Chapter Text
Deceit wasn't necessarily a creative side. That was more Remus' style. No, Janus didn't really do much making of new substances, or mixing of dreams.
Janus was more of a planner. Yes, a planner. He enjoyed slowly but surely weaving strings that would some day come together. He thought things over. He twisted thoughts around for hours or days before he ever decided to act on them. He very much liked the idea of laying the groundwork for something and having it pay off in some foreign future. Especially if it paid off in the form of Thomas listening to them for once.
Thomas didn't do much listening in general, but when he did decide to keep his ears open once in a blue moon, they were always open to the "light" sides. Janus rolled his eyes as he stared at the ceiling of his room. Who ever decided on that name? He and Remus and Virgil were all good sides, good people. They were just unfortunate enough to represent things that Thomas didn't… like much.
Janus turned over in his bed, feeling as if he were getting a little too hot underneath his blanket. He let the feeling pass, however, since kicking the blanket off now would only result in discomfort later. He pondered their situation some more.
While Deceit was quite alright with how the other sides saw him, Virgil sometimes felt anxious about his usefulness to Thomas because the Light sides didn't interact with him much. To make matters worse, Virgil also had a terrible crush on Patton that had never gone away no matter what Virgil wanted. And Remus, Remus just liked attention. But the Light sides always ignored or let his suggestions go.
Janus sighed. That was probably Roman's fault. Mostly.
His thoughts turned to Virgil again, and he felt his mood sour. While Remus' attention seeking got annoying sometimes, Virgil's want for affection and acceptance was truly a sore point for Janus. He tried to be a good friend to the anxious side, honestly, but Janus was never good at giving platonic affection. He could flirt his way into anything, that was for sure, but flirting wasn't going to get them out of the dark side of Thomas' mind.
For a moment, the thought bounced around in his head. Then the thought became a soft light, and an idea began to form. Janus slowly sat up in his bed, as if a movement too quick would make him lose hold of the something that was in his mind. He stared forward at the darkness of his room, mulling and shaping and twisting. He squinted, and the light beside his bed turned on. He lifted the covers, ignoring the cold, and rushed to his desk.
This was no longer a time to wait. He had a plan. Or at least, he was making one.