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It’s a quiet day in the Mindscape. For once, Thomas is right on schedule, much to Logan’s delight, and he has no appointments to attend or projects to complete for a while. As such, the Sides were all in agreement that Thomas deserves a day or two to himself filled with junk food and mindless television.
Roman usually despises silence. His flavor of creativity is loud, all bright colors and toe-tapping lyrics intended to capture an audience’s attention. He is most confident with a song on his lips, lyrics weaving around him like silk ribbons. He feels strongest with a sword in his hands and a dragon’s roar thrumming in his eardrums, his own battle cry rising to meet it. He is bold with his movements, headstrong in his opinions, and passionate in his actions. He is Prince Roman, brash and striking and loud. And he loves being loud.
But sometimes, he can appreciate the beauty in silence. He can recall an early morning when he had woken up before anyone else, a curious occurrence for a prince who preferred to sleep in. The common room had been drenched in cool tones, the last dregs of night barely clinging on. He had been pouring himself a bowl of cereal, whistling to himself to fill the suffocating stillness, when a soft beam of gold had pierced the darkness like an arrow to a monster’s heart. The tune Roman had been whistling was suddenly caught in his throat as he beheld the most gorgeous sunrise he had ever seen. Suddenly, the silence had presence, as if it were lifting the sun into the sky. Roman couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, afraid that the sound of his breaths would tear into this gorgeous image and send the sun cascading back down to earth.
This silence also dwells in a certain Anxious Side.
Virgil practically embodies silence. His steps are light and subdued, his movements as lithe as a cat’s. He wears baggy clothing in dark, muted colors, allowing him to easily blend into the background and escape others’ notice. His voice is low, calming despite his role as Anxiety, and a far cry from Roman’s boisterous tone.
Virgil exists quietly, and to Roman, he is more captivating than any sunrise.
On this quiet evening, these two Sides are cuddled together in Roman’s room. Normally, his room is just as loud as the Side in question. Disney songs play constantly, providing pleasant background noise while Roman works on whatever project had captured his fancy. Papers, writing implements, art supplies, and all manner of trinkets flitter and flutter around the room, moving of their own accord seemingly at random, but always flying towards Roman when their need arises. Various images depicting stories and daydreams swirl and dance along the walls, slivers of creative magic that had leaked from the Imagination to feed on the Creative Side’s endless well of inspiration. And at the center of it all is Roman, vocalizing along to the music and dancing around the room as he jots down ideas or fills canvases with color.
Now, there are no loose papers flying along the ceiling, nor are there stories flashing and shifting on the walls. The lights, normally bright and dazzling, had been dimmed significantly, the room’s main light source reduced to hundreds of twinkling fairy lights which cast the room in a soft, pink glow. The speakers are turned off, the only noise the sounds of the two Sides’ breathing. Roman is not belting along to songs or twirling around his room. Instead, he lies in his bed, Virgil nestled closely to his side, their fingers entwined. The only movement the prince makes is his thumb gently rubbing circles into the back of Virgil’s hand.
And honestly? Roman would never hesitate to trade his beloved noise for this beautiful silence. He would move mountains and part oceans to see that soft smile on Virgil’s lips, his eyes half-lidded and his eyeshadow a shiny, metallic gray with hints of sparkles revealing his contentment. This Virgil is relaxed, finally allowing himself a moment to be unburdened by his constant fears and responsibilities. He is happy, and nothing gives Roman a greater feeling of pride than the knowledge that he is at least partially responsible for that happiness.
Virgil nudges Roman’s thumb with his own, glancing up at Roman with a lazy smile that fills Roman with warmth like a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Roman smiles back, nudging Virgil’s thumb in a soft retaliation, before resuming the gentle pattern. Or at least, he would have, had Virgil’s grin not curved into a mischievous smirk as he nudges his thumb again, harder. Roman’s own smirk turns wicked, recognizing the challenge, and suddenly the two are locked in an intense match of thumb wrestling. The two giggle as they fight, Virgil egging Roman on with sharp jabs against his thumb. Eager to get the upper hand, Roman angles his arm higher, Virgil gasping indignantly at the foul play. In the end, however, Roman’s move pays off, and he finally traps Virgil’s squirming thumb beneath his own.
“Ha! I win!” Roman cheers, holding up their joined hands like one would show off a trophy.
“Yeah, because you cheated,” Virgil asserts, attempting to glare at Roman but being betrayed by his own grin.
“I didn’t cheat!” Roman gasps, bringing his free hand to his chest in mock-offense, “I just used what the pros call “advanced tactics”.”
“The pros?” Virgil giggles, cocking an eyebrow, “Of thumb wrestling?”
“But of course!” Roman grins, “I like to consider myself a master in all fields of battle, and the art of thumb wrestling is one I have spent many a day perfecting!”
“Uh huh. Sure.”
“Indeed, I have spent hours toiling away, pouring sweat and tears into perfecting my grapples and jabs!” Roman’s grin widens as Virgil giggles, pleased that his dramatics are able to draw more laughter from the Anxious Side. “I am able to confidently say that, without a doubt, I am the most fearsome thumb wrestler in all the land!”
“I am truly privileged to be in your presence, O’ Mighty Thumb Wrestling Champion,” Virgil drawls, shifting so he could face Roman, “Our battle was indeed long and arduous, but I should have known that I was no match for you.”
“It was a glorious battle, wasn’t it?” Roman muses, pulling Virgil closer to his chest and tangling their legs together, “I honestly deserve a prize for such a monumental victory.”
“A prize?” Virgil snorts, “What, you want a trophy?”
“Hmm…” Roman pretends to ponder the question. “I already have plenty of those.”
“So humble,” Virgil teases.
“Oh, shush you!” Roman huffs, lightly pinching Virgil’s arm for the jab and laughing when Virgil immediately reaches out to pinch him back.
“I mean, if you are looking for something from me, there isn’t much I can really give you,” Virgil continues, catching Roman’s other hand when the prince moves to pinch him again, “Unless it’s something stupid, like a kiss or something.”
“Only a kiss!?” Roman cries, as if offended by the mere suggestion, “Can you not comprehend the sheer magnitude of resources I dedicated to this battle!? The sacrifices I had to make!? This is the kind of victory people will write songs about, and yet you believe a single kiss is enough to commemorate my triumph!?”
“Okay, okay! Sorry to offend, Thumbelina,” Virgil acquiesces, raising his free hand in surrender, “Well then, what do you think will be a fitting reward?”
Roman’s eyes furrow as he mulls over the question, and Virgil has to physically stop himself from smiling, dopey and lovestruck, at the adorable expression. Suddenly, Roman’s eyes light up.
“I’ve got it!” he declares, “One kiss is not nearly enough to celebrate my victory. So…!”
He pauses for dramatic effect, his grin widening as if struggling to resist the temptation to spill everything at once.
“As my reward, I declare that I should be given one hundred kisses! That seems fair, no?”
Virgil’s eyes widen, evidently not expecting such a high number. Roman’s bravado holds for a moment, until he can no longer keep up the act and dissolves into giggles.
“Sorry, that was a bit much,” Roman chuckles sheepishly, “I got a bit caught up in my role.”
Roman peers down towards Virgil, and his giggles die out when he realizes that Virgil isn’t laughing.
“Virgil?” Roman says hesitantly, caught off guard by the serious look on his boyfriend’s face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was only joking, I promise.”
Those words seem to snap Virgil out of his trance. He slowly sits up, and for a moment Roman is worried that he had offended the Anxious Side. His fears subside when Virgil smiles at him, a gentle reassurance that Roman hadn’t caused any offence, and moves closer.
“One hundred kisses, huh?”
Virgil’s duel-colored eyes sparkle as his eyeshadow begins to glow, the lavender beautifully accentuating the man’s features. Roman suddenly feels breathless.
“Very well.”
Before Roman could fully process that statement, Virgil brings their linked hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of Roman’s hand, like how a knight would courteously greet a fair maiden. Roman’s face is suddenly uncomfortably warm, likely sporting a furious blush. Virgil’s eyes meet Roman’s, the emo’s eyeshadow glowing a shade brighter.
“One.”
He kisses Roman’s hand again, lips brushing one of his knuckles.
“Two.”
He repeats the process with each finger, pressing a feather-light kiss before counting it out loud. He then grasps Roman’s other hand and gives it the same treatment, his smirk growing as Roman blushes harder with every kiss. When he drops the other hand, Roman’s face is as red as his trademark sash.
Virgil cradles Roman’s face in his hands, and Roman can’t stop himself from gasping at the soft touch. His heart is pounding as Virgil leans forward and presses his lips to his forehead.
“Thirteen…”
And really, Roman should feel ridiculous. He embodies Romance, after all. He should be able to accept these simple, innocent kisses with more dignity. But it’s difficult to focus on these thoughts when Virgil, who is usually so reserved when it comes to displays of affection, is pressing his lips to Roman’s face again and again. He moves from Roman’s forehead, to his temple, to both cheeks, to the tip of his nose, to the side of his jaw.
“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”
Virgil lingers on the space right next to Roman’s mouth, whispering the next number into Roman’s skin. Then, after a momentary pause that feels like an eternity, Virgil finally meets Roman’s lips, and the butterflies in Roman’s chest soar.
Roman’s hands fly to Virgil’s back, grasping the fabric of the other Side’s shirt. Virgil grins into the kiss as he cards his hands through Roman’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The kisses are languid and soft, occasionally interrupted by Virgil pulling back, barely an inch, to keep count. These kisses are exchanged for a while, Roman slowly drowning out the sound of Virgil’s voice with the sensation of the kisses and Virgil’s warm, steady presence.
Then, something shifts.
Instead of simply pulling away, Virgil nips at Roman’s bottom lip, drawing a gasp from the other Side as he counts the kiss. When they meet again, it’s with more intensity and purpose. Their kisses are open-mouthed and hungry, and the warmth resting in Roman’s chest seems to expand to his burning cheeks, to his hands grasping desperately at Virgil’s shirt, right down to the tips of his toes. Every point of contact between them burns like Virgil’s body is made of wildfire, and Roman chases that heat by wrapping his arms tighter around the Anxious Side and pulling him as close as possible. Virgil breaks apart, the next number on his lips, when Roman steals the words away with another kiss, hot and desperate and wonderful. He is barely aware of each time they part, the kisses blending with each other as Roman chases Virgil’s lips with an almost crazed enthusiasm. And Roman is more than happy, way more than happy, absolutely ecstatic, to simply lose himself in Virgil.
Virgil pulls away again, this time ducking his head to avoid Roman’s pursuing kiss. Roman momentarily sobers, wondering if this is Virgil’s way of asking to stop, when his partner descends on his neck. Roman lets out a stuttering moan as Virgil sucks bruises into the skin, gently biting and leaving marks like an artist would mark a canvas. Roman is burning all over, heat crackling from where Virgil’s mouth kisses him like lightning, and he feels like, at any moment, the heat will overtake him, and he will burst into dazzling light like a star. Virgil trails from his neck to his shoulder, creating a constellation of marks wherever he goes, and Roman can feel him smirk with every pleased noise Roman makes. Roman tightens his hold on Virgil’s shirt, feeling an overwhelming need to flutter and flap and hum, anything to dispel some of the electricity that sparks and flares across every nerve in his body. Suddenly, he’s laughing, the sound squeaky and stuttering and so full of joy, and Virgil smiles widely into the Creative Side’s shoulder.
Virgil moves back up to meet his lips once again, their kisses simmering back down into something soft and sweet. As his heartbeat slows from its frantic beating, Roman feels nothing but an all-encompassing love for the man in his arms. Someone who is so scared, but who fights against those fears to protect those he cares about. Someone who is willing to go outside of his comfort zone just to make Roman smile. Someone who would kiss Roman one hundred times, despite his own reservations regarding giving affection so easily, just because Roman had asked.
Virgil is truly the bravest, most incredible person Roman has ever met.
The two share one final lingering kiss, their lips just barely brushing, before they pull away. For a moment, Roman is lost Virgil’s eyes, open and vulnerable in a way that the Anxious Side rarely shows. Then, those eyes crinkle as Virgil smiles cheekily.
“Eighty-two.”
Roman balks, eyes comically wide.
“There is no way you were still keeping track!”
“I promised you one hundred kisses,” Virgil says, and despite the ridiculousness of the situation, his tone is nothing but sincere, “It wouldn’t be fair if I missed one.”
Roman flounders for a response. Virgil’s smile softens into something sickeningly sweet, likely without the Side realizing it, and he takes pity on the prince, interrupting his stuttering mess of words with a quick kiss (“Eighty-three.”). Virgil continues to pepper kisses on Roman’s face, their placements random and spontaneous, unlike the methodical order Virgil had adhered to before. Roman can’t help but giggle with each peck, Virgil purposefully brushing his lips against his skin in a way that tickles, and his heart feels like it’s bursting with the amount of love and adoration he’s feeling.
Virgil pulls away after a soft kiss against Roman’s temple, but instead of counting the next number like Roman expects, he pauses. A few moments pass, and just when Roman is about to jokingly ask if Virgil needs a reminder for the next number, Virgil speaks.
“I love you.”
Roman chokes, his clever quip dying faster than a candle’s flame in water, and his face blooms scarlet once again. He’s starting to set an embarrassing trend of losing his gusto and charisma with only a few words or a particularly good kiss from the Anxious Side, something that could completely destroy his reputation as the suave embodiment of Romance. But he can’t find it in himself to care, especially as Virgil presses another kiss to his cheek and echoes his previous statement.
“I love you.”
Virgil is a very reserved person. It took ages for him to accept the affection offered by the Light Sides, years of loneliness having trained him to keep to himself. It took even longer for Virgil to offer back these gestures in turn, hesitantly giving them a chance to build trust. It had been nothing less of a shock to Virgil when Roman confessed, as if the idea of his feelings being reciprocated hadn’t even occurred to him. It took weeks after this confession for Virgil to feel comfortable enough to initiate kisses, and it was months after that when he stuttered out a terrified, yet incredibly sincere “I love you”. He still struggles to say those three words, and Roman never holds it against him, because Virgil expresses his love in numerous other ways that Roman has learned to recognize and adore.
So for Virgil to say it now, multiple times…
Roman feels tears accumulate on his lashes.
“I love you,” Virgil grins, cheeks slightly flushed from the admission, “So much.”
The tears finally fall, and Virgil smiles sympathetically as he kisses each of Roman’s cheeks, catching the tears on his lips. He then gently presses his forehead against Roman’s, allowing their noses to gently bump against each other.
“I love you.”
When Virgil’s lips meet Roman’s once more, so gentle that Roman’s heart aches, it feels like a promise.
They pull away, and illuminated by hundreds of twinkling fairy lights, Virgil looks positively ethereal.
“One hundred.”
Roman laughs, the sound choked, and his hand swipes away at the tears that won’t stop falling.
“I can’t believe you actually did it,” Roman says incredulously, “I was only joking. You didn’t have to actually kiss me one hundred times.”
“I know,” Virgil says, “But it was nothing less than the Ultimate Thumb Wrestling Champion deserved.”
Roman howls with laughter, gathering Virgil in his arms and hugging him tightly. He hears Virgil’s own laughter join in, low and soft and beautiful, and Roman promises to himself that he will return every kiss Virgil gave him, every declaration of love, and more.
Roman will give Virgil everything.
Yes, Roman thinks to himself as he presses his lips to the crown of Virgil’s head, That seems a suitable reward for winning my heart.