Chapter Text
Roman knew it was petty. He knew it was a petty, selfish, unchivalrous thing to do. He should treat his fellow Sides with more respect. He should own up to his mistakes. He should make like the fabulous prince he was and lead the discussion, fix everything, listen to the people who knew him best.
Roman knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t force himself to answer the door.
“Kiddo?” Patton asked for the third time. “Did you hear me? I said we’re all going to have a--family meeting. To talk about what happened. I think it would be a good idea for us all to...get things off our chest.”
Roman clutched at his sash and stared at the ceiling. If he called out, Patton wouldn’t hear him. He’d have to walk over to the door and open it. That was one excuse to stay still. That was one excuse to keep quiet.
“I know you’re upset,” Patton said. “It’s okay. We want to hear you out. Maybe we can help you work through some things.”
Roman would cry if he tried to work through things. He would start blubbering in front of everyone he knew. That was one excuse to keep the door locked.
“You don’t have to.” Patton sounded upset. He always sounded upset these days--maybe it was the door muffling his voice, or just because he was talking to Roman. “You really don’t have to, kiddo, it’s okay. I get it. You’re--perfectly within rights not to come. I don’t want to pressure you.”
They didn’t want him there. Roman would ruin the whole thing, say something cruel and hurtful as he always did, and leave the situation worse than it started. That was one excuse to stay away.
“I get it,” Patton said, his voice barely making it through the door. “Janus won’t be there, and it will be calm, and we’ll talk things out. I get your hesitation, kiddo. It’s okay. I’d just--love if you gave us a chance.”
Would they give Roman a chance? How many chances were left until Roman ran out? What were the conditions of this chance--did he need to look better, act better, be better? He’d barely managed to put on makeup this morning. That was one excuse to stay inside.
“I guess that’s all I have to say.” Patton laughed a bit. “Maybe you’re asleep, and I’m just talking to myself. That’d be pretty silly of me, wouldn’t it?”
Roman was tired. He’d been tired for weeks. He was always tired. That was one excuse to avoid the meeting.
He had so, so many excuses.
They were probably the only things he was creative at.
“Well...goodbye, I guess?” Patton hesitated. Roman could see his shadow under the door. “Talk to you later, kiddo. My invitation stands.”
The shadow flickered and vanished. Roman didn’t move from his bed, splayed on the red-and-white quilt, staring at the ceiling.
They’d be arranged on the couch when the meeting started. He could picture it well enough. Logan in the armchair, Patton on the couch, Virgil on the arm of the couch--or, if he was stressed, the top of it. He probably would be stressed. They all would be. Patton would be worrying the sleeves of his hoodie, and Virgil would be chewing on his nails, and Logan would be shifting his thermos between his hands or drumming his fingers on his knee. Maybe they’d invite Thomas. Maybe Patton would double back and invite Janus after all.
It didn’t matter, though, because Roman wasn’t going.
Patton would start the family meeting. He always read the minutes, as it was, and thanked everyone for coming. Virgil usually bristled at the gratitude. Logan always returned it. Roman always bowed with a little twirl of his hand--ridiculously dramatic--and if Thomas was there, he’d smile with his nervous smile. It was a combination of Patton’s optimism and Virgil’s anxiety. Roman could always see them in Thomas, because he knew them so well, he knew where every jagged edge fit together.
Roman remembered how the family meetings always went. A problem, a discussion, a solution. It wasn’t like it was in videos. Videos were for Thomas issues. Family meetings were for family issues. There was often overlap, which made it common to pregame a video with a quick discussion, or to pile onto the couches when a video was concluded. In Roman’s memory, which was often wrong, this meeting was almost two weeks after the disastrous wedding. Two weeks was the longest time between a video and a meeting that Roman could remember. Two weeks was far too long, and yet, not long enough.
He’d known this was coming. He’d prepared himself. He’d even rehearsed apologies, perfectly crafted to gain sympathy--and what kind of manipulative person did that? Who tried that hard for affection? He couldn’t be truly accepted, truly loved, unless they knew the truth about Roman.
Except Roman couldn’t bear to let his walls down. He couldn’t bear to see the looks on their faces, if they knew everything--how much he failed, how much he wasn’t who they needed, how much he felt for them.
He couldn’t even imagine apologizing without his stomach flipping.
He wondered what they would talk about. He knew how the meetings usually went, but he wondered what would fit into the format, what would make Patton wince or Virgil shift on the couch. He wondered what solution they would find. They always found a solution. Sometimes it took several hours, but they did. Roman was usually the largest obstacle.
Maybe they would solve things easier, if he wasn’t there.
Or would they? If Roman was the problem, could they really find a solution without talking to him? Would they pass judgment on him while he sat in his room, alone, or would they dance around the issue? Pretend they weren’t missing anyone? Pretend everything was fine?
Roman glanced at his closed door. Patton would be downstairs. The meeting would be starting. He could picture the way they’d tug each other into a group hug at the end, or the way Virgil curled into himself when anxious, or the cute way Logan always bit his lip when thinking--he knew them so well, but he could see a million ways for the conversation to go. There were too many blank spaces between lines. Too many ways for the story to end.
Would they knock on his door later? Tell him what happened? Tell him--tell him they’d decided, that Roman needed to leave, that he was better off on the other side of the Mindscape? That they’d made a mistake in trying to be his friend?
Roman ran his hands down his arms and pressed his fingers into his skin. Chin up. Act like a prince. He wasn’t in the mood to cry again, although if everyone was busy downstairs, he had the least odds of being heard.
He felt greasy. Maybe it was because of the clothes he’d slept in for three days, or his unshowered and unbrushed hair, or the distinct lack of vegetables in his recent diet. He’d avoided eating with the others. He’d avoided the others in general.
He had no idea what they were talking about downstairs. What was so unimportant--so important--that Roman didn’t need to attend? Perhaps they were simply nice enough to leave him be, but he could hardly believe there wouldn’t be another shoe to fall.
Something would happen. Roman just couldn’t decide on what.
Curiosity gnawed at his empty stomach.
He didn’t want to be unprepared. He should get ready, should prepare an apology, should pack his things--his room was teetering with cushions and lace, and he winced at the prospect of cleaning it out. If he knew what they were planning, if he knew who he would face, he’d be ready.
Patton would be painfully nice. Roman could talk him out of banishment if he tried--a horrible thought. An evil thought. Roman could never manipulate Patton like that, could never take advantage of his trusting nature or the guilt he was sure to feel. So he’d stay silent. He’d let Patton stumble through platitudes before saying “sorry, Roman, but you have to go.”
Roman would smile and nod. He’d let Patton hug him, if Patton wanted, if that made Patton feel better. Or maybe Patton wouldn’t touch him. He certainly hadn’t in weeks.
Roman rubbed his arms.
Logan would be painfully clinical. If Logan decided something, it was almost impossible to change his mind--see every argument Roman had with him ever. He’d share his evidence, if Roman asked, if Roman was brave enough to ask. Maybe he’d even let Roman argue a point or two. But it wouldn’t change anything. It never did.
Roman would bite back his retorts. He’d avoid saying goodbye. If he did, he’d get choked up. Crying in front of anyone would be humiliating, and Logan would be more so.
Roman swallowed.
Virgil would--he could barely imagine a scenario where Virgil would have the courage to kick him out alone. But maybe Virgil wanted to do it himself. Maybe Virgil would shuffle his feet on the carpet, hands deep in his pockets. Maybe he’d chew his lip. Roman would reassure him, calm him down, coax a relieved smile out of him--and then he’d tell Roman to leave.
It was more likely that Virgil would have backup. Maybe Logan and Virgil, since Logan always calmed Virgil down--or Patton and Logan? Patton might want that logical reassurance. Or Patton and Virgil, if they wanted to be as emotional as possible. Or all three.
Roman didn’t know. It could be any of them, and Roman wasn’t ready.
If only he knew what to expect.
Roman glanced at the door.
The hallway was quiet. Roman slid on his socks past the doors, and paused at the stairs to gather information and courage. He could hear murmured conversation below--stops and starts, sounding hesitant. How long had it been since they started? He’d forgotten to check the time. All he could make out were singular vowels. Nothing concrete.
Roman inched closer to the top of the stairs, trying to stay out of sight. If he could get to the kitchen, he’d be hidden, but how could he get past--
Oh. Roman almost laughed at his stupidity. The next second, he appeared in the kitchen.
To avoid being spotted, he’d decided to sit on the floor, leaning against the counter. The kitchen tiles were cold under his feet. He wrapped his arms around his chest. With bated breath, he waited, but nobody entered the kitchen. Nobody said his name. The living room was silent.
Roman let out a long breath. He was already regretting this. What prince eavesdropped on his companions? If he was caught, he’d get an earful. Or worse--a disappointed look from Patton. Roman shuddered at the thought. Patton was exceedingly good at the disappointed look.
He didn’t want to move, or he might alert them. That was enough of an excuse to stay still and listen.
“...can’t keep putting this off,” Patton was saying when Roman tuned in. “I’ve given you all time, and I get that you need it, but we can’t just glare at each other forever! We have to actually talk about this.”
“Not now,” Virgil argued. “Roman’s not even here.”
“Roman--needs space.”
“So Roman gets space, but I don’t?” Virgil didn’t sound angry, at least to Roman. He just sounded upset. “How’s that fair?”
“You agreed to be here,” Patton said, with patience. “If you want to leave at any time, you can--”
“Cool--”
“But I think it would be a good idea for you to stay. If you want.”
“This is highly confusing,” Logan said. Roman tried not to overanalyze the entire situation, but Logan’s voice was clipped, strained in the wrong ways.
“Look,” Patton said with a sigh, “I’m trying to find a compromise. This isn’t easy and I’m pretty sure I’m messing some part of it up, but even an imperfect conversation is still a conversation. And we need one of those, guys. We really do.”
Roman heard the sound of a zipper. Virgil was probably pulling at the zippers on his sleeves.
“You’re doing fine,” Logan said. Reassuring and reluctant and quiet.
“Thanks,” Patton said. Reluctant and quiet.
“What now?” Virgil asked. Quiet.
It was just quiet for a long time, long enough for Roman’s knees to start aching. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to break the silence.
“I’m sorry,” Patton said.
Both Logan and Virgil started to say something, but their words jumbled together and they both went quiet.
“I’ve messed up a lot,” Patton continued, chuckling a bit. “Gosh, it’s been a lot. And that’s hurt you guys, and I’m sorry. So--maybe I’m going about this all wrong. I know you don’t really want to be here, but...I want to listen to you more. All of you. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
Virgil mumbled something that Roman didn’t catch. It must have been something self-deprecating, because Patton clucked at him, and Logan murmured something back.
“So I’m giving you the floor. Even though it’s Thomas’.” Patton chuckled more at his own joke. Roman caught a snicker from Virgil as well. “Just...say what’s on your mind, okay?”
Another long moment of silence.
“Uh, who goes first?” Virgil asked. “Do we like, pick straws, or--”
“You can go first,” Logan said quickly.
“Dude! Don’t feed me to the wolves!”
“No wolves,” Patton reassured them. “You can go in any order you want.”
Virgil huffed. “Shouldn’t Princey be here?”
“If Roman doesn’t want to be here, we can’t make him,” Logan said with a touch of irritation. “I’d rather have a calm conversation with three people than an argument with four.”
Roman curled a bit further into a ball on the kitchen floor.
“Jury’s still out on calm,” Virgil muttered. “Yeah. So--me?”
“You don’t have to,” Logan said.
“But go for it,” Patton added.
“Yeah. Okay.” Virgil took a deep breath. If Roman listened closely, he could hear the faint rasp of an echo in his voice. “So--the wedding, huh? That was something. That happened.”
“Yes,” Logan said, when Virgil didn’t continue. “It did happen.”
“Yeah, I--ugh.” Virgil groaned. “I don’t know where to start. What to talk about, or whatever. Don’t you guys have any specific questions?”
“Uh--” Patton made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t wanna limit you, Virge.”
“I could use some limitations right about now.”
“Alright.” Roman could picture what Patton was doing--gesturing at Virgil like he was handing over his words on a platter. “How did the wedding make you feel?”
“Bad,” Virgil said.
“Good start,” Patton encouraged. “And?”
“It was like--” Virgil sucked in a breath and let it out. “Like I didn’t want to get involved, right after, ‘cause you guys seemed pretty busy and all. I was just trying not to freak out. Logan let me in his room, which was nice--”
Logan made a small noise. Maybe of surprise.
“--and that helped, but he was also talking to you guys so I couldn’t really avoid the whole thing, and then--” Virgil paused. Roman could just make out a muttered four-seven-eight, maybe from Patton, maybe from Logan. “And it was. Not fun. I wanted to help out, Pat, you seemed so upset and I really did want to--and--and Roman was upset, and Logan was telling me he could handle it--”
“That was…” Logan paused, but Virgil didn’t say anything else. “A bit of an error on my part.”
“Not your fault you got impersonated, L.”
Patton made a small noise. “I am really sorry about that, Logan.”
“Not your fault he got impersonated, either.”
“I could have noticed,” Patton said unconvincingly. “And I did press the skip button.”
“You did,” Logan said.
Silence fell.
“Uh--is it still my turn?” Virgil asked. “Did I--am I done?”
“I don’t--” Patton sighed. “This isn’t working either, is it.”
Nobody argued with him.
“Have we ever found a conversation tactic that does work?” Logan pointed out, sounding uncharacteristically glum. “Have we ever managed to fix every problem at hand, without simultaneously exacerbating several others?”
“I don’t think so,” Virgil said.
“It was rhetorical.” Logan sighed. “My point is that we’re stuck in a loop. We do this every time, and we’ve never managed to successfully communicate the root issues.”
“We’ve gotten better,” Patton said.
“Have we?”
Quiet again. Roman was beginning to stiffen in his position, and one of his feet was falling asleep. Roman shifted it as quietly as possible. It tingled.
“And I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist,” Virgil teased. It fell flat. “Look, L, I don’t think we should scrap the whole thing just because it doesn’t fix everything flat out--”
“But there has to be something we’re missing.” Patton’s voice was determined. “Logan’s right. There’s stuff at play deep down here, and we’ve never talked about it, because--because we don’t know how to get those real answers. Because we don’t know what questions to ask. So we need answers to the questions that we don’t know need answers.”
“You lost me,” Virgil said.
“He’s saying we should try to cut to the figurative heart of the issue.” Logan paused. “I agree, in theory.”
“Oh.” Virgil paused. “Stop--lying?”
Roman gripped his knees tightly.
“Lying has a place and time,” Patton said. “But--you know, there’s a reason why I didn’t invite Janus, right? He’s a good friend and an important part of Thomas. But he’s not--you guys. You guys are different. And--and I don’t think we can have true love if our relationship isn’t based on truth.”
“True love,” Virgil repeated with a snicker. “We’re not each other’s Disney princes, Pat.”
Logan snickered too. “I’m sure Roman would disagree.”
“We love each other!” Patton protested. “I--I love you guys, at least. I love you.”
“I know,” Virgil said after a moment, his voice bittersweet. “I know, Pat. You’re a good friend.”
A very long pause.
“We ought to do something about that,” Logan said, “shouldn’t we?”
“Do something--” Virgil laughed. “What are you--”
“Patton said we ought to be honest,” Logan said. Pointedly. “I also think it would be a good idea. For both of you.”
“What?” Patton sounded confused, but it was only the sound of confusion, not the real thing. “What’s up, Lo?”
“Yeah, L,” Virgil said, both an invitation and a warning. “What are you saying?”
A brief pause. Roman pictured Logan fiddling with his glasses and almost smiled.
“I have to admit this is not my area of expertise,” Logan said, his voice quiet. “However, I think observations have painted a clear picture of the situation. Our--issues with each other are myriad, and stem from a variety of sources, but it is as Patton said. We need to be honest. I believe there’s a very clear culprit for some of our communication issues, and I think you know what it is.”
Silence. Roman’s stomach was slowly dropping to the floor. He bit his lip and tried to stop himself from sinking out. He still needed to hear what they decided--although, the more the conversation continued, the more he felt like he was intruding. Things were getting personal. This wasn’t his place.
As if he heard Roman’s thoughts, Virgil blurted out “Should we really talk about this right now? While Roman’s--”
“We can think about that later,” Logan said. “I think the three of us need to admit a few things.”
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Patton giggled weakly. “We can’t all keep up with you and your brain, Lo.”
Logan paused for too long to be natural. He was worried. Roman wondered what worried him--he should sink out now, before things got personal, but his feet were rooted to the kitchen floor--
“We aren’t friends,” Logan said.
“Uh, dude,” Virgil began, “you might wanna--”
“We aren’t just friends.” Logan let out a breath. “You know that.”
Roman needed to go. He wasn’t meant to hear this part. His breath was already catching in his throat. How dare he ruin this moment, how dare he toss himself into a private conversation, how dare his legs refuse to move--
“What are you talking about?” Virgil’s voice was harsh. Too harsh, not only for the conversation, but for Virgil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” Logan said. “You know there are other things at play, it’s foolish to deny--”
“I’m not denying anything!”
“We’re not just friends!” Logan almost yelled. “The evidence is practically a mountain--we have sleepovers every weekend! We eat breakfast together!”
“Yeah, we’re friends!” Virgil fired back. “That’s normal friend stuff!”
“We’re family,” Patton amended, the first time he’d spoken. His voice was hollow. “Besides, it’s always just been us, of course we’re different.”
“We’re different,” Logan agreed. “Virgil falls asleep on your shoulder. You give us forehead kisses. We cuddle. That isn’t platonic.”
“And what’s your evidence, wise guy?” Virgil’s voice pitched upwards. “Platonic is weird! Romantic is weird! How are you supposed to instantly tell the difference?”
“I’m simply stating that there could be something else at play!”
“You’re my only friends!” Virgil burst out. “I don’t have anything else to compare it to--it’s normal. All of it. How I feel--it’s normal.”
Logan’s voice suddenly quieted. “And how do you feel?”
“Normal,” Virgil said.
Patton still hadn’t said anything else. Roman would have peeked around to see if he was okay, if he could remember how to move, how to think.
“Normal,” Virgil repeated. “It’s--we’re friends. We love each other. It’s normal.”
Logan hummed. “You were friends with Deceit, correct?”
“Janus,” Patton said faintly. Nobody acknowledged him.
“No,” Virgil said. “Yes. Kind of. It’s complicated.”
“Would you ever be comfortable with cuddling him?”
“I hate him.”
“We’re working under the assumption that you do not.”
“Look, I--it’s complicated.” Virgil huffed. “I wouldn’t be, but that’s because I hate him, and I’ve always been way more comfortable with you guys anyway, ‘cause I don’t have to act--mean, or whatever. You guys are different than him. Always have been.”
“Different,” Logan said.
“Yeah, because I literally hate him--” Virgil groaned. “Look, L, don’t make patterns where there aren’t any. It’s fine. We’re--we’re friends.”
“Logan has a point.” Patton’s words came out in a rush, like he’d been bottling them up. “He has a point.”
Logan made a surprised noise. “I do?”
“Et tu, Brute?” Virgil’s voice softened. “You think so?”
“Janus is really nice,” Patton said. “We’ve been talking for a while now, ever since--well, everything. I’ve appreciated his support. He makes me laugh. And--and he’s not like you guys. Not just because he’s a newer friend. You’re all different.” His voice dipped. “You’ve always been different to me.”
A long, long silence. Roman couldn’t feel his legs, or his lungs, or his heart.
“This isn’t my area of expertise,” Logan said. Quietly, quietly. “I suppose there really isn’t any way to tell, objectively, what we--are to each other. All I can say is, to me, you are a lot. Not everything--I don’t believe anyone could be everything--but...more than on average. More than I’ve admitted to myself.”
“You’re kidding,” Virgil blurted out, an edge of hysterical laughter in his voice. “You’re--that’s not it, that can’t be it, you can’t--”
“Doesn’t it make sense?” Patton pleaded, his words all in a rush again. “It--it doesn’t have to, gosh, I know it doesn’t have to, but if you could give it a chance--”
“A chance?” Virgil repeated incredulously. “We’re not--we’re not--”
“I’m sorry,” Patton said. Quietly. Roman was so tired of quiet. “I’m really sorry, Virgil.”
“You’re--you’re serious.” Virgil sounded inches from a panic attack. “You’re--”
“We can all take a moment to think,” Logan suggested, sounding inches from his own. “We can--we can take time to process, it’s fine, we don’t have to work this out right now--we can forget this ever happened--”
“It’ll be okay,” Patton said. Maybe to Virgil. Maybe to Logan. Maybe to himself. “We’ll handle this. We always do.”
“You’re--” Virgil’s voice broke. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Virge,” Patton said. Quietly, quietly, too quietly for Roman to sneak away. “You’re the coolest emo around.”
“No.” Virgil’s voice pitched frantic again. “No, no--I love you guys, don’t I? I--you’ve always been there for me, and you always looked after me, and Logan always calms me down and Pat, you always make me smile, and--”
“You don’t have to do this,” Logan murmured. “I understand that I miscalculated, you don’t need to--”
“No!” Virgil might have laughed. Or sobbed, it was hard to tell. “No, L, you genius, you got it exactly right.”
Roman swallowed and realized his mouth was dry.
“I love you!” Virgil said, triumphantly, like he’d solved everything. Like everything made sense. Maybe it did. “I love you, I love you so much--what am I even saying, this is so stupid--I love you, I was an idiot, I didn’t--”
“I--” Patton laughed breathlessly. “Virgil--”
“Do you--” Virgil’s voice dipped. “Do you--”
“I love you too,” Patton said, as if it was the first time he’d ever said it. Maybe it was.
“I--” Logan coughed awkwardly. “Not to seem obtuse, but can we clarify if--”
“If you’re included in the ‘you’?” Virgil laughed. “L, obviously, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Ah.” Was Logan blushing? He sounded like it. Roman would be ecstatic to witness a flustered Logan, if he was not currently frozen and terrified. “That--ah. I...likewise, I hold an amount of affection towards you that is commonly considered romantic. So to speak.”
“Aww!” Patton cooed. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” Logan said. “I think we’ve established that we all love each other! I think that’s clear!”
“Always has been, I’m just an idiot.” Was Virgil smiling? He sounded like it. Oh, if only Roman was able to appreciate it. “Y’know, it’s been...an understood thing.”
“Yeah,” Patton said. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Silence.
“This doesn’t solve anything,” Logan said, as if he was obligated to point out the flaws. As if he couldn’t let himself enjoy the moment yet. “We still have much to discuss, not least--”
“I know, I know.” Patton was smiling, Roman could hear it, and it made Roman’s chest hurt. “But it’ll help, that we were honest--and aren’t you guys happy? That we can--”
“Do what?” Virgil asked, when Patton petered out.
“Be...together,” Patton finished. “If you want.”
Roman’s stomach twisted in Celtic knots. He shook his foot, almost hoping that they’d hear him and stop talking--and then he could distract them, remind them of him and why they’d started this meeting in the first place, ruin their moment like always--
“I’d like that,” Logan said.
“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Me too.”
And then it was entirely the wrong kind of quiet. A movement or two, then quiet--and Roman could come to all sorts of conclusions, imagine them clearly in his head, but he settled on the obvious one. He cursed his mind for supplying him with a clear mental picture. Oh, so he couldn’t think of a video idea in a week, but now his imagination worked?
The quiet stretched on longer. Too long. Too long and Roman was itching at the seams, thumbing at his sash, regretting ever stepping foot out of his room.
But it was fine. It was fine. He’d just leave now.
If they were doing what he thought they were, they probably wouldn’t notice.
Roman steeled himself, pushed himself onto his knees, and stood up. As quickly as possible. Raise his hand. Teleport. It was easy--like reaching out and plucking a string, tensing a muscle, lighting a fire. A flourish of the hand, and the kitchen slipped out of reach, and he didn’t want to see the others, but he did--Patton beaming, and Virgil covering his smile with his hand, and Logan tilting his head forward and then Roman closed his eyes because he didn’t want to see, he didn’t--
But, well, he could imagine.
His room was empty. When he flopped into the same position he’d started the day in, and covered his head with his blanket, he could almost pretend he hadn’t left. That he’d dreamed the whole thing. That they weren’t downstairs, right now, holding hands, cupping cheeks and--
Roman yelled something inaudible into his pillow.
He should be happy for them. He should be happy--and he was! He was happy for them. They deserved each other. They were his best friends--his friends--his--
They were...something, that was for sure.
They deserved each other.
Roman should be happy.
It would be good for the family, now that they were no longer on bad terms. Roman couldn’t count the number of awkward glances they’d had over the years. Maybe this had finally helped to clear the air. That was one excuse to be happy for them.
Roman thrived off romance. He could hardly turn down the opportunity to support such a cute couple, especially when they were so adorably awkward in their confessions. That was another excuse to be happy for them.
It would take the pressure off him. They seemed to have entirely forgotten their meeting’s goal, which included deciding whether Roman deserved to stay. Maybe they’d keep forgetting. Maybe the beauty of love would soften their hearts towards him, and Roman could scrape by on table scraps and glancing smiles, surviving on the edges once again. They’d tolerate him. They’d forget he existed, because they’d be enamored with each other, exactly as they deserved.
That was another excuse to be happy.
And they wanted this. They’d clearly pined for so long, and now they had what they wanted, they had each other--Roman was thrilled for them, ecstatic, over the moon. It felt right, somehow, to see them all together. The perfect fairytale ending. If this was their happy ending, who was Roman to stand in their way?
Did he want to be more of a villain?
No. He couldn’t ruin yet another perfect thing. He just had to suck it up and be chivalrous. He wasn’t their hero, wasn’t their friend, wasn’t their--wasn’t theirs. He was nothing but a fourth wheel.
We love you.
Right.
Roman pressed his hands to his eyes to stop the tears. There was no reason to cry. This was fine. He should be happy. He’d faked happy for years and years, why was this what he couldn’t handle? What had he expected? He didn’t get a consolation prize after what he’d done. He didn’t rescue the dashing princes. He hadn’t earned his happy ending, and now he was alone in his room, while the three most important people in his life found solace in each other.
And it was fine.
They were happy.
So Roman would be happy, too. Roman would be everything they needed him to be. Roman would make the most of this, and he would be a good friend and a good person, even if it killed him. No bitterness. No jealousy. No longing for something he knew he didn’t deserve.
No excuses.
They were in love. They were happy. And that was enough.
If Roman truly loved them, he would let that be enough.
But, well, Roman didn’t truly do much of anything. And he spent most of the day in a pile on his pillows, ignoring the knocks on his door, and getting absolutely nothing done. He was out of ideas and out of passion. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could imagine was being shoved out his door, and the soft look in his best friends’ eyes as they kissed each other on the living room couch.
But it was fine, Roman was fine, and everything was fine.
Princes didn’t complain. Princes moved on. Princes were gracious and helpful in the face of true love.
Princes got true love.
Roman wasn’t much of a prince, though. And it was fine. He was fine.
Everything was so incredibly fine.
When Roman finally fell asleep, his last thought was worry--that he’d summoned Janus with all his lying. But Janus didn’t appear. It was just Roman, slipping into dreams on his rumpled quilt, glad of an excuse to stop thinking.