"I expected you to come home with some lifestyle changes, but I can't say that…" Thomas trailed off while he looked at the sheets Dr. Picani gave him. Roman sighed and rubbed his arm. "That you have a history of self-harm and no longer have a bedtime was what I thought I would hear," Thomas finally finished, furrowing his eyebrows at the sheet and running his fingers through his hair. "I… really hate to invade your privacy, but I think I should search through your things for something you can hurt yourself with." Thomas sighed, getting up from the couch.
"Uh, sure." Roman shrugged. He was used to foster parents going through his things. "I have some paper cutters in my art stuff, I'll get them for you." Roman turned to head up the stairs. "I can ask for them back to use them, right?" He paused on the stairs and turned to peer at Thomas, who followed behind him.
"Under supervision, I suppose," Thomas muttered, looking uncomfortable. He stepped into his office and dropped off the paper from Dr. Picani on his desk. He came back out and seemed to examine Roman again. Roman looked down at himself in confusion. What was there to see? "I'll… let Pat know. But I'm the one home, usually. There's a lockbox in my office I can use for them. Is there anything else?" Thomas asked, and Roman looked back up. Roman couldn't remember, so he kept going up the stairs to see if it would jog his memory.
"Uh," Roman elongated as he stepped into the bedroom and dropped his backpack next to the desk. Thomas followed right behind him, looking pensive. Roman scanned the bedroom, trying to remember. "I don't think so? I'm pretty certain all my sharp things are art supplies." Roman shook his head, heading into the bin in his closet with his art stuff. He dug out his scissors and precision knife and handed them off to Thomas. He almost sat on the bed, but thought better of it and sat down at his desk chair instead.
"Well, I suppose I'm checking, anyway. We should get you a reading chair or something to sit in that is more comfortable than a desk chair," Thomas stated, opening up Roman's dresser drawers. The drawer with Roman's loose stuff clattered loudly when he yanked it open. Roman pulled out his back of skittles from the organizer on the desk to munch on them.
"This is fine." Roman shook his head. He'd probably be drawing at the desk while he stayed up or something similar, anyway. Roman was sure the appointment was expensive enough, and he had to go again the day after tomorrow.
"I'm doing it either way, Roman. You do know we get a stipend for your needs, right? It's not like it's all out of pocket. I'm not that concerned about money." Thomas shook his head. "We can go out together to get one or I can just get one myself," Thomas said airily, twisting his hand in the air.
"They always said the stipend was never enough," Roman replied under his breath, looking down.
"You were getting guilt-tripped, Roman." Thomas sounded utterly exasperated, shooting Roman a meaningful glance before looking back to the dresser.
"You don't know that," Roman objected pointedly. Thomas closed the drawer he finished digging in and opened the next drawer down.
"Seriously, we're not tight for money. Virgil has a reading chair, too, it's only fair. We wanted to let you pick one yourself. We already planned on it," Thomas insisted with a firm tone.
"It's still money, okay? Just because I got diagnosed with stuff means I'm suddenly okay with you spending money on me," Roman grumbled and leaned back in the chair.
Thomas exhaled harshly as he closed the drawer and checked the final one. "How about this? We have a ridiculous high-back chair in our bedroom. We buy ourselves a new chair and you take ours second-hand. I can order an ottoman and some pillows for you, which are much cheaper. There's already a reading lamp clipped on to it for the low-light thing that sheet is talking about," Thomas offered, looking at Roman firmly.
"But that's your chair," Roman objected, shrinking back in his chair. He didn't feel comfortable with the way this conversation was going.
"Pat's been wanting one of those giant memory foam bean bags like the one Virgil has. He'll be ecstatic that I replaced it." Thomas finished checking the last drawer and headed to the closet. "These are from the bin in the closet, right? Do you mind if I check there for anything you missed?" He asked, holding up the precision knife and scissors.
"Be my guest." Roman motioned towards the closet. "Shelf on the right. Though there's not much else in the closet, anyway." He watched Thomas head over there and pull out the bin to check through it under the room's overhead light. Oh shit, the bullets. The bullets! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—
"So, how about it? You can help me move the chair after this," Thomas said as he sifted through all the loose items in there. He pulled out the metal knitting needles and considered them for a moment, poking at the ends. Roman drew a stabilizing breath. They're not obvious. No one had found them before. Thomas had scooted it to the side in the bin, but didn't seem suspicious. He was so fucking glad Thomas had been too focused on searching to see Roman freak out. Roman loosened up and tried to not be so obvious.
"The only way I can think of to use those to hurt myself involves a lighter and I don't have one and I'm not warping the needles. I usually make scarves for Christmas," Roman replied glibly, flipping out his hand. Thomas just stared at him. "That's fine, I guess. It is much better than buying me a new chair," Roman grumbled out his concession. Honestly, it was better than most of the compromises he had to handle.
"It worries me that you can come up with that so quickly." Thomas eyed Roman suspiciously.
"I'm creative, so sue me. It's not like I've ever done it before." Roman huffed, tossing his hands. "Dr. Picani let me back out of telling you if I said I wouldn't do it again, you know. I wanted help to make sure I don't backslide. There's a good reason I don't prefer thinking about this shit," Roman muttered angrily, tapping the desk in frustration.
"I'm surprised you were so willing to talk to him. The messaging service psychiatrist is still struggling to diagnose Virgil because apparently, he keeps filling out the questionnaires with conflicting answers. He's also only sending emojis." Thomas chuckled a little. "I have to give him one for that, he's really determined." He shook his head a little sadly.
"You guys paid for it. I'd feel like an even bigger piece of shit if I wasted your money even if I don't want to be there." Roman sighed and popped another skittle in his mouth.
"Roman, you're not a piece of shit, and what I decide to do with my money isn't something you need to stress about. I wouldn't consider it a waste if you weren't comfortable enough to talk to them. I'd just find another specialist for you and hope they're a better fit." Thomas held the door frame, a determined expression on his face.
"He let me dodge stuff I didn't want to talk about. He wasn't the worst." Roman shrugged a little. "I mean, uh…" He trailed off, looking away.
"You kind of like him, don't you?" Thomas smirked at him knowingly.
"He's the human embodiment of a Jigglypuff, Thomas!" Roman shot back defensively, throwing up his arms in the air. "He wears pastel pink, is intense about cartoons, and talks like he's seconds from baking cookies for you even when he asks you if you tried to kill yourself, it's absolutely bizarre!" Roman crammed a skittle in his mouth and chewed out his frustration on the candy.
"I knew going for a private practice was the way to go." Thomas seemed amused and moved to put the bin back in the closet. "Perhaps Virgil will have more trouble circumventing him. I'll ask the receptionist about it on Wednesday if they have any openings for non-verbal patients." Thomas smiled a little mischievously, looking up as if he was already scheming in his head.
Roman breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed Thomas was too distracted to check the inside of the pencil sharpener. Technically, he could take the blade out of the sharpener, though. He didn't really want to ask permission to sharpen his pencils, but he should probably hand it over. If Roman got markers, they would probably buy them for him and he wouldn't need a sharpener. Roman could pay him back for those easily with next month's allowance, so he didn't have to feel as bad about it.
"There are art supplies in the organizer, right?" Thomas asked, heading over to the desk. Roman got up and motioned with both arms to the organizer. Roman was pretty certain there were just pencils and pens in there. He headed into the closet and dumped the little cloth bag of bullets out from the sharpener into his jacket pocket while Thomas rifled with the coloured pencils clattering in the metal organizer.
"Here." Roman passed over the pencil sharpener. "I forgot about this." He chewed his lip nervously, glancing up at Thomas.
"This is a huge pencil sharpener. I've never seen one with the adjustable ring outside of a classroom. Why did you—" Roman pulled the shavings catch out and tilted it back to point to the large blade on the inside before putting it back together. "Ah." Thomas nodded, swallowing nervously. Roman stepped away, sitting on the floor next to the bed, feeling weird and numb.
"You really are serious about this, huh," Thomas stated quietly, fishing the small sharpener out of the cup on the end of the desk organizer.
"I, uh... Yeah. Remus would kill me, so…" Roman muttered, looking down and rubbing his finger on the carpet. He could feel the bumps of the pile through his gloves, but not the softness. "I'm really sorry you have to do all this stuff," He said sheepishly.
"I signed up for this and I continue to be happy to help. I'm sorry you… I'm sorry you're in a place where you're not considered safe from yourself," Thomas replied sadly, his face sinking to sorrow. Roman just shrugged, looking down and running his fingers through the carpet. He didn't know how to feel about the whole severe depression thing, so he was hoping to just… not think about it. He already knew he wasn't safe from himself, and that's why he'd gotten stuck wearing the gloves. It really wasn't any different for him, in the end. Roman sighed and looked back up at Thomas, who just watched him nervously. Roman felt unnerved and twiddled his thumbs.
"It's whatever. Can I have some markers out of my allowance so I don't have to sharpen pencils? Some alcohol ones so I can blend the colours. I already have water-based and they're kind of garbage for that." Roman picked at his left glove nervously. "I mean, if it's too much eff—"
"It's no problem, Roman. I'm happy to get you some markers. Let me go lock"—Thomas held up the handful of bladed objects—"these up. Meet me in the bedroom to help move the chair in here. I don't know if you've ever been in there. You can see Lita's ridiculous cat tree." Thomas cut off Roman with a kind tone. Roman appreciated it, since he was doubtlessly about to ramble from the sheer uncomfortableness of this situation, and he didn't want to feel worse.
Thomas headed out of the bedroom and Roman walked to the closet to kick his shoes off. He made sure Thomas was downstairs before slipping the bag of bullets into his old pair of sneakers and pushed them into the corner before lining up his other shoes next to them. He considered shoes a temporary spot since if anyone picked them up they'd notice one shoe was abnormally heavy. The weight made hiding bullets hard. His art supplies bin was already heavy, so the weight wasn't abnormal there. He'd have to find somewhere more permanent later. He got up and walked down the hall towards Thomas's room.
Patton's office door had been left open, which was usual. Roman nearly walked past until he realized it was emptier in there than when he last saw it. There were fewer things on the shelves. Some books and decorations had been removed. He always thought Patton's office was cluttered and distracting with all the things he had in there. Maybe Patton couldn't focus. If Roman had a big opalite carving of a cat, he'd get distracted, too. He was glad the carving was still there, though; he loved seeing it the few times Patton left the door open.
Roman continued to open Thomas's door and went inside their bedroom. It was a little cluttered in here, but not as bad as Patton's office used to be. There were plenty of photos and memorabilia up, along with some interesting art and figurines. But it all seemed organized and clean. The bed was unmade, and there was a basket of folded clothes on the floor that hadn't been put away yet, but it was cozy and sensible in here. The walls were bright, and the bed had dark grey sheets with a bright white comforter. There were three doors in here. Did they have two closets? How much did this house cost? He really shouldn't think about that. Roman turned around to look for the foretold cat tree instead.
Wow. They weren't kidding. A crisp white and cerulean set of carpeted shelves towered above Roman against the wall. Lita was asleep on the topmost shelf that had a pet bed on it. A cable running up to the level she napped on. Did that dog have a heated bed on a cat tree? No wonder she acted so spoiled.
Lita's ears twitched, and she slowly raised her head out of the padded pet bed walls and yawned widely. She looked to Roman and blinked slowly before standing up and hoping to a lower level, stretching out before bounding down another floor of the tree. Roman stepped over and let her sniff his hand and she sat down happily, pushing her head into Roman's hand.
He wasn't sure this was a dog or a cat right now, and he couldn't help but be incredibly endeared by that. This dog was so strange and he loved it. He petted her happily, enjoying watching her tail fwap against the scratching pole. Today was so fucking strange. Or it could be the world was just weirder than he realized before. He wasn't sure.
"It's great, isn't it?" Thomas declared, coming in as Roman pet Lita with both hands.
"It's surreal in a good way." Roman nodded and rubbed behind Lita's ears.
"She was raised with the clinic cats, so she can act catlike. She doesn't scratch the posts or anything, but she likes heights and naps. I think she likes to feel tall." Thomas chuckled softly and reached out to pet her. "The chair is in the other corner." Thomas motioned, and Roman accompanied him over. The monolith of a chair was dramatic, completely over the top, and almost looked like a throne. It had wood legs and padded in a burgundy coloured velvet fastened with golden rivets. "I know it's a little… theatrical, but that's what we have for free. If you prefer a differ—"
"No, it's amazing," Roman cut him off right away and Thomas's face dropped from slightly smug to flustered in a second. "Was that a trick to try to get me to get a new one instead?" Roman challenged, feeling amused at Thomas's antics.
"Well, Patton does actually want a beanbag monstrosity. I just didn't think you'd take this chair. It's from the theatre. I bought it when they downsized." Thomas only appeared to be mildly disappointed that Roman caught on to his scheme. "Lift from your knees." Thomas stepped around the side of the chair and grasped the underside. "I'll walk backward, so warn me when to turn," Thomas requested, and picked up the chair. Roman moved to lift the other side. Holy shit, this thing was hefty. Roman's grip wavered, and he took a sharp breath and lifted again, more successfully this time.
"I feel like I'm in the twilight zone and I might wake up any minute." Roman let out a single stiff laugh, shuffling along the floor as Thomas looked backward to pivot out of the bedroom. It was an incredibly fucking heavy chair, and he strained from the effort.
"Because of the dog in a cat tree and the throne, or are you out of it?" Thomas asked, his voice breaking from lugging the heavy-ass chair.
"Turn," Roman instructed, and Thomas pivoted and angled to go into the bedroom. They dropped it off in the vacant patch of carpet near the bookshelf with a small shake from the floor and a dual sigh of relief.
"That was a lot heavier than I remembered. Are you okay?" Thomas took a deep breath and wiped his brow.
"Yeah, arms are just… like limp noodles you threw against the cabinet, but they were overcooked and the pasta became mush." Roman rolled his shoulders to stretch them out. Thomas put his hands on his hips and stretched out his lower back.
"And you're not… dissociating?" Thomas asked, tilting his head and carefully examining Roman's face.
"I don't know. I'm a little light-headed, but that could have been hauling the chair. I'm fine with staying near you." Roman stretched his arms out behind his back.
"Well, let's get some food in you. You might need to replenish some iron after the labs," Thomas suggested, dropping his arms and walking out of the room.
"Whatever." Roman stretched out his legs with a swift kick each before following Thomas back downstairs.
Roman felt kind of empty, but not in a bad way. It sort of made the world feel like it wasn't affecting him, which was nice, if anything. They descended the steps into the living room together. Roman stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets as Thomas let go of the support beam. Virgil perched like a gargoyle on the couch arm, watching them enter with an annoyed expression plastered all over his face. Virgil glowered pointedly at Roman, his head following them as they walked.
"Virgil, what's wrong?" Thomas furrowed his eyebrows at him.
"I think he's still mad about Warm Bodies." Roman fought the urge to laugh. Virgil nodded and stuck out his tongue. He signed something so quick that Roman couldn't catch what he said.
"It's not like Roman specifically picked it to bother you." Thomas crossed his arms and leaned back somewhat.
"Oh no, I did." Roman snickered evilly, getting flipped off by Virgil while Thomas looked at Roman. "I hoped he wouldn't realize it was a romance until it was too late," Roman explained brightly.
"Roman." Thomas huffed, shaking his head. He ran his hand through his hair and looked conflicted, chewing his lip.
"What? It was just a movie, it's not like I decked him." Roman rolled his eyes, motioning to Virgil.
'Like that guy at school,' Virgil signed with a smug expression.
"Yeah, exactly." Roman chuckled, signing that Virgil was correct as he spoke.
"What?" Thomas glimpsed between the two of them. "I only saw the sign for person." He pointed at Virgil weakly.
"The way I see it, you can either deck me or pick a movie that I will get invested in just to hate," Roman offered brightly, signing along as he made his suggestion.
'Punching is too easy. I will get revenge,' Virgil signed back, looking particularly menacing, with his face shadowed by his hood.
"Okay, that was probably the sign for hitting. You didn't pick punching him, right?" Thomas asked, sounding concerned and pointing at Roman. Virgil shook his head and leaned back, grinning viciously.
"I'll sit through whatever movie you want me to," Roman nodded, signing along with his words. He figured he should let Thomas in before he assumed they were going to get into a fistfight.
"Oh, thank god," Thomas sighed in relief.
'I'll send you a link. You won't like it.' Virgil grinned wildly, crossing his arms and leaning back on the couch.
"Um, thanks," Roman replied out loud and signed at the same time. He was a little nervous at that expression that could only be paralleled to the devil itself, but it couldn't be that bad. He'd seen a pretty serious amount of children's B-movies in his life.
"Geez, I don't want to cook after hauling that thing," Thomas hummed as he leaned on one foot, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't suppose anyone opposes delivery?" He asked, pulling out his phone.
'Fuck me up, fam,' Virgil signed, looking pleased.
"Hell no." Roman gestured with a flourish and proceeded to plop down on the couch.
He melted back and just became one with the sofa in a moment of fuzzy brain bafflement before turning to see what Virgil was watching. Another black and white show played on the TV, and he had no idea what the plot was. The characters were making lye soap in a cauldron on the lawn of a mansion with stereotypical hick accents. Thomas walked off into the kitchen. Roman tried to watch the show, but his brain felt too full of static to process exactly what was happening. Thomas came back later, holding a plate of a sliced apple over the couch for Roman.
"Here, to recover after the vampires stole your blood." Thomas smiled and came to sit on the curve of the couch between Roman and Virgil. Roman was still light-headed, so the apple should help. Or maybe he was just numb from the appointment. He noticed an extra internal screaming accompanied his thoughts while he considered the apple. So could have been the latter. There was also the possibility that it was the uneasy feeling the show gave Roman. It was truly odd and dated.
"Virgil, why in the world are you watching that? It's older than me. How did you even find this to stream?" Thomas sounded thoroughly baffled. Virgil just shrugged in response, not even looking at Thomas. He wasn't paying that much attention to the TV, but he appeared more relaxed than usual while he tapped around on his phone, listening to the show.
"Are you doing alright, Roman?" Thomas's tone hat returned to his usual concerned manner.
"I'm straight vibing." Roman pulled out his phone and put the plate on the side table to munch off of.
'Gay,' Virgil corrected him, and Roman just rolled his eyes back in response. Yeah, he still wasn't considering that, either. No, thank you. He had lots of things to ignore today.
"So you're refusing to think about this afternoon?" Thomas raised an eyebrow at Roman.
"Verily," Roman shot a finger gun at Thomas as he loaded up the internet to research cake recipes. He wanted cupcakes. Hopefully, that would shut up the mental anguish he was disconnected from that still refused to stop being present. "Hey Spooktacular, how does eating your feelings sound?" Roman asked, peering up from his phone to see Virgil's hands.
Virgil sported a somewhat manic look on his face as he did the hand sign for 'yes.'
"Thomas, can I bake cupcakes?" Roman turned his head to look pleadingly at Thomas standing behind the couch.
"I suppose that's probably more grounding than The Beverly Hillbillies and doesn't require knives." Thomas sighed despondently, sagging his shoulders. Roman smirked and looked back down at his phone, pondering his flavour options. He couldn't make a choice, though. It either seemed too boring or too questionable that other people would like them.
"What type of cupcakes do you want?" Roman asked in an attempt to shift some of the responsibility of the decision off himself, and looked up to see Virgil's response.
'Fancy.' Virgil placed his phone on his knees briefly to sign his reply.
"Like, how fancy?" Roman asked for clarification out loud while he signed back with his phone in his lap.
'If it's not twelve steps minimum, I'm not eating it.' Virgil made a chef's kiss motion after signing. Roman hummed and dug through the recipes a little longer, trying to find enough steps. Thomas just made a confused noise and peered between the two of them as he gripped the top of the couch.
"Death by chocolate?" Roman offered the recipe he found with eighteen steps, and Virgil nodded enthusiastically. "Cool." Roman hummed and shoved an apple slice in his mouth while he reviewed the recipe. It seemed extremely involved, would take hours, and looked fucking delicious. It was perfect to get his mind off things. Virgil was a genius.