â we should be honest with each other , donât you think ? â for roman
     roguish smile fades, then. olive hues shifting from lilac to rest somewhere around doctorâs chest. oh, how he wants to pretend, wants to forget the space between them - the raft that their separate lives have forced between them. every turn, every decision has pushed the two further and further away. oh, oh how desperately roman wants to tell odet to run away with him. that they could turn their backs on the world, on their own lives and make a new one. they could do that. it wouldnât be difficult - they could have a life together. their own life, one they made themselves. something that belongs to them and only them. odetâs hand in his own, fingertips tracing creases of warm skin, his eyes watching closely as he memorises the feeling of odet in his hands. odet here before him. because roman knows he wonât have it for long.
     heâs never let anyone tell him what he canât have. not before now. not until it was the doctor stood there, before him - hands at his waist and soft look in his eye - saying that they couldnât have one another. they couldnât do this. not if roman kept going down the path he was headed down. not if vulpes would keep letting himself be dragged further into the shadows, letting himself seep further and further into his own bitter, spiteful existence. roman torchwick didnât do simply surviving. he had to live, had to feel and experience and get the most out of what he was given. he thinks that maybe odet made him see that. that life had something more than the bitterness he chokes from it with both hands, that perhaps the specialist deserved more.Â
     gaze shifts from odetâs hand, then finding the doctorâs lips with an impossibly soft expression. thereâs no forced charm, no deliberate attempt to disarm or distract. no, itâs roman that looks to odet in that moment. itâs him, just him. possibly the most roman heâs ever been. and itâs for odet. only ever for odet. he wonders if dear doctor knows that, knows how much he trusts the swan offered up on a silver platter to the fox. for everything heâs ever done, all the hurt heâs ever caused or watched without doing anything. roman had convinced himself that the world is just like that - that he couldnât do anything about it, so why try?Â
     but here he is, watching as the one thing he truly wants slips from his fingertips. watching with a sad gaze as odet takes a step back and distances them again - pushes them further away. as the figure he holds so dear to previously icy heart starts down that path that so easily separates the two of them. maybe.... maybe things just werenât meant to happen. they werenât meant to be together. roman torchwick isnât meant to be happy, isnât meant to have anything he wants in life. and, maybe thatâs okay. heâll step back, so that odet can have the life he wants. he knows the doctor will, heâs just that kind of person.Â
     âyou mean i should be honest with myself? dearest, weâve been running on borrowed time ever since we met, have we not? i suppose...â hands join behind his back, posture straightening as roman fixes that mask firmly back in place - gathers himself as he cants his head to the side oh so slightly and offers a weak, half baked, quirk of his lips upward. âwe all have to play the act weâre given, doctor. even if it hurts more than anything else, hm?â a pause, a beat of hesitation flickering over made up features as he takes half a step backwards - away from the only thing heâs ever wanted, ever questioned his rules or his expectations for.Â
      âiâll see you around, then. look after yourself for me, donât change. not for anyone.â