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— February 2022 —
Four years pass in the blink of an eye. He can barely believe it’s been that long since he stepped a foot back into his home town. A fun little apartment with a mold problem, windows that are a struggle to latch and a rent number that makes him cry on the inside every time it leaves his account. It’s a pleasant enough existence between all the deadlines and..
And the regret. And the longing. And the violent, all encompassing homesickness. And every other emotion on his endlessly long itemised list of torment.
Groaning, Janus slumps and heavily breathes in the smell of his coffee and scrunching his eyes closed when his eyes catch on the lettering on his wrist. Four years. Four whole, long years. Fate isn’t going to try to reel him in again any time soon, he’s already wriggled off the hook once and he is happy with that. He is.
His heartbeat throbs behind his eyes like a steady reminder or threat that a migraine is on the horizon.
Once again he catches himself rubbing the words on his wrist with a gentle fondness, absentmindedly tracing them out with his thumb. He tugs his yellow gloves further down and his sleeve up, brow furrowed at his own lapse in attention.
Knock knock.
“What the…?” Squinting towards the door, Janus sets his mug down on the counter and sends a quick text to his roommate:
Janus: Hey did you order smt??
Before rolling his eyes at the response that essentially boils down to “oh yeah can you put it on my bed please,” despite never mentioning it previously and simply assuming he was in. The knocking comes again, louder and faster than before. Impatient much? Well. Blue collar workers are chronically underpaid so he can’t really lay the blame at the person’s feet for not having the patience to deal with people taking forever to answer the door. As if to say ‘Hurry up!’ the knocking at the door comes again.
Janus heeds the request and goes through the steps of undoing the latch, unlocking the door and pulling it open whilst saying, “Sorry about taking so long to answer-” The first thing he registers is the fact that the postal office uniform is nowhere to be seen on this specific worker, then that there’s not even a parcel.
Regretfully the last thing he recognises is the green eyes he grew up thinking of - green eyes he hasn’t seen since that day four years ago when everything imploded and his house of cards collapsed. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, why something is tugging in his chest. Why his soulmate is standing in his doorway with an unreadable face.
“Roman?”
— March 2004 —
Janus remembers the first time soulmates were brought up in his home. There'd been a lesson on it, how people are born with a name on their wrist that'll be their perfect match. Destiny, fate itself, as part of someone's skin. He remembers leaving the classroom that day, walking over to his mom and grabbing her hand as he always did.
It was then, swinging their arms between them that he'd asked, “what's your wrist say mom?”
She'd paused then before breaking into a grin - a grin so big and bright a matching one is pulled onto his own without him even realising - and then she started to talk, teasing him, “Old enough to be asking that question? Already?”
“I turn six this year!” He'd defended himself and his mom laughed.
Still teasing she had dropped his hand and moved her own to be holding him by the shoulder, “honey your birthday is over half the year away! And I don't remember you being that big, are you sure?”
“Yes,” Janus had grumbled before turning his attention to her sleeve, trying to surreptitiously tug it up so he could check the words himself.
Quickly, the arm had been pulled from his grasp and his hair was ruffled, “how about this,” his mom said, offering him her pinkie, “I promise to tell you once we get home.”
He took the deal.
—
It was not five minutes into her opening the door that Janus was back to badgering his mom for information, darting about and getting underfoot as she went about hanging up coats and taking off her shoes.
“Alright, alright what’s the rush,” she says as he drags her over to the sofa. Sitting down with an exaggerated oomf noise and pulling him into her side.
Looking up at her, he pouts and argues “you promised!”
“Hmm no doesn't sound like me,” she responds, and Janus stares at her, incensed, before she cracks and laughs at him, “I know I can't break a pinkie promise.” Own annoyance fading away, Janus felt the excitement tugging at him again, the thrill of discovery as his mom leaned in conspiratorially ready to pull back her sleeve. She counts down, only adding to the anticipation in the air before the dusty cream fabric is yanked away and the name of the person destined for her is revealed.
It's a name he doesn't recognise.
Hurt, a little scandalised and mostly confused, he turns his gaze to her. He's five turning six this year, described as practically a year ahead of his peers when it comes to reading and comprehension. He knows his dads name and that's not it. He'd memorised his parents' names beyond ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ after a scare at the shops when he'd been lost and his mom had decided never again and made sure he had all the information possible to find them again.
There a lot of ways to describe his mother, a free spirit was the one his grandparents used most. It's times like this he wishes he had a large enough vocabulary to describe how light-heartedly mean she can be (years later, he'd find his perfect description for her - when it was used on him - that being “bit of an asshole but in a funny way”). This wish is brought into existence due to her taking one look at his face, twisted with so many emotions he doesn't know what it's doing, and laughing so brightly he almost starts himself.
She wraps herself around him fully now, enclosing him in with her arms and resting her cheek on his head, long black hair brushing against his arms. Like a knot of affection or how a snake wraps itself around a mouse but with more love. Then she begins to talk, voice warm with happiness, “Jan, me and your dad aren't soulmates, but that doesn't matter. A name on your wrist might be ‘who your fated perfect match is’ but it doesn't mean they're your one and only.” He can hear the smile in her voice, “it doesn't make the love any less real, me and your dad found each other and made it work because we love each other. We might not have the others' names stamped on our wrist but we have you. You don't need a name to be happy with someone.”
It's in that moment, wrapped up in his mother's love and warmth that he internalises the idea that soulmates aren't really all that important. He's still curious about the name stamped across his wrist, wondering who ‘Roman Whitlock’ will turn out to be.
—
Janus can also remember the year he became disillusioned with it all.
—
Roman never really became disillusioned with it all. He just stopped believing that everything happens for a reason was an accurate statement.
— September 2005 —
His dad had been coming home from the office later than usual. At first it was only thirty minutes or so, now his mom starts cooking at the time he's supposed to be back. Even with this now delayed strategy what she cooks usually has time to simmer or go cold before his dad walks through the door.
They start eating without him.
His mom seems frailer now, her boisterous, giant smiles now reserved for once in a while moments. They don't dance and mess around in the kitchen whilst she cooks anymore, instead he's caught her on her laptop - emailing and scouring job applications. There's something not quite right but he's too young to understand - too young to be told outright.
Janus is seven, and something in his home is fundamentally different now.
He's only a child but awareness itches under his skin. Something is broken and he has no clue what or where but it is.
There's moments of respite, however, when his dad gets home early in the evening, still late but now early, and all three of them get to eat at the table and talk. Something slots back into place and the cloud around his mother clears. He remembers the last good night vividly.
It had been late, and they'd all been piled in on the sofa. Janus sandwiched between his parents whilst they watched TV, at a certain time his mom had clapped her hands and said “alright, bed time” in that tone that meant no arguing.
Unfortunately for her she didn't raise a quitter and thus began the song and dance of “no wait mom please” and “one more episode, just one, please?” And “I promise I'll go to bed no arguing once it's done.” Luckily, or so it seemed at the time - he can recognise a diversion tactic for what it is now - his dad had backed him up and slung an arm around him as he did so.
His mom had sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked at the two of them and smiled. Janus had recognised, even then young and stupid as he was, that something about her smile was off. Perhaps it was the way it didn't cause her crows feet to be fully emphasised, or maybe it was the general world weary energy surrounding her. Either way it'd been strained but so caught up in the Euphoria of hitting to stay up late he hadn't cared to think deeply on it. Instead, he tucked himself deeper into the sofa, content to be wedged between his parents.
That was the last time.
— June 2004 —
Roman learnt of the existence of soulmates young, when his parents were out for a date and their babysitter put on a random movie for him and his twin to watch in the hopes of them chilling out for long enough that she could reheat the food his parents had put aside for all three of them.
She doesn’t know it, simply being a teenager needing more than just pocketmoney, but that movie singlehandedly changed the course of his life. A regular old Disney movie from 1959 featuring a beautiful princess cursed to fall asleep forever if she pricks her finger only able to be awoken by her very handsome soulmate’s kiss - who would feature heavily in Roman’s gay awakening but in the moment he’d just stared at that animated face a little too closely.
To summarise, he was enraptured by the film. Wide eyed and slack jawed as he watched it play out and leaning forward so hard it’s a miracle he didn’t fall flat on his face.
Really, when all is said and done, Disney’s Sleeping Beauty on that day cemented three facts about Roman into the laws of the universe. One, he will forever be a massive Disney fan. Two, musical theatre is his destiny.
Three, he will have a love like that one day.
— September 2005 —
Later that night, Janus was still awake. A certain trick of his these past few weeks was to stay up until he could be sure his parents weren't downstairs and sneak a cookie from the jar. It couldn't be done every night - too suspicious - but he'd had one win tonight and was craving the sweet victory of another.
Carefully, he had padded to the top of the stairs, an empty glass of water clutched in his hands for plausible deniability if caught, and frozen.
Usually, by this time his parents were both asleep. Instead, there was the distinct orange glow coming from the bottom of the stairs. They were both still awake. Discussing something quite fervently too.
He scooted downstairs a little further, now able to make out full sentences rather than just the faint murmurs on the air. It was a short-lived success.
“You mean to tell me-” he'd never heard his mother's voice like that. Sharp. Demanding. Worst of all it was cold and Janus felt his stomach drop, throat closing up.
“Listen, Viv,” his father sounded tired.
“You don't get to call me that,” she'd hissed back, her voice dropping so low Janus had barely been able to make out the words.
A long, weary sigh, “It was never supposed to work out like this,” he can hear shuffling, then a creak; it's his mother's footsteps, it sounds like she's pacing. His dad's voice again, “I met her at work, chance meeting, was meant to mean nothing - but then we kept meeting and that evolved into talking.”
“And now what?” His mom was supposed to be warm and loving, not speaking with such a cutting tone.
“And now I want to try with her, Vivian,” his father pleaded, “she's my soulmate,” Janus feels his breath hitch, “supposed to be the One for me. How can I not try to see how it goes?”
Unwillingly, his eyes trail up the stairs, to the pictures lining the walls. Multiple of him, features stolen directly from his mother aside from the large purple port-wine stain birthmark down the left side of his face. In all of them he's grinning widely with his eyes scrunched shut. In most others he's flanked by at least one parent. The most devastating is when his eyes catch on one where it's just his parents, his mother beaming in her red wedding dress with his father in his white suit wrapped around her. Prom photos, camping trips, holidays, even one of all three of them on the day he was born.
They look so happy.
“You can keep the house,” his mom says, sounding despondent and furious all at once, “I'll- we'll be gone by the end of the week.
“You think I'm going to just let you leave with Janus?” His father responds, voice hot with anger, “the single mother or the soulmate couple who are the courts going to side with?”
“Hes seven, old enough to choose,” she spits back, voice venomous and wow everything in Janus vision is blurry now. His face is hot and blotchy and he squeezes his eyes shut hoping beyond hope that this is a nightmare. It's not real. It can't be. Covering his mouth desperately to hide his sniffling and gasping for breath as the argument continues, “or at least old enough for his vote to hold weight and who is he more likely to pick, Anthony? Because I think it'll be the parent who's actually been here for the past six months whilst you've been screwing your secretary!”
“Jesus you're a bitch don't talk about her that way.”
“Oh I'm sorry, what should I call her then? Janus' new step mom? My wife-in-law? Little miss homewreck-” a loud noise of a hit and a thud.
“Viv! I-”
“Don't you dare touch me again,” His mom snarls, “I'm taking Janus and by god if you ever try enter our lives again it'll be your last mistake. I hope she's worth it,” and then the door to the living room is swinging open and in the bright light is the silhouette of his mother, clutching her cheek. She sees him immediately, of course she does, what mother couldn't immediately recognise her child huddled on the stairs with a glass clutched in his hands. “Oh, Jan,” she breathes, rushing up the stairs to him and scooping him up into a hug, “it's alright, it's all going to be okay.”
“No- no it's not,” he heaves, choking on sobs and words as he tries to force in air, “a-are you and dad break-breaking up?”
“Oh hon,” she sighs, looking back down towards the room she'd just vacated and it's then in that low golden light that he can finally make out her face. She's exhausted, eyes red rimmed and puffy, cheeks wet with a faint outline of a hand on the one facing him. Janus is struck by how old his mother seems at that moment and he hates it. It's not right, he thinks, stupidly, she's not supposed to be old she's supposed to be here forever. “Let's get you to bed,” is what she says after a long moment.
—
With practiced precision she tucks him in, kisses his forehead, and pauses. With a little smile, she says, “Budge up, let's have a sleepover like old times.”
Old times were when he was four and scared of the dark, he'd beg his mom to stay in his room for the night so that nothing could get him. She was never there in the morning but he could smell her perfume and that'd be enough. He scoots over and she tucks him into her side and Janus wastes no time in shoving his face into her collarbone. Her perfume is still the same and it only takes a moment of being surrounded by it that he finally feels tethered to himself again. That he's safe from the monster of reality and it can't get to him here. She hums for a moment before saying, with a voice that cracks on the first few words, “your father has found his soulmate, he wants to try a relationship with her.”
Upset re-emerging with a passion, Janus whispers, “what about us?”
“I don't know if he was thinking about that,” she sighs, brushing his fringe away from his face gently, “but Jannaconda, you don't need to worry one bit, we can get our own place - a few towns over - it'll be just us two against the world. Maybe we can finally get that cat I've been wanting.”
“Can I get a snake?” He asks.
“Absolutely, just me, you, a cat and a snake,” she laughs through a little sniffles, “a regular nuclear family.”
Laughing with her, Janus pauses, burying his face further into her side and swears, “I don't ever want my soulmate if this is what it causes, I'll change my name if I have to.”
“Really?” She hums, hand still stroking through his hair, “what name will you have?”
“I dunno,” he admits, “something that starts with a ‘Dee’ sound.”
— September 2012 —
Roman was raised on soulmates, his parents had found each other at college and fallen into such a whirlwind romance that it was still discussed at detail by his extended family every time the Whitlocks and the Devereauxs were assembled under one roof.
That third fact of his life tugs at him occasionally. Pulls at his ear until it can whisper about how he'd get that one day, be able to sit at a table with all their family discussing how “they're just so perfect for each other!” And feel confident in knowing the universe did its job just right. How Roman will rarely exist as a single entity he and his soulmate will be that wound up in each other.
It's that thought that settles him, a truth deep in his chest that soothes jittery nerves long before anything else can. That no matter what his soulmate'll want to choose him and will.
When the mark came through, Roman remembers simply staring at it. Reverently, he had traced the elegant curve of the name with his eyes and then his finger and then gone onto write it down as best he could, the letters and big and unwieldy written in the first crayon he could find - an ugly orange colour he never really liked using back then - with little hearts drawn around it. Roughly, half scribbled with jagged lines especially when the crayon caught on the paper's texture. Devotion displayed in the only way a child knows how to display it. There’s always talk about how soulmates don’t have to mean romance, that the bonds can range from deeply committed but platonic to familial and all sorts of other ways two lives could be intrinsically bound that weren’t romantic but staring at that loopy handwriting and his own messy scrawl Roman had never felt so sure that ‘Janus Barrett’ was absolutely the one waiting for him. The words aren't perfect but he's certain his love already is.
It was a conviction he carried close to his chest for years.
Notebooks, sketchbooks, journals, diaries and even homework sheets were not free from this simple, oh-so personal truth. Each one, their margins lovingly dotted with ‘R+J’ or a picture perfect trace of the words on his wrist joined by his own name. A signature lovingly and painstakingly practiced until the curve of the letters hides a J. In his most personal of hiding places there’s even a scrap of paper with ‘Janus Whitlock’ and ‘Roman Barrett’ written upon it. It was such a slip of the mind moment when he’d written those words, ten year old him had been mortified for a brief moment, the inescapable prepubescent angst of liking someone too much in that moment had struck and he’d ripped the paper and almost committed a Remus like offence of eating it before, instead, stuffing it into his drawer to look upon when melodrama and yearning were calling him. The handwriting was perfect. A labour of love borne from his commitment to learning the curve of the words on his wrist as intimately as he knows the back of his own hand.
The first time he’d left summer camp there’d been an almost hesitant carving in the post of his bed, a little heart with a J next to it.
So of course the day he meets Declan ‘Dee’ Barrett is the day his heart skips a beat with a rush of hope and something too close to butterflies in his stomach for him to be comfortable naming. It's the first day the name feels like it's burning. It won't be the last.
—
By high-school they’d moved six times, the first time was to get away from Janus’ father, the second because he’d had such a massive meltdown - hysterical tears, a horrendously blocked nose and refusing to talk or go to school - because a substitute teacher had used his real name rather than the one he’d insisted on going by. His mother had sat him down at one point, hands resting on his shoulders and tried to get him to see that maybe, hiding his name wouldn’t be as possible as he wanted it to be. Unfortunately, he'd inherited her stubbornness and she’d sighed, looking at him with a sadness he had been too young to place at the time before conceding.
Everytime there was just a slip of the tongue that revealed his name wasn’t Ethan, or Desmond, or Devon or any of his many different names. Every time they’d pack their bags and move on until they hit a relatively bustling town and it seemed life finally settled with Janus starting at the local high school that very week.
Standing in the corridor outside the office, Janus had shuffled his feet awkwardly, scuffing his trainers against the floor as he waited for one of the Student Ambassadors to show up and give him the tour. Currently, all he had was his bag with rudimentary supplies - pencil case, note books and a single, worn and tattered at the edges science textbook - and his freshly printed schedule (which has had his locker number and home-room teacher’s email written across it in mildly smudged ink).
And then the world tilts on its axis.
Because walking down the corridor to him is someone who sends the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzied fluttering and Janus hopes the heat on his face isn’t showing as a deep blush. Even as the other person approaches his eyes - his startlingly, gorgeously green eyes - don’t drift to the left side of his face, never once gawking openly at his birthmark the way everyone else he’s met has. It’s nice. It’s also embarrassing how such a thought causes his heart to race.
“Hello! You must be the new student!” The stranger says, sticking his hand out for Janus to shake. As he does so Janus slowly looks over the volume of friendship bracelets on the other's arm, all clearly handmade and in different colours of the rainbow. Continuing, the other student says, “I'm Roman,” and Janus barely suppresses the instinct to wince and shy away from all contact. Surely it is only a coincidence. Surely it is a popular name. Surely fate would not try to throw them together this young. The desperate, half-cocked and not very thought out reasonings - well, it's more accurate to call them pleas - fall predictably flat as Roman goes on to say, “Roman Whitlock,” and Janus hopes his face does not read as complete panic in the moment. The words on his wrist have never felt more like a brand. A prized heifer marked for the slaughter and god does he want to lay down willingly, to whisper his own name and dive into the deep end of his own nightmare scenario. Roman smiles - its a warm, beautiful thing - and inclines his head as if to prompt Janus to share his own.
His real name, Janus, presses at the seam of his lips, nearly slipping out in a terrifying moment of almost unbridled sincerity. Instead, he clamps his jaw using his teeth as bars for a cell to contain the truth and inhales harshly through his nose.
“Im Declan,” he greets instead, drenching his tone in sweetness to try and overwhelm the bitterness and dryness in his mouth. With a grin he prays does not look like a grimace, he adds, “friends call me Dee though.” His mark burns, needling under his skin and kicking up a fuss.
“Well Dee,” Roman responds, smile stretching wider at the corners and revealing a slight tooth gap, “How about I get on showing you around?”
—
He'd been stupidly determined to avoid Roman after the tour and his plan was working pretty well. A few quick escapes, ducking around a corner like he hadn't heard his ‘name’ being called out by that sunshine filled voice and slowly it stopped coming. Relief had struck him in a wave, he was David and fate was goliath and despite it all he had come out on top.
The issue, however, just like in his namesake's mythology is that hubris is a flaw that catches up with all who practice it. His punishment came in the form of one Remus Whitlock. Resident insane student capable of pranking half the student body and invoking fear just from someone saying his name.
Remus Whitlock who was assigned his partner for a literature group project. Who quickly weasled his way into the cavity in Janus chest, right next to his heart, and became his best friend.
Fate, it seems, is an inescapable bitch.
—
Their friendship starts relatively normal, for Remus that is. Remus asks to borrow a pen and Janus lends it to him only for him to forget to give it back at the end of the lesson. So Janus hunts him down.
He finds his assigned work partner stood at his locker fiddling with a jar filled with some obscure liquid he doesn't have it in him to care what it is and taps him on the shoulder. Remus, who will deny this happened until his dying breath, shrieks, throws the jar at a random locker - and wow that is disgusting level of viscosity and why is it bubbling - causing general pandemonium before saying, cheerfully, “aw I knew you'd come round on my Macduff wanted to jump Macbeth's bones proposal!”
“Quite the opposite,” Janus says blankly, ignoring the glitter and plastic googly eyes in the slime concoction steadily, “I wanted to ask for my pen back, my only other one is going to run out.” A bold faced lie but sue him. He wants his pen.
“Yeah okay,” Remus shrugs, passing it over and Janus takes a moment to look inside the locker. It's. The locker is just filled with jars of random liquid. He looks back towards Remus, confused, mildly horrified and yet intrigued all at once; Remus grins at his face and explains, “oh yeah this is my slime locker.” He sniffs, rubbing a hand under his nose. “Used to be my taxidermy locker but the school board stepped in, said it was a “biohazard” and that the smell was disturbing.”
Helplessly, Janus laughs as he pockets his pen and asks “how many lockers do you have?”
“Oh like five-ish?” Remus pauses, counting on his fingers and muttering under his breath different names as he goes before confirming, “yeah five, I keep stealing people's locker keys and they don't do anything so I get to keep them.”
“So what one do you put your school supplies in?”
Remus stares at him like he's grown a second head. “Why would I keep school supplies in a locker?”
Boring isn't Janus’ style so after that he lets Remus stick around.
— October 2019 —
Chicago is quiet. Even at their most boisterous his roommate always goes through a period of time where they crash. It could be spending a day sleeping off a hangover or binge watching some new series that is just so much watch but either way it gets quiet. He rattles around the apartment, hearing the creaks and occasional signs of life from the other occupant but overall it is quiet and still and boring.
He hates boring. Finds that resentment tastes awfully similar to longing when it coats the back of his throat; additionally, he finds that underneath his nails is completely free of glitter. It always seemed omnipresent so to see it gone feels closer to missing a limb than missing a nuisance.
— October 2012 —
“Oo I like it very snakey,” was the first comment Remus made when he'd entered Janus' room at the beginning of a long list of many, many visits. By all means, it's an accurate remark with the hum of heaters and humidifiers, water filters and UVB lights. Nevermind the incessant greenery in and surrounding the enclosures he keeps his snakes in. And his mini army of snake flushes he's won from funfairs across the years.
“Y’know I really don't know what you mean by that,” he comments as he sits as his desk, inviting Remus to sit wherever and, as expected, his friend immediately body slams onto his bed. Janus responds to that move by saying, “if you get glitter on my bed I'm killing you,” then fills the gap before Remus can contribute by saying, “So.”
“So,” Remus echos, smirking evilly as he does so and Janus allows himself a brief moment of regret. “You gonna draw me like one of your French girls?” Remus drawls, throwing himself into a frankly ridiculous position that should only be possible if it were performed by a professional contortionist.
Rolling his eyes, Janus says, “sorry I only draw pretty people.”
“Excuse you!” Remus squawks, sitting up in all his offended fury, “I'm plenty pretty! In fact they'd sacrifice me to the gods. I'm that gorgeous!”
Snickering, Janus says, “Remus the God's only want virgins - you'd be rejected immediately.”
“Hey,” Remus whines, “accurate but hey.”
“Anyways,” Janus segways abruptly, throwing a balled up piece of paper at the still pouting Remus on his bed, “Macbeth.”
“Macbeth,” Remus says, nodding. “Macduff wanted that cookie so fucking bad.”
“Shut up, we are not writing our project on that,” He's snickering as he speaks which ultimately weakens his rebuttal but who can blame him.
“Alright then Banquo wanted to fuck him,” Remus says, voice exasperated and throwing his arms out wildly.
Rolling his eyes, Janus interjects, “Please it was the other way around.”
Remus looks at him with an appraising grin.“Dee, you are opening my eyes here.” Janus barely even bats an eye at his fake name being used. Funny how Remus saying it is barely worth a flinch and yet even the memory of Roman saying ‘Dee’ sends repulsed shivers up his spine. Even now he can feel goosebumps breaking out on his arms.
— May 2014 —
Janus has slipped up only once. Laid on his bed with Remus and talking endlessly for hours. Putting the world to rights before being distracted and laughing at some insane, random comment. He'd reached up to make some big gesture to emphasise his point and forgotten he didn't have his gloves on.
He only remembered after his sleeve had slipped down to his elbow and Remus was suddenly very still, and saying, very seriously, “Why does your soulmark say Roman Whitlock?”
Shooting upwards, Janus isn't aware of much, animal hind-brain kicking in as he frantically tugs his sleeve into place and refuses to look at Remus.
“Declan,” Remus says and his voice is unreadable, “Declan I can recognise my brother's name wherever, why is it on your wrist? His soulmates name is Janus”
Shoulders tightening and praying his flinch wasn't noticeable, Janus looks over his shoulder and sees his worst nightmare - realisation taking over Remus’ face as his eyes widen, gaze still locked onto his now covered wrist.
“Let me see it,” Remus demands.
Shaking his head frantically, Janus splutters, “I can explain. Please I have a good reason - just don't tell him.”
Remus simply repeats himself; “Let me see it.”
Still freaking out, Janus rolls his sleeve up, watching Remus’ face for any changes but it is painfully blank. Again, he pleads, “Don't tell him. Please.”
“Why haven't you told him?” Remus asks, pulling Janus' arm onto his lap and staring openly at the soulmark, “my brother wants nothing more than to be with his soulmate - why lie to him? To us?”
“Isn't that reason enough?” Janus asserts, barely recognising his own voice as high and frantic as it is, “Roman should be with someone he genuinely loves not because of a half-cocked notion about soulmates.” Remus looks at him sharply and Janus falters, head falling forward, he can't make eye contact like this. Not when he's already baring his soulmark and now having to pull out the twisted knot of logic and hurt that has guided his every choice for the past years. Quickly, in more just one word than separate ones, he says, “mydadleftusbecausehe found his soulmate.” His breath hitches and he starts to count the creases he can see in his comforter as the words continue to spill, “I can't believe they're good for all that much when the only thing they've done is ruin my family.”
Remus chooses to drop his arm at that moment and Janus yanks it back, pulling the sleeve back over the mark again. It’s like a safety blanket, calm slipping over his shoulders the minute the words are hidden from view. “Alright,” he says and Janus’ head snaps up, feeling like his vision lags behind the movement, “I won't tell him.” Relief crashes over him like a wave and yet his mark burns. “But, you gotta tell him eventually Jan,” Remus makes eye contact with him, doesn't let his eyes slip away and emphasises, “this'll break him if you leave it too long. Please just promise me you'll tell him one day.”
“One day,” Janus echoes, offering Remus his pinkie, “I promise.”
— October 2012 —
Later in the planning process for their English assignment, Janus is quite happy with how their project is looking. A solid essay and the beginnings of a powerpoint beginning to take shape. Absent-mindedly, he calls out, “dibs not doing most of the presenting.”
Gasping, Remus calls back, “you bitch.”
— January 2013 —
It's about halfway into the year that he and Remus collect the final piece of their trio and seal the deal on destiny bearing down upon Janus. Virgil is easily taller than him but walks around so hunched over and hidden in his purple patched jacket it's hard to tell. He's quiet, ruthlessly sarcastic and quick on the uptake just with enough anxiety to never bring up what he thinks. Janus is halfway convinced if Virgil breathes too loudly he’ll give himself a panic attack over it.
He fits right in.
—
It starts, like all good friendships, with Remus fucking shit up horrendously. It has never been done like this before and Janus is in awe and also maybe laughing too hard.
It's only Remus who would come to school just to try pie his brother in the face and end up breaking the nose of the newest student.
—
Ice sufficiently broken and then applied to the new guy's broken nose, Janus sits with him in the nurse's office - he's sure Remus and Roman would've come with them but one of them is currently getting reamed out and the other is testifying about what went down. He's doing his best not to laugh but can't help it when the nasally voice of the new student says “so what was that guy's problem?”
Snickering and doing his best not to send the guy into an early grave, he says, “Remus isn't house trained yet but we are doing our best.”
“What do you consider house trained?” Grouchy eyes underlined in black stare over at him, there’s blood on the hood of the guy’s jacket and he seems generally miserable but given the day's events who can blame him.
Checking his nails Janus comments, “getting him down to only one incident a week.”
Almost reluctantly the guy huffs out a laugh and says “‘m Virgil.”
“Friends call me Dee,” he responds and sticks out his hand.
It's shaken and then Virgil adds, “you should tell Remus that I'm gonna get him back for this.”
“Oh good,” he says mildly, “I needed someone to help me bleach his hair in his sleep.”
—
For the prank Virgil proposes they invite Roman, give them an angle Remus isn't expecting and Janus can't exactly say “absolutely not i refuse to associate him for reasons that I refuse to say because its secret and no its nothing against you I just don't like him” and not get weird looks or a very confused ‘what the hell are you talking about'. It's not worth the risk, is what he tells himself his thought process is, ignoring how his soulmark practically thrums and they'd run out of insecticide globally before making a dent in the butterfly population he hosts at the idea of talking to Roman again.
Much to his exhilaration and despair, talking to Roman is easy - too easy aside from when the truth bubbles up at the back of his throat as an ever nausea inducing pressure.
“So you two are finally wanting to associate with the better, more charming twin?” Is how Roman greets them when they catch him outside the drama room one day. Only to yelp when Virgil grabs him by the hand and starts tugging him away from the currently milling about drama students. “What the hell,” Roman gripes, “Why am I being taken to a second location? Am I gonna have to buy my own organs back?”
“That is the most like Remus you've ever sounded,” Janus says, turning away to hide his amusement at the sudden squawking and other offended noises from Roman.
Once Virgil has deemed the corridor they're in sufficiently quiet he lets go of Roman and says, “we have a mission for you.”
“Okay I thought you attended the black parade not the military ones,” Roman says, squinting at the two of them, “so why does it sound like I'm being drafted? I’m too pretty for that.”
“Because you are,” Janus says, trying to stifle a laugh at Virgil's disgruntled expression.
“Pretty? I know right,” Roman giggles, miming tossing his own hair.
“No,” Janus corrects, “Being drafted.”
“Too bad, I’m gay,” Roman responds, gesturing towards himself with a bright grin and an overly dramatic hand motion.
With a fake wince, Janus says, “Sorry that stopped being valid excuse in the 2000s”
“Aw shucks” Roman sighs, snapping his fingers as he does so, “guess I'll go break a leg. Oh woe is me.”
“Well we need you-” Virgil tries to say before being cut off.
“That's what they all say,” Roman interjects.
“Love how you cut Virgil off before he could finish how generous,” he says, trying to ignore how amusement brightens his tone and dampers the effect of his sarcasm.
“Shaddup the both of you” Virgil grumbles before finally getting to continue to bring Roman into the plan, “we need you to help us prank remus”
“Oh I am in” Roman agrees immediately before remembering to ask, “whats the plan?”
“Secretly bleaching his hair,” Janus offers, watching the way Roman's face twists into a truly devious grin that makes the resemblance between the twins so very obvious.
“Here I thought you guys were gonna take one for the team and wax off that fugly mustache,” Roman comments.
“Telling him you said that,” he responds in a sing-song tone and watches as panic sparks in those green eyes before blooming onto the rest of Roman's face.
“Do not!” Roman splutters, reaching out as if to plead with Janus, who begins to cackle after finally losing his battle with restraining his mirth.
—
Virgil also helps them make the jump to being a fully merged friend group, sitting with Roman at lunch and talking to Logan and Patton. It felt a little like betrayal at first, like Virgil picked them over him but never let it be said Janus can’t suck up his emotions so he sits down right next to Virgil on the second week of him joining Roman’s lunch table.
Remus broke his nose, they're for lifers now no escaping, sorry Virgil. Given the small, painfully shy smile Virgil gives him in response to this move he takes it to mean he doesn’t really mind that much. It might have put him on an unstoppable collision course with Roman but in the moment, seeing that it did in fact make Virgil overwhelmingly happy that they’re with him Janus can’t bring himself to regret it too much. Yet.
— July 2014 —
“Alright have fun!” His mom says as she drops him and Virgil off at the lot, Janus (already scanning for Mrs Whitlock’s car) offers a few pleasantries back - ‘I will’, ‘bye’, and ‘I love you’ - before locating the old thing and heading over immediately.
He arrives in time to hearMrs Whitlock saying goodbye and the time she’ll be back to pick up the car and the twins - one of whom is nodding vigorously and the other not paying any attention at all; the lack of attention becoming even more prevalent when Remus spots the two of them and begins to wave vigorously. “Virge!!! Dee!!!”
Waving back, Virgil comments, “Do you think we can kick him out and make use of the child locks on the car?” Janus cackles, also waving, and that incentives Remus to begin charging over and tackling the two of them in a bear hug that definitely cracks his back in at least three places.
Patton arrives having brought an army's worth of snacks whilst Janus and Virgil are still trying to escape Remus’ grip.Chuckling at them he says, “Well gee I guess the cuddle pile started early.”
“We are putting him in the boot,” Janus hisses, pulling himself out of Remus’ iron grip and very gratefully taking Patton's offered hand to get up, “He needs to be quarantined. For the good of humanity.”
“You sure he won’t get lonely,” Patton says, grinning widely and speaking louder to be heard over the increased cursing and scrambling from Virgil as the full force of a Remus bear hug is solely focused on him.
Roman offers his own thoughts by saying, “I’m on Dee’s side here, I’m still halfway convinced he has rabies.”
“How long have you held that notion for?” Janus asks, a little smile on his face.
Roman, deadpan, drawls, “Since birth.”
—
Virgil, Patton, Roman and Dee end up piling into the back of the car with Logan and Remus taking seats at the front. It’s a bit cramped with four of them back there so Roman hooks his left arm around the back of the seats to give them a little extra breathing room. All it ends up doing, however, is tucking Dee up into his personnel space and given they’re watching Lord of the Rings at this drive-in theatre they’re going to be stuck in these positions for a while.
At least. That’s how Roman justifies dropping his arm so it’s solely wrapped around Dee - with the back of his head resting on Roman’s collarbone. Hopefully his heart isn’t beating too loud. Either way he is horribly distracted from the first half of the movie until he manages to fully relax into how they’re sat.
— November 2015 —
“This is a brilliant idea,” Janus says, rolling his eyes as he does so and projecting much needed confidence in his voice so that he can pretend he isn’t only still standing due to his iron grip on the boards.
Skating past him in a long, backwards stride that oozes easy confidence and competence, Roman grins, “I know right!” He pushes into a spin and barely stumbles upon stopping, the annoying show off. “Best idea I’ve ever had,” Roman says, resting his hands on his hips.
“Easy for you to say,” Janus grumbles, attempting to push off and immediately nearly going heels over head and he tilts forward. Yelping, he tries to correct, desperately trying to keep his feet underneath him until his struggle is abruptly ended by arms catching him.
Looking up, face feeling scarlet and red hot, Janus sees Roman’s slightly slushed from the cold face smiling down at him. “You know for how slippery you are you’re quite like Bambi on the ice,” Roman teases, hands still bracing Janus - one on his waist the other on his arm - and helping him straighten back up. Their close proximity is the only thing stopping Janus from flipping him off so he settles for glowering - which only seems to amuse Roman more. Today is ending with one of them being choked out using their own scarf and it’s not going to be Janus.
“Gay!” Remus shouts as he skates by, dragging Virgil behind him - who is fully frozen in a braced, slightly forward leaning, pose and staring wide eyed and fearfully.
He’s suddenly grateful that Roman is the twin he’s dealing with and he says as such to which Roman starts giggling.
“You’re not too bad yourself snakespeare,” Roman comments, voice soft and almost fond - that can’t be right. Janus has never heard Roman’s voice in such a cadence and looks up but finds Roman is now steadily avoiding eye contact and is instead saying, “Oh I think Logan and Patton got their skates sorted, we should go say hi.”
Janus finds himself in an unfortunately familiar situation and Roman drags him over to say hello. Virgil had the correct idea in finding a pose where he wont fall and sticking to it and so Janus copies it blatantly. The main difference is he lets himself shout, “Roman you dickhead I am going to reacquaint your head with the ice multiple times if I fall!” He yelps at the end, nearly becoming one with the ice if it weren’t for Roman helping slow his momentum properly. “You are evil,” He hisses.
“At least I’m not Remus ~” Roman reminds him and yes, looking across the rink and seeing the aforementioned twin dead sprinting like a hockey player across the ice and still pulling along a petrified Virgil, Janus knows in his heart he wholly agrees with the statement. He would have agreed even without the visual, he thinks and his soulmark hums under his skin.
— August 2016 —
“Guys, do I make a sexy mermaid yet?” Remus asks from where they’re currently burying him in the sand.
“That adjective will never apply,” Logan comments, smirking a little and Remus’ offended shout whilst he continues to build a sandcastle. Still ignoring the offended Remus noises, Logan asks, “Patton do you think you could collect me more water? The sand isn’t holding properly.”
“Sure thing,” Patton says, grabbing Virgil - who is hiding under a towel - by the arm and beginning to drag him towards the water.
“Scream if you see any sharks!” Remus calls after them and Virgil sticks his middle finger up at him.
Laughing, Roman collapses onto his own towel, luxuriating in the hot sun and ignoring how sand is almost definitely making itself one with his curls. He angles his head slightly, seeing Dee stretched out across a sunshine yellow towel with a hat pulled low across his face. Honestly, now that he’s looking, Roman can see that Dee’s shoulders and back are looking a little pink; reaching up, he hooks a hand around Dee’s ankle and begins to shake it. At the lack of reaction he begins to say, “Dee,” around the smile on his face that’s so big you can hear it in his voice.”
“Declan!” Remus shouts, and even then the most reaction they get is a soft murmur and Dee stretching slightly, curling in before falling even more lax in sleep.
“He’s like a cat,” Roman laughs, taking to prodding Dee’s leg until he kicks out with a grumble. “Oh? Is our sleeping beauty awakening?”
“I’m more a Maleficent - fuck off,” Dee grumbles, cutthing himself off to hiss the curse at Roman as he continues to prod at Dee’s leg.
Snickering, he sits up and says, “Dee you’re looking a bit pink, when did you last do your sunscreen?”
“Car,” is all he gets from Dee before Roman sees his face under the hat go lax again. Typical. Instead of trying to wrangle him into talking or doing his own suncream, Roman just grabs the bottle and squirts it all over his back. His skin is warm from being under the sun so long and Roman tries to pretend this isn’t a scene he’s seen played out across different stories and even by his own parents. He tries harder to not be eager about it.
“Wow Roman how forward,” Remus teases.
Ignoring the sudden rush of heat to his face, Roman says, “Shut up I literally did yours before we buried you.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly,” He hisses.
“Oh no keep being loud,” Dee growls, harsh and annoyed tone contrasting how relaxed the muscles and limbs under Roman’s hands feel. “Not like I’m trying to sleep here or anything.”
—
Dee does not get to keep sleeping in the sun for long as when Patton and Virgil return their resident emo throws an impressively massive wad of seaweed directly into Remus face. The resulting screams and mad scramble cause multiple groups to look over them curiously and thoroughly ruin any idea of getting a good sleep in. Roman can’t bring himself to be too upset over the turn of events, it means he gets to fully hangout with Dee rather than him simply napping through the day.
— October 2016 —
Group costumes are the stupidest thing they’ve ever committed to and yet here they are, hopelessly lost in a corn maze dressed as the scooby gang plus monster. Patton adjusts his ascot and says “Okay guys I’m sure it’s fine and we aren’t too lost.”
“Remus literally ripped our map,” Logan reminds them, appearing unbothered by the weather given he gets to be nice and toasty in the orange jumper of his Velma costume.
Remus groans, “It’s not my fault you guys fought to get it back after I bit it.” There’s never been a more accurate costume choice than them unanimously agreeing Remus was going in the Scooby Doo onesie.
“At least we have parts of it,” Patton says, optimism still shining brightly as he takes the scraps and holds them up. The ripped edges are roughly matched together in a good effort but there are clear gaps and chunks missing.
Assigning costumes proved that no one in their group can look past an opportunity for irony given they made Virgil dress as Shaggy, “Better than the nothing we would have if we let Remus eat it fully.”
“We would’ve made it out of this maze already if it weren’t for you meddling kids and your meddling dog,” Janus says, wondering how long they need to be stuck here before he pulls out the spare map he pocketed.
Roman punches him in the shoulder, before tossing Virgil the scarf from his Daphne costume with the justification of, “You look like you’re gonna freeze Panic At The Corn Maze.” Roman also turns to Janus and says, conspiratorially, “I know we made you the monster-slash-corrupt business guy but no need to talk like it.”
“Awh there goes all the fun of Halloween,” Janus sighs, before revealing the spare map, “Anywho Logan? Will this be of any assistance?”
“I’m going to kill you,” Virgil says plainly.
— August 2018 —
There’s three days until Dee moves away. His college is the first to demand his presence with everyone moving away at some point in September. Already the idea of his absence is grating against Roman, like rocks in a shoe. It’s not yet the sting of antiseptic on a still fresh wound but it’s an inescapable ache that he wishes were easy to flush out. Instead it grates against him, the incessant reminder that they’ll be missing someone - that they’ll be missing Dee.
Either way Roman shakes the thought out of his head and locks back in, staring at the fire and listening to the aimless chatter. Logan, at one point, explains in excessive detail how to build the best fire to amplify oxygen flow and not waste any fuel. Much to Roman’s regret this explanation is delivered to Remus who should not be encouraged or told how to light proper fires in any capacity. They’re all already haunted by the knowledge of what Remus can do with steel wool and an empty lighter nevermind if he knew what ‘good structure’ can do for it.
“Alrighty time for the best bit,” Patton says, digging around in his backpack and passing items from it. Sticks, marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate, knives and an entire jar of crofters jam.
“What’s with the jam,” Dee questions, passing a paper fan over to Virgil - who is currently the victim of all the campfire smoke.
“Oh Remus and me were talking the other day and he was wondering if jam could be added to a smore,” Patton explains as he cracks open the sticks and starts putting marshmallows on them before passing them around.
“Remus and I,” Logan corrects and then adding a ‘thank you’ when he is passed his marshmallow.
Patton laughs, “eye eye captain.”
“Anyways,” Logan says, closing his eyes as if to pray to be blessed with patience, “I see no reason as to why jam cannot be added - I suppose it will be similar to the UK treat of a ‘wagon wheel’.”
“So you wanna be the first to try it,” Virgil summarises.
“Absolutely it is crofters after all,” Logan confirms.
—
It’s a good night. Remus accidentally lights his first marshmallow on fire and instead of blowing it out he shoves it into his mouth still flaming and then screams, finishes eating it and then chugs half a litre of water. It’s the most unsurprising thing his brother has done all year and Roman is not above laughing at him. It's during this that he catches Dee’s eye over the fire and smiles. He’s not sure how wide or how fond his own is but the smile he gets back makes the breath catch in his throat. Plain and simple, Dee looks gorgeous illuminated in the golden flickering light of the fire with his entire face radiating with laughter and joy.
Roman is going to miss him terribly. It’s just another fact of the universe.
— December 2018 —
It's their first hang-out in what feels like an age, each of them finally being home during the winter holidays means he gets to see Dee again. The excitement fizzling in his gut is something he has come to associate solely with the other. It'd grown over time, absence acting like a wildfire in the way it caused his emotions regarding Dee to flare up. Names or words for them still elude him, Dee is Dee, something different from a friend but still so important. So he's practically jittery with fluttering butterflies in his stomach sitting in their booth, Logan and Remus crushed in on his side and Virgil and Patton sat across from him whilst waiting on Dee to show up.
Roman isn't stupid. He knows intimately what his heart is demanding but a lifetime of tracing two specific words is making him falter.
Of course, the first to spot Dee as he walks up is Roman, telltale yellows and blacks of his outfit standing out. “Looks like Snakes and Ladders is finally here,” he comments and Remus is moving like the police are on his tail, Virgil echoing the movement at a more sedate pace.
Watching through the window, Roman gets to see Dee's emotions blossom across his face - first it's excitement, pulling a grin up onto his lips before alarm also kicks in as it becomes obvious Remus isn't slowing down. Then resignation and acceptance as Dee opens his arms and gets tackled by the blur that is Roman's brother. Something warm and fond crackles like kindling in his chest and it only gets warmer as Logan says, “I'll go order Dee's regular for him.”
Once all the ‘it's been too longs’ and ‘how have you beens’ and shuffling around is sorted it ends with Dee right next to Roman, the lines of their legs pressed together wholly and their shoulders bumping and jostling at every movement whilst trading little smiles for just the two of them.
That gang is all back together and it is perfect.
—
Something in Janus was fighting. One wolf convinced something was about to go horrendously wrong and the other cautiously optimistic as Remus always puts it - albeit it in more crude terms. Roman always inspires this inside him, a conflict that means he has a “sorry can’t make it” text ready and his thumb hovering over the send button until he makes eye contact with Roman and lets himself get caught up in the flood of being in his proximity.
Today it was worse, optimism battered and bruised and he hesitated over that button even more intensely than usual. Even now he’s deliberating over it as he walks down the street, head in his phone and lip thoroughly wormed between his teeth. It’s because of this that he accidentally shoulders into someone, phone clattering to the floor and a yelp of “oh shit!”.
Ducking down to pick up his phone Janus’ anxiety is mildly soothed seeing his screen uncracked, not even a scratch to be seen. Yet when he looks up to the person he’d walked into to apologise he realises his undamaged phone was just throwing him a bone in a ‘sorry bout this’ because the person looking down at him in shock, whilst clearly aged, is his father.
“Janus?” His father asks and it sounds distant like a conversation overheard from a different room. Hands settle on his shoulders and he blinks, hearing but not registering the words, “shit kid is this where your mother ran off to? It’s been years.”
“Don’t touch me,” He mumbles before going on to repeat himself louder when the weight on his shoulders still isn’t gone. It’s a fuzzy sort of pressure, objectively he knows he’s being touched, that there the hands that helped raise him propped up and resting on his shoulders but it doesn’t feel quite real.
“Don’t be like that,” His father says, sounding put out and almost annoyed. Janus can’t bring himself to make eyecontact, he looks into his reflection and only see’s his mother these days he can’t witness features he knows will be echoed on his face - doesn’t need the physical evidence of the family link to follow him.
He’s still being touched. Sharply, surprise and something else inside him preventing anything close to fluid movement, his hands jerk up and he smacks the offending limbs off of himself and steps backwards.
“Seriously Janus?” His dad asks, arms still outstretched slightly, “Did your mother poison your mind that badly? I’m your dad.”
“I don’t care,” he spits back and is surprised at the venom that drips from the words, even his father seems to blink in shock at it too, “Why are you here? We’re fine without you.”
“Sarah’s been looking at the local college here,” he’s sure his father is still talking but all his brain has managed to do is latch onto the name. Sarah. At seven he’d been smart enough to steal his moms phone and use facebook to search for his dad’s soulmate. Younger than him by just a year had been her child from her previous marriage. Sarah. His step sister. Figures.
“I don’t care,” he says again, louder and cutting whatever ramble about ‘dinner’ and ‘finally getting to meet ‘ his father had been on about. He makes eye contact now and maybe their hair colour is practically the same, the arch of their nose bridge but Janus finally sees a stranger, “I want you to forget you ever saw me. Mom and I are better without you here, go run back to the family you picked over us.”
“It wasn’t like that if your mother wasn’t so insistent on keeping you,” is the vitriolic words said towards him and Janus has had enough. He turns around, intent on going the longer route and texting Roman about running late but a hand catches his wrist.
—
“Janus, listen to me!” echoes from down the street he’s walking past. Despite the resolution in his heart Roman can feel himself falter. Curiosity brushing up against him like a cat, wrapping around his ankles and causing his stride to trip. Dee would understand if he’s late right? It will only be by a minute or two.
I mean it’s his soulmate, Dee would have to understand. Everyone knows that this is the moment Roman has been waiting for since those letters blossomed across his wrist in the most perfect of writing. Destiny and fate want him to wander down this road, it’s the first moment of meeting a soulmate that everyone describes differently but with the shared trait of the world pausing or no, the world reorienting itself around a life that isn’t just yours anymore.
Still. He looks at his phone and the clock. Dee wouldn’t be too upset right? It’ll still be a good day for the two of them. The best day even. It just so happens he wants to put it on hold for a moment, only one, to say hello to his soulmate - say it’s awfully nice to meet you but I have plans with someone else and let’s get to know each other later.
Apprehension burns in his gut, soulmate thrumming in tandem with the beat of his heart. Is he ready for this? Meeting his soulmate has been in his dreams for so long, his wish upon a star, it suddenly seems too soon for this to happen. He can just keep walking. He turns twenty this year, that’s barely anything. Very little life has been lived and he suddenly finds himself wondering if this is how his parents felt before they jumped into each other's arms or if they were immediately sold on each other. Were they just on the idea of happily ever after?
That would be the coward's way out. Stories always tell of heroes who are scared of the adventure's call yet answer it anyways. This is his call, fate reaching out to guide him on his journey, so he walks down the street.
There’s two figures, people dodging around them as they argue. One figure is larger than the other, broad in the shoulder with his arms spread wide and gesticulating aggressively - so aggressively he can barely see the other outside of their shoes. The larger figure, the male, is shouting and the voice is the one who had yelled his soulmate's name. Just beyond Roman’s sight, his soulmate, Janus, is standing.
He steps to the side slightly to dodge someone walking by and makes eye contact with Janus and their faces drop at the exact same moment because it’s Dee looking back at him.
—
Why is Roman here? Any ability to keep his footing, to keep spitting and snarling poison at his father is ragged out from underneath him and he can do nothing but stare at those beautiful, stretched wide with horror and confusion and betrayal, green eyes. Hands being waved in his face draw his attention back to his father and he feels something shutter over him. A sudden, elusive, all encompassing calm. Turning to his father, taking in the salt and pepper hair and familiar features one last time before saying, “Fuck off. I don’t want anything to do with you - get away from me.” The words are distant, echoing in his ears and they’ve barely left his lips, before he’s turning to Roman- who is still just staring at him, face blank - desperately. He hears more than witnesses his father leave, priorities so overwhelmingly elsewhere. Stepping forward, he reaches out, brushing Roman’s shoulder and simply saying, “Roman?”
His wrist is grabbed again and his soulmark burns, the grip is gentle - easily to pull away from but Janus can’t bring himself to, not when he’s so busy tracking every inch of emotion crossing Roman’s face. He lets Roman pull at his sleeve, tug at his gloves until the green eyes he’s spent years coveting the attention of trace the lettering of his own name stamped on Janus’ wrist. He echoes Roman’s name again, voice desperately quiet and watches as the confusion gives way to disbelief and passion sparks in his face.
It’s not the warm passion, the bright, infectious energy Janus has grown to love to see whenever Roman takes to the stage. It’s nowhere close. Instead it’s something he has never seen before, a cold sort of emotion - cold and writhing with what Janus is quickly registering to be unfiltered rage.
Dread kicks him deep in the gut. “Roman, please just say something.”
“Was it all just a joke to you?” Despite his pleas Janus feels himself grow cold at Roman’s question, growing even colder at the wetness gathering at the corners of Roman’s eyes.
“Listen, I-” He cuts himself off, exhaling hard and frantically trying to pull together the words that can fix this, “Roman, listen-”
“No!” It’s a loud shout and the grip on his wrist flutters, tendons flexing and digging in slightly before loosening just as quick. Roman, almost disbelievingly, croaks out, “You’ve been lying to me - to all of us! For years! Why? Why should I listen to you De- Janus?”
“Please I promise I have a good explanation,” Begging has never been his strong suit, Janus’ mother always teased him for how he’s more likely to demand to be heard rather than ask. Now all he can do is lock his knees in place and pray they don’t collapse from underneath him - pray Roman listens.
“I’m not doing this,” Roman says, backing away and dropping his wrist. Shaking his head, disbelief still etched into his face, Roman continues, “Years of my life waiting, you were never going to tell me. What is wrong with you?” The anger warps Roman’s face into a sneer and there is little Janus can do to argue against it, he can barely bring himself to weather the insults. “Was any of it real- nevermind, don’t answer that not even your name was of course none of it was.”
“Roman please I didn’t lie about anything else,” He tries to reach out but for every step he takes Roman takes two backwards, “Please listen to me I didn’t want- I was scared.”
“I don’t believe you,” Is all Roman says in response and Janus’ brain stalls. Trips over itself. Words falling, jaw simply left hanging open still trying to form words but none of them ever coming to fruition, vocal cords not making any noise. Roman watches all of this and horrifyingly, Janus know’s what he’s thinking, know’s the way Roman thinks like he knows the back of his hand, he’s unsurprised when Roman practically spits, “Fuck this, I can’t believe you. I… I can’t even be around you right now.”
Roman leaves and only when watching the back of his head get further away does Janus stutter back into action, pleas and repetitions of Roman’s name said desperately through a brutalised and cracking voice. Only when his breath hitches and he realises how hard it is to see does Janus notice he’s been crying.
He should’ve just sent the text.
—
After that confrontation, they all stop talking to him. Roman is, as expected, completely radio silent. Janus doesn't even try to reach out. The bridge is smouldering, a pile of cinders and ash with not even foundations left. He knows what the response would be if he tried to send a message, that he's a heartless bastard for leaving him yearning for so long, for making that decision for the two of them.
He knows Patton and Logan will be upset. The debates between the three of them when it comes to ethics, concepts and even the most light hearted “would ‘insert person here’ be able to write the communist manifesto” arguments had been enjoyable. A mix between winding Logan up yet still exercising actual debate strategies whilst also trying to talk circles around Patton but avoiding being called out for overuse of subjective arguments. It was fun, especially when competing with Logan to be president of the debate club.
Virgil. Well Virgil is not one to show allegiance but what Janus has done is not only a betrayal of Roman but a betrayal of all of them. They now all think they know that 'Dee' was a figment of their imagination, some lie cooked up by someone who didn't care whose heart they were playing with. Virgil goes quiet when he's upset, retreats away to stew in hurt and Janus' betrayal of him was heinous enough that he doubts his friend will reach out any time soon. That and he knows Virgil's penchant for holding grudges, that he swears a blood feud on sometimes the most inane and random things. Virgil who trusted him to talk through a lot of his anxieties and worries who he has been lying to for years. That bridge is smouldering ashes.
Then there's Remus, his best friend who's been in the know for years. He hadn't gotten it then and surely doesn't understand it now but he'd respected Janus' choice, and kept the secret for him. That's why it hurts so bad that not even Remus is trying to stay in contact, suddenly saying he can't make their carefully laid plans anymore. Even the responses have stopped, he's been left on read and Janus feels with unflinching certainty that becoming a blocked number is on the horizon if he keeps trying.
It's horribly lonely. Christmas break and he's lost his closest friends in one moment. What itches its way under his skin and into his bones, what leaves him jittery and longing is the sudden stillness. Life had been a whirlwind of reunions, laughter and constant contact. Now it is so stagnant he's choking on it, cemented to the floor whilst time slows to the point a minute takes an hour to pass.
His mom smiles at him sadly when he asks her to drive him back a week early, his roommate will be thrilled. Remy had whined and called him a traitor when he'd admitted to not being in town over new years despite the fact they're both not legal to drink yet. Unfortunately, his roommate has assured him he has his ways and also fake IDs. Upon being reminded Janus was a law student Remy had simply laughed and remarked about how he'd definitely need plying with alcohol then.
At least he has Remy. These years of your life are supposed to be about finding your people anyways, who cares if he lost the people he already thought of as his. There isn't a hollow gaping pit in his chest that's just nerves about exam season.
Nothing more.
---
Janus: you still got your methods?
Janus: im returning a week early and I remember the grapevine mentioning a new years night out
Remy: holy shit
Remy: girl this is gonna be the best night ever
---
In the car, he lets the warm air of Florida roll over him, eyes screwed shut against the wind whilst his mom belts the lyrics to her favourite songs as they go. She goes so far as to elbow him into joining him. He lets her win, its a multiple day trip, if he didn't let her it would surely feel even longer. There's a peacefulness to it, staring at the window and watching it all go by - bright greens of grassland flying past, bouncy white clouds leaving streaks in the cyan sky slowly darkening as its painted with gold then pinks and purples. Then its nighttime, suddenly much colder, he never realised how much he'd miss the glare of sunlight bouncing off tarmac and the heat it brought with it. His mother doesn't like to waste her money on things and so, dutifully, he winds the window back up - the old handcrank groaning as he does so. The less hot air he lets out the better.
"I'm getting you a new car one of these days," he gripes, ignoring the amused looks she sends his way. Admittedly, his tone is crankier than it usually would be, the sheer volume of stuff shoved into the boot and back of the car means he's been forced to pull the chair as far forward as he can manage; as such, his knees are pressed against the dashboard uncomfortably.
Reaching over and patting his leg she laughs, saying, "yeah, yeah, say all you want but this old thing is getting you from point A to point B," she pauses, glancing in her rearview mirror then flicking her indicator on, "Now," she says as they switch lanes, "what's eating at you?"
"What?" Janus says, heart rate ticking up a notch as he keeps his eyes firmly forward, just open road and the sunset, "I'm not thinking about anything."
"Jan," she says, pushing and shaking his leg around from where she's had her hand on his knee, "Jannaconda" she adds, "I raised you, I can tell when you're thinking hard about something. So what happened?"
Sighing sharply, Janus pushes his shoulders back, subtly shifting in his seat to angle away from his mother, "I don't- nothing happened."
"You think im stupid? Going blind in my old age Janny?" She teases, rubbing his knee in a circular, comforting motion, "You come home from 'hanging out' with one of your friends and its suddenly you're haunting the house - most days i barely saw you then bam you're there everyday Jan. Now I'm driving you off to college again a week early. What happened, Janus?" It's scary, the knowledge that someone knows him inside out and even with all his strategies and tactics that the heart of it all can be cut straight to.
Instead of answering, he ducks his head and says, "I... I was thinking of staying in Chicago over the summer, you could visit for a couple weeks - stay in my apartment, like a holiday."
"You really are my child," she says, voice warm with affection, "it's alright if you want to run Jan, God knows I didn't look back after running from your father; it's who we are, we're runners."
"Predestined to choose flight, huh," he responds, attempting towards humour but instead it falls flat. He just sounds morose.
"Exactly," she confirms, turning her gaze from the road to try and catch his own. Reluctantly, he lets it be caught and for their eyes to meet, "there's my boy," she smiles, corners of her eyes crinkling, "You can run as long as you need, to get away as far as you want. And if even Chicago doesn't feel far enough? Then you can go even further and stay away even longer. Just, remember two things for me?" There's a defined crease between her brow, eyebrows upturned as she takes a hesitant inhale before continuing, "Remember that no matter how far you go, I'm always going to be there. If you need a safe harbour to rest in for a moment, I'm here and so is home, always in the same place. It'll be there waiting for you when you decide your done running, or if you only need a short break before going again." She smiles at him, warmly yet wetly and Janus blinks hard, "and-" she takes another shaky breath, "and never go where I can't follow. I'm your mom Jan, you can't get away from me so please, don't try."
"I promise," he says, swallowing hard against the heat pricking at his eyes, "I promise mom I won't forget."
"Good," she laughs and he echoes it, "Now that's enough of that whole business," she says as she reaches out and turns the radio up, "we got a few more miles before we hit our motel so let's have some fun."
—
If Roman had known then what turmoil his life would be thrown into after storming away from Janus then he would've stayed - would've demanded they sit and talk it out until he understood why. Why, why, why. That word is slowly becoming his entire world. A desperate longing to know why De- Janus did what he did.
He really just wants to know, wants to understand.
Instead, in the heat of the moment he'd stormed away. He needed time to sit and stew on the emotions. The first day he'd come home, made himself a hot chocolate and sobbed. Through those hitching breaths, sniffles and tears he'd told Remus it all. Overhearing the name, the curiosity, the shock, betrayal, horror and anger. He's so angry about it. Angry to the point that when registering Remus distinct lack of surprise at Janus' real identity that he'd blown up, called his brother every name under the sun and then some. It'd still been boiling under his skin, face hot with tears, when Roman had opened up his phone and made a group chat - a group chat with everyone but Janus and asked "so did anyone else know that Dee's name is actually Janus??" and watched as it all imploded.
Petty and vindictive but god did it make him feel better. Sorrow shared is a sorrow halved or whatever.
And when all that ceases, when all he has is the occasional sniffle through a horribly blocked nose, when his face is red and his eyes are puffy but dry, he stares - stares at the words on his wrist, 'Janus Barrett', despondent.
He's not really talking to Remus - who had informed him that he's not really talking to Dee right now either, having cancelled their plans. It's a show of solidarity or loyalty that he can appreciate. It’s not inched round to forgiveness yet but he can feel himself getting there. Maybe after he sits Remus down and interrogates him on how he learnt Janus’ real identity and why he agreed to keep it secret.
By day four his anger has cooled to enough of a simmer that he isn't bursting into furious tears the minute he sees anything that reminds him of Janus; it's lucky he took down all their pictures together or else his room may have flooded. So yes, on day four he wakes up and feels calmer, marginally. Calm enough he's ready to go argue, yell and scream at his soulmate and get that all consuming, incessant question of why answered.
But when he gets there the drive is empty. No worries, he's sure Miss Barrett is only out shopping, or just on a drive. But when he knocks on the door there's no answer. It's fine. He can wait.
Two hours later he hears a car making its way up the street.
Roman jumps up, practically scampering down the drive in an effort to get out of the way and to also spot the red car as it ambles its way to the house. If it turns out Janus has been in the entire time he's been waiting, Roman will string him up by the neck.
Unfortunately, that isn't Miss Barrett's car; instead, it's Janus' neighbours and as it pulls up she waves to him, looking mildly confused. Waving back, Roman approaches the fence separating the front gardens - maybe this is how he'll get his answers.
"Roman, what are you doing here?" The neighbour asked, head cocked to the side, as he goes to respond she adds, "Viv dropped the spare key off yesterday so I can feed their pet whilst she's dropping Dee off at college."
"Hes gone back to Chicago?" Roman asks, suddenly feeling as if his hearing has failed, that he's underwater, that everything is muffled and cold.
"Did you not know?" She asks and Roman shakes his head mutely. Eyes filling up, he swallows back a word vomit explanation of the current situation. Upset brews up within, threatening to overspill, hand in hand with indignation. How dare Janus run away? How could he when they still needed to talk, to cut through it all and get to the heart of it all, through all the sinew of betrayal and anger - and oh, is he angry. He's angrier than ever, feeling almost outside of himself with it. Roman wants to yell, to scream, to lay out exactly how unfair it was, how cruel. Most of all he wants to do it at Janus, face to face, not shouting at the void or some innocent bystander. He wants to be shouting at his soulmate. Not at the space he left behind. His Janus.
Who ran away from him.
— November 2019 —
“Don't chase him too hard,” is the first words Miss Barrett says to him when he stops by one miserable, rainy day to drop off some old bits she had leant the Whitlocks over the years. Familiarity and something close to pity softens her tone, when he looks up at her.
He can't help but see Janus in her face. It's been three years and there's no escaping how longing flares up in his chest and burns at his wrist. Three years and everyday feels like it adds another to the count. Everyday adds more kindling to the fiery anger he has crackling away in his chest.
“What?” He hears himself say, his own voice sounding distant.
Looking up at him she smiles, it's warm and motherly yet overwhelmingly pitying as she says, “My Janus, he's a runner like his mom. Don't chase him too hard Roman, you'll only get hurt when he does whatever possible to get away again.”
Without a doubt he should be the bigger person. Drop the box in her hands, tell her to have a nice day and most importantly of all, walk away. Very far, far away. Instead, bitterness wins out and he very plainly says, “I wouldn't be hurt to begin with if he didn't lie to me.”
Guiltily, Miss Barrett stands to the side, “you should come in. I'll put us on a hot drink on and explain why Jan decided to do it.”
— July 2014 —
One day, Virgil admits to him with his head hidden in his arms and splayed flat on Janus’ bedroom floor that “me and Remus are soulmates.”
“Oh,” Janus says, blinking before thinking about it all and saying “yeah that makes sense.”
“What's that supposed to mean,” Virgil grumbles.
“It's not like he broke your nose or anything,” Janus reminds him, “and yet you held a grudge because Logan beat you at Mario Kart.”
“One of those is blood feud material,” Virgil attempts to defend but at Janus’ raised eyebrow acquiesces, “you're right I'm soft on him.”
“Embarrassing,” he teases whilst lightly kicking Virgil in the side who begins to desperately swat at his leg.
“Fuck off,” Virgil grumbles, before sighing in a very loud, melodramatic fashion.
Unimpressed Janus says, “Have you ever heard of being subtle?” His leg is smacked, much harder than anything Virgil was doing earlier, and Janus says “ow,” in a deadpan manner before adding, “you know that makes me want to ask what's going on less.”
— November 2019 —
“So,” Miss Barrett starts as she sits down and passes Roman a cup of tea. The warmth is nice and it gives him something to stare at rather than gazing at the multiple childhood pictures of Janus littered around the walls and other decor. “What do you know?”
“That his name is Janus. He's my soulmate,” Roman rattles off the list, it's permanently seared into his brain, his life, at this point. “He's known this entire time and lied about it. That's it.”
“Right,” Miss Barrett mumbles, before taking a deep breath, “Janus’ father and I weren't soulmates.” Roman's head shoots up. It's common enough for people to date outside of their marks but it's always considered differently to soulmate couples. “We were married, we had him and it was good.”
“What happened?” He asks, it's the first time he's asked aloud and she smiles at him, eyebrows wrinkled upwards in a way that is undeniably sad.
“He found his soulmate,” and usually that is a happy sentence, one family says before popping champagne, but here it makes Roman feel cold all over, “said he wanted to try with her.”
— July 2014 —
“You don't get it,” Virgil whines, having graduated from hitting Janus’ leg to gripping it by the ankle and shaking it. “We're soulmates, we both know it, but there's been nothing after that. Just friends.”
Kicking the emo lump on his floor again, Janus says, “he could just be taking it slow.”
“It's Remus.”
“True,” he admits, “Really I don't get all the fuss, getting to know each other rather than going gun-ho because destiny~ seems like bull.”
“Cynic,” Virgil gripes, moving on from wrestling with his leg to instead draping an arm over his face dramatically.
“Realistic,” he argues, “relationships that you get into because ‘oh fate tattooed us when we were kids and that means we are meant to be!’ Is unequivocally stupid.”
— November 2019 —
“I didn't take it well,” Miss Barrett admits, looking to the side and Roman takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, “neither did Janus. The divorce was messy and god.” She pauses then, hiding her face in her hand and sniffling before straightening up and continuing, “we dragged him into it, screaming matches, court dates, you name it Janus was there, his name used as ammunition against the other. They put him into temporary foster care because of constant accusations that one of us was turning him against the other.”
Roman lets his eyes shift from the cup in his hands to her face for a moment. It feels like a Herculean effort to do so and as a result he doesn't try to pull his voice from the depths of tartarus to speak. Doesn't know what to say if he tried.
— July 2014 —
“What would you do,” Virgil asks, “if you met them? Your soulmate that is.”
I already did, is at the tip of his tongue. So easy to admit, harder to take back and justify. “I don't know.” He shrugs, thinking on it for a brief moment and saying, “I don't know if I want to meet them, I can't be the person they drop everything for just because fate. Some words on a wrist, what a big deal.” Bitterness wells up just a little within him. “My parents split up because my dad found his soulmate,” voice dropping to a near whisper he admits, “I can't help but blame her, the soulmate, for ruining my family. How could I stand to be that in someone else's life? You go all in on someone because of a name? Someone who is infinitely better for you could be out there but no, it's you, the guy whose name I have on my wrist.”
“Isn't that the whole concept though,” Virgil questions, “that they're meant to be your perfect other half.”
“I don't trust it,” he says, “if perfection means blowing up everything that's good in your life, what's so great about it?” His dad's soulmate didn't just break up a marriage she broke up a family. He hasn't seen him since that last court date and frankly, he never wants to see him again. He chose her, not Janus.
“Fair enough,” Virgil shrugs but then admits into the quiet of the room, “I kinda want Remus to be what's it for me.”
“Then take it a day at a time until you know for sure,” Janus offers, reeling in his hurt and bitterness and the feeling of how being around Roman makes him dizzy with butterflies and locking it right back into the cage made of his ribs.
— November 2019 —
“It's my worst regret as a parent,” Miss Barrett admits, “letting him bear witness to what a custody battle does to people - letting him be a commodity we fought over.” Sighing she looks up at Roman, searching his face for something before looking away, “Janus took it badly. Sees what his dad did as a massive betrayal and swore himself off soulmates.”
“Can't exactly blame him,” Roman says, rubbing at his wrist.
“I never realised how seriously he took it,” she admits, shoulders falling, “I guess I believed it too, that soulmates really aren't all that until I saw how happy he was when he talked about you. Whole face just lit up. Nevermind how it was when you fell out.” Pursing her lips, Miss Barrett looks at him and leans forward, whispering, “I worry about him, I do. You made him so happy but he can't handle the idea of it being just because of ‘a name on a wrist’.” She chuckles, the noise so bitter his face nearly puckers, and says, “worst phrase I ever taught him.”
— December 2018 —
A few days after the neighbour reveals Janus left for Chicago, Roman checks Janus' mothers Facebook. There's not been a flicker of activity from Janus, just a gaping hole in Romans life that he made the first tear on and did nothing to stop as it wrenched itself away further, and to be honest he's desperate. Even if he only gets an inkling of what is going on in Janus' life, it would be enough. As such, the desperation made him crazy and he carefully plucks his way through his own mom's friends until he finds Vivian Barrett.
There, freshly posted about five hours ago is a post. It's only small, a little caption talking about how much she loves and misses him but there's a picture of Janus. He's walking towards a non-descript, probable dorm building and looking back towards the camera. Suitcase dragging beside him, duffel and backpack slung over his shoulders. Smirking, wearing the jacket Roman hardly remembers seeing him without since he bought it.
What stands out most, however, is that Janus is wearing those yellow gloves. Still, despite it all. Bright daffodil yellow, practically blowing out the exposure on the picture from where the sun hits them. Worn at the edges with the thread loosening and holes beginning to form.
After saving the photo to his phone and locking it, Romans head falls into his hand. God this is pathetic. Outrage is still bubbling in his chest yet its so mellowed out he has no clue how long he can cling to it - no clue how long he has until he bears a striking similarity to a wife yearning for her husband at war. He reopens his phone and creates a folder - it prompts him for a name and he writes "textile inspo" - before moving that picture of Janus (and the others he couldn't bring himself to delete) into it. Something in him is itching, demanding secrecy as if anyone knowing how hung up he is on his soulmate is a moral failing. Maybe it is. Who would still be yearning for someone who spent multiple years lying to their face, an idiot or a hopeless romantic? Trick question! They're synonymous!
Smacking himself on the cheek does nothing more than make his face hurt.
It's fine. Janus will be back for summer.
— June 2019 —
He wasn't.
By the time summer comes and Roman is permanently living in shorts, sunglasses and increasingly ridiculous patterned shirts there's still no sign of Janus. He allows himself to briefly grasp at hope when Miss Barrett's car disappears from the drive but when it shows back up nearly three weeks later there's no bags in the backseat, no music blasting through rolled down windows. No Janus in the passenger seat.
A new Facebook post from Miss Barrett comes later, the notification stretching across the top of his screen when he's hanging out with his friends and almost frantically he pulls his phone to his chest - embarrassed and wearing a blush and a sweat with equal vigour.
Remus looks his way for a brief moment, asking with a too big grin if "You just got sent a dick-pic or something Ro-lame-an?"
"What!?" He shrieks, "No!" Sounding exactly like he had in fact just received a nude yet the truth feels more scandalous. That despite the festering itch of rage he feels towards Janus for lying to him for all these years, - and now the added burn of knowing he ran away from Roman - he can't help but scavenge for any hints at what his life is like. If he's still wearing the gloves? If he still styles his hair the same way or if he's traded his leather jacket in for a new look?
Face hot, the rest of the group is giving him looks that range from grossed out - Patton - disbelief - Logan and Virgil - and pride - Remus.
Smugly, Remus crows "sure Jan." Roman kicks him in the shin. Hard.
Later, when the incident has slipped everyone else's mind, Roman clicks onto that notification and has to harshly stamp out a pained little noise of yearning at the caption, which reads "Visited my son in Chicago for summer!"
The pictures make it harder to keep himself quiet, images of Janus and his mother at an ice rink together, walking through a botanical garden, cooking in a homely but ramshackle apartment kitchen and other touristy activities. Yellow gloves in all of them; in most Janus is wearing the gloves, but in the kitchen image they are lovingly folded and placed on the side whilst Janus gets his hands dirty. All these new pictures join his rapidly growing folder. As conversation bubbles around him Roman lets himself have a moment of fantasy, that he could be in Chicago, holding Janus' hand. Heartache burns in his chest and when he reopens his eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed, Patton is looking over at him concerned and Remus is pressing a foot against his own.
"You alright?" Patton questions, eyes darting around Romans face. Cataloguing.
Blinking hard and locking his phone, he sends an admittedly weak smile and says, "I'm good, just a migraine."
— 2019 / 2020 / 2021 / 2022… —
Janus tries not to think too hard about Roman. He's not so sure he succeeds.
— December 2013 —
One year, the first Christmas they'd all been friends, they decided on playing Secret Santa. Roman had pulled Dee's name from the hat and been filled with that fizzy, bubbling of excitement he'd come to associate with the other.
Something he'd noticed is the fact that Dee is always wearing gloves - in winter it's these fur-lined leather gloves he had borrowed from Miss Barrett one time and then never given back. Come spring and Summer it's a pair of fingerless black gloves that always come with complaints of being too tight around the fingers.
On a different note, Roman has been struck with an enjoyment of crochet recently and when he'd been practically ragging Dee through a craft store he saw how his friends' eyes caught on a bright, sunny shade of daffodil yellow - it's a similar shade to Ethel's scales, the little snake that seems to hate everyone but Dee; seriously, Roman remembers seeing Remus dying of laughter at a video Dee had sent where Ethel had been squaring up to fight a picture of some YouTuber.
Looking at his supplies and hooks Roman allows himself a moment of unfiltered confidence. It is all coming together.
—
Two days after Christmas is when they next managed to carve out the time to see each other. Janus is excited to put it plainly. After pulling Patton's name he'd spent a week practicing the man's cookie recipe until it was... passable, written a nice note and a build-a-bear with a blue jumper. As is standard, Remus tried to convince him to make the audio-clip in the bear him screaming at the top of his lungs but given he understands what being normal is most days he made it the Cookie Cat song.
He then shoved the entire ensemble into five different, individually wrapped boxes because he may have restrained himself but the bit calls to him like a siren.
It'll be a good day, he thinks whilst leaving, box under one arm and the other already waving to the end of the driveway where Remus is halfway leaning out of a car window. Frankly how his mother ever trusts him to sit shotgun is a miracle.
Either way he ends up sandwiched in the back of the car, Roman - who is currently slumped as far forward as possible in his seat to dig his knees into Remus’ back - on one side and Virgil - who is politely sat with his legs and arms pressed as far into the door as possible to maximise space - on the other. Benefits to being the shortest means he gets to be the sacrifice for the middle seat with the present balanced on his lap.
Looking at the size of the box, Virgil questions him, “I thought the budget was $20?”
“It was,” Roman confirms.
“How the hell did you find something that big, Dee?” Virgil asks - both of them ignoring Remus’ immediate call of that's what she said.
“A girl never reveals her secrets,” he comments with a sly little look over towards Virgil - who rolls his eyes in response.
—
In the end it is a very good day, all of them crushed into Patton's living room with the Christmas tree still up and only not scraping the ceiling due to sagging underneath the weight of its overabundance of ornaments. Tinsel lines every archway, windowsill and is even draped around the lights and photo frames. Don't even get him started on the Santa figurines everywhere. So of course, when he turns and sees Patton in a red and green jumper so ugly it runs right back around to fun with actual twinkling christmas lights on it and bold text that reads ‘It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year' he is wholly unsurprised and even a little elated - elated enough to accept the santa hat being thrown on his head with only a little bitching.
The gift exchange goes like this, they each claim a number between one to six and whatever number the dice they roll lands on gives their gift to their person. Janus claimed number five and as luck decrees number five was what was rolled. Patton goes from mildly confused at the box trick to snickering at the fourth smaller box in a box only to scream when the last one reveals actual gifts inside.
“You got me cookies!” Patton cheers, opening the packaging he'd put them in and passing them around and man Janus is glad he made a lot of them.
After taking his own bite Janus admits, “took me too long to get the recipe down but I made sure the date they were baked is on there so you know when they'll go out of date,” only to get tackled by a large, christmassy blur into a big, wheeze for breath hug.
Logan is the next to have his number rolled and reveals he had Roman. When opened, the gift is revealed to be a vinyl of his current favourite musical and in that moment he grins so wide Janus can feel his breath catch in his throat for a moment.
“Awh specs! You remembered!” Roman cheers whilst hugging the vinyl to his chest.
Whilst rolling his eyes Logan comments, dryly, “it was hard not to, you were figuratively ‘yapping’ my ears off.”
Remus receives a fugler doll from Patton and proceeds to say, “oh my god I love him!” And “his name is bastard boy” in near identical tone with the second sentence somehow sounding more enamoured and elated.
Virgil gets a hand-sown spider plush that is uncomfortably realistic thanks to Remus. Given Patton is sat right next to their resident emo it's a mildly unfortunate gift yet Virgil seems to love it anyways, leaving it to sit on his lap and petting at it absentmindedly as the exchange continues.
Logan receives two books from Virgil - one being a classic Sherlock Holmes and the other a newly released Jack Reacher book both carefully annotated - Logan realising that “these are codes written in the margins.”
“Sure are,” Virgil confirms, grinning over at Logan.
Then there was one.
Roman's grin is directed at him this time round and when he opens the gift it's a pair of gloves. His favourite colour and wonderfully soft. It's only as he's swapped his current pair out for these new ones that he realises he has no clue what his face has been doing. Flexing his hand he can't help but note how there's no tightness around his fingers or knuckles. The perfect pair of gloves. Grinning, he looks over at Roman - who is failing miserably to hide his nervous gnawing on his lip - and says, “I love them.”
“Oh thank god,” Roman exhales, “it took me so long to get the cuffs right they just did not want to be sown right.”
Somehow, with the acknowledgement that they were homemade, the gloves are even better and his smile softens round the edges to something ridiculously fond as he brushes his thumb over his palm, admiring the craftsmanship.
Later, before he leaves to go back to home, Janus will give Roman a hug - a hug that was only meant to be small but it'd go on for just a second too long and leave a warmth in his chest that overcomes the December chill easily.
— February 2022 —
Four years drags by.
On a day in February so cold it's biting through his good winter coat, it's somewhere between impulsiveness and the steady, constant warmth of ‘how dare he’ that inspires Roman to buy a plane ticket. Maybe it could've also been how the time he spends looking at his folder filled with traces of Janus’ life has been slowly, steadily ticking up. Fate isn't doing anything, it's time he takes life by the horns and makes his own way.
Destination Chicago.
— February 2022 —
Janus stares, the name he spoke shrivilling into the air as the air in the room starts to feel too thin. It's almost as if the universe had reacted to that morning's mindless yearning by sending him a desert mirage but instead of making him see an oasis it's his soulmate.
Traitorously, his brain thinks that Roman looks good. Buccal fat has dropped from his face and his dark chestnut curls are healthier than ever, swooping over his forehead with a few pinned back using the old crown shaped hair clip. Miraculously or devastatingly - his emotions are swinging out of control and he fears at once that he has never related more to the main character of The Pit and The Pendulum - Romans eyes are still that gorgeous, clear shade of green.
They've never been so unreadable before.
Even in the depths of their disagreement Janus never had to try to understand implicitly the depths of emotions Roman was feeling and what they were exactly. It seems time has not only robbed him of seeing Roman grow into his features, but it has also robbed him of his ability to understand him. Regrettably, the gap of four years between them has proven the saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder' to be true as it aches in his chest.
“What,” he splutters, face suddenly going hot and feeling supremely underdressed in his ill-fitting t-shirt and jeans, he needs air. Maybe a brown paper bag to breathe in. Swallowing past the sandpaper in his throat, he asks in a small, small voice, “do you want to come in?”
“Yes please,” Roman says and Janus steps aside, feeling at once like a sailor diving into the depths for a siren. Drowning in a sudden urge to find the right words to say that would incite a rambling monologue of how Roman's life has been just so he could selfishly hear more of that voice as he walks inside the apartment. So that he can close his eyes and nurse the ridiculous idea that they live together for a brief moment before his illusion is shattered. He stays turned away from his soulmate, instead robotically closing the door and redoing the latch before padding into the kitchen. He's unmoored, a ship with neither anchor or captain that desperately wants to follow its saviour, the beam of the lighthouse home and to collapse at Romans feet and apologise for lying, for running, for still desperately, selfishly, wanting to be in his life despite it all.
Instead of scooping his insides out and leaving them at Roman's feet to be discarded, he says, “I have tea or coffee,” in a tone so mild he may as well be talking about the weather. It's cold. They're in February in Chicago. Wear a scarf. Roman is wearing one, his brain notes and he subsequently takes that thought and shoves it in a dark corner so it can rot.
“Coffee would be great,” Roman responds, just as mild but there's a small polite smile and god Janus aches. Simultaneously, with his hands braced on the counter he feels at once like a cornered animal and an actor on a stage. There's no script to follow, no soliloquy to indicate his soulmate's thoughts, just a favourite way of making coffee that he still has memorised despite how many years have elapsed since he last made it.
A chair pulled out, a cup set on a coaster and a question of “why are you here,” asked into his cup in a fragile timbre he'd only heard from himself when asking his mom if she was leaving his dad.
Roman hums, letting the question hang in the air as he sips his drink. Frankly, Janus wants to throttle him, to jump across the table and shake him by the shoulders. He misses him like he would miss a lost limb. Their lack of contact was working. Why is he here? “I wanted to see you,” is the inevitable response and it still leaves the room feeling devoid of air.
“Right,” he says, staring intently at the wood grain on the table - it's fake, laminate, too cheap to be anything but and yet he's finding the pattern of it all too intriguing. Helplessly, Janus looks over at him. Roman looks smaller, shrinking in on himself and running his thumb over the curve of the cup handle endlessly. Almost spitefully, he asks again, “seriously, why are you here?”
“What do you want me to say Janus?” Roman asks, looking up and he's struck dumb simultaneously by the anger sparking in his eyes and hearing his name said by Roman for the first time. The way his mouth forms the letters, how even through all the anger it's the warmest it's ever been said. “I wanted to see you because it's been four years and god help me I want to talk about what happened? Is that what you want to hear?”
Shoulders rising, Janus is the first to look away. He gnaws on his lip before saying, “what's there to talk about. You said it yourself, it's been four years.”
“Whats there to tal-” Roman repeats, spluttering and beautiful and so, so angry, eyebrows drawn down in perfect fury, “we're soulmates Janus. And you lied about it. That's what there is to talk about.” He shuts his eyes, closing them to try block out the way Roman's voice breaks.
Abruptly, he stands and turns away, bracing himself against the counter and spits all the venom he can. “So what?” He asks, “What changes here? Do we go over all the what-ifs until you get your sappy, disney ending?” He's running his mouth, finding where Roman had been softest before and digging in with poison laced teeth and claws, incapable of stopping. “Let's do it then: what-if I had told you from the start?” Old yearning burns at his soulmark and he resists rubbing at it, he feels like one wrong move will snap him in half. “Oh let's see you'd have insisted on dating, jumping head first into a fun little romantic tryst that would've ended within a week because it's not picture perfect like it should be because soulmates.” He can hear Roman inhale, that accursed, familiar noise that screams ‘I am going to argue’ and he knows he has to shut it down now. Get the status-quo that'd been ripped from underneath him back. “A name on a wrist doesn't mean love.” It's easier to stay away when he knows Roman hates him.
“...a name on a wrist,” Roman repeats. Cowardice has always been Janus’ strong suit so he doesn't turn to look at Roman's face whilst he deliberates the words. “That's not the only reason I'm here, do you really think that?”
“What other reason would you be,” he says, trying his best to sound disinterested, disengaged. Bored. Like his hands aren't so tightly clenched his knuckles are turning white. “Again, you said it yourself. It's been four years and you seem pretty pissed.”
Roman huffs, a sharp, bitter noise. “And guess what? I was pissed. Still am!” He can hear the chair scrape against the floor, an ugly shrill noise and then footsteps approaching him. “You lied to me.” Janus restrains a wince at the hurt in Roman's voice still present, festering like an infected wound and here he is finally purging it all out as he spits more words at him, “and because of it, I spent years hating myself for betraying my soulmate because no matter how much I wanted to meet them, wanted what fate had in store. It paled in comparison into how much I wished it was your name on my wrist instead.”
Janus feels at once like he's been gutted. Anything good or bad, any thoughts he could have had about the situation at hand ripped away and he's left a shell with no instructions on what to do next. Standing aimlessly and gasping a punched out, “...what?” It can't be true. He wants it to be so desperately. It doesn't make any sense.
Against his better judgement he turns, making limited eye contact with Roman over his shoulder. All his attempts to scrape himself back together falls to the wayside for one brief moment as he watches Roman's face crumple and he says, “Dee. Janus. I.. I wanted to be with you so badly. You've always been it for me.”
No, no, no. He can't. Cornered in his own kitchen and feeling like a pit has opened underneath him, he lashes out. “Be real,” he spits, turning away so he can hide from the consequences of his words, “The only reason you're here is because of some fools notion-”
“No you don't get to decide that!” Roman yells, "Not for me, not again!” A wordless noise of annoyance echoes in Janus’ ears and then there's a grab at his arm and a tug, “Will you please just look at me so I can get this through your head.” Stubbornness tells him to keep his eyes averted, that stupid little instinct in him that tells him it's not right for Roman to be so upset guides his eyes back to his soulmates. Almost immediately, embarrassingly, he can feel tears try to well up and he tries to clamp them down and listen to the still very angry yet hushed words Roman is saying, “you got to hide the fact we were soulmates for years. You got to run away for four years. You don't get to tell me.” Roman pauses suddenly, clenching his eyes closed and when they reopen they're dropped to the floor, his shoulders also dropping. “You don't get to tell me that loving you for as long as I've been learning how to be a person - learning who I am - isn't real. You don't get to decide that too.”
“Jesus,” Janus huffs, trying to pull away. To put the same distance between them as he had when leaving for Chicago from Florida. Roman doesn't let him and instead he's crowded against the counter incapable of looking away from the hurt on his soulmate's face, the tears that line his eyes. “What was I supposed to do?” He asks, resigned and suddenly tired, “You hated me. Still do. Am I supposed to sit and rot until you can decide you can stand to look my way?”
“I,” Roman falters, head falling forward and there's little space between their faces. Finally, he admits “I don't know.” When they make eye contact again tears are beginning to run down Roman's face and Janus is taking careful steps to measure his breathing, restraining the hitch in his chest that always starts as the precursor to sobbing. “I don't know what I wanted, we can't keep lingering on should haves and what could've beens. But god Janus,” he almost whispers, “I miss you so much it makes me crazy.”
“Crazy enough to show up in Chicago during winter?” He teases and Roman sends him a look. It's one he knows all too well and never thought he'd see again and it soothes that festering scratch in him. Balm on an inflamed wound.
Almost choking on a wet laugh, Roman confesses, “crazy enough to torture myself with a what-if - what-if I'd just ran five minutes late that day, stopped to chat to Remus or something, and ended up getting to go to into our café like we planned and…” Roman trails off, searching for something - words maybe? In the end he finds it, looking Janus in the eye and squaring his shoulders as he says, “and got to ask you out on a date like I wanted to.”
Janus' head feels quiet. This entire time a part of him, multiple parts even, have been screaming, and fighting and gnawing at him to get his attention. And now it's so blissfully quiet. It's like all there is and all there will ever be is that final, little admission from Roman. He swallows. Hard. Bravery is never easy but he wants to try not running, at least once.
“There's a nice cafe nearby,” he practically whispers, staring at the ground like any minute it'll collapse from underneath him and missing the way Roman's eyes widen yet light up. He doesn't miss the hitch in Roman’s breath. “...if you still want to try.”
—
They go to the café, bundled up in layers to brave the cold weather. Snow begins to fall, the last one before spring, and they order and they sit. It's not perfect, there's still discussions and arguments to be had but it is a start. And it feels like hope.
So when Roman reaches out to hold onto Janus’ hand as they talk? He doesn't pull away, nor does he let go for a long time.