You Will Be Found

Virgil's P.O.V.

I know Thomas is doing a video today, but for some reason I didn't feel the need to pop in. Yes, he's anxious, I'm sure of that, but not to the extent that I need to be there. So instead I'll just listen to some Dear Evan Hansen. (Don't you dare tell Princey that I listen to it! I'll never hear the end of it!)

I sit on my bed and put on my headphones. Maybe I'll paint something too. I usually don't, it's just a hobby, but I'm bored so why not?

I walk over to my closet and pull out my easel and paints. I've had an idea for some time now, but haven't had a chance to work on it due to working over time. This Covid-19 stuff is really stressing Thomas out.

I dip a brush in the purple paint and begin.

...

I lean back in my chair. My arm is so tired. But at least I have it half done. I glance at my watch, (the clock in my room is permanently broken) the others should be back by now, it's been almost 30 minutes. Huh. I still haven't been called in. Oh well.

I turn back to my painting and start on the red part of it.

...

I rest my arms again and check the time, it's been 45 minutes. This is getting long.

...

Okay, this is ridiculous. It's been almost 50 minutes! This is the longest video yet! I sigh, and put down my paints. I know I wont be able to paint anymore because I'm too anxious. What is happening up there!?

As if one cue I hear a side sinking back down. Thank god!

I open the door to my room. It's Princey, I open my mouth to greet him, but he's already rushing to his room. What's up with that? He probably just got some inspiration or something, but he'd usually at least talk to me.

I shrug and step back into my room, I need to finish this painting anyway.

I pick up my paintbrush, but that's when I hear it. Sniffles.

What? I listen harder, it's coming from the room next to mine.

Roman.

But why?

I bite my lip and try to think of what to do. I'm not the one who usually deals with the sides' mental breakdowns. That's Patton. But he's still filming. I guess I'll just have to wing it.

I walk out of my room, but pause at the door of Roman's. I stop to listen again.

There's the sniffles.

And pacing.

Wait, now he's sitting down.

Now he's breathing hard.

Harder.

Faster.

I hear the sheets of his bed crumpling.

He's pacing again.

His footsteps are fast and he keeps going in circles, as if he's looking for a way out of his room.

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit! He's panicking. He's having a panic attack. Roman is having a panic attack. Is that even possible? Shit, shit shit shit!

Forget a plan, I burst into his room. He doesn't even notice. He's back on his bed, curled in a tight ball, face in his knees and hands in his hair.

"Roman!" I say, starting to get scared. "Roman are you okay?"

He doesn't seem to hear me. He's mumbling incoherent words and fractions of sentences.