I gently tap my pen against the notebook, listening to the harsh, uneven rhythm of rain hitting the window. Outside, everything is unforgivably grey. It's like someone stole all of the colours and left the world in desaturated despair. If only I could find a way to write that without sounding utterly depressing. 

     Two rings at the doorbell allow me to step away from my thoughts, but I'd hardly call it a break. Two rings only ever seem to mean one thing.

     I stand from the couch and set down my notebook and pen on the coffee table.

     When I open the front door, it's with little surprise that I find Virgil standing there with his hood covering most of his face. He's soaked from head to toe. His hoodie clings to his shoulders in a way that really makes him resemble a wet cat. He must have walked all the way here.

     He pulls down his hood but doesn't look at me. Still, I can see that his eyes are glassy and red and his face is flushed. He shrugs. "I lost my key again," he says, but that's just an excuse that he uses. What he's actually saying is 'I can't be at home right now'. I step aside and let him in without question--I learned after the first two times that asking anything will just upset him more.

     His eyeshadow is smudged over his cheeks from getting wet. I wonder idly how much of that was the rain, and how much is from him crying. He shuffles past me, and his shoes are kicked off before I can even close the door. He hesitates for a moment, then looks me in the eye at last.

     It only takes me a second to figure out the question he's trying to ask with that look.

     "I don't have any other company," I say. "Go dry off and get changed." He nods, and I uselessly add "Anything from the closet," even though I know that he knows that. I can never be certain with him, whether he'll remember that he's allowed to make himself at home here.

     As he leaves for my bedroom, I go to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

     While the water boils, I hum quietly over the rain. Not any specific song. It's more just a collection of notes in no particular order.

     Impatience gets the best of me after not even a minute, and I walk back to the living room to retrieve my notebook and start writing again.

     By the time Virgil is back, dressed in the only black sweatshirt I own (which is just a tad too big on him) and a pair of grey sweatpants, there are two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table. One in front of me, and the other in front of the spot on the couch next to me. I gesture for him to sit. It takes a moment of uncertain hesitation, but he walks over and drops himself beside me.

     It takes a great effort not to complain about the space he leaves between us.

     His hands are shaking as he reaches for his mug. "I'll get a blanket," I say. He shakes his head as I move to stand.

     "Don't."

     "Virgil," I sigh. He shakes his head again.

     I don't even remember when I became so determined to take care of him. It might have been the third or fourth time he showed up like this, but I don't think that's right. I distinctly remember the wave of protectiveness even that very first time, when I opened the door and saw him standing there all dishevelled and misty-eyed. He looked so... scared. I let him fall right into my arms and cry until he was ready to tell me what happened.

     It got harder after that. As his mother's illness got worse, his father got more and more distant, and the less and less Virgil wanted to talk. At some point, something changed. It was like Virgil finally snapped, and everything went downhill from there. He locked down his emotions. Now it takes every effort I have to get him to open up about anything, let alone his family situation.

     Still, it has to be worth a shot.

     "How's she feeling?" I ask. He sets down the mug and flashes me this pitiful smile, as if that'll stop me from spotting the fresh tears ready to spill.

     "She's okay," he lies. And I only know it's a lie because he immediately looks away from me. He only does that when he doesn't want me to see how much his own words hurt him to say. I wait, as patiently as I can, for him to keep talking. "Actually, no, she's... she couldn't even stand on her own today. I don't know what to do." He wipes helplessly at his face, trying to get rid of the tears before they can even fully fall. His makeup smudges even more.

     I want to reach out, to wrap my arm around his shoulders, but I don't want to smother him. "And your dad?" I ask. Unsurprisingly, he shakes his head. He never answers that one.

     "Can we just... change the topic?" he asks.

     "Right," I say. "Yes, of course we can."

     'Changing topic' at this moment doesn't actually mean changing topic. Virgil finds it in him to turn on the television without asking, and I settle back and start writing again.

               Leave your pain outside
               And your silence at the door
               And know you're safe here

     I stare down at the page with a satisfied nod. It's not the best thing I've written, not by a long shot, but at least it's something.

------------------------------

     "That's so much better," I say, grinning as I turn him towards the mirror.

     "Princey," he groans, but I can see him try to fight off his own smile. I swat his hands away as he reaches up towards his face.

     "Don't mess it up," I say. He sighs. It's not my fault he agreed to let me fix up his makeup. It's not like he told me not to add purple glitter. Plus, it looks pretty. He can't be mad at that.

     He reaches up again, this time to pull the clips out of his hair. It falls back into his face, shielding his eyes just slightly.

     What an emo nightmare.

     "Whatever," he says dismissively.

     I follow him out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, where he checks his phone. In a very not-snooping way, I can see that he has no notifications. It's actually possible that no one even knows he's here. I try not to think about that for more than a second before I make my way to the window.

     It's raining even harder now. Water pelts against the glass so hard that I can barely even see the world beyond it.

     "Do you think it'll flood?" I ask, pressing my hand against the glass.

     "I hope so," Virgil mutters, joining at my side. He presses his hand near mine. We pull them away at the same time, leaving matching handprints in the fog. I smile.

     "You don't need an excuse to stay," I say. I fall back onto my bed with a grin.

     He lays down next to me. "Yes I do," he replies. He's staring up at the ceiling, but I turn to face him.

     "You're a grown adult, and you need a break," I say. He frowns but doesn't argue. "You're always allowed here. And you're moving in, anyways."

     He looks over at me in surprise. "What? When?" he asks. "I never agreed to that."

     "When your mom's better," I say. He smiles at that, real and genuine, before looking back up. I look up, too.

     My ceiling is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that we put up together when I first moved in.

     The plan was to move in together as a group, but then Patton and Logan found their own apartment. After that, it was just me and Virgil, but then the stuff with his mom happened, and suddenly it was just me. Luckily I found this super cheap place. The first thing I checked for was a second room because I wanted Virgil to always have that choice, but it's looking a heck of a lot less like a choice these days. I can't imagine a future where I don't convince him to move in here.

     I take out my notebook, which I stuffed into my pocket, and write two lines.

               I'd like to give the stars to you
               And if you'll stay, I just might

     I stuff it away again and take a deep breath. I roll to face him completely. "Are you hungry?" I ask. He shakes his head. "You're hungry," I decide with a nod. He smiles again.

     "I should probably go," he admits. He rolls to face me. Our knees bump into each other, and our faces aren't even two feet apart.

     "You can't go, there's a flood!" I say.

     He rolls his eyes. "It's just rain-"

     "Shh, it's a flood."

     He seems to get what I'm saying, because he nods and sits up. "Right, it's a flood." He stares down at me. "I think I should maybe stay."

     I sit up too. "Then I'll go make us a pizza."

------------------------------

     It's nice to hear him laugh, even when it's at me. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Otherwise, I'll feel my ego bruise as he almost tips his chair over from laughing so hard. It's a gesture so unlike him that it's not even possible for me to complain about it.

     "You just look-" He wipes his eyes. "Jesus, dude. Your left."

     I wipe at the left side of my face, apparently missing the pizza sauce once again. I sigh in exasperation as he breaks out laughing again. "I've had enough of this mockery," I say. "I bet there isn't even anything on my face."

     There's a moment of silence, and he looks away with a grin.

     "Virgil..." I try to sound angrier than I actually am. It doesn't work. Now we're both laughing, and I bury my face into my arms on the table.

     Once we calm down, he mutters "Idiot," and helps me wash the dishes.

     I only splash him with water twice, and only one of them is intentional.

     When we're done, I sit down on the couch and he walks to the living room window. He draws back the curtains to watch the rain. There's a gentle quietness between us. I think that Virgil is the only person I can actually be quiet around. With anyone else, I'd feel the need to fill the space. I don't have any need to compensate when I'm with him. Just being together is enough.

     "What are you thinking about?" he asks. He's looking over his shoulder at me.

     I don't let myself say 'you' because I doubt he wants to hear something like that. "What movie I'm going to force you to watch," I say. He rolls his eyes and turns away.

     I pull out my notebook to write the seventh poem since he got here. An artist works best with a muse, I suppose. Who would have thought my muse could be Virgil? I flip to the next blank page.

               You're the sun and the moon and the stars.
               You're the rain against my window.
               You're the first and the last good thing I know.

               You're everything.

     He comes to sit next to me just as I finish. He makes a face like he wants to ask about it, but he doesn't. "Did you pick a movie?" he asks. I shake my head and hand him the remote. I know that whatever we put on, I'll be distracted anyways. "You could probably get that blanket now," he says.

     I grab just one blanket from the closet.

     When I sit back down, Hercules is playing. There's a little flutter in my chest, because I know this wasn't his first pick. He only put this on because it's a movie that I like.

     I wrap the blanket around us and we get comfortable.

------------------------------

     When Edward Scissorhands ends, we're leaning against each other and nearly asleep. It's dark outside now, but the rain is still falling. "We have to get up," Virgil says.

     "Who says?" I ask, letting my head fall to his shoulder.

     "I says." He nudges me away and stands, leaving me to collapse into the now-empty space next to me.

     "Well, don't says," I mumble into the cushion, but he's already putting away the empty bowl of popcorn. I force myself to get up. The blanket falls to the ground as I stand. The notebook falls with it.

     When Virgil comes back into the room, he spots it. "What have you been writing all day?" he asks. I don't feel as tired now that I'm up.

     I debate for a moment whether I should lie. I could tell him I'm working on music, or ideas for a story, or-

     Or I could just forget discretion. What's the worst that could happen? It's only a bunch of romantic poetry that I wrote about my emo best friend. Screw it. I pick it up and toss it to him. He's taken by surprise and almost doesn't catch it.

     He raises his eyebrows at me. I nod and motion to it.

     The moment he starts flipping through it, I feel my face heat slightly. Was that the worst decision I've ever made?

     There are a few pages that he lingers on. I don't notice it immediately, but he's definitely smiling. "Roman..." he says softly. The way it sounds is so foreign. It's too soft. I feel that flutter again. "Roman," he says again.

     And then the whole world stops, because he is very suddenly in my arms, and his lips are on mine. It's quick and it's clumsy and it barely lasts a few seconds, but I don't let him get very far before pulling him back in.

     When we pull away again, we're both laughing.

------------------------------

     I'm the first one awake, which is incredible because I get to admire the way he's nuzzled against my shoulder.

     The last time we slept in the same bed was at Patton's 16th birthday party, and I was not happy about it back then. It's funny how blind I was. I can't believe there was ever a time that I didn't want this.

     As soon as he wakes up, I kiss him just above his eyebrow.

     I know that he'll have to leave soon and that his parents need him, but I can't help but hold him a little tighter when he tries to stand. He mumbles tiredly about me being clingy, but he makes no further effort to move.

     I smile. It's sort of hard to believe that I can actually have this.

     I can't help but notice the sunshine streaming through the window.

     It's not raining anymore.