Chapter Text
Consciousness comes in like a cresting wave. Janus could feel the sun on his shut eyelids, his nose could smell coffee grounds blooming from a steady stream of hot water, and his body—slowly becoming his again—feels the warmth of his bed covers. When he opens his eyes, he stares long and hard at his bedside table—empty, save for a glass of water he left there the night before.
It happened to him again. He dreamt a dream that felt so real it seemed like a distant memory. Someone’s fingers entwined with his and a voice loud and strong echoing in his skull—Janus could see the shape of their face and the curve of their smile and the outline of their hair, all blurred edges and amalgamation if Janus tried so much as to focus and create a clear picture in his brain.
He gets up, rubs his face, and reaches for a silver ring—two snake heads coiled around a yellow gem—on top of his bedside table to wear it before he walks out of his room and into the kitchen where Logan is already pouring himself a cup of coffee. Janus takes a seat on the bar stool and, with a sigh, grabs Logan’s mug and drags it across the counter towards him.
“Hey,” Logan says, mouth agape. “I made enough for the both of us.”
“How sweet,” Janus replies before taking a sip.
Logan shakes his head and pours himself another cup.
Outside, a bird sings before it takes off, possibly to migrate and escape the coming winter. It sings because it’s alone, Janus thinks. It sings so another lonely bird can hear it and come, so their journey isn’t as hard and lonely as it already is. Janus grimaces; that bird ought to learn that it can only rely on itself to survive the cold.
That’s what Janus had long believed.
He blows the steam rising from the cup. “Have you ever been in love, Logan?” he suddenly asks.
The question catches Logan off guard and he looks up from his phone, the New York Times crossword already a quarter filled.
“Not at all,” Logan answers. “Why the sudden query?”
As if Janus knows. “Nothing, just morning small talk.” A sip. “I’m craving salmon. We should have dinner at that Japanese restaurant along 5th Street.”
Logan shrugs. “If all goes well today.”
It’s 9 in the morning when Logan and Janus step out fully dressed and prepared for work. It’s a 20-minute walk to their office which is torture for Janus as the winds begin to crisp up. When they arrive at the clinic, Patton is already there at his desk checking the schedule of appointments for the day.
“It’s gonna be a doozy today,” he tells them as they enter the door. Janus picks up the sheet of paper that Patton slides toward him. “Also, Laura called and said she’s coming back.”
“The one who ran off last week?” Logan asks.
Patton nods. “She said she changed her mind.”
Janus rolls his eyes and begins walking to the treatment room. “They always come back begging.”
Janus settles down on his chair flipping through the charts of their different patients. Logan heads straight for the PC that’s up against the wall to boot it up. The PC is connected to a complicated mechanism of wires set beside a reclining chair which Logan also checks.
Janus reads aloud the document of their first patient as Logan tinkers with the machines. “Oscar Piastri, 21, just lost his dog. Got ran over by a garbage truck.”
“That’ll be quick,” Logan mutters, eyes scanning the data to make sure everything is in order.
“Indeed. A snooze fest.” Janus laughs and flips to the next page. “Max Emilian, 26, found out his boyfriend cheated on him and wants to forget about him completely. Oh, this sounds fun.”
“I’m certain you’ll have a field day.” Logan adjusts a knob. “Just don’t rile him up, please, these wires aren’t going to last with patients pulling on them in a panic.”
“Darling, what do you take me for? And alright, alright, I’ll be on my best behavior. God, but it’s so entertaining though.”
Logan sighs. He doesn’t say anything about that, just continues typing on the keyboard and switching windows.
In this clinic, he and Logan are the primary treatment providers of the unique service of memory erasure, where individuals come to have parts of their memories taken away for various reasons: grief, anger, embarrassment, and heartbreak, to name a few. Janus is in charge of guiding each patient through the procedure while Logan maps each memory out to successfully find and extract them from the brain later on. The procedure begins with a consultation with their boss, Emile Picani, before they are requested to return on a scheduled date with every item they possessed that reminded them of the person (or animal, in some special cases) they wanted to forget. They are then ushered into the treatment room where Janus goes through each item, asking questions and urging the patient to bare their souls while EEG electrodes are attached to their scalp. The final step is Janus and Logan visiting the patient at home, after they have drunk the prescribed sedative, to work on deleting the mapped-out memories. Patton is then left in charge of sending a special note to friends and family warning them to never mention the forgotten individual from then on.
The patient awakes that morning with less weight in their heart, none the wiser of the tragedy they had just endured.
It’s a perfect science. Except, sometimes it isn’t.
Some days, Janus and Logan see patients come back—to forget someone else. It’s fine to do it twice. More than that and they risk putting the patient into a state of an early onset of Alzheimer’s. Explaining why they need to turn them away is messy and is Patton’s burden to carry. Janus and Logan have no compassion, mostly. They’ll tell it like it is and avert their eyes from the wreckage.
Still, people come. The clinic’s days are full. They work long hours going from house to house at night to complete the process. It’s taxing work. It’s fulfilling work. No other employee has lasted as long as Janus and Logan have, whose intellectual minds mute the tiny voice in their heads that this science is perfect—almost—and also wrong.
***
“Laura,” Janus greets with a sly grin. “You’re back.”
“Yeah, I…” she shivers. “I thought I couldn’t do it but I— I remember and— god, please just take this pain away.”
On cue, Logan hands her a tissue box. Janus jots something down on his clipboard, smile never waning. “That’s wonderful. We are quite adept at ridding you of this problem, Laura. No more pain, no more memories. Just blissful ignorance. Now, if you could give me your box, we can go ahead and begin, hm?”
It only takes an hour—more, if the patient is in too much grief. The proper protocol is for Janus and Logan not to rush through the process and to get to the meat of each memory so it makes it easier to be mapped out in the system.
Once it’s done, they write a prescription and hand Laura a plastic bag with two pills. “Go to bed as you normally would and take these before sleeping. When you wake, everything will be okay,” Janus tells her soothingly, assurance dripping down his words like honey.
“Okay,” she breathes out, cheeks still stained with tears.
“Patton will have you sign a form on your way out,” Logan tells her with a nod. “Thank you again for trusting Sanders Inc. with your troubles.”
She leaves and Janus fishes something from her box—a squeaky duck keychain—and presses it a few times. “Poor girl, that man love-bombed her to death and left her for a 20-year-old? Men truly are trash.”
Logan could only shrug.
“If I were her,” Janus bristles, “I would murder him, hide the body, and then have my memories removed for plausible deniability.”
“She would have to confess it to us and we’d have to turn her in,” Logan answers flatly.
“Nowhere in the handbook says that, sweetheart.”
“It’s only logical.”
“Whatever.” Janus tosses the duck back into the box. “Off to a charity in South East Asia this goes.”
The day goes on like clockwork. It’s 6 in the evening when Patton flips over the “we’re closed” sign on the front door as Janus and Logan go through their patients’ papers.
“Three tonight,” Logan confirms.
“Oh joy,” Janus yawns. “There goes my salmon dinner.”
“Should we call the interns?” Patton asks as he settles back down on his chair and types on his keyboard. Logan shakes his head. “It’s manageable. We can head to the Deli on our way home.”
“And get some beauty sleep for a few hours,” Janus agrees. He folds the papers and places them inside his sling bag. Logan takes the set of folders and puts them inside his backpack.
They wave goodbye to Patton who closes up the clinic and head toward the direction of the Deli. At the crosswalk, Logan stops and clicks his tongue. “Darn it,” he hisses, “I left my pen.”
Janus rolls his eyes. “There are plenty back in the apartment.” But Logan has already sprinted back to the clinic, leaving Janus to gawk at his retreating figure. Janus groans and tucks his arms under his coat. He’s going to have to stand here and survive the chill for at least 5 minutes. Across the pedestrian lane, there’s a man whistling, waiting for the signal to turn green. Janus glances his way, hoping his glare could send a message. He meets the man’s eyes and—
Huh. Janus thinks that this man is a catch. Brown hair, bright eyes, broad shoulders, and great taste in winter clothing. The man stops whistling, noticing Janus staring at him. He cocks a brow and flashes a smile. Janus smirks back. He thinks he could bring this guy home, wipe that cocky grin off his face and wreck him. Janus would need a release soon; he realizes he hasn’t slept with anyone lately due to the holiday rush of patients desperate for a fresh start. It could be so easy.
But the longer Janus stares at this man, something inexplainable clicks at the back of his mind. It’s enough for his smirk to falter and for shivers to run up and down his spine. He turns away just as the signal turns green and the man begins to cross the street towards him. The man doesn’t stop to say hello, though; just continues whistling a familiar tune and breezes past Janus.
Janus lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he is holding. When he glances back at the retreating figure, he doesn’t fail to catch him looking at him over his shoulder. The man smiles again, winks, and turns away. He disappears into the distance.
Janus rolls his eyes. He really needs to get laid. A few minutes later, Logan returns jogging toward him. “Sorry,” he mutters, and they cross the street toward the Deli.
Janus is quiet for a while until he begins to hum a random tune. It’s only when they get to the Deli that he realizes, oddly, that it’s the same tune he had heard the man whistle.
***
“That’s disgusting,” Janus says, nose crinkled.
He watches Logan smear Crofter’s Jam all over the top of the loaf of his pastrami sandwich. “It is delicious. What does Virgil say? ‘Don’t ick my yummy.’”
“It’s ‘don’t yuck my yum’ you loser.” Janus drinks his glass of wine and feels the dull ache in his head. He really is getting old. He sets the glass down and rests his chin on his hand. “When’s our next day off? Lord, I’m so dry that I need a messy hook-up at a club soon.”
It’s Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. “Keep such thoughts to yourself, please. I do not want to hear of your high libido.”
Janus laughs. It’s part of the reason why it’s easy working and living with Logan. The two of them are so distant from their own feelings that they can focus on giving their patients the best service possible. Janus has read the opinion pieces. He’s seen the news programs. He knows that there are plenty of people who call what they do unethical and unhealthy. Janus agrees wholeheartedly. But there is also something magnificent about holding the power to take someone’s debilitating grief so they can go back to their regular lives. This is what Janus loves. And if this treatment helps people become happier in the end, then what’s so wrong about it?
Logan may or may not agree. He, on the other hand, is so awed by the science that he doesn’t stop to consider its toll on people’s overall well-being. All he wants to do is accomplish his task, do it well, and find ways to improve it.
Janus doesn’t think he will find anyone other than Logan who understands what he goes through in the clinic. 8 years of friendship and of doing this every single day since they became interns—how could Janus dream of anything else?
He takes a short nap before they’re scheduled to visit their first patient at their home to do the final, most tedious task of extracting the memories.
Except it’s an odd dream. He dreams of music. Of laughter. Of dancing by the kitchen table. He smells cologne on the crook of someone’s neck, someone who holds his waist tightly as they sway to a melancholic melody. He awakes and the feeling of loss lingers on his body. He looks up at Logan, shaking his shoulder and saying, “We need to leave in 10 minutes.”
The first house they visit is Oscar’s. It’s quick, with Logan only needing to remove the most recent memories of an ailing dog and its unfortunate death, enough to convince the brain that he had lost his childhood pet long ago.
The visit to Max only takes a while because the house is in complete disarray. Logan removes the memories at Max’s bedside while Janus cleans up to make sure Max doesn’t wonder why he had thrashed his apartment the evening prior for no reason.
It’s Laura who takes longer than either of them would have wanted to. Janus is sitting on a chair, legs propped on the edge of Laura’s bed, while Logan is hunched over a laptop trying to find the memories that are attempting to hide from him.
“Remind me, has there been a patient who came back because they remembered the person they came to us to forget?” Janus suddenly asks, absentmindedly twisting his silver ring around his finger.
Logan looks at him briefly. “Perhaps, years ago. None recently.”
“None that we know of.”
“We have not let rookies handle the extractions in years.”
“You’re saying it never would happen under your hand?”
“Track record speaks for itself. But I’m not admitting to being infallible. The human mind is indeed a complex thing. Some memories are too strong to delete.”
Janus lets that statement hang in the air for a moment. He looks around at the apartment’s empty walls where the dust from picture frames Laura had to dispose of for the treatment remains. He makes a note to scrub them off later.
“Do you ever imagine yourself devoting your heart to someone who could so easily crush it, that you’d have to subject yourself to this memory wipe?” Janus shakes his head laughing. “I’m quite jealous. I feel like I’m missing out.”
Logan furrows his brows and says nothing. Anyway, Janus’s question didn’t merit an answer from him. Janus knows that Logan is averse to romance. He knows Logan won’t actively look for a partner to settle down with. He once joked that he and Logan should marry instead; after all, it’s not like Janus could ever pursue love either. Logan had only rolled his eyes. “It isn’t the same for you,” he had said without elaborating.
Janus stands up, stretches his limbs, and paces the room. “Then again, I’m too gorgeous to be tied down and have my heart torn to pieces. Don’t you agree?”
Logan clicks the mouse. “The person you end up with shouldn’t break your heart in the first place.”
Janus shrugs. “I’m 30. The chances of me finding someone to love get slimmer by the day. So I’d rather just enjoy life’s greatest sins no strings attached.”
“As long as you are happy.”
Janus peers closely at a music box on top of Laura’s dresser. On it is a prince kneeling and holding a rose toward a ballerina. Janus parts his lips. “Logan…”
A few more clicks of the mouse. “What?”
Janus starts to say something. Then, he closes his mouth. He pulls back, nose upturned. “Nothing, this apartment is horridly tacky and dusty. I’m going to start sweeping.”
“Sure.”
Janus fetches the broom and a microfiber cloth. Whatever question that lingered on the tip of his tongue dies as quickly as it had come.
***
The days are getting colder and Janus is not in the best of moods. His patients are sobbing too hard, they’re taking too long to tell their stories, and someone’s ex-boyfriend tried to break in to beg and plead for a second chance. They pull in their interns Virgil and Remy to cover their day shifts while they spend all-nighters going house to house.
It’s now the first week of December and their schedule is packed to the limit with patients who’ve flocked in after terrible Thanksgiving dinners and amid pre-Christmas blues. Janus truly hates the holidays.
But nothing infuriates him more than patients who don’t adhere to the rules of their treatment.
It’s 1 in the morning and Janus and Logan are standing at a bus stop. Logan is on a call with Picani, complaining about a patient that flaked. He hadn’t been home when he was supposed to be in bed, knocked out, and ready for the procedure, and it throws a wrench in Janus and Logan’s agenda. Logan is livid, and so is Janus who fumes in silence with hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets.
Someone arrives at the bus stop and stands a few feet away. Janus glances at Logan, pacing and ranting quietly on the phone, then looks at the stranger to check if he’s listening.
Janus freezes.
It’s the same man he had met weeks ago at the crosswalk.
The man notices him and his face brightens. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “It’s you.”
Janus cocks his head, feigning ignorance. “Have we met?”
“I think I would remember if I had met a face as beautiful as yours.”
Janus laughs, rolling his eyes. “Oh, you flirt.” He holds out a hand. “And you’re…?”
“Roman,” the man answers, taking the hand firmly and with tenderness. Janus shivers from the touch.
“Enchanté,” Roman says with a grin. “I remember passing you by on the street a month ago. I was utterly tormented with regret for not stopping to speak with you. This must be strange to hear.”
“Definitely. But I hardly mind.” Janus chuckles. “I’m Janus.”
Roman’s eyes crinkle. “Janus. Are you—”
Janus feels his arm being yanked aside. He swivels his head and sees Logan flashing Roman a cold, hard look. “We must go.”
Roman knits his brows as though in recognition. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Negative.” Logan begins to walk away, pulling Janus with him. “Come, Janus.”
“Oh,” Janus says, intrigued. “Is there history here?”
“Holy Hera, I hope not!” Roman answers. “Otherwise, this would have been very awkward.” He pauses. “Wait, are you two…?”
“No,” Janus and Logan say at the same time. Janus begins to laugh. “Hold on, you came on to me without being sure I wasn’t with a date? You’re hilarious, Mr. Enchanté!”
Roman flushes and laughs along with him. Something inside Janus stirs—low in his belly, bubbling up to his chest that has suddenly become so warm.
Logan curses under his breath and practically pulls Janus to leave.
“Ouch, you fucking bitch—”
“Wait—” Roman takes a step forward. “I was going to head home but would you want to grab a drink at Cosmos? It’s just down the street.”
Logan squints his eyes at Janus. “We’re busy.”
Janus ignores him. “Sounds lovely. Let me just wrench my arm off my coworker.” He pulls away from Logan and whispers menacingly into his ear. “Can you please relax? Give me two hours and I’ll meet you at the next house.”
“This isn’t a good idea. Trust me.”
Janus doesn’t listen to him. He smiles at Roman and extends his hand. Roman offers his arm for Janus to hook his around, and they walk away, leaving a speechless Logan alone under the streetlamp.
***
Roman brings two glasses over to their table. The entire time, Janus watches him like he can’t help to. Roman hands one over to him and they clink the rims before taking a drink.
“Sorry if I had to steal you away from wherever you were going,” Roman says, not apologetic at all.
“By all means, steal me as often as you’d like,” Janus answers just as coyly.
“Your friend doesn’t seem too keen.”
“He abhors it when I leave him to go off with a man. To his credit, we were in the middle of work. It’s nothing personal.”
Roman nods then leans forward. “Are you also from around here? I just moved in some months ago. The vibe’s really different from what I’m used to. And the amount of snow? Dreadful! Do you know how much time it takes now to get my hair this perfect every morning?”
Janus snickers. “Hours, I imagine. I’m surprised you chose to move into our humble little city. A few more weeks and you’d be bored to death.”
“I’d never allow myself to get bored! See, now things have gotten more interesting, now that I’ve met you.”
“You truly have a way with words, Mr. Enchanté. Tell me: what’s your story?”
They talk, and it catches Janus off guard just how much he learns about Roman and still stay interested. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s because it’s nearly 2, maybe it’s because Janus is so tired and in need of a break from it all that he’d much rather listen to a handsome man he just met share at length details Janus wouldn’t have normally cared to know. He learns about Roman’s roots, his family, his dreams. Janus also realizes immediately that Roman is insufferable—he talks too much, is far too vain, and is way in over his head. If it was anyone else, Janus would’ve already made a heinous excuse to leave. But their conversation just flows so naturally, an easy tug-and-pull of banter, and every now and then Roman would say something so dumb that it punches a laugh out of Janus more than it ignites his annoyance.
He could feel his phone vibrating incessantly in his pants and he fights every urge to chuck it across the room if it meant more time with Roman. And it’s weird—Janus famously never has the greatest tolerance for people he doesn’t know, not even at the promise of a good lay. Is the frosty haze of fatigue and the abject need to get away from Logan to blame for the clouding of his judgment? Or did Roman drug his cocktail?
Roman must have noticed that Janus hadn’t said anything for the past five minutes because he licks his bottom lip and drinks his cocktail pensively. “So what about you? Tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, my life isn’t all that interesting,” Janus answers, cheekily.
“Come on,” Roman rolls his eyes. “You needing to work at the ungodly hours of the morning? Are you part of secret service? A syndicate? Any target on your back I should know about?”
Janus points to his nose. “You’ve hit the nail on the head, Roman. Bravo.”
Roman laughs. “No, seriously.”
“There’s nothing worth knowing.”
“Hmph. Alright, keep your secrets. I’ll find out soon enough!”
“I doubt you’ll stick around that long to know.”
“Is that a challenge?” Roman’s eyes glint. “I don’t back down easily.”
Janus shrugs. “I make a terrible lover. I’m certain I’m blacklisted in plenty of establishments in this city by people I’ve dated. You ought to run for the hills.” He leans on his palm, smirking. “That is, if I don’t do it first.”
And it isn’t technically a lie. Janus famously doesn’t stick around long enough to experience the low of a relationship. All its hard parts. He hardly stays for it to even evolve into a relationship, would rather be shipped to the rainforests of the Amazon than commit. But here Roman is, waving a dismissive hand with his nose upturned.
“Maybe all of them were losers then,” he says, as if it’s just that simple. “I assure you, you won’t be running away from me. For how can you, when I’ll sweep you off your feet?”
Janus wants to laugh, but he also kind of wants to see Roman try. He knows that Roman is either that confident or completely delusional, and it intrigues him even more what it would take to break Roman’s spirit.
“Let it not be said I didn’t warn you. How exactly do you intend to sweep me off my feet?”
Roman smiles knowingly. “How about you give me your number and you’ll find out?”
Janus rolls his eyes but his lips curve upwards against the rim of his glass. He sets it down and holds out his hand for Roman to place his phone onto. He swiftly types his number and gives the phone back, not missing the way the tips of Roman’s fingers linger on his skin.
“You truly know how to make a girl blush,” Janus teases.
Roman winks. “Wait ‘til after the third date.”
“You’ll have me wait that long? Better make it worthwhile, then.”
Roman opens his mouth to speak but is abruptly silenced when Janus’s phone buzzes loudly against his seat inside his pocket.
Janus takes it as his cue to leave. He stands and Roman gets up too, walking him out of the bar and into the street where he hails a cab.
“Thank you ever so kindly,” Janus says.
Roman moves closer and Janus half-expects him to kiss him, but Roman takes his hand instead, bringing it up to his lips, grazing the grooves of his fingers and the edge of his snake ring coiled around him. Janus feels electrified—like wires jumpstarting some untouched part beneath his ribcage.
“‘Til we meet again,” Roman says, then lets go.
***
When Janus gets to their patient’s apartment, Logan is already in the middle of the procedure.
Janus sheds his coat, tosses it aside, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Care to share what’s gotten your briefs in a twist?”
Logan cocks a brow. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Is there history between you and Roman I need to know about? Because it certainly looked like you wanted to murder him.”
Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “We’re only acquaintances. I just do not feel that it is right for you to go off in the middle of work. I called you multiple times.”
Janus isn’t convinced. He strides toward Logan, sits on the edge of the bed nearest him, and props a foot up on the armrest of his chair. “Well, that’s delightful. I had a swell time, you know. He asked me out on another date. You, of course, wouldn’t mind?”
Janus doesn’t miss the way Logan squirms in his seat. “Why would I mind? You are free to do as you please.”
“You told me to trust you that it was a bad idea.”
“Well, it’s obvious that you do not take my word for it.”
Janus squints his eyes. He wants to shake Logan, have him say what exactly is on his mind, and put the topic to rest without Janus needing to ask. The question dances on the tip of his tongue that he wants to bite down hard, kill it before it erupts and spreads in his mind.
So he smiles. “Alright.” He doesn’t press further.
They don’t talk about it again for the rest of the evening. They hardly talk in the days that follow. Exhausted from their night shifts, they wake individually during odd hours and do their separate things—Logan often dropping by the clinic to ensure the interns are doing their jobs efficiently while Janus stays in the apartment to watch shows or read. Logan doesn’t ask about Roman. Janus doesn’t tell him either.
Today, Janus wakes past noon and decides that he needs to keep his sanity intact by being in any other place than home and the clinic.
He dresses comfortably and leaves to catch the bus that would take him to the shops to find cheap yet nice Christmas gifts for Logan and their coworkers. When he gets there, he looks at his watch and realizes, frustratingly, that the bus is late. He embraces himself and taps his foot with impatience.
Suddenly, a car slows down and stops in front of him, and when the window lowers, he sees Roman trying to peek through. “Hello there!”
Janus bends down, raising a brow. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Enchanté. Are you stalking me?”
“I’m not, I swear! Are you waiting for the bus? I could give you a lift.”
“Hm. I suppose sharing a ride with a handsome man before I get brutally sawed in half and left in a ditch isn’t such a bad way to go.”
Janus opens the door and slides in, immediately strapping himself in with the seatbelt. He sighs and settles down on his seat, relieved to find solace from the cold.
Roman watches him with a bemused lopsided grin. “You’re kind of a diva, aren’t you?” He says as he drives off into the road.
It’s meant to be a playful jab. But some tiny, insane part of Janus wants to retaliate, like he’s heard it said about him with dripping sarcasm more times than he’d like, which is odd, because he doesn’t remember at all if he’s been ever called that.
“I once killed an ex who’d told that to me to my face,” Janus says a little too coldly. “So what are you up to? Besides stalking me.”
“I’m not stalking you.” Roman huffs. “I was running errands. But I can spare a moment for you. So, where to, monsieur?”
“I was going to go thrift shopping. Find some Christmas gifts for the only few people I don’t hate.”
“Got big holiday plans, I presume?”
“None at all. My idea of a perfect Christmas is sleeping, drinking, and watching trashy reality TV.”
“Ah, so you’re a Grinch,” Roman glances his way. Janus rolls his eyes.
“Please. Christmas is just one big fuckery of a holiday. All it is, really, is exploitation and a grand ploy for all to spend exorbitant amounts of money on material things that either end up in storage boxes or regifted to someone else.” Janus groans. “And all those who say that it isn’t about the gifts and singing these grating holiday carols and preaching about peace and kindness will all go back to sending hate tweets and homophobic slurs a month later. We’re all just lying to ourselves about how merry and joyful and bright this season is when all it is, in reality, is dark and freezing… and lonely.”
Roman is quiet. Janus also feels simmering displeasure at himself for the sudden bitter rant to a hot guy he’s still trying to impress and thinks of how to redeem himself with a cheeky punchline.
He doesn’t get to though because Roman makes a strange not-laugh in the back of his throat as he turns a corner. “What a miserable way to think,” he says, dry, off-hand, and Janus feels like someone clipped him on the underside of his jaw, rattling his brain around in his skull.
“I killed the ex that said that to me too,” he says back under his breath. He becomes more convinced that there’s some truth to that admission, somehow.
“You just never had the joy of spending Christmas around the right people,” Roman continues. “My home’s a riot. My brother is an absolute menace with the games and decor. We sing karaoke the whole day. My mom and her sisters cook way too much food that I’m forced to pause my diet. And god, when everyone’s at the table counting the grapes before 12 midnight, the gossip is spicy as fuck.” Roman laughs. “You’d fit right in. My Tias would love you.”
“Goodness, family already? You’re a bit hasty. Wine and dine me first darling, you hardly know me,” Janus says teasingly.
Roman is silent again. At the corner of Janus’s eye, he sees Roman’s grip tighten on the steering wheel.
“Holy Hera, I don’t know why I said that,” Roman coughs. “Forgive me. I have been told before that I’m overwhelming.”
Janus presses his lips into a thin line. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel endeared, being told he’s good enough to bring home to one’s mother, if the regret of such admission didn’t sound so awkward through the crack of Roman’s voice, as if there’s an underlying weight of guilt.
“An ex did a number on you too, hm?” Janus says.
Roman lets out a breathy, timid laugh. “Tragically. Though I hardly remember him.”
“Not many decent gays in our lives, it seems.”
“So we’re going to prove each other wrong then?”
Janus shrugs. “It depends. Is it marriage before sex with you, or…?”
Roman scoffs. He smiles but doesn’t loosen his grip on the wheel. “That’s a secret for the third date.”
Janus clutches his chest, pretending to swoon. “And we’re already on our second! I do believe that this has gotten serious between us, don’t you think so Mr. Enchanté?”
Roman’s laugh is genuine now. “Must be so, seeing as I am quite serious in capturing your heart! As long as you don’t run away.”
Janus whips his head to gawk at Roman, jaw hanging at the insinuation. He catches himself in time, before his knee-jerk reaction to hit back where the other hurts could take hold of his body. Roman glances at him at the corner of his eye, a smile still plastered on his face. “What?” he asks, completely clueless. Janus grits his teeth and smiles back. “Oh, nothing.”
He thinks that maybe it isn’t going to work between them, that he’ll give it one date and a fuck before he ghosts Roman and moves on in his life. But when Roman parks on the sidewalk and waxes poetic about how “parting is such sweet sorrow” before reaching over to take Janus’s wrist and kiss his knuckles, over the twin-headed silver snake coiled around his finger, it’s enough for shivers to run down his spine, tiny fireworks to singe his lungs, and something he thought was impossible to claw beneath his ribcage.
He thinks that if he is waiting for the right moment to start running, it’s now.
He then thinks that it might not be so bad to wait until that third date.
***
Janus is on his phone texting. They’re on their third of five patients and he and Logan are seated next to each other in the living room where the patient had fallen asleep on the couch.
Roman isn’t even supposed to be awake at this hour, but here he is humoring Janus with nonsense that his sleep-deprived brain can’t help but giggle at.
Logan makes a passive-aggressive grunt and Janus puts his phone down to roll his eyes. “Alright, no need to be a sourpuss,” he teases before angling the laptop that rests atop Logan’s thighs toward him.
“At least one of us is in a chipper mood,” Logan grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest to watch Janus take over the deletion process for a while.
“Is it that obvious?” Janus fake swoons. “I think I might be in love.”
Logan buys it. “Really?” he asks, brows shot up. Janus shakes his head, cackling. “Of course not. Can you imagine? He’s pretty charming, I give him that. But he’s going to turn into a nuisance soon, I can tell.” He pauses. “Still, I enjoy his company, loud and obnoxious as he is.”
“You mean Roman?”
“The very one.”
Logan assesses him. At the back of Janus’s mind, Logan’s pinched face and the urgency in his voice that evening at the bus stop come to view, still without explanation or reason. If Janus thought hard enough, he’d realize that Logan had never looked that way before, even when Logan catches him tongue-deep in someone else at the club an hour before their evening shift, even when he stumbles home at dawn with wobbly knees, even at that one time when he had mistakenly let his guard down and had to call Logan to pick him up outside a convenience store, arms wrapped tightly around himself to hide a bruise.
“What do you think of him?” Janus asks him as nonchalantly as he can to mask the suspicion he harbors.
Logan furrows his brows. “As if you care to know my opinion on whoever you’re dating.”
“Oh, I don’t. But somehow, you don’t particularly like this one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do not know him well enough to form judgment.”
Janus squints at him from beyond the laptop screen. “Is that the truth, darling?”
Logan grunts and takes the laptop back. Instead of answering Janus, he says, “I said it wasn’t a good idea to go with him that evening. It has already passed. And if you’re adamant to pursue a relationship with him, I won’t stop you.”
Janus throws his arms up and stands on his feet, too peeved to stay seated on his sore ass. “Oh my goodness, Logan, you’re infuriating. I show mild interest towards someone and you think I’m off to marry him next week. It’s not that serious.” He shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe tomorrow, I’ll get bored and come running back to you. Don’t be so jealous, dear. We’ll be miserable together forever, rotting away at our lovely apartment.”
Logan lifts his head and fixes Janus with a steady gaze. “I do not understand where you get the notion that I am miserable.”
“You don’t find the concept of us growing old together because no one loves us enough a dismal future?”
Logan grimaces. “It’s different for you.”
Janus crosses his arms. “Why must you always say that? Well, I guess it is true that people love me. Who can resist? Unfortunately, I’m just incapable of love, it seems.”
A sound pings on the laptop as Logan clicks the mouse button, signaling the end of the treatment. Logan makes a move to stand up, carrying the laptop on his left forearm.
“Allow me to speak out of turn, because we are friends and have been for many years. You pretend not to care, because you’re convinced you’ll never fall in love,” Logan says, still looking at Janus with—sympathy? Disappointment? Judgement? Every single possibility a punch in the gut. “But you might. And you don’t want to admit it, because you’re afraid of ruining it.”
Janus presses his lips into a thin line as Logan continues talking, gingerly removing the electrodes from their patient’s forehead. “And because I care for you too, you deserve to know for reasons I cannot say that I am neither happy nor dismayed by your decision to pursue this, but I will support you whatever you choose.”
Janus snorts. “You must feel so good to look down on me on your high pedestal.”
“I’m not—” Logan closes his eyes and sighs. Weariness is beginning to weigh them both down like an anchor, the dread of having two more patients to attend to looming over their heads. He finishes packing their equipment in a bag and pulls the zipper close in one, loud swoop.
Janus turns on his heel and walks toward the door, grabbing their coats and tossing Logan’s his way before yanking the knob open to step out into the street.
When Logan closes the door behind him, he reaches over and places a firm hand on Janus’s shoulder. Janus swats it away and doesn’t notice Logan’s eyes linger on the silver snake ring.
Logan then says, slowly, “I struggle with tact, but I am sincere. You know that that whatever happens with Roman, I’m here, always.”
Janus lets out a breathy chuckle despite everything. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. I’d need to surgically remove you to get rid of you.”
Logan smiles, small yet weary. “Sure, and yet when you end up breaking down in tears over him again, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces.”
Logan begins to walk away, hands deep in his coat pockets, mumbling the directions to the next patient’s house out loud. Janus follows not soon after, eyes glued to the back of Logan’s head.
All the while, his heart beats in an erratic rhythm, low subwoofer thumps rattling his bones.
Again, Janus thinks. He said ‘again.’
***
It’s a Friday when it happens. They had just finished their first dayshift in over a week, once more managing patients at the clinic, and have handed off their clipboards to Patton who locks up for the night. Logan steps out of the door, head down as he reads a case study on his e-reader. Janus watches him go then turns towards Patton with a bright grin.
“Patton, would you mind fetching my file for me?”
“Sure can do! Which patient?” Patton asks.
Janus taps the surface of the counter. “Me.”
And Patton, bless him, is an open book. His face morphs quickly to surprise and worry, eyes darting to Logan who’s still waiting on the sidewalk reading.
“Don’t be silly,” Patton laughs nervously. “You don’t have a file here. Psychiatrists of Sanders Inc. aren’t supposed to—”
Janus predicted that Patton would deflect like this. He knows that if what Janus thinks is true, Patton would give it to him whole-heartedly, if Janus is able to play his cards right.
So he clutches his chest, masking his face with as much emotion as he could possibly convey. “Patton, I found him again and I don’t want to let him go anymore. Logan told me everything, and I have realized what a grave mistake I have made. I shouldn’t have forgotten Roman. We’re destined to be together. Please help me remember him or my life would lose all its meaning.”
For a moment, Janus doubts that it works. Patton stares at him, distraught. But when Patton surges forward and envelops him in a tight hug, he knows he’s successfully reeled him in.
“Oh, Janus! It’s like a fairytale ending!” Patton gushes. He lets Janus go and walks to his cabinet. Janus glances out the door and sees Logan check his watch. Patton procures a folder from all the way back of a drawer and hands it over to Janus, smiling fondly.
“I do hope it works out for you,” he tells him. “Roman made you so happy.”
Janus falters and he swipes the folder out of Patton’s hands before heading briskly toward the treatment room. He closes the door and locks it from the inside just as he hears Logan enter the clinic to ask, “Patton, what did you give him?”
He opens the folder and sees his name on the header along with a date. 5 years. It’s been 5 years since he underwent the treatment. He scans the page and sees it: Roman’s name in block letters. Even further down, he sees Logan’s signature and feels anger bubble at the pit of his stomach. Ripping the CD out from the envelope glued to the cover, he walks to the PC and sticks it into the disc drive. Loud footsteps outside come and the door knob jiggles.
He doesn’t get to hear what Logan is saying because his own voice begins to echo through the room. He drops his body onto the chair and listens.
“Where do I even begin? Roman is a conceited cunt. He’s never satisfied. He does things and it’s never enough—always pointing out how things had changed, how they used to be better, how it could be better, if this, if that. Nothing was ever good to him.” A self-deprecating laugh. “I wasn’t good enough for him. That’s why he forgot me, like a coward.”
Janus leans his head back. Logan is still banging on the door.
It all comes back to him like an ocean wave.