When Virgil woke up the next day, there was dried blood on his hands.

After getting home, he had beelined for his room and screwed his eyes shut until he fell asleep, desperate to escape Janus' laughter by forcing himself into unconsciousness.

Now it was silent, and Janus was nowhere in sight.

And there was blood on his hands.

It soaked into his black hoodie, ugly brown stains embedded in the fabric. There it was under his fingernails, on the cuffs of his socks, he was sure that if he were to go look at his shoes, they would also be filthy.

The coppery smell wafted through the whole house.

Perhaps he had been able to distance himself from Janus' death, since he'd managed to keep the blood from spilling onto him. Maybe that was why he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the life force of Logan that was ruining his clothes.

Idly, he wonders if the corpse was still where he left it, under the slide in the playground. A playground. The park where children would go to play almost every day. A child could discover that corpse today. He hadn't even thought about that.

But he hadn't even wanted to kill Logan in the first place. Logan was the one who brought the knife!

If anything, what he did was self-defense.

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Virgil whipped his head around. Who said that? It sounded like—it couldn't be. "...Logan?" He called out, voice raspy from lack of use.

Had the glasses-clad boy followed him home? But he was dead. Well—Virgil didn't check. But he wasn't moving! And his injuries...there's no way he would be able to move in his state.

Shivers crawled up and down his spine, and his stomach twisted in knots.

When he looked in the mirror, he wasn't even surprised to find Logan staring back at him. Virgil glared. "I'm not doing this with you." He growled. "I could handle Janus, but I'm not doing this with you."

He got out of bed, feeling eyes following him as he reached for his doorknob.

When he opened the door, his living room wasn't what greeted him.

Suddenly, he was on a stage, an audience staring up at him. They all had masks on their faces, which only showcased a blank expression that served to make him nervous. The spotlight shone down on him, practically blinding him with its intensity. He gasped, staggering back, raising a hand to shield his eyes. He didn't understand. He was so confused.

There were people he could recognize in the audience.

Susan's blonde hair was on the head of a woman in the front row, a camera held in her hands as if she was recording him. She sat almost smugly, legs crossed as she relaxed in her auditorium seat. Virgil could guess that an ugly smirk hid behind the mask on her face.

Next to her, holding a tub of popcorn, was a boy with a curly blond mop that resembled the head of hair on Patton Libum. He was sat criss-crossed in his seat, staring up at Virgil intently. The two seats next to him were empty, but there were reserved signs on each of them.

There were many more that stood out to him (Remus Prince, Dennis Troper, etc.), but before he could inspect further, another spotlight appeared on the stage.

Virgil followed its light, finding Roman standing there, posing heroically with a kind smile on his face and a glint in his brilliantly green eyes. He was wearing a costume, some sort of prince-like ensemble that complimented his tan skin pleasantly.

The audience erupted into applause.

A strange, haunting tune began to play. Virgil didn't know where the music was coming from.

And then Roman began to dance.

Virgil could only watch, mesmerized as he gracefully glided across the stage. He twirled as though he were light as a feather, beautiful and dazzling as ever. How could he ever be expected to love anyone else?

His lover turned to him, holding out a hand expectantly as he paused his dance.

Without a second thought, he raised his own hand to join with Roman's.

Virgil froze.

He had forgotten that there was blood on his hands. Not only on his hands, but on his clothes, on his socks, and under his fingernails. Logan's blood, as it were—or maybe it was Janus'? Which one had he killed first?

Which one had more blood?

He looked up at Roman, who was staring at his bloodied hands with a dampening smile. His eyes were watering as he slowly backed away from Virgil, horror adorning his beautiful face. "Virgil, what—?" He murmured, voice trembling.

The audience began to laugh.

Roman continued speaking, as if he didn't even notice. "Whose...b-blood is that?" His voice was barely audible over the crowd's crescendoing laughter.

Virgil could barely think.

His mind felt like it was filled with static, Roman's trembling voice threading through the noise like a needle through skin. The laughter grew louder, echoing off the walls of the theater like a thousand ghosts screaming in delight. He tried to speak, to reach out, to explain—but his mouth had gone dry. No sound emerged, only the weight of his crimes, heavy and choking.

"I—I didn't mean to—" he croaked, taking a step forward.

Roman recoiled.

The spotlight on him flickered, stuttering like a heartbeat. His eyes were no longer soft. They were wide now, wild and wet, his pupils pinpricks as if Virgil were a beast come to devour him.

"Don't," Roman whispered, terrified and gorgeous, "don't come near me."

The lights above the stage buzzed violently, casting everything in a nauseating flicker. The stage beneath Virgil's feet groaned. He looked down.

The floorboards were bleeding.

Thick, crimson rivulets oozed between the cracks, rising around his feet. It pooled faster than it should have, staining his socks darker, climbing his legs, as if the stage itself was trying to swallow him whole. He couldn't move—no, he wouldn't move. Roman might run. He didn't want to scare him. This was the love of his life.

"I-I did it for you—for us!" He pleaded, voice cracking on a sob. "I love you!"

The laughter seemed to intensify at that, building to a peak as the blood continued to rise at his feet. He looked back at the audience, rage building in his chest. "SHUT UP!" He screamed, though he couldn't even hear his own voice.

The seats next to Patton had been filled. Logan whispered in the blond's ear while Janus just pointed at him and laughed. Patton himself wasn't even laughing along with the audience, just staring up at Virgil with a posture that somehow conveyed disgust.

Roman let out a little scoff, shaking his head. "You don't love me." He stated, something akin to pity in his eyes. "I don't even love you. You've just tricked me into thinking I do."

Virgil felt a chill go down his spine.

"He doesn't love you, jackass!" Janus snapped. "You've just tricked him into thinking he does." He glared at Virgil. "You make me sick."

Roman had been poisoned. That's what this was. Roman had surrounded himself with people who want to do nothing but use him, keep him all to themself. He weeded out Janus and Logan, but that couldn't be the end of it, could it? Who else would try and stand in his way? Who else did Virgil need to save Roman from?

Roman began to dance again, but Virgil could see the marionette strings now. He moved like a puppet on a string, jerky limbs and fake smiles that attempted to resemble kindness. Who was the first to tie his lover up like this? Was it Janus, or did this root all the way back to his overbearing twin brother?

Virgil would cut these strings for him, because that's what love was. It was saving the other person from threats they didn't even know about. One day, they would look back on all of this and laugh, but today Roman needed to be rescued from the quicksand, and Virgil would be his rope.

The blood was at neck level now, rapidly rising.

Until it submerged the theatre completely.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath as he waded his arms through the thick, red liquid. He paddled forward, hoping to find Roman, but as he swam his thoughts began to grow fuzzy from lack of oxygen. He held out for as long as he could, but he was just a mere boy.

He gasped for air, eyes slamming open.

But his feet were on solid ground, and in front of him wasn't an audience, or Roman, or a sea of blood.

It was just his living room.

Virgil slowly sank to his knees against the doorframe, breathing erratically as he tried to calm himself down.

What was that? Was he going insane?

Was he already insane?

He looked down at his hands, nearly gagging at the sight of the crusted blood that stained them. When he looked around, he could see it from when he stumbled into his room last night. There it was on the back of his couch in small specks, smears of it decorated his walls from where his hands tried to steady him, and when he looked down.

Right next to his pinky was where he had thrown the pocketknife.

Virgil jolted, jerking his body away from it.

There it was, lying so innocently on the floor. If it wasn't for the bloodstains, you wouldn't even be able to tell that it had just been used the previous night to murder his boyfriend's friend in the middle of a park.

Virgil cursed. What the fuck had he been thinking just leaving it there? Leaving a murder weapon in his home wasn't exactly the smartest plan. He needed to do something with it, or at least fucking clean it.

As a matter of fact, he needed to disinfect everything in his house. He couldn't have the cops tracing anything back to him. There was no doubt that the pigs would be all over this case, especially since the victim is Detective Berry's son.

God, he was so fucking stupid.

But, he wasn't crazy. He didn't plan any of this! It was Logan's fault that any of this was happening right now. Better yet, it was Janus' fault. It always links back to that fucking snake.

Are you incapable of owning up to your own faults?

"Shut up." Virgil growled, picking up the knife and staring at it. "If I had buried you, would you have not haunted me, you fucking asshole?" He asked the air, even though he swore he wasn't crazy.

There was no response.

Fine then. He didn't have time for this anyway. He had cleaning to do.

---

Three hours and lots of bleach later, he was sure he had cleaned every nook and cranny of his place. He even made sure to triple wash his clothing, just to be safe.

He didn't want there to be any chances that he would be taken away from Roman. He was in far too deep now. Roman had to be with him, that's just how the story goes. He'd read enough fairy tales to know that much.

He'd done the hard part. He'd slayed the dragon that was Janus, bested the witch that was Logan, and now it was time for him to claim his sweet prince as a prize. And then? Then it was time for the two of them to finally live happily ever after, just like they deserved. With no one to interfere, no one to attempt to separate, no one to spout bullshit in Roman's ears like it was their favorite hobby.

Just the two of them.

What could possibly be anymore perfect?

Virgil's phone buzzed, and a warm smile lit up on his face when he saw that it was a text from Roman.

Ro: Virgil holy SHIT

Ro: Logan's in the hospital

Ro: He was attacked

Ro: Remus and I found him 

Ro: We're headed there now but I need you

Virgil blanched. The hospital? But, that would mean...

Logan was alive.

Fuck.

A/N:

hey...so...it's been awhile...