Together (Book 1)

Chapter 2

Roman's POV

I glanced around Virgil's room, not having been in there for years, until something caught my eye: a large glass with a dark, strange liquid inside. I tilted my head to the side ever so slightly in recognition. I knew that color; hell, I'd made that color before. That was the color of a million different paints mixing together.

I stood up and looked at Virgil, shock and panic lining each of his features. His eyes were wide, and his posture was straighter than usual. His mouth hung slightly open like he was about to say something to me but had stopped himself.

I couldn't help but smile.

He painted. Virgil painted.

I walked slowly over to his desk to find a beautiful drawing of an eye, painted to look like it was crying watercolored tears. It looked wonderful, really.

"You still paint?" I asked quietly. Years ago, when Thomas was just a kid, as were the rest of us, I had taught Virgil how to use all sorts of art materials, per his request. Back then, we were really good friends. I couldn't help but wonder what happened.

His voice was light when he answered, "Of course I still paint, Princey. I never stopped." His expression dropped to something like determination or anger. He stepped closer to me—close enough that even I got a little uncomfortable. "Listen to me, Sir Sings-A-Lot. No one is ever going to find out about this, got that? I've kept it a secret for the last fifteen years, and I am not going to let you ruin it for me!"

He was scared; I could see it in his eyes.

"Virgil, don't worry. I won't... I mean, I would never. I can tell this means a lot to you—genuinely." I was almost offended that he would accuse me of such a thing, but I told myself not to care that much.

He sagged. Stepping back, he flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Smiling, I asked, "Can I look at the other stuff you've made?"

He looked defeated as he pointed to the closet.

I opened the doors, and on one of the shelves was a pile of papers and canvases. I grabbed a few and began looking at them: a watercolor mountainscape, a woman's face done in acrylics, and painted rainbow dear. The last one caught my eye. It was quite different from the others—brighter and even happy. From what I knew of Virgil, it didn't seem like him to make. "Do you want to watch a Disney movie?" I blurted.

He looked puzzled, an unfamiliar expression on him. "You woke up all of ten minutes ago and came in here to tell me, and stop me if I get this wrong, to turn off my music so you could go back to bed."

I widened my eyes and fluttered them to effectively beg. "But I won't want to go to sleep now!"

He turned his head toward me, and I saw that defeat again. "What do you want to watch?"

I grinned and held up my hand, summoning my copy of Frozen from my bedroom.

He stared at me blankly. "Really?"

I didn't want to push him; I knew I was intruding. "If—If you don't want to watch it, we can pick another one."

"No, no, it's fine," he sighed. He reached over and grabbed the remote off of the nightstand next to his bed, turning on the TV as he seemed to be convincing himself to stand up. As I situated myself on his bed as he took the movie from me, shaking his head with the slightest smirk. "Please, make yourself comfortable," he laughed as he put the disk in. Casually, he sat down next to me and pressed the play button.