgil’s conscience implored him to reassure the prince of that.

After several long, quiet seconds, the prince finally looked away, turning his glare instead to scrutinize some poor strands of grass waving gently in the wind. “How can that be?”

Virgil hummed an ‘I-don’t-know’ in lieu of response, feeling the intensity sink down his body and out into the ground.

“You have no magic,” Roman stated, firm as fact, “Yet your appearance is a conduit for my location. I can never predict what you do not know about the world, and I can never predict what our worlds share in common. There must be something. You must know something.” The prince persisted, curling his legs up closer to his chest, mirroring Virgil’s own position.

Virgil frowned, “I wish I did.”

“Truly, you know nothing?”

Virgil shrugged, a humorous giggle breaking free from his mouth, “I don’t even know if I believe this is a dream or not,” he muttered, feeling the pressure of Roman’s gaze shift back to his face, but not turning to meet his eyes.

“I mean, there’s no way this is real,” Virgil continued, offering an explanation for his comment, “I know that. My friends told me that. I’ve always been superstitious but this,” Virgil threw his hands up, gesturing to the world around him as it idled, “is so much. But then it’s… hard to convince myself everything is in my head when you seem so real.” He admitted.

Roman had been his anchor; the consistent presence every time he showed up in this fantasy world. After the days he had spent here, Virgil had begun to pick up on the little habits the prince had that he probably wasn’t aware of himself. Like how he only used those teasing nicknames when he was in a good mood. Or how he kept his sash clean and tidy, parading it around like a badge of honor. Or how the light that danced in Roman’s eyes seemed a little too magical sometimes.

Roman was so real.

“You do not seem inclined to believe easy for someone claiming to be superstitious,” Roman muttered back, a dejected humor to his tone.

Virgil sighed, “I’ve had crazy dreams all my life. Who’s to say this isn’t one of them?”

“Dreams of being taken to another world?”

“Sometimes,” Virgil uttered, as if speaking too loud would make the world collapse. He breathed out heavily, before lying back with a huff, back flat against the ground. Above him, the clouds trekked slowly across a wondrous sky. If he tried, he could point out shapes in the details. “Nightmares.”

A quiet second later, Roman followed his lead and laid back as well. He tucked his hands neatly on top of his sash. He remained silent. Expectant.

“They make me feel out of control.” Virgil spoke into the silence, “The last nightmare I had—the one before the time I first showed up, was one of the worst.” The sound of the breeze allured a tranquil atmosphere. But it wasn’t enough to dispel the dread lingering in his limbs.

“Would you tell me about it?” The prince asked in a voice so fragile that Virgil was sure saying no would shatter him.

—-

September 27th

He was nowhere.

Virgil was nowhere.

He could tell that this nowhere had limits, boundaries, walls, somewhere around him. But deep down in his heart he knew he was just nowhere.

Maybe this was death? Was he in a limbo of sorts?

There was no temperature, there was barely an up and down. Every movement Virgil made as he looked for a sense of somewhere, just tilted the world to follow his line of sight. Keeping him in place. Keeping him nowhere.

For all his life, Virgil couldn’t stand being observed. It was an intrusive ritual of dissecting him with the eyes that made every hair on his body rise. But he so badly wanted to be known. It was a grueling, inner conflict that had been tangled viciously in his brain as long as he could recall: the desire to connect with others versus the devastating fear of being left behind. Stranded. Nowhere.

Wherever this nowhere was, it wasn’t quiet. There was a mumbling of voices he could hardly hear. Not whispers, though. Virgil could tell they weren’t whispers. Closer to people talking just too far away that their words couldn’t be understood. The underlying bass in their voices invaded his head and drummed out consonant sounds he couldn’t piece together into syntax.

He tried to to turn, then tried again, determined to find the source of the sound. But no matter which way his neck thrust his head, the world spun around him. As if he was the axis; the nowhere was locked onto him. The voices were always out of his sight, moved as the world carried them in whatever direction Virgil turned.

The voices grew louder, like they were approaching him from behind. Like predators that stalk their prey: they stayed where Virgil couldn’t see. But he could still hear them. A crucial mistake for a typical predator to make. To hunt you had to be silent, close to the ground.

Unless there would be no fight. Unless the predator was so far beyond its prey that it could act however it wanted and still get to eat. Could play with its food, size up the meal, and the poor helpless creature wouldn’t be able to fight back.

Was that all Virgil was in this nowhere? Helpless?

Soon Virgil could make out some of the words. The voices mumbled out “useless” and “nothing”. Then, he could have sworn he heard a “Virgil”.

They were talking about him.

They were discussing him like a plot point, a scandal, an object. An embarrassment. Observing where he stood and engaging in civil mockery with him as their victim. One of the voices laughed something delighted and mischievous. What did they know? What did they want? What did they see?

The voices grew closer. Louder. They multiplied, spread out in all directions except the one his gaze was locked into in this nowhere. The sound was unbearable, the sheer mockery of hundreds of spectators. He felt his body stiffen like stone, as he whipped his head around, hoping any movement now would break the pattern. He couldn’t breathe. The spectators could see every crack in the stone, every twitch of a limb, every blink of an eye.

The room tilted and turned as Virgil spun, becoming more and more desperate.

A sudden pressure felt at his shoulder, like someone touching it.

And then Virgil had awoken, startled, sweating, and barely breathing.

Chapter Text

Patton beamed as Virgil approached the corner table, letting his backpack slump off of his shoulder to the ground. “You know Virge,” he addressed the anxious teen now sitting down in front of him, “You’re a lot more rested these days.”

Virgil paused, feeling. Patton was actually, kind of, right? There was a wholly unfamiliar weightlessness that sang in Virgil’s mind and body. And not at all in an unwelcome manner. Although the bags etched deep under his eyes were as dark as ever, the heavy feeling of exhaustion that typically accompanied them was absent.

The anxious boy shrugged, stabbing his juicebox with the flimsy plastic straw, “Guess I’ve just been sleeping more.”

Patton nodded, “Well, I’m very happy to see you’re doing better, bud!”

Logan hummed in agreement beside Patton, “A multitude of studies have shown that increased quality sleep leads to improved cognitive functioning, better mood and mental health, a lower risk of health concerns, among many other benefits,” He enlightened, eyes not once leaving their place on the page of his book of the period, “So it is good that you are experiencing improvements with your sleeping habits.”

The anxious teen let his shoulders roll forward as he leaned into the side of the table.
Yeah, it was good, wasn’t it?

—-

October 9th

Virgil had somehow been roped into decoration duty. Not that there was really anything better to do with his time given how he was basically tied to Roman’s side. But he was still irritated that in this giant royal castle that definitely had a sizable staff paid to do chores exactly like this, he was the one on the ladder.

Virgil did his best to stretch in the ridiculous fancy clothing he was wearing to attach one end of a pink and yellow garland as high up as he could, grunting with the extraneous effort. He felt the ladder beneath him inch under the shifted weight, and he quickly pulled himself back down. Roman paid no mind to Virgil’s discontent as he continued to pull a variety of colorful trinkets out of old-looking chests, taking a hold of two lanterns and hanging them with a simple flick of magic.

Virgil scoured, “I don’t see why you need me for this,” he grumbled down to Roman, “Can’t you just magic it all up?”

The prince retrieved an embellished wreath from the chest he was digging in, inspecting it, “Magic or no magic, your assistance is helpful, Stormcloud.” The prince responded, ignoring the attitude attached to Virgil’s comment.

The anxious teen sighed, taking in the sight of the entrance hall that was now bedazzled with colorful decorations. The event was some annual party, the light prince had explained while hauling several chests of decor. Virgil couldn’t remember if Roman had said it was a solstice or an eclipse or something else, but it was along those lines. Something to do with the sun.

Virgil carefully descended the ladder, ensuring each step was supported by a sturdy rung. The last thing he needed was to test how real pain felt here.

“Why isn’t your brother helping?” Virgil asked.

Roman heaved a laugh as he magicked the wreath up onto a joist, “Remus? Helping? Unheard of.”

Virgil sat back against the ladder, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do any magic,” Virgil pondered aloud, “Except like, pulling things out of thin air.”

“He is the dark prince,” Roman stated, cracking open another chest, “The day is not his strength.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, wandering over to inspect the newly opened chest. More decorations: flags, banners, the works. God, how many decorations did this castle need?

“Does the sun weaken him?” Virgil asked distractedly, rummaging around to find something easier to put up.

“Not quite,” the prince answered, “Dark magic is powered by darkness. In the day it is too light for that sort of magic to thrive.”

Virgil hummed in understanding, “Does that mean you can’t do magic during the night?”

Roman turned to Virgil, offering him a smile, “You learn fast!” He complimented, “Unless there is an occurrence of light during the night—such as an aurora or meteor—my power is far from fierce.”

Virgil shook his head, waltzing back to the ladder with arms full of ridiculous decorations, “No wonder you talk about the sun like some estranged lover,” he teased, snickering when Roman pouted.

The prince scoffed, “I worship the sun! Thank you! I will talk about her in a dignified manner.” Virgil continued to snicker, and the prince’s face reddened, “Just hang the decorations!”
—-

The door to his language arts class had to be the biggest snitch in the school.

Said door was placed at the perfect angle for sneaking into class late: positioned at the back of the room but to the side so the teacher wouldn’t immediately make eye contact with an intruder while lecturing, and partially hidden by the rows of desks. And yet, it made the most shrill, agitating squeak as it was opened so all those conditions were thrown right out the window. It was like ringing a massive bell to announce one’s arrival.

So, when Virgil tried to silently sneak into the class 23 minutes late, he had twenty curious students turn to stare at him. His brain was immediately rattled and his body tensed.

The teacher turned to shoot a displeased glare at the anxious teen, “Nice of you to join us, Virgil.”

Virgil squeezed the straps of his backpack, feeling the material fracture under the pressure. “Sorry…” he muttered out, unable to form a more coherent thought, like an excuse, with so many sets of eyes locked onto him.

The teacher sighed, turning back to the board. “Take a seat,” she instructed, resuming the lesson.

Virgil did as instructed, sitting at his assigned desk quickly and pulling out the scratched notebook he designated for this class. As the various literary terms drifted from the teacher’s mouth, Virgil felt the eyes of his peers leave him and return to what they were previously focussed on.

The anxious boy breathed out, feeling the rush of fear pass through his body. He tried to will his hands to stop shaking. He hated running late to class. Hated the feeling of being watched. What were they thinking? Were they thinking about him?

But he had slept in again. It was becoming a habit as of late, one that he was in no way prepared to deal with. Waking up, thrashing and frightened from nightmares at the early hour of three am was more Virgil’s style. Now, he couldn’t even wake up when his alarms—yes, he had multiple set now—blared again and again.

He rolled his neck, trying to lock his brain onto the lesson. There was a tenseness in one of the muscles; Virgil had definitely slept in a weird position. As he did his best to focus, Virgil felt a familiar burning stare on the back of his head. Logan.

Well, guess he was in for another lecture at lunch.

—-

October 15th

Virgil ducked as the red and purple sequin-decorated shirt was tossed square at his head, laughing as it flew right over its target. “That doesn’t make it any less ugly.”

The prince turned to him, indignant, “That one was perfectly acceptable! You just have terrible taste–I should have guessed!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, smirking.

Roman’s princely duties of the day had summoned him to make an appearance at an informal festival in the kingdom’s town square. And so the prince had wrapped Virgil up in helping him decide on an outfit. Apparently ‘informal’ wasn’t a commonly used word in the prince’s vocabulary. Or his wardrobe. His extensive wardrobe, that was bigger than Virgil’s bedroom.

“Maybe you don’t have any good clothes,” Virgil teased, knowing it would rile Roman up. The prince’s gasp was enough evidence of that.

“I have the BEST clothing!” The prince insisted, pulling out fabrics and laying them in the crooks of his arms, “I will not listen to this! I refuse!”

He stepped over to where Virgil was perched on the leather ottoman against the wall and tossed the clothing haphazardly over the anxious teen.

“You asked me to help!” Virgil shouted in response, bouts of laughter decorating his words.

“A terrible mistake! Never again!”

Virgil gently hauled the clothing off of him and placed it to his side on the ottoman. He leaned back, letting his head softly hit the wall behind him. “Why don’t you go to the tailor?”

Roman fluttered his hands as he spun to look through the clothing at the other end of the wardrobe, “There is no time! I need something now.”

Virgil recognized the subtle tone in the light prince’s voice that indicated a shift from comfortable and playful, to a genuine murmur of panic.

“There’s gotta be something simple in here,” Virgil said, spurring the prince to look at him with a pout, “With fancy details or something.”

Roman slid the shirt he was inspecting back onto its hanger, deeming it unfit. He tapped a finger to his chin as his other hand sat on his hip.

“Simple details?” He absentmindedly repeated Virgil’s words, brows furrowed in thought.

Virgil nodded, “Nothing too overwhelming. Just enough to make you look good,” Even though the prince looked good in just about anything. Even that hideous sequin shirt he had tried to take Virgil out with earlier. Virgil wasn’t going to say that though.

A sudden light dawned on the prince’s face, indicative of an idea. Roman snapped his fingers at Virgil excitedly, before turning to rummage through a line of shirts at the far back of the wardrobe. Virgil craned his neck to get a glimpse of what Roman was trying to grab.

After a moment, Roman pranced back to Virgil, holding up on display a plain white shirt with long, cuffed sleeves and a ruffled wing collar. It was so… plain. Of all the clothing Virgil had expected the light prince Roman to show him, a standard white shirt was certainly not one of them. But Roman was showing it off like it was the answer to his prayers.

“That… has literally no details,” Virgil deadpanned, “You’ve gone too far the other way.”

“Uh-uh,” Roman waggled his finger at the anxious teen. He then flicked his hand, and a steam of light magic ran up and down the article of clothing, garnishing the edges and seams with a shining layer of gold. Virgil stared, jaw loose.

“That has to be illegal,” he said, astounded. The prince smiled victoriously, both at finding something to wear and Virgil’s response. He sauntered over to the corner of the room shielded behind a fancy, oak divider to change.

Virgil shook his head. He was still not used to magic.

“Why do you even have a tailor?!”

—-

Virgil sat stiffly with his hands pushing down hard onto his knees. He tucked his elbows in tight to try and fit between the armrests of the awkwardly thin waiting room chair. He cursed the clock on the right wall to hell and back for ticking so loudly. It had to be running slow, there was no way the seconds were actually passing at a speed like that. Or, maybe they were. And Virgi’s brain was just building up until it exploded.

At least then he wouldn’t have to do this appointment.

Even after nearly two years of triweekly sessions with Dr. Picani, the time he spent idling in the waiting room was never not stressful. The actual sessions themselves were fine—Dr. Picani was a nice guy and the work they did was definitely helpful—but the waiting beforehand still sent jackhammers to work at his heart.

Virgil was convinced it was some sick strategy that psychologists figured out a long time ago. Stress the clients out by making them sit and wait and think before bringing them in to confess their deepest, darkest secrets. It was terrible and he hated it. Every nerve in his body from his chest up was begging him to just get up and leave, get out of this awful waiting room that stank of hand sanitizer and sang with the consistent buzz of the HVAC. But his legs wouldn’t move him a muscle, and he knew that a no-show wouldn’t look good on his file.

So he stayed put. And waited.

God, Virgil hated waiting.

The teen glared at the clock, hoping that maybe if he expelled enough energy through his eyes he could shoot lasers and incinerate the damn thing so he wouldn’t have to listen to more ticking. If Roman were here, he could probably set the damn thing on fire with a wave of his hand.

But Roman wasn’t here. No one was here except for Virgil and the old receptionist lady that kept clacking her computer mouse.

Then again, if Roman were here, what would he even do? Virgil tried to picture the fancy prince sitting in one of these uncomfortable, rickety waiting room chairs. He’d certainly whine about the fact that the cushions weren’t nearly plush enough, and that the room was so cramped. He’d probably spit out an insult at the beige curtains.

…Was he supposed to talk to his therapist about Roman during the session today?

This was Virgil’s first therapy session since his nightmares were replaced with these way weirder dreams. How did he explain this new routine of showing up in a fantasy land every night to the doctor? How was he supposed to admit that he was less and less sure he wasn’t actually being taken to another world? Would the doctor think Virgil was finally losing it? Explain to him kindly that the fantastical dreams were his brain’s way of coping with his newfound insanity? Hell, thinking back to some of the things he had seen in Roman’s world, maybe that really was the case.

Virgil shuddered a sigh, hoping to dispel some of the stress coiled in his lungs.

The door at his side clacked open, as Dr. Picani wandered out to summon him back, a smile sitting on his face as it typically was.

—-

October 22nd

The evening was either bizarrely hot, or wearing long, fancy sleeves was finally starting to toy with Virgil’s mind. The boy was used to wearing clothing that was entirely inappropriate for the weather; opting for a hoodie and long pants even if it was Summer. That was just how he felt comfortable. The less of him that could be seen, the better.

Virgil was starting to regret ever letting the prince doll him up in a fantasy outfit as he struggled to roll up the tight sleeves. The light prince stood beside him, smirking at the overconcerted effort Virgil was putting into making some fabric fold.

While Virgil was not a fan of the weather, Roman looked like he belonged in the heat—in the light of the setting sun. The gentle glow cupped the prince’s face, highlighting his jaw line and illuminating the gorgeous greens of his eyes. His hair blew gently in the evening wind as he breathed slow and even. He was the perfect picture of content and it was infuriating.

The two had made their way, at the prince’s insistence, to the highest balcony the castle had to offer. It was a small ledge that extended out from the Northernmost tower at whatever floor they were on. Virgil had mumbled and moaned about the sheer number of stairs (stupid old timey castles and their lack of elevators) but all his complaints had fizzled out when he witnessed the sun dimming artistically over the horizon.

From this height, Virgil could see the far reaches of the kingdom as it rose and fell in the natural dips of the earth; could see the orange light of the falling sun dance on the roofs of the buildings that covered every inch of space. It was magnificent. Almost as much as the delight that had shone from the prince’s face when he saw how awed Virgil was.

“I used to come up here a lot when I was younger,” the prince near-whispered, letting his voice be carried by the wind.

Virgil turned to look at him, feeling a heat not caused by the weather rise to his cheeks as he gazed at the prince’s face. The anxious teen remained quiet, allowing Roman to speak what was on his mind if he so chose to.

“Everything looks so small from here; so far away. It made my worries feel less intense.” Roman breathed into the warm air, closing his eyes so that the heat may grace his eyelids, “I needed that reminder often as a child.”

“Did it freak your parents out?” Virgil half-joked, a smile on his face as he imagined a little Roman running away to the tallest tower and startling his parents.

The prince frowned and looked away, as his shoulders hunched up. Oh.

Virgil straightened, reaching a hand out to the prince’s shoulder as a sign of comfort, “Roman.”

The prince turned back to look at him, a sad smile pulled onto his face. Roman placed his hand over the one on his shoulder, squeezing Virgil’s fingers gently.

“I have not seen my parents since the day I was chosen as the light prince,” he explained, looking wistfully at the sun that was now only half-visible above the horizon line, “But that is how it goes. The new princes are chosen and then subsumed into royal life. My family was not extended the same privileges.”

Virgil frowned, leaning in closer to the prince, letting the pressure of his body act as a comforting force.

“Not that I was ever lonely,” the prince reassured, a wavering to his words, “I have always had my brother at my side, eccentric as he is, and there were countless staff to assist me.” The prince’s smile faltered between a weird joy and a long-felt sorrow, “But, there has always been a missing piece.” And boy, did Virgil understand that pain well.

Virgil nodded, knowing that the action was unsatisfactory. But he let the quiet return, sitting amongst the two of them as they watched the last slivers of sunlight duck beneath the earth.

Chapter Text

Virgil bounced his leg agitatedly, tapping uneven rhythms with his fingers against the cover of his notebook. Perhaps, if he were a good student, he would be taking diligent notes, or at the very least snapping a photo of the board so he could transcribe the lecture later. But right now, equations and null hypotheses were the least of his concerns, as his eyes raced back and forth between the front of the room and the clock.

His statistics teacher was, unfortunately, the sort that insisted that every second of the designated time slot for this class be dedicated to learning, and that packing up to leave even a minute early was a cardinal sin. It was thus, doubly unfortunate, that statistics was his final class of the day.

His agitation had to be somewhat obvious as three desks to his left, Patton kept shooting him worried looks. It had to be a testament to how long Virgil had known the caring boy that he could tell Patton was trying to beam the words ‘are you okay?’ into his anxious thoughts.

But Virgil didn’t have the time or energy for that conversation right now.

Finally, mercifully, the last bell of the day rang. Virgil practically threw his belongings into his backpack and sprinted out of the classroom. If he ran fast enough, he could beat the hoard of tired students that would flood the halls on their way out of the building.

Outside, on the path home, he slowed. The more he thought about why he so badly wanted to get home, the stronger of an embarrassed flush invaded his face.

Because he wanted to get home. To sleep. To assist the magical prince with the magical ceremony. Virgil felt the irresistible urge to smack himself in the face. But he had promised Roman he would show up as early as he could to help set up the ceremony.

Even after a month of spending his nights in Roman’s possibly-dream world, Virgil was still largely unfamiliar with magic. It was such an intangible concept to him. Every time Roman showed off some new trick, it felt like a brand new revelation all over again. It was strange to think that the people of Roman's world just grew up with power like that, engaged with it in their day-to-day.

All that to say, Virgil had no clue how he was supposed to be helpful for setting up the ceremony.

However, Virgil had a sneaking suspicion. One that had grown more and more solid every time he caught a glimpse of Roman’s querying eyes, seeking a sense of reinforcement from Virgil’s wonder. He wasn’t about to call the prince out, not directly. And definitely not before a major event that had to be stressful enough by itself. But Virgil was almost entirely sure the prince had begged for Virgil’s presence at the ceremony to be genuine moral support.

And hell, Virgil was ready to support the light prince however he could, even if he had no idea where to start. The harsh simmering of insecurity was, after all, a phenomenon that Virgil understood very well. To Virgil, every falter in Roman’s smile as he let slip the smallest sliver of vulnerability was so loud.

So yes. Embarrassing as it was to admit, Virgil was rushing home to go help with the magical ceremony of his fantasy dreams. Sue him.

After what felt like an eternity—and was in reality five whole minutes—Virgil’s house finally showed itself around the corner. He fumbled with his keys as he stepped up to the front door, almost dropping them in his haste. Making his way inside, Virgil let his bag fall unceremoniously off of his shoulders.

What would help him get to sleep fastest?

His weighted blanket was a must, obviously. It was a relic from the time where the threat of nightmares every night had his anxiety levels skyrocketing before his eyes had even closed. Virgil also knew from passing conversations that chamomile tea was supposed to make one sleepy. But, knowing his brain, it would take more than some tea to convince.

Maybe there was some melatonin somewhere? Virgil had never been the biggest fan of chemically-induced sleep, worried that he may get trapped in some horrific dream for longer than he could handle. But given the importance of tonight’s festivities, he could make a pass. Maybe his parents had left some stored in their bathroom cabinet?

He slowly approached his parents’ bedroom door, wiping a thin layer of gathered dust off of the doorhandle. He never went in there. Not that there would be any consequences for doing so. It just felt like an intrusion into another life where he didn’t belong. But there was a time for everything.

Opening the door, he walked through the bedroom, taking it in. It was exactly what he expected. Boring. A plain cover on the bed that was tucked and settled. Sparse belongings scattered about that took up relatively little space. It was like a generic stock image of a bedroom that would be shown in a realtor slideshow. Virgil pushed down the discomfort that accompanied the space and entered the equally generic bathroom.

The bathroom cabinet yielded nothing of use. There were standard pain meds, some expired probiotics, some dental floss, and other random over-the-counter medications lying about. But no melatonin. What a bust.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell startled the teen. He raced out of his parents’ space, slamming their door guiltily behind him.

Who would be here? Now?

Patton or Logan maybe? Both teens knew where Virgil lived, and maybe his behavior today had been just atypical enough to spur a spontaneous check up.

Virgil crept close to the front door, a horrid uncertainty marching through his bloodstream. The boy craned his neck, peering out of the peephole. And saw the distorted face of his case worker.

Fuck. He couldn’t ignore this.

With some swift kicks, Virgil knocked away some stray shoes that were beginning to pile up next to the front door, hoping the initial mess wasn’t about to upset his case worker. With a deep breath, he pulled open the front door and felt any remaining sense of confidence flee his body as he stared at the professionally dressed woman before him.

His case worker was a middle-aged woman who acted stern but was actually rather generous. Virgil suspected her austere front was a lingering symptom from having transitioned careers from law to child services. While there were surely benefits to being so intimidating on the surface, right now Virgil just felt small in her presence.

As she always did when entering the house, the case worker ran her eyes up and down, inspecting the corners while offering Virgil some polite words of greeting. Virgil hadn’t cleaned up in a while, and the mess had never felt so abundantly obvious.

The two made their way into the living room, his case worker taking a seat in the barrel chair and flipping through various papers she had attached to a clipboard. Virgil gingerly took a seat on the couch, hoping the dread he was soaked in wasn’t as apparent as it felt.

“I’m hoping this visit won’t be too long,” his case worker began, tone and face utterly unreadable, “As a reminder, your cooperation will have this conversation over sooner.”

Virgil gulped. His whole body felt like it had turned to stone: cold and rigid.

His case worker placed the clipboard down in her lap and rested her folded hands atop it, leaning forward ever so slightly to address the boy exuding stress on the couch. “I have been notified by your school of several tardies over the last month. I was hoping you could shed some light on them.”

Oh god, “I’ve been sleeping in.”

The case worker hummed. “Are you still having nightmares?”

“No.”

“So the visits with Dr. Picani have been helpful?” She asked, writing something down.

Virgil nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I’ve, uh, been getting a lot more sleep.”

She nodded, silent for a moment while she took down more notes. Virgil wasn’t about to drum up a conversation with her, so he waited for her to speak again.

“While I’m glad to hear your sleeping has improved,” she prefaced, “The tardies are a concern. If you’re unable to ensure better attendance, your case for partial emancipation may end back up in court.”

If only Virgil had the power to sink into the floor. Or turn invisible at will. He could run out the door and avoid this awful, awful interaction.

“And if that happens,” the case worker continued, voice demanding direct eye contact with the teen, “You might have to be moved into foster care.”

Virgil wrenched his eyes away, turning them down to where his hands lay pathetically in his lap.

His petition for partial emancipation had made its way through the court almost two years ago. It had been a grueling few months of paperwork, long talks with his case worker, and desperately trying to get a hold of his parents for a long enough duration to sign the damn papers.

It really wasn’t the ideal conditions. But with his parents gone as much as they were, Virgil had come to the realization that if child services caught wind of the abandonment, he was bound to end up in the system. One painful phone call with his parents had him explaining the situation to them, trying to convince them that signing the order would keep them from any child neglect charges.

They had then agreed, and the paperwork was signed and filed. Eventually, an order of partial emancipation had been worked out with a judge, allowing Virgil to remain in his house and out of foster care as long as his parents sent him the necessary funds to survive. And as long as Virgil took apt care of himself. Which, both the case worker and Logan had made clear to him, was crucial for maintaining the order.

“Now, I am all for kids being kept out of foster care if they are competent enough to take care of themselves, which I wholeheartedly believe you are.” The case worker emphasized, “However, the behavior recorded in your file is highly influential from a legal standpoint. So if you want to remain here, you have to make sure you attend school on time and consistently. Is that understood?”

Virgil nodded, quick and grim. He let the heaviness take over him, pushing him deeper into the couch cushion.

“Can you please give me a verbal response?”

“I understand.”

“Thank you,” his case worker stated, scribbling down some final notes. She pulled the papers up, reading through the multiple pages, before letting them drop back down, satisfied. “Then we are all done here. If your attendance doesn’t improve I will have to come back and talk about reviewing the emancipation terms. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

The case worker stood, brushing down her skirt for any wrinkles it had gained while she sat. Virgil stood too. All his thoughts felt pushed to the side of his brain, a cloudy, fuzzy feeling taking their place. He mirrored the case worker’s actions, walking back to the front door. He wasn’t sure he could think enough to make his own choices at the moment.

The case worker bid him adieu as she left. Virgil's eyes were glued to her, watching without a blink as she got into her car and drove away. Only once all trace of her had vanished around the corner could he finally shut the door.

He wasn’t about to sleep easily now.

Chapter Text

October 29th

Virgil eyed the light prince as he erratically dashed around his grandiose bedroom, trying to ready himself as fast as possible. “Slow down, Princey.” He urged.

The prince offered back a simple hum of acknowledgement before continuing to flit back and forth, completely ignoring the sentiment.

Virgil sighed.

After the harrowing visit from his case worker, Virgil had barely managed to get to sleep at all, let alone early like he promised the prince he would. He had convinced himself that Roman would be upset with him, perhaps even angry. Upon his arrival, he had discovered that the prince was far too consumed with the pre-ceremony work to be troubled by Virgil’s late appearance at all. Still, Virgil had apologized, getting quickly shushed by the prince as he hurried them both to his room to get dressed and ready.

The outfit the light prince had adorned was, in Virgil’s opinion, far too resplendent. The extravagant red cloak that sat atop his shoulders was covered in jewels that shone so bright from every angle that it hurt Virgil’s eyes. The anxious teen resisted the urge to make some snarky insult about how ridiculous the getup was, knowing that in the prince’s current mindset the comment wouldn’t bounce right. He bit his tongue.

Roman inspected his reflection carefully from where he stood in front of a large silver mirror. Every blemish and wrinkle was thoroughly chastised by the prince’s besetting glare.

“Do I look alright?” The prince asked, not removing his eyes from his reflected form.

“Perfect,” Virgil replied, willing a flush off of his face.

His immediate response had a calming effect on the light prince, as Roman breathed out a heavy breath. He knew that feeling well. Idly, Virgil pondered if the equipoise ceremony was always this stressful for Roman. Supposedly, he had done it every month for multiple years at this point.

“Wonderful. Excellent,” The prince stated brusquely, turning to face Virgil, “Let us head down then.”

Virgil stood, content to follow silently behind the prince to the ceremony hall. As the two neared that wing of the castle, more and more guards appeared to be patrolling. They would give the anxious teen a brief look before continuing their path, weapons at the ready. Although the looks no longer felt accusatory, Virgil was still greatly intimidated by the show of force.

Gathered around the elaborate double doors to the ceremony hall was a small crowd of people dressed head-to-toe in fanciful formal attire, chatting in groups as they waited to be let inside. Probably nobility. Virgil wondered if all the watchful eyes stressed the princes out. He presumed Remus didn’t care. But Roman was always mindful of an audience.

Making their way through the crowd, the prince took a tight hold of Virgil’s hand, dragging him into the ceremony hall and swiftly closing the door behind them with a huff. Inside the room, there were far fewer people than outside: the dark prince and his advisor, assorted castle staff who were fixing things up, and the King.

The space felt much more alive than the last time he had been inside.

Roman dropped Virgil’s hand, uttering a hasty, “Excuse me a moment,” before marching straight up to his brother who was conversing animatedly with Janus and pulling him aside.

Virgil remained in the center of the aisle, resting a hand on the top of one of the chairs, beholding the King. The man was decked in a fancy purple robe, with the same crown as always atop his head. His eyes were closed placidly, breathing slow and even with his hands folded nicely in his lap. Still. As if he were sleeping.

“You may sit if you wish to,” the smooth voice of Janus startled Virgil aware of where the hybrid now stood beside him. Said hybrid was also dressed more radiant than usual, jewels decorating his attire much like the princes.

“Was that a lie..?” Virgil asked.

“I do not lie.”

“Gotcha, okay cool.” Virgil nodded, taking a seat at the aisle-end of the first row. Janus gracefully mirrored his movement, taking the seat beside him.

Virgil’s eyes ambled over to where the two princes stood discussing something important, if the look on Roman’s face was any indication. Remus seemed to be taking the topic in stride, a playful grin perched on his face, eyes alight with mischief.

“I wonder how the ceremony will go today.” Janus mused beside him, “Roman is as confident as ever.”

Virgil turned to look at the hybrid speaking to him, seeing that the teen had also been watching the twin princes talk. “Is Roman always this stressed about the ceremony?”

“No.”

Virgil spun his head back to observe Roman. An agitation adorned his features at his brother’s antics. Had it been any other time, that agitation would have been amusing to Virgil. “What’s different?”

Janus rolled his head around, stretching the muscles in his neck, “I am sure I know. I imagine it has to do with control, however.”

“Control?”

Janus nodded, “Not at all crucial for the equipoise. It is one of Roman’s flaws.”

Virgil felt a flare of defensiveness in his gut for Roman’s sake. “I don’t think Remus is big on control.”

Janus huffed a single laugh, a sly smile idling on his face, “You understand Remus well. The dark prince lacks the little voice in his head that makes one think twice.”

Virgil shot a skeptical look at the hybrid at his side, while Janus just watched the princes. Virgil really didn’t get Janus.

“You do understand the importance of this ceremony, yes?” Janus asked smoothly.

Virgil ran his eyes left and right, feeling a shift in the conversation from casual discussion to interrogation. He felt his pulse quicken.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Janus tilted his head up, using the height as a method of intimidation, “So you know to interfere.”

Virgil stared, his shoulders dropping, “What? I wasn’t going to!”

Janus hummed again, “See to it that you don’t.”

A malicious laugh sounded from the dark prince, while his twin beside him stood with an exhausted expression. For not the first time today, Virgil bit his tongue to keep himself from laughing.

Janus stood, sauntering back to the dark prince’s side.

“I’m going to disintegrate the throne!” Remus shouted gleefully, holding his mace high above his head.

Roman groaned, shoulders turned inwards as he rubbed at his cheek, “Remus, no.” He whined.

Janus shook his head, capturing the dark prince’s interest in conversation; either trying to convince Remus to not destroy the sacred throne, or to keep him distracted long enough to forget the idea entirely. They were a strange duo if ever there was one.

Roman glanced over to Virgil, a small smile lighting up on his face as they made eye contact, giving a curt wave. Virgil felt a smile rise to his own face very much without his permission, and he returned the gesture shyly.

The next moment, the ceremony hall’s double doors were opened by the guards who stood on duty out front. The various noblepersons funneled in, settling in the seats. They continued to engage in conversation as they waited for the show to begin. One lady took the seat beside Virgil, paying him absolutely no mind as she patted down her purple dress, chatting with the man who sat down on her other side. Virgil pulled his elbows in tight instinctively.

The two princes made their way to their respective pedestals: light and dark. Remus giggled at whatever thought crossed his mind, while Roman stood rigidly, hands on his hips, and a forced smile upon his face.

It was time for the show to begin.

Chapter Text

Virgil sat in the fancy plush chair, derealized as the ceremony began.

At the top of the hour, the room of noble onlookers had swiftly fallen silent as the sconces on the wall began to play with their flames: the side of the light prince glowing with an unreal, mythical brightness, while the side of the dark prince became swallowed with shadow. In the center of the room, the two antipodal facets met, a line of perfect, balanced luminosity cutting straight through the silent King atop his throne.

After a month of time spent idling in the fantasy dream-world, Virgil had become used to the sensation of feeling out of place. He darted his gaze around, trying to gauge the expected reaction by taking in the faces and behaviors of the audience around him. The noblepersons looked on contently, resting their faces at ease. To them, this was all normal, a once-a-month occurrence of fantastical magical balancing.

What a world.

The dark prince could not have been more in his element. True to words Roman had spoken weeks ago, Remus was showing off from where he stood at his pedestal. He was summoning and subsequently destroying various items and pulses of light, letting his own form be influenced by the shifting shadows. Virgil had never seen Remus do any proper magic before, so the sight of it was a minor surprise. The eccentric teen seemed as gleeful as ever.

The light prince, on the other hand, seemed… strained.

Virgil could immediately tell that Roman was focusing all his attention on hiding the fact he was struggling. Had Virgil been any other audience member, he probably would have believed the act in a heartbeat, content to watch his tricks of light. But Virgil was no other audience member. He was the weird, out-of-world stranger that had come to know Roman well in the past month. Every flinch of his eyes or subtle drawing of his brows was so clear to the anxious teen. And each spell he cast had more and more of an effect on the light prince.

Something in Virgil’s gut (instinct, perhaps?) screamed that this act the light prince was putting on was not sustainable. Dread pooled heavily in Virgil’s stomach as he stared.

It started slowly, and Virgil was sure he was the only one in the room who had noticed it initially: The line of balance where the light and shadows met through the center of the sleeping king began inching towards Roman’s side. As if Remus was pushing it over, or more likely, Roman wasn’t holding his ground like he needed to.

Virgil straightened up in his seat as the darkness took ground, whipping his head around to see if anyone else was reacting to this occurrence. His eyes met that of Janus, who was also trying to grasp the audience reaction but in a much more subtle manner.

Virgil dashed his gaze back and forth between Janus and the front of the room, trying to ask with his wide eyes, ‘is this normal?’ Janus took a deep breath, raising a hand to his chin and lifting his eyebrows at Virgil before turning back to the front. A clear ‘not at all.’

Suddenly, there was an inconceivably light spark that shot from the front of the room; a bright, burst of energy followed by the sickening crack of thunder booming through the space. Virgil whipped his hands over his ears, trying to mute the sound as he fastened his eyes shut, wincing from the brightness that still shone through his eyelids.

When the light and associated noise had subsided, Virgil removed his hands. His eyes stung, but he peeled them open to locate Roman at the front of the room. The light prince was kneeling on the ground, cradling his right hand, eyes wide and swaying around like a lost fawn.

A thick sense of panic blanketed the room, as various noblepersons muttered questions and stood from their seats. Noticing that whatever sense of comfortable normality had been frightened from the ceremony hall, Virgil all but leapt out of his chair to be at Roman’s side. Behind him, Virgil could hear the shouts of someone herding the crowd out of the room. Just thinking about how many people had to have been watching the light prince as he sat stunned on the ground made a shiver run up Virgil’s spine. He would have to thank the shepherd later.

Virgil gently touched Roman’s shoulder to alert the light prince of his presence. The last thing Roman needed in this instance was another shock. Roman reluctantly looked up at him, his pupils shaking in a state of panic.

A panic attack mixed with shock from whatever the hell just happened was far from ideal. Virgil needed to help the prince calm down.

There was an immense pounding in Virgil’s veins as he shuffled himself to be directly in front of the prince on the ground. The anxious teen gently unclasped the prince’s hands, and realized why Roman had been grasping so tight.

Roman’s right hand was badly burnt, a nauseating ashen color coating his fingertips, and trembling. The burn snaked up his forearm, quite similar to a lighting burn, covering his skin with bleeding marks. Virgil knew the adrenaline had to be the only thing keeping Roman from crying out in pain.

The ceremony doors were loudly shut, and Virgil glanced over for just long enough to see Janus leaning against them. In the midst of his racing thoughts, Virgil realized that it had been the hybrid who had chased the crowd out of the room. Now devoid of spectators, the room was quiet once more: with only Virgil, the light prince, the dark prince and his advisor, and the silent, sleeping king on his throne occupying the space.

The light prince remained still aside from the trembling that had spread from his hand to the rest of his body, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Virgil took a hold of Roman’s undamaged hand, running calming circles on the palm with his thumb, trying to get the prince’s attention.

“Roman, I need you to breathe,” Virgil insisted, watching as the light prince tilted his head up sheepishly to meet his eyes. Good. That was good. “Here, I’ll help.”

The anxious teen ran through a standard breathing exercise with Roman, one of the multiple that Virgil had been taught at a very young age and had memorized for almost a decade at this point.

There was a tugging sense of need in Virgil’s mind: he needed to help Roman, to calm him down. Help him become aware of his surroundings and get him medical attention. As the light prince’s breathing began to even out, more and more clarity returned to his face.

The dark prince sat down blankly beside Virgil, his eyes trained on his brother’s shaking form. Had Virgil not been so distracted assisting Roman, the almost serious look adorning Remus’ face and his worrisome silence would have been disorienting.

Virgil could pinpoint the exact moment that the adrenaline wore off in the light prince’s brain. Roman hissed, curling in on himself as his mental return accompanied the feeling of intense pain. He cradled his hand tightly, whining from the agony. Virgil squeezed his shoulder supportively, alarmed by the sudden shift. He whipped his head around to Janus who was towering behind the three on the ground.

“Are there any medical supplies in here?” Virgil asked, desperation dripping from his voice as he continued to hold the prince’s shoulder. Janus faltered a moment, raising his eyebrows at the request.

The hybrid turned sharply on his heels, racing quickly towards the doors to the hall. “I will not fetch a medic.” He announced, pulling the doors shut behind him.

From beside Virgil, Remus reached out towards his brother, still quiet, and pried Roman’s shaking hands away from his chest. The light prince looked up at him, still curled over and wincing slightly as Remus made contact with the injured hand. His head was flush with sweat and he looked miserable.

Remus closed his eyes a moment, grimacing with effort as some shadows emanated from his own hands and wrapped coordinatedly around the light prince’s burn. Virgil could guess that the shadows were some sort of numbing spell, since the light prince’s shoulders drooped slightly as tension seeped out of his body. Roman sighed heavily. Virgil was relieved to see his breathing had returned to somewhat normal, definitely more hefty than it should be, but even.

The doors to the room were opened as Janus returned with a lady dressed in white robes—a medic, Virgil presumed. The lady rushed towards the light prince, shooing the anxious teen and Remus away from Roman. Virgil was hesitant to leave his side, but recognized the medic likely needed the space to be of most use.

Virgil stood back awkwardly next to Remus and Janus, watching as the medic performed a mixture of light magic and typical medical inspections on the bleeding wound. The light prince was silent other than the occasional hiss or grimace of pain as the medicinal prodding of his burnt hand sent bolts of pain through his body.

The three teens at the side busied their eyes. Virgil felt completely useless.

After a minute of professional attendance, the medic lady pulled out from her bag a roll of cloth, wrapping the hand tightly. She gave the burnt limb one more look over, before nodding, satisfied, and stood. She held out her hands to help the prince up, and Roman took them, standing with trembling limbs and a deep sigh.

“The hand will need to be tended to and rewrapped once a day until it has healed, but His Highness should be alright,” she announced to both Roman and the three teenage onlookers, fixing her bag at her side. With a parting word, she took her exit, leaving the four teenagers alone in the ceremony hall.

Virgil rushed back to the light prince’s side, “Roman, what the hell was that? How are you feeling?”

The prince looked at him, pupils no longer shaking, but a lingering sense of agony distorting the beautiful green hues of his eyes. His gaze wandered to where the King remained silently on the throne, “I… I do not know.”

And Virgil honestly had no clue which question that was supposed to be an answer to.

Janus marched up to the two of them, arms crossed with a tidy frown upon his face. He shot a scorching look at Virgil, and he too almost felt burnt.

“I thought I told you not to interfere.”

Chapter Text

“...What?”

Was all the eloquence that Virgil could muster in response to the covert accusation. Virgil stood stone-still beside the injured prince, taking a hold of his undamaged arm to convince his brain that Roman wouldn’t somehow float away into nonexistence.

Remus gasped overdramatically, raising a hand up to his cheek, “Oho Virgey!” he teased, disorientingly playful, “What have you done?”

Well, at least the dark prince was back to his normal, disturbing self. Nothing else was proceeding in its expected manner, however, and Virgil felt light-headed.

“What!” He shouted this time, “No I—I didn’t do anything!” Virgil cried in his own defense. There was a creeping dual sensation of fear and confusion snaking up his spine. He could suddenly hear his heart beating in his ears.

Janus straightened up, wrapping his hands behind his back and adorning his face with an unreadable expression. Virgil wished the hybrid would be any bit less confusing than he was. Maybe then they could have a straight conversation. Maybe then, they could sort this whole mess out, and get Roman cared for and resting like he should be. But instead, Virgil felt like he was pinned in place by the snake hybrid, unclear of how to think or act.

“Of course you didn’t.” Janus stated simply, even-toned.

“Wait,” Roman interjected uncertainly at Virgil’s side, his voice more quiet than it typically was, but still present. “You think that Virgil is responsible for this?”

Virgil turned to inspect the prince, trying to discern any sense of anger in his affect. Rather, the prince seemed trapped in a lingering sense of disbelief from the entire disaster.

“Of course,” Janus answered the light prince’s question, “somehow, he interfered with the magic of the ceremony.”

“No, no,” Roman insisted, voice louder than before. He stood firmly, suddenly; breaking the contact that Virgil’s hand had on his arm. Virgil felt his heart drop, skipping with dread, but he was sure the prince hadn’t noticed the separation. “There is no way Virgil could have been responsible. He has no magic!”

The anxious teen stared blankly at the light prince defending him. Roman turned to look at him sheepishly, explaining, “I have already told them. You are so unique, I couldn’t not.”

The admission was worded like Roman was trying to soften the blow of telling a dark secret. But even after the weeks of time Virgil had spent in this magical place, he had never once assumed the expected shame from having no magic at all. In the midst of this unsettling conversation, however, the anxious teen had no mind or clue how to communicate that fact with the light prince.

Janus hummed a disapproving note. He smoothly snaked his arms across his chest as his eyes kindled flames directly at Virgil’s entire being.

Roman swayed his head wildly, taking a few diffident steps towards the throne where the King remained as silent and unaware as he had before, “We should not be worrying about this,” he deferred, gesturing to Romulus, “We must resume the ceremony whilst we have the time—-”

The light prince’s words were cut off as he attempted to do a spell with his unwrapped hand, and it flickered out like a light. He yelped as it struck back at him, shaking his hand to void it of the unpleasant sensation.

Roman gazed down at his two hands, a look of horror slowly dawning on his visage. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes twitched, in some sense of astounded betrayal. Virgil wished he could somehow read the prince’s mind; he could only imagine what Roman was thinking.

“Did—” Virgil tried in an almost whisper, “Did your magic just… fail?”

Roman’s eyesight remained glued to his hands, one good and one burnt and wrapped.

“Yes, I believe so,” he responded breathily, a noticeable lack of emotion in his words.

Virgil blanked, “What does that mean?” he asked no one specific.

When he received no response, he turned to the snake hybrid some feet away from him, repeating “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Janus picked up the question, “That the ceremony can be completed.” His lie turn. The ceremony could not be completed.

Roman startled, looking up at the hybrid with desperation tinting his face, “It can!” he cried, voice breaking, “I am fine, I can still do my duties—-”

He yelped in pain again as another spell failed, sparking back at him.

Virgil strode up to the prince, concerned, and took a hold of his good hand, “Stop that,” he instructed, “You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

“A stranger appears from seemingly nowhere,” Janus resumed his prior accusation, “with no magic and all of a sudden the sacred ceremony falls apart.”

The thought Janus intended to be understood was clear. Roman pulled his hand free from Virgil once more, but this time with more purpose to the action. “Janus, we have to focus on the fact the ceremony was not completed!” he insisted, voice distorted with some haunting emotion.

Virgil’s eyes dashed back and forth between Roman and Janus, feeling less confident participating in this conversation than he had a moment ago, “What happens if the ceremony isn’t completed?” he asked cluelessly.

Remus spun in place, jazzing his hands as he encroached on Virgil’s personal space, “The King goes poof!” he announced, demonstrating the ‘poof’ with his hands and mimicking the sound of an explosion. For such a serious topic of conversation, Remus seemed all too fine with his silly, light-hearted explanation.

“We need Romulus,” Roman entreated, once again cradling his injured hand, “Our whole purpose is to equipoise the magic and awaken him. There is only a limited time of positional light that such can be done, so we must conduct the ceremony again at once.”

“In case you had not noticed,” Janus rebutted, a subtle frown on his face, “Your magic is as well as always.”

“In case you had not noticed,” Roman mocked in response, anger finally taunting his tone, “I am a prince, and you are an advisor. We focus on Romulus.”

Despite the numerous times that Virgil had seen Roman flaunt around his royal status, emphasizing himself as the glorious light prince, he had never actually seen him execute any royal authority. Roman’s voice had shaken as he spoke the demand, but he stood his ground and stared at the snake hybrid before him.

Janus sized the light prince up, raising his brows as the light prince’s frown deepened. “You are protecting him,” Janus observed, slyly.

Virgil felt his blood run ice cold, and he wrenched his head to look at Roman. The prince was taken aback by the observation, a deep discomfort visible in his appearance. The anxious teen couldn’t help himself from asking Roman, “You think I did this?”

Roman shot him a guilty but equally sympathetic look, pulling his cradled injury closer to his chest, “You are an anomaly, Virgil.”

Virgil was silent a moment as he processed the lackluster answer. What was that supposed to mean? Did Roman not trust him? Did Roman have suspicions? Did Roman think Virgil actually was the one responsible for the mess of the ceremony? Virgil felt overwhelmed with questions, his brain flooded with indignation and bewilderment.

“I didn’t do anything.” Virgil repeated, this time stern and assured.

“There is reason to trust you,” Janus stated in lie. “We do not know who you are or where it is you are from.”

“Stand down, Janus.” Roman demanded of the hybrid advisor.

“This time round, the light prince was not victim.” Janus retorted with even disapproval in his voice, not minding the order. It was disturbing how calm the boy was even in a situation like this. “But next time, it may be the dark prince harmed.”

Roman shook his head, “I know Virgil! He would not do this.”

A rush of relief ran through the anxious teen, feeling better knowing he at least had the light prince’s trust. Whatever else was on Roman’s mind, however, kept Virgil on edge.

“We should most definitely redo the ceremony before we address the cause of its failure.” Janus propounded in lie.

“Let me handle this,” Roman insisted.

“Do you think if my magic was sabotaged it would kill everyone?” Remus wondered gleefully aloud, toying with his mace, “Maybe everyone would melt! That would do interesting things to the floor.”

The other three teens stared exasperatedly at the dark prince, as Remus continued to fool with the weapon, uncaring of the entire conversation.

Janus turned his head back to Virgil, “I am solving this now.”

Virgil only had a second to catch a glimpse of the snake hybrid taking out something from his belt, approaching Virgil at a rapid speed. And then a slashing pain sounded across the anxious teen’s chest.

Janus had struck him with a dagger, the snake hybrid’s eyes meeting his own as time around him slowed to a crawl. Virgil felt the rushing pulse of fear in his veins as his brain kickstarted its fight or flight instinct. But instead of doing either successfully, the open wound stung and Virgil was stumbling, falling back.

He could faintly hear Roman yelling out, alarmed. But Virgil couldn’t make out his words. As his body neared the ground, Virgil felt the familiar tugging of weakness signalling he was waking up. And right now, he was more than glad to have an exit out of the dreamworld.

—-

For the first time in a month, Virgil awoke startled and frightened.

After growing comfortable waking up peacefully, gently coming to reality, he had forgotten how disorienting it was to awaken suddenly, heart pounding. Sweating and nervous.

He felt his body cry from the lasting rush of epinephrine, and he tried to even out his breathing. Calm himself down. But his mind was replaying the moment of attack over and over. Janus had slashed him with a dagger. Because the Equipoise Ceremony had been disastrously ruined. Because Roman had been badly hurt.

Roman.

Virgil sat up, hanging his legs off of the bed, holding one hand to his head to stop the spinning sensation. What was he going to do now?

The anxious teen had no time to ponder the question, as a sharp sting pulsated from his chest. Virgil grimaced, rushing his hands to where the pain had originated. His mind went quiet, his heart seeming to stop, as he felt his hands become warm and wet. Slower than a snail, he removed the hands from his chest, looking down at them. They were covered in blood.

Virgil leapt out of his bed, almost tripping as his duvet fell down atop his feet. He stumbled to his door, slamming it open—not even wincing at the harsh crashing noise that rang out. He ran to his bathroom, standing in front of his mirror and hurrying the best he could despite the pain to get his hoodie off and over his head.

In the mirror, he saw it. A large, bleeding gash right across his chest. Exactly where Janus had struck him with the dagger moments ago.

Oh god.

Chapter Text

Virgil warily flipped his phone upright to check the time.

9:15pm.

He flipped it back over again, banishing the screen to the wooded surface of his desk.

That morning, after his… realization, Virgil had considered skipping school—resigning himself to wither as an anxious puddle in the corner of his room—but then remembered the awful conversation he had with his case worker literally yesterday. Somehow, he had pulled himself together enough to get dressed and make his way to school, only spending a few minutes absently staring at the bandaged wound on his chest.

Virgil had dealt with anxiety long enough to know the mood he was stuck in. Although, he hadn’t felt this way in a while.

It was as if his brain had simply shut down; overwhelmed by the amount of thoughts, and feelings, and sensations, and everything else, that the overstressed organ had just detached itself from the body, letting it run on autopilot. Virgil couldn’t think. Could hardly process that after a quick walk he was at his school’s main entrance.

He was early today.

The vacuity of his mind overruled his functioning the entire day. His face was blank and his breathing was slow. As if he were asleep. Except if he was asleep then he’d be—

Virgil didn’t even remember making it to the corner table for lunch. Suddenly he was just sitting in his routine chair, with Patton giving him an overly concerned look, and Logan overanalyzing his appearance. The whole lunch period, his two friends tried to connect with him, encouraging him to engage with conversation beyond a few words or hum of acknowledgement. But Virgil was far too out of it. Almost like he was in another world—

He couldn’t recall if he had eaten or not. Couldn’t even remember if he had packed a lunch, bought one, or ignored the sensation of hunger entirely. Every lecture of the day was a haze. Virgil was sure he had some midterm exams coming up, and that he should definitely be spending his free time studying. But that was so far away from him right now.

When he made it home, somehow alive and breathing, Virgil sat on his bed, backpack falling off his shoulders aimlessly with the motion. And he just stayed there. Unmoving. Unprocessing.

Until the sun finally set, and the darkness summoned a wave of exhaustion to shudder through his body.

As if he were a rubber band that had been stretched and let loose, he snapped back to himself in an instant. And, like a fire had been set inside him, his lungs burned. They constricted, ripping the oxygen out of him while he desperately tried to claw it back in. But it was no use, he couldn’t breath and if he fought the panic too hard he was going to fall.

Was this how his life ended?

Was he about to suffocate in his room alone, gash on his chest because he had somehow fucked over some fantasy world?—His lungs throbbed—And oh god, the look that Janus had shot him. What would Janus do if Virgil showed back up there? What if he appeared and things got worse? What would Roman think?—The lack of oxygen was convulsing in his brain—

He didn’t do anything. Virgil swore he didn’t do anything. But even Roman had said he was an anomaly. And Janus had said he was guilty—Virgil heaved out hard, his lungs were screaming for air—

And then his vision went black. Or, more accurately, disappeared altogether. Like his brain had forgotten the sense. There was a brief feeling of air rushing past him. But he couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about anything besides the fact that everything had gone wrong. He wasn’t in control. And more would go wrong outside of his control.

Everything was screwed up because he had screwed up. Somehow. Janus was right, he had to be right. Because what did Virgil know? About that world? About magic? Janus and Roman had grown up in that world. They understood it like the backs of their hands, and Virgil knew nothing—A heavy breath racked through him and his lungs stung with need—So, Virgil could have done something, anything, and not have known. He probably did. He definitely did.

Roman would be upset with him. Hate him. Janus would attack him again—His skin felt tight around his chest—

And, oh. Oh yeah. Nothing was a dream. It had never been a dream. Virgil had the bleeding evidence on his chest.

Of course it wasn’t a dream. How stupid could he be? Trying to think logically. When nothing in his life had ever been logical—A tear slipped down his cheek—It wasn't just a dream world. It was a real world. A real world with real consequences. And Virgil had done something horrible. If he ended back up there, who knows what consequences he would face? Oh god, they would kill him—He was shaking, heaving.

Would it be the light prince who did the honors of ending the life of the intruder who had destroyed their sacred ceremony? Doomed their King?

Virgil’s brain shut down again. His thoughts blanketed by the empty, mindless feeling. But this time he came too, and was aware once the sensation faded.

Virgil was on the floor, bent over, barely keeping himself up with his trembling arms. His whole body was shaking violently, and his lungs were still aching from their war against breathing. Virgil was crying, slow tears streaming down his face.

Thinking back on the past few weeks, Virgil realized that was the first panic attack he had in a while. What a way to end a good streak. But, he supposed that’s what happens when someone mysteriously interferes with the sacred culture of another world. Figures.

While his brain was worn down enough now to recognize that he wasn’t in immediate danger, he couldn’t help the strong, lingering sense of anxiety that wracked his nervous system as he pondered some of the thoughts again.

What were they going to do to him?

Did Roman hate him now?

Virgil tried to yank himself away from the spiral, desperately walking himself through a breathing exercise. He hated these breathing exercises. They were demeaning; humiliating. But they worked and he needed to breathe right now so he didn’t actually suffocate and die.

As he tried to straighten himself up, the wound at his chest stung. Virgil could feel the bandages concealing it grow damp with his blood. They needed to be changed, the wound needed to be washed and disinfected. The last thing Virgil needed right now was to end up at the hospital with a knife mark across his chest. That would look great in his file, right next to the paperwork documenting his various mental illnesses.

Slowly, Virgil stood with trembling legs. It took a second to steady himself on his feet, feeling the wound shift and sting. Walking determinedly to his bathroom, he retrieved the medkit in the cabinet. Absentmindedly, he noted to himself that he’d have to restock the kit soon.

Virgil removed his hoodie and shirt, then slowly unwrapped the gauze. It was blood-soaked, confirming his suspicions. The anxious teen worried for a moment that if it didn’t start healing soon, he’d have to figure out stitches, or maybe even staple the wound shut. Just thinking about it made Virgil violently nauseous, and he had to look away from the pierced flesh.

He could fix this. And he could do it himself. No helping hands. No hospitals. And definitely no magic.

From the medkit, Virgil grabbed the bottle of disinfectant and applied some liberally to the gash, washing it gently with a washcloth. Despite it still bleeding, it seemed better than it had in the morning. Although, to be fair, Virgil had been rather distracted by the whole ‘it was never a dream’ revelation to properly examine it.

He tried to breath out, dispel some of the stress, but the disinfectant-slathered wound stung as he did so and he took in a sharp breath instead.

It was fine. This was fine. He was fine.

As he finished rewrapping new gauze around the slash, he was left to deal with the question of what he was going to do now. The knowledge that Roman’s world was real (that Roman was real) was haunting him. Every time the gash on his chest stung Virgil could see Janus attacking him, clear as day.

He couldn’t go back.

Virgil just… wouldn’t sleep.

And so, Virgil ended up at his desk, eyes rereading the same paragraph in the book he was assigned to read for language arts because he couldn’t focus for the life of him.

Virgil really wasn’t the type to go to bed early—ignoring the past few weeks where there had been plenty of reason to snooze before his typical bedtime of 2am—so distracting himself for a few hours would be a piece of cake. He had plenty of unfinished homework from the past month to catch up on, and homework that was due soon to complete. If he really gave in to pretend, he might be able to convince himself that he was putting the necessary effort in to defend his emancipation. Be the good student he should be.

But every second that ticked by uselessly, every time Virgil had to wrench his eyes back to the top of the page and reread a paragraph, he was reminded of the reality. The completely implausible reality.

The first night passed. Virgil completed his schoolwork at a snail’s pace. All he could focus on was ceremony. Knife. Roman.

When the sun rose in the morning, a buzzing anxiety booted him into action. Virgil readied himself for school, remembering in the midst of the haze to pack something to eat, then headed out earlier than he ever had.

Virgil was certain he would feel less tired in school. Sure, in the past when he was dealing with constant nightmares he would take the occasional nap at his desk, or fall asleep on a library couch. But if he just tried, really really hard, he could use the academic environment to distract his brain and remain awake.

And his brain was in fact distracted. By the ceremony situation. So much so that Virgil got nothing out of the lectures he attended. There had been a test in his Compsci class which he neither knew about nor studied for and definitely failed.

Lunch rolled around eventually, and Virgil stumbled to the corner table, feeling the weight of his exhausted body collapse onto his normal chair. Logan and Patton shared a look when he arrived, and Virgil had almost missed it in his state.

His brain was pumping out the need for sleep, but Virgil ignored it. In his life there had been plenty of all-nighters and now was no different.

The pain shooting through his chest refuted that thought, however.

“You know, Virgil,” Patton addressed him gently. Supportively. “If you want to talk to us about anything, you can! We’re here for you.”

Virgil did his best not to let it show on his face how badly he internally recoiled at the statement.

“What Patton is trying to say,” Logan added, “Is that your behavior these past few days is cause for concern.”

“Your behavior,” Patton repeated, pouting at Logan, “Is something that we both really care about because we really care about you! So, if there’s something bothering you, you can tell us and we’ll help!”

Virgil stared at the caring boy across from him, a slanted frown on his face. “I’m fine.”

Patton’s eyebrows flinched to a furrow, but kept a smile on his face, “Okie dokie,” he accepted that the anxious teen wasn’t about to give up any answers, “But if you ever want—”

“Thank you, Patton.” Virgil dismissed.

And truly, he meant it. Even if the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was talk about what had happened to him, what had been happening, Patton had been a staple of support in Virgil’s life for years. Logan too, even though his method of support was unusual. And Virgil really appreciated them. Maybe one day he’d figure out how to express that.

The rest of the day blurred together.

And, like nothing had happened at all, Virgil was back at his desk, homework completed in front of him, and dread pooling in his gut.

He glanced at the time on his phone.

11:47pm.

Night two of trying to keep himself awake was considerably worse than night one. At one point, he found himself leaning his head into his hand, almost knocking out right then, before the flashing memory of a knife striking his chest had startled him awake.

Virgil made his way into his bathroom, examined the wound on his chest again. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, which was a relief. But the skin was red and sore to the touch. Not infected, though. That was good. He washed the gash with a warm washcloth, disinfected it, and rewrapped it.

He pulled out his phone to check the time again.

11:56pm.

It wasn’t even midnight.

How else was he supposed to kill time? Lying down was a death sentence (maybe too literally). If his body stopped moving for even a second he started to think about the ceremony, the knife, Roman—

And so, Virgil was cleaning.

He normally despised cleaning. But when trying to avoid falling asleep, the messes around his house were the perfect distraction.

Virgil started with the living room, putting away books and DVDs, vacuuming, and even shifting furniture to more optimal places. At this point, he had the right to move things around, Virgil argued to no one in particular. When the space was tidy, he decided he deserved to sit down for a moment, immediately getting hit by a wave of exhaustion and bolting upright again.

Virgil wiped down the kitchen counter, reorganized the fridge, even got the oven sparkly clean. At one point, he reached up to put some washed dishes away in a wall cabinet, and felt his wound scream in pain from being tugged.

Roman—

Eventually, he made it to his bedroom, the messiest room of all. Virgil spent most of his spare time in this space, his space. So, it made sense that it needed the most attention. He folded laundry, put his dirty laundry in the hamper, made his bed (hey, he wasn’t going to be lying down anytime soon so why not!). When he was about to wipe down his desk, his eyes locked on to the dark cover of his dream journal.

Without thinking, Virgil picked the book up, turning to a random page.

-—“the prince merely shot a nonplussed look at the hand, a realization radiating from his features.

"You do not have magic,” Roman repeated”—-

Roman—

Virgil shuddered. Ceremony. Knife.

By the time the morning of his third day awake rolled around, Virgil felt clumsy. Like all of his muscles were no longer coordinated: slow, languid, tired. That mixed with his full-body soreness from cleaning overnight and the stabbing pain in his chest was enough to make Virgil feel pretty fucking bad.

But he left early for school nonetheless.

When he made it to school, he vaguely acknowledged that he had left his beat-up backpack at home. With no supplies, no books, and no lunch, the day wasn’t going to be at all productive.

Morning: Blur.

Lunch: Blur. Patton tried to get him talking about his problems again. Virgil ignored the attempt at comfort.

Afternoon: Blur.

He was home again. It was dark.

Virgil unwrapped his wound. No infection. No blood. All fine. Washed, disinfected, rewrapped. Done.

Homework done. Answers all probably wrong.

Virgil looked at his phone.

8:34pm. Friday.

If the day was Friday then tomorrow was Saturday. Which meant no school. No distractions. Nothing to keep him awake.

Virgil crept into his room, his body anchored down with the gravitational force of days without sleep. His head had begun pounding a few hours ago: sometime between Patton gently patting his shoulder and Virgil nearly running headfirst into his front door. The banging of overuse was making itself more and more known in Virgil’s brain as his body begged to let go of consciousness.

Walking into his room, Virgil tripped, his feet getting caught under the dark purple rug he had bought a while ago to cover an obvious tear in his carpet, and landed face first down on his bed. Virgil’s body barely responded to the fall, didn't seem to mind the shock.

Rather, his body took the new horizontal position as permission to collapse in on itself, as every muscle untensed and sank into the mattress.

If he focused hard enough, Virgil swore he heard whispers around him. He had no clue what they were saying, couldn't make out any words. But there were definitely voices. Had he been more awake, the situation would have frightened him so badly he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Now, though, the voices were barely background noise as Virgil couldn’t convince his limbs to wake back up.

The anxious teen tried to fight the rising sensation of sleep, but he made the cardinal mistake of shutting his eyes for just a second. The instantaneous relief from his headache was enough to keep them shut.

With his eyes closed and body already asleep, Virgil was fighting a losing battle.

The ceremony. The knife. Roman.

It replayed in his mind over and over while, after almost four days, he succumbed to the exhaustion and slept.

Chapter Text

November 1st

Opening his eyes slowly, he discovered he was in the ceremony hall again. Virgil’s heart stilled. 

He hadn’t ever left the hall the day everything happened.

Unlike last time, however, the hall was quiet. Empty. After spending several exhausting days panicking about what would happen to him upon his return, being alone in the disturbed ceremony hall was unexpected. The rows of chairs that had always been carefully arranged were misaligned, with chairs turned in all directions, some even tipped over. It was as if the bewilderment of the audience had been etched into the environment. 

Virgil was standing front and center of the room, right where he had left the world days ago. There were drops of blood staining the ground beneath his feet—his blood, he noted with discomfort. Leaning down he ran his hands over a thin layer of ash beside the drops. Right where the explosive spark had detonated. He stood, brushing his hands together to dispel the ash, and turned his head to the throne. Virgil didn’t see Romulus in the bejeweled seat.

Was that good? Maybe the situation had already been solved..?

Virgil took a cautious step towards the golden throne, and then another. And then a dim streak of light met his eyes at the perfect angle, and Virgil spotted the King. He was in fact still seated there, right where he had been. But now, he was almost entirely transparent.

The anxious teen couldn’t tear his eyes away. This place got weirder and weirder every time he was here.

This place.

Right. This place was real; it wasn’t all a figment of Virgil’s dreamy imagination. He hadn’t been back here since that realization. 

He took a few steps back, putting a healthy distance between himself and the ghost-like King. Closing his eyes, Virgil took a moment to feel. This was reality, it felt like reality. It had always felt like reality, Virgil’s instincts had known that since the beginning. It had taken his mind a minute, and a slashing knife across the chest, to catch up.

It was confounding: being present in this world while knowing the truth. Every instance he had felt out of place, every awkward conversation he had managed, every time he had made Roman laugh or smile—all of it was real.

And at the moment, Virgil did not have the mental capacity to process that. Not while he was still battling the internal terror of what his consequences would be.

Behind him, the ceremony doors were quickly open and shut. The anxious teen jumped at the sudden noise, whipping around to face whomever had come in. He felt an immediate rush of relief seeing it was just Roman. Light Prince Roman. Actual royal prince of a magical kingdom, who lived in a very real castle, Roman. Huh. That was going to take a moment to get used to.

The prince’s hand was still wrapped, and he was, for once, dressed down in what Virgil could only assume was fanciful evening wear. Roman stood against the doors silently and he held Virgil’s eye contact. 

Virgil was definitely supposed to say something. But what could he even say at this moment? That he was very sorry for mysteriously ruining the sacred ceremony and possibly dooming the King, pretty please would you forgive me? That wouldn’t fly.

Virgil sucked in a breath, hiking his shoulders, “Roman…”

After the prince’s name was uttered, Roman approached him determinedly. For a second, Virgil saw underneath his eyelids the scene of Janus approaching him to attack. It made the anxious teen flinch when Roman neared. But rather than strike him, Roman wrapped his arms tightly around Virgil, engulfing him in a crushing hug. Roman buried his face into the crook of Virgil’s neck, and once the anxious teen processed the affection, he encircled the prince with his own arms, holding him just as tight.

“I was so worried about you,” the light prince whispered, giving Virgil a squeeze.

“You were worried about me?” Virgil repeated the words, astounded. They came out louder than he would have liked.

Roman pulled his head back, moving his hands to Virgil’s shoulders—one holding tight and the other resting gently—beaming the warmest smile at him. “Of course!” Roman affirmed, “You have not been here in days! I was so worried something had happened in your world. Or that Janus had hurt you too badly.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Virgil reassured, “I was just a bit… panicked.”

Roman frowned, and Virgil already missed the warmth of his smile, “So much so that you could not sleep for days?”

Virgil grimaced, “More that I didn’t want to..?” He explained sheepishly, “I thought I wasn’t welcome back here.”

Roman raised an amused eyebrow, “Your plan was to stay awake forever then?”

“I wasn’t really planning,” Virgil huffed a laugh, “I was just scared.”

Roman gave an affectionate squeeze to Virgil’s shoulder with his good hand, “Well, I can assure you that you are welcome here. Janus was thoroughly chastised after you disappeared, and will not attack you again. I think he felt remorse for his actions, but with him it is hard to tell.”

Hearing that, Virgil sighed, days worth of tension fizzing out of his body. That void was quickly filled by a spike of embarrassment. Of course his catastrophizing had been woefully misleading.

Roman must’ve been able to sense his relief, because a soft smile filtered back onto his handsome tan face, “I would have issued Janus with more of a punishment, but he falls under my brother’s authority, not mine. He would have called my bluff. If you wish, I can discuss this with my brother.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil quickly reassured, not needing any more reasons for Janus to dislike him, “I’m just happy to not get stabbed again.”

“As am I.”

Virgil leaned back, taking a gentle hold of the prince’s injured hand. “Are you doing okay?”

Roman closed his eyes, rolling his head around, “These past few days have been… interesting.” he answered, voice tense, “My injury has healed considerably, however, my magic has hardly improved. And, with the ceremony incomplete, I seem to have garnered some… resentment.”

Virgil grimaced again, wrenching his gaze away from the prince, “I’m so sorry—”

“For what?” Roman cut him off, raising a hand to Virgil’s cheek, guiding the anxious teen’s eyes back to him.

Virgil waved his hands around, briefly gesturing to the translucent King on the throne, “For ruining everything!”

Roman cocked his head.

Virgil stared at him emphatically, and continued, “If I wasn’t there then—”

Roman lurched suddenly forward, taking a firm hold of Virgil’s hand and leading him to the double-door exit. “Let us leave this hall.”

As the two exited, Virgil saw the two guards protecting the door watching them both like hawks. The looks felt viscous, burning. Virgil quickly turned his head back around. 

Roman led them down a series of corridors, and Virgil eventually recognized the route to Roman’s bedroom. Every now and then, the two passed a castle staff person, who would shoot them a glare before turning away. It sent a distressed shiver up Virgil’s spine, and he really wished he had never put away his hoodie. With it, he could be shielding his face from view.

Upon entering Roman’s room, the prince let go of his hand. Virgil momentarily mourned the loss of contact, but shook the thought out of his head. 

When Roman sent him another distressed look, Virgil looked away from the boy, “Roman, I’m so sorry—”

“Why do you think you are responsible?” Roman asked, a genuine confusion to his tone. There was a tinge of something else too… but Virgil couldn’t discern what it could be. 

Virgil just stared at him, “Janus said—”

“I know what Janus said,” the prince interrupted again, raising his hand up in dismissal, “And he was wrong. Do you recall doing anything to interfere?”

Virgil shook his head violently, “No! I was just watching it and then everything happened.”

His eyes danced around the room, too nervous to settle on the prince’s face. Instead, he noted the fanciful decor of the room. Sure, Virgil had been in Roman’s bedroom before, but always in passing; either when Roman had to acquire something he had stored or when Roman had dragged him into the wardrobe to assist with outfitting. Virgil had never just been in the room before.

Naturally, it was as grandiose as every other part of the over-the-top caste. A large, four-post canopy bed with sparkling red and white curtains sat akin to a side wall. A massive muted-red rug with golden patterns adorned the floor. Along the walls there were various furniture pieces of visibly high-quality wood, lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and large arching windows.

Virgil’s eyes caught the outside. It was dark; night. 

Thinking back, Virgil realized he had never been in this world during the nighttime before. Whenever he appeared it was always the afternoon, or at the very latest evening. The anxious teen had never questioned the time discrepancy before, assuming it was just dream logic and moving on. But now, he couldn’t help but wonder how time connected between their worlds. 

He took a few absentminded steps towards the closest window, gazing at the kingdom downhill as it slept under the starlight. There were only a couple sources of light amongst the buildings, and all glew a dull yellow. Virgil had never considered that a place without electricity would be so dark at night. Examining the sky, the anxious teen couldn’t locate a single constellation he knew.

“I’ve never been here at night before,” Virgil voiced his thoughts quietly. 

Roman sidled up to him, standing a bit too close to be considered friendly. Virgil kept his eyes glued to the town, watching out of the corner of his eye as the prince glanced back and forth between the night sky and Virgil.

“While I much prefer the day,” Roman spoke, as quietly as Virgil had, “I have always found the night beautiful.”

Virgil wished, for not the first time, that he could read Roman’s mind.

Sighing, Virgil turned to look at the prince, “I’m really sorry, Roman,” he said again. Even though at this point, he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Virgil just couldn’t block the ceremony from his mind. Or the attack. Or—

“Do not be,” Roman stated, voice louder, “Because it was my fault.”

Chapter Text

There was a recurring sense of unfamiliarity that Virgil had become more aware of as he spent time in Roman’s world. Cultural differences; culture shock may be the right term. There had been a multitude of moments where it was made clear to Virgil that he was supposed to feel ways that he did not.

Typically, it was a feeling of shame that missed him entirely. Shame for not wearing appropriate clothing for the fanciful world; shame for not having any magic; shame, shame.

Whenever a situation like that arose, the light prince had always danced delicately around the subject, and the shift in demeanor had always been confusing. Virgil knew so little about this kingdom world. Even after a month of his nights here, the knowledge he had acquired was sparse. And so, when those moments arose, Virgil couldn’t find it in him to feel the shame that was expected of him.

Right now, after his unanticipated admission, Roman was averting his eyes and biting his lip, as if he believed Virgil would respond harshly. And Virgil felt a transient bubble of amusement that the rolls had somewhat reversed.

Because, to Virgil, it seemed as though the prince was experiencing shame when there was no reason to.

“What does that mean, Roman?” Virgil asked, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible.

His seemingly nonreaction must have caught the prince off-guard, as he turned back to face Virgil with an exasperated expression.

“Everything that went wrong, it was all because of me!” Roman reworded, “The explosive spark, the failure to balance the magic, my injury—all of that was me!”

Virgil stared at the prince, “...I’m guessing it wasn’t on purpose?”

“No!” The light prince cried, a desperate insistence wavering his voice, “I would never—No! I just failed.”

Roman turned around, sauntering pathetically to sit on the side of the canopy bed with a distressed squeak. The light prince held his hands out, scrutinizing them as if they held some sort of answer or comfort. Virgil gingerly sidled over to where the prince was sitting, trying not to startle him.

“My magic failed. It has been failing. For weeks now,” Roman sighed, dropping his hands tiredly and closing his eyes.

Virgil took the moment as a cue to sit beside the prince, as close as he could be. “I’ve seen you do tons of successful spells.”

The prince spat out a despondent laugh, “Of course. The spells that hardly require a thought. Anyone with light magic can decorate fabric or summon some light in a room. An infant could. It is anything beyond that I can no longer do right. You witnessed my failure right away with that branch attack in the gardens.”

Right, the branch. That broken spell had been Virgil’s introduction to magic. Back then, Virgil didn’t know enough about what magic in this world could do to mentally pass the initial terror of being forcefully restricted by the tree. But now, thinking back, it was obviously a failure of Roman’s. Virgil breathed in slowly.

The anxious teen placed a reassuring hand on Roman’s knee, “Why is that happening? Are you okay?”

Roman stared despairingly into Virgil’s eyes. The beautiful green hues lacked their typical mystical light. There was a strong tug in Virgil’s heart to help Roman however he possibly could.

“My thoughts are all… scrambled,” the prince admitted, tearing his eyes away from Virgil’s, “Magic is so dependent on clarity of mind—confidence. I fear I do not have either anymore.”

Virgil kept silent, eyes trained on Roman’s tanned face. The prince caught his eyes for a moment, before running his good hand down his face.

“Ugh, you really wish for me to speak more of this,” Roman commented to himself, voice hoarse.

“I want to know what’s going on, Roman,” Virgil answered anyway, sternly. Roman sighed heavily, resigned.

“I am so preoccupied with how others perceive me,” the prince stuttered in quiet explanation, fiddling with his hands in his lap. Roman was pointedly not meeting Virgil’s eyes, “I was chosen by the light to be its prince; to balance the magic and keep the King awake. When I was young, it felt so easy. I took so much joy in impressing the audience with my talents. But, I have grown so wary of how they watch me now, what they say behind my back. I am weak, and I have been growing weaker. Every day that passes I feel my mind become crowded with worry and now my magic has left me. I have ruined everything.”

Roman sighed heavily, and Virgil gave his knee an affectionate squeeze, leaning in closer. Roman buried his head in his hands, shielding his face.

“I was foolish to think I could fix everything; just stand back atop my pedestal and try again. But I could not. My magic failed and then you were hurt because of my incompetence. I am useless.”

Virgil felt a sudden, red-hot spark of defensiveness flare in his gut, “You’re not useless—”

“Of course I am!” Roman shouted, cutting off Virgil’s words, “I have one duty—one!—and I failed to do it! Now there is very little time left for Romulus, and I have nothing to show for my life.”

“You’re a prince!” Virgil tried to argue back, flailing his hands wildly.

“I come from nothing, Virgil!” Roman exclaimed, and after the words were uttered, a fiery misery in the prince seemed to flicker out, as his shoulders slumped forward, “My family was nothing. We were not nobles, no one important. I have not even seen my parents since I was given my title. I do not know why the light chose me as its prince, but it clearly made the wrong choice.”

Roman stared off into space, a blank sadness on his face. Virgil knew that face. He knew that feeling.

Virgil had drowned in that feeling for years, still choked on it every now and then when his thoughts got the better of him.

It had taken the anxious teen a lifetime to identify the feeling. It had taken several long conversations with his therapist, and days spent with his friends to realize that he didn’t have to deal with it alone. That he had people to rely on. Even if Virgil’s parents were out of the picture, even if he had no clue what he was doing with his life, there were ways to uncoil the tangle of thoughts in his mind.

Did Roman have that sort of support?

The light prince had his brother, but the eccentric teen was pretty clueless when it came to showing that he cared. Virgil had witnessed Remus’ attempt first hand at the ceremony.

When Virgil had been gone for days, had there been anyone to tend to Roman? Had there been anyone to ask the prince how his wound was faring, if he was feeling any better? Had there been anyone to even ask the prince what had happened?

Virgil landed on the conclusion that no, Roman had most likely been alone. And not just alone, but also dealing with the judgement of everyone who knew of the prince’s failure, who disfavored him for failing at his duty.

Without thinking any further, Virgil tightly wrapped his arms around the prince, feeling the warmth of Roman surrounding him. The light prince froze for a moment, before hesitatingly returning the gesture. Roman sank into the embrace, let the total weight of his body fall onto Virgil, as the anxious teen allowed him to without hesitance. The two sat for a moment in the embrace. Roman sighed, digging his face into Virgil’s shoulder and squeezing his arms.

“Why are you not upset with me?” the light prince asked in a voice so timid it almost made Virgil shudder.

“Because I know what it’s like.” Virgil responded definitively. And then, a shy moment later, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Roman chuckled sadly, lifting his head and resting his chin atop Virgil’s shoulder instead.

“You apologize too much for things you need not be sorry for,” Roman chastised mockingly.

Virgil rolled his eyes despite the fact the prince couldn’t see, “Force of habit.”

Roman sighed again, letting his head lull to the side. Neither the prince or Virgil made any effort to remove themselves from the embrace. And Virgil couldn’t care less. An embarrassingly sharp thrill ran through his veins at having Roman so close. It was a good thing the prince couldn’t see his face, because it was definitely red at this point. Virgil wondered if the prince could hear his heart beating.

“You should be upset with me,” Roman stated, hesitating before continuing, “It is my fault you keep showing up here.”

Virgil flinched a little at the words. The prince tried to separate them at Virgil’s response, but the anxious teen tightened his arms around Roman and pulled him back.

“I figured,” Virgil uttered.

“You did?”

The anxious teen shrugged, “When you keep showing up within 28 feet of the same guy with magical powers, you kind of assume he has something to do with it.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry for ruining the surprise..?” Virgil tried.

Roman snorted, “Apologising again.”

Virgil’s shoulders drooped, “Whoops.”

A comfortable silence blanketed over the embrace for a few minutes. Virgil let the quiet sit, knowing the prince needed to be held, comforted. He had never seen Roman this quiet, this despondent.

“If you don’t mind,” Virgil started, keeping his voice low to not shatter the mood, “How do I keep showing up?

Roman hummed, “Spell gone wrong.” He said simply with a sniffle, “That nightmare you told me about, that you had the day before you started arriving here: it was identical to mine.”

“The nightmare?” Virgil startled, a bit too loud. Roman slowly removed himself from the embrace, pulling back but keeping within a close distance of the anxious teen.

“Yes, the way you explained it—” Roman gestured vaguely, “I am sure it was the same as the one I had that night. I was feeling the pressure before the Equipoise Ceremony, and that nightmare did not help. I tried to cast a spell to ease my sleeping mind but…”

The prince rolled his head, locking his eyes onto Virgil’s, “I believe my spell attached itself to your version of the nightmare instead.”

“And to ‘ease my sleeping mind’ it brought me here?” Virgil asked, trying to connect the pieces.

Roman shrugged, “It seems.”

The prince sighed, leaning into Virgil’s side, “What am I going to do, Virgil?”

Virgil cocked his head, placing a hand on the prince’s arm, “You’re going to sleep.”

“Sleep?”

Virgil stared at the prince, raising an eyebrow, “Yeah. What time is it anyway?”

Roman thought for a moment, “Quite late.”

“Do you guys not have clocks? Whatever—” Virgil shook his head, digressing, “It’s night time and you should sleep, ‘kay Princey?”

Roman pouted, but laid back against the bed dramatically. The prince absentmindedly pulled at some covers.

Roman turned his head, “Can you stay?”

“Huh?!”

Roman looked up at Virgil, his green eyes once again shining with the mystical light. Virgil felt a rush of satisfaction.

“I do not wish to be alone.” The prince muttered, whispered.

Virgil swore a fire had been set directly on his cheeks since they felt like they were a million degrees. But how could he say no to that? Especially knowing how little support the prince had received.

Virgil huffed, laying down beside the prince, “Fine,” he said, feeling his heart skip and speed, “Just go to sleep Roman.”

Beside him, Roman smiled, closing his eyes.

“Thank you, Virgil. Truly.”

Chapter Text

The rays of the sun were shining brightly through his window and hitting Virgil directly in the eyes. That was a good indicator that it was well into the afternoon by now.

Virgil blinked slowly, trying to shake himself back into some state of wakefulness. In the back of his mind, he vaguely acknowledged that it was a Saturday, so there was no reason to get up right now. He could just go back to sleep. And so, he gave into the urge to snuggle back down into his covers and close his eyes. Virgil had been so tired after the last few days of self-imposed consciousness, that really he deserved just a few more minutes…

Upon moving, he felt an obstruction around his midsection, holding him tightly in place. A spike of panic shot through him like a gunshot. Virgil leapt back, waving his hands around wildly before falling back onto the ground. Once the shock of the fall wore off, rubbing at the dull pain where his head had made contact with the ground, Virgil sat hastily to inspect what it had been keeping him trapped.

At first, Virgil was only slightly confused to see it had been none other than a fast asleep Roman.

The anxious teen was sure he had awoken in his own room. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes to clear the sleepy blurriness from them, and glanced around the room. Virgil saw his things, in his space, his bed and—

Roman was in his bed. In his world.

Virgil stood so fast he almost tumbled right back down. All concept of coherent thought fled his mind as he looked over the prince—who was resting soundly despite Virgil’s loud and dramatic fall just a moment ago.

Okay fine. This is fine. This was totally normal and he could handle it—

Virgil vigorously shook Roman’s shoulder to wake him as soon as possible.

“Roman, wake up!” the anxious teen cried, an insistent grogginess to his voice. Virgil only stopped his wild shaking when the prince sleepily blinked his eyes, stretching slightly as he shuffled on Virgil’s mattress.

Roman met his bewildered eyes, dighting his face with his good hand.

“What time is it?” the prince managed to stumble out in between yawns. Roman was clearly not cognizant of the situation yet and Virgil was going to start vibrating uncontrollably.

“Not the most important question, Roman!” Virgil practically shouted, entirely unsure of what to do about the prince’s lack of urgency.

The light prince glanced at him with confusion radiating from his unpolished face, as he squinted in his semi-awake state at Virgil.

“When did you get your old attire back..?” Roman pointed a disoriented finger at the purple patchwork hoodie that the anxious teen was once again donning.

“When I got back to my world!”

“Your world..?” Virgil watched as the prince slowly came to. Roman turned his head drowsily, taking in more and more details of the unfamiliar surroundings while putting the pieces together amongst the lingering exhaustion in his brain. And a moment later, he too shot up straight, sitting at the side of Virgil’s bed and staring at the anxious teen, “This is your world?!”

“Yes?!” Virgil shouted, overwhelmed.

A wave of derealization crashed down onto Virgil that muted every other thought in his mind while the two teens processed the new situation.

Even though Virgil had figured out the truth of his being in another world—being pulled by the prince whenever Virgil slept into the kingdom world that was entirely different from his own but still very much real—having Roman suddenly be in his world made the whole transfer feel… unexpectedly invasive? Virgil was unsure of how to go about this situation, or how the moving between worlds occurred this time. Was this how Roman felt whenever Virgil appeared in the fantastical world?

Roman’s shoulders dropped, as he half-heartedly commented, “Your room is quite small.”

Virgil pouted, “That can’t be the first thing you say.”

A second passed, and then another. And then Roman burst out laughing, ducking his head to the side while keeping an eye open to watch Virgil’s red, pouty face grow less amused.

Outside of his initial confusion, Roman didn’t seem too bothered by this? He wasn’t panicked or upset. Didn’t even seem mildly uncomfortable like Virgil had been when he first appeared in a different world. Instead, the prince elegantly stood with a warm smile on his face.

It was so weird to see Roman dressed down like this. Sure, the prince had been in his sleepwear the night before, but Virgil had been too preoccupied with other matters to focus on it. Now, with nothing to think about except Roman, the anxious boy couldn’t help but take in the sight. Roman’s hair was tousled from sleep, face undone, and altogether less fanciful than he normally was. As though the heavy expectations of ‘prince’ had been relieved from his shoulders and now he was just… Roman.

It was beautiful.

Roman flicked his eyes around the room—Virgil’s room—and suddenly the anxious boy was more than grateful his exhausted self had taken to cleaning as a distraction. Virgil did feel a slight flush at having his personal space be so thoroughly observed.

“Perhaps now our roles have reversed, you ought to give me a tour!” Roman suggested, brighter than the sun. He rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms. All of the prince’s movements looked specific, calculated, as if he were testing the limits of reality.

Virgil’s shoulders hiked, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Prepare to be disappointed, my house is no castle, Princey.” Virgil grumbled.

“Nonsense,” the prince dismissed, a strong hand guiding Virgil out of the room by the shoulder, “I am sure it is lovely.”

Virgil just rolled his eyes.

The extensive tour of Virgil’s house lasted all of eight minutes. Roman was shown the living room, kitchen, and then the patch of dirt and dried grass behind the abode that Virgil called the backyard. It was, safe to say, completely humiliating to be in all of the cramped, bland spaces while standing beside a prince who lives in a literal castle. But Roman nodded along and tried to offer nice comments where he could.

When the fantastic tour came to an end, the two took a seat on the moderately comfortable couch in Virgil’s living room.

“I admit, you were correct,” Roman gave, “That was a little disappointing.”

Virgil shrugged, leaning back with full force and letting the cushions envelope him. “Yeah. But it’s what I got.”

Roman turned his head, examining something the other direction with a great deal of intensity, while Virgil sank deeper into the pale blue mediocre upholstery.

“What is through there?” Roman asked after a minute. Snapping back to attention, Virgil followed the prince’s pointing finger to a door.

“Oh,” Virgil said flatly, running a hand through his hair, “I guess it’s a guest room? It was my parents’ room.”

Roman turned to him, green eyes deep and intrigued, “They no longer live here?”

Virgil uttered a string of nonsensical sounds that roughly translated into ‘kinda’ before elaborating, “They haven’t been here in a while. It’s a bunch of legal stuff.”

Roman nodded, understanding that the topic wasn’t one of Virgil’s main concerns right now. Because with everything going on and with the magical Light Prince Roman from another world seated gauchely on his couch, the whole partial emancipation situation didn’t fit into his brain.

Virgil let his body be soaked into the fabric, a peaceful quiet overlapping the two. Roman followed the anxious teen’s lead, letting himself get as comfortable on the low-quality furniture as his princely self could manage.

“I do not suppose my being here helps with the ceremony situation, does it?” Roman pondered after a minute, laughter at his own expense woven into his words.

“Any chance you can redo the ceremony in a different world?”

Roman hummed thoughtfully, “That has never been done before, so I cannot say for sure,” he paused for a moment, “But no. Definitely not.”

Virgil snorted, catching a glimpse of the prince’s smile before he turned away.

“Your magic’s normally pretty strong, right?” Virgil wondered aloud, not considering the weight of the words until the prince flinched ever so slightly at the inquiry. Virgil smacked himself internally.

“Normally, yes.” The prince answered, nonetheless, “Not that I have been able to display it to you.”

“I don’t know,” Virgil rebutted, “Transporting someone to a different world is a pretty good show of strength. Doing it a second time is like, doubly strong.”

Roman gave him a weird look—a distortion of awe, sadness, and curiosity mixed into one expression.

“You think this is a second spell?” The prince asked of their current predicament in a tone that perfectly matched the unusual expression.

Virgil shrugged, “You’ve never been here before. If it was the same broken one that teleports me, then you would have shown up here earlier.”

Not that Virgil knew that much about magic, but the dawning light on the prince’s face indicated to the anxious teen that his assumptions weren’t too far off from truth.

“You are right!” The prince exclaimed, tapping a thoughtful finger to his cheek, “I must have— but then why..?” His muttering faded out as thoughts sparked inside his mind.

Virgil watched the prince’s inner discussion. Roman’s eyebrows crinkled and his eyes twitched up and down. The anxious teen felt a sickening sense of affection wash over him as Roman sorted out whatever was going on in his brain.

“You’re incredible Roman,” Virgil said in a tone so sappy it surprised even himself. His comment must have cut the prince’s thoughts off, as Roman turned to look at him with an unreadable expression. Meanwhile, Virgil was sure the expression on his face was perfectly readable, if the red tint to his pale cheeks was of any indication. For the second time, Virgil was smacking himself internally.

A soft smile adorned Roman’s face as he tentatively lowered his hand, “You truly think so?”

The prince’s tone was so genuine and vulnerable that Virgil felt utterly incapable of taking the words back. But also, very embarrassed and wishing he could sink into the cushions.

“Yeah, mhmm,” Came Virgil’s dignified, stuttered answer.

“I think you are wonderful as well,” Roman replied, his smile spreading to his eyes. And that comment caught Virgil off-guard.

“Really?” Virgil questioned, eyes wide, “I thought my whole ‘eternal downer’ personality was off-putting.”

Roman huffed a laugh that sang so affectionately that another flushing wave of embarrassment crashed down on Virgil. “You are wonderful in ways I could never describe, Stormcloud. You are the most caring soul I have ever met.”

Virgil tilted his head, sure that a ridiculous smile had now invaded his face, “Even though you’re stuck with me every day?”

“There is no one I’d rather be stuck with.”

Virgil couldn’t move his eyes away, suddenly too entranced by the prince’s tanned face—by his eyes. The mystical green eyes he had so often caught himself lost in. The magical light danced around the irises as Roman squinted his eyes happily to make room for his warm smile. His smile was brighter than the day at noon, and it crinkled where it met his cheeks. Once Virgil’s eyes caught on the prince’s lips he couldn’t take them off.

He was minutely aware of a sun-touched hand sliding up to hold his arm firmly, but all he could focus on was Roman in front of him—

A loud knocking at his front door kicked Virgil out of his trance state. The anxious teen quickly backed out of Roman’s personal space, his face a blazing red when he noticed how close the two of them had gotten. Roman turned his head and politely coughed into his hand. It may have been a distortion by Virgil’s shock-addled brain, but he could have sworn the prince’s face was red as well.

A second round of knocking sounded, and Virgil stood quickly, reminded of the presence of someone at his door.

“This better not be my case worker again,” he mumbled half to himself and half to the room as he poutily stomped up to the front door.

Virgil twisted the knob, pulling the door open, fully expecting to see his case worker once more. But instead—

“Virgil!” Came the sweet voice of Patton, standing beside Logan before him.

Chapter Text

Confused and still somewhat flustered, Virgil stared at his two friends at his front door, a dull aching in his chest where his heart was beating erratically.

“Uh, hi guys..?” The anxious teen managed out. Virgil held tightly to the door handle as he leaned awkwardly out the door frame.

Patton smiled down at him, kind and sympathetic, “I hope you don’t mind us stopping by unannounced! We wanted to check on you.”

Logan nodded in agreement, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “Over the past few days, your behavior has set off several hypothetical alarm bells. We deemed it necessary to intervene in-person.”

“We’ve been really worried about you,” Patton worded carefully, quiet and sure as if he were trying not to spook Virgil away, “and we brought cookies!”

Patton held up an old, stained tupperware filled to the brim with a variety of different cookies, shaking it to sweeten his words.

A stroke of guilt flitted through Virgil’s mind as he stared silent and pathetically at his two friends. The past few days of restlessness, Virgil had been so trapped in his anxious spiral, so concerned about what would happen to him when he returned to Roman’s world, that he hadn’t put a full thought into what consequences his behavior was having in the real world. How it was affecting his friendships.

Apparently, and completely understandably, Patton and Logan had been worried about him. Enough to stage a friendly intervention at his house. So, Virgil felt the need to let them in without hesitation.

That said, Virgil didn’t exactly want to invite the two boys in because well. There was a magical prince from another world seated anomalously on his old couch. And that was going to be difficult to explain.

But he really, really couldn’t turn his friends away. Doing that would only make the two worry more about him.

“Thanks,” Virgil uttered with a breathy indecisiveness to his voice.

Patton maneuvered the anxious teen into a tight hug, trying to fit them together between the tupperware of cookies and the open door. Virgil had always put up a front of detesting physical contact, and would never reach out himself. But in reality, he lived for affectionate touch, and Patton had known him long enough to be hyperaware of that face. So, despite how rigidly Virgil was standing, he felt himself melt.

“I’m doing better now,” Virgil insisted truthfully.

Patton pulled back from the hug, patting him sweetly on the shoulder at his retreat, “That’s great to hear, Virge!”

Logan, meanwhile, scrupulously inspected the anxious teen, “You do appear more rested,” he agreed, nodding his head before proceeding, “Although the rapid shifts between moods you have been experiencing in the past month require more investigation. Are you experiencing racing thoughts?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “No, and you’re not my therapist, Lo.”

“You are correct about that, but as one of your close friends it is my responsibility to take an interest in your symptoms. How often have your levels of anxiety been abnormally high?”

Virgil gave the studious teen a flat look, while Patton offered another sympathetic pat on Virgil’s shoulder. The caring teen clumsily scooched around Virgil, muttering a quiet, “I’m gonna drop these cookies off inside.”

Virgil nodded curtly, before turning back to Logan, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame, “I’m always super anxious. That’s my whole thing.”

“I suppose. But have you been more anxious than usual—”

“BOY!” Came the excited cry of Patton’s voice from inside and oh right—

Patton raced back to the door with the biggest, cheesy grin on his face, glancing between the two other stunned teens, “Virgil has a boy over!”

A roaring heat burned alive on Virgil’s face as he startled in place, waving his hands out.

“What! It’s not—NO I—” he stuttered, trying to come up with any explanation that would cool the situation over while also making any more sense than the actual truth.

Patton gave him a smirk, before turning swiftly on his heels to presumably go talk with said boy in Virgil’s living room. Virgil felt his brain blank, as he stormed after Patton red-raced—Logan following in tow—letting the door slam shut behind them.

“Hi! I’m Patton, one of Virgil’s friends!” Virgil heard the excited words as he entered the living room, seeing said teen holding out his hand to the dressed-down prince to shake, “It’s nice to meet you mystery boy!”

Roman laughed a little at Patton’s enthusiasm, before taking the hand with an irritating amount of grace and shaking it, “It is a pleasure to meet you Patton. I am Prince Roman.”

Virgil had to envision a mini Roman in his mind and smack him in order to calm the irritating awkward stress that blared inside him as the prince spoke those words.

A slight confusion shimmered on Patton’s face, but his smile never left, “Oh, like the guy from Virgil’s dreams?”

Patton remembered that?

Of course Patton remembered that. Of course the caring boy who had been by Virgil’s side as a reliable source of support and comfort for years had paid enough attention to his rambling weeks ago to remember the dream stranger Virgil had mentioned. That’s just who Patton was, and it was as sweet as it was infuriating in this instance.

Logan took a seat in the barrel chair beside the couch, resting one of his arms atop the other, “As amusing as that connection is, Patton, that is not possible.”

Virgil’s mouth was glued shut.

Patton waved his hand in a silly dismissive manner, as he sat down with a joyous bounce next to the prince, “I know, I know.”

Roman’s smile was bright and playful in a way that blended perfectly with Patton’s mood. Virgil sat cross-legged on the rickety coffee table, shooting the gleeful prince a look that warned something along the lines of ‘do not embarrass me right now.’ The prince smirked at him, turning back to engage with Patton beside him.

“What have you and Virgil been up to, Roman?” Patton asked teasingly.

Roman huffed a single delighted laugh, a sparkling to his tone as he answered, “He has given me a wondrous tour of his home. And has been assisting me with some personal issues.”

Patton giggled, “Yeah?”

“Pat,” Virgil said, “No.”

Logan hummed, leaning forward as he tilted his head, “You’re definitely not a student of our school,” the logical boy said, addressing the prince, “Where did you meet Virgil?”

A spike of irrepressible embarrassment shot through the anxious teen when he heard the air of protectiveness to Logan’s voice. He was conducting an investigation of the boy in Virgil’s house.

Virgil wanted to keel over and die right there.

“His dreams,” Roman answered charmingly—a truth that only Virgil understood, “I do not believe we have been introduced yet.”

Logan held out his hand to Roman, who shook it, “My name is Logan. I am one of Virgil’s friends and classmates. I am seventeen—”

“That’s enough, Lo,” Virgil cut him off, absent-mindedly tugging on the frayed end of one of his hoodie strings, feeling the hood subsequently tighten around his face, “He gets it.”

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses back into their place. “When you say you know Virgil from ‘his dreams,’ what situation are you metaphorically referring to? I’m afraid I do not follow.”

Roman placed his elbow on the couch’s armrest, leaning his head into his palm, “I promise my statement was quite literal.”

“If you are making a joke, you should know I have been informed that my ability for understanding subtext in social situations is limited.”

“No, no,” Roman said playfully simply, waving his hand, “I am being entirely honest with you.”

Logan’s eyebrows knitted together in a tight frustration, as he inspected the prince like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Virgil almost giggled at the sight. The studious teen lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes. “This is not even close to the intervention I had planned.”

“You had a plan?” Virgil asked bewilderedly before shaking head. Of course Logan of all people had a plan.

Said teen nodded, trying to pull himself together, “Of course,” he iterated Virgil’s thought aloud, “The plan was to discuss your behavior and the underlying causes with you, ensuring you felt supported, before deciding on a healthy resolution.”

“And then a movie marathon!” Patton chimed in.

Logan sighed, “Had it been needed, a distraction like a movie marathon would have been an adequate method of assistance.”

Virgil felt himself smile despite the situation. Sometimes, when he got too trapped in his own mind, Virgil often found himself forgetting that there were people in his corner who loved him.

“Sorry I worried you guys,” Virgil apologized in a quiet, sheepish tone as he knotted and unknotted the hoodie string in his grasp.

Patton’s face softened, “Aw, it’s okay! We’re glad you’re doing better.”

“You could have just texted though,” Virgil mumbled to himself.

His two friends stared at him accusatorily.

“We did.” Logan stated simply.

“Multiple times. And called!” Patton cried, clasping his hands together as his mouth fell into a frown, “And you weren’t responding!”

Virgil blinked.

“Where even is my phone?” Virgil asked no one in particular, whipping his head around.

Sporadically, he felt around his various pockets for the weight of his phone, but couldn’t find it anywhere on his person. He looked at the surrounding furniture and floor, but it was nowhere to be found.

The anxious teen tried to think back to the last time he had it, but with everything going on the past few days, his brain was a haze. He made eye contact with his backpack, which was sitting lamely next to his door and probably had been for at least a day. Virgil grabbed at the beat-up bag by its loose handle and rustled his hand around inside, eventually feeling his phone and pulling it out.

Virgil sauntered back over to where the others sat, trying to turn the phone on but being met with the dead battery symbol.

“It’s dead,” Virgil informed his friends, “No wonder I didn’t get the messages.”

“You should establish a routine of charging your phone once per day at a consistent time to ensure you have reliable communication,” Logan lectured, as Virgil sat back down, letting his shoulders droop at the reprimand.

Patton smiled, “Yeah, plug it in overnight—”

“No,” Logan interrupted hastily, “Do not. Keeping a device plugged in for an extended period of time once the battery is full causes damage to its health. On top of that, it needlessly wastes power—”

“It’s convenient!” Patton interrupted back, sticking out his tongue at the studious boy. Logan sighed again, raising a hand to hold his head in frustration, while Virgil and Patton shared an amused glance.

“I have to say,” Roman chimed, reminding Virgil of the current predicament, “I do not understand a word of this conversation, and it is very intriguing. Is this how you felt coming to my world?” Roman addressed Virgil.

Virgil just shrugged, “Eh, pretty much.”

“Then I must offer an apology that my world was not better explained to you.” Roman offered in a tone that was only semi-apologetic.

With an absent-minded wave of the prince’s hand, his current sleepwear attire and unkempt hair was shifted into a fanciful, princely outfit covered in jewels that shone under the dull ceiling light, with an easy light spell.

Patton and Logan stared wide-eyed at the boy who was now dressed far too proper to be seated on Virgil’s couch. The prince blinked at the two gawkers.

“What..?”

Patton gasped, standing and pointing dramatically at Roman as the prince reeled back, clutching at his pearls, “Magical prince from Virgil’s fantasy dream world!”

Chapter Text

By the time Patton and Logan were heading out of Virgil’s house, it had been another two hours. Both teens had been far too preoccupied by Roman’s mystical presence—his magical abilities—to even remember their original goal of checking up on Virgil. Thankfully, said teen was more than happy to have his attentions focused on the prince.

Roman had summoned a light spell, simple but showy. A few small orbs of light were flicking and flitting around the two newcomers, who stared at the inexplicable phenomenon. Logan ran a hand through his hair, tousling and grabbing at it, as he pierced the light with his eyes. Trying to piece together some scientific reasoning for what he was seeing.

“Are you producing a flammable substance? That would certainly explain the light but the lack of gravity affecting the spheres would suggest they have their own gravitational force?” The logical teen rambled out questions, prodding at one of the lights with the back of the pen he was using to furiously scribble notes.

Roman smirked, delight reaching his eyes, “It is magic, my friend. There is no need for science.”

“There is always a need for science,” Logan grumbled harshly, trying to take hold of one of the orbs and observing as it phased right through his hands. His face fell as he eyed the light like it had personally spited him.

Patton, meanwhile, was leaning back into the couch and batting at the lights that approached him like a cat would, “What other magical things can you make?”

Roman tapped his chin for a moment, letting his shoulders slump. The prince reached a hand out, waving the lights together into an illusory, glowing image of a cat. The light cat pawed about, prancing up to the cheerful teen on the couch and purring as it cuddled into Patton’s side. Patton cooed, immediately attempting to pet the illusion, but being unable to due to its non-material form. Regardless of the failure, Patton ran his hand along the back of the illusion kitty in the air.

Virgil’s eyes were stuck on the illusion for a moment.

The anxious teen felt a rush of surprise that Roman had managed to conjure a more complex spell without it backfiring. He glanced over to the prince, seeing his visage focused on the illusory creature, but with a genuine, comfortable smile situated on his handsome face. The light of the cat caused shadows to dance along his features.

Roman was so gorgeous, and had his two friends not also been present in the room, Virgil was sure he would have lost himself in the sight.

Logan continued with his inquiries, becoming more and more frustrated when every line of questioning produced more mystery. The picture of the typically well-put-together Logan unraveled by the time Patton dragged him to the front door—hair a mess and pout digging into his cheeks—was so amusing that Virgil had almost laughed at the poor boy.

But he wouldn’t. He had a reputation to maintain.

Patton linked his elbow with Logan’s declaring it was time for them to leave Virgil alone with the beautiful boy in his home. Before he turned, he gave Virgil a not-at-all subtle wink. The anxious teen felt himself blush, but was relieved that peace would return to his house once more.

“This investigation isn’t over!” Logan cried, as Patton led the two of them down the driveway, “I will figure that ‘magic’ out.”

“Bye boys!” Patton called to them, “Have fun!”

Virgil waved, shaking his head affectionately at his friends’ antics, before letting the door close on its own behind him. Roman huffed out a delighted sigh.

“Your friends are quite the interesting characters,” he commented, following closely behind Virgil as the anxious teen found his way into the kitchen. It was evening now, and the two hadn’t eaten since waking up, so now was probably a good time for a meal.

“Yeah, they are,” Virgil agreed emphatically, rummaging around his cabinets.

Did he even have any food worthy for a prince to eat? Definitely not, he only had ramen noodles and other prepackaged meals. Roman would just have to live with what Virgil had to offer if he wanted to eat.

“They haven’t changed much over the years.”

Roman hummed a simple note, leaning back against the counter beside where Virgil was pulling out various utensils, “That must be nice.”

The friendship, Virgil inferred the unspoken meaning. The anxious teen felt his heart drop a beat, studying the sad smile adorning the prince’s face, before awkwardly resuming his mission of locating something for dinner.

After a minute of toying with pots and pans and setting some water to boil on the stove, Virgil spun around to see that Roman was watching every movement he made. Like he had never seen food be prepared before. And maybe he hadn’t—Virgil didn’t know.

“Your magic seems better,” Virgil commented, half-paying attention and half reading the instructions labelled on packaging.

Roman cocked his head, “You think so?”

“I mean,” Virgil started, before pausing momentarily to cut at the plastic, “That cat illusion spell was more complicated than the lights, right? It seemed like progress.”

Roman ducked his head down, eyes tracing the faded stains on the floor tiles beneath his feet.

“I suppose you are right,” the prince agreed, every word sounding more confident than the last, “But I was not paying much attention. I do not think I could repeat that spell.”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed as he stirred the pot, “Maybe that’s the move then? Not thinking about it?”

“Hmm?”

“Not trying to overcomplicate, just doing what feels right. Isn’t that how your spells work?” Virgil pondered, a light shrug to his shoulders as he thought back to the various complex explanations of magic he had been offered the past month.

A silent second passed, before Roman sounded a, “Huh.”

The prince shifted a bit as he stood, leaning to his side to take some of the weight off of his injured hand. “Perhaps it is,” the prince engaged, “I am positive that Remus never thinks, and his spells are always successful. At least, I presume so—his idea of success is… atypical.”

“Were you thinking when you brought yourself here?”

Roman let his good hand rub along his chin and cheek, smoothing out the skin beneath his fingers, “Somewhat,” he admitted, an abashed expression on his face, “I was very intent on keeping you close. I must have cast a spell to assist in that.”

The prince turned away, a faint red tint to his tan cheeks.

Virgil’s own face felt warm, and he felt the desire to chase after that conversation. The one that lingered in between the words they exchanged. To bring up that moment from earlier, when they had been so close, Virgil inspecting the prince’s eyes and lips like a lifeline. Feeling Roman’s hand slide up his arm to hold him in place. Virgil wanted so badly to ask what Roman had been thinking then, what he had been feeling.

But he pushed that desire down. He couldn’t do that right now; didn’t think he could bring himself to speak those questions. His gut fluttered viciously, a mixture of butterflies and anxiety battling it out.

Besides, Roman didn’t need that conversation right now. He needed support, to have someone next to him cheering him on as he healed and fixed the mess that had been made. And Virgil intended to be that someone.

Roman sighed, letting his head hang limply, “How am I supposed to stop thinking?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Virgil responded flatly, shuffling around the kitchen, “I’ve got two diagnoses and a mountain’s worth of paperwork saying I’m shit at that.”

The prince laughed, mumbling something along the lines of ‘what does that mean’ under his breath. The laughter made a smile rise to Virgil’s face against his will.

Damn Roman, ruining his image.

Roman pulled his arms around his chest, supporting himself as he fixed up his posture. Briefly, Virgil wondered how often the prince had to do that. Support himself.

“Ugh,” Roman whined, closing his eyes and quickly losing himself in thought, “What will everyone think when I am back? There is only one more day of positional light to try the ceremony again. I can already feel them watching me.”

“Do they have to be?” Virgil asked instinctively. Roman opened his eyes once more, a shining curiosity to them that the anxious teen didn’t know was good or bad.

Virgil clarified, “Does there need to be an audience? Why can’t it just be you and your brother?”

“An audience is traditional,” Roman informed, a sourness dripping from his words, “The Equipoise is intended to be a show of sorts. That said, I have already strayed so far from tradition that it may be worth a try.”

Virgil grimaced as he imagined a room full of people inspecting his every move, examining him like a specimen once a month. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like. That’s got to be so much pressure. It’s evil you’re expected to be in front of everyone.”

The anxious teen prepared two bowls for them both, gesturing for Roman to take a seat at the small kitchen table in the corner of the room. The prince did so, shrugging at Virgil’s words as he planted himself in one of the chipped chairs, the thing creaking under the new weight.

“It is my sworn duty,” Roman insisted. Virgil could sense the exhaustion layered beneath his words. “It is what the light chose me for.”

Virgil took the seat across from Roman, placing a bowl before each of them, watching as the prince examined the mysterious food.

“Do you ever get a say in anything?”

Roman gave a sad smile, “Not at all.”

The prince rolled his head, his eyes landing on the small plant centerpiece on the table. The poor plant was wilting, a deathly brown taking over its leaves making them droop. Virgil had never been able to keep a plant alive, despite his various efforts. The prince’s eyes ran over the pathetic figure, gently stroking one of the limp leaves. With a mindless flick of the prince’s finger, the plant breathed to life, a solid, healthy green spreading through every inch of the flora’s form.

Both boys stared at the now happy plant in the center of the table. A sparkle shone in Roman’s eyes.

“Not thinking, huh?” Roman uttered breathlessly.

The sun of Virgil’s world began to set, and the anxious teen readied himself for bed. In the bathroom, he unwrapped and examined the wound along his chest, satisfied with the healing progress before washing and rewrapping it.

Virgil studied the face that found him in the mirror, watched as his reflection blinked in time with him; mimicked every action. As a young child, Virgil had been terrified of his reflection. He had been so scared that if he looked too much at the figure before him, it would break out and pull Virgil into its terrible reality. One time, the thought had him crying uncontrollably, hiding in a corner of the bathroom where the mirror couldn’t see him. Virgil hadn’t moved a muscle until his mother had made her way in to see what the fuss was about. When he had tried to stutter out his worries through sobs and ragged breaths, she had just patted him on the head and told him to move on. That it was all in his head.

Everything had always been in his head.

Virgil cracked open the bathroom door, leaning out and calling the prince into the bathroom. Roman sauntered in with an eyebrow raised, before the teen pulled him closer and began to unwrap the bandages on the prince’s injured hand.

The skin was red and raw, still clearly in need of time and care, but it looked much better than it had after the explosion. Virgil traced the edge of the burn with his thumb, feeling the textured disconnect between the healthy and damaged skin. There would definitely be a large patch of scar tissue on the hand once the injury had healed.

Delicately, Virgil wet a washcloth with warm water and began pampering the injury, moving slowly so as to not cause any additional pain. The anxious teen glanced up, seeing that the prince was focussed intensely on Virgil’s actions, following the moving hand with his eyes like it held some sort of meaning.

Virgil shot him a simple, embarrassed smile. Roman gave back a warm one.

“I’m glad you’re real,” Virgil whispered, watching as Roman’s face softened.

“You as well.”

Chapter Text

November 2nd

Every time he awoke in the fantasy world, it always took Virgil’s mind a minute to adjust.

There was a haze to break through each time—a fuzziness that sank away as his brain realized where he had ended up. It was a relatively fast process, speeding up the more familiar he became with the transition.

When Virgil opened his eyes, he was momentarily stunned that he was… horizontal? Lying down, he realized, in the light prince’s bed. Snuggled up to said prince, exactly where the anxious teen had been before his time here had ended last time. So, really, he should have expected to find himself in this position. But still, his heart skipped a beat.

He was in Roman’s arms, held tightly in place in an almost possessive grip. Virgil gazed up abashedly at the prince as Roman slowly began to stir awake.

They were different in that regard, Virgil noted amusedly. When Virgil’s consciousness was made aware it had been switched back on, it kicked immediately into overdrive. A fight or flight that had been trained by years of anxiety and nightmarish horrors overnight. Meanwhile, Roman’s consciousness seemed to enjoy the tantalizing dance between awake and not for as long as possible, fading in and out; blinking slowly while the prince processed being present once more.

Virgil couldn’t help but be envious of that.

And find it adorable.

Soon, Roman’s tired eyes met Virgil’s own. The prince smiled so sweetly when he saw the anxious teen that Virgil instinctively ducked his own head. The affection almost had him leaping out of the bed and running out the door. Almost.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Virgil teased the sleepy prince, ignoring the faint flush that was settling on his cheeks. The red tint was a frequent feature of his face by now.

“Mmm,” Roman sounded groggily, stretching his muscles to test the state of his sleep-induced body as he sighed, “If I must.”

Virgil sat up, rolling his neck and feeling the sleep drip from his own body. When he looked down at the prince still snuggled into his side, he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Princey,” Virgil insisted, amusement woven into his voice, “You’ve got a ceremony to redo.”

“Do not remind me.”

Virgil huffed a sigh, “What, was there something else more important to do today?”

The light prince pouted, angling his head up to aim his grumpiness at the anxious teen. Virgil raised a questioning eyebrow, holding steady eye contact until the prince relented. Roman rubbed at his eyes, standing with a grunt of displeasure.

“It is good to see you are already dressed,” Roman commented a half-hearted tease, sauntering over to his vanity to examine how the rest had impacted his appearance.

Virgil looked himself up and down, realizing the prince was referring to the stupid fancy daywear Virgil had somehow fallen asleep in. The tight material was hardly comfortable to wear when he was standing, let alone lying down. It had to be a testament to how much of an emotional toll the last few days had taken on him that such discomfort was passable.

“I am, apparently.”

The prince chuckled deeply, carding an anxious hand through his hair before turning on the spot, “If you plan to spend a night here again, we should acquire you some eveningwear. At least something comfortable to sleep in.”

Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to argue, standing from the bed and stretching his back, cursing internally at the aching strain of his displeased muscles.

Roman flicked his hand quickly, and his overly dramatic nightwear transformed into a much more stylish outfit. It was similar to the one the light prince had worn to the original ceremony, only much less decorated in jewels. The prince inspected himself, humming in approval before sauntering towards his extensive walk-in wardrobe to rummage around for accessories.

Virgil scoffed, “Literally why do you have a tailor?”

Roman pulled out a deep-red cloak that was also similar in appearance to the cloak he had worn days prior, but cut higher. Virgil wondered if the prince was trying to lessen the literal weight on his shoulders on top of the metaphorical weight.

Roman smiled cheekily, “Tradition.”

“Tradition is a stupid reason.” Virgil complained.

“To each their own,” Roman chanted, spinning in front of the mirror, inspecting every angle of his new outfit. Once every crease was patted down, he turned to Virgil, instructing, “Let us go and find my brother to inform him of the other traditions we are breaking today!”

Virgil huffed in lieu of the laughter he felt bubbling in his chest, allowing the prince to lead the two of them out of the room with a guiding hand on the small of his back.

Despite being absent from the world for several hours, Roman seemed all too confident tracking down his brother in the egregiously large castle. Which, along with how utterly unpredictable Remus had shown himself to be, led Virgil to the conclusion that there was some ulterior connection between the twins. Or Roman was very good at guesswork.

Eventually, the dark prince was located in an art gallery South of the main entrance hall. Remus held various gaudy fabrics, standing mischievously before an old stature now dressed as a jester. The dark prince was giggling to himself, adjusting the attire.

When he noticed the two newcomers, his face lit up with a concerningly wide smile.

“You’re back!” He shouted, flaying out his arms, letting the fabrics he was holding topple to the ground, and a jester's hat jingling as it hit the floor.

“Is that necessary, Remus?” Roman asked, displeased, crossing his arms and gesturing to the comedic getup.

“No!” Remus nodded enthusiastically, “I wanted to chisel it to be funny but Janus said no.”

The dark prince pointed boldly to the side wall of the room where the snake hybrid was leaning against the wallpaper in between two old paintings.

Seeing Janus again, Virgil felt a spike of fear. He hadn’t seen the hybrid since the ceremony—since Virgil had been attacked—and even though that was supposedly resolved now… looking at the hybrid made it all seem too real again. Like it had only just happened.

Janus pranced up to the three of them, giving Virgil and Roman a quick nod in welcome, before turning to address the dark menace stood amongst the piles of ridiculous clothing, “Carving into a priceless historical artifact is not a good way to maintain good reputation. The current princes are already doing fine with public opinion, after all.”

His voice was smooth. As it always was—hard to read. The hybrid turned to face Virgil, and the anxious teen felt himself flinch under the gaze.

Janus sighed, pulling his arms behind his back, “You needn’t fear me attacking you again.” He told Virgil in a tone so indecipherable that Virgil felt frustration immediately overtake his fear, “I have been told that doing so solves many a problem.”

The dark prince launched himself on top of the hybrid, resting his chin atop Janus’ hat. The hybrid stumbled for a moment as he accommodated the new weight.

“What he means to say,” Remus corrected with a cheeky grin, “Is that he got in trouble and he feels bad.”

Janus tsked at Remus’s words, and looked away from the group. Virgil ran his eyes between the hybrid and the menace of a prince situated on his back.

“Apology… accepted? I think?”

“He’s not going to stab you again—” Remus continued, leaning forward and making the hybrid collapse a little further down, “Unless you ask. Probably. I would stab you if you asked. You should ask me to stab you!”

Janus tilted to his side, letting gravity pull the dark prince onto the floor dramatically and off of his back. The hybrid patted his head when he felt the absence of his hat, and looked down at the dark prince who was clutching it closely to his chest and giggling uncontrollably. Janus sent him a flat look, unimpressed at the thievery.

Virgil would never understand the two of them.

“Anyway,” Roman interrupted the antics, shaking his head at the actions of his ridiculous brother, “We are going to try the Equipoise once more. I think…” the light prince paused for a second, flexing his hands as he scrutinized them intensely, “I think I am capable of completing it now.”

Janus hummed an engaged note, “Today is the final opportunity to do so, you may as well try regardless. The nobility is ready, however, so we will have to—”

“Without an audience,” Roman interrupted, the statement clearly unpredicted as Remus and Janus both glanced at him, “Just this once. Please.”

It was so close to a plea, in a startlingly vulnerable tone, that even Janus seemed caught off-guard. The hybrid rolled his neck before shrugging.

“You are the prince.” He stated, face softened back to unreadably neutral, “The ceremony hall shall be filled at your request.”

Roman’s face relaxed, his shoulders falling as tension released his muscles, “Right.” He sounded, allowing himself a pause before continuing, “Yes, I am the prince, and we will go to the ceremony hall now. Onwards.”

It was uncanny to be in the hall once again, with the evidence of the disaster still scattered amongst the furniture. At once upon entering the room, the light prince silently got to work picking the fallen chairs up, realigning them to their proper positions.

Virgil could tell from the way Roman’s eyebrows twitched and the strained way his smile tugged at his cheeks that he was hiding his true level of stress. In just a few moments, the prince would be back on the pedestal where the mess had originated, where Roman had failed. In an effort to assist in the clean up, Virgil knelt down to straighten some chairs as well, completely ignoring the one laid on its side that Remus had flopped down onto face-first.

With the room tidied, there was no reason to delay the ceremony, and Roman stood rigid and silent in the center of the room. Virgil walked up to him slowly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder that made the prince meet his eyes. There was a sparkle of fear tainting their beauty.

Virgil smiled softly, trying to be as supportive as he could, “Do you want me and Janus to leave or—”

“No, it is fine,” Roman cut him off, placing a hand over the comforting one on his shoulder and taking a deep breath, “I am fine. I would like you here.”

Virgil nodded, using his hand on the prince’s shoulder to turn his body straight towards him. Virgil delicately took a hold of Roman’s injured hand and unwrapped the bandages. Beneath, the red, healing skin showed itself. Virgil rubbed his thumb over it.

“Okay gay people,” Remus mocked behind them. Over Roman’s shoulder, Virgil could see the dark prince already atop his pedestal, “I have eighteen rat traps to set off today and three of them require this to be done so get in your spot Ro-Ro.”

Roman rolled his eyes at his brother’s comment, before giving Virgil a small, anxious smile.

“Wish me luck?” The prince asked, letting go of Virgil and stepping backwards towards his pedestal.

Virgil nodded, “No more thinking, Princey.”

Chapter Text

Virgil found himself in the same seat in the ceremony hall as the last time, feeling a little uncomfortable at the repetition. But, without the whispering weight of the audience surrounding him, he felt lighter. Less watched.

Hopefully Roman felt the same way.

Janus sauntered over beside him, taking the seat to his left and crossing his legs in one smooth motion. The hybrid was silent as his eyes focused front and center.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the silence, “Not going to not-at-all-subtly threaten me this time?”

Janus frowned, not turning his head in the slightest from the direction it was facing, “I would rather let Remus hit me with his mace than have your boyfriend try to chastise me again.”

Virgil felt his face redden considerably at Janus’s words, trying to stutter out some sort of suitable response before being cut off by the hybrid muttering, “Hush. Let us hope this fails.”

Right. A lie.

The two seated teens quietened as the two princes began the Equipoise Ceremony anew.

Without the presence of an audience, it was a wonderful display to watch. Virgil could take the time to appreciate the mystical clashes of light and shadows, the pictures and patterns of magic that painted themselves on the walls as both princes balanced its power.

A couple of times, Virgil saw Roman’s face morph into a grimace before the light prince would shake his head and breath out heavily. A rush of sympathy pounded in Virgil’s chest, knowing exactly how hard the prince was working to expel the negative and overwhelming thoughts trying to cloud his mind. It was a fight that Virgil was so familiar with.

The anxious teen observed the center line where the light and dark met as it fell right atop the nearly transparent King. It was twitching, occasionally pushing in towards the light prince’s side as Roman struggled. It seemed to be making ground, a worrying approach that the light prince made himself quickly aware of.

Roman turned to look at him, a panic settling onto his face. Virgil gave him the sweetest smile he could, throwing out a thumbs up as a cherry on top. The support seemed to calm the light prince down a little, and he closed his eyes to resume his spells. The line inched its way back to the center, finding balance once more. Virgil felt relief rush through his lungs.

An almost silent sigh sounded from Virgil’s side, and the anxious teen realized that the hybrid beside him was also relieved by the balance returning.

But Virgil didn’t care to focus on Janus.

Because as the golden light magic pranced around Roman, whisking his hair lightly like a breeze and emanating a warmth akin to a wildfire, Virgil wanted nothing more than to be lost in the prince’s beauty forever.

Roman was so incredible. In every way.

He was brave, taking on the burdens of title and duty, and remaining loyal to his kingdom and the throne despite the pain and mental turmoil he faced. His magic sparkled like the sun and shone twice as bright, a power that made him feel alive. His smile was so wonderful that it pounded at Virgil’s heart like a drum. Roman wanted nothing more than to make people smile; be the source of joy and wonder that others needed.

And Virgil needed the prince to know how much he meant to him. How much the prince had changed his life.

After a few minutes, the breathtaking display of light and dark began to converge—a spiral of sun and shadow that loomed over the King as his form grew more and more opaque. The King blinked his eyes, finally being awoken as the magics of light and dark faded synchronously away.

As the lights in the room returned to their normal, unaltered state, Roman dropped to his knees and let out the most comically loud sigh of relief Virgil had ever heard, letting his head hang limp. The anxious teen smiled, sidling over to the light prince on the ground and kneeling beside his sunken form.

“Thank the stars,” Roman whispered to himself.

Virgil rolled his eyes affectionately, “Good work, Princey.”

“Yay!” Remus shouted from his side of the front, waving his hands in the air celebratorily, “Now everyone can stop whining about this. Ah, okie dokie, I’ve got lit napalm in my room and I am missing the peak of the flame. Bye-bye!” He announced as he skipped out of the room, clearly occupied by other matters.

The three teenagers in the room exchanged a quick look, before Janus stood from his seat, brushing down his clothing and following after the menace of a dark prince. He gave Roman and Virgil a curt nod of acknowledgement before letting the door shut behind him.

Virgil stared blankly at the door, “That’s concerning. Should we be concerned?”

Roman shrugged, “Janus can handle it.”

Shaking his head, Virgil helped the light prince to a standing position, the two of them finding themselves standing before the King. Romulus had a simple smile on his face as he examined them both.

“You did well, Roman,” The King addressed, leading the light prince to bashfully nod his head at the praise, “Be kind to yourself.”

“I am just glad to have fixed this whole mess,” Roman worded, rubbing at the back of his neck with his injured hand. Vaguely, Virgil acknowledged that the hand should be bandaged and cared for for a few more days at least. But that could wait a moment. “It is wonderful to prove I am worth something after all.”

The smile on Romulus’ face never faltered, but he turned away, “Although you lack the confidence you once had, your power grows stronger than any I have ever seen. Take care, prince of light. I must leave now, I have many duties to catch up on.”

Roman bowed his head at the words. After a month, the dynamic between the King and the princes was one Virgil was only just piecing together. The King looked to him and nodded, and Virgil suddenly felt unbearably awkward, glued to the spot as he tried an unpracticed bow.

Romulus took his leave, wandering off to complete whatever royal duties had piled up over the last few days,

Virgil felt his eyes widen, “Wait—he was conscious the whole time?!”

Roman huffed a laugh, “Indeed. It is only his body that sleeps. His mind is always awake.”

“Oh god.”

“Do not worry yourself too much,” Roman ensured, his hand finding and settling on the small of Virgil’s back, pulling him closer, “He did not seem upset at all. In fact he seemed… fine?”

Roman touched a thoughtful hand to his cheek, his words trailing off confused by the King’s sentiment. Virgil gazed up at the prince, watching the light from the lanterns on the far wall dance around in a back-lit glow.

Without warning, Virgil pulled Roman into a tight hug, reveling in the warmth of Roman. In no time, the prince’s arms were wrapped around Virgil’s waist, returning the embrace, keeping him close and steady. Virgil let his head rest atop the prince’s chest, and he swore he could hear the prince’s heart beating. An even rhythm, if not slightly fast.

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said, squeezing the anxious teen in his arms, “I could not have done this without you.”

“Could too,” Virgil argued back, a light-hearted tease to his words, “You were just thinking too hard.”

“Says you.”

Virgil pulled his head back, remaining in the prince’s arms but looking up to his face, “Yeah, I do. I’m a hypocrite but I’m right, Princey.”

Roman laughed, leaning his head forward so that their foreheads gently touched, “Bringing you here was the best spell I have ever cast.”

Virgil felt his face burn, a stutter in his heart’s beat as a smile shone forth from his face, leaning up into the prince’s touch.

“And you’re the best dream I’ve ever had.”

At his words, the prince leaned down, and Virgil felt a pair of lips on his own.

In a moment, Virgil closed his eyes, let himself soak in the feeling of the warmth, wrapping his arms around Roman’s neck to pull him closer.

Like everything else about Roman, his kiss was warm and bright. It tasted of the sun and Virgil could feel the prince’s rapid pulsing heart echo in his ears.

When they parted, Virgil’s eyes locked onto the prince’s, seeing the emphatic, sparkling light amongst the green hues as Roman’s face shone red. Virgil was sure his own face was redder than anything as he held his prince close.

His life of nightmares was over.