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“How am I?” Roman echoes through gritted teeth. The gall of this person to ask him that. “Really? As if you care. I’m sick of people asking for the sake of friendly conversation. I want someone who asks about my day and means it, wipes my tears and tells me I’m beautiful, and holds me close without an ounce of selfishness in them.” He laughs bitterly. “But all boys do is lie. Love wasn’t made for people like me.”
The air around him stills. He glares at the shadows cast by the bright fluorescent lights above him. He waits with bated breath for the person to speak. Say anything, anything at all, Roman pleads. The loud drumming of his heart is too much to bear.
His lungs constrict as the following words break the silence.
“Sir, this is a CVS.”
Roman looks up at the man sharply. His eyes fall on the name tag pinned on the man’s chest. “Janus,” it reads. Janus stares back at him with a steady expression, giving nothing away despite having heard Roman’s sudden outburst. His brows are quirked upward, his lips pursed, and his hazel eyes burning a hole through Roman’s skull.
Roman shakes his head in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says. “Uh, how much?”
“$35.65,” Janus responds, still staring.
Roman fishes for his wallet from his pocket and takes out a crisp dollar bill, trying to control the warmth that spreads all over his cheeks. Janus gingerly takes the bill and works the cash register with slow movements.
Roman slumps his shoulders. He can’t believe he just ranted to a total stranger! He draws in a deep breath and lets his thoughts wander off to that afternoon, when he had his heart broken by a man who probably didn’t love him the way Roman had initially thought and who left him stunned and embarrassed at a local cafe with customers staring at him and his bright red skirt.
He lets the words echo inside his brain. “You draw so much attention to yourself already, and this is what you do?” It stung. It still does. All Roman had wanted was to dress up for his dashing date. What he got instead was shame.
“Not like you want to hear this from me, who totally knows you...” Janus suddenly says, snapping Roman back to the present. “...but three pints of ice cream and a bag of Cheetos isn’t going to make you feel better.”
Roman groans. He doesn’t want to hear unsolicited advice from a guy working in CVS. “Just hurry up,” he answers.
“Oh, of course. Perhaps there aren’t healthier ways to cope.”
“Holy Hera!” Roman rolls his eyes. “Just keep the change.”
Janus doesn’t flinch when Roman grabs the white bag in a huff. Right when Roman is about to reach for the door, he heaves an exasperated sigh. “Gosh. The only interesting customer I’ve had during my exciting shift and he’s walking out on me. Shame, and I wanted so badly to tell him how horrendous his skirt is.”
Roman whirls around. “Excuse me? I did not spend 12 hours sewing this for a boy in uniform to criticize my fashion choices!”
Janus raises his brows. “You made that? Perhaps the gods are unfair, making you both gorgeous and talented.”
Whatever retort Roman had prepared dies on his tongue as he pauses, blinking his wide eyes at Janus. “Were you...” he says slowly, “...was that a compliment?”
“It was definitely not a lie, darling, I’ll give you that,” Janus chuckles, a smirk forming on his lips.
Roman looks down at the linoleum floor. On one hand, he really doesn’t want to be vulnerable around someone he hardly knows. But on the other hand, Roman knows that he hardly has anyone he could talk to about this without fear of judgment and pity. He was just going to head straight home, put on his comfort romance dramas on TV, and eat his ice cream straight from the tub like the pathetic mess that he is. He was ready to cry it all out in this one evening and pretend he’s fine the next morning, as he had always done.
But damn, he’s tired of keeping it in, if his earlier outburst that was completely unprompted were any indication. And he’d much rather bare his soul to a stranger in a safe place while sober than either bottle it all up or head to the nearest bar alone.
Roman clicks his tongue and walks back to the counter, opening the plastic bag and taking out one pint of chocolate ice cream. Janus leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What’s your name?”
“Roman,” he answers, offering his hand.
“Lovely. I’m Janus.” Janus gently clasps his hand with Roman’s and gives a delicate squeeze that tingles Roman’s skin ever so slightly. “So, ‘all boys do is lie,’ huh?”
Roman groans, popping open the lid off the frozen pint. “I can’t with them! They only like you when it’s subtle and convenient. The moment you try and express yourself, they’re embarrassed. It’s ridiculous!”
Janus offers him a plastic spoon and Roman shovels up a heaping scoop to shove it into his mouth. “They’re okay with going on dates and holding hands and they say they’re ‘out and proud,’ but I’ve never met anyone who’s proud of me. Why am I an exception just because I like makeup and dressing like a queen?”
Roman doesn’t feel remorse for his harsh words. He’s angry and he knows he has every right to be. He didn’t live 30 years of his life struggling to accept himself just to be let down time and time again by people he thought would understand him.
Janus hums at this. “So I take it that your date didn’t go so well today?”
“Ugh,” Roman rolls his eyes. He takes another spoonful of ice cream. Janus waits for him to continue. “He was surprised to see me. He asked what I was wearing. Like, bitch, you’ve got eyes, don’t you?”
“And what did he say?”
“He said I was a little ‘too much.’”
“The nerve.”
“I know!”
“And you left him.”
“No, I...” Roman trails off. He remembers lashing out, like a dam had just been broken and his fiery emotions spilled out all at once. He remembers the look of fear and humiliation on his date’s face as he hurled accusations at them. He remembers his date running away, and all eyes glued on him as he stood awkwardly alone inside that coffee shop, processing everything that had happened. He knows he brought it onto himself. But what else could he have done?
“I just want to be me,” he whispers.
“And you should,” Janus tells him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Roman shrugs. “It just hurts what people say.”
Janus tilts his head, humming. “Have you tried nudging them down a flight of stairs?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Well, your story still doesn’t answer why you’re choosing to drown your sorrows with high levels of sugar and disgusting cheese puffs.” Janus taps the rim of the ice cream container which is, at that point, a third of the way empty.
Roman pouts as he says, “I indulge when I’m upset!”
“Hardly anything worth being upset about,” Janus says, unimpressed. “He was an asshole. Why are you punishing yourself?”
The question catches Roman off-guard. He doesn't want to admit that Janus had hit the nail on the head, driving deep into the heart of the issue which Roman hadn’t realized actually was until he was made aware of it. He looks down at his ice cream, the unopened bag of chips, and the plastic spoon he holds between his manicured fingers. He is, isn’t he? He’s punishing himself for not conforming to someone else’s ideals, even though he won’t stand for it, for the lone reason that he needs someone to blame—and blaming himself is the easiest thing he could do.
“I... don’t know,” Roman sighs. Then, he laughs a bit to himself. “Why is it so hard to find someone decent? Am I that hard to love?”
The question hangs in the air for a moment. His breath hitches when he suddenly feels cold fingers tuck stray strands of his hair behind his ear. He meets Janus’ gaze, warm and consoling. “Well,” Janus starts, “maybe you’re looking at the wrong places, doll.”
Roman purses his lips. He thinks of witty comebacks, snarky replies, and flirty jokes. He decides against all of them as he allows himself to be enveloped by this momentary comfort.
Suddenly, Janus takes off his tag and walks away from the counter. “I’ll be back,” he says as he heads to the back room. “Please, do rob me.”
Roman waits patiently, tapping the surface of the table in apprehension. He’s set aside the half-eaten tub, having had enough for that hour. A few minutes pass and Janus comes back dressed in his real clothing—a brown cashmere sweater tucked neatly into his black trousers—and carrying a small pouch. He stands in front of Roman to place a finger under his chin. “Alright, let’s see... if you’re going to feel this utterly pathetic, at least let me touch up your makeup.”
“I look hideous, I know,” Roman mutters teasingly.
Janus maintains his gaze. “I don’t think you fully grasp how beautiful you are, Roman.”
Roman’s heart skips a beat, suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation. He does nothing to quell the blush that colors his cheeks, even though the display of vulnerability is enough to make him feel awkward. He wants to make light of it, or maybe even make a run for the door, but Janus holds him firmly in place and it dawns on him that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be at now than at an empty CVS with a handsome man dabbing away at his tear-stained cheeks with a beauty sponge.
He and Janus talk some more, sharing things about themselves and asking questions in return. It stuns Roman how quickly they are able to establish some sort of connection, the kind that feels too perfect to be true. Their shared love for broadway theater and poetry prompted Roman to gush over the subject, in a way that he never experienced before, giddy to hear someone else’s input other than “That’s nice, Roman” or “It’s wonderful to see you so passionate about it, Roman” or “Yeah, the songs are pretty cool, I guess.”
For the first time, Roman feels the most himself and feels that he is being allowed to be.
Janus holds out a compact mirror and Roman almost swoons as he sees his reflection.
“I would make out with myself,” he says in jest, winking at the mirror for good measure.
“Might as well. It seems like no one wants to anyway,” snickers Janus, in a way that Roman would likely find insufferable one day. But not now. Now, he childishly sticks his tongue out and calls Janus a bitch, resisting the urge to just hug him and cry.
Roman spots his three pints of half-melted ice cream and unopened Cheetos still inside the plastic bag on the counter and asks timidly, “I don’t suppose you’d want to help me finish this ice cream while watching movie musicals with me tonight, would you?”
Janus lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my, Roman, are you asking me to come home with you? Wine and dine me first!”
Roman makes a great show of rolling his eyes in response. “Great Zeus, I change my mind. The world isn’t ready for us two Drama Queens in one room.”
Janus dismisses the thought with his hand. He hums, tapping a finger on his chin. “Tempting, tempting. And which musical would it be?”
“Anything in mind?”
“I’m so not curious what you think I would like.” Janus grins mischievously. “Go on, guess.”
Roman thinks about it, squinting his eyes toward the ceiling. There were plenty of possibilities. Then, his face brightens as he decides on the perfect answer. “'Moulin Rogue.'”
He couldn’t help but feel smug when he catches the glint in Janus’ eyes. “Or a bootleg of 'Hadestown.' Your pick.”
Janus stares at him with an unreadable expression. A smirk slowly forms on his face and he tenderly hooks an arm around Roman’s. “Honey, I’m hardly honest. But I believe you and I are going to get along rather well.”