#romune

One of the pictures Romune had found even had a few of his old co-workers. They all wore similar Fleet-issued work uniforms. Specifically jumpsuits. One picture was Romune and a goldblood in workout gear; it looked like a selfie taken at a gym. For as long as he stared at their face….he couldn’t remember their name. Honestly, looking at their smile, their sweet face, their blue and green eyes, their curved horns, and the little scar that ran over their nose… it made his head hurt. It made his heart hurt, too. 

Romune had spent many sleepless days thinking about the incident that led to him losing his limbs. He could never quite shake the unease that the situation gave him. He remembered walking down a specific road. Occasionally he would remember a landmark….a boulder on the side of the road, the boba shop next to the florist that smelled like honeysuckle no matter the time of year. He always wondered if he could find those shops again. 

It wasn’t a particularly sentimental night. To be honest, the phantom pains were killing him. His arm hurt the worst. It was a horrible burning sensation in his arm; it couldn’t be helped with pain killers or going on walks or bundling up under blankets. What he could do, however, was try to ignore it. And Romune chose to ignore it by opening a box from the closet in his block. The box was one he had put off for a long while for one reason or another, he just never felt it to be the right time to open that specific box. Upon opening, the box held….clothes? 

More specifically, there was one of Romune’s old sweatshirts folded neatly on top. Underneath it was a gift wrapped box complete with a crumpled little yellow ribbon. Romune sat back, criss crossing his legs to get more comfortable. His lusus lifted her head slightly as the sound of tearing paper filled the air. Of course the box was taped with duct tape, nothing could ever be EASY. It was no problem, though, the tape had aged enough to peel off without too much of a struggle. It took part of the box with it but this wasn’t exactly a gift-opening contest, was it? Rom hesitated to open the now unwrapped gift. It was as if something inside him knew to wait. Something in him said this wasn’t a good idea. Normally he was one to listen to his gut. It felt almost wrong to open this gift. Had there been a name on it? He gently set the box beside him and dug through the wrapping paper shreds to see if there had been a name other than his own written. But there was no name, no tag.

Reluctantly, Romune picked the gift back up. He set it in his lap and stared down at it with furrowed brows. It took a serious pep talk to finally pull back the top of the box. 

The first thing that Romune noticed was a surprisingly strong smell of cologne. For as old as the gift was, the smell was potent, both in smell and in emotion. It forced a wave of overwhelming nostalgia upon him. Romune sat there, holding the open gift, too stunned from the intense longing to move. He didn’t even know what he was longing for. The cologne started to make his head hurt. He considered setting the gift aside and laying down instead but this whole ordeal had made his phantom pain lessen. So he continued. 

He pulled out a shirt from the box. As he pulled the shirt out, an envelope flopped onto the floor in front of him. Romune nudged the box to the side for a moment and stared at the shirt. It was too big to be his own, and the color of the symbol was too purple. The more he stared at the symbol, the more his head ached. But there was something there. A memory. A troll. Someone stored in the back of his brain, waiting to come forward. 

Romune didn’t know what he was doing. He brought the shirt up to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed in the scent. The feeling of deja vu came forth, but it didn’t feel wrong. This was genuinely familiar. He just didn’t know why. Romune held the shirt close, willing it to bring forth the memory of the owner. And yet…..nothing. The longing was replaced with a deep-rooted sadness. As if his own heart was upset that he couldn’t remember. 

Romune folded the shirt back up into a neat square, and set it to his side. He let his gaze linger on it for another second, as if that sole second could conjure up the proper memories. When nothing happened, he turned to the letter. His name was hand written on the front of the envelope. It looked hastily done, and punctuated with a little exclamation mark. Romune! That was him alright! Romune. Someone had written a letter for Romune. 

But not this Romune, the Romune with the hollowness in his eyes and the scruffy face; the Romune with the goldblood friend. The Romune who died on the operating table. Not this Romune. 

It almost felt wrong to open the letter. The tear was jagged and uneven, messy at best. He wasn’t sure if it was his hand shaking from nerves or the slight ache that remained. The letter inside was folded haphazardly. It was handwritten as well. But it looked like whoever wrote it had spent actual time on it, unlike the name on the front of the letter. He took his time to read every word, take in everything. 

To say reading the letter was an emotional rollercoaster was an understatement. 

The name at the end of the letter is what caused Romune the greatest amount of grief. He stared at it, begging for something. It was at the tip of his tongue. There was SOMETHING there. He had to work for it, but he could feel the gears turning in his head as he grasped for the straws of a memory.

Magnus. Who was Magnus-? 

It hit Romune hard. The more he stared at the name, the more he could picture a face, until it suddenly became clear as day. Messy hair pulled back in a bun, square jaw, long ears. He had a goatee. There were strands of hair falling down into his face. His eyes weren’t really blue, but they weren’t really purple, either. His horns were curved with spikes. Specifically, Romune remembered him with a hair tie between his teeth. Magnus was grinning, brow cocked, walking backwards. Where was he going? Mentally, Romune reached for him, desperate to pull him close and ask. But as quick as he came, Magnus was gone. 

When Romune returned to Alternia, he realized his cheeks were wet with tears. One of them had splashed down onto the paper and smeared the ink by Magnus’ name. Romune sniffled slightly and brushed away the rest of the teardrop before folding the letter back up. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. 

HyenaMom realized something was wrong, and stood up from her bed in the corner. She gave a big long stretch before making her way to her charge, and laid behind him. She curled up behind Romune’s back and whimpered. He leaned back just slightly, then decided to lay down on the floor instead. He used his lusus as a pillow and stared up at the boring ceiling while his emotions swirled in his chest. And the phantom pain resurfaced. 

He carefully rested his organic hand on his robotic shoulder. The shirt laid, now slightly tousled, within reach of his robotic hand. Romune slowly grabbed it and brought it back to his face. He begged for the smell to bring him the same sense of nostalgia and security. He wanted to feel warm again. He wanted to feel like Magnus was there again. But nothing happened. The smell was so faint, it was practically a memory. 

But what the shirt did bring back, was the faintest memory of a voice. 

“You said no, right?” 

Romune had the feeling he had said yes. What did he say yes to? To working. He agreed to work. To cover someone’s shift at the ship repair sight. It was a different site, not his usual place of business. Who was he covering for? He strained to think of a name. No name popped up, but the smiling goldblood with the blue and green eyes came to mind. Them. He was covering for them. 

Romune had agreed to cover the goldblood’s shift at the ship repair sight. It was starting to come back to him, slowly but surely. Magnus had stopped by unexpectedly. Romune didn’t really remember from where, what Magnus had been doing. What Romune did remember, was opening the door to leave and seeing Magnus standing there. And in his hand was the box. The box that Romune had just opened. 

The box meant for the Romune with the hollow eyes and the scruffy face, who covered a shift for a goldblood and got blown up. Not the Romune with the metal limbs and metal jaw, who doesn’t cover shifts because he’s the only intern. 

If Magnus was alive, Romune was certain he had moved on. Or maybe he died in the explosion. Wherever he was, he was obviously happy. No Magnus had ever stopped by his hive, at least not that Romune could remember. 

Romune found himself hoping Magnus had died. He hid his face in the shirt, silently begging it to bring him anything. Any sense of comfort. Or more memories of Magnus. He wanted so badly to remember more about this mysterious purpleblooded man with the long hair and curved horns. 

  The clinic was warm and clean with faint pumped-up music playing in the background from a small Bluetooth speaker. It smelled faintly of citrus. Estela was greeted warmly by the very robotic looking blueblood at the front desk. You had met him a handful of times. He was always very kind to Estela. He complimented the ribbon in her hair and made some small talk before Visper came out to collect her. You attempted to follow your sibling but Visper told you to stay in the waiting area. You were bitter about it, but took a seat in one of the plastic chairs regardless. You were content to scroll on your palmhusk with a scowl. That was, until a specific song came on. 

  You couldn't hide the sourness if you tried. And honestly, you made an attempt to ignore it. You barely lasted thirty seconds. With an annoyed sigh, you set your palmhusk on your thigh and look up to glower at the blueblood. For a moment, you were surprised to find him staring at you. But your annoyance at the song overrode the surprise. 

  "Can you turn that off?" 

  There was a pause. The music was not shut off. "Can I ask why? Whysteria isn't my type of music but I don't think they're horrible." 

  "I just...don't like that song." You were determined as ever to speak as little as possible. This did not please the blueblood. His face was startlingly deadpan. Regardless, he reached over to the speaker and turned down the volume to where it was barely audible. 

  Now, that could have been it. And you would have been perfectly fine. You picked up your palmhusk and resumed your scrolling through Chitter. Much to your dismay, the blueblood rose from his seat. And made his way over...to sit in the seat next to you. You glare at him from the side of your eye but make no first attempt at contact. 

  "If my memory serves me, I believe that song had...some sort of pitch connotations. I met the singer when he lost his arm, you know. He never mentioned a pitch. I thought that was weird." The blueblood spoke as if you two were close friends. The mention of Bruuno just twisted the knife in your already ruined mood. 

  "Good for him. I don't care." You turned your attention back to the screen but didn't resume scrolling. You just ended up glowering at a post about sourdough starters. However, the blueblood set his hand on your leg. As if you two were friends, like he knew your whole life story. Anger bubbled up violently but quickly melted away, for some uncertain reason. There was a split second where you wanted to remove this stranger’s only flesh arm. As quick as the feeling came, you were mellow.

  "Ah, but I think you do." His tone was cool and collected. For some reason, his confidence shook you more than it should've. You turned your head to glower at him instead. 

  "Does it matter if I do? Who the fuck are you anyways?" 

  "I'm Romune. It matters to me because you are Estela's brother, yes? So your mood directly affects her mood and, by proxy, her recovery. If you're going to be a bitter sonovabitch, you can at least do it...not in my office. But if you're going to sit here and look as if someone kicked your lusus, you can at least talk about it so it doesn't affect Estela later." Somehow, Romune managed to be completely deadpan, even while insulting you. And for some reason...you were fine with it. You were silent for a moment before continuing. 

  "You aren't my moirail." 

  "And you aren't mine. Clearly you don't talk to yours about this, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here with a glare that could kill. Consider it a free pass to say whatever is on your mind." 

  Is that allowed? Your expression turned from bitter to concerned. You were allowed to do that? It was a strange thought. You weren't entirely sure you were capable of it. Your gaze turns to the door that Visper and Estela disappeared behind. 

  Romune answered your question before you could even ask it. "Estela will be a while. Visper wanted to do adjustments. We have...an hour? Maybe more. So, talk." 

  Talk? Was that possible? You look down at your palmhusk, at the sourdough starter on the screen. Has anyone ever asked you to just...talk before? 

  “About what?” Your voice is smaller than you’d care to admit. There’s a soft tink tink tink as Romune taps his metal jaw with his metal hand, but his organic one remains on your leg. For some reason, you aren’t mad at it. The feeling of his hand was keeping you grounded. 

  “Well, what are you thinking? What has made that handsome face so sour?” There’s an odd amount of affection behind his words. Your brow furrows as your chest swirls with emotions. Words never were your friend. It was always easier to hide things. Close up your heart and your mouth. The longer they were open, the easier it was to hurt you. The silence that lingered between you and Romune was uncomfortable enough for you to want to fill it. He obviously wasn’t going to. You heave a sigh, and turn off the screen to your palmhusk. 

    “I’m...worried.” That was a start. 

    “About?” But it wasn’t a very good one. 

    “Her.” You pause for a moment, and Romune doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to, because the words start to spill out of you in a way they never have before. You weren’t sure if they were betraying you by exposing your heart, or helping in some twisted way. “She’s...very similar to him. Maybe it’s the alcohol? I’m not...sure. Lup drinks too. It bothers me when she drinks, as well.” 

    “So is your problem with the alcohol, or because…?” 

    “Because it reminds me of him. I had to wrigglersit him when he was drunk...make sure he got hive safe, or stayed with me. A weird part of me liked it when he was drunk. Because he wasn’t using other substances. I don’t really mind it with Lup. She’s a different kind of drunk. She drinks for other reasons. Ketspa...drinks...like he did.” They both drink because they have heavy hearts, because there’s something weighing on their souls. They’d rather be drunk than face the harsh reality of whatever is weighing on them. 

    “I see.” Romune’s tone made you believe that he really did see. “Is it...just the drinking that upsets you? It seems there’s more to this.” 

    “There is.” You hated how easy it was to admit that. Speaking to this man went against everything you believed in, and yet it was so easy to. “She says we’re together. I...have mixed feelings about that. I know she isn’t Bruuno.” 

    “But..?” 

    “But I’m terrified.” You actually laugh. It’s bitter and full of self loathing. “She’s so similar to him. And so different. The difference scares me. The similarity scares me. What am I going to do if she cheats like he did? That’s not even the scariest part! At least if she cheats, I expected it. I know what to do, maybe. What really terrifies me is having no fucking idea what she’ll do.” 

    “Well,” Romune interjected, preventing you from spiralling completely out of control, “Let’s take this one step at a time. What happens if she cheats?”

    “...I forgive her. I don’t want to shut out everyone again. I don’t want to talk about it to them, but I won’t lose them. I can’t go through that again.” Your voice shakes against your will. You wouldn’t know what to do if you ever lose Giti and Lup. Both of them keep you sane, for lack of a better word. You deal with the crippling fear of losing Giti to an untimely death every day, and the thought of Lup turning her back on you just as Boroka had done is too dark to think about. You’d much rather forgive Ketspa and forget it ever happened to prevent any of that from happening. 

    “And what happens if she doesn’t cheat? Theoretical, my friend. A perfect world, and she never cheats.” 

    You are overcome with silence again. Your words were lost deep in your chest. Romune seemed to take note of your silence, because he changed the question when nothing came out. 

    “Is it really the cheating that you’re afraid of?” 

    “I…” Panic and frustration bubble up once more. You knew this feeling well. It would make your head turn to static and you’d feel nothing but anger. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, mentally preparing yourself for the waves of upsetting emotions. But they never came. As quickly as they bubbled up, they were swept away. An eerie feeling of serene calmness rested in your chest. You open your eyes and exhale. 

    “I’m afraid of her. Because I don’t know what she’s going to do. What she’ll ever do. With Bruuno...I had him down to a T. I could predict everything. Well..almost everything. I guess if I had actually known him that well..I would’ve predicted the cheating, huh?” Your tone is sad but playful. 

    “Not necessarily, my friend,” The smoothness of Romune’s voice helped the calm feeling to grow, “You can only blame yourself, and him, so much. Eventually, you have to let it go. And you have to accept that this girl...is new. As Bruuno once was. You didn’t start your relationship with him having known him so well, did you?” 

    “...I guess not?”

    “So there. You don’t know this girl...but you will, eventually.” 

    You were silent again. You sat with that thought for a moment. Romune was silent as well, allowing you to mill for the time being. It was oddly reassuring. 

    “What should I do?” You ask softly as you realize the screen on your palmhusk had gone dark. An unusual man stared back from the dark screen. Sure, he looked like you. But he looked tired, he looked emotionally exhausted. Everything about the man in the reflection was what you fought so hard to hide from the world. 

    “So you start anew, my friend. It is good to move on past the things that hurt us. You have to allow your heart to heal. I believe this girl...is a good way to do that. You may not know her now but you will one day. And you’ll look back on these doubts and fears and think of them as silly.” 

    “But wha-”

    “Nope, no what ifs.” Romune managed to interrupt you in the most polite of ways. It almost made you mad. “You are allowing yourself to spiral. You need to show yourself that she isn’t everything you’re afraid of. You can do it. Take it slow. But don’t be so afraid, my friend. Life is too long to be afraid of the unknown.” 

    Just as he stopped speaking, the door to Visper’s office opened. Estela came out stretching her arms over her head. Visper followed close behind. Romune stood up, removing his hand from your thigh. Almost instantly, the serene feeling faded away. You weren’t angry...just numb. 

    Romune wandered over towards Estela. You heard chatter, but you were too distracted to hear exactly what they were saying. Your palmhusk dinged. A notification popped up on the screen. You were surprised that Ketspa would message you first. You read over her message and even found yourself smiling...ever so slightly. 

    Estela stopped in front of you and flicked your forehead, “C’mon doof. I wanna take a nap. Rom said there’s a cool cafe nearby, let’s stop there and get some bevs.” 

    You stood up with a slight nod. You hold the door open for Estela as you leave. You make it a short distance down the street before she asked, “What were you and Rom talking about?”

    “Stuff.”

★ ★ ★ 

    Romune watched the two fuchsias leave the office silently. When the door shut behind them, he sighed deeply and took a seat back behind his desk. His arms folded in front of him so he could lay his head down and rest for a moment. 

    “You really ought to take it easy with the powers, Rom.” Visper leaned her hip against the desk and set a hand on Romune’s head, “It’s starting to become a bit much, hm?”

    Romune groaned in response. 

    “How long were you doing it? The whole time we were back there? Oh, Rom.” Visper shook her head slightly, making a soft tsk tsk sound.

    Romune groaned again, softer. 

    “Did it give you a migraine? Serves you right, you nosy bastard. Take an asprin.” Visper pushed off the desk so she could get a small cup of water from the fountain nearby. Romune lifted his head so he could retrieve the painkillers and take them. 

    “You know it hurts. You’ve known this your whole life. Why do you still do it?” Visper crossed her arms over her chest as she waited. 

    “Sometimes we do things that hurt us because they’re fun.” Romune’s voice was soft, no longer deadpan.