Virgil isn't a Creative. He doesn't know why he thinks he can do this. It's stupid - what does he expect? He isn't going to be able to show anyone his poem, so why even write it?
But deep in his chest he really wanted to be a part of this. He saw the flyer for it at his job. They have a little cork board by the door that people can hang flyers on. For community building or whatever. Virgil doesn't usually care about any of the papers pinned there - a lawn mowing service and a local candle maker were always present. But in between the brave attempts at graphic design, Virgil saw a small, purple note.
Poetry slam at the Fresh Sip Cafe. Thursday night at 8. Open mic night!
Virgil liked poems. He didn't share that information often. But poems were like songs, without music. Virgil knew he could never be smart or creative enough to make a song. Not without a Logical or Creative trait. But he could manage a half-assed poem on his own. And maybe, just maybe, he could even be proud of it.
Regardless of how he felt, he knew he could not let Logic or - Gods forbid - Roman know about this. He just knew both of them would rip his work to shreds, fully unaware of how hard this shit was for every other trait. Words don't come easy to Virge, they never have. He felt more connected to music and drawing. He loves the heavy drum beats that set rhythm. Melodies get stuck in his mind on loop. When he first began to draw, his inspiration came from songs. But it was the lyrics that captured his attention. As a kid he practiced his drawing skills every night while he blasted his ipod. The words grew a deeper meaning in the way only a middle schooler could feel.
Somehow, he became good enough of an artist that people mistook him for a Creative. But Virgil wasn't fooling himself. He knew his art was nothing compared to actual Creative traits. His words would fall even flatter.
Yet even still, he wrote. He changed words over and over, fumbling over synonyms. He didn't know the slightest thing about poetry. He just liked listening to it sometimes. He was totally in over his head.
And still, he wanted to go. He wanted to go, and Virgil so rarely got the urge to leave the house. He had to chase this sensation. Even if it was the most terrifying idea possible.
He was being silly. Just because he was spending a lot of time writing a poem, didn't mean he had to perform it like some, well, Performer. He could just go and watch and be quiet and unseen. It would be easy. Fun, even.
The idea of being in a crowded Cafe, even if it was for a little poetry show, made Virgil uneasy. He had never been inside the Cafe before- what if it was too small? What if everyone was sitting on top of each other and no one could hear the show? What if Virgil hated it but couldn't leave because standing up would mean interrupting the poet? These thoughts brought Virgil to the decision - he should bring a Side with him. But Logic and Roman couldn't know. They're criticism would be too real. When amatures shared joy, experts returned critique. Patton wouldn't be able to keep the event a secret. He'd tell Roman and Logic about their date, and then they'd want to hear Virgil's poem. And them they'll realize they're stuck with a talentless hack forever.
Janus. Janus can keep a secret and throat punch someone if they need a quick escape. Virgil determined that if he does go, he'll bring Janus. But that still didn't mean he was going to read his poem out loud. They can just go together and listen. Maybe Janus will sit close to him. Put his hand on his knee. Who knows, things might get a little crazy.
Most of the time, Janus is locked away in his room. Virgil finds him there, after gathering all of his courage. Janus smiled at him as he closed the bedroom door.
"Hey." Virgil said.
"Hey yourself." Janus replied. His deep voice had a rasp to it; a radio-like crackle that made Virgil shiver. Virge crawled onto his bed, feeling heat curl up his arm as they got closer.
"Are you busy tomorrow?" Virgil asked. He tilted his head a little as Janus traced his finger along his jawline. Virgil tried not to squirm.
"For you? No." Janus asked quietly, "What do you need?"
Virgil's throat felt tight, and not because of the very hot side next to him. "I want to do something, but I don't want to go alone."
"Of course," Janus' shoulders relaxed. "What are we doing?"
Virgil turned his face away. He said through his embarrassment, "A poetry slam."
Janus didn't laugh, which was good. He nodded thoughtfully and said, "And you invited me instead of Roman because of my endless charm?"
"Roman and Logic would like a poetry show." Virgil admitted. "But what if taking them … makes me like it less? Can you just - keep this between us?"
Janus nodded once more. He placed a finger on his own lips and winked. Thrilled, Virgil leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Janus let out a giggle, which was enough of a pleasant surprise that Virgil forgot about his own embarrassment. Despite his trait shouting at him, Virgil knew he could trust Janus to always have his back. He was thankful he had a Side like Jan.
Virgil wasn't expecting Janus to dress up for the poetry slam, but he should've. Janus loves showing off his nice outfits and nicer body. He was a lot like Roman in that way. Virgil didn't mind; but he was certainly not a model like the two of them. He couldn't just throw on any random assortment of clothes and look good in it. He clung to his jacket - a double gift of sorts, from his sister and again from Roman - like a lifeline. And unfortunately, only Virgil thought it completed his outfits. The baggy gray jacket hid most of Virgil, and he liked it like that. But standing next to Janus, in his beautiful golden top and black leather jacket, Virgil felt hopelessly under dressed.
Reluctantly, Virgil decided to leave his jacket behind. He instantly felt chilled when he took it off, but he wanted to look half as good as Janus. Maybe this was the right step forward? Even if it was uncomfortable and Virgil would rather take four steps back than not have his jacket?
It didn't matter. Janus liked fashion and looking good. Virgil, with all his bare armed glory, could also look good and fashionable. Virgil forced himself to set his jacket down on a small table by the door.
"Ready?" Janus asked, twirling Virgil's keys in his hand. Virgil relaxed when he realized he wouldn't have to drive. It would be alright. It's just a normal slightly-hipster date. His trait could calm down now, thanks.
Virgil took Janus hand and glanced around the front rooms. He didn't want anyone to see them sneaking out. Weirdly, he didn't feel guilty about the idea of it. Janus led him out into the night, and Virgil's chest fluttered with excitement.
"Are there drinks here?" Janus asked as they entered the snug, dimly lit cafe. Several people were already there, lingering at tables or waiting in line to order. Virgil eyed the small stage, currently empty.
"Non-alcoholic ones." Virgil pointed to the cash register. He felt jittery, which was silly, because he wasn't going to read his poem. His poem that he stayed up late practicing and finalizing.
"You find us a seat, I'll get refreshments." Janus said, ushering Virgil towards the stage. He stumbled off, trying to tell his heart to calm down. Fuck, he should've taken some medicine before he left. But that was fine, he can just take a puff right now and-
Virgil reached for his jacket pocket. The jacket that he left at home. Suddenly, a chill ran through Virgil for an entirely new reason. He liked to keep his medicine with him. It wouldn't really fix a panic attack but it does help prevent one.
He would be fine. It's fine. He wanted to be out here, he wanted to do this. And he's going to have fun with Janus.
Janus found Virgil a few moments later, and not long after that, the rest of the small crowd had settled. Virgil appreciated having something to drink. Janus ordered Virge a grape slushy and himself a lemonade. They spoke quietly as they waited for the poetry to start.
"How'd you hear about this?" Janus asked.
Virgil shrugged, "There was an ad at my job."
"Are the poets in some club?" Janus eyed someone walking by with green hair and a lip ring. "A traveling show?"
"No, it's an open mic night." Virgil said, taking a sip of his slushy. The grape made him relax ever so slightly. "Anyone can go up there."
Janus said, without judgment, "Roman would enjoy this."
"I didn't want him to upstage me." Virgil said, guilt growing in his chest. His fear was keeping him from having fun with his Sides.
Janus looked at him, frowning. In the low light, Virgil could see his tongue piercing flash as he spoke. "Upstage you how?"
Virgil shrugged and said, "It's stupid. I thought maybe I could…" He trailed off and gestured to the stage. An Established woman walked up to the microphone and began to announce the first poet.
Janus glanced between the stage and him. "Did you write something?"
Virgil nodded.
"So why not share it?" Janus scooted closer, lowering his voice. Virgil appreciated the subtlety, and found comfort within the warmth that flowed off Janus. Virgil shook his head, glancing around at the crowd. He couldn't stand in front of all of these people and recite something he came up with from scratch.
Virgil's voice sounded funny as he responded, "I'm just not that kind of Side."
"I don't think that's true." Janus replied, softly.
Virgil didn't get another moment to speak before Janus stood up. He moved through the crowd easily, and Virgil watched with horror as he made his way to the sign up sheet.
"No!" Virgil whispered. "No, no, no!"
Janus came back to the table after looking at the paper for a moment. Virgil glared at him, arms crossed. Annoyingly, Janus chuckled at him. He sat down again and ruffled Virgil's hair.
"Don't worry, kitten." Janus said, startling Virgil out of his anger. "If you don't go up there when they announce you, they'll just move on to the next poet."
"You shouldn't have done that!" Virgil shook his head, trying to keep his voice down. The first poet had started, and Virge didn't want to disrupt them. "I'm not a poet!"
"You wrote a poem?"
"Well, yeah-"
"You're a poet." Janus smiled and clinked his glass against Virgil's, which sat on the table. "Enjoy the night. No one will know if you chickened out or if you had to leave, and more importantly, no one will care."
Virgil exhaled slowly and picked up his grape slushy. He took a sip and forced himself to focus on the chilly flavor. Janus caught his attention once more, leaning in closer to add, "But you wanted to come here for a reason. Don't let yourself turn into a Regret over this."
Virgil pressed his teeth together and let Janus' advice sink in. If he really wanted to, they could walk out at any point. This wasn't work or school; he could decide he was done whenever he wanted.
Virgil didn't recognize anyone here - not that he knew many people anyway. So if he did make a fool of himself, at least it would be in front of a bunch of strangers. He'd never see any of these people again. Maybe … maybe he could try?
The idea, while exciting, also lit up Virgil's trait. He bounced his leg, hoping to expel some of his Anxious energy. He had to focus harder on paying attention. Words were blurring together, and Virgil really wished they invented subtitles for real life.
"I'd like you to give a warm welcome to our next poet - Virgil Side!" The host said. Virgil blinked, unaware that so many poets had already performed. He was so focused on them, their stories, their rhyming, that he forgot what Janus had done.
He looked to Jan, fear shooting through him. But Janus wasn't afraid. He took Virgil's hand and gave it a small squeeze. Virgil looked at Janus' mismatched eyes; honey and chocolate; woodlands and amber. Virgil saw trust, and strength that he couldn't naturally produce on his own.
"What do you want to do?" Janus whispered.
Virgil knew if he said the word, Janus would get them out of there. The exhausting idea of simply leaving was obvious to Janus. But he also, clearly, saw no danger in being here. Janus was right; nothing too awful could happen at a poetry slam. Right? He squeezed Janus' hand back. He could do this.
"I'll- I'll, um, yeah." Virgil mumbled, standing up. Somehow, Janus understood him, and smiled encouragingly as he stepped away.
Barely breathing, Virgil made his way to the stage. The audience politely clapped for him, and Virgil cleared his throat. His shaking hands reached for the mic, before he decided it would be better to just leave it on its stand. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and cleared his throat again.
In the brief silence that followed, Virgil could feel the anticipation in the room. The crowd was expecting a good poem, a skilled poet. Virgil was hoping his disappointment of a performance was forgotten by the nights' end.
He took a shaky breath.
His heartbeat raced in his ears. He had worked on the poem for days and memorized it forwards and backwards. It would only take two minutes and then he could disappear into the crowd once more.
Virgil could hear his own breath in the speakers as he started, "I'm an old, forgotten doll, left to the wind. My skin, red and withered."
His mouth felt dry. He tried to not look at the people's faces, their wide eyes and thoughtful expressions. He wasn't like them, he didn't have anything important to say.
"The seams of my self are starting to unwind." Virgil held his arm up, trying to ignore the shaking of his hand. His spiderweb tattoos were on display for once, with his jacket at home. "My soul has been delivered."
The crowd listened quietly. Full attention on him. Eyes and ears, undivided. The room was getting smaller, but Virgil could handle it. He was safe in the anonymity of the event. There will be tons of good poets, no one will remember this.
"Rejected, ejected, as you rip out my spine, piece by disgust piece." Virgil raised his voice, emotion seeping into his words, and for a second he forgets his name. For a second he gets why these Poets and Comicals and Wittys do this every week.
"You've turned my vertebrae into hot coals." Virgil heard someone snapping, which he just learned poets did tonight. Quiet clapping, Virgil liked it. "Damaged beyond repair."
His eyes found Janus. He was watching silently, like everyone else. But unlike the rest of the crowd, Janus was smart. And that was scary. He hadn't realized that Janus could ever possibly hear his poem.
"What burning, what yearning, what deep broken despair."
Virgil glanced away from Janus for a moment, his eyes naturally following someone's movement close to the stage. Virgil felt his body tense up before he fully registered who he was looking at. He knew that face. That was his first love. That was his only real friend. That was -
"What- Maxx?" Virgil gasped.
What was fucking Insecurity doing in the front row of a poetry slam in Orlando? Virgil's high school was up north where his parents lived and Maxx would never sit in the front of any live show. But there he was - the same dark skin, darker hair, crooked glasses.
And suddenly Virgil wasn't reciting some words in front of a room of strangers. Suddenly Virgil was standing in front of his ex - his ex-friend, his ex-boyfriend, his ex-everything - and he was trauma dumping in the most embarrassing way possible. Virgil saw the shock on Maxx's face, and he knew it was true.
This can't be happening.
Virgil couldn't breathe.
No one was supposed to see this!
He did the only thing he could think of. Without hesitation, Virgil jumped off the stage and darted into the crowd.