Roman one-shots

Pretty things are to be ruined

TWS: Abuse, Implied neglect, implied homophobia

It was cold and the snow was falling harder than it should. It was way past midnight, but Virgil just couldn't stop himself this time. One drink turned to two, two turned to three and so on. His father didn't appreciate this, calling him names that stung like bees. Each slap hurt more than he thought was possible.

He didn't even think as he got into the car, slamming the door behind him. He drove, gripping the steering wheel. He didn't look at the speed limits that warned him he was going too fast. Virgil didn't stop until he saw the brick house. He smirked.

Over and over again he slammed his hand on the door. Two cars in the driveway, one that belonged to him, the other to Mr. Popular. Finally, someone answered. Roman rubbed the sleep out of his eyes glancing at Virgil's bruised face and then the clock.

He sighed, grabbing Virgil's wrist and dragging him to the couch. Virgil didn't move. He knew the routine just as much as Roman did. Roman walked off to grab the first aid kit. Virgil took his time to look over the room.

The cracked tv that sat on the wall. The bookshelf that had very few books on it. Virgil laughed, nothing had changed to the room. It never failed to amuse him though how boring it was.

Roman came back, first aid kit in hand. His knees were bruised from previous encounters. He bent down anyway, cleaning the blood off Virgil's pretty but exhausted face. He took his time, memorizing Virgil as if he would disappear. Nobody said anything.

Not even when Virgil finally cracked, sobbing into his chest. He sat there and cried with him. "I'm sorry." Virgil whispered into his ear. Roman smiled. He didn't respond, he knew Virgil wouldn't want pity.

He knew that Virgil would rather kill himself than listen to Roman pity him and offer empty words of kindness. Roman let Virgil cry until there were no tears left, just his heavy breathing against Roman's cold neck.

He took Roman's hand standing up. He put a record into the record player that sat on the almost empty bookshelf. "Dance with me?" He asked, his voice almost not reaching the other's ears.

Roman nodded, and the two danced. They danced as if Virgil wouldn't go home soon and forget this happened. They knew that when tomorrow came, Roman would be just another popular rich white boy, and Virgil would just be the bad boy whose life mission was to ruin. It was almost heartbreaking to remember.

Which is why they didn't because here, in the empty living room with no one's eyes but their own, they could be free. So they danced, until Virgil couldn't stand and Roman just couldn't stand to see it. If life was different then Virgil would've stayed in Roman's lonely house. But he didn't, he went home, where he couldn't be him. Leaving Roman all alone, once again, to feel just as unloved as before.

A/N: How would you guys feel if I made this into a longer story? idk yet just thinking about it :) I've been like in love with the trope of Bad boy x Popular