Chapter Text
"I need some air," he croaks, hand still gripping Kendall's, the other pressed over his mouth in a fist. "I just," he tugs himself up using Kendall, feels the pats on his back from both of them? One of them? He glances at Shiv and finds her unresponsive, a fucking statue, as both Kendall's hands return to his shoulders. "Really, I need some fucking air."
He shakes Kendall loose and holds up a hand behind him in case either attempts to follow, and he hustles ass out onto the lawn and starts pacing. And then he stops, and studies the nervous glances from a few drivers, some security, and he hightails it further from the main house and towards the moon-lit surface of Lukas' pool.
There's a temptation to belly flop in and really cause a scene. Have a five alarm full on meltdown all across Lukas' property, tearing off his clothes and reeking of chlorine, screaming at the top of his lungs because he just confirmed his fucking father loves his company more than his literal children.
And Gerri… he doesn't want to think about that just yet.
The hell of it is he about does it too, but motion to his right catches his eye, and he drifts closer to the little guest house near the lake edge and hones in on the single lit room on the left.
He finds Lukas there, alone, hiding away from the financiers or Waystar fucks or maybe even his own people. The motion is a curtain, billowing in the gentle breeze through the open window. It hides and then reveals, hides and reveals, Lukas with a headset on and a controller in his hand. He says something Roman can't make out, something garbled and rapid and ah, in Swedish. Right.
Roman could go, should go, should do anything else, but he raps his knuckles against the window frame, and again when Lukas doesn't hear him over the sound of his game. Caution to the fucking wind, he gets into position to climb in, only to freeze when Lukas twists to the left to reach for his water bottle. He startles, dropping it and sending water all over his fucking house shoes, when he finds Roman with his upper torso leaning into the room.
He mutters something, and tugs down his headphones, "Roman? The fuck?" And to himself as he stands, "towel, towel."
"You're seriously getting your fucking Madden on after ruining my life?"
"What?" He stops mid-stride, and turns towards Roman. "How?"
"What did my dad tell you?" Roman snaps. "Huh? What did he say I did to get you to turn? You did a whole fucking pirouette for that fuck when my back was turned. 100% crucial my fucking dick."
"Calm down," he says, ignoring the puddle forming around his feet. He gives his controller a glance before giving it a gentle toss onto the couch behind him. The headphones stay; Roman can hear some sound bleeding through them. Some mindless, Swedish chatter and ambient nothing. "Who's ruined what now? And how?"
"You, asshole!" he sputters, and covers his mouth with his hand. "So what did he tell you? What libelous, bullshit yarn did he spin that turned you off?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit."
"Nothing that turned me off," he clarifies.
“I find that fucking hard to believe, since I’m in the fucking penalty box, waiting for you to fucking rate me, so why don’t you just swipe left and cut me loose now.”
“What did he tell you?” Lukas asks, softer, eyes closing a little with suspicion, or confusion, pupils fucking blown from something he probably shouldn’t have taken before the deal is public. “I told you you’re crucial. You’re an important part of this buyout.”
“Not important enough for you to fucking loop me in. You let my dad send me out of the room like some nobody. His fucking tagalong bag boy.”
“To do this I have to play his game,” he insists. “Your dad, look, will you come inside? Come inside, and we’ll hash this out.”
“Seems like you already hashed this one,” Roman quips, and Lukas snorts. “Are you seriously fucking high right now?”
“My finance guys are hammering details. Lawyers looking at language. I had an opportunity to get a little chill going and I took it.”
“So you’re out here in your pool house taking a few rips and playing videogames?”
Unimportant. This is Connor's fakey-fake engagement levels of should not give a fuck, but he's here, while Roman's father is up in a room with a whole war team tapping away on laptops and scribbling down notes until their carpal tunnel has carpal tunnel. He wants to know why. He wants to know how.
He wants to understand this man.
"It's my nephew's birthday," he explains. "I promised him I'd play Farming Sim with him before his bedtime."
"Uh huh.”
"Online."
"Well, yeah, obviously. Who brings a kid to a fucking business battle?"
Lukas chuckles. "Crayons and videogames. He would be a terrible negotiator."
"What's he uh," he shrugs, "ten, twelve?"
"Seven."
"Jesus, you start 'em young here."
"He's like me," Lukas says, and doesn't elaborate.
“I am royally pissed at you,” he says, circling back, and Lukas swallows a fit of giggles. “Oh that is, fuck you, man. Will you swallow your high for a second and take me seriously?”
“Depends. Will you come inside?”
Roman closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath, frowning when Lukas’ weed doesn’t waft his way. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll talk you through this. Cards out. Everything on the table.”
“Uh huh.”
“Nothing I told you has changed. I just have to cater to the current CEO while he’s in a place of power, or there’s no point making you promises. I had to play it his way, make him think I value his input. Which, part of me does. He built an empire out of nothing. But he’s old, and he’s set in his ways, and if I can sequester him to a board position, to some back door nothing he’ll think gives him power over me, then I can wait him out.”
“Why does everything circle back to my theoretical dead dad with you?”
“Because I don’t like him. He made you not trust me. I told you I think you’re vital, and I meant it.”
“Well, I’ve known him a lot longer.”
“I think that’s my point,” Lukas says. “He hasn't changed my mind. I want you to be a part of this.”
“Even after whatever shit he told you?”
“If there’s things he doesn’t like about you, there’s a good chance I’ll like them. Or find them interesting.”
“I know your weed brain thinks that sounds real cute and,” he waves a hand, “poetic, or some shit, but I’d rather you just tell me instead of protecting my pathetic ego.”
“He told me about the dick pic you sent him,” Roman sucks in a breath, “and I had to sit there and pretend it wasn’t the funniest, tamest fucking scandal I’ve heard in a long time.”
“And the uh, part two of that story?”
“Gerri,” he clarifies, and Roman nods reluctantly. “She’s not pressing charges, yeah?”
Roman shakes his head. “Nope.”
"Then there's nothing to discuss. The past is the past. The future," he hints, and Roman shakes his head, stronger this time, "then we're good."
"You really think you can trust me?"
"I think if I want you to trust me I have to trust you."
"You're so weird," Roman scoffs. But he's smiling a little, just on the inside. "Who the fuck gets to be CEO from trusting people?"
"The kind that can go have some edibles and play videogames with a seven year old."
"I am starting to see some benefits."
"You want some?"
Roman grabs the windowsill and stretches back against it, thinking. Contemplating vaulting his way inside and cleaning out Lukas' stash. Contemplating kissing this fucking man's feet (or face or neck or wherever he'd allow) for not letting his father get to him.
Contemplating running back in there, supplicating himself in the most embarrassing of ways, if Gerri will just tell him she's kidding.
"I sure fucking do," he laughs, and genuinely moves to crawl inside. Lukas steps back, but offers a hand when Roman steps down into the puddle, and Roman takes it, holding it tight to keep his near-soleless shoes from ending him before things get good.