ROCEIT WEEK 2025

When he had reconnected with Janus about a year ago, he hadn’t hoped for anything. At first, he hadn’t even been sure he believed Janus’ wild story about his dad piling him and his mom into their car in the middle of the night without warning because the cops were after him for some sort of shady business. Virgil had been to Janus house many times back then — they’d been best friends after all, which made the sudden disappearance hurt all the more — and his father maybe wasn’t the best guy, but he certainly wouldn’t have thought him a criminal.

But Janus had shown him the mugshots from his father that were taken only days later when the cops snatched them up two states away. Janus and his mother thankfully couldn’t be implicated, but going back to where they came from wasn’t an option either. With no phone to call his own, Janus hadn’t been able to contact Virgil and that had been that.

It was a crazy coincidence that they ended up working in the same city in another state so many years later.

After they started talking again, it didn’t take long for Virgil’s feelings for Janus to resurface. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge them when they were both repressed teens in a conservative town and now, he was denying them again because Janus was about to get married.

Just Virgil’s luck.

He really shouldn’t’ve agreed to be a groomsman, but he couldn’t think of any excuse not to.

So here he sat, in a black suit and purple shirt as per Janus’ wishes, fulfilling his duties by making sure Janus wasn’t getting cold feet. Not that there was any real danger of that happening considering how enamored he was with Roman.

Again, Virgil couldn’t fault him. In fact, he was sure that his crush on Roman was going to grow just as much as his crush on Janus had.

He was so doomed.

~~*~~

“So, you nervous yet?”

Roman looked over at his twin, who was lying on the hotel bed with his head hanging off.

“Kinda? But in a good way. I can’t wait to see Janus in his whole outfit; I’ve only glimpsed at pieces of it!”

“Well, neither of you is a bride, so I guess you don’t have to worry about bad luck if you see each other too early.”

A knock on the door stopped Roman from responding.

“Come in!”

Virgil opened the door and peaked his head in. Roman thought he saw him swallow before he spoke, he worried his anxiety may be acting up.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil for long, though Janus had told him stories from their high school days even before he had reentered his fiancés life. After all, he had been a crucial part in Janus’ realization that he might like men more than women. And Roman could certainly see why Virgil had been his awakening, the man was adorable, charming and protective in a way that made even Roman’s heart beat faster.

Thank the gods that Janus and he were both polyamorous and very interested in Virgil. It was just bad timing that he came into their lives when they had just finalized their wedding plans, otherwise they would’ve put the whole thing off and courted Virgil first. But alas, deposits had been paid and neither had the funds to reasonably move their plans just for the chance that Virgil might feel the same.

That didn’t mean they were giving up, just tabling it for later.

“Are you on schedule?” Virgil asked, startling Roman out of his reminiscing. “On our end everything’s good, so I just wanted to check…” he drifted off, the light tint of his cheeks making Roman think he was embarrassed to admit his worries.

“We are perfectly in time, my dark, stormy knight! Thank you for being vigilant.”

“Oh. You’re welcome? It’s not like I did much.”

Roman walked over — mainly to get a closer look at his outfit because, damn, Virgil looked good in a suit — and patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s reassuring to know someone is keeping an eye on things,” he smiled. Virgil’s blush deepened and he nodded.

“Okay, glad I could help then. I’m gonna go back to Janus now!” He spoke quickly and pulled the door closed behind him before Roman could react.

“Wow, you’re down bad for him, huh?” Remus commented and Roman wanted to throw something at him really badly.

~~*~~

Janus couldn’t believe his luck.

He was standing here across from Roman, listening to his vows that were of course super cheesy and over the top, not that he would have it any other way. His romantic heart had been one of the things Janus fell for and of course it would shine the brightest during their wedding.

But he wasn’t the only thing Janus counted himself lucky for.

No, he was also incredibly lucky to have Virgil only a few steps behind him, supporting him in one of the most important moments of his life. Like he had when they were in high school and he’d been the only person Janus truly felt comfortable around. There’d been a tension at his home that he couldn’t explain back then, that now made sense to him, but Virgil had been his safe haven.

And now he was here. As his groomsman. And hopefully soon he will be more than just a friend.

Right now, Janus was going to give all of his attention to the sweetest man he knew, to Roman who was crying through his vows, whose hands he was holding on to with a strong grip, who he was going to spend a lovely week alone with in a nice cabin where it would be just the two of them.

And then he would make sure that Virgil quickly learned that he had two hands and had wanted to take his in his own for so many years. He already had a strong suspicion that the other reciprocated most of his feelings and had an interest in Roman as well by the looks he was giving them when he thought they weren’t looking. Janus had always been able to almost read Virgil’s mind.

But that would have to wait.

For now, he wiped Roman’s tears away as he proclaimed ‘I do’ loudly for everyone to hear.

----

"Y'know Princey just because you and Jan are the most extra sides there are really doesn't mean we have to do this," Virgil said as he applied makeup to Roman's face, he was doing something elaborate, just as Roman had asked, in red, gold and white, just like the fancy suit he was wearing, "Like - it's not like it needs to be legal, we're figments of the imagination, and you know how Janus feels about it-"

"Virge please-" Roman said, trying not to move, "It's... it's something I want to do."

"Sorry," Virgil winced, "i know getting married means a lot to you, I'm just nervous for you and It's coming out… mean."

"And you hate weddings," Roman said, "Don't worry, that's why I didn't give you any big public responsibilities."

"Yeah- I- thanks, for that, doing your makeup is stressful enough," Virgil sighed, "I'm... yeah, it'll be good, what's Janus wearing?"

"I don't know," Roman laughed, "We kept our outfits secret."

"What if they don't match?" Virgil asked, "Close your eyes."

"We agreed we'd go with black, white and gold as a theme," Roman said as Virgil worked on his eye makeup, "So they'll match, whatever outfit Janus has chosen - we just have to hope it's actually decent, I'm pretty sure he recruited Remus for that."

"Oh dear," Virgil laughed, "What's the bet he suggested Janus show up in the nude?" 

Roman snorted, "I mean, I wouldn't mind."

"Gross!" Virgil said, smacking Roman's arm gently, "I don't wanna hear it."

"Fine fine, but he'll be beautiful I'm sure, he wouldn't settle for anything else."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Virgil nodded, "Which means I gotta make you look better."

Roman sighed wistfully, "Oh Virgil you know me so well."

----

The preparations were almost done. Roman was just making finishing touches to the decorations in his palace. They'd agreed to use the throne room for the ceremony, and Roman - despite being one of the nearly-weds - couldn't trust anyone else with the decorations. 

Their wedding would take place in nearly an hour, and the best part about being a figment of the imagination was that Roman didn't have to worry about his hair, makeup and outfit being messed up as he adjusted flowers and ribbons. massive bouquets of red camellias, roses and yellow chrysanthemums were displayed on every pillar, dripping with greenery and connected with red and gold sashes of ribbon that looped around the room.

There were far more seats than there needed to be. The room would feel packed - with imaginary creations - but there were only really two rows worth of people who actually mattered. The other sides and Thomas - as well as Remy and Emile - would sit in the front two rows. Patton had insisted on walking Janus down the aisle - as the father figure of the mindscape. Patton and Remus both had speeches for the reception (though Roman was particularly terrified of what Remus' would entail), Logan would be officiating and Thomas would just be there to watch. 

Roman had planned out an entire ball and dinner for afterwards, and everyone would be dressed in their best. Roman couldn't possibly be more excited as he waited for everyone else to arrive. 

It had been years since the wedding incident. But Roman was still a little nervous about bringing Thomas to one anyway in case it brought back bad memories. That hadn't exactly been a good time in their lives. 

Still, today was supposed to be a fun occasion! Patton and Logan were wrangling Thomas, all Roman really had to do now was wait. But he couldn't help nervously checking up on the decorations to pass the time.

"Roro!" Remus yelled, bursting into the hall and making Roman yelp and turn to face him.

"Wha- what is it, Remus? Is something wrong?" Roman asked, frowning in confusion at Remus' interruption. No-one was supposed to be here until the ceremony was scheduled to start.

"Nothing's wrong," Remus said, "Janny just knew you were gonna start stressing yourself out over every little detail so he sent me to distract you."

Roman glanced at the flowers he'd adjusted for the third time despite them already being perfect and sighed softly. His husband to be knew him far too well.

"He was right, huh?" Remus laughed, crossing his arms. Roman's brother was wearing probably the most formal outfit he was capable of. He had a sleeveless blazer over a white dress shirt that had had the sleeves mercilessly removed, leaving tattered edges. The top button was undone and he was wearing a red tie, knotted but hanging loose. He was waring shorts that looked like a pair of dress pants had been cut off at the knee and a pair of sandals with white socks. Roman guessed it was about the best that Janus had been able to persuade him into, so Roman wouldn't even waste the energy bothering. 

"You look nice," Roman said, making Remus laugh.

"Seriously?" Remus asked, grabbing Roman by the arm and leading him towards the back room he should really be waiting in until everyone filed in and got seated. 

"Yes seriously, I've never seen you so formal," Roman said with a small smile, "I'm grateful you're putting in an effort for me."

"Awee RoBro you know I'd always put in an effort for you!"

"I know, but sometimes that effort is... misplaced, I like this effort," Roman said, "Your sleeves are cool."

"Fuck yeah!" Remus grinned, "I'm gonna tell Janny you said that after the ceremony - he's been trying all morning to get me to change my shirt."

"Yes, because your shirt is... well," Roman laughed, "but it's the best I'm going to get from you so I'm happy to accept it."

"Hey! You just said it was cool!"

"Cool? Yes, wedding appropriate? Not really, but I'll deal with it." Roman said with a small smile, "you should be allowed to express yourself anyway."

"Thank you! Ooh! I think Thomas and Logan are here!" Remus said, peeking at the door and giggling, "Sit down and chill, okay Roro? I'm gonna go make sure Janny isn't making a run for it."

Roman laughed, he knew his beloved wouldn't be making a run for it. Maybe if he trusted him less - if this wedding had been happening years ago - then he would worry. But Roman forced himself to sit down and do as Remus said whilst his brother bolted from the room. 

He checked his makeup and hair in the mirror - unnecessarily. Virgil had done an immaculate job as always when it came to makeup. Roman couldn't help but admire how beautiful he looked until someone new came into the room.

"Hello Roman, how are you doing?" Logan asked, after politely knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence. Roman turned and smiled. 

"Nervous," Roman laughed, "But a good nervous - excited nervous."

"Are you worried things will go wrong?" Logan asked.

"No? But also kind of yes? It's weird," Roman laughed, "I think I'm only worried because I'm waiting, I don't like waiting."

"Understandable, but I can assure you everything is going smoothly. Patton and I were able to get Thomas into the imagination, which was the biggest challenge. The hall looks wonderful - you were right to take control of the decoration, you've done splendidly." Logan said with a small smile on his face as Roman relaxed, "And I have the officiant's speech prepared and memorised, as long as you are prepared for your role, everything will go well."

"And Janus is here?" Roman asked. Logan's face softened.

"Of course he is, he's with Remus," Logan said, "And Remus wouldn't let him go anywhere if he tried, which he would not, because he loves you very much - trust me, I've been witness to the two of your extreme PDA."

Roman winced with a laugh, "Yeah I'm uh... still sorry about that."

The embarrassment that came with Logan walking in on Janus and him making out on the couch in the common room had never quite left him - and he was pretty sure Logan was rather scarred by it too.

"I'm scared of Remus' wedding speech," Roman said with a soft laugh, trying to get the levity back, Logan chuckled too.

"As are we all," Logan said, "He has promised me that he will not be making any kind of mess, however, so you can rest assured on that front."

"I think he knows I'd never forgive him if he ruined my outfit," Roman shook his head. 

"He knows," Logan agreed, glancing out of the door, "Are you ready?"

Roman took a deep breath and let it out slowly before standing and smoothing out the tails on his suit, "I'm ready, yes."

Logan gave a thumbs up out of the door, presumably communicating with Remus, and then Roman followed him out of the back room and onto the dais. 

The pair of them had done rock paper scissors (the fairest and most objective method of deciding, of course) to decide which of them would be walking down the aisle and Roman had lost to the best of three. Which meant he would get to watch his beloved walk up the aisle towards him, which, honestly, Roman wasn't particularly inclined to complain about.

The doors opened as if by magic to reveal Janus standing there. A bouquet that matched the ones on the walls clutched in his hands a floor length dress with beautiful, intricate gold details and delicate black lace decorating the entire thing. His dress had a small train and the end tapered off into ruffles where it trailed along the floor. His gloves were white with gold swirled on the back of his hands and his hair was done up with a veil that had been pinned in place with flowers to match the ones in his hands. Perched nicely on the flowers in his hair was a butterfly that Roman had at first thought was fake, but quickly realised was not when it's wings fluttered lazily. Of course Remus would add a live butterfly, but he had been true to his word and made Janus look absolutely stunning. 

With Janus' scales fully on display and subtle, natural makeup with the smallest hints of yellow done on the human side of his face, Janus looked ethereal. At first he had looked serious, sone faced almost like a god, but the moment he'd laid eyes on Roman the facade had broken and his expression had dipped into a softer smile. Janus was too dignified to hurry up the aisle to meet him, but Roman could see in Janus' eyes that he wanted to.

"Hello, my love," Roman whispered when Janus finally reached him, setting the bouquet aside to instead grasp Roman's hands as though his life depended on it.

"You look beautiful," Janus grinned, Roman couldn't help the grin splitting across his face even as Logan coughed for their attention.

"We are gathered here in the mindscape today to witness the union of two figments who are particularly dramatic enough to need a wedding to ensure that the rest of us are aware of how much they love each other," Logan said, getting a few snickers from the crowd - and Janus - with the bluntness of his tone.

"Of course," Janus said, "There was no other way."

"Although this wedding has no legal bearing, considering none of us actually exist, this is to be considered a declaration of union and love," Logan said, "it calls for trust, understanding and encouragement, but also intended to provide the love and friendship, help and comfort, which each ought to have for the other, now I have been directed to ask, does anyone have any objections to this arrangement?"

"I object!" Remus yelled from the crowd, standing up dramatically. Roman made a distressed noise, but Janus only rolled his eyes as Remus continued, "I don't actually - I just wanted to say it, keep it going!"

"Remus I'm gonna kill you after this..." Roman muttered gripping Janus' hands just slightly tighter as Logan continued. 

"Now the two of you have prepared your own vows for the ceremony, so I'll allow you to read them now," Logan said, allowing Roman to pull the paper out of his pocket. 

He had prepared a poem he'd written himself, speaking his vows in elegant words, expressing his feelings in the best way he knew how - through art. He spoke for a whole five minutes, until his hands shook and he had to blink tears out of his eyes, Janus seemed to melt just as much in the face of Roman's words and he couldn't help how much joy the sight brought him.

When Janus' turn came around. He grinned mischievously.

"Roman," Janus said, "You are the most dramatic, obnoxious, hotheaded person I've ever met. You are selfish, boisterous and loud, your dreams have always meant more to you than anything else and there is very little you are willing to sacrifice to achieve them. You can be incredibly pushy and so, so annoying, however."

After that scathing review that left the entire hall in stunned silence, Janus pulled his hands away from Roman's to tug off his gloves and throw them to Remus, before snatching up Roman's hands again when he'd tried to pull them away.

"However," He said, voice much more soft now, "I don't think it's possible for me to love you any more than I do, I would want nothing more than to listen to you talk about your passions, I want to see your spark for the rest of our lives, and I wouldn't want you to change a single thing about yourself, especially not for someone else."

"Oh," Roman whispered softly.

"You still need to get better at knowing when I'm lying, darling," Janus teased, Roman huffed.

"That was mean," Roman said, pouting at him. 

"I know it was, but I'm sure letting you marry me will make up for it."

"You asshole," Roman said, sticking his tongue out at Janus whilst Logan cleared his throat to get their attention once again. 

"Do you, Janus, take Roman to be your - well it's not lawful - imaginarily wedded husband?" Logan asked, having to adjust his glasses as he looked at the paper he had in front of him.

"I do," Janus says, interlocking his fingers with Romans.

"And do you, Roman, take Janus to be your imaginarily wedded husband?" Logan asked.

"Of course I do," Roman said happily.

"Please take your rings," Logan said, holding up the two gold bands on a small pillow. They hadn't had enough people to have a designated ring bearer, so Logan was filling in for that role as well, "And place them on your partner's finger."

Roman took the gold band inlaid with tiny carved red jasper to slip onto Janus' ring finger, and in turn Janus took the ring with the yellow diamonds and placed it onto Roman's finger in turn.

"I now pronounce you married," Logan said, stepping back, "You may kiss."

Janus tugged on Roman's hands, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around Roman's back and pulling them chest to chest before crashing their lips together. Remus wolf whistled from the crowd as the two of them kissed in a manner far too obscene for a wedding ceremony, but like Logan had said, this was imaginary, and thus Roman thought they had the right to do whatever they wanted.

"Alright that's enough," Logan said, the barest hint of laughter evidenced in his voice, "We still need you two for the reception, so don't get too carried away."

"Yeah! Save it for tonight!" Remus yelled from the crowd. Roman went red, and covered his face as Janus gave a thumbs up.

Janus took back his bouquet and joined hands with Roman to walk out of the hall together. There would be a big party later this afternoon with a dinner and dancing and drinks, but that was for later. Now, the pair had ample time to spend with this family, getting congratulated by everyone in turn, getting a tight hug from Patton and Thomas and a shoulder pat from Virgil, who couldn't resist the temptation of an 'I told you so' about it not going wrong.

Remus was the most enthusiastic in his congratulations, picking Roman up and spinning him around before squishing the both of them into a tight hug. Thomas insisted they take photos, even if it didn't particularly matter when Roman could conjure images of the ceremony whenever they wanted them, but it seemed like Something Thomas wanted for them, so he gladly posed with his new husband.

The rest of the day passed wonderfully. Remus' speech was full of embarrassing moments and dirty jokes, calling out various instances of the couple being caught in various compromising positions throughout the years. All the stories light hearted and funny and of course mixed with a healthy dose of dark and vulgar humour. Patton's speech was much more wholesome, and Roman loved both of them equally. 

Everyone had had ample amounts of wine and fancy cocktails that night, and finally, in the early hours of the morning, they were able to settle into bed together.

"Goodnight, my beloved husband," Roman said, pressing a sweet kiss to Janus' lips.

"Goodnight, my husband," Janus said back, returning the kiss and pressing one to his forehead with a smile, "Sleep well, my love."

And Roman did.

----

Roman startled so badly, he knocked over one of the stacks of papers on his desk. Janus, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air in front of him, smirked.

“Where did you come from?!”

“The door of course. There is no other way in, now is there?”

Roman resisted the urge to wipe that self-satisfactory smile off Janus’ lips. Trying to get him to elaborate further would only lead to more frustration, so he changed topics.

“Why did you change the fabric order behind my back?”

“I would never do such a thing! How could you accuse me of such?” Janus all but yelped, pressing his right hand over his heart.

“Janus.”

“I am your advisor; I would never undermine a decision you have made! I’m hurt you would think me capable of such things!”

“Janus. Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please stop. I invited you to come with me to the Imagination so we could work together on something fun. Not so you could manipulate everyone in my castle to get what you want!”

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“Truly? You did not invite me, the known liar, to be your secretly evil advisor you can unveil as a corrupting force and then valiantly defeat as you like to do?”

Roman was speechless for a moment.

“Wha— no! I truly wanted your advice and organize this event together! Why would you think otherwise?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Playing the villain is my thing, Roman.”

“Yes, for the videos! It’s not like all of us believe you to be a force of evil!”

“You… don’t?”

“No!”

“Oh.”

“Is this why you haven’t joined us for movie nights? You thought we didn’t like you?”

“I thought Patton was trying to be kind and didn’t ask you if it was okay to invite me.”

“Janus! What the hell! We’re going back to the mindscape right now and I’m calling for a family meeting!” Roman grabbed Janus’ arm and dragged him out of the office and back towards the portal that led out of the imagination. Janus let him, too busy processing that apparently his entire world view had been wrong.

1. Ancient Rome 

“Oh, wise one,”

The words tumble from his mouth as he slips onto one knee, helmet rough and heavy against his calloused palms. The marble floors are cool beneath his burning skin, the tall white columns casting him in a healthy dose of the sun's yellow glow. There’s the gentle trickle of clear water, coaxing its way into a faux moat, rushing around a large ornate statue of Mars. The temple is littered with the armament of great heroes, of fallen soldiers, of divine warriors. Shields and swords, polished to near perfection, propped up on the stand around the sculpture — offerings, pleas for a successful battle, a winning fight. 

“Mighty and swift Mars, from whom I draw my fortitude. Give unto me the strength to lead my people in a great, and glorious battle,” there lands a soft hand at the nape of his neck, the thumb rubbing hard at his pulse point. Yet he does not look up, pays it no mind, for he already knows who it belongs to. The keeper of the Temple, the priest of Mars, connecting him to the high heavens, his link to the Gods. “Grant me the strength to win this brutal fight, for the pride of Rome,” he pushes his helmet across the shining tile below him, further and further until it hits the water, soaking in the blessedness. His head remains hung low, eyes closed with a fervour, repeating the mantra within his mind. Mighty and swift Mars. Grant me the strength. Allow my warriors a quick and merciless war. Mighty and swift Mars. Grant the soldiers of your army the victory you so deserve. Mighty and swift Mars.

The thumb on his neck presses harsher still, and his eyes flutter open, drinking in the sunlight. It jumps tile to tile, shimmering as it catches the twinge of gold woven within the priest's sandals. The sparkle floods his vision, glazes over his pupils as the weight of the world crashes down upon his shoulders. Heavy are the hands that bear the sword, heavy is the heart that guides Rome to glory. 

“My child,” comes the gritted voice from above, the priest’s mouth drawing out the words, a slightly drunken slur. “Mars thanks you for your offerings, and he hears your cry,” the fingers sunk into his hair pull, and the warrior rises on strong legs. His stance radiates pride, the folly of a soldier. Yet he is undefeated in battle, commanding his cohort into war without hesitation. For he is the fearsome centurion Romulus, renowned and revered throughout the Empire for his quick hand and ruthlessness on the battlefield. He has the blessing of the Gods, the word of Olympus on his side. His very being is sewn with the cloth of Jupiter, his face sculpted from the rough touch of Mars, his body crafted from the fierce hands of Diana. “You are aware of the Gods favour,” the priest continues, his face stern and unmoving, gaze fixed ahead at Romulus’ helmet, soaking in the ancient water. He steps forward, the move practised and precise. There’s a quiet beat before he plunges his hands into the river, plucking the armour from the stream and clutching it between his palms. The metal cuts into his skin, leaving harsh lines and a small trail of bloodied red across each one, as he presents the item back to the soldier. “But do not be fooled by their kindness.”

Romulus scoffs, barking at the mere idea the Gods would dare trick their current favourite. “Dear, Flamen Marialis, you preach such sorrow. Today, the Roman army goes to war, and tomorrow, the Roman army shall return victorious.” He bows his head out of respect, retrieving his helmet from the priest, the metal miraculously dry. “We shall return before the morning sun rises over the city, and I, once more, shall be hailed a hero.” A smirk plays at his lips as he casts his head over his shoulder. “And the sacred spears shall be of assistance of course. We, as always, thank you prosperously for your presentation. Mars has our fate within his hands, and I am all too aware that he shall wisely support us.”

The priest glances from the statue, to the Temple’s entrance. The sky grows a deep orange colour as the sun begins to set, yet the city of Rome does not sleep. The citizens grow restless as they wait dutifully, prepared to send their brave warriors off into war. Dark shadows cast themselves along the marble floors, the evening sun hiding itself behind tall walls. Something within the priest quivers as he turns back to Romulus, his helmet, the sword hanging from his hip. “Perhaps you pay a visit to Fortuna as well,” he suggests, gesturing out the doorway, guiding the warrior on a new, short quest. “It can never be a bad thing to have her on your side.”

Romulus shakes his head, his curls bouncing against his strong jaw. “You worry too much, Janus,” his fingers tap along the sides of his helmet before he places it under one arm, holding it tight between his chest and bicep. The priest of Mars, so aptly named after a rather different God. “If I weren’t so certain of your loyalty, I would think you’re trying to sway me to two-faced-ness,” the soldier prompts, a grin growing across his cheeks. “I need not be drawn to another gateway.” 

Janus lays a gentle palm on Romulus’ arm, streaking a long smear of blood across the armour as he drags the hand down, rounding out at his elbow. There’s ecstatic cheering emanating from outside, a distant cry as the priest and the centurion make dangerous eye contact. “Perhaps Diana, she can always be of service. You are hunting your enemies, are you not?”

Silently, Romulus hangs his head, another cocky grin creeping onto his lips. There’s a glint of white teeth, the final glimmers of day catching his golden face, making him glow spectacularly. There is no doubt he adores the Gods, that they have him in their grasp. But Janus knows, he knows, the Gods love a plaything. They delight in a trial, in a twisted game. 

“My dear, my father named me in honour of the great founder of Rome for good reason,” Romulus boasts, puffing his chest. The name of his brother, however, does not grace his lips. It would surely taint his point if he brought about the part of the legend involving Remus. He’d much rather focus entirely on his own grandeur.

He takes his other hand and coats his thumb in the small droplets of blood, swiping it across the centurion's forehead. He pulls the man’s face towards him, pressing a firm kiss to each temple, his lips dry against the skin. “Fight with honour, and bravery. And return safe once more, Romulus. You are, as ever, in my prayers.”

“Dearest, Janus,” Romulus returns, his voice low and gravelled, that irresistible smile rife with smugness. “I shall see you before the next sunset, and we shall indulge in another great feast. The Gods would never betray me.”

Something twists hard within Janus’ gut, a feeling he can’t shake, a fever he can’t sweat away. His fingers drop from the centurion's hair, falling limp by his sides as he bows his head and gestures towards the extravagant doorway. “Then I wish you luck, Romulus. May the Gods be ever in your favour.”

“They always are,” Romulus calls over his shoulder as he exits, placing his helmet firmly over his head and throwing his arms wide to the awaiting crowd. There’s a blast of cheering, a long chuckle from the warrior as he descends the stairs, leaving Janus alone in the Temple.

“Oh Mars,” he prays, “please, protect that man.”

Alas, Mars does not listen. And Romulus is carried back to Rome in his chariot, stripped of his armour and shield, preparations for the hero’s burial already in motion.

And Rome weeps, for the Gods show no mercy.

2. Knights

Janus stands in his rubbled kitchen, staring up at the night sky. Scorched earth, such a pathetic, needlessly cruel tactic. While he can admire the cunningness, the ability to use an easy route, he would’ve greatly preferred if the fire hadn’t captured his land. (Though he was almost certainly the target of the inferno, the village usually pillaged is over two miles away, and that’s the closest homes to his own.) He’s all too aware of the nobility's growing resentment for him, and that his survival of the pointed attack will only aid in their hatred — but he wasn’t going to take death lying down. He wasn’t about to roll over and present his soft spots, his weak underbelly and allow them to spear straight through them. If he was going out, it would be his own decision, with his head held high.

A sane man would flee the embered abode, a rational thinker would run from the ruins in a desperate attempt for safety. Janus is neither sane, nor rational. He cares not for the actions of a common man, for Janus is no common man. 

He glances around the charred remains of where his thatched cottage once stood proud, fingers trailing off the ashy foundation rocks, the sharp spikes of splintered support beams. He moves with a practiced elegance, a quiet dance. He’s had the layout of his home memorised for some time now, and though the house is gone, his path remains the same. Swaying into what was once a makeshift bedroom/study, he scans the forgotten walls, eyes tracing the charred remains. The back wall is mostly intact, a little marred from the once raging flames, coated in a thin layer of soot — but standing. 

A wicked grin spreads across his features as Janus’ fingers curl around the long handle of his shepherd's cane, removing it from its usual spot leaning against said wall. The black cane is heavy in his hand, yet he tosses it up effortlessly, revelling in its sturdiness. The crest is a shimmering gold, utterly untouched, still shining in the pale, cold glow of the moon. His smile only widens, eyes lighting up as he hums, tapping the cane on the ground, watching as the sparks fly from the bottom as he does. Everything’s still in working order then. Marvellous. 

There’s a gentle clop of hooves in the distance, far away now, but rapidly approaching. Janus can hear their incessant, monotonous thumping against the grass, the vibrations racing through the dirt and clambering up his calves. He tightens his grip around his crook, stock still, waiting for the pulse of more — but no more comes. The racing remains singular, one horse, one man, speedily making their way towards Janus’ collapsing refuge. It’s in the trees, heading his way.

He pulls his silks harsher around his body, tugging on them hard as he taps his cane. Once, twice… The clothing begins to morph, cloaking his form as he hunches over. It’s a quick blur, the sparks fly from his cane once more, and as he crouches over his knees, his clothes follow. They create the impression of a poorer man, a peasant dressed only in dirtied rags. An old shepherd, scavenging through the wreckage. It’s a wonderful disguise, if he does say so himself. (And he does, he’s rather accomplished in the realm of the supernatural.)

Hooves clatter across the grass, as it crosses the threshold of alive to scorched and dead. They skid to a shattering stop, cantering up on hind legs as the man atop calls out a calming cry, petting down the animal’s mane. He slides off with a pathetic jingle, chainmail screeching against the metal spurs. His feet land in the ashed dirt, clearing his throat.

Janus feigns shock, throwing his head back from where he’d been pretending to prod at charred remains with the tip of his cane, using the curve to pointlessly move burned pieces of paper about. His rags successfully cover his forehead, hide his eyes, as his mouth falls open. 

“You!” The knight points an accusatory finger, his sword swinging recklessly by his side. He leaves it rather unguarded. “What know you of the sorcerer who resides here?”

Stuttering, Janus falls to his knees, bowing his head. Always put on a show. He doesn’t study the people in the nearby village for nothing. Doesn’t saunter around their market stalls for camaraderie or trade. It’s purely educational. “O-oh, sir!” He clutches the crook in both hands, one halfway up the handle, the other gripping the hook with a white knuckled fist. “I know nothing of sorcery! I apologise, my Lord. I was- I came to see what remained.” He admits, guilt deceptively worn into his voice, which quivers. 

The knight doesn’t seem impressed, running his hand along the coat of arms draped on top of his chainmail. “Useless,” he mutters, glancing back at his white horse, who remains rooted to the spot, sniffing the air. “Are you aware of any escape? Did you see this coven of evil and witchcraft as it went aflame?”

“Yes, Sire,” Janus continues staring at the ground, his knees aching on the uncomfortable dirt-wood mixture. He’s practically kneeling on sawdust, the fragments digging deep into his flesh. He hisses at the sting, praying the knight hasn’t noted the sound. “I saw no man leave.”

“Ah,” the knight looks around, carefully scanning his surroundings. “What we are discussing, is no man. This is a demon. A witch. A master of the dark arts.”

Janus has to stop himself from scoffing. Demon is a bit far. Witch? Fairly accurate, he can accept that. Master of the dark arts? Now that, he likes. Rather than huffing at the misconception, he merely allows the smirk to split on his face, a small chuckle weaselling its way past his lips as he tilts his head up. 

“This is no laughing matter, good sir! This is a matter of life and death! Did you see anything strange? A cat, a rodent? I’ve heard on good authority that this minion of the devil has been known to transform into a snake. He is the very cause of the original sin, so you will forgive me for not seeing the humour!” The knight declares, and it’s only when Janus studies his face that he recognises him. 

Sir Roman. 

This is not his first run in with the knight. A skilled swordsman with a tenacious loyalty to king and country — dead set on ridding their kingdom of witchcraft and evil. They’ve had a few encounters before now, Janus always escaping by the skin of his teeth. He’s rather shocked that the sight of his shepherd's crook hadn’t sent Roman reeling, spinning through old memories. He turns the cane in his palms, wide grin triggering a flash of recognition through Roman’s bright eyes. His hand begins to move, starts to reach for his sword, hovering above the sheath. 

“I am no minion of the devil, Sire,” Janus boasts, rising from the ashes, tugging the ragged hood down to reveal his face. “It is I, and I alone, that I conduct my work for,” he taps the cane off the ground in warning, watching the jolt of fear that courses through Roman’s veins as he takes a large step back, bracing himself. Janus notes how his fingers begin to pull at his sword, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he hums, rubbing his palm down the hook. 

The thing is, Janus is not a fighter. He’s not a rough-and-tumble, brute force kind of guy. He can fire a few warning shots, cast a couple defensive spells, but in the end he’ll always make a break for it. Yes, he wouldn’t run from his rubbled home, he wasn’t a coward in that sense. But in a battle of strength, he knows he won’t win. He’s a trickster, above all. His fighting words rarely amount to any show of muscle, merely the bark that’s so often followed by the scamper. 

Roman narrows his eyes, gripping the hilt of his sword in a firm grasp and unleashing it from his hip. His stance is wide and solid, arms strong from years of training and battle. He presents the blade forwards with a jab, and Janus slinks out of the way, angling the hook of his cane towards the knight. En guarde. “Stay and fight,” Roman threatens. 

“Oh, I’d really rather not,” Janus hums, dodging another slash. They could go on like this forever — Roman too proud to break his knight's promise, Janus too lithe to be hit by an attack. “How about I offer you a deal instead?”

“I don’t make deals with the devil,” Roman spits, taking a dangerous step forward. The base of Janus’ cane hovers just an inch from the ground, and Roman can’t help but fear what the next tap would entail. He’s heard the stories, come face to face with the sorcerer on a few occasions. He’s heard tale of Janus’ spells, of the havoc he’s wreaked upon neighbouring towns. He’s been privy to the ideas of dragons, of black magic, of people dropping down dead, or crops failing. What he doesn’t know, is that really none of that had anything to do with Janus. No one really knows what he does. (Really, it’s whatever serves him best. In contrast to making the last wheat harvest fail, he’s why they so frequently prosper. How is he meant to feed himself or his spell bottles without a sufficient supply of high quality grain?)

“You’re making a big mistake, Roman,” Janus hums, skirting backwards as the tip of the sword catches against his clothing, tearing a piece of his long tunic away. “Anything you want, come on,” he flexes his fingers in a come hither motion, and come closer Roman does. He’s tempting, convincing and irresistible, and dear Lord he begs Roman won’t resist. Come on, man, just say what you want. Anything, and Janus can grant it. Just let him keep his life, allow him the peace to rebuild his home. At least let him gather the remains of his belongings before kicking him to the curb! 

“Jesus Christ!” He squeals, high and frightened as the sword comes swinging down, intent on connecting with his skull. Okay, enough talking, enough verbal trickery, it’s time to go. 

It’s a swift, scared movement as Janus slams his cane down, the sparks exploding as he practically disappears from view. Roman’s horse bucks up, whinnying loudly as it slams its front hooves down over and over. The knight swings his sword uselessly at the air, scowling. “That blasted snake,” he mutters. 

He spends a couple of minutes combing the area, as his stallion continues to thump the ground, perhaps spooked by a mouse. Roman’s fruitless attempts leave him empty handed, and with a heavy sigh he returns to his horse, petting down its long face in an attempt to calm him down. “Come now, let us leave. He’s as good as dead anyway,” he hums. Perhaps his blade had sliced straight through the trickster, it wasn’t like he was full human anyway (at least in Roman’s mind.) Maybe he’d popped out of existence upon death. Disintegrated into a puff of smoke. That’s what he’ll tell the king at least. It sounds like something that would happen to a witch. 

What Roman doesn’t see as his horse trots back into the woods, is the yellow and black snake, hidden in the thick foliage of an oak tree, watching his back as he leaves.

 3. 1980’s 

Roman fumbles to turn off his television with a grimace. 

He’s been in the same position for a few hours now, laid out like a prince across his couch, languidly eating grapes and shouting obscenities at the politicians cursing his screen. How people elected Reagan, he’ll never know. But they’re stuck with him for now. His tiny apartment is packed with belongings, draped with elegant curtains, framed with photos and posters across every wall. His couch is ornate, a red velvet fitting of someone as royal as him. He can’t help himself, he’s always had an extravagant taste. He’s not sure how his mother hadn’t figured out he was gay by now. She probably doesn’t want to see it.

What is he doing, spending his precious day off work stretched across his sofa, alone in New York? He should be hitting the town, skirting down to some sketchy dive bar and revelling in the attention he receives. But the thought just… isn’t that appealing. Ever since his aloof neighbour moved into the next door unit, he’s found it rather difficult to focus on anything else. He’d seen the man out on his balcony a few times, tending to strange looking plants and avoiding any sort of socialisation. 

In all honesty, Roman was trying to work out if the man was also queer. 

It’s a dangerous question to have.

His curtains are still parted, and from where he rests along his elegant sofa, he can see part of his neighbours balcony too. When a shadow casts along the ground, he struggles to his feet, stumbling towards the glass sliding door. Behind him, his coffee table is littered with trinkets and an ashtray that he doesn’t even use, it’s purely decorative. He tugs at the neck of his white tank top, fixing his rumpled shorts and combing a hand through his hair before shimmying outside as casually as he can. 

When he glances to his right, he spots the man kneeling by a strange, spiralling plant, pouring water into the soil. The man turns his gaze up, his head tilting and Roman smiles at him silently. The man is wearing a black beanie and yellow gardening gloves, a large birthmark covering the majority of the left side of his face. He doesn’t smile, just raises an eyebrow after sweeping his gaze over Roman, and turns back to his plants. 

“Hey,” Roman challenges a small wave, looking down at the bustling street below. Women dash past, strollers in front of them, and men stroll, ears pressed to phones. Roman can’t help but wonder where he fits into the crowd. He supposes he doesn’t really. Not with this crowd anyway. 

The man doesn’t respond, lips pressing into a thin line. 

“I'm Roman,” he tries again, leaning on the railing, basking in the warm evening sun. It's probably an hour before it'll begin to set, and Roman always likes getting his daily dose of vitamin D. 

There's still no reply, the neighbour dusting his gloves off as he stands, beginning to walk away already.

“What's your name?” Roman calls, as the man disappears back into his house, closing the curtains behind him. He huffs, “rude.”

Roman decides to remain on his balcony for a bit, drinking in the sight of busy people below. He creates stories for them in his head, fabricating tales of hospital visits, of chasing after long lost lovers in the street. It's an easy pass time, and before he knows it, the sun is setting. There's a rustle and a metallic screech as the neighbouring door slides open, a familiar figure emerging slowly into the cooling air.

“Janus,” the man finally speaks, his eyes hazy and cold. They rake over Roman’s bare arms, over his neck and his face. He feels oddly naked, more scientific than intimate. It's as though his body is being torn apart, dissected and examined.

“Pardon?” Roman glances over his shoulder. He'd since taken refuge at his small circular table, relaxed in one of the metal chairs. His balcony is just as elaborate as the interior, decorated as much as he could. He's a big fan of red, of gold, of anything regal and expensive looking.

“You asked my name, it's Janus,” the man, Janus, rolls his eyes as he answers, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Roman has to stifle a laugh, who does this guy think he is? His personality is sour, his only saving grace is the fact that he’s cute.

“Welcome to the building,” Roman challenges a smile, still attempting basic politeness. Are you gay? is the question hanging off his tongue, but he can't ask that, can he? 

Janus’ eyes narrow again, coming up to the side railing, folding his arms on top, leaning precariously. 

“It's a nice place, yeah?” Roman clears his throat, why is this guy making everything so awkward?

“Oh yes, it's gorgeous,” Janus rubs his fingers together, peeling a hand up to his ear as he does. He sounds gay, if that's not too rude. There's something in his drawl, in the way he holds himself. Roman shouldn't assume, but he does. Sue him.

He blinks slowly, sarcasm? Right? Great, another tick in the jackass box for his new neighbour. Is this guy going to make everything a problem? “So… where are you from?”

“Florida,” Janus replies dumbly, no messing about.

“Me too!” Roman rocks in his seat, kicking one leg over the other. “Isn't that cool?”

“Mmm, I've never met another Floridian before! So exciting!” 

This time it's Roman's turn to roll his eyes, huffing. Rude! “What's your deal?” He huffs, sinking into his chair further.

He hears Janus laugh, probably at him, still craning over the railing. When Roman finally looks back at him, he notices that the man has changed. From his previous buttoned shirt into a heavy looking sweater and jeans. It's not that cold, surely? “Weird pick up line,” Janus prods, a sickly smug smirk painted across his cheeks.

“That was not a pick up line,” Roman hisses, defensive, “if I was trying to hit on you, I’d have a much better line.”

That seems to stun Janus into silence. Perhaps he'd been trying to work out the same things about his neighbour as Roman was. 

There's a pause.

Then Janus coughs into his fist, and nudges his plant pot with foot, nudging it out of the shade into the quickly fading sunlight. “It’s a corkscrew albuca,” Janus answers the question before it slips out of Roman’s mouth, “they’re also called a frizzle sizzle.”

“Frizzle sizzle?”

“Neat, huh?” There’s a smile, a genuine smile, playing at Janus’ lips. So he likes plants. Good to know. (Why that’s good to know, Roman can’t tell.) 

“I prefer zinnias,” he hums, gesturing to the hanging plant pots he has dotted along the far away railing, each flower planted in either an alternating red or white metal pot. 

Janus hums, nodding sincerely. “Representing love and loyalty, lasting affection,” he lists, twirling his wrist in the air. There’s a slight pink flush that creeps onto his cheeks as he finishes, seemingly embarrassed by his knowledge. But Roman just bobs his head intently.

“You know a lot about flowers then?” He tilts his head, maybe this new neighbour is an okay guy. And he’s becoming queerer by the second — what kind of straight man in the Reagan era is this into plants?

Janus shows his teeth in a wide white smile, and something flashes across Roman’s vision, something akin to golden sandals, a grand Temple. He shakes his head as he does, focusing his mind, trying his best to avoid wandering. He often lets his imagination run wild, closing his eyes to dreams of himself as a great warrior, leading legendary cities into battle. But the thoughts are always blurry around the edges, the faces not quite clear, the dialogue muffled or whispered. He always strains his ears, stares intently, yet the picture never clears. 

“Oh no, I hate them,” Janus mocks as he gestures around his balcony, utterly coated in flora. He clears his throat, “yeah, I know a lot. Just always had this keen interest, y’know? My mother used to say I must have some lost magic in my DNA or something. She always told me stories about descending from warlocks — or whatever else. Just fun little fairy tales,” he smiles sadly at the memory. “Though, it’s not like she talks to me anymore,” the sentence is punctuated with a half-hearted laugh, a single burst that shakes his chest.

Roman tilts his head sorrowfully, but he understands. “That’s shit,” he muses, tilting his head back, “the magic stuff is radical though, I wish I had cool ancestors.”

“With a name like Roman, you surely do,” Janus comments, a small nod accompanying his words. There’s something softer in his gaze now.

Roman muses over this, rocking in his seat once more.

“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

The question comes out of nowhere, though monotone, there’s something more woven into the sentence. 

“What?” Roman finally stands from his chair, sauntering over to face Janus directly, hands on his hips as he stops proudly at the railing.

“Coffee… or tea? So I can have a pot on for when you come round,” Janus smiles, his teeth catching in the orange sunset.

Roman thinks for a second, studying the man's face. 

“Tea.”

“Perfect.”

4. 2009

Blip bloop! Blip bloop! Blip bloop!

His laptop hums out the constant music of the Skype calling sound, the beeps and tones becoming a near biweekly constant in his life now. The fan whirs, the computer hot against his lap, his bed warm beneath his body. Chequered sheets pulled over just his socked feet, room illuminated only by his lamp. It’s rapidly approaching one in the morning in California, the air still a certain stuffy heat as the summer comes to its blazing peak. And yet, here he sits, patiently waiting for his brother to pick up the damn call, so they can have their catch up.

They’d never really been close, perhaps as kids — but most twins are. As they’d grown into preteens, and eventually young adults, the distance between them had stretched. Spread into arms length, into grossed-out looks, into pointed insults and pathetic pranks. They were two stark opposites, maybe overlapping more than they assumed, but still, that childhood wonderment that kept them sewn together had faded into a dull thread and snipped fibres. Now, that the distance was physical, it seemed to have dragged them back together — albeit originally unwillingly. 

Roman quite clearly remembers the phone call with their father, where he’d pleaded for the two of them to attempt a semblance of a relationship, promising they’d regret it if they didn’t. And Roman knew if his father was begging, then it was a serious request. So, the monthly phone conversations, which became fortnightly Skype calls, which had evolved into a twice-a-week gossip session, conducted from their dorm rooms. 

He’d tried to get Remus on webcam much earlier in the day, but the man had insisted he was busy and to try again in the evening. The evening for Florida, was much later in California, yet begrudgingly Roman had agreed, huffing the whole time.

Finally the screen clicks, and Remus’ boisterous voice explodes through his weak speakers.

“He-y... ey…” The expected glitching occurs, his voice stammering as his arms jolt around the frame. But his wide smile remains, his mustache beginning to grow in properly, hair still a rats nest. Roman still doesn’t understand why he chose to dye such a choppy part of his hair silver, or why he straightened it so ferociously. 

“Hi,” Roman drags it out, waving politely, glancing around the screen. It’s certainly Remus’ dorm, given the Dead Kennedy’s poster behind him. It’s clear he’s perched on the edge of his bed, as Roman can see his sheets, and can also see the knee of someone else, slumped in the corner. “How’ve you been?”

“Amazing!” Remus explodes, his connection stabilising. His laptop begins to slip down his knees, and he grasps the back of the device, tugging it back up. In the slide, Roman catches a blurred, hazy view of the figure in the background. A boy with pushed back hair, tied into a messy ponytail. He’s gripping a Blackberry in his left hand, a glass of what seems to be wine in the other. Between his lips he’s chewing what might be an eyeliner pen, and Roman spies a small pocket mirror balanced precariously on his knee. 

Before he can say anything, Remus is shoving his face up to the camera, baring his teeth wildly. “I went down the beach, did you know seaweed straight from the sand tastes bad!” 

Roman grimaces, Remus hasn’t changed a bit. “I could’ve guessed that, bud,” he hums, craning his neck as though he can move to see the other boy better that way. There’s something about him that’s so strangely familiar, perhaps it’s the birthmark, or the golden highlights threaded into his hair — or maybe it’s the way he holds things, with such careful precision. 

“Yeah, well, I found out for myself! Scientific method! And it was gross, so I will be trying again. In case it was a bad piece,” Remus shuffles back on his bed, the scratching of fabric audible through the crappy laptop speakers. 

“I’m begging you not to do that,” Roman rubs over his face, why does he agree to these again? Brotherly love? Family pressures?

“Thank god someone else has some sort of sense,” comes a muffled mutter off screen, and Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Who is that?” He questions, glaring at Remus through the screen.

“My roommate!” Remus joyfully explains, turning his computer on his lap to face the other man, who glances to the screen and quickly covers his face with his phone, eyeliner falling from his mouth. “This is Janus!”

“Oh yes, Remus. I totally look my best and this is absolutely how I wanted to meet your brother. Great introduction, babe,” ‘Janus’ spits out sarcastically, not moving his chunky mobile from his face. His chin is sloped, shoulders thin and curved. Roman notes his long hair, the clearly home-dyed blonde streaks that stripe through the chestnut brown. 

“Babe?” Roman perks up, forehead creasing with surprise. It’s not like he doesn’t know Remus is queer, they were the gay twins in high school. Maybe that ridicule was what started pulling them apart. 

Remus cackles, his hand coming into frame as he attempts to pull at Janus’ phone, eventually the man caves, dropping his hand to shoot Remus a deadly stare. “He’s like… my wife,” he concludes, making kissy noises behind the camera, and Janus sticks his tongue out. The childish movement captures Roman’s attention, blinking slowly as he takes it all. Remus didn’t tell him his roommate was kinda… cute? Hot? Roman grapples for the right words, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. But he’d clearly told Janus about him, maybe Janus had always been in the room for their Skype calls. 

He watches, holding back a laugh as Janus grabs Remus’ pillow and tosses it harshly at his head. The laptop clatters off his knees and onto the floor, a frequent occurrence for the boy really.

“You’re picking that up!” Remus’ voice echoes. “You break it, you buy it!”

There’s no inciting argument, just a sigh of defeat as Janus comes back into frame, computer in hands. Whilst the picture isn’t perfect, not very clear at all really, the two get a good look at each other. Roman just smiles and waves, and Janus mumbles an unamused ‘hey’, placing the laptop back on Remus’ legs. Perhaps it’s wrong of Roman to ask Remus to give the camera back to his attractive friend — which is why Roman doesn’t ask. 

And when the sound of the dorm room door closing echoes over the webcam, Roman tries his very hardest to mask his disappointment. 

He can’t shake that feeling. That aching familiarity swells within his chest, even when the call is over, and the time creeps ever closer to the witching hour. Witches. Something about that sparks a flame deep in his stomach, a dull fire that licks at his spine, that begs for examination. But Roman doesn’t even know where to begin. He’s never seen Janus before, but it feels as though he’s known him his entire life. Something green spirals through his mind, tangles thick roots around his lungs, sprouts flowering buds behind his eyelids. The smell of earl grey floods his nostrils as he presses his face into his pillow.

When he closes his eyes he sees that explosion of sparks once more, a hooked cane sweeping past his pupils, a defensive hiss floating from ear to ear. He groans into the fabric, flipping onto his back in order to stare at the ceiling. Thundering hooves clatter against his skull, the shriek of metal against metal startling him. It’s as though he’s falling, tumbling through a deep black void. His vision clouds in the slow approach of black clouds, of soot and ash that digs deep claws into his flesh.

The void expands as he tumbles downwards, stomach lurching with each jerking plummet. When he finally lands, his spine cracks against harsh marble, rather than the soft mattress he’d been expecting. Is he coming down with something? He tugs his comforter further up his chest, tucking it beneath his chin as he raises a quaking palm to his forehead, pressing to feel for fever. The back of his hand is met, not with sweaty skin, but with the cold metallic burn of metal. It’s freezing, but not wet. And should it not be wet? After being cast into a moat, should it not come out sparkling with water? 

But Roman had never done that.

He feels insistent fingers on his neck, pressing hard into his pulse, a wine soaked drawl curling around the shell of his ear, so sweet, yet so concerned. He can’t make out the words, can’t hear a thing. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing it all away. What is happening? He must be ill.

Eventually, the strong pull of sleep washes over his exhausted body, the void washing away, taking the Temple, and the horse, and the tea, and the eyeliner with it. His muscles untense, and the memories slip away. 

And Roman does not dream that night.

5. The Future

This is not his usual scene. 

Janus considers himself… a little classier than this, typically. It’s not like he’s pretentious (he is) or egotistical (he most certainly is), but a hole in the wall, Irish pub (whose owners cannot be Irish, given the frightfully poor decor) is not his usual first choice. He prefers to frequent wine bars, perhaps indulging himself with a fruity cocktail now and again. But for some reason, on this warm Floridian Saturday night, he finds himself nursing his second glass of white wine, on a bar stool in a dimly lit pub, surrounded by soccer fans and tourists yelling at TV screens. 

He can’t even conjure up why he chose here. He’d gotten off the bus from work a stop too early by mistake, and rather than wandering home to relax in silken pyjamas, watching Real Housewives, he’d instead taken up refuge here. It reeks of bad beer, of cheap cigarettes, and of the most disgusting body odour he’s ever had the displeasure of smelling. Yet he doesn’t leave. There’s something stopping him, preventing his legs from picking his body up and walking him out the door. As though cased from the waist down in cement, or barricaded into place.

The wine is sour against his tongue, sliding back and giving way to a horrific aftertaste. Honestly, why is he here? The wine is poor, the air is dense, the televisions are all way too loud, and the atmosphere is uneasy.

Someone pulls up the stool next to him, and Janus flicks his eyes to the side. He hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching, lost in thought. The gentleman next to him orders a cider, and when it lands in front of him, Janus notices how his gaze flutters. The man gives him a curious glance, then a second one, turning his head quickly.

And oh.

He doesn’t seem like a regular customer here. No offence to the other tenants of course, but he is radiant. Something about him simply sparkles. There’s a certain glow to his skin, a gentle glitter in his pupils. His thick eyebrows and strong jaw, his arched nose. It’s compelling. And when he speaks, Janus is drawn from his thick fog, pulled into the man’s stratosphere instantaneously.

“Do I know you?”

The question is drawn out on a whisper, a gasp of breath that shouldn’t reach Janus’ ears over the roaring customers, yet does. And he finds he wonders that too. The man just looks so familiar. Yet he can’t quite put his finger on it. There’s something so strangely comforting about his golden tan, something heroic about him. There’s something terrifying in his gaze, as though he’s about to hold a great sword above his head, swinging down. There’s something compelling in his stance, the way he holds his shoulders, rocking in place on his stool. And there’s something boyish in his features, that drills deep into Janus’ chest.

“I… I don’t think so,” he finally manages to mumble back, sipping his wine. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be,” the man responds, pint glass in hand. “I just thought I recognised you, is all. Though, I’m certain if we had met I’d have no trouble remembering someone as beautiful as you.” 

Is that all this was? Some terrible attempt at flirtation? A shitty pick up in a local bar? 

Then why did Janus feel that draw? Why did he feel so close, yet so far? Why does he feel like he’s known this man all this life? Why does he feel like he’s seen this man for centuries?

Janus scoffs in turn. He should be offended at the cheap line, and most often he would be, yet a heat still floods his cheeks. He’ll blame the alcohol for now. 

“You flatter me. I assure you, Roman, we have never met,” he exhales slowly over his glass, placing it back down on the dull wood of the bar. It’s chipped and cracked in places, looking almost burned. The smell of ash fills Janus’ nose all at once, the feeling of a blade zipping past his side making his nerves go haywire.

The man beside him tenses. “What did you just-? How do you know my name?”

Janus freezes, then cocks his head. “I… I don’t?”

“You called me Roman, that’s my name.”

“Did I?” He truly has no memory of this, hair flopping against his forehead as he bobs his head no. The man, Roman, takes a long drink from his glass, eyebrows furrowed. “Lucky guess?” 

Roman glances at him from the rim of his cider, studying him. That birthmark. 

“Let me guess yours, and we’ll be even,” he suggests, although he’s not certain why. Janus nods his silent agreement, the last of his wine sliding easily down his throat. It’s sweet. How strange. He can feel Roman’s dark eyes baring into his soul, digging into his flesh, sinking into his heart. They tear him apart, seeing him from the inside out, reading every hidden thought within his mind. And then: “Janus?”

He stops, stunned. What the fuck? No, really. What the fuck? It’s not as though he has a normal name. Hell, he’s never heard of another Janus. 

“I- yes? How did you guess that? And first try?” 

Roman pauses, “lucky guess?” His words are quiet, confused. Something within Janus’ chest twists. 

A sane man would flee, a rational thinker would run.

Janus is neither sane nor rational. 

Why is he feeling so much déjà vu?

The silence stretches. 

“I’m so confused,” Janus finally speaks, “do we know each other?”

“There’s no way,” Roman shakes his head. He chugs back the last half of his cider, smacking his lips. He looks over Janus again, “do we?”

“I don’t remember ever meeting you.”

“But you know my name.”

“And you know mine,” Janus points out, finger wagging in the space between them. Their glasses lay empty by their sides. 

Roman hums, “call it even?” He extends his right hand, and Janus awkwardly shakes it. Roman is quiet for a long minute, “do you have a favourite plant?”

“Frizzle sizzle,” Janus responds immediately, and Roman’s face flashes with recognition. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea,” Roman replies, just as automatically as Janus had. It’s a strange back and forth — yet every time Janus answers a question, it’s as though Roman already knew the answer, his brain echoing the words at him as the man talks. It’s so weird. He knows this man, knows things about him, knows his name, knows his favourite plant. There’s this itch in his fingers, an electricity whirring through his veins, and it begs to touch.

“If you could be any animal what would you be?” Roman asks, rather than vocalising any of these feelings.

“A snake,” Janus hums, as he orders another glass of wine, suddenly quite enjoying the flavour. “Do you believe in past lives?”

“Of course I do.” The conversation took a turn, or perhaps it’s more akin to an interrogation, a back and forth question-and-answer. And yet again, Roman’s brain hisses snake at him as Janus vocalises his response, yet this time it adds a yellow and black one. Hiding in an oak tree. Horses. Swords. And he finds he can’t silence it. “I was definitely a Roman soldier, probably where the name comes from. Romulus, into Roman.”

Janus nods as though this makes perfect sense, although distantly in his mind he knows it isn’t. It’s all so weird, why does this feel so normal? “Died in battle, probably.” Mighty and swift Mars. Grant me the fortitude… Mighty and swift Mars. 

Roman hums, “exactly. Maybe a knight, at some point.”

“Such heroic lives,” Janus muses, “I think I was an alternative kid in the late 2000’s, maybe a trickster or sorcerer at some point,” he rubs his nails as a fresh glass of wine is placed in front of him. He flushes when Roman offers his card over, demanding it be added to his tab. “Thank you.”

“I was definitely a random gay man at some point, maybe the 70’s, 80’s?” Roman continues, rubbing his hands together by his knees. “Do you think we knew each other in past lives?”

Janus thinks it over, his eyes catching Roman’s face. 

Flashes.

A helmet. A body on a chariot.

A sword. Chain armour.

A white tank top. A pot of tea. 

A dark room. A shaky webcam.

“Probably not.”

Roman’s face falls as he nods slowly.

“The world is so big, you know? What are the chances we kept running into each other? And then for it to happen again now?”

“You’re probably right, yeah.”

A priest and a warrior.

A knight and a sorcerer.

A zinnia and a corkscrew albuca.

A shaky webcam and an eyeliner.

A glass of wine and a cider.

“Do you have… a number? To call?” 

“Do I have a phone?” Roman raises an eyebrow, watching Janus’ face screw up.

“I’m on my third glass, cut me some slack,” he rolls his eyes, an unimpressed expression befalling his face. The way his face contorts has sparks flying from Roman’s lungs.

“I have a phone number, yes,” Roman smirks, “do you want it?”

“I’d love it.”

Roman slides Janus’ phone from his hand where he’d been brandishing it, and Roman hadn’t even seen him slip it from his pocket. The man is lithe, sly, in a way. Maybe he has some connection to the Gods. Maybe he’s just a little magical. Maybe he’s just a guy who likes strange plants. Maybe he sits in his room and does his eyeliner and calls his friends. 

Tomorrow, maybe he’ll give Roman a call.

-

@roceitweek2025

yall i am not mentally prepared for this week to end. but ALSO this piece was the most fun ive had all week!

it also sparked some ideas for a full AU in my brain, specifically with knight roman and sorcerer/trickster janus..? would anyone have any interest in that?

It’s a filthy, cruel game. The rules should be set in stone, carved into tablets to stand the test of time. Unmarred by the weather, untouched by humanity for centuries. These rules, simple to follow, are rather meaningless when presented to Janus. He’s a dirty cheater, a manipulative soul puppeteering the side wrapped around his fingers. Rules are inconsequential suggestions in his life, a guide for the rest of society to follow. He prefers the path less travelled, the unbeaten road, the shortcut. 

His fingers dig a little deeper, burrowing into the soft underbelly of his prey, grasping and scratching. It’s messy, but effective. The creature beneath his claws writhes, turns in his hold, caught between the push and pull of the hunt. The humane thing to do would be to get it over with, sink his teeth in and swallow the poor critter whole. But this is so much more fun, watching it struggle, observing every movement as it gasps for breath. 

Survival of the fittest, really. 

Roman tilts his chin up into the deft scratch of Janus’ nails against his scalp, sighing peacefully. His eyes fluttered closed some time ago, head resting heavy against the serpentine side’s chest. The two are sprawled out across the couch, Janus pressing into the arm of the sofa as Roman takes refuge on top of him, laying between his slightly spread knees. The Prince has one arm wrapped around the small of his partner's back, the other flopping uselessly by his side. 

He’s practically purring, an idle puddle in Janus’ arms. He can barely remember what they’d been talking about before this, before Janus had sat him down, massaged at his shoulders and now — played with his hair. Roman tosses a little more, elbow jamming between Janus’ side and the couch cushions, grunting as he does. He’s just beginning to conjure up words, ready to start talking again, when a new pair of hands land on his back, stilling his movements. They squeeze gently, petting down the length of his spine, pressing a thumb in at the final notch. Roman spasms and the compliment on his lips dies, fading into the air as he gives into the touch. 

Trapped between pushing into the three hands holding him close, and pressing further into Janus’ chest, Roman exhales all the air in his lungs. His mind whirs with the effort it takes to think, a strain when all he truly wants to do is stay here, in this moment. There’s something about the silent attention, the lavishing of affection, that has his typically overactive brain melting in place. 

With his free hand, Janus lifts his mug to his lips, sipping his tea quietly. He watches how Roman’s face relaxes, his lips slightly parted with his cheek squished into Janus’ shirt. There’s a smile playing at his mouth, crawling its way onto his face. He scratches a little harder behind the Prince’s ear, admiring how he cranes into the touch. 

This is why he doesn’t play by the rules. Roman had been talking his ear off all day — and whilst Janus simply adores Creativity, the constant rambling can become rather tiresome. He’d been rapidly complaining about something or other, trailing after Janus like a lost puppy, as his hands flew in front of him, his rant tumbling out of his mouth gracelessly. Something something… great ideas something something… And Janus had originally been listening, but the longer the tirade had stretched, not ceasing for even a second throughout the day, he’d begun to realise Roman was not talking to him, merely at him. So when they’d reached the living room, he’d taken the Prince by the hand and wordlessly led him to the couch, swinging his legs up so Roman could settle between them. He had, unquestioningly followed, continuing his wild talk as Janus had removed his gloves and massaged at his shoulders, watching the creative side slowly trail off, relaxing under the pressure. 

And now here they were, Roman sinking a little further with every stroke, every gentle tickle. The hand on his own back is rather pleasant too, Roman’s fingers clutching at his top, occasionally rubbing softly in place. 

Janus takes another drink of his tea, smacking his lips a tad as he does. He enjoys watching Roman’s reactions, perhaps not dying in his fearsome clutches, but reacting nonetheless. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He challenges a question, partially regretting it. If Roman launches back into his speech he’ll have to call a code red, and he’s not particularly certain what the next phase of his plan would include. 

Roman mumbles incoherently, slurring against his partner’s chest. He manages to lift his weighted head, eyelashes fanned across his cheeks before he drags his eyes open. “‘M tired,” he drawls. The exhaustion hadn’t crept up on him, rather hitting him all at once like a freight train. The second his scalp had felt the scrape of Janus’ well manicured nails, his body had crumbled, the desperation for rest suffocating his lungs, gripping tightly on his nerve endings.

“Then sleep, love,” Janus responds softly, voice low and quiet. His whispers are much like his gentle caress, slipping down and gracing the shell of Roman’s ear. The sweet trickle of honey seeps into his brain, coating any remaining concept of thought. Yes, of course, he could just… sleep. It’s all so simple. With Janus’ fingers carding through his hair, Janus’ hands petting along his back and shoulders — he could sleep. 

Roman slumps impossibly further, shaking his head in an attempt to nod. The comment is tempting, a pleasing tid-bit that Roman can’t help but give into. With the stress of existence so often weighing harsh on his shoulders, it’s so good to just give into suggestion. 

Janus scratches more at the crown of Roman’s head, a little harder than before, and the side smiles noticeably, sighing and pushing into the touch. “That feel nice?” The serpent asks, repeating the action over and over until Roman is a floppy doll in his palms.

“Mmhm,” Roman purrs sleepily, practically snuggling into the touch, shifting his arm around Janus’ back to hold him further. He feels privileged to be privy to this side of Janus, the cuddling, petting, comforting side. He’s aware of Janus’ purpose as a source of comfort, but that so often stems from denial and deception. This is different, this is pure affection. It’s attentive care, as though calming a scared animal, or preserving china plates. “Don’t stop,” he manages to mumble out. 

Above him, Janus laughs, and Roman basks in the vibrations, the rise and fall of his chest. “I won't, darling, I promise.” With practiced dexterity, he continues his motions, scratching and twisting, twirling locks of hair around his long fingers, humming as he does. “My poor, Roman,” Janus whispers, “so tired. So overworked. You deserve some rest, some beauty sleep.” He swipes across his scalp, watching how Roman’s eyes close on a slow blink, smiling at the words. “Just rest,” his hands tighten around the side’s back, one resting along the stretch of his shoulders, the other around his middle, clutching Creativity close. He can’t deny his own affections, his desire to see Roman peaceful and happy. 

Roman yawns, tongue clicking languidly. His final act before slipping into the welcoming embrace of sleep is to turn his face into Janus’ chest, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt, firm but short. His grasp around Janus’ back loosens as he glides away, carried in the strong arm of rest, lulling where he lays. Roman is a snorer.

“That’s it,” Janus smiles, his movements never ceasing, “rest, my sweet prince.”

-

just something a little shorter, kind of inspired by one of my own old falsettos fics? i saw the prompt and immediately knew what i wanted to do! im so sad about how fast this week is flying by, but i have Big plans for day 6. it might not be the longest instalment from me, but its certainly the one im most excited about.

“I’m freezing!” he complains, just as Roman enters the living room with a steaming mug in his hands.

“Of course you are,” Roman mutters under his breath, though he puts on a sympathetic smile as he places the mug on the coffee table within Janus’ reach.

“Cuddles!” his boyfriend demands with a pout. Roman raises a brow, looking at the blanket pile Janus is buried in.

“You will need to let me in for that, love.”

With a grumble, Janus does unfurl his burrito, only to immediately attach himself to Roman when he sits down, pulling the blankets close again only moments later. Roman lets it happen, at least he thought to grab the remote before he’d been trapped.

~~*~~

Having a naga boyfriend comes with certain perks.

“Janus, love of my life, is it done yet?” Roman calls, having a coughing fit immediately after.

“Yes, yes, it’s done, I’m here, calm down,” Janus placates as he enters the room, holding a tray with a pitcher of water and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Somehow Roman had managed to catch the flu in the middle of summer and is currently bedridden.

“You are the best, my star! The sun destined to lighten up my life and cure my suffering!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Janus huffs as he places the tray on Roman’s lap, after he had placed the pitcher on the bedside table. “You’ll be fine.”

“With your care, I am sure I’ll recover in no time. You’re so good to me.”

“I know I’m the best, now eat your soup.”

“You’ll stay with me, right?” Roman asks, his voice nasally due to his runny nose.

“If it’ll stop your whining, yes. After you’ve eaten.”

Roman groans in dismay but does as he’s told. He doesn’t know what exactly the difference is genetically between a naga and a human, but he is so grateful that for whatever reason, both species seem to be pretty much immune to the other’s diseases. Roman can demand all the kisses and comforts from Janus without having to worry about passing on his ailments to his love.

Janus scrolls through his phone as Roman eats. Once he’s done, he takes the tray and sets it on Roman’s desk, knowing that his boyfriend would not like him to leave the room right now to deal with dishes. And as he expects, once he turns back to the bed, Roman’s already making grabby hands at him.

“Come and kiss me better!” he whines and Janus sighs.

“I’m coming, you big baby.”

As much as he complains, Janus sits with Roman for hours, telling him the newest gossip until he falls asleep.

Convincing the others that a beach day is a good idea is not an easy feat, Roman discovers. 

Patton had been rather simple to sway, in fact, all the Prince had to do was smile and say, “I was thinking we should have a day at the imagination’s beach-” and Patton had cut him off with an elated squeal, hands flying madly, leaping foot to foot, intensely agreeing. So, he had one of three under his belt. 

Logan had posed a slight challenge, but nothing Roman couldn’t valiantly tackle. He’d risen up in Logan’s unlocked room, where the side had been sitting at his desk, hunched and dishevelled, furiously alternating between rapidly tapping on his computer keys, and scribbling gibberish-adjacent words in a notebook. Roman had tapped his knuckles off the dark wall behind him, flicking on the light-switch, breaking Logan minutely from his sleepless trance. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, his writing mostly illegible, the words typed on his screen full of spelling errors and grammar mistakes. 

“Hey, buddy!” Roman had waved, smile wide and teeth white, an air of hesitant positivity clouding his sentence. “You doin’ okay, Lodown?” 

Logan’s eyes were wild, glasses slid far down his nose, askew on his face. His mouth was dry upon response. “I’m wonderful,” he coughed into his fist, “what do you need?” He’d glanced back to the computer screen, pupils twitching. 

“Whatcha writing?” Roman tilted his head, cantering ever closer, as though approaching an easily frightened horse. He hoped he wasn’t about to get the hooves, or a stark kick to the ribs.

“Thomas,” Logan started, trailing off immediately. “I’ve been working on a proper set plan for the rest of the month. Isn’t it great?” He proudly showed off his notes, which had surely started in his neat print, but had now devolved into the mad taunts of a psychotic toddler. The man needed a break.

“Well, that looks wonderful!” Roman lied through his teeth, voice strained, smile faltering. Jesus Christ. “How would you feel about taking a break from all your splendid work, and coming on a lovely, relaxing beach day with the rest of us?” He spread his arms wide, watching how Logan’s face screwed up, very, very slowly processing the request.

“Take… a break?” He practically glitched, the notepad falling to his lap. “I couldn’t possibly! Roman, I believe I am incredibly close to a breakthrough. Total organisation down to the minute!”

“Oh-kay,” Roman stifled his laughter, nervous as he approached further, reaching over Logan’s shoulder to close his laptop. “Think about how much more you can get done if you relax your brain for a bit, come back, and work even harder!”

Logan paused, “like a rest day? Much like the gym? I must let my muscles rest so I can get stronger?”

“Exactly, now you get it!” Roman beamed.

Logan stroked his chin, as Roman silently adjusted the glasses on the sides face. “Is Virgil going?”

“Sure is!” Roman grinned. He, of course, had yet to ask the anxious side, but he was almost 100% sure he could convince the guy to go. Although getting Emo Nightmare into the sun was going to be a back-breaking task and a half, Roman has near perfect confidence in his powers of persuasion. 

“Hm,” Logan mused, “well, then I suppose I can come too. I’ll take my notebook with me, obviously.”

“Obviously!”

One remaining!

Virgil was the one Roman was most uncertain about, but he was sure he could work his magic. He was hesitant to confront the anxious side in his room, especially since the last time he was there he was so rudely refused the Nightmare Before Christmas posters. (He was still salty about that.) So a common area had seemed the most appropriate. He was slightly worried that Virgil would run, but he had to try. They all deserved a nice day, and the Imagination had been proving to have gorgeous weather at the moment! It was unpredictable that way, an aspect Roman didn’t have a lot of control over. But he’d been in a particularly good mood as of late, so perhaps that had something to do with it!

“Ohhhh, Virgil!” He sang out, spinning into the living room, where Virgil was perched on the back of the couch, legs crossed precariously. He had thick headphones clamped firmly over his ears, eyes fixed on his phone as he scrolled. “Virgil!” Roman tried again, still singing his name. No reply. Not even a glance. “Virgil.” He deadpanned, stepping closer. “Virgil!” His last attempt was a yell, standing a mere foot away from the other side.

Virgil jumped, scrambling to pull his headphones off, hanging them around his neck. “Jesus! Man, what is it? You didn’t have to scream at me!”

“You couldn’t hear me when I sang,” Roman responded gleefully, rocking on the balls of his feet. “You’re coming to the beach with us!” 

“No I’m not,” Virgil scoffed, already reaching to listen to his music once more. 

“Yes, you are!” Roman insisted, still smiling, eyes scrunched up. He knew fine well the direct approach would wear Virgil down eventually.

Anxiety rolled his eyes once again, shaking his head, and his hair flew around his forehead, settling over his eyebrows. “No way, dude. Are you kidding? I hate sand, I hate the sun, I hate the ocean. Not a chance in hell.”

“Aww, that’s a shame,” Roman kicked the ground, turning away as if leaving. “Logan was looking forward to you going,” he tossed over his shoulder as he retreated, almost like a thought he didn’t care to vocalise. But he did. He had planned this very well.

“Logan’s going?” Virgil perked up a little, eyes wide. “Well, I guess… if that nerd is going then it could be good. As long as it’s not just you and Patton bouncing about, I need him there, to remember some people are normal.”

Roman grinned, looking back over his shoulder. He shrugged casually. “So, you’re coming?”

Virgil groaned. “Yeah, I’ll go. But you can’t force me to stay if I’m having a shit time, and I’m not taking my shirt off.”

“Deal!”

And so here they are, standing on the precipice of the sandy beach that stretched far along the edge of the Imagination. A lapping ocean rolled on beyond the sands, and whilst Roman had never explored them, it was on his bucket list. Even he couldn’t be sure how far the Imagination truly continued. 

Patton clutches a beach bag in one hand, a large umbrella closed under his other arm. He’s wearing khaki shorts, and a linen button up of his typical polo. Roman has to physically restrain himself from grimacing and gagging at the white crocs on his feet. Virgil has stuck to his promise, showing up, albeit unhappily. He must be boiling in long black cargo jorts and a baggy black tee, hands stuffed into his pockets. His headphones dangle around his neck, shifting uncomfortably in the grass that leads to the sand. Logan has changed his style up the most out of them, holding an extra suncream in one hand. He’s ditched the tie and dress shoes, opting for a sleeveless top in a navy blue colour, and a regular length of shorts. Alongside another suncream (in a higher SPF) he’s carrying a 12 pack of water bottles — just in case.

Roman tilts proudly, hands on his hips. He’s rather impressed that he’s wrangled everyone into a fun beach day! He’s standing in red swimshorts, with a gold stripe down each side, shirt off, but thrown haphazardly over his shoulder, mostly for appearances. 

“This is going to be great!” He announces, starting down the sand with Patton by his side. “Do you need me to carry anything for you?” He offers, reaching to take the parasol, which Patton hands over without complaint.

“I know! Our whole little family down the beach! Building castles, paddling about!” Patton squeals giddily, practically skipping down to the water. He picks a place quickly, placing his large, bulging beach bag down, and scrambling inside for a blanket. It’s huge, big enough to fit at least six people, and he lays it down on the sand, using a few larger rocks dotted close by to hold each corner down. He acts as though he’s done this a million times before, working swiftly to set their seating arrangements up. Maybe it’s that paternal instinct coming out. 

Logan and Virgil aren’t far behind, navigating down the sand carefully. Every so often Logan pauses to examine a shell, or pocket a piece of sea-glass without comment, and Virgil waits dutifully by his side, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I’m not swimming, and I’m not building anything,” he retorts, flopping down onto the blanket, before glancing up at Patton.

The side has a distinct frown, that sad wetness in his eyes as he clutches a pail and trowel, lip quivering.

“I will build a sandcastle with you,” Virgil immediately corrects, shifting over so he can remain off the sand whilst still being close enough to participate. Patton lights up, dropping down to his knees, collecting some damp sand behind him into the bucket. Virgil busies himself dragging a finger through the ground, searching for shells to use as decoration.

As they do, Logan situates himself on another corner, starting to apply suncream to his arms, silent and stern. “Lo,” Roman prods the side with the end of his sandals, slipping them off to sink his feet into the warm sand. They’ve planted their station in a good spot, close to the water and enough wet sand, whilst not allowing the ocean to lick at the blanket. Roman plants their umbrella in the ground, extending it to cast some shade over the sides.

“Yes, Roman?” Logan replies flatly, closing the cap on the bottle, moving instead to grab some water. 

“At least try to have some fun, won’t you?” Roman teases. 

Logan hums in the back of his throat, and a thick book appears in his hands. “I shall, I’m going to read and get some Vitamin D. All good components to have a fun afternoon.”

“Excellent!” Roman exclaims boisterously, hopping foot to foot. “Well, I am going for a swim! I’ll see you losers later!”

After coursing along length by length, Roman lays on his back, allowing the gentle waves to carry him out. He knows he’s in no danger, the waters are calm, the sky bright — and it's not like he can actually die. His eyes close on a soft sigh, spreading his limbs wide, starfishing out as the ocean bobs him up and down. He could fall asleep like this. Far away now, the other sides have busied themselves, Logan stretched out on the blanket, having fallen asleep in the heat, book open on his chest. Virgil and Patton have moved to decorate their sand castle, the anxious side having gotten quite invested in their creation. Roman’s chest swells with pride. He’s done a good job.

When he opens his eyes, casting them down the beach, he rustles with a start. Rolling onto his stomach, and moving to tread water with his legs, he rubs at his eyes, startled. The sandcastle definitely didn’t look like that before. Virgil and Patton’s had been several square buckets of sand tall, nothing like this. The palace on the sand is a behemoth, a large towering structure with turrets and a sandy moat. It looks inhabitable. It’s truly a feat of architecture, something only Roman himself could construct! Or… 

He paddles closer, the scene fading into view. He must’ve floated down the current, warm winds picking up on his wide-cast sails — because this is not the same section of beach he had resided on before. For one, the massive castle, and notably, Logan, Patton, nor Virgil are there. In fact, Roman can’t see anyone at all. The towers aren’t helping.

Dragging himself to his feet, Roman tracks up the sand, dispelling the fear that claws at his ribs. He’s ready to confront, there’s only two other sides who could be here, and he won’t have it! This is his great day, damnit! 

“Excuse me!” He yells, puffing his chest out and pressing his hands to his hips, chin tilted into the sun. He glistens with the sea water, hair wet and swept back. “Excuse me!” He tries again, and this time a head pops out the top of a large tower.

Remus.

He’s grinning maniacally, sand noticeably in his hair, and seaweed hanging out his mouth. He licks it, chewing and swallowing loudly. He waves down at his brother, leaning on the walls of his palace. “Oh em gee! Bro, what’re you doing here!” He yells, not at all quietly, and holds up a bucket in his hand. “What do you think? Pretty impressive right?!”

Roman can’t help but nod. “It’s… sound.”

“You should see the sex dungeon!”

He grimaces, regretting this already. He regrets it even further when a cold stream of water crashes over his head, draping sopping wet locks over his face, seaweed now dangling off his shoulders. He screeches, high pitched and feminine, shaking the goop off, raking his hair back angrily. “Why!” He shouts, shivering. Remus just shrugs and disappears. Then he reappears at the foot of the sand palace, hovering in a rather well constructed doorway.

“I did this all by myself,” he grins, seemingly very happy with his work. “I asked Janus for help, but he said he wasn’t gonna touch all that soggy seaweed.” He pouts. The two are dressed remarkably similarly, Remus in the same trunks, only green and black, and also shirtless. Although he has sunglasses atop his messy head.

“Right…” Roman snags a piece of stray seaweed, tossing it to the ground and wiping his hands on his shorts. “Again, why are you here? Don’t you prefer… lurking menacingly in the shadows, waiting for a bunny to hop by so you can spear it on a stick?”

“I like the beach, but that’s a terrific idea! I should do that!” His eyes light up, rocking on the balls of his feet. “We’re here for a sun day. And Janny gets cold easy, he likes to sunbathe. I like to sun rage. If I concentrate hard enough I can turn the sun's energy into unbridled anger.”

Roman scrunches his face up, but doesn’t argue any further. “That snake is here?”

“He’s asleep, like a lame ass.” And with that Remus disappears back into his palace, the darkness enveloping him. Roman begins to feel scarily akin to a rabbit. He shudders, but paces slowly around the side of the sand castle, if it can even be called that.

He spies something in the sand, a lump, seemingly. The shirt colour very nearly blends into the ground, but it’s a little too yellow, a little too… human. But Roman knows it can’t be a human. As he grows closer, he notes the dark grey shorts, the pushed back hair — and finally the scales. The scales on proud display. No long sleeves, no leg coverings, no gloves, no hat, no cape. 

It’s undeniably Janus. 

Not formal-wear, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde at a strange dinner party, Janus. But casual, beach day Deceit. 

He’s asleep on his stomach, arms folded under his head, right side of his face resting on his forearms. His lips are slightly parted, and he snores when he breathes in, exhaling on a sharp, fast hiss. The scales go all the way down. Huh. Roman didn’t know that. His left leg is coated in them, sparkling in the sun as they twist down and around his calves, some parts of his skin — well, just regular skin — whilst others are patched with those serpentine plates. 

It’s weird.

He looks normal. Peaceful. Roman doesn’t know what to feel. 

The snake doesn’t wake, and Roman begins to feel slightly awkward just hanging around, so he does what he knows best. He causes a minute scene. 

There were definitely better ways of going about this, but Roman follows his heart! He gives into impulse, and the easiest, fastest route, far too often. That’s why he kicks sand at Janus’ face.

Janus awakens with a start, smacking grains off his cheek, groaning and gasping. He jerks, pushing himself up on his hands, rather similar to the seal yoga position, back arched for only a second before he’s kneeling, very displeased. It must take a second for his eyes to adjust to the light, because the first thing out of his mouth is: “Remus, I swear to god, I am going to kill you. And it will be a slow, painful death.”

“Sorry,” Roman responds with a start, flinching under the glare Janus fires his way, head whipping up on his shoulders. 

“You should be-!” Janus rubs furiously at his eyes, determined to be able to see again. And when he can, his voice trails off a tad. Maybe it’s wrong to check out another side, but can he be blamed? Can he really be in the wrong if Roman is standing there, glistening in the bright afternoon sunlight, wet and shirtless? “And… what are you doing here?” He manages to choke out, tearing his eyes up to Roman’s face. 

“I floated,” Roman retorts, fixing his posture under the scrutiny, squaring his shoulders. It’s instinct! 

Janus purses his lips, hands finding their way onto his knees. “You… floated?”

“Mmhm!” The creative side ruffles his own hair, shaking some water out of his ear. “The gang and I are having a splendid beach day, organised by yours truly. And I floated here. I simply had to see who created this incredible palace. A tad disappointed to see it was my brother.” 

“Right,” Janus clears his throat, subconsciously tilting the left side of his face back into the sun. “And you woke me from my slumber, why?”

Roman stutters, noticing he doesn’t really have an answer for that one. 

“No? Really, well thank you, Roman, really. I just love that you ruined my nap. Truly wonderful,” Janus drawls, lies dripping like thick syrup from his tongue. Roman can’t seem to look away from his scales sparkling in the light, from how he preens in the sun rays. The serpent seems desperate for the heat, basking in the glow. 

“I said I was sorry!” He moans, turning in a disgruntled circle. 

Janus dramatically rolls his eyes, flopping back down onto the sand. Roman notes that he’s not even laying on a blanket, just straight shirt to beach. 

“What? No cruel comment? No loving compliment?” He tilts his head. This is strange! He’s still not fully recovered from Janus’ casual wear, the way the sleeves cap around his arms, the spiralling scales that dance down his skin. It’s sort of beautiful. Yet Roman’s always thought that, he’s outwardly admitted it before too, directly to Janus’ face. He’d been staring at him from across the kitchen, and Janus had fired him a stupid little comment, asking him what he was looking at, and telling him to take a picture instead. And Roman had replied in earnest: “Your scales are rather beautiful. Anyone ever said that?” And he was certain Janus had blushed, faltering with his wine glass before retorting: “Oh yes, of course. I get that all the time.” Before quickly sinking out to god knows where. 

Janus merely swats the air, snuggling into the crook of his other arm. “I’m too tired,” he murmurs, “the sun does that.”

“It doesn’t fill you with energy? It fires me up!”

There’s a muffled response, a few words muttered into his elbow as Janus continues to drift off again. In spite of the awkward closeness, Roman plonks himself down next to the snake, rather curious about what’s going on. 

“Is this some snake thing?” He questions.

“Probably,” comes the quiet reply, Janus rolling his head on his arms to angle his scales to the sun once more. Roman realises he probably doesn’t get sun burnt on his left side, and isn’t that fun! 

Roman hums, stretching his legs out alongside Janus’ own, unable to stop himself from comparing them. Despite both being aspects of the same man's personality, they do have their differences. The most obvious being scales versus entirely human, but there’s more. Roman notes how his calves are larger than Janus’ own, but that probably makes sense. His quests and active schedule have him running and climbing quite a lot. 

“So, just you and Remus here?” He continues the conversation for some reason, lacking the self control or awareness to let sleeping snakes lie.

Janus huffs, perhaps accepting his nap has been irrevocably ruined, and blinks a yellow eye open. “Who else would I be here with?”

“Just making small talk.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” Roman shrugs with a smile. “I’m in a good mood,” he looks down at Janus, and reaches over to poke his cheek. He doesn’t know why he did that. He stares at his own hand afterwards, confused.

Janus appears even more befuddled, sliding his hand up and touching where Roman had prodded. He doesn’t jab, doesn’t dive into questioning — he knows Roman won’t have an answer. “Right… but with me? Shouldn’t you go back to the nerd, the emo and the nice one?”

“They have names.”

“Oh really? I had no idea!” 

“You’re such a dick.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

Roman rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands. He catches Janus glance quickly at his bare torso again, and something wicked sparks in his stomach. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he purrs, blinking slowly.

Janus’ shoulders flush — and if that isn’t the cutest thing Roman’s ever seen — and he flutters his eyes rapidly. “I don’t know what you could be talking about, Princey.” The scoff is abrupt and choked, gritted with salt and sand. Roman allows the grains to spit across his face, taking it on the chin, letting the words exfoliate at his skin. 

“Mm, sure you don’t,” the ground is hot, a pleasant warmth that tingles at nerve endings. Akin to sprawling out by a fire on a cold winter’s evening, and Roman finds himself contemplating if Janus himself has ever done that. The image of the serpent, clearly rather fond of the heat, resting peacefully by a flickering flame slides into his mind with ease, winding long vines around his brain, rooting itself into place. 

It can’t be said that this type of thought is anything new. Roman has found that with every passing day, Janus claws into his mind, occupying more and more. He worms his way into every hidden nook, lurking in every shadow, around every corner. His yellow iris glows in the night, tempting Roman ever inward, demanding the attention that he’s all too willing to lavish. He sees those gloves moving in his peripherals, the flashing end of that capelet whisking away the moment Roman turns to look. And those scales, always in the forefront. Glinting and shining like a prize, a reflective diamond just begging for exploration. 

Now this version of the deceptive side — this laid-back, casual, sleepy, Janus — carts itself into his brain, flicking out a lawn chair right in the centre. The image isn’t going anywhere, that much is certain. 

Beside him, Janus grunts with disapproval. “If you’re going to show, I’m going to look.” The cool reply evaporates against the hot air, wafting up as steam, cresting over the shell of Roman’s ear. He chuckles, deliberately flexing — Janus had practically asked for a show, and Roman can’t help himself, he loves to entertain, lives to perform. The blush previously confined to the snake’s shoulders flushes further up his neck, dusting across his cheeks as he lifts his head from his arms. 

“May as well give you something proper to look at,” Roman grins, winking downwards, before finally dropping the act, relaxing once more.

“The sheer colossal nature of your ego, truly, never fails to amaze me, Roman,” Janus purrs, punctuated with a quick roll of his eyes. His head still seems heavy, lulling where it hangs in the air, the back of his neck creasing.

His smile falters, yet does not fade. He folds up Janus’ words, carefully filing them away under ‘insults: do not examine,’ a section of his brain that sits right next to insults: do examine. He can’t quite seem to muster anything up, choking on his tongue, instead turning his head back to the castle, where he notes the sand being thrown up and out the top. Remus must be digging. And if that’s not the most horrifying thing ever. Where is he going?

“You look nice,” Janus tries, his voice thick with sleep. 

Startled, Roman turns back to him, just in time to see the side rolling from his stomach onto his back and sitting up. How is there no sand on his front? Hadn’t he been laying directly on the ground? 

“Thank you,” he smiles instead, taken aback by the sudden compliment, and the very close proximity. Roman truly hadn’t noticed just how near Janus he had sat until now. Their shoulders are touching, but neither move.

“How often do you work out then?” The question seems lazy, laced with exhaustion as Janus continues to turn his face in the bright heat of the sun, a pleased sigh escaping from parted lips.

Roman feels his cheeks going pink. “Um… often?”

“I can tell.”

“You’re being rather kind.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Janus yawns, and Christ, why does his jaw move like that? “Soon I’ll be confined back to the dark underbelly and all this pleasantness will melt away, enjoy it whilst you can, Princey.” He closes his eyes on an exhale, so at peace to be lounging, basking in the steady warmth. Roman had always considered the dark Janus’ habitat, a snake hiding in shadows, waiting for its chance to strike. Perhaps he had been wrong, maybe this is this element — drinking in the sun rays, stretching in the heat. 

“Too late,” Roman shrugs, “I’m used to it. Now you gotta be nice to me forever.”

“Or what?” Janus cracks an eye open.

“I dunno,” the other hums, squinting in the sun, adorning in the light cloud cover that sweeps across the sky. “I’ll… cry?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The sentence is drawn out and tired, low and soft. The painted clouds are thin and soft, threads sewn into the cerulean fabric, slowly pushing their way across, merely passing through. 

Roman, chuffed with this reply, bobs his head. Distantly, in a far away cavern of his mind, he ponders what the others are up to. Have they noticed his absence? Are they concerned? Maybe they already have a search party. Or maybe Logan’s still asleep, maybe Virgil has donned his headphones whilst Patton busies himself digging through his beach bag for a prepacked sandwich. That sounds more likely. 

A heavy weight lands on Roman’ shoulder, and he jumps, looking down to see Janus’ head, thudded onto his bare skin. His scales remain in the light, the more human side mushed against Roman’s side, his hair tickling against his clavicle. Roman blinks the shock from his face swiftly, clearing his throat. Janus’ eyes are closed, face practically neutral, but his eyelashes flutter with each breath. He’s definitely half asleep. 

The sand has stopped exploding out the top of the sandcastle, and Roman can make out a snickering from within, when Remus’ head pops out the wall, busting a hole through his well built defences. His brother is chewing on his lip, clearly biting back louder, more boisterous cackles. 

“Havin’ fun?” Remus coos, all too sweet. “Someone’s comfortable!”

Roman narrows his eyes suspiciously, he can hear Janus starting to snore against him, still breathing out on a hiss. He can’t move. He doesn’t want to wake the serpent, as often as they disagree, it would be… cruel. To awaken someone so clearly needing the rest, especially since he’d already done so once. 

“Can you imagine if he just fucking dies? What if he just straight up dies on your shoulder? Bro, you’ve got a dead snake on you!” Remus cackles, and Roman uses his free hand to ball up some wet sand, throwing it as hard as he can. It smacks the Duke in the face, sending him surging back through the hole he’d just made. It doesn’t take long for him to re-emerge, chewing and spitting out little pieces of shell.

“You’re so much of a freak, it’s actually too much to handle.” Roman jeers, rolling his eyes as he slips an arm around Janus’ back, sending him slipping down slightly until his head rests on the Prince’s chest. He flushes slightly, breath stuttering, but the serpent doesn’t wake. He’s not entirely sure why he did that, it just felt right.

“I’m the freak?” Remus manages through his mouthful of grit, swallowing loudly. “I’m not cuddled up with a dead guy!”

“He’s not dead!”

Janus stirs against his skin, turning his head with a displeased huff.

“Look what you’ve done!” Roman exclaims, all too loud. Remus disappears back into his shadow cast tower, a cackle emanating from the echoey confines as he does.

“Oh shit,” there’s a hand pressing against Roman’s stomach as Janus scrambles up and away, face red with embarrassment. Roman can feel the ghost of his presence across his skin, damp hair suddenly very prominent against the back of his neck. It’s as though every sense becomes irrevocably heightened. “Sssorry,” he manages weakly, though he doesn’t look away. 

“Ah, no need,” Roman waves it off as though it’s not a big deal, as though he can’t feel his heart hammering inside his chest. As though Janus’ mussed hair and sunkissed face isn't causing him to lose his damn mind.

Janus wipes at his very dry mouth, missing that usual practiced dexterity. He clumsily shifts another inch further away, then moves back in, then leans out slightly, before swaying back into the inescapable pull of Roman. 

“You’re really rather awkward, aren’t you?” Roman comments flippantly, a slight humorous lilt enveloping his words. There’s something so undeniably endearing about the juxtaposition of Janus’ words, and his behaviour. He seems to have no problem shamelessly flirting to get his way, placing himself on some large pedestal from where he can scrutinise as much as he sees fit. He can compliment himself, declare with a certain grandiosity that he is the ‘fairest of them all.’ Yet when faced with affection, attention, or a simple sincere compliment, he becomes some sheepish, almost shy, variation of himself. It’s fascinating. “Don’t be so embarrassed, Liar Liar, it was cute.”

Janus goes impossibly redder, akin to the bright scarlett of Roman’s trunks. He pulls a hand up to cover his face, feeling the most awake he has since arriving at the beach. “Oh please, Roman. I'm far from cute.” He mutters.

Roman tilts his head, a sudden thought skittering into the front of his mind. It settles itself down right next to the image of Janus laying on the sand. Prove it to him. Prove you think he's cute. The whispers don't frighten him, the idea that they should be scary doesn't even pass through his head. 

His fingers hook in the collar of Janus’ tshirt, tugging wordlessly until the serpentine side looks up at him, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed red. He can see the man's eyes constantly flicking down and up. Roman doesn't flinch under the gaze, doesn't fluster or tumble. This is his element, he's reached his highest form — shirtless, flirtatious, and face to face with a blushing man. This is his whole deal. 

“What-?” Janus trails off, trying (and failing) to keep his eyes on Roman’s face, and not his bare chest. C'mon Janus. You're not that gay, and you're not that desperate. 

Roman presses his lips together gently, smiling. “You are,” His fingers curl a little more, pulling closer, leaning over. His lips are less than an inch from Janus' own, and the snake doesn't move, frozen under the touch.

“I am, what?” The whisper brushes across Roman’s cheek, a warm breath of air sweeping over his damp skin as he feels one of Janus’s hands sneaking around to hold gently at the back of his neck. His hair drips steadily down his spine, water droplets catching on Janus’ scales.

“Cute,” Roman answers with a husk, “and more than that too. You might even say beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” Janus repeats, eyes fluttering closed before sliding open once again. “I could get used to hearing that.” They're so close.

“You should,” Roman tilts his head, leaning in. This is happening. There's nothing they can do, they can't stop the universe pressing them into each other, can't prevent the warm beach air scooping them up into its grasp, whirling sand tornadoes around the two. Roman’s free hand comes to cup Janus’ cheek, gently caressing over his high cheekbone. 

Janus can feel the peach fuzz on Roman's face. There's no going back now. There’s no going back.

It's slow, when it happens. A careful, soft press of lips. The nervousness burns away in the blazing sun, as Roman cards his thumb over soft skin, not reacting in shock when Janus's free hand presses against his bare chest. He can't blame the serpent. 

It's deep, all at once. Roman’s first hint of surprise comes when Janus purposefully deepens the embrace. His fingers slide up into the nape of his neck, sinking into wet hair. His lips part, tempting, asking for more. And who is Roman to deny that? Any sense is long gone by now, disappearing over the sea, vanishing into a dot along with any thoughts of Logan, Patton and Virgil.

It's passionate, in a single swipe. Roman’s thumb presses hard into Janus’ skin, who gasps in turn, twisting in the sand. It's different, it's new, it's wonderful. 

“Yeaaaah! Get some!” 

There's a yell from the top of the sandcastle, and there Remus is, balancing on the makeshift battlements, arms high in the air. He whoops again as the two break apart swiftly, Roman scowling up to his brother.

“Get it, Janny! Nice!” He hollers once more, hopping on each foot, punching to the sky.

“Shut up, Remusssss!” Janus hisses harshly, wiping down his front, despite the lack of sand. He's tickled pink, wiping at his mouth and crossing his arms over his chest.

Roman sucks his cheeks in, exhaling thickly out his nose. “I should… probably go, right?”

“Hmm?” Janus draws his narrowed eyes away from Remus still leaping about atop his palace, shouting obscenities down at the pair. “Oh right, yes, of course. I have to kill Remus now anyway.” 

Roman takes note of how Janus’ yellow, serpent eye, squints. How the slitted iris narrows into a thin line as he shoots another daggered glare at his friend, who's looking dangerously close to toppling down from his creation. 

He chuckles, “I would say the others probably think I'm dead, but… you know I'd be lying. I doubt they've noticed I'm gone.” He fiddles with the sand, picking up a purple-grey coloured shell spiral shell, and slipping it into his trunk pockets.

There's a saddened flash across Janus’ face, and as Roman begins to rise from the sand, the side grabs his hand, gazing up at him. “Come by my room tonight, when you're done with all this?”

Roman freezes, then smiles, squeezing Janus' palm in his own. “Yeah… sounds like a plan. I'll see you there.” 

Janus grins, releasing the Prince's hand, opting to flop down onto his back on the sand, spreading his limbs out far as Roman hurries towards the water. His plan is to paddle back out to where he was rather than strutting that far along the boiling beach. He waves at Janus as he goes, who returns the gesture sleepily, already drifting back off into a peaceful slumber. 

Remus continues his adventure around his castle, and as Roman returns to the water, he hears a sharp scream, turning just in time to see Remus sprinting at his sandcastle, spade in hand, ravaging at the bottom as it all comes tumbling down. Janus has peered up from where he lays, watching appreciatively, and Roman observes the thumbs up and eventual high five he grants Remus, who continues running manically.

He'll calm down eventually. After all this sprinting about, Roman knows Remus will sleep rather tightly. He's like a toddler on a sugar high, just waiting for the inevitable crash.

The paddle back to the other sides is much longer than Roman had first anticipated, and half way there he gives up on the lazy kicking, powering his way through the waves until the sight of their parasol fades into view. He goes back to languidly moving through the water, eventually standing up on the beach and walking the short distance to their blanket. The only one there is Virgil, who's chewing on his nails and staring at his phone.

“Hey,” Roman offers, slightly out of breath, “where is everyone?”

Virgil leaps out of his skin at the voice, dropping his phone to his lap and staring upwards at Roman. “Where the fuck have you been!? Patton and Logan have gone off looking for you!”

“Okay, well tell them I'm here now!” Roman sits down on the blanket next to Virgil, reaching for a bottle of water to chug down. His mouth is so dry.

“Where did you go?” Virgil hisses, voice low and dangerous. He smacks Roman on the shoulder after each word, and it sinks in that the others had been actually worried about him.

“Ow! Ow!” He flinches away, spilling a little bit of water as he does. He's already dripping down onto their large blanket, hair smacked flat against his forehead. “I went for a swim and found an empty part of the beach! I went walking! Look! I brought you back a shell!” He digs into his pockets for the spiralling cone shell, presenting it to Virgil who hesitates before plucking it from his fingers. Roman is all too aware of his lie, knowing quite well that along the sands Janus will pick up his head, sensing the deception like a shark smelling blood in the water.

The anxious side turns it over in his palm and nods. “Don't ever disappear like that again,” he picks up his phone once more, obviously firing a text to the others to say Roman has returned safe.

“You were worried about me, Emo Nightmare?” He teases, nudging his friend.

“I worry about everything, you're not special,” Virgil grunts, tucking the shell into his pocket.

“You were worried about meeee,” Roman continues in a sing-song manner, swaying back and forth where he sits. Virgil rolls his eyes, slapping the Prince’s shoulder again and laying down under the shade.

“Well, maybe just a little,” Virgil sighs as his eyes slip shut. Across the sand, Roman spies Patton and Logan on the approach, Patton’s stride picking up into a jog when he spots creativity.

Roman knows he's about to be subject to a sprawling lecture from his ‘dad’ and his ‘mom.’ But in the few seconds he has before the unavoidable speech — he considers Janus' offer once more.

He thinks about the way he rested in the sun, the softer, more approachable aura around him as he sprawled. He thinks about Janus flushing awkwardly, his sarcastic persona melting away. And as he does, the serpent begins to take up just a little more space in his mind.

Roman doesn't care. Not one bit.

-

had some fun with this prompt. if it feels a little all over the place thats because it is. oops! i love writing build up and bickering and tend to realise uh oh! i dont know how to turn this into romance! also i wrote this in One Day so cut me some slack. would love to hear anyones thoughts :P