If at any point in this story you start to feel triggered or overwhelmed, please stop reading.  Don't force yourself to continue - be kind to yourself <3

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Point of View: Roman, Third Person
Timeline: Present Day

The door lock gave way on the third try and Roman burst in, not entirely sure what he expected to find and not entirely sure if he was ready to see what he found.

But he didn't wait and give his Imagination the chance to run wild, and pushed open the door to Virgil's room.

Well, what was left of Virgil's room anyway.

Virgil was standing next to his - now tipped over and probably broken - desk, panting.  Papers were torn and tears were rolling down Virgil's cheeks, ink stained hands gripping his purple hair like his life depended on it.

"Virge...?" Roman repeated softly, taking a careful step forward.  "Virgil?"

"Well great, thanks a lot Princey," Virgil's voice was cold, so bitter that Roman couldn't help jumping in surprise.  His voice was steel, so unexpected compared to how he looked right now.  "You broke my door," he commented dryly, but Roman wasn't listening.

Sure they had their differences, but he had never seen Virgil... hurting.  It was shocking.  Shocking to see Virgil in so much distress and pain that Roman couldn't even begin to find a word to describe it.  There were no words for the type of pain that Virgil was in.

Roman took a deep breath, instead choosing to focus on the remains of what had once been Virgil's room.  The room was littered with half-eaten ice-cream containers - when had he gotten those? - and bags of chips.  Broken pencils were scattered dangerously all over the floor, one of which was at Roman's feet.  Clothes were everywhere, Virgil's bed had just about been ripped apart judging by the blood and nail marks at what was left of the Queen sized bed.

Virgil's vinyl collection was probably the only thing left in tact, as well as he record player.

If Roman was remembering correctly, Logan had gotten him that.  The record player for his birthday, and the vinyl a little less than a week later.

Roman shook his hand, taking another deep breath before leaning down, wordlessly grabbing the broken pencil at his feet.  And he made his way around the room, gathering as many broken things as he could hold in his hand.

Virgil didn't move from where he was standing, only watching as Roman slowly started to pick up the room.  Virgil's hands were shaking from their place at his sides, eyes suddenly so soft and scared despite his words only a few moments ago.

Roman tossed his small pile of broken things into Virgil's trashcan - which had not been spared in the chaos.  The small plastic bin had been tipped (or possibly kicked considering the small scuff mark and dent in the wall right next to it) over and now the dirty makeup wipes and candy wrappers were pouring out onto the floor.

He looked back up at Virgil, who was now only a few feet away.

"I know you don't want to talk," Roman acknowledged.  "But I'm - we're all here for you, I know that the two of you were close."

Virgil let out a choked laugh, which turned into a small sob.  His hand came up instantly in a desperate attempt to hold them in, but the waterworks began and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

"Hey, hey," Roman stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Virgil, pulling him into his shoulder.  "Just let the tears fall, just let them fall..."

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