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Roman’s legs dangle over the edge of the apartment building as he overlooks his city. He’s supposed to be looking for crime or anything amiss, but so far, the night seems to be peaceful. Fewer and fewer civilians linger in the streets as the hour grows late, and even the street lights are less garish in this neighborhood than in other parts of the city.
Instead, he focuses his gaze on the stars above. The little lights flicker in and out, almost as if they’re waving at Roman, and he smiles. Though a familiar sight in the town where he grew up, the bright lights and pollution of the city prevent stars from being as clearly visible here. And though Roman hates to admit it, he’s noticed that since moving here he also just hasn’t had the time to simply look up.
It’s only been a few months since Roman first embraced the identity of Prince Charming and donned a mask and costume, but he’s loved every single second so far. Spending time as his alter ego may leave no time for himself between college, work, and some semblance of a social life, but it’s worth it for the opportunity to use his curse productively for once, even if he hasn’t been involved in anything major yet.
Footsteps startle the hero out of his thoughts. They’re heavy - either the owner has heavy shoes or places too much weight on his feet. And judging by the sound of clanging metal increasing in volume, Roman is about to have an unwanted guest.
A moment later, the footsteps cease - the owner having reached the top of the fire escape and taken a few steps onto the rooftop, but Roman doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t particularly care for company tonight.
“Lovely weather we’re having,” a baritone voice observes.
Roman does his best to suppress a groan. Of course it had to be him. “What do you want, Tempest?”
Standing behind him is none other than Tifton’s first superhero, having stepped into the spotlight a couple years back. He's generally well-known and liked for his storm-themed powers and dry, sarcastic quips, but after having interacted with him in person a handful of times, Roman has found that he’s more of a pain in the ass than anything.
In the couple of times that Tempest and he had ended up technically working together, the other hero always struggled to settle on a plan and execute it at once, instead preferring to sift through several options and weighing the pros and cons of each. Roman supposes that he might admire the thoroughness but only if it were in a different setting where people weren’t possibly getting hurt in the meantime!
And it is also worth pointing out that Tempest has never been very friendly to him in the first place, and Roman still can not figure out why for the life of him. His natural charm by itself usually works wonders, but the other hero has not yet been convinced, engaging only in a constant barrage of nicknames and banter whenever they work together. And when they're not fighting crime, Tempest seems to spend as little time around Roman as possible. So why is he here now then? Whatever the reason, talking to Tempest takes energy that he does not have, and Roman had been enjoying his peaceful solitude.
Not to mention that Roman can practically feel the smirk of the man standing behind him. He nearly turns his head to confirm but stops himself as he wants to show Tempest that he does not intend to pay attention to him tonight.
“Well that’s not very chivalrous of you is it, Princey?”
Of course, Roman immediately gives in and shifts sideways so that his legs no longer hang over the edge and he can now see Tempest - in all of his smirking black and purple glory - standing before him. “I apologize,” he says with a mock bow, heavily layering sarcasm in his tone. “But even the most chivalrous require a break from time to time, and not all of us are currently in our element, Dark and Stormy Nightmare.”
The other hero only grins wider, but Roman notices that he’s fidgeting with the zipper on the sleeve of his costume. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he’s not sure, but it appears that Tempest is more nervous than he’s letting on. Good, maybe that will make him leave Roman alone sooner. It's weird that he initiated the conversation and has stuck around this long.
“I only came to have a little chat,” he says. “You’re fairly new to the superhero scene.”
Roman raises an eyebrow. He gets the feeling that there is a second part to that sentence, but the other hero doesn’t voice it. “Well, I’m not one for small talk, and neither are you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance, so you may as well cut to the chase.”
Tempest rolls his eyes, and if Roman had super hearing then he surely would've heard some snide comment from under the other hero's breath. But he doesn't, so he merely takes note of the hero crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. "Your power is… interesting," he starts, mismatched eyes focused uncomfortably on Roman. "If it were me, I would just use it quietly as a civilian or perhaps swear off using it at all."
He takes a step forward, and Roman leans back unconsciously, starting to feel like small prey being stalked by the predator at the top of the food chain. He has no clue what he's doing. Why did he ever think that becoming a hero was a good idea? His abilities are nothing compared to the prowess of someone like Tempest.
"But you," the hero continues. "You chose to become a superhero. And not just that, you're a flashy hero. It's one thing to be a small hero, one that stays in the shadows. You thrive in the spotlight."
He narrows his eyes. "Why?" he demands.
Roman frowns, "That's none of your business, J. D-lightful." He stands and draws himself to his full height so that he stands about as tall as Tempest. However, he is also unfortunately aware of how his own boots have just a bit more heel than the other hero's, making Tempest technically the taller of the two. Roman elects to ignore this fact and hopes that the other is unaware of it. He doesn't need to give him any more reasons to feel superior.
He steps forward, attempting in vain to push past the other, but Tempest thrusts out an arm to stop him. "You didn't answer my question," he says lightly, almost playfully, but Roman thinks it sounds more like a taunt.
"I don't see why you're so interested," Roman says. "It's not like I've done any harm. Quite the opposite in fact!"
"Just because you haven't done any harm yet doesn't mean that you won't in the future," Tempest replies easily. "There are many motivations for becoming a hero, but not all are honorable."
"And who decided that you're the best judge of what's honorable and what's not?" Roman questions.
"Well, someone who keeps deflecting my simple question is looking less honorable by the second."
Roman fumes at that. Who is this man to judge his character and his motivations? It's not like he's a petty crook - he spends his free time stopping crime! "What if it's personal?" he asks, his voice dangerously low. "Did you consider that, Robert Downer Jr.? Some people aren't willing to share their sob stories at the drop of a dime."
Tempest pauses for a moment but only for a moment. "Those with less than honorable stories-"
He continues to prattle on about his reasoning, but Roman is done listening to him. He wants to know his motivation? Fine, maybe it will finally shut him up.
“Because I hurt my brother, okay?” Roman snaps.
Everything goes very quiet. Roman finds himself to be blinking through tears as he observes Tempest’s reaction. He braces himself for the worst - scorn, hate, fear - he can take it. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the look of pity - is that pity? - on the hero’s face.
Suddenly everything is too much for Roman to handle, and he distantly feels his legs move. Since he got stuck with his curse and not some cool power like flight, the only sensible way out is the fire escape - the one that Tempest is standing in front of.
Relying solely on instincts and adrenaline at this point, he rushes forward, shoving the hero out of his way. Tempest stumbles backwards but reaches a hand out. “Princey,” he starts to call, but Roman cuts him off.
“Stay out of my way,” he snarls.
Influencing Tempest was unintentional, but it stops the hero from chasing after him for the time being, so Roman can't find it in him to be concerned. He doesn't know how long he has, though, so he climbs down the fire escape quickly and sprints down the street.
Roman was never the most athletic person - he does theater for crying out loud - but somehow sprinting for several blocks comes easily to him. Sure, sweat plasters his costume to his body, and his lungs are starting to ache, but he's lasting longer than he ever did in PE in high school. He figures it's either because of the adrenaline or the anxiety or a dangerous mix of both.
Eventually though, his legs turn to Jello, and he doesn't trust his ability to stay upright for much longer, so Roman collapses in the first alleyway that he comes across. After a few minutes of just lying on the ground and trying to steady his breathing, he manages to pull himself into a sitting position and leans against the wall. The rough bricks are grounding - something Roman wasn't aware that he needed but is thankful for nonetheless.
Now that he's alone again, some of the tension drops from his shoulders as Roman attempts to smooth out his costume's new wrinkles in vain. It looks like Prince Charming is going to have to take a break until he can find a way to discreetly clean the outfit. He slips his hands under his mask to wipe his eyes dry and then traces the tear tracks on his cheeks.
Roman laughs even though nothing is funny. He really did not intend to get emotional tonight.
Just a few more minutes to calm down, he tells himself. Just a few more minutes and then he will go home. His sense of direction is a bit skewed, but the spot where he stashed a change of clothes can't be too far away.
He regrets sharing so much with Tempest, but hopefully he will now get off his back. The hero wanted to know his motivation? Well, he learned it. It's his problem now if it wasn't what the hero was expecting.
His hopes are shattered by the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Speak of the devil, and he will appear. Once again, Roman refuses to look at Tempest, refuses to acknowledge him, even as his shadow looms over him.
"Princey."
There's something different about the hero's tone. It sounds softer, more unsure. Roman spares a glance upwards and notices a difference in his posture too. All of the bravado from earlier is gone, and his shoulders are hunched in as if he's trying to seem smaller. The only consistency is that he's fidgeting with something, though the hero has switched from his zipper to a ring on his finger.
"Hey," Roman says, immediately disregarding his own insistence to ignore the hero. His voice is hoarse. Is that from the crying?
Tempest crouches down, and suddenly they're making eye contact. Roman looks away after a second. The hero's eyes are very pretty - one a soft blue and the other a light green - but an unidentifiable emotion in them makes Roman uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," he starts, and Roman is frozen with surprise. "I'm sorry for pushing you. I'm sorry for ignoring your body language. And I'm sorry if coming after you just now was the wrong thing to do."
Roman dares to look back, but the hero is looking off into the distance now. "Of course you were uncomfortable - you had every right to be. I get anxious over not knowing what other hero's motivations are, and I guess that made me overlook your feelings." Tempest chuckles softly, "That's definitely a first - not overthinking every single little thing."
He's stunned. Roman had definitely not been expecting such a heartfelt apology from the hero. He notices that Tempest is watching him carefully while tugging at his ring - gauging his reaction, he assumes. And Roman supposes that he does own the other hero an apology as well.
"I'm sorry too," he says softly, barely above a whisper. He hopes that Tempest can hear him because he doesn't think he can bring himself to speak any louder. "I shouldn't have influenced you. Even if I was mad, it was still the wrong thing to do."
"I'm not going to lie and say that I enjoyed it," Tempest says, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it wasn't the absolute worst, and I understand why you did it. Besides, a small part of me was curious as to what it felt like."
"You broke through it quickly," Roman observes. "I thought you might chase after me, but I didn't expect you to catch up this quickly."
Tempest shrugs. "I guess I felt worried enough to check if you were ok," he says before narrowing his eyes. "Are you ok?"
"I've been better," Roman admits. "But yeah, I think I'm alright now."
The hero relaxes at that and takes Roman's hand, pressing a light kiss onto the back of it. "Good, I'm glad."
Roman's ability to think clearly is suddenly overriden by how freaking gay he is, and after sputtering the equivalent of a key smash, he throws all logic out of the window and leans in to press his lips against the other hero's.
They're soft. That's the first thing that Roman notices. It's also the only thing he notices as his ability to think rationally magically reappears, and he pulls away.
Both heroes simply blink at each other, neither sure of what to say. Roman's heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he fears what the silence implies. Averting his eyes, he shakily pulls himself to his feet and stumbles a few steps away from Tempest. The other hero looks as if he wants to say something, but Roman shakes his head, cutting him off before he can begin.
"I-," his voice cracks, and he swallows, forcing the anxiety deep down. "I need to think things over."
It's not what Tempest deserves, but it's all that Roman can muster right now. He begins to leave but then pauses. With a sigh, he says, "Don't follow me." His voice is soft, gentle even, but it carries just as much power as his shouting from earlier. Without a second glance - he doesn't think that he will be able to leave if he sees the hero's expression - Roman exits the alleyway and makes his way into the night.
A storm rumbles in the distance, and Roman vaguely wonders if it's his fault.