#romroses

“You’re an embarrassment,” Marcelo spits, thumbs frantically stabbing at buttons as they lean out of their seat, “you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.” They’re supposed to be studying. Their fathers’ one condition for Roman spending the night was that they both finish their school work. After loudly, and dramatically, complaining for show, they’d tossed their books aside in favor of video games. “I’ve beat you twice, idiot,” Roman laughs, wild and unconstrained in the face of Marcelo’s bristling agitation. Their own character lets out an oomph as it’s struck again, health bar whittling away to nothing. “’Cause you fucking cheat,” they snap, jostling the joystick in frustration. “It’s not cheating if you suck, ‘Celo,” he retorts, their teeth grinding uncomfortably.

“Oh, I suck?” They finally echo, throwing an elbow into Roman’s side at the same time their character strikes, throwing him off balance. “Fuck off,” he laughs, hearty and unbothered. It sends a certain thrill up their spine; only they’re unsure if it’s because they’re able to loose it from the heir at all, or because it reads like a muted challenge to shut him up. “What was that, Montague?” Marcelo goads, digging the edge of their elbow in forcefully. This time, Roman bites back; a mild shove, just enough to rattle them, and it does. Their character collapses in the game, perfectly in time with their own sideways lurch — but Marcelo isn’t done playing.

Tossing aside the controller, they turn on their friend, palms outstretching to force him out of his seat. “You’re a cheat,” they hiss, though a bubble of laughter threatens as Roman scowls up at them from the floor; the little prince dethroned. Before they can react, his fingers are wound in their shirt, commanding them clumsily to the wooden floorboards beside him, where Marcelo’s knees connect loudly. “Fanculo,” they wince, going to shove the boy roughly, lips still twisted downward. “You’re a sore loser, stronzo,” Roman breathes, shoving at their knee with his heel. They regret trying to teach him how to fight; he won’t wince at their pushing, won’t back down when they knock the air out of his lungs. Their frustration piques, clawing up their abdomen as he lifts himself on both palms. 

Before Roman can return to his feet, Marcelo juts forward, shoving both shoulders to the floor  hard, and pinning him beneath their weight. Dark eyes bore into them, and his muscles tense but refuse to react beneath their touch, as if demanding what is it you think you’re doing? His laugh still echoes in the distance, as if they’ve captured it and carried it with them to this very moment; to remember what it is to make Roman Montague come apart with delight. They see none of it in him now as hazel hues flicker to his lips, pressed tight with flimsy control. Just as quickly they’ve stripped him of it, the shadow of that laugh now swallowed by vexation. They can command his heart one way, and they can command it the other. Can the others say the same? 

Do they have the strength to reach beyond his pristine beauty and pluck the unsightly organ from the valley of his ribs, to carry the weight of a bleeding heart? Do they ever beckon not only Roman’s best, but his worst, from its flowery cage? Do they gaze upon his smile and his scowl both, and feel equal parts admiration and loathing that neither will belong to them alone? Before they can think better of it, their lips are finding the hard line of Roman’s. Then the contour of his cheek. His forehead. The slope of his nose. As if they can devour him; ingesting each fragment into their heart beside his laugh, beside his scowl, depriving all who might dare gorge on what rightfully belongs to Marcelo. 

Odessa had been stunned when she saw Roman at her door. She was even more stunned when she saw a present sticking out of his coat pocket. Odessa was used to presents on her birthday or during Christmas time, but it had been a regular weekend. She had to think back and wonder if she missed a major holiday, but she had come up blank. Nevertheless, she moved back and allowed him to slip inside of her apartment.

After Odessa closed the door, she turned to face the boy prince. Her eyes trailed from his face towards the gift. She had noticed the grin that had grown the longer he waited in silence, and her eyebrow quirked upwards in a silent question. She watched as he struggled to contain the excitement before he finally cracked and brought the present to her face.

He had murmured something about seeing it in a shop and it reminded him of her. She gingerly took the gift from his hands before she started slowly unwrapping the item. The wrapping paper fell to the floor around her as she stared at the small box that fit neatly in her hand. Her eyes searched Roman’s once more as if asking if she should open it in front of him. She only saw a small nod before she lifted open the lid and a gasp escaped her lips,

It was a charm bracelet. It wasn’t the one she had received from her father all of those years ago---- the same one she watched shatter in Orion’s basement. No, it was a new one. It didn’t hold three charms, all representing her family members, but rather just a small dog charm that she assumed was representing her beloved Frenchie.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she held the piece of jewelry in her hand. Her fingers ran along the metal edges before she slipped it onto her wrist. She took another second to admire the piece before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Roman’s neck. A smile took over her features at the gift, and she leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. Her lips traveled all over his face before she pulled away. Her forehead pressed against his before she muttered,

SO MANY STEPS NEED TAKING SO MANY PLANS NEED MAKING

ONCE UPON A DIVERONA… (23/∞)

introducing roman montague as the frog prince from the eponymous tale by the brothers grimm

Once upon a time…

    Roman was trying to study. He was sincerely trying – and she suspected it was because his father had laid into him for the results of his last test. She acted like she didn’t see the frustration that knotted his brow, nor the way his jaw clenched as his eyes went over the same paragraph for the fifth time in a row. She couldn’t understand why Damiano was so insistent that his son receives stellar academic marks when taking that path was never going to be an option for him – it didn’t need to be an option. Rafaella put her pen down just as Roman rubbed the heel of his hands against his eyes, shoulders hunched in clear frustration. 

    “You’ve been reading that same paragraph for the last fifteen minutes,” she pointed out unhelpfully. The only reply she received was a noncommittal grunt. His mind had clearly hit a wall – poor boy. Rolling her eyes, she got up and sat next to him, knees gently nudging his, shoulders brushing together. Rafaella was unlearned in the ways of winning someone’s heart, but this felt right. It was intimate. It made her heart stutter, her stomach knot, and her skin grow warm. Weariness rolled off of him in waves. Pulling the book closer to her, she scanned the page, glancing between his notes, the study guide, and the textbook. 

    Rafaella cast a sidelong glance at him, gently, tugging his hands away from his face. “Economics is important but you can’t master it by not looking at it, Roman.” She said with a laugh. 

    “I know it is, which is why –” he huffed, and he wiped his hand across his face. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.” He looked at her, dark despairing eyes flickering between hers. He probably thought she was judging him – and that was to be expected, but in all honesty, Rafaella didn’t think academics was half as important as street knowledge. 

    He needed to feel safe with her. He needed to trust that she wouldn’t judge him. Rafaella didn’t know how to though, it was as though Cosimo simply expected her to wrap people around her finger and have her be done with it. Unfortunately, though, there were no classes on how to emotionally manipulate people into falling in love with you and it was difficult when it was a boy you grew up with. Especially when it was Roman. But God, when he looked at her like that – so disarmingly – she just – she had to –

     Night has stretched into morning. A low-grade restlessness already burns under his skin already, setting him afire with little concern for the reason for his lack of activity: the crutches tucked under each arm, and the ache of the wound on his thigh. He shouldn’t really be upright yet, let alone wandering the city this time of night, but fever burns him and pushes him from his bed and sets him on the hunt. 

     The music pounds heavily in the background, thrumming in his chest as he clumsily dodges the writhing bodies on the dance floor, unused still to the lack of agility his injury affords him. His eyes skip over faces, skimming the crowd, searching, searching-- there. Just the familiar face he was looking for.

          Roman.