It wasn't often that Virgil visited Roman's room. He said it was because anxiety didn't mix well with an overactive imagination - excusez-moi - but today must have been an exception because when Roman sat down at his desk, cracking his knuckles in preparation for all the brainstorming he would do for their next mini-compilation video, who should come knock, knock, knocking on his door but Anxiety.

Standing awkwardly in the hallway, his fists shoved into his pockets, hoodie hugging his head, Virgil peered up at him through his violet bangs, dark eyeshadow stark against sallow skin. Although Sides could not, in the traditional sense, become ill, Roman couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in his gut telling him that Virgil was sick, somehow.

Noting the concern plain on Roman's face with a wan smile, Virgil gestured inside, "Mind if I come in, Princey?"

Remembering his manners, Roman blurted, "Why, of course not!" He stood aside, paying close attention to his companion's darting, glancing gaze as it moved swiftly from his collection of theatre posters to the singing and acting accolades they'd collected over the years. Though he couldn't quite pinpoint the cause, it was with a jolt of surprise that Roman realized he was nervous. "Um… Welcome to my humble abode."

Virgil nodded, the curve to his mouth remaining as though it'd frozen there. He drifted towards the bed, meekly slipped off his sneakers, then climbed on the comforter printed with Roman's handsome visage and folded his feet under him. He glanced over his shoulder at Roman, one of his brows raised impatiently.

Biting back several responses that would have upset the fragile peace they had going, Roman took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was technically a host, and as a host, he needed to maintain a certain level of geniality. "Would you like some tea, Virgil?" He asked with a slight twitch.

With a muted scoff, Virgil replied, "I'd love a coffee or ten."

"At this late hour?" Roman was aghast. "Why, you'd plague Thomas throughout the night!"

Virgil's eyes narrowed into an icy glare. "I mean… What I meant to say was..."

Holding up a hand to silence him, which was just as well since Roman had no idea what he was going to say, Virgil slowly shook his head. "No, you're right. I'll take mint if you have any."

There was a tea kettle on Roman's desk. Since he'd been planning on making a cup of soothing chamomile tea for himself soon, anyway, he simply added a little more water and then poured out two mugs. Without waiting for it to cool, he handed one to Virgil, then summoned a cup of cream and a bowl of sugar onto the palm of his hand. In his room, the objects he imagined were even stronger than they were in the communal areas, more detailed, more solid. After all, he was Creativity.

Imagining wasn't just what he did, it was who he was.

Virgil picked up the bowl of sugar then, without breaking eye contact, poured the entirety of it into his mug and stirred. After several rotations, he took a long, loud sip.

Roman's smile, polite as ever, felt like drying plaster on his face. He was certain that if there was a limit to sacred hospitality, Virgil was dancing on it. Once he'd had his fun, though, they settled into companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts.

At long last, their mugs were drained, and Roman couldn't stave off his curiosity any longer, "Alright, Jack Frownington, what's eating you?" Though Virgil looked at him, he didn't seem inclined to answer. Shrugging, Roman tried again, "Do you... want to talk about it?" Although Virgil still refused to speak, his shoulders hunched, curling inward as though he were shrinking, as though he were trying to disappear. It wasn't the first time that day that Roman had witnessed such behavior. Scooching closer, he gently rested a hand on Virgil's knee. "It wasn't your fault, you know." Virgil stiffened. "We all get a little… overzealous sometimes." At the blatant skepticism he was faced with, Roman quickly amended, "Okay, a lot of the time." A gusty sigh escaped. "I'm just saying you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I embarrassed him," Virgil whispered. "He's never going to speak to me again."

"Oh, pish-posh. Thomas embarrasses himself plenty without our help. It will be forgotten in a day." Virgil frowned. "A week?" He groaned, burying his head in his knees. "Perhaps a fortnight?"

At this point, Roman was desperately grasping for straws. Luckily, Virgil seemed to understand that. He peered up at Roman, a wry quirk to his lips. "You're not very good at this whole comforting thing, are you?"

"Touchy-feely things are more Patton's department than mine." So relieved was he that they were getting back on familiar ground, Roman had answered without thinking. At least Virgil seemed to think it was funny. Roman leaned back a little, folding his arms behind his head to give off the impression of relaxation even if in reality he was anything but relaxed. "Speaking of our big-hearted friend, a little birdie told me that he's looking for a baking partner for tomorrow. You know how he likes to bake a tray full of chocolate chip cookies for Movie Night."

"Which is weird when you think about it. After all, he could just -" With a simple snap of his fingers, a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies appeared in Virgil's hands.

Slapping a palm over his heart, Roman gasped. "Hide that before Patton sees!"

After giving it a moment's thought, Virgil held out the tray, and a shadowy mass parted from the wall, lunging forward to swallow the tray whole before returning from whence it came. A high-pitched wheezing sound filled the room. It took Roman a minute before he realized he was making it.

Virgil offered a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Finding his voice at last, Roman exclaimed, "Don't do that!" He slapped his hands to his temples, dragging them down his cheeks. "Next thing you know you'll be inspiring Thomas to make another Halloween-themed video."

"Would that be so bad?"

"It's May!"

As they spoke, Virgil seemed to relax, but once the conversation lapsed into an uneasy silence, he withdrew into himself, his brow furrowing with frustration as his fingers dug into his jeans. It didn't make sense for him to come to Roman when he was feeling like this. "When was the last time you spoke to Logan about those… cognitive thingies?"

Virgil's gaze snapped to him. "Cognitive distortions."

"Cognitive thingies, like I said." Roman waved his hand vaguely. "Is, uh… Is being in my room helping at all?"

His back straightening, legs already swinging off of the mattress, Virgil asked seriously, "Do you want me to leave?"

Acting on impulse, Roman leapt for his hands, keeping them in place as he clasped them. "Not in the slightest! I would sooner slay a dragon than- "

Virgil nudged him with an elbow. "Thanks, Princey. I get it." He looked down. "You can let go of my hands now."

Roman hastily pulled away. A little too fast, actually. To the point where Virgil wasn't certain if he should feel insulted or not. In the end, he decided to let Roman off the hook, because the next words out of his mouth were a hesitantly hopeful, "So… you'll stay?" And Virgil didn't know what to say to that. He waited for Roman to continue. Wringing his hands, the princely Side tried instead, "What movie do you want to see tomorrow?"

It was an unexpected, if not unwelcome, change in topic. Still, Virgil cocked his head in confusion. "Why are you asking me? It's your turn to choose." Logan had chosen Planet Earth the previous week, and Patton had chosen The Great Mouse Detective the week before that, which meant Roman was next on the rotation. That was how they'd always done things, even before Virgil had joined their inner circle.

With a noise of frustration, Roman insisted, "I'm skipping this week so it's your turn."

"That's awfully kind of you," Virgil noted with suspicion. He shrugged. "I guess I'll decide tomorrow."

"No!" Roman leaned closer. "You have to decide right now. I need to hear you say it."

"You're acting crazy, Prince. Crazier than normal."

"Please, Virgil. For me?" Instead of responding, Virgil grabbed a pillow and squeezed, looking about miserable as someone squeezing a pillow in a death grip could.

Roman hated this, hated making Virgil feel like this when he was already down in the dumps but, "Why can't you just say it?"

"Because I don't know if it's true," Virgil replied honestly, if grudgingly. "The last thing I want to do is lie to you."

"Then don't let it be a lie." Though it was a balancing act, Roman tried to offer reassurance without infringing on his personal space any more than he already had by giving his hand a quick and painless squeeze. "Thomas isn't angry at you. None of us are."

Roman held his breath, wondering if Virgil's silence meant he was finally getting through to him. Then Virgil's arms circled around his jacket sleeves as though he were struggling to hold himself together, and Roman's heart sank. "Can we just not talk about this now? I swear I'll have an answer for you tomorrow."

He let out a long breath, emptying his lungs out to rid them of the some of the pressure that had been building up since Virgil had entered his room. "Tomorrow, then. It's a promise." Tension bled out of Virgil's limbs. "But at least stay the night, won't you?" It was a long shot and he knew it. Though Virgil was still sitting on his bed, his mind was already elsewhere. It was just that, "We can shoot the breeze, as the commoners would say," be it instinct or premonition, something told Roman that he shouldn't let Virgil leave, "Oh, I can't wait to tell you all about my latest heroic exploits-"

But it was too late. Virgil slid off the bed and dusted himself off. Facing Roman, he walked backwards towards the wall, "Maybe some other time." And the shadow creature from before parted from its surface, fluid and viscous, and swallowed him from his head to his feet. Reaching for him in a panic, Roman let loose a high-pitched shriek. A wry, "Catch you on the flip side," hung in the air, the words lingering like dust motes floating in rays of sunlight and vanishing when the shadows returned to form.

Only then, once he was certain that Virgil was well and beyond his reach, did Roman allow his empty hands to fall to his sides.

That morning, the perpetually glamorous and kempt prince stumbled to breakfast in a sleep-deprived daze. His hair was ruffled from running his fingers through it as he fretted, and there were bruises under his bloodshot eyes that could give even Anxiety a run for his money. Thus, you could imagine his surprise when standing alongside Patton, flipping pancakes in a wok, was Virgil, looking just as wrecked as him but not by any means unhappy.

Not caring who saw, Roman rushed forward with an elated cry, and threw his arms around Virgil, nearly sobbing with relief.

"Good morning, Roman," Patton called cheerfully, as though it was entirely routine for Roman to be wrapping himself around Virgil's legs and torso like a cuddly boa constrictor.

Virgil, on the other hand, was less than pleased. "I am holding a hot pan!" He tried to wriggle out of Roman's grasp, only for the prince to tighten his hold like a giant Chinese Finger Trap. "Seriously, I can't cook like this." He sighed in consternation, then smirked. "Hey, Princey? Do you want to find out where those cookies I made last night went?" And before Virgil had even finished uttering the veiled threat - Patton only really caught the part about the cookies - Roman was sitting at the table with Logan, waiting patiently for his breakfast, though his gaze, tinged with worry, continued to keep track of Virgil's whereabouts for some time. Just in case.

A/N: Writing this was a bit of a self-imposed challenge. The goal was to write a conversation where neither character directly addressed what the conversation was actually about, and who other than Virgil and Roman are good/bad enough at communicating to do something like that?