#nonbinary deceit

Janus hasn’t been keeping a secret per se, at least not for very long, anyhow. The subject of their gender is something that’s always been a bit of a confusing subject, but for much of their life Janus they had merely assumed that they didn’t enjoy much of what was considered traditionally masculine. But things haven’t been sitting right with them lately, especially words like “boyfriend” and certainly not “he.” Patton’s such a sweetheart that he often speaks about Janus with fondness to anyone who’ll listen, but hearing Patton go on and on about his “amazing boyfriend,” is something that’s put a pit in their stomach.

They just want things to go well. The idea, though probably foolish, of Patton leaving is one the worst things Janus can consider. They’re trying not to dwell on unrealistic worst-case scenarios, reminding themself very much of their friend Virgil, but it can’t really be helped.

Janus stiffens when the front door swings open and Patton steps into the apartment, looking a little frazzled but smiling when he sees them nonetheless.

“Hi honey, sorry I’m late,” Patton says as Janus rises to greet him, accepting the hug and quick kiss Patton offers, “traffic was a nightmare. How was your day?”

“Fine,” Janus lies as they pull away, not missing the look of concern that flashes in Patton’s eyes. They try to swallow down their nerves, not wanting to rush into everything right after Patton’s gotten home, “Do you want any help with dinner?”

The offer for assistance seems to distract Patton from any suspicions, putting a bright smile on his face. “Aw, aren’t you sweet for offering? That sounds exscalent!” Janus chuckles lightly at that, knowing it’s a pun based on the two-headed snake tattoo that’s on their left arm. Patton’s been making puns about it since they met, and Janus can’t imagine it stopping anytime soon. They act like they don’t like Patton’s puns, but Patton knows better. Really, Janus has always found it pretty darn adorable.

The couple prepare dinner together, chatting idly about their days. Patton mentions the dog he saw someone walking on his lunchbreak, claiming it to be, “The fluffiest, cutest puppy I’ve ever seen!” Patton’s been hinting at wanting a dog for some time now, Janus is only waiting for him to ask directly.  The idea of having a pet together is so disgustingly domestic that is almost completely distracts Janus from what they’d set out to do. Almost.

A silence falls over the couple as they eat dinner before Janus feels Patton squeezing their hand from under the table, a soft, slightly worried expression on his face.

“Is everything okay, hon? You’ve been really quiet tonight.” God bless Patton’s kindness, Janus really wasn’t sure how they were going to breach the subject.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine it’s just,” Janus takes a deep breath, still holding Patton’s hand, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, Jan. What’s on your mind?” Janus bites their lip, mind once again swelling with panic. What if’s and worst-case scenarios swirl and Janus fears they might get caught up in it before Patton offers their hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring, “whatever it is, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Janus nods, inhaling and exhaling sharply before speaking.

“Okay. I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I’ve come to the realization that I’m…not a man.” Janus sees a look flash in Patton’s eyes, not one of malice or disgust, but rather mere surprise.

“I see.”

“I’m not a woman though, either,” they clarify quickly, “I think I’m – no, I know I’m nonbinary. I realize gendered-pronouns just don’t really sit right with me. So, uh, yeah.”

Janus’s brings their gaze up from the table to Patton, scanning his face and feeling a wave of relish wash over them as their boyfriend’s lips curled into a proud smile.

“I’m so proud of you for telling me, Jan,” he says, standing up and wrapping Janus in a somewhat awkward hug, “That can’t have been easy.”

“So, you don’t care?” Janus doesn’t mean to sound as awestruck as they do.

“Of course not, honey. Maybe I’m a little surprised, but I love you no matter what. You’re my wonderful –,” Patton pauses hesitantly for a moment, “partner? Is that okay?” Janus breaks out in a bright grin, wrapping their arms around their boyfriend.

“Partner’s perfect, Pat. I love you too. So much.” Janus stands up from their chair, accepting a more comfortable embrace from Patton who’s smiling so bright and pressing kiss after kiss to their face.

Janus feels all of their anxieties draining away, realizing there had never been any reason to doubt him. Patton’s always been amazing, through and through, and this is no exception. How did they ever get this lucky?

The rest of the evening passes regularly with the pair watching a few episodes of She-Ra they’ve already seen before. Janus smiles as Patton points at the character Double-Trouble, saying excitedly: “They’re nonbinary just like you!” Janus is almost positive he chose episodes with the character on purpose, but the small gesture is appreciated. Patton's already being so supportive, and Janus is so incredibly thankful.

Janus sends their friend Remus a quick text explaining that things went well, receiving back an enthusiastic “FUCK YEAH!” that makes them chuckle lightly before they slide into bed with Patton. Janus melts into their boyfriend’s embrace as always, drifting to sleep relieved and so, so happy.

And when Janus finds Patton practicing their pronouns under his breath in the morning? Well Janus is fairly certain their heart is going to burst with love.

To D’s credit, they had no idea what an effect their words would have. But that didn’t stop Roman from flipping them off as he started to cry all over their bar again.

And that left them with a choice. Ignore the crying man, as they’ve ignored so many bar patrons, passing him drinks in silence until he drinks himself into becoming a part of it. It would be a little different - most patrons aren’t in an outfit that looks straight out of a Disney coloring book. But they could do it. Or, instead, they could do this.

“Forgive me, Princey, that was uncalled for. Let me get you a drink, you tell me all about it, hmm?”

And the man dressed like a prince looked up, tears still leaking out of his eyes, and nodded. 

Dante was a professional. They prided themselves on the ability to match a drink to a mood - not always what their patrons wanted, but always what they needed. And what this face needed was maudlin, but not self-pitying. Something with some sweetness, but complexity.

“Un Vieux Carre pour le monsiuer,” they said with a smile, sliding the elegant cocktail to land in the man’s immediately open hand. 

“Merci beaucoup,” he responded, almost automatically. He took a sip, and paused, looked down into the glass, and carefully took a second, swirling it in his mouth.

“Like it? It’s a New Orleans classic,” Dante said, leaning on the bar. It was a quiet Tuesday night, they had time to chat. “Let me know what you think, or if you want, you can tell me why royalty is getting weepy in my bar tonight.”

Tears started leaking once more.

“Or we can start with your name?”

“Roman.”

“Good evening, Roman. I’m Dante. If you forgot about seeing the sign already, this is The Snake’s Den bar, and I’m the snake. Now that we’re all caught up, how’s that drink-”

“It’s my fucking boyfr- my fucking ex!” Roman cried out suddenly, interrupting the bartender’s calm voice. “That absolute- he just- and then he-!” and there were tears leaking down his face again, but hotter now, dripping with anger and not just despair. He swigged more of his drink, and kept talking, words tumbling out like a burst dam.

“We’d been together for years, and I thought it was perfect, ya know, we were both actors! We understood the struggle together! And he’d encourage me to try out for the big parts that I would have only dreamed of, but I actually got some of them! And then this- this fucking play, it’s only my childhood dream, and he says, “Oh, wouldn’t it be fun to be castmates?” and we both audition, me for the Beast and him for Gaston, but then it turns out, oh, actually, he went the FUCK behind my back and auditioned for the Beast too!”

Dante listened, nodding and humming in understanding, a perfect sounding board. “That must have been tense when he told you,” they offered sympathetically.

Roman slumped at that. “I wish. My friend texted me that the cast list had been posted and I wasn’t on it. I told him I was on the way to his place cause I needed to talk, and before I could get there, he… broke up with me. Via text message.”

In spite of themself, Dante gasped aloud. “He did not!”

“He did! Like, am I in some fuckin’ teenage melodrama?! Did I somehow date a cartoonishly terrible villain in a DCOM?!”

Dante nodded sagely. “Perhaps that’s why he didn’t go for Gaston - he wouldn’t have had to act at all.”

Roman leaned forward, eyes flashing. “And you know what’s even worse?! He’d been helping me prepare for my audition and listening to all the ideas I’ve had for how I would play the Beast, if I got the chance! But I didn’t want to make too bold a choice in the audition room, so I was holding out. And that piece of shit used my idea to get the part!”

“A scoundrel and a thief!”

“And you know the absolute worst part?”

“What?”

Roman seemed to freeze as his thought connected from brain to mouth and he processed it fully. His shoulders slumped. “I wish he’d take me back.”

Dante stood up straight. “My dear Roman emperor, let me be the first to tell you: bullshit. To quote a wise scholar: “He doesn’t deserve you! If he doesn’t treat you right by now, you’re gone.””

Roman smiled weakly. “But he- he pushed me, in my acting. He was my fire, the one who encouraged me to be ambitious and dream big and- without him… I don’t know that I’ll be able to.”

Dante nodded. They spoke softly, calmly. “Roman, I’m going to say something that might be hard to hear. His actions in these auditions? They showed that not only did he not respect this dream, but he never respected any of them. He only wanted you to succeed as far as it made him look good.”

Roman scowled. “He was an ass, but he wasn’t that, he wasn’t just a manipulative bastard, he believed in me-”

“He didn’t,” Dante interrupted. They were still calm, almost gentle. “He believed in his ability to keep pushing you to be an asset to him. Until it wasn’t beneficial anymore.”

“No-”

“And you knew this, deep down. And that part of you wasn’t taken by surprise.”

Roman stared, his face a mask of many emotions at once - confusion, heartbreak, denial, acceptance, but what won out was rage.

“You know what? Fuck you, I don’t need your psychoanalysis bullshit! Hasn’t my day been hard enough? See you fucking never!”

Dante watched him storm out, leaving the rest of his drink. A man in a prince costume, disappearing into the night. If it had been a decent narrative, it would have been raining.

But narratives aren’t often perfect.

Neither are promises made in anger.

Dante looked up to see Roman arriving back at The Snake’s Den only days later, looking a bit chagrined and only slightly less regal out of costume.

“Barkeep, I regretfully did not pay for my drink at our last encounter, and have come to rectify it.”

Dante nodded graciously. “While I appreciate your integrity, it was on the house.”

“Nevertheless, I insist that you accept payment.”

“Why don’t you have another, keep me company on slow evening?” they suggested.

Roman hesitated for all of a second before sitting down once more, the same stool as the last time.

Two months later, it was Roman’s Stool and no one dared occupy it even in his absence, unless it was truly and utterly packed.

In two months more, Roman had dragged friends to the Den too, but none became a fixture the way the actor was.

And one week after that, it was another quiet evening. A Tuesday, just as it had been before. (Time is rather funny that way).

And in one of the comfortable silences that patron and bartender often found themselves sliding into and out of with ease, Roman cleared his throat.

Dante looked up. “Yes, darling?” Their nicknames and pet names had escalated the day Roman realized he needed an honorific besides ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ and had chosen ‘dearest,’ but neither of them seemed to mind.

“My dear, I- remember what you said, that first night?”

Dante pursed their lips. “Of course I do. And I stand by it.”

Roman nodded. “I…  I know you do. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I might lie to other people though,” they pointed out blandly. “Like the people who come in with a sob story when it’s all just their own choices. Because the boss said I can’t call people ‘sad sacks of pathos’ any more.”

“Your way with words will never fail to delight me, my Divine Comedian. I know you didn’t think it was a lie, but I didn’t fully believe you until recently.”

Dante put down their cleaning cloth and leaned in near their friend. “May I be so bold as to ask what changed?”

“So this will sound a little melodramatic-”

“You? Dramatic? Perish the thought.”

“Fuck you too, my sweet serpent.”

Dante blew a kiss and fluttered their eyelashes at him. “Pardon me, I interrupted you, you were saying?”

Roman shifted in his seat, adjusting without meeting Dante’s eyes. “I didn’t want to believe you, that that bastard was never cheering me on for my sake alone. Because- I said he was my fire, and I meant it. He was determined, and ambitious, and I thought that him urging me on meant that I was sharing in it. He was burning red, and that was what I wanted to be, and I thought I could be an equal flame where we burned stronger together.”

Dante nodded, humming quietly in understanding without interrupting. 

“But instead, I was just the candle that helped him burn brighter while slowly melting away. I was always so exhilarated with him, excited but then so exhausted. I always wanted to be more, or wanted to be what he wanted, at least. And he always wanted more. I tried and tried and I could never be enough because he just… he drained me.” A single tear leaked out and courses down Roman’s tan cheek. 

Dante reached over and wrapped their hand around his, and squeezed. “Love could look like that, could look like encouragement and ambition. But I don’t think that’s what you had, Ro.”

Roman blinked up at them. Both realized it was the first nickname based on their actual name that either had used. “So I wasn’t just a fool to think he really meant it?”

“Of course not, sweetheart. He was the fool, to not fully appreciate you.”

The lights of the bar shone through tawny bottles of liquor and glinted off the brass trappings, bathing them in a warm glow. Roman looked up at Dante, and he could have sworn they were absorbing the light and releasing it anew, their golden skin practically incandescent. And their smile, softening as they looked at Roman, focused on brushing away the dampness from his face, a careful and doting look that they never directed at their other friends.

Roman swallowed hard. “Dante, darling?”

They met his eyes, face lighting with a smile that rivaled the sun. “Yes, Roman?”

“I think I know what love looks like, now.”

“And what’s that?”

Logan’s phone buzzes with a text. He pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks it one-handed, the other hand still typing furiously. Once it’s open, he glances over to see the text is from his boyfriend, a “Hey baby” with several extra y’s and followed by about a dozen emojis.

He sends a “Hello.” and goes back to typing, setting his phone on the table beside him as he waits for Remy’s next text.

Sure enough it comes a few seconds later, an inquiry to how he’s doing with several flower emojis at the end.

Truthfully? He’s got a paper half-written that’s due tomorrow, and he’s very stressed. But if he told Remy this, his boyfriend would worry and possibly try to drag him from the library to get some rest or something. Which would be sweet of him, but he does not have the time for that.

Logan sends him a “Fine.” and hopes Remy won’t press. He doesn’t; in fact he doesn’t send another text, which Logan realizes about 10 minutes later.

He looks at his phone, the screen off, then shrugs and goes back to working. He’ll ask later, once this paper’s done and submitted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Virgil!” Remy calls as he bursts into the room and flops onto the couch dramatically. Virgil hisses at him and pulls his feet up onto the sofa arm with the rest of him.

“What do you want,” Virgil deadpans. Remy ignores his irritation.

“Can I borrow your coffin?” He asks. “And hide out here for the foreseeable future?”

“Why?”

“Logan’s mad at me.”

“Oh, shit,” Virgil winces.

“I know,” Remy groans. Virgil pats his leg sympathetically.

“Have you started working out the funeral details?” Virgil asks.

“D said they’d video it for posterity, Roman and Patton both said they’d come, though Patton’s ‘sure it’s not that bad, kiddo, why don’t you just talk to him about it?’“ Remy mimics Patton’s tone almost perfectly.

Virgil shakes his head. “Pat’s too sweet to draw Logan’s ire; he doesn’t know how bad it is.”

“Sunshine incarnate,” Remy agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the next day, they’ve got everything set up. Roman loaned him one of his easels and Patton got him a wreath, and so Remy has a nice little stand with a picture of him on it. And Virgil’s coffin beside him, of course.

They’d all gathered together with their nicest black clothing, fit for a funeral (although D insisted on keeping their beanie, and Virgil hadn’t actually dressed differently than he normally does at all, but D gets an excuse since they’re filming and Virgil dresses in all black anyway and it’s close enough, okay, let Remy have this; if he’s going to die then he’s going to be as extra as possible about it).

“Are we all ready?” Remy asks. Getting nods from everyone, Remy nods to D to start videoing and begins his speech.

“We are gathered here today to honor the memory of me. I’m not sure what I did yet, but I probably deserved it.”

He’s about to go on, when—

“Remy?” Logan asks, coming over with the most adorably confused expression on his face, and any other day Remy would be glad to see him, but not when he’s mad at him and Remy’s literally hosting his own funeral.

“Logan!” Remy yelps, and tries to hide behind Virgil, who shoves him back into his spot and hisses, “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Remy, what is this?” Logan asks.

“Uh, heyyyy, babe,” Remy drawls, smiling nervously.

“Are you—“ Logan is looking around with bewilderment. “Are you holding a funeral? For yourself?”

“Yeeeees?” Remy says, stretching the word out like that will delay the inevitable.

“Why?”

“You’re mad at him,” D tells Logan.

“I— no?” Logan says. He turns to Remy. “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”

“Wait, you’re not?” Remy asks. Logan shakes his head. “But when I texted you yesterday then you sounded mad at me! I thought you hated me!”

“I was just too busy to give detailed response,” Logan tells him.

“Oh,” Remy grins, relieved.

Logan smiles back at him. Then his gaze moves past him and the smiles morphs into a frown of confusion. “Where did you get this coffin?”

“Virgil,” Remy tells him.

“Sup,” Virgil adds, flashing a peace sign.

“Why do you have a coffin?”

“Sleep,” Virgil says, and offers no further explanation. Remy can see Logan’s decision not to ask, which is probably a wise one.

Remy steps over to Logan, leans his head on his shoulder. “So you’re really not mad at me?”

“I promise, love,” Logan says, wrapping his arm around Remy in a slightly awkward hug. “I was just busy; I had a paper due today that I needed to get done.”

“Okay,” Remy says. He leans up to kiss Logan’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Logan returns, kissing him back.