The Curse of Virgil Sanders

Epilogue

TW: Talks and thoughts of self-loathing, discussions about panic attacks (please inform me if I need to add more.)

A week had passed since the whole incident took place. Virgil has been pampered to death by Patton, constantly making the other hot cocoa or cookies for him. Virgil knew that Patton was trying to do, but when he's in the middle of scrolling through tumblr and all of a sudden he's attacked by blankets and dad jokes...you can say that he's getting a little irritated.

And don't even get him started on Logan, who's been bombarding him with an avalanche of questions and recording Virgil's answers on a notebook. While Patton's gone for the concerned dad approach, the logical side has gone more for a paranoid doctor. Virgil has had his heartbeat monitored, temperature checked, sleeping monitored, and breaths timed.

"All appropriate tests to see if the curse had unforeseen side effects," Logan had told him.

Virgil has practically bolted at the sound of a pen clicking or the oven going off. He longs for the alone time he used to despise. The worst thing is that he knows they're doing this because they care for him, though it feels like some elaborate plan to torture him.

Sigh.

Virgil doesn't know how long he can take being treated like a sick child all the time.

Good thing Roman's giving him some space.

At least, that's what he thinks he's doing.

* *

    Roman has rarely left his room since the incident. The only times he has was to retrieve food from the kitchen, and even then he'd strictly do this at around midnight to avoid running into the others.

Well, to avoid running into Virgil.

Every time he so much glances his way, Roman is transported back to Virgil's room, looking down at his dear friend who's trapped in a cage of panic. These little 'episodes' became more and more frequent, and it escalated to now not being able to close his eyes without seeing that heart-wrenching sight. Sleeping, something he once could accomplish the second his head hit his pillow, became an impossibility. The few times he managed to sleep, nightmares attacked him left, right, and center. He woke up gasping for air, covered in sweat, the words Virgil's dream self whimpered stuck on loop in his head.

"Why did you do this to me?"

   A week.
   Virgil hasn't heard from or even seen Princey in a week. He's not even sure if the fanciful side has left his room. The anxious trait has spent more and more time staring at the large golden door than he'd like to admit, but it was the only thing that reminded him of the boisterous voice and obnoxious singing that he longed to hear.

   He missed him.

   Virgil missed Roman.

   He brought the disappearance up to the other two, Patton seeming as equally worried as Virgil, but their concern was quickly shut down by Logan.

   "Just give him time. He will come out eventually."

    Well, eventually, was taking five more days longer than the anxious side would want.

    For the tenth time this week, Virgil plopped himself down in a crisscross directly in front of Roman's door.  He didn't know what he was waiting for: a shuffling of feet, a cough, a small chuckle. Anything to signal that Roman was even there. Anything was better than nothing.