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It's raining outside as Virgil stares out the window, legs tucked under his body and arms pulled tight around himself. There's a light humming from outside his bedroom as Patton runs the vacuum over the same spot he has been for the past ten minutes. Lightning strikes a tree and it splits into two pieces, fire erupting from the wood. Roman must be in a horrible mood, desperate to get an idea, but nothing's coming to him. It would make sense since the only scenery he can seem to conjure is depressing and frankly kind of scary rain. Virgil sighs and climbs out his bed and walks over to his door.
He peeks his head out and Patton is staring out another window as he absentmindedly runs the vacuum over the carpet back and forth. Patton doesn't notice Virgil padding over softly. It isn't until Virgil flicks off the vacuum that Patton finally looks up.
"Hey, kiddo. Hungry?"
Virgil shakes his head. "You think he's still at it?"
Patton nods with a small sigh. "He won't listen to me. Logan tried reasoning with him and he's just," Patton rakes a hand over his face, eyes welling up with tears, "running himself into the ground."
"I'll talk to him," Virgil says. "Don't worry about. Okay?"
Patton nods, wiping away the tears. Virgil gives one of his awkward salutes and sinks down into Princey's room. He honestly doesn't care at this point if Roman screams at him for invading his privacy. The dude's been at this for six days and honestly, Virgil just wants Patton to stop moping and worrying.
The first thing he notices is that Roman's room lacks its usual brightness. It's dimmed down, few lights on. The ones that are turned on are a mere two lamps and one is knocked on the floor beside a bubbling pot of red ink. The floor is covered in crumpled, blacked papers; some have already turned into ash, a clear sign of a worthless idea that burns out seconds after it's thought of.
Roman sits at the edge of his bed, his belt and sword laying across the bed beside him. He holds a pen and little sparks of fire erupt from the tip as he scratches un-endlessly onto a pad of pink papers. His hair is messy and clothing is rumpled. With a cry of aggravation, Virgil watches Roman tear the page out of his pad and fling it into the ground, the edges already blackening.
"Roman," Virgil snaps. "What is this?"
"Go away, Virgil," Roman snaps back. "I'm busy."
"You've been busy for about a week now, don't even start with me."
"Planning."
Virgil scowls and kicks through the sea of papers to get to Roman's bed. He snatches the paper and pen from Roman and slams them onto the bedside table. Roman looks up and glares and Virgil jolts; his eyes look droopy as if seconds from closing. Bags are under his eyes, almost as dark as the eyeshadow had been under his eyes in Virgil's room so long ago.
"Roman, snap out of it."
"There's nothing to snap out of!"
"Patton was crying," Virgil says.
"I don't-" Roman huffs. "It's not my fault."
Virgil laughs, angry and annoyed. "You're an even bigger airhead than I thought. Patton was crying because haven't left your room in six days."
"I'm so close to an original idea," Roman says. "Don't you understand-?"
"Haven't we been over this?" Virgil says. "C'mon, Princey, you gotta know running yourself into the ground like this isn't the way to go."
"I'm so close-" Roman tries.
"Please." Roman looks up, startled. Virgil sounds desperate at this point. "Come downstairs. Take a break. No one will hate you for that."
Roman runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it against his scalp. "I am not in my most princely condition at the moment. I should shower before I go down."
Virgil nods. "Good idea."
Roman stares expectantly. "You can leave now. I'll be down in a bit."
Virgil rolls his eyes. "If you think I'm that stupid, I'm not. I'm waiting right here otherwise you'll probably start- dunno, writing with the shampoo bottles or something equally as moronic."
Roman huffs, but snatches up a clean pair of pyjamas and marches over to his bathroom and snaps the door shut. While Roman showers, not even singing Disney as he does so (which, really, that's a horrible horrible sign and it wrenches Virgil's heart more than it should), Virgil goes through and picks up all the non-burnt papers and smooths them out, folding them carefully in one of Roman's drawers. He throws the ash and half-burnt papers in the trash and sets the bin aside. He picks up the lamp that was lying on the floor and sets it up on a shelf.
Roman comes out in the pyjamas and towels his hair. He looks far better, but the bags under his eyes still remain. Roman looks over the room and sighs. "Thank you," he mumbles to Virgil.
"No prob. It was a junk pile."
Roman rolls his eyes, but sinks out with Virgil into the living room where Logan sits, watching the Discovery channel; Patton is pushing the vacuum in the closet. Logan looks up and switches off the television. Patton runs over and flings his arms around Roman's waist. Roman's hands hover and then slowly rests onto Patton's back, gently combing one hand across his hair.
"We've been so worried, kiddo," Patton mumbles out, muffled into Roman's chest. He pulls away and tears run down his face.
"It is... relieving to see you once again, Roman," Logan says.
"Come," Patton says, grasping his hand and pulling him over to the couch. "Self-care night."
Virgil figures his work is done; he goes to sink down, but Logan stops him, saying, "Perhaps it would be beneficial for us all to partake in self-care."
Virgil sighs, but goes over and sits along the edge of the couch beside Logan. Logan switches the television back on and Patton asks Roman what he wants to watch. He decides on Mulan. Virgil curls up against the side of the couch, closing his eyes. Secretly, he feels relieved- so very relieved that Roman listened to him, however grudgingly.
Cracking open an eye, he sees Patton gently running his fingers through Roman's hair as he leans on Patton's shoulder, legs curled up between him and Logan, watching the screen. Logan sits, distracted from the movie on his phone. Virgil closes his eyes once again and lets the soft background noise lull him to sleep.

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