It isn’t uncommon for Virgil to wake before Remus does. Granted, he usually goes to bed far later than he should, and who is he to say no to sleeping in late on the weekends? But Remus sleeps like a rock. It’d take a marching band to raise him from his slumber – or Virgil hitting him with a pillow over and over again, begging him to wake up because, “God damn it, Rem, we’ve got somewhere to be!”
Virgil’s a light sleeper; always has been. He figures it has a lot to do with the fact that he’s basically anxiety and self-doubt stacked together in a trench coat pretending to be a person, but yeah, it doesn’t take much to wake him. The creaking of a door, the sound of birds chirping outside, Remus snoring. He always claims he doesn’t, and honestly, Virgil is considering recording it to prove that, yes, he absolutely does snore, and it’s insufferable. Well. Maybe not insufferable, just… annoying, sometimes.
Remus isn’t snoring now, though. He’s fast asleep, his hair frazzled, and drool stuck to his pillow which is way more adorable than it ought to be. Virgil doesn’t know what woke him, but it wasn’t his boyfriend this time. He glances at the clock and groans sleepily. It’s still early in the morning, and a Saturday, too. He’d like to shut his eyes, throw his arms around Remus and get a few more hours of sleep, but he knows himself well enough to understand it’s just not gonna happen.
Still, he lies there for a few minutes, relishing in the quiet and comfort of the thick duvet and Remus beside him, his own personal space heater. Remus runs hot, and Virgil’s always a little cold, so they balance each other out. It’s weird. They shouldn’t, or at least, it doesn’t seem like they should.
Virgil thinks back to when they first knew each other. Having been friends with Roman for quite a while, he’d thought it odd that Roman had never formally introduced his brother. Upon actually meeting Remus, however, Virgil’s confusion quickly dispersed.
Remus is loud, bold, energetic to an erratic point, and he says absolutely everything that comes to mind the moment the thought occurs to him. “Hey, emo, what do you think it’d look like if I just exploded right now! Just my blood and guts smeared all over the walls! Wouldn’t that be awesome?!”
Needless to say, Virgil’s not initially a fan. Remus is a lot to handle, and honestly, Virgil’s a little scared of him at first. It isn’t as though he thinks that Remus is going to hurt him, he’s just… weird. And crude, and a lot to handle. He’s impulsive and brash, and a kind of person that Virgil’s never known. He decides that he doesn’t like him and that he’ll avoid him as much as he’s able.
Except, that isn’t really possible. Despite the fact that Remus and Roman’s relationship is strained, to say the least, they still spend some amount of time together, and Remus is occasionally invited (or invites himself) to events. The point is, Virgil sees him around, more and more. And somewhere along the way he somehow becomes tolerable.
Virgil doesn’t know what changes, but one day, at a party Remus plops himself down next to him, crowding his personal space, and he lets him stay. That’s when he first realizes how warm he is, how strangely comfortable Remus’s presence can be. It might be the alcohol, Virgil thinks to himself that night, that’s why Remus leaning on him, giggling and making inappropriate jokes makes him feel so stupidly nice.
Virgil blames the liquor when he kisses Remus, too. He still can’t fully remember what spurred it; he just knows Remus looked so pretty, his grey-streaked hair falling in his eyes, coming out of its bun, and Virgil leaned forward and kissed him. It’s harder to blame anything other than a more complicated desire when he finds himself in Remus’s bed, their limbs a tangled mess.
It’s startling, that morning, waking up and seeing Remus asleep beside him for the first time and thinking about how beautiful he looks. Remus and Roman are identical twins, and he’s certainly never thought about his friend that way. That isn’t to say he hasn’t noticed that Roman is handsome, because, c’mon, he has eyes. But this is different. The way he looks at Remus is different and – oh shit – trashy men with ratty mustaches and a terrible fashion sense are his type, aren’t they?
He doesn’t know when he went from being afraid of him to tolerating his presence, to finding him heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but the shift has happened regardless. When did Remus’s jokes go from unnerving to kind of fucking funny? He can’t say. At first, not sure if it’s going to last. They’re so different, or at least, that’s how things appear.
But with time, Virgil learns that isn’t necessarily the case. Yes, Remus is far louder and more abrasive than he is, but there are more commonalities between them then he might’ve thought. Remus is a Halloween freak, too, which is nice because none of Virgil’s friends like the holiday quite as much as he does. Remus adores horror movies, the gorier the better, and his shoulder makes the perfect spot to hide his face when things get too scary. Remus likes a lot of the same music (although his taste can be a tad crude sometimes, to say the least), and it’s nice, not having to worry that his playlist is to “emo.”
A lot of things are nice with Remus, Virgil comes to realize. Waking up beside him, singing along to music way too loudly, being picked up by him because good lord is he strong. It’s all just really… domestic, which isn’t something Virgil had ever seen for himself. So, yeah, they don’t make a lot of sense, at least not at first glance. But somehow, they just work, and that’s enough for Virgil. It’s more than enough.
Virgil turns over in bed, his right hand finding its way into Remus’s frazzled hair. His boyfriend’s mustache curls slightly upwards when his lip twitches upward into a smile, but he doesn’t wake, just arches closer to Virgil. Virgil smiles at this, stroking through his long hair.
His eyes glance to the cardboard moving boxes that litter the bedroom floor. God, he’s really got to start unpacking soon. He just moved into Remus’s apartment – their apartment now, he supposes – a week ago, and he’s been getting used to living with another person. Virgil had never let himself imagine such things, lying in bed with his boyfriend on a Saturday, having boxes to unpack because he moved in. It’s a lot to process, sometimes. It’s not bad, just kind of… intense. And mushy, gushy, and full of all the emotions he never expected to feel.
Virgil presses a kiss to the crown of Remus’s head, relishing in the smile that spreads over his sleeping face, before swinging his legs over the bed and heading into the kitchen.
Virgil groans at the sight of the dishes piled high in the sink. It’s his own damn fault; it was his turn to do the dishes (Christ, he never thought about the painfully mundane issues of a relationship like dish duty, or who takes out the garbage, or any of that). It’s… weird, not living alone anymore. He’d been so used to it for so long and, now here he is, existing in the same space as the man that he loves. He must be spending too much time with Roman because he’s turning into such a sap.
Being a sap aside, Virgil really should get these done while Remus is still asleep. That isn’t to say that Remus is some kind of a clean freak, because he really isn’t. It’d just be good to get the choir out of the way.
Virgil turns on his portable speaker, scrolling through his phone for the best music to play because turning music on while doing mundane tasks always gives him a little much-needed energy (which he generally has very little to speak for). He settles for MCR, “Teenagers” blaring as begins to scrub away last night’s pasta-sauce covered plates.
And okay, yeah, the music is probably cranked up too loud. Yeah, Virgil’s mouthing along to the words, singing some of them, and he really should just shut up and do the dishes considering his boyfriend is asleep in the other room. But Remus is such a heavy sleeper, and he’s never woken him up in the past playing music in another room, so why should he now?
Virgil’s absolutely positive that Remus is still dead asleep as he begins to move to the music, his voice gaining in volume as he sings along, unabashedly. It’s unlike him; Virgil’s always so riddled with self-consciousness. But social anxiety isn’t much of a factor alone in the kitchen doing the dishes, so he doesn’t focus on how ridiculous he must look, getting lost in the music and dancing like an idiot.
“Nice moves, hot stuff.”
Virgil shrieks, the sponge in his hand hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.
“Sweet Frank Iero – Remus! You- you scared the shit out of me!”
There stands Remus, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen and beginning to cackle. Virgil feels a flush climb up from his necks all the way to his ears as he bends down to retrieve the sponge, and then to pause the music. Remus has the decency to wear boxers, considering how adamant he is about sleeping in the buff. He’d probably walk around nude most of the time if Virgil didn’t beg him not to. “We have neighbors!” “We live on the third floor.” “Well – still! You are not walking around our apartment with your dick hanging out.” “Aw, you’re no fun!”
“Sorry for spooking you, scare-bear,” Remus says, though he doesn’t sound all that genuinely apologetic, especially not with that shit-eating-grin. “You know –.”
“Stop. Whatever you’re going to say just – just don’t. I’m already about to die from embarrassment, don’t make it worse.” Virgil can feel his blush go from pink to crimson as Remus walks further into the room, his smile going impossibly wider.
“I don’t know what you mean, Virgey,” Remus croons, his hands finding their way to Virgil’s waist, chin perched on his shoulder. Virgil tries to keep his eyes trained on the dishes in the sink, the sponge trembling slightly in his hand, but Remus certainly isn’t making focusing easy.
“Yes, you fucking do.”
“I, for one, think you’re adorable.” Virgil’s cheeks, somehow, go redder.
“Make me.” Virgil groans, setting the sponge in the sink and shoving Remus off of him so he can turn around to face him. He’s still got that wicked smile; the bastard.
“I’m… geez, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Virgil asks the realization that he might’ve been the cause of Remus waking catching up despite the embarrassment. Remus quickly shakes his head, his hair flopping in his face.
“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, “Course you didn’t. Have you ever?”
“Only when I’m really trying to, I guess,” Virgil says after thinking about it for a moment.
“I just woke up at the exact perfect time and didn’t want to make my presence noticed at first.”
“Creep,” Virgil says, but he’s throwing his arms around Remus and pulling him close all the same.
Remus accepts the embrace happily, pressing Virgil into his chest and kissing the top of his head. Remus gives the best hugs. The height difference was something he was initially a bit self-conscious about; but really, what doesn’t make him self-conscious? Quickly, though, he learned to love embraces from his boyfriend. Remus stands a head-and-a-half taller, and swallows Virgil up in his arms every time they hug. Remus hugs with everything he has, tight and protective. Virgil forgets that he was ever afraid of him in these moments, safe and secure in his arms.
“And what of it?” Remus says with a laugh, letting go of Virgil so he’s able to bend down and kiss him thoroughly. Virgil’s hands settle around his neck, a good portion of his embarrassment leaving.
“You’re such a dork.”
“Like you’re one to talk,” Remus croons, kissing Virgil on the cheek before pulling away, “You want some breakfast, dance machine?” And there comes the embarrassment, roaring back to life.
“I swear if you’re going to keep teasing me –.”
“Oh, c’mon! Cut me some slack, babe. You’re cute as all hell!”
“Do you want breakfast or not? Bacon, eggs?” Remus asks, trying to distract from his teasing. Virgil sighs.
“That depends: are you going to burn the bacon on purpose like last time?” Remus is silent, his smile devious. “Remus, I swear, if you do, I will go and get McDonald's and I will not share.”
“Ugh, fine,” Remus pouts dramatically, as if burning bacon just for the fun of it (although it can be quite fun to watch it curl up and turn all chalky and black) sounds any better than having breakfast with his boyfriend. “But only because I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”
Remus puts the bacon on the skillet, cracking the eggs in a pan and watching Virgil with amusement as he turns the speaker back on, MCR playing once more. Virgil can’t help but laugh as Remus begins to break into dance moves in front of the stove, wiggling his hips and singing along as he flips the eggs.
Eventually, Virgil can’t help but join in. Remus’s just like that; an infectious personality, to say the least. But Virgil’s glad for it. Really, really glad. Joining Remus in dancing to My Chemical Romance in their kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly feels so natural. Remus makes it natural.
He doesn’t entirely know if he’ll ever be used to it, and he knows he’ll always be at least a little embarrassed about things like this. But it’s nice, and that’s something Virgil can settle into just fine.