the flowers in my hand(the crown on your head)

sixteen

Virgil knew this was a bad idea from the moment he left home.

He pulled the cape closer to his body, the slight chill of early winter taking him once again by surprise. He supposed it would've been wiser to have dressed for a colder temperature, but alas, there he was, looking down at his boots as he kicked the small amount of snow in front of him as he walked. The snow was just so bright against the black of his boots that Virgil couldn't take his eyes off it.

Or he didn't want to.

Because if he looked up he would be hit with the inevitable question of 'What are you doing? Do you really think he was serious? That he would even consider your company when he has several better people to be with? He's only acting this way because you're above him, he's afraid that you would exile or execute him if he wasn't kind to you.'

He knew nothing of it was true, but it still hurt to think about. He knew it wasn't true, Roman had told him so several times. If not through words (which were more than enough), than through his actions, through the way his eyes would wrinkle at the edges when he smiled at him or the way he would lean in and fix something crooked with Virgil's outfit or the way he would always ask if Virgil wanted to share his lunch with him, even if there was never enough for two people (though when he brought pancakes, Virgil couldn't say no).

He sighed, kicking the snow far harder than he had first wanted. Well, that was that. If Roman had indeed been joking he would just have to run back home, hide under the covers and throw the pressed forget-me-not he kept between his books in the fire.

Simple as that.

But, he knew it wouldn't be that simple, he knew he would look at the flower and hold it between his hands and promise himself that he would only hold it for another minute while he tries to hold back tears. Now, that would be a more likely scenario incase anything happens.

"But nothing will happen.." Virgil whispered to himself, quiet enough so that anyone near him wouldn't hear him, but loud enough for himself, because he needed to hear that, even if it was in his own shaky voice and not too convincing tone.

It was just nice to hear it out loud for once.

He got shaken out of his thoughts as he approached a flurry of noises coming from what seemed to be a rather accurate depiction of how Roman had described the town hall to him.

Okay, this was it, he was actually going to do this. He was going to go in there and find Roman and everything would be alright.

He hoped. 

He took a deep breath and walked towards the building, the music and laughter getting louder and louder with each step he took. He peeked his head inside the building, his eyes taking a few seconds to get used to the amount of colours and the rapid movement of the crowd. 

He gripped the frame of the door, taking a deep breath because there was so, so, much there. He gulped, eyes scanning the room for Roman, because he had to be there, he couldn't have dropped Virgil in a completely new environment without being there, right?

Virgil looked around the room, eyes moving rapidly among the crowd, anxiety growing every second he kept looking. Not by the buffet, not by the bar, not there, not there. God, where was he?

Virgil took a deep breath, pushing down any sign that he was anything but indifferent and pulled his hood over his fringe.

He decided to take one last look and leave if he couldn't find Roman, so he could get to (not) burning the forget-me-not before he could change his mind. 

Virgil nearly let out a sigh of relief when he finally found Roman, unsurprisingly on the dance floor.

Of course, why would he be anywhere else?