Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism , he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!  

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two , is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name. 

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people , I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

Chapter Text

Virgil wakes up to the sound of birds singing, and he doesn't recognize the room he's in. Even before he opens his eyes he knows it's not his bedroom, and this isn't his bed. The sunlight is coming from the wrong direction, and this isn't his blanket. It's the wrong texture, the wrong weight.

Where did he fall asleep last night?

He doesn't remember. It's too early for remembering, for discerning the difference between dreams and memories.

But he's awake now—he's sure he's awake now, not dreaming—and this is not his bed, is not his blanket.

Virgil opens his eyes. He's on a couch, with a throw pillow under his head and a quilt on top of him. The room is dim, barely illuminated by the morning light coming in through the gaps in the blinds, but Virgil can see another couch across the room, with a person-shaped lump under another blanket.

Slowly, Virgil sits up and looks around. He sees an armchair, in which is yet another person, splayed out in a position that does not look comfortable, and yet, apparently, sound asleep.

There are three more people asleep on the floor between Virgil’s couch and the other couch, mostly on top of some kind of mats on the floor, and more or less covered with more blankets.

Virgil picks his way across the sleeping-people-and-bedding-strewn floor, and slips out the door into the rest of the house.

Last night is coming back to him, now. He remembers the party wrapping up, and Princey explaining that anyone too drunk or tired to drive home safely, or who just didn't want to try to travel after midnight, could spend the night.

Virgil hadn't wanted to stay, but apparently Remus had forgotten to take Virgil’s wants into consideration, and had vanished with his husband behind closed doors some time prior, leaving him stranded. So, Virgil had laid claim to one of the couches, taken the pool noodles out of his costume, and made the best of it.

The couch had been pretty comfortable, actually. It was not the worst sleepover he'd ever had, despite the impromptu-ness of it.

Remus probably isn't awake yet. It's early, and Remus has never been a morning person even when he didn't have an exciting night. Which means that Virgil’s going to be stuck here for another few hours at least. Fabulous. Hopefully Remus's twin and the other hosts don't mind him hanging around until Remus gets his lazy ass out of bed to drive him home.

Virgil finds a bathroom and uses it, and then considers going back to the couch and trying to get some more sleep.

He doesn't want to.

The couch is comfortable, but it isn't his bed, and that isn't his bedroom, and there are at least five other people in there and he's no longer exhausted enough to not care about falling asleep with five fucking strangers in the room with him, not to mention however many other people are in the rest of the house. Sure, they're all asleep right now, probably, but if he goes back to sleep, there's every chance they'll wake up before him, and he doesn't know them, doesn't know what they'd think would be a funny prank to play on the guy who fell asleep at a party, and–

He's spiraling. Virgil is spiraling and he needs to stop before he has a panic attack in a stranger's bathroom. He takes a deep breath, looks at the sink and the water that's been running over his hands for a minute now. He considers splashing some water on his face, but he doesn't actually want to do that, so instead he takes some soap (he doesn't remember if he soaped up already, but it won't hurt to do it twice) and finishes washing his hands.

He'll be okay.

He was asleep here already, in a room full of strangers, and no-one did anything. Sure, they were all too passed out to do anything, but still. No-one had played any pranks on him while he slept.

And he's awake now. He can wait until Remus gets up, and then he can make Remus take him home, and he can lock the door and take a nap in his own fucking bed, alone.

Yeah.

He'll be okay.

Virgil exits the bathroom, and doesn't go back to the room he'd slept in. He wanders in the other direction instead, and soon comes to the main room that had been the epicenter of the party.

To his surprise, he's not the only one there.

“Good morning, Virgil,” greets a man who Virgil is pretty sure he has never seen before in his life.

“Good morning,” Virgil replies automatically, his brain whirling, trying to figure out how this man knows his name. Not from work, Virgil doesn't introduce himself to customers and he “lost” his nametag ages ago.

He tries to scrutinize the man without being obvious. He has glasses with simple black frames, nothing particularly memorable or eye-catching about them. He's wearing a polo shirt and a tie, at early o'clock in the morning, while also still wearing what are clearly pajama pants.

The pants are patterned with—Virgil squints—are those beakers? They are. And microscopes, and atoms. Okay, dude's definitely a nerd then, noted.

Nerd…

Nerd-Bot!

That's why Virgil didn't recognize him, he had a box on his head last night! Granted, Virgil probably wouldn't recognize ninety percent of the people at the party if he saw them again out of costume—ninety-nine, if he's being perfectly honest, and it only isn't higher because he already knew Remus and Janus, and he might be capable of recognizing Princey and Calico now, at least in the context of this house—but he'd never even seen this guy's face.

He'd introduced himself to Virgil. Nobody else had done that. “Hello, I am—” Virgil can't remember what he'd said his name was— “I am dressed as a robot.” (It had been pretty obvious he was dressed as a robot.)

And Virgil had responded in kind, “I'm Virgil, I'm a spider.”

That was how he knew Virgil’s name. Good, mystery solved. What was his name though? Virgil isn't very good with names. That particular bit of the memory is nothing but static and an impression of the man's tone.

Princey had called him Nerdbot, and Calculator Watch and Encyclopedia Brain and half a dozen other nicknames that aren't coming to mind now, so him coming back and striking up a conversation hadn't been much help on the ‘remembering names’ front.

“Are you hungry?” Nerdbot asks, interrupting Virgil’s thoughts. “There's cereal, and toast, and coffee. We had not anticipated anyone but myself being up this early, but there will also be pancakes and scrambled eggs in an hour or two.”

Virgil blinks. “You're making us breakfast?”

“Of course,” Nerdbot replies impassively. “It would not be very hospitable to send guests away hungry. If you would prefer, there are also leftovers of most of the hors d'oeuvres served last evening.”

Virgil has never been to a party that included breakfast before. “I– cereal?”

“Certainly,” Nerdbot says, and gestures for Virgil to follow him into the next room. It's a kitchen, and Nerdbot opens a cabinet and takes out an entire stack of cereal bowls. “If you wouldn't mind setting these on the table out there, I would appreciate it,” he says, handing the bowls to Virgil.

Virgil takes the bowls back out to the main room and puts them on the snack table, which is otherwise mostly bare. The paper tablecloth is gone, and all the food's been put away, but there's still the stack of cups that had been beside the punch bowls, and some water bottles. Virgil snags one and slips it into his hoodie pocket.

Nerdbot comes out of the kitchen behind him and sets several cereal boxes on the table beside the bowls. “Might as well start getting it set up now,” he explains. “Take your pick, I'll be right back.” And he disappears back into the kitchen.

Dang, they've even got name brand cereal. Virgil usually gets the off-brand stuff, because it's cheaper and doesn't taste very different. He pours himself a bowl of lucky charms.

Nerdbot returns with a jug of milk and a handful of spoons. “Would you like juice?” he asks. “We have orange, apple, and a blend that is primarily peach. There is also chocolate milk, if you would prefer.”

Virgil shook his head. “Water’s fine.”

“Very well.” Nerdbot picks up one of the bottles and places it beside Virgil’s bowl, then returns to his seat.

Virgil adds milk to his cereal, takes the second water bottle, and looks around to see where to sit. There aren't any chairs at the snack table, but there are several around the edges of the room, along with a couple stools and the armchair Nerdbot is sitting in. He's got a mug and a plate of toast on the side table beside him, and one of the dining chairs is on the other side, so Virgil decides to sit there.

They eat together in awkward silence. Neither attempts to make conversation.

When Virgil finishes his cereal, he asks, “Where should I put my dishes?”

Nerdbot looks up. “Oh, you can put them in the dishwasher,” he says. “Please rinse your bowl first.”

Virgil does. There's plenty of room in the dishwasher, and he's not sure how they like to load it, and there aren't any other bowls yet to extrapolate from, so he just makes his best guess. The spoon at least is easy. There are several pieces of silverware already in the caddy, handles upward, and Virgil’s spoon joins them.

He returns to the main room.

He sits back down in the dining chair.

He doesn't know what to do now.

Nerdbot finishes his own breakfast, gathers his dishes, and takes them into the kitchen, snagging the milk jug on the way. When he returns, he doesn't sit back down. Instead, he starts taking down one of the purple and orange streamers crisscrossing the ceiling and walls.

“Would you like help?” Virgil offers. Nerdbot glances over his shoulder at him, then nods.

“Much appreciated,” he says with a smile.

Together, they take down all the decorations in this room, throwing away the streamers and piling the more reusable decorations on the small table beside the armchair. When that's done, Nerdbot asks Virgil to help him move the snack table.

“We put it here to make space, but as the majority of the partygoers went home last night, it can go back to its usual location,” he explains, going to one end. Virgil mirrors him on the other end, and they lift.

There had been just enough room to walk between the table and the wall, so you could reach the food on the far side without reaching across the whole table. Careful not to tip anything off, they move the table another foot or so out.

“That looks about right,” Nerdbot says, eyeing the table thoughtfully. He grabs the nearest dining chair and puts it in place, testing that it can be pulled all the way back without hitting the wall. Satisfied, he starts moving the rest of the chairs back.

“Does it matter which ones go where?” Virgil asks. The chairs are a mix of two sets, four of them wooden with white-painted slats and legs, and five made of twisty black metal, with padded seats and backs.

“No,” Nerdbot says, so Virgil just puts the chairs in randomly. Three go on each of the long sides of the table, and one each at either end. The chair Virgil had breakfasted in, which is one of the metal ones, remains where it is.

“Thank you. You have been very helpful,” Nerdbot tells him, and Virgil smiles. Okay, so overall it hadn't been as awkweird a morning as he'd been expecting.

Nerdbot considers the table for a few more moments. “We could add the stools, to squeeze a few more people in,” he muses. “Still, it would be too tight to fit everyone even so.” He turns to Virgil. “Do you think we should get out the extra leaf?”

“Uh.” Virgil hadn't expected to be consulted! “How many people are there?” Counting Virgil there were six in the room where he'd slept, and then he knows Janus and Remus are still here somewhere, plus–

“Fifteen,” Nerdbot says, and doesn't even need to count first. “With the additional leaf, we can seat twelve easily enough, though the corners are a little tight. If we're willing to brush elbows, we can squeeze in a fifth person on each side, for a total of fourteen, which leaves only one person unseated.”

“I can sit out,” Virgil volunteers. He does not want to be squeezed in with a tableful of mostly strangers, thanks much. “I already ate, and that sounds crowded.”

“Hm. I would not want you to feel excluded,” Nerdbot says, eyeing the seating arrangement. “But you're right, it is a tight fit, especially considering the number of people present who talk with their hands. I would also dislike for a glass of juice to be upset into someone's lap.” He sighs. “Again.”

“Does everyone need to eat together?” Virgil asks. 

Nerdbot turns to him, eyebrows raised. “You're right,” he says. “We had not planned a specific breakfast time, and people will be waking at various points, not all together. It is entirely probable that at least three people will be not dining at any given point, in which case we would merely require twelve settings.” He nods decisively. “Excellent. Will you assist me in adding the leaf?”

“Where is it?”

“Under the stairs, with the holiday and seasonal items,” Nerdbot says, walking off. Virgil follows him.

They have to shift a couple boxes to get at the extra leaf, but they get it out, and between the two of them they add it to the table, and then add stools at the resulting gaps.

The inactive silence which follows is less awkward than the one before. Virgil plays a game on his phone.

After a bit, a few more people show up. Nerdbot greets them and offers breakfast. “There is cereal and toast available now,” he tells them, “and we will be making scrambled eggs and pancakes shortly.”

One person takes him up on the cereal, but the others decide to wait for hot food. Nerdbot offers them coffee as well, which they gratefully accept.

The fourth person to arrive is Calico, who is still dressed as a cat. He's a gray cat now, in a simple onesie, instead of the more elaborate costume from last night.

He hugs Nerdbot from behind, mumbling a sleepy “Good morning” into his shoulder blades.

Nerdbot's face softens. “Good morning, love,” he answers fondly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hm,” Calico says, still hugging him. 

“Do you want to get started on the pancakes?” Nerdbot asks.

Calico yawns. “Okay,” he says. He doesn't let go of Nerdbot. Nerdbot pats his hands with an extremely affectionate smile, and slowly, Calico releases him.

Nerdbot turns around and kisses him, and Virgil looks back at the game on his phone because privacy. They probably don't want to be stared at while they kiss in their own dining room.

He glances up again after several seconds of silence, and they're still kissing, frozen in place like a pair of statues. The Lovers, or whatever. Virgil returns to his game.

Eventually, he hears Calico say, “You took the decorations down,” and he looks up. They're hugging now, Calico wrapped up in Nerdbot's arms. He's pouting a little.

“I did,” Nerdbot confirms. “As we agreed previously, the season for Halloween is All Of October. It is November first, and therefore no longer Halloween time. Furthermore, while some guests remain, the party has ended, and there is no more need for party decorations.”

Calico pouts harder, and Nerdbot kisses him again, much more briefly this time.

“After breakfast, I will assist you in putting up more decorations,” he says. “You will note that I did not remove any general fall decor, only the specific Halloween items.”

This room had mostly been Halloween and party, though. There was a cross-stitched leafy picture on the wall, but they'd taken most everything else down. Maybe some of the little stuffed jack-o-lanterns should have stayed out? Pumpkins were definitely general fall, but jack-o-lanterns were specifically Halloween, right?

Well, they're just on the table, not packed away. If he wants to, Calico can put them back easily enough.

Calico hums a little, squeezing Nerdbot. “Okay,” he says. “I'll get started on the pancakes. Will you make the eggs?”

“Of course,” Nerdbot says, and they head into the kitchen.

While they're cooking, Virgil is surprised by the appearance of someone else he recognizes.

“Hey, it’s my favorite barista!” greets the man who is, as always, wearing sunglasses.

Virgil grins. “What are you doing up before noon, you chronic insomniac?” he returns.

“Looking for coffee, obviously. What are my options today?”

“There's sugar and cream,” Virgil says, since Nerdbot had offered those. “I doubt there's a milk steamer or flavored syrups, but our host is an excellent cook, so if he likes you enough to let you raid his spice cabinet I'm sure there's cinnamon and ginger, so you could attempt an approximation of pumpkin spice.”

Remy grins at him and saunters into the kitchen. He comes back a few moments later not with dry spices but with a bottle of creamer, which he pours generously into a mug before adding coffee.

He plops himself down in Nerdbot's armchair and makes casual conversation with Virgil, who doesn't have to tell him he can't talk now, he's working and there are other customers.

It's nice.

Chapter Text

The pancakes are delicious, light and fluffy. Virgil only has two, because he did already have cereal and unlike Remus his stomach is not a bottomless pit into which he can pour an unending stream of nutrients. But they're delicious, and he's glad Calico convinced him to try a bit.

After breakfast, Virgil helps with the dishes because Remus still isn't up yet, and neither is Janus—probably still curled around him like a hot water bottle—and he has nothing better to do.

Princey meanders in after him, and despite having just demolished an entire stack of pancakes and a decent amount of scrambled eggs, starts rooting around in the fridge. He emerges with a plastic-wrapped plate of tiny pumpkin pies and leans against the counter to eat them directly off the platter, clearly pleased that the party having ended means he can have the leftovers.

“So you're the reason the chinese buffet has a twenty plate limit,” Virgil teases after Princey eats several in a row without pausing. Virgil had a few of those tiny pies last night, so he knows they're good, but Princey is absolutely chowing down on them.

“Hey, that was not my fault!” Princey protests. “Besides, a place that calls itself ‘all you can eat’ shouldn't even have a limit.”

“It shouldn’t,” Virgil agrees. “But I've never hit the limit myself, so I thought it was reasonably high. I suppose that a buffet operating in the same town as twin black holes would need to be cautious to protect their profit margins though. How much did you two pack away before they asked you to stop?”

“Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy,” Princey says. “Anyway, it really wasn't us.”

“No?”

Princey sighs. “No, Count Woe-laf,” he says. He is just too much fun to tease. “If my father is to be believed, it was actually him and a couple of his college buddies.”

Virgil laughs. “Oh, so it's definitely genetic, then!”

Princey chuckles, popping the last tiny pie into his mouth and setting the plate on the counter. Virgil takes it and rinses it off so he can put it in the dishwasher with the others. “Yeah. Dad says they absolutely cleared out the seafood section, and most of the mac and cheese, and ate a sizable portion of pretty much everything else. If you get him going, he'll give you a very long and probably quite embellished retelling of the many courses they had. They never got kicked out, but the next time they went, they were told that there was now a limit to just how much they could eat.”

“Ah, alas,” Virgil says. “I bet it was a fabulous feast, though.” He finishes loading the dishwasher and checks under the sink for soap. They have pods, which is very convenient for measuring, or rather for not having to do that. He pops one in and turns the machine on.

“So, if I'm Count Olaf antagonizing you, which Baudelaire does that make you?” he asks. “Not bookish Klaus, surely. Maybe Sunny? I think she could demolish a plate as quickly as you, though her small stomach wouldn't have the same capacity.”

Princey's eyes light up and he leans forward. Instead of answering the banter, he says meaningfully, “I have the full series on dvd.”

“I'm not doing anything right now,” Virgil says. Princey beams.

“Great! I'll make popcorn!”

~

They have a dedicated home theater . The tv is large, the seats are comfortable, and the speakers are crisp and clear without being too loud. Princey made a bucket of popcorn for each of them, and Virgil isn't very hungry right now considering he very recently had breakfast, but he munches idly on it as they watch, and comment, and theorize. Princey is fun to watch tv with, and doesn't mind Virgil talking while they watch.

They're in the middle of an episode when Remus appears in the doorway.

“Hey Emo,” says Remus. “I gotta get home and feed my cat before she figures out how to unlock the front door and hunts me down. I was gonna take you home on the way, but it looks like you're in the middle of something.”

Virgil considers. He looks at the screen, where Lemony Snicket is explaining that if you're allergic to something, it's generally best not to put that thing in your mouth, especially if the thing you are allergic to is a cat. He looks back at Remus. “You swear you'll come back for me?”

“On my favorite dildo and Janus's two cocks,” Remus says with feeling, and Virgil can't help the chuckle that escapes him.

“I'll be okay,” he says. “Go get Diesel Fuel her lunch.”

Remus salutes him and disappears.

They finish the episode and Remus hasn't come back yet, so they go on to the next one. During the theme song though, Nerdbot appears to inform them that they too need to eat lunch.

Virgil thought Princey might protest, given how invested he's been, but he pauses the show and gets up. “C’mon, Tall Dark and Stormy,” he says to Virgil. “If we skip lunch to watch tv all day we get a lecture about why proper nutrition is important.”

“You do,” Nerdbot confirms. “Points of note include the necessity of proteins and vegetables in addition to carbohydrates.”

“Is popcorn a vegetable?” Virgil asks.

Nerdbot raises an eyebrow. “It is a carbohydrate, actually. It is also primarily air.”

It seems that all the other guests have gone home, so it's just the four of them now. The table is back to its smaller size, and Princey has Virgil sit at the corner beside him, so they can keep talking. Nerdbot sits on Virgil’s other side, and Calico sits at the head, across from Princey.

Lunch is baked chicken and a vegetable dish that Virgil doesn't really expect to like, but he takes a polite spoonful anyway because he's sure Nerdbot is capable of a very powerful ‘eat your vegetables’ lecture, and he doesn't feel like hearing it right now.

The vegetables do not taste bad. Virgil’s not sure why he's surprised anymore considering everything he's eaten in this house so far—with the possible exception of the cereal, which doesn't count—but the vegetables are the opposite of bad.

“Why are you such a good cook,” Virgil says to Calico, who brightens. “I need to come eat your food more often.”

“He has a magical tongue,” Princey says, making heart eyes across the table at him.

Calico blushes slightly (not nearly as deeply as he had last night) and clarifies, “I'm very good at tasting, and I have a lot of practice combining flavors. I'm also not afraid of fats and salt, and that helps.”

Virgil has two servings.

Remus still isn't back yet when they finish lunch, and Virgil is starting to get concerned.

Don't forget me, he texts, and goes into the room with the couches to wait.

This couch really is comfortable. And Virgil got barely any sleep last night, between staying up late and waking up so fucking early, and also probably never actually falling into a deep sleep at all since there were other people in the room. And his stomach is full and warm. And the couch is so comfortable. 

He barely has time to notice how heavy his eyelids are becoming.

~

Virgil wakes, briefly. The room is dark. Someone has covered him with a blanket. He finds his phone and checks it. There's a message from Remus, about half an hour after Virgil’s last text.

came to get you but you were very asleep, it says. text me when youre awake and wanna go home

Attached is a selfie, with Virgil in the background passed out on the couch.

Virgil groans. fucker, he texts back, and falls back asleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Virgil wakes not to birdsong, but to the sound of his alarm.

Blech, mornings. Morning jobs are evil and should be abolished.

Virgil reaches for his phone, but it isn't on the nightstand where it's supposed to be. The nightstand isn't on the floor where it's supposed to be. Virgil reaches out further, searching, and overbalances.

He falls.

This is going to hurt .

Virgil lands, and the floor is a lot closer than it's supposed to be, and also a lot cleaner. The wind is still knocked out of him, but he didn’t land on anything but carpet. It's carpet that was recently vacuumed, even, judging by the lack of dusty smell.

Too many things are not how they are supposed to be. Virgil opens his eyes and looks around.

This isn't his bedroom.

The alarm is still going off. Virgil spots his phone on the floor near him, and he turns off the alarm.

This isn't his bedroom. Virgil yawns. He'd been sleeping on a couch, but it wasn't his couch, either.

Oh, yeah. He'd fallen asleep at Remus's brother's house again. Oops.

…

He has work.

He hadn't meant to still be here right now. He's supposed to be in his own bed, in his own tiny apartment, sleepily snoozing his alarm. Not here.

He'll have to figure out a different bus route. Does the bus even go by here? He's pulling up the bus schedule when his phone informs him that it has been way too long since he plugged it in, and fucking dies.

“Fuck,” Virgil whispers, with feeling, and then again, a little louder, “Fuck!”

He scrambles off the floor, trying to think. An adrenaline spike does wonders for chasing the sleep-fog out of his brain, but it doesn't usher in logic.

Deep breath. Okay. What does he need?

He needs to get to work on time.

Breathe.

What are his obstacles, and what can he do about them?

Problem: He's not home to catch the bus. Solution: Catch the bus from here. Problem: He doesn't know if the bus goes by here or which one or when or what connections he'd need to make. Solution: Look it up. Problem: His phone is dead. Solution: Plug it in. Problem: No charger. Solution: …

Solution: …

Solution: Ask for fucking help.

Virgil spins and leaves the room. They might not have a charger that'll fit his phone, and it would take too long to get it to a level where he can actually look anything up anyway, but they can at least tell him if there's a bus stop nearby. They might even be willing to look up connections for him.

Luckily for Virgil, his hosts are all in the dining room when he bursts in.

“Good morning,” Calico says, already looking concerned. “What's wrong?”

“Is there a bus?” Virgil asks.

“A what?”

“A bus,” Virgil repeats. “A bus, does a bus go by here? I have work, I'm going to be late, and I can't look up the bus schedule because my phone is dead!”

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Calico says soothingly, and Virgil wants to scream because it is not okay, he's going to be late for work. He doesn't scream, because that would not be helpful and Calico is just trying to be nice, but he wants to. “Roman can drive you. Right, Roman?”

“Absolutely,” says Princey, whose name is apparently Roman, and gets up. “I'll get my keys.”

Calico portions out some omelette from the pan in the middle of the table, and gives it to Virgil. “Here, eat,” he insists. “You slept through dinner, you shouldn't miss breakfast too.”

Virgil scarfs it mechanically. If Princey is going to drive him, he probably has enough time to eat, but the lingering edges of panic tell him not to waste any time savoring the flavors.

“Do you have any things you need to gather before you go?” Nerdbot asks. Virgil shakes his head.

Well. “My pool noodles I guess,” he says. He probably shouldn't just leave those here for them to clean up. Nerdbot nods and leaves the table as well.

Roman comes back as Virgil finishes the plate of omelette. “Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Nerdbot hands Virgil the pool noodles, and Calico hands him a buttered bagel. “Eat it on the way,” he says. Princey leads Virgil out to the garage, and they get in his car.

It's red, and fancy-shaped, with a swoopy silhouette instead of what Virgil considers the car default.

Roman hands Virgil his phone once he's buckled, open to the map app, and starts to back out of the garage.

Virgil hesitates. “Can we stop at my place first?” he asks. “I could really use a change of clothes.” He'd really rather not go to work in a Halloween costume he's been wearing for over thirty-six hours.

“Sure,” Princey says. “Which way?”

Virgil puts in his address, and the phone gives him directions. “Left,” he says, the tight band of anxiety finally loosing from around his lungs. It's not entirely gone yet, and won't be until he clocks in, but he's doing better. Princey pulls out of the driveway, and they're off.

Soon, they're pulling up in front of Virgil’s apartment. He'd managed to eat the bagel and navigate at the same time, and they've arrived a bit before Virgil is usually out the door. He really might make it to work on time.

“I'll wait here while you run up and get changed,” Roman says, and Virgil nods. He shifts the pool noodles so he's holding them with the same arm as the phone, and uses his other hand to open the car door.

He dashes up the stairs, unlocks his door at the speed of fright, and dumps his armload on his bed. Virgil strips quickly, and grabs his apron and the first set of clean clothes he sees. He wishes there was time for a shower, but there really isn't. Even if there was, he isn't about to make Princey wait that long for him.

He smears some black eyeshadow on to hide the tired bags under his eyes, grabs his necessities from his previous pockets, and he's back out the door.

“Very fast,” Princey compliments as Virgil rejoins him. “I saw a bus go by.”

“Yeah, that was my usual ride to work,” Virgil says, buckling up. “We can take a more direct route and beat them there. Head out the way you came in, and then take a right at the light.”

They do, in fact, beat the bus there. Virgil heaves a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, man,” he says. “I owe you my life. Do you want some coffee? I can give you my employee discount.”

Roman smiles at him. “I would love some coffee,” he says, and turns off the engine.

There aren't any other customers in line when they go in, just Jayden behind the register.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he greets. Virgil rolls his eyes and comes round to clock in.

“Oh my gosh I love your hair,” Roman enthuses. “That is absolutely gorgeous, did you do it yourself?”

Jay's hair is gorgeous. It's mostly dyed in deep shades of blue, with a few streaks of greens and purples and the natural black. He has it in at least fifty slender box braids, which today are tied back in a loose plait running down his back. 

“Oh, no, my friends and I had a styling party,” he answers, which is the short version of the truth he uses for casual conversation with customers—especially white customers. Virgil happens to know that said styling party had been stretched out over more than a week, working their hair in increments so as not to damage it. Virgil had been invited to a few of the sessions, and is responsible for several of Jayden's braids, and some of the color.

“That is a fabulous idea; I should arrange one the next time I dye my hair,” Princey exclaims. “I've been planning to do it in every color of the rainbow!”

“Nice,” Virgil says. Princey's ear-length hair is currently what appears to be a natural brown, with reddish tips. “Stripes running front to back or side to side?”

“You know, I hadn't considered that part,” Princey says, and Virgil laughs. “What do you think?”

Virgil shrugs, and Jay considers Roman.

“Front to back, with the red on top and purple over your ears,” he says. “Perhaps with the red a bit off-center so the stripes are different sizes. That way if it’s not perfect it'll look intentional.”

Roman grins. “I like you,” he declares. “Do you want to come to my styling party?”

Jayden grins back. “Let me know when you plan it and I'll check my calendar.”

“Have you ever dyed your hair?” Roman asks Virgil, whose hair is in fact currently dyed.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, then admits, “I'm actually blond.”

“You're blond!?” Princey cries. “Oh, that is unfair, Gerard Gay! Please trade with me, I beg of you!”

“Why?” Virgil asks.

“Because then I wouldn't have to bleach!” Roman says. “I could redye my hair as soon as the roots grew out, rather than having to wait until enough has grown that I can bleach it without touching the last dye job!”

“Well, unfortunately I don't know how to trade hair colors,” Virgil says. “I think it's genetic.”

Roman groans dramatically, slumping against the counter. “The world is against me,” he complains into the glass. “You wouldn't even miss it, you dye it black! Brown is as easy to make black as blond! Easier, probably!”

Virgil reaches over and pats him sarcastically on the shoulder. “There, there,” he says. “Would coffee make you feel better?” That is why they'd come in here, after all.

“No,” Roman says grumpily, but he straightens and looks at the menu.

“Give him my discount,” Virgil says to Jayden while Roman decides. Jay flashes him a thumbs-up.

“Are the chocolate croissants good?” Roman asks.

“Not as good as what you're served at home, but yeah.”

“Hmmm.” He considers a bit longer, then orders a croissant and, with a decent amount of dithering over flavors, three coffees to go.

Jayden tells him the total and Roman pays, dropping his change and some extra bills into the tip jar. Virgil passes him the croissant, and he eats it while Virgil finishes making the coffee.

“You want a carrier for these?” Virgil asks, already putting them in one. Roman's only got two hands, after all.

“Probably best,” Roman agrees, and Virgil slides the coffee over to him. “Do you need a ride home after work?”

“Nah, I'll take the bus,” Virgil reassures him.

“Alright, if you're sure. See you later!” Princey balances the coffees in one hand so he can wave with the other, and he's off.

“So,” Jay says once the door closes behind him. “Where'd you get the suave edition of your trash rat?”

“Two-for-one special,” Virgil says. “Met him at a Halloween party Remus dragged me to.”

“Well, keep him.” Jayden nods toward the door. “Man just tipped us double what I charged him.”

Chapter Text

The rest of Virgil’s shift is about average, which means he's tired at the end but not ready to drop dead of exhaustion, and he catches the bus home like usual. He'd charged his phone at work, so he's able to put his travel earbuds in and drown out the various noises of mass transit with the dulcet tones of MCR.

Soon enough, he's home. He drops his apron in the hamper—he'd gotten splashed with coffee, so he's gonna need to do laundry tonight—and flops into bed.

The pool noodles are still there from this morning, which makes the flop considerably less pleasant than usual. Virgil tugs them out from underneath himself and drops them on the floor, settling back again. Man, he's tired. In a bit, he'll have to get up and do something about dinner, and start that load of laundry, but for now, he's just gonna be flopped for a bit.

Virgil lies there for a few minutes.

One of the springs is poking into his back. Virgil shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. He may not have wanted to stay for so long, but his back sure hadn't protested sleeping on a softer surface for a few nights.

The spring is persistent, and Virgil slides a hand under his back to see if he can adjust it.

It's not a spring.

Virgil sits up and looks. Lying innocently on the bed behind him is a phone. It isn't Virgil’s phone. Virgil’s phone has a black and purple case, and it's still in his pocket anyway. This phone is red and gold and sparkly. 

It's Roman's phone.

Well, fuck.

Virgil is a thief. He's a damn thief! Roman took time out of his own morning to drive him to work, and Virgil repaid him by stealing his phone! How could he!?

Virgil is going to die of shame. He really is. He's the worst houseguest ever. He didn't bother to learn their names beforehand—hell, he still only knows one name out of three even after being there for days , he showed up in an inappropriate costume that he's lucky didn't trigger Calico's arachnophobia, he stayed way longer than he was supposed to, he inconvenienced Roman and used him as a private chauffeur, and then, to top it all off, Virgil stole his phone.

How is he supposed to get Roman's phone back to him!? He can't text him, he doesn't know Roman's number and anyway Roman doesn't have his phone with which to receive a text.

He could text Remus. Remus would probably find the accidental theft hilarious. He also might just respond LOL and not help him return it nor inform Princey of its location.

Virgil’s out of ideas. He frowns at the stolen phone.

Well.

Maybe he has one more idea.

He can't text Princey, but maybe he can text Nerdbot or Calico .

Surely Princey has their numbers. Virgil can text them from his phone, and explain the situation. Mentally trying to compose the text, Virgil picks up the sparkly phone.

It's locked.

Part of Virgil wants to give up. He tried, he failed, time for bed.

He needs a number combination. Maybe Princey did the smart thing and came up with something unique, but maybe…

Virgil tries Remus's birthday, which is, after all, also Princey's birthday. The lock screen cuts him off after just four digits and says that nope, that wasn't it. Virgil tries just the year.

The phone unlocks.

“That is not a very secure passcode,” Virgil tells it. “Anyone could guess that, all they need to know is how old you are.”

Princey's phone is still open to the map app, and the route they'd taken from his house to Virgil’s apartment is still up. It had been a pretty quick trip, only a few miles.

Virgil has another idea.

Five minutes later, Virgil is on his bike, following the route in reverse. He doesn't dare touch any buttons and risk losing the starting position, so he can't ask for a route intended for bikes instead of cars, but he has the blue dot of his current location, and when he has to detour around a too-busy road with no bike lane or sidewalks, he's able to navigate back to the route without undue difficulty.

Soon, Virgil is pedaling up the driveway. He parks his bike in front of the porch, takes a steadying breath, and knocks on the door.

Nerdbot answers the door. “Virgil, hi,” he greets, looking mildly surprised to see him. Which, fair, they just got rid of him this morning.

“Hi,” Virgil says, trying to look past him without being obvious and rude about it. “Uh, is Roman home?”

Nerdbot raises an eyebrow at him, but nods and gestures for Virgil to step into the foyer. “Roman?” he calls into the rest of the house.

“Whaat?” Roman calls back from another room. He pops round the doorframe, and Nerdbot gestures to Virgil. “Scaramour!” Roman says, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “What brings you here?”

“My bike,” Virgil quips. He holds up the accidentally stolen phone, and Roman lights up.

“You found it!” he cries, bounding over and snatching his phone out of Virgil’s hand. “Oh, I have been looking for this, where was it?”

“At my place,” Virgil admits.

“Huh,” says Princey, and, “Oops.”

Virgil’s about to apologize for accidentally stealing Roman's phone, when thunder rolls and the sky, which had gotten increasingly cloudy on the way over, opens up.

Roman shoves his phone back at Virgil, who only doesn't drop it due to luck and reflexes, and dashes out into the sudden rain. Before Virgil can process what's happening, Roman grabs Virgil’s bicycle and hauls it bodily up the porch steps and through the front door.

“...What,” Virgil says.

“You are my dark and stormy knight on shining bicycle,” Princey proclaims. “You have done me a great service by locating and returning my phone, and it would be dishonorable to send you home in such weather. Nor shall I allow your noble steed to rust!” He slicks his dampened hair back from his face. “I must insist that you grace us with your company until the storm passes.”

Virgil looks to Nerdbot for help. Nerdbot looks out the door at the rain. “I agree, this certainly isn't biking weather,” he says. “Have you had dinner?”

“Um,” says Virgil, feeling quite off-balance. “No?”

Nerdbot nods decisively and closes the door. “We were just sitting down to eat. I insist you join us.” He ushers Virgil into the dining room and says to Calico, “Please set another place, Patton. We have a guest.”

“Oh!” Calico—Patton?—says, smiling at Virgil. “Welcome back!”

“Hi,” Virgil says, and lets Nerdbot seat him, and lets Calico put a plate in front of him.

The rain doesn't let up all through dinner. In fact, it's pouring harder at the end of the meal than it had been at the start.

Nerdbot pulls up a weather forecast and frowns. “It looks like we're going to continue having heavy rain all night,” he says. “We currently have a flash flood warning until five in the morning tomorrow. ‘Do not attempt to travel unless you are fleeing a flooded area.’” He looks up at Virgil. “I'm sorry for the abrupt change in plans, but it looks like you're going to have to stay the night again.”

“Oh,” Virgil says. “Sorry.” He'd just meant to return the phone and apologize, but because of the rain they had to feed him again and now they have to put up with him for a whole nother night!

“It's no imposition,” Nerdbot reassures. “I'll prepare a guest room for you, and Patton can find you a spare set of pajamas.”

“Thanks,” says Virgil weakly. They're much better hosts than he deserves. He could have just slept on the couch again.

Nerdbot smiles at him. “You are welcome,” he says. “Roman, will you clear the table?”

Roman pouts, and Virgil offers, “I'll help.” It's the least he can do.

“Do you have work in the morning?” Roman asks while he puts away the leftovers and Virgil does the dishes.

“Yeah.”

“I'll drive you. Do you wanna stop by your place again, or wash your clothes here so you can wear them tomorrow?”

Fuck. Virgil winces. “I was going to do laundry tonight,” he remembers aloud. “My uniform is dirty, so I was going to wash it!”

“Oh no!” Roman says. “Do you have a spare?”

“I… I guess there's one at work I can borrow,” Virgil says, relaxing slightly. Yeah. He can do that, and then he can do laundry tomorrow.

Calico comes back with an armful of pajamas. “I think these should fit you,” he says, handing them to Virgil. “They might be a little loose.”

“I like loose,” Virgil reassures him. He hesitates. “Is… do you think I could take a shower?” He hasn't had one in days, and honestly he's feeling pretty gross.

“Probably?” Calico says. He starts back the way he'd come. “Logan?” he calls.

There's a muffled reply, and Patton leads Virgil up the stairs. “Logan?” he calls again as they reach the top.

Nerdbot steps out of one of the several doorways lining the long upstairs hallway. “What?” he asks.

“Is it safe to take a shower?”

“It's not ideal,” Nerdbot says, “but as the thunderstorm appears to have given way to just rain, we're unlikely to have a lightning strike. Go ahead.”

Patton smiles up at Virgil. “I'll get you a towel!” He opens one of the other doors, which leads to a stuffed linen closet, and hands Virgil a fluffy blue towel. “The bathroom's at the end of the hall,” he says, pointing. “Take as long as you need, we've got a big water heater.”

“Thanks,” Virgil says, and absconds into the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and sets his pile of borrowed clothes on the floor. Then he strips and enjoys a nice hot shower.

Their water pressure is great. Virgil stays under the spray far longer than is necessary to scrub the grime from his skin. When he steps out, Virgil is squeaky clean, and the most relaxed he's been all day.

Time to see what kind of pajamas Calico picked out for him.

Long pajama pants the same style as Logan's nerdy ones, but plaid this time, both a long-sleeved and a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of boxer briefs. Virgil debates, but eventually decides that someone else's clean underwear is better than his own dirty underwear, and puts them on. He wonders for a moment whose boxers they are, but shuts that thought down. He doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to know.

There's also a rolled pair of ankle socks, a stocking cap, and a hairband. Patton really wanted to cover all his bases, huh?

Virgil puts on the pants and the long-sleeved shirt, but leaves the rest. They are loose, but not too much more than his own pajamas.

Virgil hangs his damp towel on the open hook beside the other towels, gathers everything else up, and slips out.

Logan had said he would prepare a guest room for him. Virgil figures his best guess would be the room he'd seen Logan come out of. It is indeed a bedroom, with the bed made and the covers turned down invitingly, and there's an unopened water bottle on the nightstand.

This is probably the right room. There's not really any personal stuff in it, so it's really unlikely this is someone else's bedroom.

If it's not the right room, they can tell him later that he was wrong and fucked it up. Virgil puts his dirty clothes on the floor, then cracks open the water bottle and sits down on the bed to have a sip.

What is this mattress made of, cotton candy!? It's soft and he sinks right in. He can't feel the springs at all. Virgil puts his water back on the nightstand and lies down.

He is in heaven.

Objectively, Virgil is in heaven right now. He is lying on a cloud, and it is the most comfortable surface he has ever laid upon. He is never getting up. He's not even near ready to go to sleep yet, but he's never getting up. They'll have to pry him out of this bed with a crowbar. This might be a problem for Future Virgil, when he has to get up for work or, like, to pee, but Future Virgil can suck a dick.

Around an hour later, there's a soft knock and Patton peeks in through the open door. Seeing that Virgil is still up and on his phone, he tiptoes exaggeratedly across the floor. “Sneak, sneak, I'm not here,” he whispers. “I'm just gonna steal your clothes to wash them so they're ready for you tomorrow, okay? I'll empty the pockets first so I don't accidentally destroy anything important.”

“’Kay,” Virgil says.

Patton empties Virgil’s pockets onto the nightstand, and then bundles up the clothes. “Thievery!” he declares softly, scampering away with Virgil’s dirty laundry. Virgil’s lips twitch and he holds back a giggle. Patton pauses at the doorway and asks in a perfectly normal tone, “Do you want me to turn off the light?”

“Sure,” Virgil says. Might as well, and it'll save him the trip. Or the falling asleep with the light on, rather, since he's never leaving this bed.

Patton turns the light off. “Goodnight,” he says, silhouetted by the hall light. “Sleep well. I love you.”

It's probably just a reflex. He probably didn't mean to say that, not to Virgil . He barely knows him. He probably says it to Logan and Roman all the time, and it just slipped out. Virgil bites the reflexive ‘love you too’ back from the tip of his tongue, then thinks maybe he should have said it back anyway, make Patton feel less awkward about his own reflexive slip. But then it's been too long, and it wouldn't sound natural, and Virgil just says,

“Goodnight.”

Patton pulls the door to, and leaves Virgil alone in the dark.

He plays a game on his phone for a few more hours, and then sinks back into the wonderfully soft bed and sleeps.

Chapter Text

Virgil is woken by his alarm and has never once in his entire life been less interested in getting out of bed.

He's comfortable. The bed is soft, the blankets are warm, and Virgil is sleepy and wants nothing more than to just lie here forever.

He snoozes the alarm and drifts back off.

Five minutes later, of course, he's dragged back out of sleep by the insistent melody.

Virgil seriously considers quitting his job so he doesn't have to ever leave this bed, but he does actually need money to buy groceries and pay his rent, and also his hosts have been real gracious but even their patience would surely wear thin if Virgil never left.

So, regrettably, Virgil sits up. He yawns. He longingly contemplates lying back down, but forces himself instead to get out of bed.

At some point in the night, someone—Patton, presumably—had returned his cleaned clothes, which are now sitting folded on the floor by the foot of the bed. Virgil dresses. He folds the borrowed pajamas and sets them on the foot of the bed. He doesn't usually fold his pajamas, but it seems like the polite thing to do in this case. After a moment, he makes the bed too.

And then he goes downstairs.

They're all in the dining room again, and they give him breakfast, and this time he's calm enough to appreciate it.

Princey drives him to work, and he has an otherwise normal day. He borrows a clean apron, and he makes a lot of coffee. He eats lunch at the shop, he takes the bus home, he has leftover spaghetti for dinner, and he does that load of laundry.

His bed seems even harder and lumpier than usual, contrasted with the memory of the bed—no, the actual literal cotton candy cloud—he'd slept on last night.

At least it makes it easier to get out of bed in the morning, when staying isn't bliss. If only by a little. Virgil is not and has never been a morning person. Still, he manages to actually catch the bus for the first time this week, so that's good.

Their newbie’s here for her second day of training, which means that Virgil splits his time between his usual duties and showing her the ropes. She's wary of the fancy coffee machines, and looks attentive but intimidated when Virgil walks her through one of the more simple brews.

She does better with the register. Its layout is also unfamiliar, but at least the potential worst-case consequences of pressing the wrong button are much less severe than “breaking an expensive machine” or “third degree burns and coffee everywhere.”

Several hours into Virgil’s shift, his manager joins him in the back while he's on break.

“There's someone out front looking for you,” Morgan tells him.

“Who?” Virgil asks.

“Nobody I recognized,” Morgan says with a bit of a frown. “Said he was a friend of yours though.”

“Did he give you a name?” Virgil asks, and Morgan's frown deepens.

“No, and I asked,” she says. “I said to him, ‘and you are?’ and he said ‘oh I'm roamin’ like that's an answer, so I prompts him, ‘yer name?’ and he just says ‘yeah’. So seeing as he's decided to just be evasive I told him he could order something or he could leave, but he couldn't hold up the line any longer, so he bought a coffee. Paid in cash, too, so I didn't get to see his name on the card neither.”

“He said he was roaming?” Virgil asks, gears turning.

“Yeah, ’cept he ain't, he sat down with his coffee,” Morgan answers.

“Brown hair?” Virgil asks, fighting back a rising laugh. “Maybe bout this tall, looks a bit like Remus if he ever shaved and combed his hair?”

Morgan nods. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

Virgil pinches his lips together and shakes his head. Morgan squints at him.

“And what exactly is so funny?” she asks.

The laugh spills out of him. “Sor– sorry, Morgue,” he says. “I think you misheard him. His name’s Roman.”

“What, like Greeks and Romans?”

“I think so,” Virgil says, still grinning. “He's Remus’s brother.”

“I see,” Morgan says. “Well, if you don't want me to get rid of him, do you want to talk to him, or stay back here til he leaves? Lexi and I can handle the customers for a while yet if you don't wanna see him.”

“Nah, I'll go see what he wants.”

Roman is sitting in one of the booths, sipping a coffee and staring dramatically out the window. He turns as Virgil approaches, and then perks up. “Finding Emo!” he says. “Your coworkers said they had never heard of you in their lives. I was starting to think I’d gone to the wrong coffee shop.”

“Nah, just being protective,” Virgil says, sliding into the booth across the table from Roman. “We don’t give that kind of information to customers.” They’d had problems with stalkers trying to get information on employees before, and one bewildering man who’d kept coming round looking for someone Virgil had genuinely never heard of, til Morgan banned him from the shop. “What’s up?”

“So we realized your bike is still at our house,” Roman says. “I wanted to see if you’d like a ride over to get it back. Also if you would be interested in watching more Unfortunate Events, because we left off at a really climactic bit, and I know I already know what happens next, but I want to know what happens next, you know?”

“I definitely want my bike back,” Virgil says. He glances at the clock. “I don’t get off for a while yet today, but if you want to come back around five?”

Roman nods. “And movies?” he asks eagerly.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Virgil says. “I don’t want to bike home in the dark.”

“Oh of course,” Roman says. “I'd never force you to do that.”

Virgil glances back toward Morgan and Lexi at the counter. They’re busy with customers, but the line isn’t very long. Lexi catches his glance and grins at him with a little wave.

“Do you need to get back to work?” Roman asks.

“Not yet,” Virgil decides, settling more comfortably into his seat. “I’ve got a few minutes left before my break ends.”

~

Roman returns just before five, as Virgil’s getting ready to hand off the machines to the next shift. He orders three coffees to go “and whatever Virgil would like,” with a wink in Virgil’s direction.

Virgil rolls his eyes and makes himself a hot chocolate, which he sips on the drive back to Roman’s house. The sun is already dipping toward the horizon, so it looks like there isn't going to be time for tv before he has to bike home. It's a shame, because he really was looking forward to it.

“We’re home!” Roman calls as he opens the door from the garage into the rest of the house to lead Virgil in. As they cross the threshold, Virgil is hit with a nearly tangible wall of scent, stopping him in his tracks. The air smells rich and warm and delicious. He can smell fresh bread, and roasted meat, and something sweet, all mingled together into a tantalizing aroma that makes his mouth water and his stomach perk up eagerly.

“Oh good!” someone Virgil can’t see calls back. “Great timing!”

Roman pulls his jacket off and hangs it on a hook by the door. “It smells great in here!” he says brightly, heading deeper into the house. Virgil manages to unglue his feet from the floor and finally closes the door behind himself and follows Roman.

Calico is putting a steaming dish onto the table when they enter the dining room. “Welcome home,” he says fondly. “Dinner's just about ready.”

“Oh good, I'm hungry,” Roman says. “It smells fabulous, darling.”

Calico beams, eyes scrunching up with it. “Thank you,” he says.

“We brought coffee,” Roman adds, and hands Patton one of the to-go cups. “Your Chemical Romance made this just for you.”

“Aww,” Patton says, smiling heart-meltingly at Virgil. “Thank you.”

Virgil finger-guns awkwardly back at him with his free hand. “No problem.” Making coffee is literally his job. Roman was the one who had paid for it, and picked the flavor.

Then Patton notices what Virgil had put on the side of the cup instead of his name. “Aww!” he exclaims. “You drew me a kitty!”

“Yeah, I figured– you like cats, right?”

Patton looks up at him with shining eyes. “That is paws-itively precious. Thank you so much!”

“Please do not keep the empty cup just because there is a cute cat on it,” Logan says. Roman hands him his own coffee, on which Virgil had drawn a robot face and a triangle science beaker. “Thank you. We do not need additional clutter in our home, Patton.”

Patton pouts at him. “But look, it's so sweet!” he says. “Look at this precious little kitten drawn specifically for me and tell me that you want to throw her in the trash!”

Logan sighs. “At least cut the picture out of the cup instead of keeping the entire thing,” he says.

“Deal!” Patton agrees cheerfully.

“Sorry,” Virgil says. He had not expected Calico to appreciate the art to quite that extreme. He might've put more effort into it if he had.

“No need,” Logan replies. “This is hardly the first time something like this has occurred, and I hold no illusions that it will be the last.”

“Sure won't!” Patton agrees shamelessly.

“Um, so where's my bike at?” Virgil asks after a moment.

“By the door still,” Roman says, taking a seat at the table. “Do you wanna sit next to me again?”

Virgil just now notices that the table is set with four plates. “You… want me to stay for dinner?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course,” Roman says, now looking puzzled himself. “Why would I bring you to dinner and then not want you to stay and eat?”

They hadn't discussed him coming to dinner. They had planned for him to retrieve his bike, and perhaps watch tv with Roman, but the topic of dinner hadn't come up.

Virgil means to say no, that he had better get going, but it does smell so very good, and they did set a spot for him, and he is hungry, and if he goes home now he'll have to figure out some other meal and honestly it's not going to be anything fancier than frozen pizza and fries, or maybe just ramen since that would be faster.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and sits next to Roman.

Chapter Text

“You know, if you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to gain weight,” Virgil says, settling back in his chair with immense satisfaction.

“No offense, but you look like you could use it, Jack Skellington,” Roman tells him.

“Hey!” Virgil protests, though he isn’t actually particularly offended. Roman’s not wrong, for one thing. Virgil certainly doesn’t have the time and energy—or skill, honestly—to make as good food as Patton does. These last couple days have been the most well-fed he’s been since he moved out to be an independent adult.

Roman pushes his chair back and hops up. “Ready for movies?” he asks eagerly, already heading for the doorway.

“Roman Augustus Sanders, do not leave your plate on the table,” Logan says tiredly, but without heat. Roman freezes mid-step, shoulders raising guiltily. Slowly, cartoonishly stiffly, he spins back around.

“Oops.”

“I can’t stay anyway, remember?” Virgil asks. “I gotta get going so I can bike home before it gets dark.”

Roman's eyes go wide. “I. Forgot,” he says with a grimace.

“It is well past sunset,” Logan informs Virgil. “I am afraid that ‘before it gets dark’ is no longer possible tonight.”

“Oh.” Well, fuck. What's he supposed to do now!?

“Sorry,” Roman says. “I did not take the passage of time into consideration. I'll make it up to you. Do you want me to drive you home? I'll drive you home right away. Or you could spend the night again, and I'll take you to work in the morning?”

“I have tomorrow off, actually,” Virgil says, which is the first thing he can think of in response to that extremely generous offer. Roman brightens.

“Oh, perfect!” he says. “That means you can stay the night and then take your bike home tomorrow when it's light out!”

Virgil hesitates, glancing at the others. “Are… you sure that's okay?” he asks.

Logan shrugs. “Unless you have plans for your day off and would prefer to be taken home tonight, that would seem to be the most expedient method,” he says.

“No, I… No, no plans,” Virgil says.

“So you’ll stay?” Roman asks. Virgil hesitates, then nods. Roman whoops, bouncing. “So can we watch Unfortunate Events then?” he asks hopefully.

Virgil can’t help smiling, Roman’s excitement contagious. “Sure, soon as you take care of your dishes,” he says.

Roman sticks his tongue out at him, coming back to gather them up and take them into the kitchen. 

Virgil takes care of his own, and Logan puts the leftovers away tonight. The instant their dishes are rinsed and in the dishwasher, Roman whisks Virgil off to the theater again.

One episode follows another, as they eagerly discuss, theorize, and refuse to stop on cliffhangers. They pause, once, because Roman wants to make popcorn, and once more a few episodes later for a bathroom break, but otherwise they continue watching episodes back to back.

Eventually, Patton interrupts their marathon. He’s wearing his grey cat onesie again, and yawns as he opens the door.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” he asks.

Roman pauses the episode and glances at his wrist, on which he is not wearing a watch. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Midnight-thirty,” Calico says, and yawns again. “Logan’s already asleep.”

Roman catches Virgil’s eyes and makes a wide-eyed whoops expression at him. “Stop after this one?” he suggests, and glances at the screen again. “I think we’re almost done.” He presses a button on the remote and pulls up the time bar thing. “Yeah, ten minutes left,” he says.

“Sounds doable,” Virgil says, glad that he doesn’t have to get up for work tomorrow. It’s going to take him a while to wind down enough to fall asleep, and if it’s already past midnight, he would have had no chance of getting anywhere near enough sleep. Hopefully they won’t mind him sleeping in, because otherwise they're going to have to literally drag him out of bed in the morning, and that might spoil their weirdly good opinions of him. “Probably another cliffhanger though.”

“Probably,” Roman agrees. He sucks in a breath, drawing himself up. “We shall have to be strong and resist the siren’s call of another episode.”

“Ten minutes?” Patton asks.

“Ten minutes, beloved,” Roman promises.

“Okay,” Patton says sleepily, and closes the door again.

Ten minutes later, they are indeed left on a cliffhanger. It takes real effort not to continue despite their promise, but Roman visibly gathers his strength, screws up his face, and points the remote at the tv. “For love and cuddles,” he says, pressing the power button.

“Where should I sleep tonight?” Virgil asks as Roman leads him tiredly up the stairs.

Roman shrugs. “Same room as last time unless you’d rather join us,” he says. “We can share Paddy Bear.”

That’s… that’s a joke, right? Roman didn’t just seriously invite Virgil into his bed, invite him to cuddle with his boyfriend. Right? Virgil chuckles uncertainly. He’s even tireder than he thought, to not catch the jesting tone. Or maybe Roman’s too tired and deadpanned too hard.

Probably a combination of both, Virgil decides. It is late. “I think I’d better not,” he says, trying to match Princey’s levity. “I don’t know if you snore.”

Roman gasps in pretend offense, pressing his hand to his chest. Then he leans forward and relates in a conspiratorial tone, “You didn’t hear this from me, but Logan snores like the most adorable rumbly kitten purr.”

“Does he?” Virgil says, grinning. Roman nods happily.

“He does,” he says. “It is adorable, but it does take some getting used to, so I can’t blame you for wanting your own room.” Roman yawns, then reaches up to pat Virgil’s shoulder. “Night, Spoops,” he says. “See you in… I dunno, prolly not the morning. See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Princey,” Virgil answers. “Sleep well.”

Roman pats Virgil on the shoulder again, then shuffles off into his bedroom.

The room they had put Virgil in last time is nearly as he left it, except that the pajamas have been moved to the nightstand. Virgil carefully does not touch the bed as he changes, knowing that if he had been unwilling to leave it the first night, the exhaustion he can feel in his bones will make it a veritable black hole of comfort tonight.

Pajama-clad, Virgil turns off the light and climbs into bed. He sinks into the softness, comfort claiming him, and is asleep faster than he knew was humanly possible.

Chapter Text

No-one comes to drag Virgil out of bed. He wakes on his own the next morning and for a few moments contemplates getting out of bed, but then he rolls over and goes back to sleep. It’s his day off, he doesn’t have any plans, and he is cozy.

He wakes again around noon, and wanders downstairs. There’s no-one in the sitting room, but he finds Patton in the dining room, curled up in the armchair with a book.

“Good morning!” Patton greets cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “You?”

Patton’s eyes crinkle up in a pleased smile. “I did, yes, thank you,” he says. 

Virgil fidgets, just a little, and he glances back toward the door. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Hm,” Patton says thoughtfully, tapping the book against his chin. “Logan’s in his office, and last I saw him, Roman was still asleep, poor dear.” He chuckles. “You two sure were up real late last night. And Remus and Janus aren’t here right now, but they were going to come to dinner, so they should be arriving in a few hours.” He pauses, thinking. “I don’t think anyone else was planning to be here today, but I might have forgotten something, or they might’ve forgotten to mention it. That happens sometimes.”

“Must make meal planning difficult,” Virgil says.

“It can,” Patton agrees. “But I like to make sure we have plenty of leftovers anyway, so a surprise guest or two isn’t very hard to accommodate.” He smiles gently at Virgil. “Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”

“If you’re offering,” Virgil says, because they have been incredibly hospitable to him so far, but he doesn’t want to presume anything.

“Oh of course,” Patton says, setting his book down. “I hate to leave anyone hungry when there’s food in the house. What would you like? Are you in the mood for a breakfast breakfast, or something more lunchy?”

Virgil hesitates. “I don’t want to make you cook something just for me,” he says.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” Patton reassures him. “I like cooking. But we do have leftovers in the fridge if you would like something quicker.”

Virgil nods a little. “What are my options?”

“Well, we’ve still got plenty of what we had last night, of course,” Patton says consideringly, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Virgil follows. “And I made a fresh batch of boiled eggs this morning.” He opens the fridge and peers inside, then waves Virgil over. “Take a look, anything look appetizing?”

Virgil joins Patton in front of the fridge and looks inside. ‘Plenty of leftovers’ may have been an understatement. The fridge is quite full, mostly of containers. There’s no way Virgil can possibly see all the options without taking most of the contents out to see what’s behind them, and he is not about to do that.

Trying to be quick, Virgil scans the food visible through the sides of the containers. He sees white rice, mixed vegetables, something brown that’s probably gravy, mashed potatoes, a couple drumsticks… 

He knows, reasonably, that everything in this fridge is probably very good. He is also sure that if he was sat down and served any of these choices, he would eat it without complaint and be pleased with it. But just now, looking at the leftover containers, his stomach and taste buds rebel, and nothing looks appealing. 

“I don’t know,” Virgil says. It’s not that he isn’t hungry. His stomach is very helpfully informing him that it is currently empty. It is just also telling him, simultaneously, that there isn’t a single food in the entire world that will satisfy, and unfortunately it has annexed his tongue to its side. His brain, meanwhile, is yelling that he’s taking too long to decide, and he needs to hurry up and pick something before Patton gets upset at him for letting all the cold out of the fridge.

Patton makes a sympathetic sound. “Too many options to choose between?” he says softly. “Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”

Virgil’s very bones go limp. “Yes please,” he says weakly, glad to have the decision taken out of his hands.

Patton rests his hand gently on Virgil’s arm. “Why don’t you go wait in the comfy chair, and I’ll bring you some food in a minute,” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and goes. Just as he settles, Patton appears in the doorway again with an empty plate in his hands.

“You don’t have any dietary restrictions, do you?” he asks. “I know it’s a bit late to be asking, but…”

“No, I’ll eat anything,” Virgil says, fondness rising in his chest. “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome,” Patton says, and goes back into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later, the plate now laden with a large slice of lasagna. “Do you want to come eat at the table, or over there?” he asks.

“Table, definitely,” Virgil says, moving. Much less risk of spilling red tomato sauce on their furniture that way, plus he’d rather not try to balance a hot plate on his lap right now. He sits, and Patton places the plate in front of him. Virgil’s eyes go wide. In addition to the lasagna, there’s a slice of home-baked bread with butter and jam, and a small heap of peas and corn. “Just how big do you think my appetite is?”

Patton chuckles. “Sorry,” he says. “Force of habit. Roman would clean that plate and then ask for seconds, especially after sleeping through breakfast.”

“I can believe it,” Virgil says with a laugh.

Patton pats his shoulder, then moves away. “If it’s too much, we can put some of it back,” he says as he reclaims the armchair. “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

He’s certainly going to give it his best go, Virgil’s stomach informs him seriously. His tongue agrees.

Virgil starts with a large bite of bread. It’s no longer fresh-baked, but Patton had re-warmed it. Toasted, maybe? There’s a bit of crunch to it, though it’s still pleasantly soft, not hard as a rock like most toast.

Roman makes an appearance when Virgil’s about halfway through his meal, wearing only a white tank top and a pair of red shorts. Virgil isn’t sure if they’re loose boxer shorts or thin actual shorts, but he’s not about to stare at Roman’s crotch and/or ass long enough to figure it out, and he’s certainly not about to ask.

Probably they’re actual shorts. Roman has so far struck him as having somewhat more decorum than Remus, and probably wouldn’t walk around in just his underwear with a random person in his house.

Probably.

“Ooh, that looks delicious, I want some of that, is there more?” Roman says in greeting, completely oblivious to Virgil’s inner musings.

“There’s one piece of lasagna left, and plenty of the rest,” Patton tells him, and Roman strides into the kitchen.

He returns after a few minutes with a lunch identical to Virgil’s, except that the heap of vegetables is taller, and he has a second, already half-eaten slice of bread in his hand. Also his jam is a different color. Roman plonks himself down in the chair diagonally adjacent to Virgil and grins at him. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. “I see you did not flee into the night like Cinderella.”

“If I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, it would have happened well before Patton came to tell us to go to bed,” Virgil points out.

“True,” Roman agrees. He turns and points his fork at Patton. “Patty Cake, if he ever turns into a pumpkin, don’t bake him into a pie,” he says.

Patton laughs. “How many times must I promise not to eat him?” he asks.

“Once more, it seems,” Virgil says. “For what it’s worth, I believed you the first time.”

Patton’s eyes twinkle. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you sleep well?” Roman asks Virgil. Virgil nods. As if he could have slept poorly, in that bed. And it was certainly nice to get to sleep in late. “Good, good. After breakfast, do you wanna watch more tv?”

Virgil laughs. “You’re insatiable,” he says.

“We left off on a cliffhanger!” Roman defends. “And I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying myself up until the point at which we were reminded of the cruel passage of time and the physical needs of our frail human bodies.”

“I was having fun too,” Virgil agrees. And, well, he doesn’t have any better plans for his afternoon off. It’ll be fun. He’ll just have to remember to actually bike home before it gets dark again.

“Excellent!” Roman says, clearly taking that as a yes, and tucks into his meal with gusto.

Chapter Text

An indeterminable amount of time later, after they’ve watched multiple episodes, Lemony Snicket’s expository monologue is once more interrupted by the theater door slamming open.

“I come bearing booze and board games!” Remus announces at roughly the volume of an explosion, or perhaps a fire truck’s siren. “Turn off the television and come socialize.”

“C’mon, Remus, we’re at a good part,” Roman complains without looking in his direction.

“It’ll still be there tomorrow,” Remus says, coming into the room. He doesn’t turn the lights up or anything though, just heads toward them. “Your favoritest twinsie, however, might not be, and the alcohol certainly won’t.”

“Mleh,” Roman says, sticking his tongue out at said twin.

“Also, if you aren’t there to stop me, I’m going to eat all of whatever dessert Patton made and not leave you any!” Remus announces cheerfully. He takes Roman’s right armrest and folds it up into the back of the seat so that there’s nothing separating them when Remus plops down beside him and stretches out across Roman’s lap.

“Rude,” Roman complains, drawing the word out in a playful manner. “Mean to me, specifically.” He pats Remus on the head, then begins to run his fingers through his hair. Remus goes boneless and gives off the impression that if he could, he’d be purring. Loud, obnoxious, chainsaw purrs.

“You’re a menace,” Roman tells him affectionately. Remus hums and doesn’t move.

He continues to not move for the rest of the episode, other than to become an even more boneless puddle under Roman’s absent scritching. Well. And once to grab Roman’s hand and bring it back to his scalp when Roman makes the mistake of trying to gesture excitedly at the screen with it while commenting on the characters’ antics.

When the episode concludes, Roman gives Remus a couple of pats. “Well, shall we go up and see everyone else, or have you trapped me here forever?” he asks.

Remus answers with an indistinct mumble that doesn’t sound like he wants to get up. Roman chuckles and continues to stroke his hair for a few moments longer, then puts his hand on Remus’s shoulder and rolls him off his lap.

Remus lands on the floor with a thump. “Oww,” he whines, sitting up. He sounds more petulant than injured, though, and considering that Remus is quite capable of being an immovable deadweight when he wants to be, Virgil doesn’t think he’s probably actually very upset about being dumped on the floor, or he wouldn’t have let it happen. Still, he pouts up at Roman. “Rude,” he complains.

Roman appears to be of the same opinion as Virgil, because he just stands up and stretches, popping in multiple places. “Okay, let’s go upstairs then,” he says.

Virgil gets up too, which draws Remus’s gaze. “Oh hey!” he says with a grin. “I didn’t see you there, Tickle-Me-Emo. You been here since the party?”

“No, I went home,” Virgil says, shrugging. He folds himself into his hoodie a bit more. “A couple times, actually.”

Remus’s grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Virgil shrugs again. “What can I say? They keep enticing me back.”

“Patton’s seducing him with food,” Roman jokes to Remus, who nods seriously.

“It’s like a fairy hill in here,” he says. “One bite of Patton’s magically delicious cooking, and you’re stuck forever.”

“That’s how he got me,” Roman agrees, and starts to herd them toward the door.

“You might have warned me,” Virgil says.

“You were already elbow-deep in the buffet when I first saw you,” Roman answers, though Virgil had been speaking to Remus, considering that Remus was the one who had brought him to the party in the first place.

Remus slings his arm around Virgil. “Aw, it’s not so bad, being kidnapped by the fae,” he says. “They’ll keep feeding you, and sure, they throw more parties than you personally enjoy, but at least they won’t make you dance till your feet fall off for their own amusement, so there’s that.”

“Thanks, Remus, that’s very comforting,” Virgil says dryly. 

Remus gives him a squeeze. “Anytime!”

Upstairs, they find not only Janus, Logan, and Patton, but also Remy, who brightens when he sees them.

“Hey babes,” he greets enthusiastically. “Here you are, I missed you, it's been ages.”

“You saw me yesterday,” Virgil reminds him.

“That was a whole day ago,” Remy says, “and we barely got to chat, so it hardly counts.”

“I am not responsible for your terrible timing,” Virgil informs him. Remy had shown up during one of their busiest times, of course they hadn't been able to exchange more than a few words.

“You guys didn't peek, did you?” Remus says, brushing past them in the direction of the kitchen.

“No, Remus, your mysterious parcel has remained undisturbed,” Janus responds dryly, with just a bit of sarcasm on the mysterious. Remus is already gone, and doesn't respond.

“Oh,” Logan says abruptly, and gestures between Janus and Virgil. “I almost forgot, are the two of you acquainted?”

Virgil exchanges a glance with his best friend's husband, whose lips twitch minutely. “We've met, yes,” Janus answers coolly. “How are you, Virgil? Staying out of trouble? I don't believe I've seen you since the party.”

“I'm good,” Virgil says with a thumbs-up. “You?”

Janus inclines his head. “I am doing well, thank you.”

Remus returns then, carrying a large unmarked paper bag. He sets it on the table with a heavy glass-sounding thunk, and shimmies his shoulders excitedly. “Show and tell time!”

“Considering that you announced the contents of that bag the moment you walked in the door, I fail to see the purpose of this procedure,” Logan says as Remus reaches into the bag and extracts another, considerably smaller, paper bag, which he puts down with another glassy thunk.

“The purpose is that you don't know the specifics,” Remus says, pulling a second small bag out. He sets it beside the first one. “Also, I enjoy being dramatic as fuck, and this is as good an opportunity as any.”

“Very well,” Logan says, amused. “Proceed.”

“I will ,” Remus says, and continues his self-appointed task. There are five bags in all, of varying sizes, and he lines them up in no particular order. “Okay! Who wants to go first? Logie?”

“Sure,” says Logan. “Why not.” He takes the center bag and opens it, drawing out the square glass bottle it contains. “Vodka,” he announces, setting it back on the table.

“Ooh,” Patton says. “I think we have pineapple juice in the pantry. We should get it and mix them, that's real good.”

“Me next!” Roman says eagerly, and grabs one of the taller bags before anyone can stop him. “Oh, it's a funky shape!” He pulls the bottle out and examines it delightedly. “It's all twisty, I love that.”

“Yeah!” Remus says, wiggling more energetically. “Isn't it just a gorgeous bottle!?”

“Yeah!!”

“What’s in it?” Logan asks.

“Hm?” Roman says, and turns the bottle to find the label. “Oh, it’s whiskey,” he says, and resumes his admiration of the spiral-shaped bottle.

Logan sighs. “I assume that you will be wanting to keep it as decoration.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Roman agrees.

“Only if I don't manage to take it home first,” Remus says. “Remy, you wanna go next?”

Remy considers the remaining bags, then selects the one which is square in shape all the way up, rather than folding in around its contents. This, it turns out, is because its contents are inside a cardboard display box.

“Is that a giant chocolate truffle?” Virgil asks, leaning in. The bottle is round, and wrapped in gold foil.

“Looks like,” Remy says. He tilts the box back to read the label. “Chocolate cream. So, yes.”

“It also comes with its own cup!” Remus adds. “Very fancy!” Indeed, in the top half of the box is a spherical cup nearly the size of the bottle. Remy starts unpackaging it.

“Can I pick next?” Patton asks, and actually waits for their nods before he takes one of the remaining two bags and opens it. This alcohol is much darker than the others, almost black. “Kuh…” Patton reads. “Kahlúa?”

“Coffee liqueur!” Remus says. “It's made of coffee, or maybe meant to go in coffee, I'm not sure. Got it cause we were gonna pick up Remy next, and he likes coffee, so I thought he might like this.”

“Aw, I'm touched,” Remy says. “I do enjoy the occasional spiked coffee.”

“Okay, one bag left!” Remus says. “Who wants to open it?”

“Would you like to?” Janus offers to Virgil. “I’ve already seen it.”

Remus gasps dramatically. “You peeked!? Janus, you promised.”

Janus raises one eyebrow. “I watched you pick it out,” he says, and slides the bag across the table to Virgil. “In fact, I believe you used my card to pay for it.”

The final alcohol is a red wine with a stylized picture of raspberries on the label. Reading the word directly underneath them, Virgil thinks he knows why this bottle in particular caught Remus's eye. “Loganberry wine,” he says.

Logan leans forward. “Color me intrigued,” he says, and extends his hand in a silent request. Virgil passes him the bottle.

Remus bounces, grinning widely. “I’m gonna get the cups,” he announces, spinning on his heel and dashing back into the kitchen. Patton gets up and follows him at a more reasonable pace.

Remus rushes back in with a double handful of glassware, plonks them hastily onto the table, and whirls around again. In the doorway, he nearly collides with Patton, who is returning with the pineapple juice and a jug of milk. “Oops!” Remus says. He grabs Patton by the hips, and spins them both around to trade places. Patton giggles a little, stumbling a bit as he’s spun, but doesn’t fall or drop anything.

“Would you like help,” Janus offers, already getting up to assist.

After multiple trips back and forth, what they have on the table is this: the spherical cup that had come with the chocolate liqueur, five goblets of various shapes and sizes, one of which is made of green glass and decorated with the raised images of curling grape vines, several shot glasses of the larger variety, one of those triangular martini glasses, a large mug that Virgil’s pretty sure is intended for drinking beer from, a plastic cup with a cartoon butterfly on the side and a sillystraw, two short, squat cups, and a tall narrow vessel that Virgil isn’t convinced isn’t actually a vase.

For drinks, they have the alcohol Remus had brought, the pineapple juice, milk, a bottle of sparkling cider, orange juice, and cans of sprite, ginger ale, and dr. pepper. Also, a jar of maraschino cherries. Patton has also located both cocktail swords and tiny umbrella toothpicks, and is busily opening up several of the latter and placing them around the rim of the beer mug. Logan, meanwhile, retrieves a package of crackers and a stack of small plates, and begins to portion them out.

“Ooh, cheese too,” Roman says, and goes to get it. He brings back a whole block, along with a knife and a cutting board, and starts to cut it up. Once he has a decently sized pile of cheese slices, he takes two of the crackers and makes a sandwich, which he devours cheerfully and messily.

Virgil’s not sure how to extricate himself from what is clearly rapidly approaching Getting Drunk Together. It’s one thing to only serve himself from the Non-Spiked punch bowl and avoid the other one, but if they actually pour him a glass, how does he politely turn it down? He does not have a good social script for this. Maybe he should just leave? Leaving before they open the alcohol would probably work. Though of course then he has to find an opening to tell them he's going to go home now, and hope they don't get offended by him spurning the social intoxication.

“Did you clear out the whole cabinet, Remus?” Remy asks, eyeing the eclectic collection of drinkware, which Remus is now shuffling around into a very particular configuration that Virgil doesn't see the underlying logic to.

“No, there’s some left,” Remus says distractedly. “Why, I forget your favorite shape?”

Remy hums thoughtfully. “Weeell,” he drawls, “I might like a coffee cup. Also, coffee.”

Remus squints at him. “Didn’t we get you some on the way over?”

Remy shrugs. “Oh, that’s long gone. I finished it while you were downstairs.”

“I’ll start some brewing,” Patton offers.

Remy smiles at him. “Thanks, babes, I’d appreciate that,” he says, and as Patton circles around him to get to the kitchen, Remy gives him a quick pat on the butt.

“Scamp,” Patton says, and ruffles Remy’s hair.

“In front of my salad?” Roman gasps. Remy sticks his tongue out at him playfully, and Patton giggles, vanishing into the kitchen.

“Before we begin drinking, is anyone intending to drive home tonight, or have any other reason to wish to remain sober?” Logan asks. Oh thank God. Virgil raises his hand. Logan nods seriously at him. “Noted,” he says, and doesn’t even ask for more details. “The cider is non-alcoholic, as of course are the juice and soda.”

“Ooh, we can make you a mocktail!” Remus chimes in. He appears to be satisfied with his arrangement of the glasses, at least for now. “Do you want a Virgin Mary? It’s like a Bloody Mary, but instead of vodka we use ginger ale. I will need tomato juice, worcestershire sauce, olives–”

Virgil cuts him off firmly. “No thank you, Remus.” He does not want to drink the weirdest tomato soup, even if it is a widely recognized beverage. 

“Okay,” Remus says with a nonchalant shrug. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Virgil is not going to change his mind. Even without the alcohol, that sounds gross. Who even likes drinking tomato juice, anyway? And worcestershire sauce!? No. No thank you, no.

“How bout a Shirley Temple?” Roman suggests, reaching across the table to grab the maraschino cherries. He pops the lid off and reaches into the jar with two fingers to fish around for a cherry.

“Hey, no,” scolds Patton, which startles Virgil because he hadn't seen him come back from the kitchen. “Have you washed your hands? No? Then fingers out of the jar.” 

Roman pouts, but retracts his fingers. “Well then how else am I supposed to get one out?” he asks.

“You could use a spoon, or perhaps one of the toothpicks.” Patton hands him one of the swords. “Here.”

“If you intend to make a shirley temple, you may wish to use a spoon anyway,” Logan says, as Roman impales a cherry on his tiny plastic sword. “We do not currently have grenadine, so you will need to make the version where you substitute cherry juice.”

“Fair enough,” Roman says, and pops the cherry into his mouth. With the hilt of the sword sticking out from between his lips, he wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to fetch a spoon.

“What's in a shirley temple?” Virgil asks, because it seems that Roman is pretty intent on making him one, and if he needs to stop him it'd be better to do it before ingredients are actually getting mixed.

“It is mostly soda,” Logan tells him. “Traditionally ginger ale or ginger beer, though you can substitute either sprite or seven-up—or could, except that we do not have the latter. Then grenadine, here substituted with cherry juice, and garnished also with a maraschino cherry.”

That doesn't sound too bad. A little weird, maybe, but he's willing to do the experiment. “Okay,” Virgil says.

Roman returns with a spoon and makes Virgil the sprite-and-cherry-juice variation of a shirley temple in the martini glass. “Here you go!” he says cheerfully, sliding it over to Virgil.

Virgil eyes it suspiciously for a few moments, then takes a cautious sip. Yeah, okay, not bad. “Thanks,” he says, and Roman beams.

“You're welcome!” he says, and pours the rest of the can of sprite into one of the goblets to make himself a matching drink. “So, Remus, you mentioned board games?”

Remus perks up. “Yeah!” he says, and rushes off. He returns with a game box, which he slams down onto the table hard enough to make the glassware rattle. “Look what we found!”

Patton leans in to look. “Parcheesi?”

“Six-player parcheesi!” Remus corrects. “You know, since we can never all fit around a normal ’cheesy board.” He glances over at Virgil, then Remy, and adds, “Unfortunately we still can't all play, since there's seven of us now. So, oops, we're gonna need to find an even bigger game board for next time.”

“I was not aware there existed six-player parcheesi,” Logan says. “How does it differ from the typical four-player setup?”

“It's a hexagon,” Remus says, opening the box. He takes the board out and unfolds it for them to see. “Also, gay.”

By which he clearly means the fact that the six colors the game makers used for the six players are the colors of the rainbow, though they're not in rainbow order.

“Dibs on red,” Roman says quickly.

The pieces are currently separated into little baggies, and Remus digs through the pile for the red ones. “Here you go, little red foxes,” he says, tossing them to Roman.

“Ooh, they're animals?” Patton asks.

“Yep! I bet I know which one you want,” Remus says, and passes him the orange packet. “Oh, or wait, blue is frogs. Do you want orange cats or blue frogs?”

“Oh!” Patton says, brow furrowing. “Oh, that's a hard choice.” Remus passes him blue as well, and Patton takes one of each color out, deliberating between them.

“I'm surprised the frogs aren't green,” Logan says.

“Nope, green is turtles,” Remus says, tossing them over and almost hitting Logan in the face. “And bananacondas for you, dear,” he adds, handing Janus a packet of coiled yellow snakes.

“I think the frogs are cuter,” Patton decides finally.

“Can I have the cats, then?” Remy asks, and Patton passes them to him.

“Then that leaves Virgil with the purple octopussies,” Remus says. He tries to hand them to Virgil, who doesn't take them.

“Wait, what about you, don't you want to play?” Virgil asks.

Remus grins. “Oh, don't you worry, I have an idea,” he says, pressing the octopods into Virgil's hand. “Patton, I am going to raid your craft supplies.”

“Oh! Okay,” Patton says, sounding surprised, and Remus runs off with no further explanation. “Don't make a mess!” Patton calls after him.

“I have never played parcheesi before,” Virgil admits.

“I believe that is your cue for nerdy exposition,” Roman says without looking up from where he is lining his foxes up in front of him, and Logan nods and adjusts his glasses.

“The objective is to move all your pawns from their starting location—” He places one finger on the purple diamond in one corner of the board— “to here.” With his other hand, he points to the purple segment of the hexagon at the center of the board. “To do so, you progress along this outer path based on your dice rolls.”

Logan continues to explain the rules, about movement and blockades and knocking other pawns back and rolling doubles and special cases. It's kind of a lot, but Virgil thinks he can probably manage a game if they're willing to re-explain things as they come up. Especially the special cases. There seem to be a lot of those.

“And of course, whoever gets all six of their pawns to Home first wins,” Logan concludes just as Remus returns.

“Ta-da!” Remus announces, dumping a colorful handful of fancy buttons onto the board.

There's a pause. Then, Logan says, “Explain.”

Remus grins. “I will be playing as the Nest Parasite,” he says, and begins to rearrange his buttons. There are six of them, one in each color of the rainbow, and Remus slides them each over to the corresponding starting diamond. “I'm on a team with everyone, but also no-one.” He shrugs a little. “Basically, it's like I get to control one of each of your pieces. If we're the same color, we can team up for blockades, but I owe no allegiance to anyone, and I'll absolutely take you out with my other pieces if I get a chance.”

“Any chance to sow chaos,” Virgil surmises, and Remus grins and wiggles.

“That sounds like an acceptable adjustment to the rules,” Logan says. “Any objections?”

No-one appears to have any, so Logan says, “Alright. Let's get the board set up and roll to see who goes first.”