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Janus was a secret keeper. The one who hid away all of Thomas’ darkest truths. He’d sit in the shadows and whisper everything that comforted his host. Then, when Thomas was successfully convinced of the alternative reality Janus presented, the side would slip away to bury the truth as deep as he could.
Janus was also a protector, he allowed the little delusions that each of the other sides told themselves. Patton was always happy. Roman was never scared. Logan didn’t have feelings. Each side had their little secrets that they used as shields against the realities of their roles. They entrusted them to Janus, and he guarded them closely. For a long time that had worked fine. Sure, sometimes his mind would become sluggish with the weight of responsibility. Now and again he would find some dark crevice of the mind to scream and yell. Overall, though, Janus had been alright with his sentry role.
None of that, however, prepared Janus for the challenge he now faced. It was something he had never considered possible. He’d always thought that constructing everyone else’s false realities would ensure that he kept his own feet planted firmly within the truth. After all, to be a successful liar, one must be aware of the truth that is being denied. Yet, here he was, destroying himself in the name of a lie. Falling into the same trap as the others - telling himself one thing despite knowing that it was false. Because, despite seeing all the evidence to the contrary, Janus was not dying.
It was not the most straightforward lie to tell oneself. After all, pretty flowers dipped in scarlet blood were hard to ignore. Especially when the navy petals were splayed across the bright white of the bathroom sink. Yet, Janus turned a blind eye. He simply swept the delicate blossoms up and tossed them in the bin. Wiping away the macabre evidence in a routine manner.
Check for any residue on the face. Toss the flowers. Clean the sink. Smile. Survive. Repeat. It was child's play. As simple as breathing. Well, as simple as breathing could be when one’s insides resembled a lush garden.
By the time Janus left the harshly light bathroom, he had wrapped himself in an entirely new visage. Pinched lips were traded in for a bright smirk. Hunched shoulders were forcefully pulled back. Uneven breaths were lost with a wave of eloquent words. The others didn’t even blink an eye as he returned to the common room. All the pieces of Thomas sitting in smaller clusters going about their business. And Janus took his place among them, soaking in their presence as much as he could manage. He took care to store away each floaty laugh and shining smile. Hoping that they would comfort him in his weaker moments when he desperately wanted to give in to the demands that his disease laid at his feet. Using them to reassure himself that his greatest trick, letting the dying man live, would work another day.
Still, sitting among his fellow sides was its own brand of torture because inevitably his eyes would land on Logan. That particular day, the logical side was sitting straight and scribbling away in his planner. Sometimes, he would pause and adjust his glasses or tap his pen against the book’s edge. He barely looked up when Remus vaulted over the couch or Patton started squealing over something of little interest. At least, that’s what Logan would have the rest of the sides believe. Janus, however, could scry the fundamental lie in Logan’s actions. He could see how Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly at Remus’ mishandling of the furniture. He had also long since memorized the way Logan’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. So he recognized the movement instantly when Patton started showing off whatever oh-so-adorable thing had caught his eye this time.
Janus, however, refused to call Logan out on his hidden emotions. Making lying his expertise may have made Janus better at catching others in a lie, but it had also taught him the value of the lies people tell themselves. Logan found comfort in believing that he had no emotions, so Janus would indulge him. Knowing that Logan’s misguided beliefs about himself were both a balm and a brand on Janus’ aching wounds. On one hand, Logan was happy, and on the other, it made it harder and harder for Janus to deny his approaching demise.
As a result of this dilemma, Janus learned to interact with Logan in small stints. He packed as much as he could into a shared roll of the eyes at the others’ antics or the joint recognition of a rare moment of calm.
There was some idiotic part of him that wanted to scream in these moments. He wanted to throw himself to the floor and belt out a mournful cry until there was nothing left in him. At least then his throat would be bleeding due to something of his own choice. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would collapse and never get up again. It wouldn’t be peaceful, but it would be his. He would take the shadow of death and pin it down, demanding that he take the reins. There would be no more pain. No more grief. No more fear. He could simply cease to be.
However, when this urge would overtake him, he’d look up and Logan would be there. A calm presence bringing Janus tea and blankets. He’d sit and read aloud without any prompting, and Janus would float. He’d be drawn in by the steady voice and the warm brushes of shoulders, and suddenly the urge to yell would mellow into a restrained sigh. The crinkling of pages and the gentle voice wrapping him in the image of a warm wish that Janus knew he could not possess.
Eventually, Janus would wake from his stupor when Logan’s voice faded away. He’d grit his teeth - furious at the lost opportunity to leave, and yet thankful to fight another day. Then, he’d turn to Logan. He’d take everything in. The way the logical side messed with his tie. His straight posture. The weight of that ever-present emotionless expression. He’d use them to repair the cracks in the foundation of his vow. Mudding each crevice up with little tidbits of Logan alive, safe, and well. All the while reciting a mantra of the four little words that had come to destroy him, ‘I was not dying’.
Over weeks, the mantra should have become easier to recite, but they dragged on his soul more each day. These instances with Logan also became harder to attain as time passed and Janus’ condition worsened. There were days when he could barely breathe due to the greedy flowers crowding his chest cavity. Janus was certain that the flower's scent was even mixing into his breath. He swore the soft floral scents were mocking him with each shaking breath - only being interrupted by the sharp scent of iron when another coughing fit took hold. Janus wanted to reach his hand down his throat and rip the flowers out by their roots. However, seeing how that wasn’t possible, he had taken to surrounding himself with stronger smells. Candles and coffees had made glorious allies as he tried to keep his head above water.
It had been on one such occasion - when Janus had been drinking coffee instead of his usual herbal tea - that everything came crashing down. It was early morning in the mindscape. He had spent most of the night listening to a symphony of his wheezing breath. It was how he had spent most of his nights in recent days. So, when Janus’ clock struck an hour that he deemed good enough, he abandoned all pretense of sleep and slowly made his way to the kitchen.
In the past, he may have entered the common area with a flourish befitting a side of his caliber. Though, seeing as none of the others were around, Janus momentarily gave in to his exhaustion. He eased his body into one of the kitchen chairs - hissing in annoyance at how slow his limbs were to cooperate. Eventually, he managed to arrange his body into a position that at least mimicked comfort. After taking a moment to drag air into his lungs, he conjured a steaming mug of coffee. The liquid burned as he swallowed, but at least that was a pain that he could control.
For a few minutes, he just sat there. Raising the mug to sip at the drink. All the while forlornly thinking of the abandoned tea canister collecting dust in the shadowy crevices of the cabinet. In the past, he had enjoyed the routine of making tea by hand instead of snapping his fingers and having a drink ready for him. Now, he could only enter the kitchen when the others were not around - too tired to walk around much. Still, Janus wasn’t dying. He was made of sterner stuff than that.
Slowly, half-lidded eyes turned to the latest acquisition within his philosophy collection. He’d intended to take full advantage of the others’ tendency to sleep in. Besides, occasionally he could hear the sound of Logan, the only other side with the sense to take advantage of the morning, moving his chair around at his desk. The subtle noise was a monotonous sound that finally seemed to relax Janus into his chair. It was about all the interaction with the logical side that Janus could handle anymore.
So, with a warm beverage at his fingertips and the wisdom of those long dead before him, Janus became engrossed in his book. He took notes here and there, determining which points had fallen out of favor over the centuries and which he believed could apply to Thomas’ life. Now and again, his pen would tap against the table as he thought about the pros and cons of an argument. He had been so focused on the pages beneath his nose that he didn’t even hear Logan walk into the kitchen, and snag a glance at his mug.
“Are we out of tea?’
Janus jerked up at the unexpected intrusion into his haven. The chair he was sitting on screeched loudly at the sudden movement. However, that mattered little compared to the rush of blood and fragrant petals coating his mouth. They were all he needed to know who had spoken.
“Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.” More flowers twisted their way up his esophagus as Logan rounded the table to face Janus head-on. Janus tracked his movement. He hopped with everything in him that he could keep down the flowers begging to be let out.
He smiled in lieu of a response. Knowing that if he tried to speak, Logan would see the blood coating his teeth.
The logical side’s nose wrinkled in confusion as his shrewd gaze took Janus in. “Are you alright?” He made an aborted attempt to reach out to touch Janus before clearly thinking better of it.
Janus wanted desperately to slip away, but he knew he had forfeited the ability to drop into his room weeks ago. He simply couldn’t muster the energy required. So, instead, he bit the inner corners of his cheeks - hoping desperately that the cursed blossoms crawling up his throat could wait long enough for him to dissuade Logan of his concerns.
Thus, with one quick lick across his front teeth, he said, “Everything is alright. I simply leaned too far back in my chair.” He punctuated the statement with an unsteady smirk.
However, he knew instantly that his ploy hadn’t worked. He felt his abused heart beat frantically against his chest as the shorter side’s eyes widened behind his glasses.
“Janus! You are bleeding!”
And Janus, with exhaustion and fear flooding his mind, simply replied, “Am I?”
Logan quickly swooped in closer to Janus. “Yes!” The shake in his voice betrayed his fear as he continued, “Janus, what is going on?”
“Nothing, I’m absolutely fine.” Janus bit out.
“Jan-”
“I said I’m fine," Janus hissed as he moved further away from the logical side.
“You certainly are not,” Logan said as he shuffled closer. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he took in Janus’ tense position and hostile tone.
Janus, however, could barely care. All he could think about was the flood of red and blue that was about to tumble out of his mouth at any second. Then, from one moment to the next, that fragile foundation broke and Janus fell into the depths.
With a shaking hand, Janus wiped across his face, smearing droplets of blood across his chin with the movement. His shoulders curled in as a sob ripped its way out of his chest. With it came a jumbled mess of bloody flowers that slipped onto Janus’ lap.
He watched, curled up on his chair, as Logan’s eyes widened. “Hanahaki disease.” Then after a moment, “They’re blue. Oh, Janus.” And there, there was everything Janus had been avoiding. A cascade of emotion overtook Logan’s face. Teary eyes told of sadness. Pale cheeks hinted towards fear. All of it, every droplet, discoloration, and whimper, rolled through Janus like lava. Logan was scared for Janus, and well, wasn't that a cruel ending to the charade? Both his goals, to hide and protect, were up in a blaze with one bout of coughing. He had wondered which would be worse - having his secret revealed or exposing Logan’s. Sitting there, he couldn’t say which was more devastating. In fact, he couldn’t even say that he was devastated because, for the first time in ages, he felt free. There was terror, frustration, and distress, but also a traitorous bit of peace. It was soft, gently protecting him from the nasty thorns of the other emotions. Yes, he could die. He knew he could. It would be ok now.
“Stay there,” Logan said as he sifted away to get tissues. The words pulled the broken side from the newfound shelter that was in his mind. He blinked lazily as he registered the words. The doorway to the shelter slammed shut and Janus sat ramrod straight - ready to do battle into his final hours.
“Logan, you didn’t want anyone to know you had emotions. My feelings were an obstacle to that goal.” The words gave him the momentum to reconstruct his mask. The tear stains under his eyes faded away as he took on a double of his own form. He felt the way it sucked away at the final dredges of his energy, but it was worth it.
Logan turned back and sighed as he took in Janus’ nonplussed face. His shoulders slumped and he gave a rueful smile. Gently, he reached up and started rubbing a tissue under Janus’ eyes.
Janus furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?”
Logan’s wobbly smile grew as he maneuvered the deceitful side’s head with light fingers. “Well, logically, the tears are still there. They have simply been hidden away under a sort of glamour. So, I am cleaning them up.” A shaky breath fell out of him. “If I must watch the man I love die, I might as well take care of him. Especially since he is foolishly risking his life in a misguided attempt to save me.”
“It was the best choice.”
“It was foolish.”
“You didn’t want anyone to see. If I confessed, and you reciprocated, they would know.” Janus stared at Logan, hoping to force him to accept reason through will alone.
“If you had died,” Logan said in a steadier voice, “they would have known anyway.” There was a pause as Logan pulled Janus closer. The glamour melted away as Janus buried his face in the junction between Logan’s neck and shoulder. He gripped the fabric of Logan’s shirt tightly, his fingers shaking with the effort. “I love you, Janus,” Logan murmured.
In an instant, the four words that had raced in Janus’ mind for months fell away. They were replaced with something new. Something that came even easier than breathing. Three little words that Janus savored each and every day, ‘I love you’.