#roceitweek2025

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.

Whilst Roman adores adventure, it's rare even for him to roam this far into his own sector of the Imagination. Whilst everyone has a hand to play in building Thomas’ vast expanse of whimsy, it can't be denied that the majority of the rolling hills, great kingdoms, and lush forests come from the magic touch of the Prince. He rules over it in some sense, able to shift and change it as he sees fit, adding and subtracting at will. He doesn't like it? He vanquishes it. He has this control all the way to the border woods, the eternal night. 

The thick forest falls on the no man's land between his own bright domain, and the dark, presumably wicked, corner that falls under Remus’ devilish grasp. Roman need not venture there, his quests have no objectives that take him to that forsaken place. He knows nothing of what lies in hiding beyond the border, and has no desire to come across the horrors surely pacing in Remus’ control. The woods serve as a neutral area, the space between the two fragmented creative sides. A lush forest, clusters of packed trees with the odd beaten path — plant life and flora packed to the ground as though trodden on. As far as Roman's concerned it was created that way, formed with an aged appearance, rather than constructed by any side.

Whilst his own domain remains in a near constant day — only going so far as sunset, before skipping over the night, straight into the next sunrise — the sky above the forest ombres from Roman's bright blue into a rolling black blanket, dotted with bright stars, and a permanent crescent moon. 

He doesn't travel there often, only under the cover of sleep does he dare. When everyone else has retired to bed, when Thomas finally snores peacefully, either in his bedroom or, so often, on the couch. Only then, and even so, under rare cognitive circumstances, will Roman trek out through the Imagination, and down one of those woodland paths. He's become acquainted with the odd openings in the forest, the few and far between sections where the trees part, and open themselves to a beautiful patch of grass. Where the leaves split to form a near perfect circle for stargazing. There's one or two with a stream or a pond, and another with fallen logs placed around an unused fire pit. He comes across these less often than he would like.

The few other times Roman has found himself in this neck of the Imagination, the leaves had rustled upon his arrival, surely welcoming him. Or perhaps the sounds came from another creature, a being he'd never seen, scampering away after being alerted to his approach. Either way, Roman has always found himself alone in his peaceful clearings, able to stare at the stars and lose himself in thought. A perfect place for him to calm down. No Patton trying (and so often, failing) to bake up a storm in the kitchen, no Logan loudly correcting a documentary in the sitting room, and no Virgil stretching himself across the dining table, refusing to move for a soul after claiming his spot.

Even better than that, there's no need to perform. Whilst Roman does love the theatrical elements he's able to explore, sometimes he just needs to decompress. It's challenging, always being full of life and fantasy. It's his job, but all work and no play makes Roman a dull boy. His creative batteries need a lunar recharge once in a while.

This is one of those nights.

His metaphysical body is begging for rest. Not sleep, he gets plenty of that. But his mind races even as he dreams, conducting symphonies in his head, always creating. It's not something he can stop. He would never wish for it to stop, after all, there's truly nothing he loves more than brainstorming, and he finds some of his best ideas come to him in his dreams. Free from outside nagging. (Or so he thinks, he's blissfully unaware of Remus’ habit of muttering ideas to him whilst he sleeps. Re: bubba gump shrimp.)

The path he follows is a dark one, the leaves dense and thick. He has to dodge thorns that desperately attempt to claw at his ankles, begging to sink into his skin. Roman knows quite well where he's going, even as the trail twists into corners he's never seen before, his feet journey ever forward. They know the way. No-mans-land can distort itself as much as it likes, Roman will always complete his objective. He's searching for a repose, for a place to sit and take it all in. In his mind he pictures calm waters, and hopes the Imagination will read that plea carefully, selecting the correct clearing. The paths never lead anywhere in particular, this neutral space harder for him to control. They just take him where he needs to be.

The clearing starts to fade into view, a haze at first, but he hears that familiar rustle of the leaves as he heads onwards, pushing past a stray branch that threatens to take his eye out. It's not the one he'd been expecting. Roman had been seeking out the stream, the glistening water that beckoned him inwards with promises of refreshment. Instead he finds himself wandering across an open space. No logs, no water, just a break in the trees with an open forest roof, a natural framing of leaves up top that surround twinkling stars. 

The rustle dies as he looks further in, and then he sees it. Something.

A creature? A twisted amalgamation, combining Roman's and Remus’ ideas? 

Roman steps further inwards, slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. In the shadows from the tree cover, he can't quite make out the figure, as it lays on the other side of the clearing, it too, shrouded in shadow and mystery. 

There's a twinge of excitement in his gut. Yes, he came here to relax, but what's more relaxing than discovery? A creature in this portion of the Imagination is unheard of, no one here could create it, meaning the subconscious manifested it alone. It shouldn't be able to happen, yet whatever this is has defied all odds! 

Roman creeps ever forward, hands splayed by his sides, knees slightly bent, craning his neck to get a better view. He can make out a long silhouette, dark cloth, and a pinch of colour. He steps into the light, the moon casting its pale glow along the fit lines of his body, and the thing becomes easier to see. He treads one step more and:

Crack.

A twig snaps under his heel, the sound echoing through the clearing, bouncing from the bark of one tree to the next. It seems to alert the creature, who jerks up suddenly, its face darting into the light. Roman sees a yellowed eye, and shimmering scales, and he swallows any mystical feeling creeping up his throat, shoulders slumping with disappointment.

“Oh,” he huffs, “it's you.”

Janus rolls from his back to his stomach, pushing himself to his feet in one clean movement. Roman swears he sees four arms, but the two lower ones disappear as he rises into the light, vanishing before his very eyes. He rubs at his face desperately, trying to believe he'd imagined it. His thoughts do tend to run a little wild when he saunters around his own domain. They calm as he strolls in the neutral area though. He prays this is just an outlier to that experience.

“Yes, hello, Roman. I'm sure you're so happy to see me,” Janus rolls his eyes, wiping down his front with gloved hands, his gaze falling to the grassy ground beneath him. He rubs his fingertips together, close to his ear, sneering in the Prince's direction.

Roman grimaces, his teeth glinting in the gentle light of the moon. “Why would I be happy to see you? Of course I'm not happy.”

Janus cocks an eyebrow curiously, gazing at Roman with a look of general disdain. “Right…” The words purrs its way out of his mouth. “And what are you doing here?”

The gasp that forces its way from Roman's chest is loud and shocked. “What am I doing here!? Why are you here? In my Imagination!”

Janus scoffs, “as far as I was aware, this is neutral ground. I have just as much a right to be here as you do. In fact, I could go wherever I please. The nonsensical, oppressive borders have no physical limitations preventing me from wandering. You should be pleased I'm not jogging around in your kingdom,” he grins, a sly, cocky smile spreading across his lips. His cheeks quirk up, scales shining in the light.

Roman follows the glint, his eyes trailing the reflective ridges of the left side of Janus’ face. He stares longingly, head slightly fuzzy. It's harder to muster up his usual rage towards the serpent here. The borders have such a calming effect on him, pressing the hate in his stomach into a soppy sort of acid that burns its way through him, evaporating in the fire that begins to replace it.

“Whatever,” Roman huffs. “Can you leave? I'm here to rest.”

“And you're unable to rest in my presence?” Janus places a mock-offended hand to his chest, fingers pressing into his shirt. His tone is so overtly mocking, it sends Roman reeling.

“You’re right. I can’t. You’re creepy, and irritating, and a bitch!” He calls, taking another daring step into the ring, chin tilted up with pride. There’s a challenge in his stance, his hands coming to rest upon well sculpted hips. The celestial bodies above cast him in a lunar spotlight, the shadows contouring the dips and curves of his figure as he stands tall. 

There’s another scoff from Janus, his shoulders shaking with a miniature laugh that follows. When Roman graces him with a glance, he notices how the hat is askew, his gloves slightly rolled at his wrists, his capelet slanted across his shoulders. Had he been… napping? “Of course,” he hisses, shaking his head, “even in such a lovely, neutral, ground, you find a way to be confrontational. I expected nothing less from you, Roman, truly.”

Roman tosses his hair back, fringe wafting in the slow breeze of the cool night. He doesn’t formulate a response just yet, merely observes Janus as he begins to adjust his clothing. He quietly straightens his hat, tugs on his gloves (and Roman catches another glimpse of scales rolling across his left wrist, before they’re promptly covered), and grips his capelet tightly, roughly aligning it across his shoulders. 

“I’ll leave,” he announces softly, unusually gentle for the serpent, “I always do when I hear you coming. Honestly, I don’t know why the Imagination always leads you to the same opening as me.” Janus huffs, most displeased, beginning to select a path for the way out. He just prays the usual won’t happen. Typically when he scurries off, hearing creativity's boisterous approach, the Imagination keeps him wandering in circles until the Prince leaves. Every path he takes just draws him back to the opening, only able to properly exit when Roman himself decides to depart. More often than not it takes hours, and this sector refuses to let him sink out. He’d tried, once, and when he’d popped back into existence, supposed to be in his room, he’d found himself right back at the entrance to the clearing. 

“You’re here quite a lot?” Roman’s strong pose falters slightly, shoulders slumping in on themselves. 

“Oh, don’t sound so pleased, Roman. You’re reaching ‘you come here often?’ levels of shitty pickups,” Janus throws, collecting himself further, running gloved fingers along the rough bark of a birch tree. His back now turned to the royal, he fiddles with a leaf, plucking it from the branch, rolling it between his fingers before discarding it to the ground.

Roman makes a sound that can only be described as a mix of offence and surprise, stance crumbling beneath him as he slumps, posture defeated. He succumbs to the calmness the clearing has, though mutters a few obscenities under his breath to himself, too disgruntled to formulate a proper retort for Deceit. “Whatever,” he announces, hands flying to the air as he turns in a lazy circle. He plops himself down on the ground, knees pulled to his chest in the centre of the opening. He’s too tired to fight, resigned to letting Janus have this one, and flicking his focus to the stars above. A deep breath heaves from his lungs, chest rising and falling dramatically. “Stay if you want, I suppose I can’t stop you.” The statement seems as though it takes great effort, his face scrunching up. 

Janus hesitates before spinning in place, buffering almost. His little glitch doesn’t hang around long, gaze turning downwards to look upon the Prince on the floor, as Roman sighs and releases his knees, allowing himself to flop back onto the grass, sinking into the cool twilight dew. He purses his lips, letting the question worm its way out: “Do you want me to stay?”

Roman peers upwards at the serpent, at the way the glow frames him. From here, it hits only his back, casting his face in a deep shadow. The yellow of his left iris continues to stare at him, and the cracked outline that carves out his mouth twitches. Roman shrugs as best he can. “Can’t stop you,” he offers, going back to looking into the sky, feeling the peace creep languidly up his skin, seeping into his flesh.

“So you don’t want me here?” Janus raises an eyebrow, “you know, I’d prefer a clear cut answer-”

“I don’t have strong feelings either way, Deceit,” Roman sighs, his eyes closing on a slow blink, fanning his fingers into the grass below, crossing his legs as he lays. He positions his hands under his head, pillowing himself as he feels wave after wave of calm crash over his exhausted form. He doesn’t even have the energy to declare Janus a hypocrite, desiring such clear communication in every talk, yet spewing out so many lies himself.

There’s a silence, then a shuffle, and a quiet thump as Janus lowers himself to the ground, a good half foot away from Roman. He cracks an eye open, observing the awkward way Janus holds himself. He’s chewing on the right side of his bottom lip, eyes hazy and unfocused as he stares into nothingness, gaze hovering somewhere between the ground and the tree roots in front of him. It’s bizarrely out of character, a weakness that he so infrequently possesses, or rather shows. His eyebrows are furrowed, purple eye-bag scrunched up in thought. He’s processing Roman’s claim, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. He pushes his legs out, turning his face away from the creative side. The stillness stretches on, long enough for Roman to close his eyes again, blowing out a low exhale. 

“You always have strong feelings towards me,” Janus finally murmurs, mostly to himself, still biting at his lip in thought. 

Roman tilts his head against his hands to mimic shrugging. “I come here to let go of strong feelings. Good sir, I intend to do so whether you’re here, or not,” he keeps his eyes shut, letting his breathing relax until he sinks into a glorious floaty feeling. He’s sure Janus responds with something, but the words never reach his ears, merely get washed away by the lapping tide. He can’t be certain how much time passes, merely allowing himself to bob in the metaphorical waves, gliding along the water peacefully. But when he eventually reopens his eyes to gaze at the sky, he senses someone next to him.

Janus is still there, still a mere six inches away. He must’ve laid down at some point, as he has his right arm over his stomach, the left presumably by his side. His eyes are half-lidded, lethargically gleaming at the stars, preening in their sparkle. 

Roman finds himself rather transfixed. He can’t muster up an explanation as to why, but the feeling is certainly there, swelling in his chest. There’s a careful tingle in his fingers, an apprehensive thought creeping into his mind. For now, the contemplation is mostly illegible, yet the more he looks, the more readable it becomes. “How often do you come here then?”

“You’re doing it again,” Janus remarks sleepily, his mouth working slowly to form the words. “You need to find a better pickup line, Roman. I’m totally not some floozy who falls so easily.”

Roman rolls his eyes, but they fall back to Janus’ face without him trying. “I don’t mean it like that and you know it. I’m just… curious. Zeus’ lightning, you’d think I’d asked for your darkest secret!”

Beside him, Janus laughs, only once, the sound quietly bursting from him. His chest rises and falls in quick succession. “I know that, Roman.” There’s a beat. “Quite often. I find I can collect my thoughts rather well here. Away from everyone else. Don’t you agree?” He tilts his head towards Roman a tad, and Roman finds himself transfixed by the way the light sparkles off of those damned scales. He doesn’t get a long look, as Janus turns away just as quickly. 

He attempts a nod of agreement, sticking his chin into his neck. “Yes… exactly. It can be hard to… hear myself think sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” Janus sighs, “it must be so loud inside your brain. All that empty space for a solitary thought to echo off of.” 

Roman huffs. “Cruelty, and for no reason.” He shuts his eyes firmly in an act of protest. Janus isn’t even looking at him, so it doesn’t hit quite as hard as he wants it to.

“Sorry, sorry, you make it so easy sometimes. It’s hard to resist,” Janus chortles, lips twitching. (“You can be quite hard to resist.”) Roman misses his mumble. 

Arms crossing over his chest in defiance, Roman knits his brows together, peeking to the side, taking note of Janus’ thin lipped smile. “Do I… drum up some creativity in you?”

“Oh, most certainly. You bring out a better side in me, or a more imaginative side, I should say. ‘Better’ is far too subjective. But I do love thinking up quips for you,” Janus muses, voice a reticent purr, hazy stare focused on the stars above. He feels that same wash of calm ripple through his veins. That’s what he comes here for.

Roman flushes and grins, unashamed. “Happy to help,” he muses, voice growing faint. The two find themselves in a steady silence for a little while. Not particularly acknowledging each other's company, but revelling in the peace. There’s no biting, no fighting, just a satisfying tranquil befalling them. It’s nice. Roman finds himself rather enjoying the quiet existence, being in the same space as someone, both with the same desire to let go, even for a moment.

The silence is broken, not with a crash, but with a hum. Roman shifts his head to see Janus, still peering at the dark sky, peacefully humming under his breath. It’s a wordless tune, but a lovely one, and Roman perks up, angling upwards ever so slightly. The majority of his body remains on the grass, but he brings his shoulders up, leaning back on bent elbows. 

“That sounds nice,” he offers sweetly, the malice having dripped from his system some time ago.

Janus sneaks a peek at the Prince, giving him a smile in return. “Hm? Oh, yes, quite.” 

Roman stays silent for a long pause, examining Janus below him. There’s something clawing at his throat, a question he doesn't realise he has, sliding like honey from his tongue. “So, did you come into existence scales and all?” 

It seems to shock even him, unsure of why the question manifested. But it’s out there now, buzzing like a gnat, zipping around the two of them, an incessant, grating noise. The words are startling, Janus’ eyes widening to a stretch. Roman fixates on the slitted pupil, the way it narrows into a thin line. There’s a defensive hiss emanating from Janus, and he rolls over onto his left side, shunning his back to Roman, covering up the serpent portion of his face.

“I apologise, if that was intrusive,” he declares, suddenly quite desperate to see those scales once again. There was something… odd about them. Something ever so hypnotic about the dancing light, about the way the stars shimmered over the small plates coating his face. Were those scales over his skin, or replacing it? 

“I thought intrusiveness was your brothers’ thing,” Janus jeers snidely, arms coiled tightly around his midsection.

Roman halts. He mulls this over for a brief moment. Typically, the mention of Remus in any conversation reduces him to a babbling rage. But he uses this peaceful time to think, to really dig into it. Well, as deep as he can for a short pause. “Perhaps I posed my question incorrectly. Forgive me, for my curiosity,” he tries to use as formal language as he can, poising himself for a regal apology. 

Janus stills, his breathing faltering as he huffs, rolling back over reluctantly. His arms fall into their previous positions as he sighs. “I didn’t appear with them, no,” he rubs his fingers on his right hand together, and Roman slumps back down to the ground, back to the grass, intent on hearing the story. 

He beckons for Janus to go on before slipping his hands around to cushion his head. And the deceitful side takes a minute to drink in his enraptured audience. No smile plays at his face, his expression frozen in a grimace, as he digs up painful memories. Janus nods to himself, it’s not often he has to work up courage to speak, and despite his compulsion to throw up thick walls and lie and deny his way out of this uncomfortable conversation, he gathers all the self-control he has, resigning that he’s locked into this chat now.

“You’ve never known me without the scales,” Janus muses, the gloved fingers of his left hand sinking into the soft, dewy grass below him. His right arm remains draped languidly across his stomach, blinking slowly in the silver moonlight. 

Roman rolls from his back onto his left side, studying the other. From this lower angle he can only make out the human part of his face. The way his cheekbones glimmer in the glow of the moon, the shadows that the arches of his eyebrows cast down his face, the glimmer of a frown painted across his lips. Laying here, on the midnight grass in a far off border of the Imagination, Roman relaxes even further. He notes how Janus’ hard shell melts away, how his arched, sharp exterior softens into a more approachable, real, person. He doesn’t say anything in reply, just leans and rests his head on his elbow, fingers careful on his skin. Propped up, he can see the whole of the deceitful side, how his hat rolls off his head, sticking up at a strange angle, and how his scales continue to shimmer in the pale stars shine. They reflect the light, twinkling from green to yellow, oh so captivating. There’s that creeping thought again, louder now. It begs for him to get a feel. Roman has to place a mental block in his mind, preventing himself from reaching out to touch, to stroke. 

“It wasn’t that I… came into existence all snakey and sly,” Janus continues, his eyes never leaving the sparkling stars above them. “But the sides needed a villain, and when I started to change… well, I was an easy bad guy. They needed someone to hate, and if that’s how they chose to see me, I decided to make it easier for them. I decided to fit the mold.” 

Roman’s tongue feels heavy in his dry mouth, and when hair falls in front of his eyes, he makes no real move to readjust. He clings onto every word as it drips from Janus’ forked tongue — bitter, venomous, but thick like molasses. “When did they start?” He finally asks, voice husky, barely above a whisper. Only now does Janus flick his gaze over, his eyes locking with Roman’s, knocking the remaining air from his chest with a push. 

“When Thomas started to lie,” he responds, cool and low. “So quite young.”

“I didn’t know you’d… been around that long,” Roman breathes, his words quiet yet full of life, dancing in the space between them. Janus looks away from him briefly, his focus turning back to the stars, studying the vast constellations painted in the dark expanse of the night. 

There’s a poignant silence that drifts across them, only broken when Janus shifts his fingers along his stomach, smoothing his shirt down. “I’ve been here since the beginning,” he murmurs, almost as if he didn’t want Roman to hear. Yet he continues, unblinking: “It was me, Patton, and Logan, from the very beginning. The heart, the mind, the self,” he clears his throat, “or, I suppose the preservation of the self. For a while we remained as such,” Janus fiddles prominently with the buttons of his shirt, and for the first time, Roman reaches out, breaking down his mental barrier. He places his palm over Janus’ knuckles, ceasing his fidgeting. 

Janus doesn’t even acknowledge it, merely carries on talking. “As Thomas grew, so did his sense of self. He became… more aware of his surroundings, of his abilities to affect the things around him, the situations he was in. I started off like any other. Normal face, normal arms and legs, a perfectly average side. I was there to keep Thomas safe, body and mind. I kept him out of danger using his words. Not directly lying as such, but playing with the truth. I was there to demand things. I want whatever Thomas wants. I was there to defend him, to vouch for him, to get the things he wants. Thomas didn’t want to be in trouble, and how do you get out of trouble for something you did do?”

Roman ponders for a moment, skimming his fingertips along Janus’ gloved knuckles, admiring the fibers. “You… lie?” He removes his hand upon answering, finding the action too distracting to himself. As much as he loves physical touch, he makes the effort to pull away, intent on focusing on the tale.

“Precisely,” there’s a beat, “I remember Thomas’ first lie.” The statement is spoken to the sky, the sentence soaring upwards and outwards, just another of many shooting stars. “He knocked a figurine of Christ off its pew at Church. He didn’t even break it. Yet when his mother asked if he’d knocked it down, I made sure he said no. He didn’t want to be yelled at, or reprimanded, even over something so trivial. And whatever Thomas wants, I will try to achieve.” 

Roman keeps his chin propped up, allowing Janus’ voice to fill his mind. It’s not like the two never talk, but it’s unlikely to be so civil. They’re full of biting insults and sarcastic comments, each of them so equally matched in terms of ego. Yet, laying here, Roman can begin to understand a different part of the side, and in the glittering blanket of night, he can truly — literally — see Janus in a new light. 

“That’s when the first scales appeared,” fingers drag along the left side of Janus’ face, slow and steady, pulling through the deep caverns carved into his flesh, rivers of ice that slice straight through him. The scales are rough below his fingers, not that he can feel them through the gloves. These days, he actively avoids having to outright touch his own skin. “Right here, under my eye. Just three or four, sprouting from that little lie.” 

“And what, they just kept spreading?” Roman curls, twisting his fingers into the air, almost flicking the question away. Janus hums in response, eyes fluttering closed as he finally relinquishes his grip on the grass below him, that hand joining the other in resting lazily on his stomach. He threads his fingers together, formulating a response. 

“Precisely,” Janus rolls his shoulders the best he can whilst lighting down, “the first were on my face, and after that they started on my hand, working their way up with each lie told, each deception made. They stopped eventually, but only after the entire left side of my body was…” He brushes his left hand down his torso, gesturing vaguely to scales covered by cloth and fabric. The capelet draped over his shoulders shifts in the quaint night breeze. 

“It doesn’t make you look… the most trustworthy,” Roman turns his hand over in the air, struggling to conjure the correct phrasing. He disappoints himself, for a side bound to creativity and romance, he finds himself grasping at straws as he digs through the cabinets in his brain for something a little more polite, a little more flirtatious. 

Janus flicks his eyes open, simply with the sole purpose of rolling them disapprovingly. “Really? I never noticed,” the words slide out on a hiss, a defensiveness leaping into his throat, the bugs in his stomach feeling less like butterflies and more like roaches, clawing at his insides with a fervour. “Why do you think I keep them covered, sweetie? I simply love having literally two-faces.” 

Roman settles down further, sliding from his hand as he lays down flat on his side, right arm outstretched upwards across the grass. His eyes never leave Janus’ face, trailing down to his jaw and back up again. Something flaps fluttering wings against his insides, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth, examining the way the deceitful side studies the stars above their heads. “I never thought about that.”

“I know,” comes Janus’ swift reply, and then he’s moving, pushing himself up on shaky arms until he’s sitting, leaning back on his hands. A sigh tumbles from his lips as he reaches for his hat, dropping it in his lap without much thought. He runs a gloved hand through his hair, and Roman notes that it’s slightly longer than his own, tickling the back of his ears. It’s not often he sees Janus hatless, and in that, there’s a shred of vulnerability on display. Every other time he’s been seen without the accessory it’s been taken from him without permission; snatched from his room while he’d napped to be used for picking movies, or snatched straight from his head to watch him squirm. And yet here, he lets it sit, unused. The display may not look grand, but it sinks its claws into Roman’s chest.

The air is cool around them, and Roman doesn’t mimic Janus by sitting, rather choosing to stay put, gazing up at him. The aforementioned turns to face Roman fully, lips parted ever so slightly, a perturbed look painted across his features. “When the scales kept spreading, and eventually when… When my eye changed, I knew I couldn’t carry on. Sure, I could hide my hands, and I could wear long sleeves, cast a cape over my shoulders, and pull my collar up. But it’s harder to hide your face, and it’s damned near impossible to cloak an eye. It became… simpler to cast myself into shadow. And I suppose that over time, I stopped being self-preservation, and I became Deceit. It’s easier to hate someone whose only purpose is lies, it’s easier to decide they’re evil and leave it at that. And trust me, Roman, it’s far simpler to play into expectations than attempt to change them. And I just adore the easy route.”

Roman continues to listen, much to Janus’ surprise. Yet there’s something in Janus’ statement that he doesn’t quite believe, shockingly enough. He can’t seem to fathom that Janus enjoys playing into this little game, that he takes any sort of pleasure in appeasing the role of villain. Who would? Sure, perhaps he claims it’s easier, and it very well might be. And yes, he’s certain Janus does prefer doing things the easy way. But this cannot be fun. Maybe this time the easy route has failed him, maybe it’s gone sour. Janus looks down at the one below him, Roman’s eyes shining with something. They’re dark, crepuscular in the moonlight. And yet in that ever deep blackness, there’s a gleam of light. A sparkle that twists and turns through his pupils, lost in a waltz, a shooting star that Janus can’t help but wish upon.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have such beautiful eyes?” The words slip out before Janus can stop them, his further explanation of his tragedy dying gracefully on his lips, the whisper replacing them.

Even in the cold, Roman can feel his face heat up, a smile begging to push onto his cheeks. “Why thank you,” he places a hand over his heart, unafraid of breaking the deathly eye contact, his pupils swelling as he gazes upon Janus. “Wait, was that a lie? I can never really tell with you.”

Janus huffs, his breath casting a pale cloud in front of his face as the night chills further. “I don’t only lie. I have some self control,” he tugs uselessly at his cape, pulling it further over his right shoulder. It shifts, revealing more of his left collarbone, and the reflective scales that lay across it. “It’s merely easier to lie in most cases. But, no, Roman, that wasn’t a lie. It was a mistake. There’s a simple difference.”

“A mistake?” Roman cocks his head, finally adjusting himself into an upright position. “You didn’t mean to compliment me?” He hesitates, hand twitching before he gives in, fingers curling around Janus’ right shoulder. He flinches, but makes no move to brush him off, instead remains rigid under the touch. “You know, people don’t compliment me much,” Roman admits, an element of shyness creeping into his statement. “They like my work, they think I’m doing a good job, but it’s rather rare that someone looks at me and says I’m beautiful.” 

Janus scoffs, “well that’s ridiculous. I don’t know how you’re not hearing it every second of every day. Look at you.” He remains frozen below Roman’s fingers, incapable of jerking away or sinking into it. Caught in a proverbial limbo.

“We have the same face,” Roman comments, squeezing Janus’ shoulder. The side shows a glimmer of something, yet it’s gone just as fast as it appears, a glimmer across his face before it fades back to silent deadpan.

Janus shakes his head slowly, listening as the leaves around them rustle. “We most certainly do not.” He offers slyly, blinking a long, slow blink as Roman stifles a nervous chuckle. Janus brushes a hand across his neck, before tugging his collar back up high. Roman chokes on his words, unable to plead for Janus to leave it as it was, transfixed on the fluidity of his movements, and the piercing stare of his hooded eyes. “And if you think that we’re all perfectly identical beyond the… clear differences, you’re an unobservant fool. Haven’t you noticed Logan’s more angular jaw, or Patton’s fuller cheeks? Can you not see that Remus’ nose is ever so slightly more turned up than your own? Do you not realise your own fuller features? Your wider eyes, your square jaw?”

“It sounds like you spend a lot of time looking at us,” Roman comments quietly, yet he thinks about it, letting himself drink in Janus’ face. And he’s right. Beyond the obvious scales, the eye, he can spot the small differences between them. Janus’ thinner eyebrows, his longer hair, his sloped shoulders. 

There’s a bright gleam of teeth, and there’s another difference — Janus’ sharper canines, one step away from being fangs, pointed and deadly. Roman wonders what kind of damage they could do, what a bite mark from the side would look like. He doesn’t cast the thought into the depths of his mind, but lets it settle comfortably into the forefront, rolling it between his fingers carefully. “I need to,” Janus quips, “how else can I convincingly take your shape?” 

Roman chortles, his chest shaking. “I suppose so,” and as Janus turns his head, the shimmering stars catch his scales once more, twinkling and refracting, akin to a sparkling rainbow, glitter cast across his skin. A small gasp glides easily from Roman’s tongue, and he reaches across with his free hand, thumbing gently at Janus’ jaw, tilting his head back to face him. “You’re gorgeous,” he smiles, “you should know that.” His (admittedly, few) romantic inhibitions soar out the window, compelled by some sort of divine spirit living within his chest to reach out. He beams internally, heart thudding against this chest.

The half of Janus’ face that’s capable of showing blush flushes red, his eyebrows raising quickly, lips parting. The leaves continue their incessant rustle, the stars continue to sway in the thick night sky, and Janus’ breath comes in short bursts. He relaxes ever so slightly, pressing his weight further into Roman’s arms, pushing his shoulder into the Prince’s hand, dropping his head into the touch. Not a lot, but enough for Roman to notice. 

“Have you ever been told that?” Roman raises an eyebrow quizzically, slowly dragging his thumb over the serpent's jaw, lost in a valley of thought. He can’t imagine Janus has. Remus isn’t particularly flowery with his language, and with his… less than stellar rapport with the other sides, Roman would be shocked if Janus received any compliments at all.

Janus turns ever so slightly in Roman’s grip, his expression settling into something of mild aggravation. “Oh yes, all the time. No, go ahead, rub salt in my wounds, why don’t you?” While he pouts, he doesn’t pull away, rather comfortably settled in his current position.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Roman removes his hand from Janus’ shoulder to wipe down his shirt, his side littered with grass stains, and as such his fingers fall from his face as well. He tries, (and fails), to ignore the cooing way Janus attempts to reinstate the touch, shifting ever closer. “I’m rather beginning to think we don’t acknowledge your… contributions enough.” 

There’s a short snort from next to him, “took you long enough.” Janus drawls, pulling together until their arms touch, turning until he can rest his head on Roman’s shoulder, facing him, chin balanced precariously. He seems nervous, mildly unsure of himself. Perhaps he’s expecting the Prince to slap him away, or jerk with disgust. But he doesn’t, merely resides himself to… taking in the view. 

Roman chuckles gently, thumbing mindlessly at Janus’ jaw once more, a flicker of something bright in his eyes. Time slows exponentially out here, it’s difficult to tell how long they’ve been perched in the eternal blackness of the night, yet neither make any moves to leave. It’s not often they’re left alone together, perhaps from the fear of another physical alteration similar to that of the secret santa — and yes, the others had been correct to make that choice, yet, something about the ever-stillness of the crescent moon is calming. It allows any malice to melt away, burnt out amongst the dozens of slowly dying stars before them, drawing out the hatred that’s wormed into their brains. It’s unlike the two to look deep enough within, both themselves or another person, and see anything more than the obvious surface. It’s clear the night brings out a more relaxed part, something more willing to sink into vulnerability. 

Gaze falling downwards, Roman quirks into a small smile. “You’re wearing the socks I got you,” he murmurs, still tickling gently at Janus’ face.

His laugh falls out on a hiss, less malevolent than its usual sound, far more… sappy. “They keep me warm,” Janus shrugs, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. 

“Warmth suits you.”

“What does that mean?” Janus tilts his head as much as he can in his position. With Roman’s thumb still playing with his jaw, and his chin balanced upon his shoulder, it isn't much. His eyes flutter closed on a pleased sigh as Roman's index finger brushes under his chin, stroking softly.

Roman hums. He isn't sure. It just felt right. “You're always so cold. You look cold.”

“And now I look warm?” Janus purrs, eyelashes splayed across his cheeks. His eyes remain closed, subconsciously turning his head in Roman’s delicate grasp, seeking out more of his soothing touch. Perhaps it's that little animal part of his brain reacting to being treated with such care. Care he hasn’t received since before the serpent parts emerged.

Roman hums, nodding tenderly, admiring how Janus grows lax in his hand. Who knew all the snake needed was a caring touch to blow away that rough exterior. “You do,” His fingers slip along Janus’ skin, tapping smoothly along his scales. The shadows cast from his fingers mask the shimmering light reflecting from them, allowing Roman to see them how he so often does, a sickly green colour against his own tanned skin. And yet it doesn't bring that familiar sense of dread into his stomach, rather his mind lavishes in the memory of what they look like in the light. “You feel warm, too.”

“Which is strange,” Janus concurs, eyes fluttering open to follow Roman’s movements, “considering how blasted cold it is.” 

“It isn’t that chilly,” Roman remarks, tapping at a plate slightly larger than the others. It rests just below Janus’ ear, curving from the edge of his cheek and around his jawline. “You’re just cold-blooded.”

“I hate that you know that,” he drawls, smooth venom coating every word. It’s slow working, melting Roman into a pile of… sap. The lie rumbles deep in his chest, or is that his heart thumping? Janus finds he can’t be sure. 

Roman smiles, his clasp on Janus’ face tightening, leaning down a tad. He blows warm air onto Janus’ face, startling him enough that he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden proximity. Roman’s eyes hang heavy, hooded, as he adorns the other in his gaze, pupils practically swirling. And Janus does feel warm. He feels hot all over, body burning beneath his clothes. This intense fire, this sparking inferno, warms more intensely than the heat lamp he sleeps under in his room. It evaporates the cool salt water they’ve been floating in, the ground beneath him abruptly harsh. He can feel the dirt under him, can feel Roman’s blood pulsing through his body, heartbeat strong in his fingertips. 

Janus once more cranes into the touch, and the encouragement is all Roman needs to slip the rest of his hand onto the other’s face, cradling his cheek gently. The scales are rough, textured. They’re a grounding presence, a reality Roman can cling to as he slides further into the heat. Wasn’t there a chill in the air mere minutes ago? It all seems so far away. The rest of the Imagination, the mindscape, the other sides — they all feel like far off concepts. This is real. This is happening. 

Roman has bigger hands than Janus. There’s another difference. 

Janus can tell. He’s touched his own face before, and his palm definitely didn’t cover this much surface. But Roman’s hands are solid, and they feel so real when they curl around his cheek, carving valleys through his hair as the hand moves. There’s a split second when Roman’s wrist passes by Janus’ mouth to rest on his cheek, the man’s fingers now wrapped around the hair at the side of his head into his hair — and Janus strikes, nipping softly at the thin skin. Roman flinches, laughing just a little as the near-fangs prick at him, and using the hand in Janus’ hair for leverage, he tilts Deceit’s head up. 

The words on Janus’ lips die as Roman forms deadly eye contact. His scalp stings deliciously so, and from relaxing and opening up under the stars, something else forms. There’s no return from this point, surely. They can’t go back to the arguing and the fighting, not when Roman holds him so tenderly, looks upon him like he’d move mountains, or dry up rivers for him. Certainly not. They’ve passed the line now, the line is a forgotten dot in the distance. 

And Roman knows this too. And he’s never been one to give half a performance.

His other hand moves swiftly, practically floating in the hot air as it twists around Janus’ back, encouraging him forward. 

And Janus falls. 

The kiss is delicate, it’s sweet, it’s gentle. Roman beckons Janus inwards, gloved hands sliding up the front of his outfit, one grasping at his sash, the other tangling in his collar, pressing ever closer. The hand in Janus’ hair tightens as Roman twists his head softly, the embrace deepening. This is well past the line. It’s barely a dot, it’s a blip over the horizon. It’s gone. They’re gone. Everything fades. The trees haze away, the ground beneath them turns to rubble, then to dust. They’re suspended, floating there amongst the stars, comfortable in the vast expanse of night. If Janus reached a hand up, he’s almost certain he could grab a star. And frighteningly, for Roman, he finds he would. He’d steal stars for the side, he’d hang them carefully from the moon, or press them into Roman’s hands if it pleased him. He’d do anything, if it kept him right here, holding on tight, so close that he can feel the creative sides eyelashes on his face. 

Janus slides his hand a little further, grasping at the back of Roman’s neck, pressing gloved fingers into his tanned skin, melting a little more. Just a little more. He just wants a little more. Lord, forgive his selfishness, but he wishes for nothing less than this. He wants to keep Roman wrapped up here forever, keep him swaddled, lock him into this moment for eternity. He wants to keep them suspended among the stars, until they too burn out. 

Roman pulls away ever so slightly, parting for breath, and Janus’ teeth catch on his lip, attempting to pull him back in.

“Easy tiger,” Roman purrs, continuing to pet over his skin and his hair. Christ, how is he everywhere? Janus growls in response, the noise mostly playful. But if Roman is going to overwhelm his senses like this, well — he’s not the only one who can be everywhere. The hand around Janus’ back detaches and he tilts his head back, most displeased. The preening returns when Roman’s palm glides over his knuckles, then hooks a finger under the fabric of his gloves, a silent plea. Followed by an audible plea, how sweet. “Will you take these off?”

“Wow, Roman,” Janus wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, voice gravelled. “Buy me dinner before you strip me down.”

Roman rolls his eyes, his cheeks a tickled pink. It may be dark, but the moon has always been bright here, and it’s enough for Janus to make out the colour. Even if his vision isn’t… the best. “I’ll bring you a sandwich tomorrow,” he offers plainly, shrugging, fingers digging into Janus’ scalp. “Please?”

The glint in his eyes is too much to resist. Who knew? Perhaps all that shouting, all those insults, all that sarcasm, was leading to this. The tension building and building. The snide comments, the sneers, the sour stares. Piling up. The brief touches, the eye contact that dared the other to do something, make a move. Bulking. And then now. The casual conversation, the soft explanations, the moon, the stars. Cresting, bubbling, overflowing and spilling into something akin to affection. Admiration. Attraction. 

Janus worms his right hand out of its glove, unenthusiastically removing his fingers from Roman’s skin in order to do so. He folds it gently, turning his attention to the left hand. He’s more hesitant here, picking slowly at the fabric, working it off the scales delicately. There’s a mix of concentration and nervousness displayed clearly across his face — and it’s so unlike him to be an open book like this. He avoids catching the fibers on the greenish-yellowish plates lining the topside of his hand, and slowly it joins the right hand glove, folded in a neat pile on the grass, placed beside his hat. He feels awfully naked. Next Roman will be asking him to remove his capelet, and even for Janus that’s too far for a first kiss. 

Roman takes Janus’ scaled hand in his own, tracing between the cracks with his thumb, adoring over his odd skin. He brings the hand to his lips, eyes locking onto Janus’ own as he presses a gentle kiss to the back. And good God, that has Janus flushing darker than any other action of the night. He feels a blubber in the back of his throat, a heat rising through his cheeks as he finds he cannot look away, something wet welling up in his eyes. And Roman’s fingers come straight up, wiping away the stray tear that seeps its way out, wordlessly.

He feels beautiful.

Janus has never felt truly beautiful.

He can say it aloud as much as he wants. Craft creative compliments surrounding his own appearance, declaring he thinks he’s gorgeous, and perfect, and definitely someone’s ‘let them cook.’ But that’s the magic of denial.

Yet here, he feels it. 

“Don’t cry for me, Deceitina,” Roman muses, and the words are so ridiculous they bring a spluttered, tear-sodden laugh bubbling from Janus’ mouth, turning his head away to bury his face into his own shoulder.

“I’m not crying.” He insists, and perhaps if he says it with enough conviction it’ll become true. Roman merely hums in disagreement, with a dumb smile plastered on his face. When he blinks, it’s slow, collected, and calm. And when his thumb brushes under Janus’ eye again it’s gentle, soft, and sweet. He directs the side’s face back to look at him once more, still holding his palm. 

“How long have we been here?” Roman questions, apparent that the answer doesn’t concern him.

“Who cares? Not long enough for anyone to come looking.”

Roman thumbs over Janus’ lip, parting them marginally, watching the way the stars glint sharp light off his sharp canines. “Let’s stay a little longer then.”

Janus nips once more at Roman’s skin, tasting salt as he does. “Let’s,” and when Roman pulls him back in, connecting them in another deep kiss, he feels Roman all over. Again. And as he thought, already, two can play at that game.

Roman only jumps a little when he feels another set of hands settle over his waist, separate from the two grasping at his sash and the back of his neck respectively. He leaps a little more when a fifth and sixth hand prod at his sides, slipping around his back. He had seen correctly. Janus’ abilities never seem to fail to dumbfound him, leaving him awestruck and determined to learn what other quirks the side hides. 

Curiosity will be the death of him, and he cracks an eye open just enough to glance down, preening at the attention. And there they are, six ungloved hands gripping at his clothing, unwilling to let go. It fills him with a surge of affection, and he finds himself pressing impossibly close, emotions overwhelming him. He can’t do anything else. Everything is Janus. Janus grasping his waist, Janus’ hand playing at the nape of his neck, Janus gripping his clothing, Janus stroking down his back, adoringly so. It’s Janus on his lips, it’s Janus on his tongue, it’s Janus under his fingers. 

There used to be a time when the very thought of the serpent was enough to disgust him. 

Funny how times change.

Janus tightens his hold on Roman, all over, and begrudgingly he parts, not forgetting to bite at Roman as he does. There’s a quirk. Perhaps not a supernatural, or metaphysical one, but a personal one. Janus is a biter. 

His hands pet diligently at Roman’s clothes, at his skin where they can, and they stay close, chest to chest, heaving. He brings his head to lay on Roman’s shoulder, allowing the rare show of affection to continue. God forbid anyone sees, his fearsome, sassy, charismatic persona and reputation would go down the damn gutter. But there’s no one here. 

For now, it’s the prince, the snake, and the stars.

Roman cranes his neck up, fingers carding through the other’s hair, trailing down before disconnecting to fan across the scene, surveying. “Hey,” he whispers, nudging Janus carefully. He peers up, eyes still wide, cheek still red, lips still parted. “Look,” Roman says simply, pointing upwards.

And Janus looks, splitting into a smile.

A star shoots across the dark sky, sparkling and glittering as it goes. The tail is long and elegant, dancing as it speeds, glimmering against the neverending blackness.

“Make a wish,” Roman mutters, pushing his nose into the top of Janus’ head, laying there, eyes closed.

Janus mimics this, allowing his eyes to flutter closed, wishing over and over in his head.

“What did you wish for?” He questions, fiddling with the royals sash once more. He enjoys how the red compliments the green of his hand. Contrasting colours.

“I can’t say, it won’t come true,” comes Roman’s soft reply. “And I really want this one to work.”

Janus coils further around the prince, curling all his arms into a tight hug, locking Roman against him. The ground begins to feel real again. The calmness remains. He doesn’t say anything, merely pressed his face into the crook of Roman’s neck, exhaling heavily over his skin, before teasingly nipping at his tan once more. 

Roman laughs, and Janus can feel it. Can feel the joy circulate around him. Can feel the vibrations. 

He wished that he could stay here forever.

He has a feeling Roman wished for the same. 

-

I had so much fun with this first prompt! I'm so so excited for the rest of this week, and to see the other works/fanart that come out of this week! It's also my 19th birthday today, so I'm feeling super lucky that my fav ship week it starting!

Hope y'all enjoyed :)

(hopefully the formatting isn't too fucked up... its been YEARS since ive posted a fic onto tumblr directly!)