the day the music died

A soft sigh leaves him as Toni combs through his hair, frowning more bemused than anything at the other man’s accompanying scoff. His heart squeezes as Toni questions the descriptor he gave them. It’s not an ideal term to Roman either, and he wants to say something to defend the poor choice of phrasing, but pauses as Antonio drops his gaze, seemingly focused on tearing off the already-loose button on his shirt. The shop owner attempts to keep his breathing even, wondering if he’s somehow fucked up before they could really begin. A month simply hadn’t been long enough…

“We’re not.” He confirms when Toni dares meet his eyes again and states the obvious at the two not seeing other people, and he can feel a flush creep onto his cheek as the word ‘boyfriend’ slips almost effortlessly from the guitarist’s lips. He’s right, it is a little juvenile, but he doesn’t care. He feels twenty years younger when wrapped in his arms anyway, and he offers Toni a rare crooked Roman Daniels smile. “Darling, in my head I’ve been calling you mine for weeks. My…something. I think boyfriend works, until we can both think of something better.” He leans down, planting a chaste kiss on Toni’s lips. “I want a relationship with you, Toni. I only want you.”

Roman’s kiss is far too quick for Toni’s liking, so he’s pulled back in by his shirt for another slower, deeper one. I only want you, he’d said, and Antonio hopes he can pour that same emotion into however long he can keep this kiss up — make Roman understand that it’s the same for him. That it’ll always be the same for him. He thinks he may have been kissing his — boyfriend — for maybe two, three minutes tops before the doorbell rings, cutting through his reverie.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sighing. “Okay, fine, I’ll turn the porch light off,” he promises, scrambling off the couch and toward the kitchen. He grabs the entirety of the candy bowl and whatever’s left in there and opens the door, pouring the rest of the candy into the kids’ bags. “Happy halloween!” He exclaims to several awestruck children, before closing the door behind him and turning the porch light off. Tossing the plastic candy bowl somewhere over the kitchen counter, he makes his way back to Roman on the couch, almost immediately pressing his lips to the other man’s again. “I’m all yours now,” he promises against his lips, then grins. “All yours always.”

He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the still-scalding temperature, then sighed. “You’re lucky, though. You're used to it. Me? I’m a fraud. I’m built for sun-drenched islands and balmy evenings. Stick me in a place like this, and suddenly my legs turn into these uncooperative lumps of rebellion.” He glanced down briefly, his tone light but the confession cutting deeper. Tilting his head, he studied Roman with mock seriousness. “But what’s the reason you’re braving the cold today, Daniels? Surely not just to show off your superior winter layering skills.”

“From what I know about you, Bailey, you can pack up to those sun-drenched islands you crave. There’s entire continents that don’t experience snow or ice all year long.” True, Roman was in the same boat, but he quite liked the obvious changing of the seasons. A sympathetic grimace — his smiles were only ever reserved for Toni and Ophelia — was plastered on his features, eyes following Theo’s glance at the legs, his own arm numb in what he imagined was sympathy. “Uncooperative lumps of rebellion, sounds like you’re describing my staff.” And he snorted. “Which is partly the reason I’m out here. Before I hit them over the head with a kick drum. And yourself?”

Dani has decided she's going to repaint her childhood bedroom. Since it has now turned into her adult bedroom, it feels like it's finally time to get rid of the numerous teen beat heart throb posters she had from high school off her walls. And it's time the bedroom walls changed from an almost florescent shade of aqua to something a bit more... relaxing?

Looking between a soft neutral shade of grey (boring, but it screams adult), and earthy sage (was she an earth tone person?) and the most saturated coral she could find (it felt like her but less in your face), Dani let out a huff.

Turning to hold the tester strips for each color in the light, she swore under her breath as she almost struck a nearby shopper in the face. "Fuck, I'm sorry!" She apologized, grabbing their shoulder as if it could convey just how sorry she was for the near miss. "I didn't see you passing by." Too consumed by paint, it seemed. "Uh... which one?" She held up the three shades, hoping someone who wasn't desperate to make a sale would be honest about the colors and if any of them were worth buying.

Still, he knew the trip out would be a less than enjoyable one, and really, was there anything less drab than a home improvement store? Young couples squabbling over the look of the kitchen tiles of their first home, expectant parents for some reason choosing the most garish of yellows for their child’s nursery (who taught people that bright yellow was gender-neutral? He was raised by extremely quirky, free-spirited parents and Roman never once donned an outfit that made him look like a daffodil) and, well, apparently people trying to sucker punch him out of thin air. “Fuck’s sake, it’s just paint! What’s with all the bloody excitement?!” He huffed out immediately, waving off the stranger’s apologies, and shooting a glare, first at her, and then at the strips she was holding up. At least she, unlike his sister, was daring for some colour. “It depends, are you decorating for a funeral home, a new quirky coffee shop —,” Because that’s something Blue Harbor needed more of, “— or your grandmother’s retirement home lodgings?” 

“Arrangements,” he huffs out the word, tone a little teasing, but mostly just disbelieving. “Is that what we’re in? An arrangement?” His gaze is fixed on where his hands are now playing anxiously with Roman’s shirt, unable to find it in himself to look into Rome’s eyes until he knows exactly what he wants to say. The words are all in his head, of course — have been, for the entire month they’ve been doing this — but he’s having a hard time putting them in order and making them into something coherent.

Eventually, he meets Roman’s gaze again, searching. “I’m not — and you’re not — neither of us are seeing other people,” he starts unnecessarily. “And we both already know neither of us want to see other people, for that matter. And I know — the word boyfriend sounds a little juvenile, I get that.” He pauses for a beat. “But I don’t think I’d mind calling you that,” he adds slowly, feeling his cheeks pink slightly. “And I don’t think I’d mind being yours, either.” He huffs, embarrassed. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done this,” he admits. “The relationship talk. A relationship at all. But,” he licks his lips. “I want that. With you.” A pause. “Only if you do, though,” he adds quickly. “We don’t — have to. Not if this is working for you as it is.”

A soft sigh leaves him as Toni combs through his hair, frowning more bemused than anything at the other man’s accompanying scoff. His heart squeezes as Toni questions the descriptor he gave them. It’s not an ideal term to Roman either, and he wants to say something to defend the poor choice of phrasing, but pauses as Antonio drops his gaze, seemingly focused on tearing off the already-loose button on his shirt. The shop owner attempts to keep his breathing even, wondering if he’s somehow fucked up before they could really begin. A month simply hadn’t been long enough…

“We’re not.” He confirms when Toni dares meet his eyes again and states the obvious at the two not seeing other people, and he can feel a flush creep onto his cheek as the word ‘boyfriend’ slips almost effortlessly from the guitarist’s lips. He’s right, it is a little juvenile, but he doesn’t care. He feels twenty years younger when wrapped in his arms anyway, and he offers Toni a rare crooked Roman Daniels smile. “Darling, in my head I’ve been calling you mine for weeks. My…something. I think boyfriend works, until we can both think of something better.” He leans down, planting a chaste kiss on Toni’s lips. “I want a relationship with you, Toni. I only want you.”

Theo accepted the steaming cup of coffee from the barista with a murmured thanks, then turned his attention to the person who’d commented on the cold. His grin was immediate, teasing. “Oh, it’s definitely winter’s opening act. You can tell because everyone’s still pretending they don’t need gloves. Including me.” He raised the paper cup like a shield, his fingers already pink from the chill. “But come January, we’ll all be bundled up like mummies, questioning every life choice that brought us to Illinois.” He paused, his grin softening into a curious tilt of his head. “You must be better prepared than me, though. What’s your secret? Layers? Thermal socks? Some ancient ritual you’d be willing to share? I'm not a creature of the cold. I'm meant to migrate South, like birds do.”

Roman watched curiously, wondering if she’d somehow evade answering, taken aback when she did, even if it wasn’t as vitriolic as his own answer. “Where I come from, we just kill them.” Who had the fucking time to kiss the arses of  those who couldn’t stand his presence? He didn’t do it when he was in the public eye, he didn’t do it to fucking Harry, and he certainly wasn’t going to do it now. The thought of Harry and death in the same sentence made his heart lurch for a second, but he soon found distraction as his phone released a series of pings. Three immediately after each other, like a punch to the temple each time. 

Two were blaming someone on the missing guitar. The third explained the exact location of the package. At least not everyone was a total nitwit.

“What did your previous director do then, to test your patience?” He imagined even Saint Monica would be no match to the doctor, leaning against the counter as he asked, though really he should have been halfway in the store room to grab the instrument she was waiting for, quick to end the interaction and get back to urgent matters: re, texting Toni. But, he didn’t mind Dee. Thought there was more to her under the surface. “What heinous crimes did they commit?”

His face clears, then, as if the question clicks into place a second too late. Smiling up at Roman crookedly, he raises an eyebrow as he trails his hand downward, fingers eventually snaking underneath Rome’s shirt and brushing gently against the skin of his abdomen. For all intents and purposes, it’s a fairly innocent touch, but it mostly serves as supporting evidence to what he says next: “I don’t have to make shit up in my head like that very often.” He pauses, leaning in to press a kiss to Roman’s cheekbone. “I can work off memory just fine,” he mutters teasingly, trailing kisses down his friend’s jaw, fingers still tracing aimless patterns on Roman’s skin beneath his shirt. 

He hesitates only briefly before pressing a kiss to Roman’s neck, gentle, exploratory. “Think I could be happy getting to kiss you just like this for the rest of our lives,” he mutters the words as though they’re a secret, then drops a kiss to Rome’s collarbone before pulling back to meet his gaze curiously. “You don’t — do you need to take this slower?” He asks seriously. Antonio’s not sure how far Roman’s willing to take what they do, but he’s been working off Roman’s pace for over a month now. Happy to do it — but now he’s nervous he’s crossed some sort of line before Roman was ready to cross it with him. “Because we can.”

To Toni's credit, he helps immensely in soothing Roman's humiliation, like aloe gel on a sunburn, the kiss at his cheek having them redden for much different reasons for now. "In your old age? Your memory must be starting to fog here and there." He murmurs, though the element of teasing is lost to the desperation coating his words.

He gazes up at the other man, and despite being tangled up in each other's limbs, from a distance it's all fairly innocuous, but there's a tension between the two that's anything but, just bubbling there beneath the surface. Roman Daniels has never felt more vulnerable in his life, and for the first time in forty-one years, isn't frightened of it. "I like the pace we're going." He assures, because any slower would drive him mad, even though it's completely up to him to set the speed. "I just...I'm aware that in most..." Relationships is the apt word, but because they never discussed it, he doesn't know if he's allowed to say it, "Arrangements, especially between adults of our age, things have just developed more, is all. I don't want you to think I'm holding out on you." Fucking hell, it's amazing he's able to keep eye contact saying that, not melting into a puddle of shame. "I just...I know it's not a race, I know we're not to compare to others. I just want you to know that I want to be at that stage, one day."