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Roman loved many things in life, despite what his constant complaining may imply. He loved the love of his life, Patton Blinkely, and the swell of satisfaction he got when he brought a villain to justice. That’s why he did it, spend his nights out on the streets that held houses belonging to people who judged him, mistreated him, and hated him all his life--but people, all the same, because deep down he knew they didn’t deserve to die.
Yes, that also meant he was risking his life every night, but it was also not really about saving lives when it all boiled down to it. Vanquishing villains like The Dragon Witch (a horribly tacky name, according to the local newspaper, but Roman took pride in his naming of her) filled him with a sense of pride he didn’t get anywhere else. Certainly not from the people around here, and yet in a twisted way, they were who he was doing it for.
Still, if there was one thing Roman Princely loved most in life it was the smell of warm pasta. It was something he hadn't smelt in a long time, so when he came after a long night of crime-fighting at three- three? Three in the morning, already! Well, he smelled that heavenly scent and he couldn’t help but become puzzled. He was used to coming home to drawn curtains, dark rooms, and Patton asleep in bed, no doubt planning to try and stay up waiting for his love but fell asleep on accident anyways, glasses smooshed between his face and his pillow.
“Patton? Dearest?” Roman called out, almost not expecting an answer.
“Roman! I’m in the kitchen, honey!”
Roman’s mind was swarming with questions, but every step he took to their small kitchen took one by one and plucked them out of his mind until the only thing he could think about was his love, his angel, his everything, standing right here in front of him, serving bowls of steaming hot pasta.
“I died didn’t I?” Roman gasped dramatically, throwing the back of a hand to his forehead. “I had to have! This is a scene right of heaven!”
Patton giggled at Roman’s antics, but quickly stopped when he took in the whole of Roman’s appearance. His Prince costume was still on, but it was hardly recognizable under all the shreds and tears it had gone through. Where skin showed Roman either had a bruise, growing and purpling, or a large, bleeding scrape. Roman looked as if he had been thrown into a shredder that was a bit too good at its job.
Patton squeaked and nearly dropped the bowls in his hand onto the floor with surprise, and Roman hurried (okay, he limped, but it was still done in a hurried manner) to Patton to take the bowls and set them on the counter, then cup Patton’s face in his hands. Roman shushed him and leaned his forehead against Patton’s, kissing his nose while whispering, “It’s okay, love. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
“But look at you!” Patton cried, brushing gentle fingers over all the marks on Roman’s body. “R-Roman, you look awful!”
“Aye, I know my hair’s a mess, no need to be so rude about it,” Roman joked, smiling in a way that tried to lighten the mood but it couldn’t, no matter how bright or how fake. Not this time.
“I’m serious, RoRo,” Patton said. He opened the pantry and came out with the medical kit, and Roman, used to this routine, sat on one of their chairs and waited as Patton pulled out several band aids and ice packets from the fridge. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Of course it’s not! But I do it to make sure you’re safe, and that’s what matters,” Roman explained, but Patton just shook his head.
Patton applied bandages, cream, and burning alcohol in silence, Roman--whose brain was always buzzing too much for him to be quiet--humming to some song to some musical that didn’t seem to matter in the moment. There was nothing else to say, though, Roman thought, but he was proven wrong when Patton finished and got up from his place kneeling next to Roman.
“We need to talk,” Patton sighed. Roman wanted to say something, something reassuring like he was fine, they didn’t need to, he’ll try not to get as hurt next time, but from Patton’s tone he could tell he didn’t want to have this talk either. They just had to.
“At three in the morning?” Roman asked, though he knew there was no getting out of it. Still, he was curious as to why Patton wanted to have serious conversation time at an hour like this. “What are you even doing up this late?”
“Waiting for you!” Patton said. “I have to talk to you, so instead of falling asleep like I usually do I decided to stay up looking for recipes and experimenting! And I know pasta is your favorite and helps relax you so…” Patton trailed off and grabbed the bowls again, coming to the table and giving Roman one of them. Roman inhaled the smell of the spaghetti and fell in love all over again.
“Okay,” Roman giggled. “You have my attention.”
“Well... I get worried about you,” Patton said, and when he made no motion to sit down, Roman wrapped his arms around his waist and sat him on his lap. Patton accepted this, but didn't stop. “It’s just-! Roman! One day you could go out and not come back home! And then what?”
“Patton, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you have no reason to worry for me.” Roman attempted eating, but with Patton in his lap it was difficult. So Patton took the bowl and fed Roman spoonfuls as he talked.
“You don’t know that though!” Patton said. “The cops are the ones that are supposed to be risking their lives everyday, not you! Not a young, charming man with so much life ahead of him! You can’t just waste it!”
“But ‘m saving other people!” Roman pointed out in between chews.
“Roman, you don’t even like these people!” Patton argued, tears glazing over his eyes. “They kicked you out when you came out as a kid, they tore you down because you wanted to spend your life on a stage to make money, they… they-!”
“They...?” Roman pressed on.
Patton placed the bowl down on the table to cup Roman’s face in his hands and kiss his lips gently. “They hurt you,” he mumbled.
Roman inhaled deeply. Deep down he knew Patton was right, but did he really just risk his life everyday to feel a thrill when he punched a baddie in the face? To watch them be escorted off to a cell that they will surely break out of later? No, that wasn't it. It never was it.
“And, Roman,” Patton breathed against his lips, “you can’t earn their acceptance by wearing a disguise and playing the hero every night while I worry sick about you.”
He was right. Roman knew it, but he didn’t want to admit. “Okay,” he finally said. “Fine.”
Patton got up, crossing his arms sternly. He was a ball of sunshine most of the time, but he could be scary if he wanted to be. “I need to hear you promise.”
“Promise what?”
Patton shot him a look and Roman nodded. “Okay, okay. I promise I won’t go out every night. The Prince has officially retired.”
A relieved smile spread over Patton’s face and he kissed Roman, lovingly and passionately, and Roman didn’t feel an ounce of regret at all in the decision he made. This was actually by far the best spaghetti night they ever had. Roman’s eyes caught sight of the microwave clock when Patton leaned away and he remembered it was technically not night anymore.
Okay, so it was the best spaghetti morning , but Roman didn’t like to think about technicalities, so instead he kissed Patton again.