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Tremaine could see his figure out of the corner of his eye. Roshan was bobbing along slightly to the upbeat new Frankie Dena song. It was like he was entirely oblivious to the world around him; wrapped up in his own head. It's moments like this when Tremaine missed him most. Roshan's gaze flickered toward him sitting in the corner of the room. Tremaine wrenched his eyes away, desperately attempting to conceal his gaze. With a false identity wrapped around him, Roshan had no way of knowing who he was, but men staring at you intensely at parties are glaring warning signs. Tremaine was surprised when Roshan stopped dancing and walked toward him, sitting next to him on the bench.
Tremaine risked a glance over at him. He was smiling, the smile Tremaine was all too familiar with. The smile he'd gone without for too long. Roshan's scent washed over him, as memories came rushing back. Whole days playing Warcross, their first kiss. Roshan dragging him downstairs to play Mario Kart at ungodly hours, always winning. Time spent wrapped up in his arms, or exchanging teasing looks across the room. The times Roshan was his. Tremaine looked him in the eye.
‘Hey. I saw you sitting over here all alone. You were looking at the dance floor with a distant look in your eyes, and I thought you might want some company,’ Roshan said to him, looking over like Tremaine meant the world to him. He looked at everyone like that. He truly cared. Tremaine didn’t know how he does it.
‘I thought this event was just for championship players, but you don't play for a team, do you?.’ Roshan inquired. Tremaine racked his brain, unsure of how to respond to the other’s questioning.
'Did you sneak in here? Don't worry, I won't tell. What's your name? I’m Roshan, by the way. Roshan Ahmadi.' Tremaine couldn’t use his own name, since that would likely cause Roshan to storm out of the club, leaving Tremaine isolated with only his increasingly anxious thoughts for company. He wanted Roshan to see him as someone else. Someone who wasn’t a complete mess. Someone who was’t Tremaine Blackbourne.
‘Yeah I know who you are. You’re pretty famous. I’m Liam Keenan. I work here, as security,’ Tremaine responded to his question. The neurolink software changing his features also altered his voice, deepening and altering the accent from English to Irish. Tremaine concealed a smirk at the name. Liam was the protagonist of an obscure comic series he had was hyperfixated on in high school. Roshan had promised he would read it, but never got round to it. The perfect disguise.
‘Oh that makes sense! What does the job entail? Do you have to stay here breaking up fights all night?’
‘Mostly, yeah. I can’t leave patrol except for bathroom breaks and fights.’ Lies, a voice in Tremaine’s head whispered. All lies. He wasn’t actually employed there; he shouldn’t be doing this.
‘Well, do you think your boss would mind if you joined me for a dance? Just one song.’ Tremaine hesitated, then smiled as he pushed the voice to the back of his mind. One dance. He could leave after. He wasn’t himself- he could do whatever he wanted without worrying about what others thought of him.
‘You know what? Why not? Boss is probably busy with the bartenders. They’re always getting into trouble.’ Roshan laughed, extending his hand. Tremaine hesitated, then reached out to take it. Roshan's hand felt familiar in his, but at the same time brand new as more than a year apart can do. Roshan smiled, and pulled him over to the dance floor. Right at that moment, the song switched, as if in a movie, this one slower than the previous.
With a knowing grin, Roshan reached toward his waist. He guided Tremaine’s hand to his shoulder.
‘Had much experience with dancing?’
‘I’ve been to a few parties involving it in the past.’ Roshan didn’t need to know they were his parties; the ones that his parents hosted.
‘You’re pretty good for someone who’s just been to a few parties. I’ve been to hundreds. All fancy and elegant. They’re really not all they’re cut out to be.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’
‘Give me a computer any day. Video games are way better than parties.’
Tremaine laughed. Roshan would always find a way to bring the conversation back around to gaming. He’d always thought it was sweet that he was so passionate about his hobby.
‘What brings you here tonight then?’ Tremaine already knew, but small talk acted as a buffer for Tremaine, preventing his real feelings from slipping out and ruining what was otherwise a great moment.
‘My friends, ever the happy couple, dragged me along.’ Roshan glanced over to Hammie and Asher, laughing in the corner, wrapped in each others’ arms. 'It's a tradition anyway. Closing ceremony, you know.'
‘Is there someone in your life?’ Tremaine inquired, instantly regretting it. Roshan's previously open expression hardened, biting his cheek as he cast his eyes to the floor awkwardly. Dammit. The voice had returned, echoing whispers of why would you do that and coming on too strong, don’t you think. Run away now, before you embarrass yourself further. Tremaine tried to try to shake them away, to send them back to the furthest reaches of his mind, but they lingered, whispering.
‘Well, there was someone. A year ago. I lov- really liked him, but it turned out he was an addict and cheating on me. He's not here tonight. Wasn't bold enough to show his face. Good riddance.' Roshan scoffed and looked up at Tremaine, right as he turned his gaze to his feet, both dancing around the burn of eye contact, both scared of what they’d see in the other’s eyes. Tremaine had stopped taking pills after he left the Riders, spending weeks in rehab and therapy. He and his therapist had spent hours working on his mental health and self-esteem, without which he probably wouldn’t have had the guts to show up tonight. But now that Roshan was standing right in front of him, he realised that this was undoubtably a bad idea.
‘Love is complicated I guess,’ Tremaine replied. ‘If you really liked this guy, maybe you should call him. Maybe there is more to his side of the story.’
‘I don’t know. He explained it pretty clearly. He thought that I wasn’t good enough for him, and maybe he was right.’ Tremaine looked up, racked by guilt, meeting Roshan’s pensive eyes with his. It was never Roshan that wasn’t enough for him. Tremaine hadn’t thought Roshan would care this much, that he’d actually be affected by what Tremaine had did. As the song drew to a close, Tremaine stepped back and out of Roshan’s arms.
‘Well, you got your dance. Goodbye Roshan.’ Without looking back, Tremaine headed toward the door, shoving it open with too much force as it slammed behind him. He signalled a cab, and as he climbed in the back seat, he let both the false identity and tears fall.