Chapter Text
There was nothing he could do about it.
That’s the realization Janus had come to. There was not a single thing he could do to be loved by Roman, no matter what he did to change himself, no matter what he did to try to correct his past mistakes. Roman would never love him. He’d made that very clear. So, there was nothing Janus could do about it.
Roman would never love him.
He wished, so desperately, that his feelings would go away. One day, they’d just subside, and he’d be able to go back to how things used to be. Carefree. Unburdened. Simply vying for acceptance. But this? Wishing for love, craving it, needing it like there was no other option? It was just humiliating, especially after Roman had completely shut him out. This yearning, that laid heavy on his heart and ached away like a pain he’d never known before, was so stupid.
There was nothing he could do about it.
Every scorn. Every distasteful glance. Every quip. It all stung like needles right to his heart. It made it hard to function. He was no longer looking for acceptance from the group, but instead longing for love from one specific member.
But Roman would never love him.
Maybe if he was someone else, anyone else, he’d have a chance, but…
Roman would never love him.
It started as an idea. A thought. Something he wasn’t supposed to entertain. But the longer the yearning went on, the more it nagged at him. Him. He was the problem. If he could just erase that from the equation, then maybe, just maybe…
He never meant for it to go too far.
All he wanted was to be regarded as someone worth loving. That was it. If Roman saw him that way, then he would be okay. Just one time. Just one, little conversation.
Janus paced in his room, adjusting the glasses on his face. He checked himself in the mirror. He’d taken all the notes into consideration, every detail was accounted for. He had the voice down. He would be tame. Speak only when spoken to, when possible, to avoid any suspicion.
He walked down the hallway to get to the other side of Thomas’s mind.
Roman was sitting on the couch when he stepped in.
“Patton,” he said loudly, “can’t you see I’m busy? Why must you disturb me when I’m performing such an important task?”
Janus regarded him for a second, his heart thrumming in his chest. “Now, kiddo,” he said in that stupidly fake, overly bright voice. “The living room is for living, and I’m just being alive! If it’s so important, can’t it stay in your room?”
Roman let out an exasperated sigh, and then a shriek. “No! You messed me up! It was going so perfect–” He closed his eyes and threw the nail polish brush onto the little paper towel over the coffee table. “Oh, it’s fine. I can’t stay mad at you.”
Janus swallowed thickly. “Well, I’m sorry for messing you up, Roman,” he said carefully. “Do you need any help fixing it? That’s what I do, you know, I’m the fix-it father figure!”
Roman looked up, and for a moment, Janus expected that awful glare, waited for the corner of Roman’s lip to turn up in disgust, but nothing came. Instead, he got a nod. “I suppose. I always struggle with my right hand, too.” He moved over from his spot on the couch, leaving room for Janus to sit next to him. “I have to clean this other stuff up, though.”
“Always gotta clean before you can make a mess, right?” Janus walked over and sat down, trying not to fidget. He was Patton. Patton was perfect. Patton never fidgeted when he was nervous. “Because I will make a mess. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m far from a painter.”
“It’ll be better than the job I do, so, whatever.” Roman picked up the nail polish brush and dunked it back into the bottle before taking some acetone and wiping away at his finger. “I didn’t realize you’d gone out.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I just needed to– Well–” Janus looked away. An excuse. What would Patton have been doing? “I’ll be honest with you here, I needed to give Janus a talking to. He’s been around more recently, and–”
“Ugh.” Roman rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know why you try with that slimy trickster. He’s no good. No good for you, for Thomas, for any of us.”
Janus almost jumped to getting defensive, but quickly pulled himself back in. “Oh, well, I think there’s good in all of us, somewhere,” he tried. “Maybe Janus is just… Maybe he’s just a little defensive, after the way we’ve treated him.”
It took everything in him not to show how terrified he was. One wrong slip, and that was it. One wrong word, or phrase, and Roman would know. He’d never trust a conversation with Patton again. Janus would really, truly, be out of options then.
“I don’t care,” Roman said, “he’s a certified serpentine fibber, as far as I’m concerned. I’m done with giving the others second chances.”
Janus wouldn’t push it. He took the bottle of nail polish and wiped the brush on the rim of the opening. He hesitated. Roman offered out his hand. He hesitated again.
Very slowly, he took Roman’s hand in his own. Skin on skin. His fingers were thin and dainty, and warm. So warm.
“Your hands are so cold,” Roman commented.
“Sorry. Bad circulation, probably.” Janus could feel his heartbeat in the back of his head, thrumming, reminding him that he wasn’t safe. “Is that okay?”
“You know I don’t care.”
Janus brought Roman’s hand closer and very carefully started to paint his nails. They went quiet, and he worked in silence, doing his best to not get any stray paint anywhere. He squinted his eyes and focused. The nail polish was a pretty burgundy.
It was risky, being in the living room like this. Patton could leave his room and it would all be over, just like that. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. But in this moment, this exact sliver of time, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Roman was trusting him. Something about that made it easier to breathe.
“There,” he said triumphantly. “With very little mess.”
“I’m impressed, Patton. You did surprisingly well.”
“I have to do my best for my favorite side, of course.”
Roman looked at him, almost confused. “Your favorite?”
Shit.
Janus glanced away, laughing. “Oh, you know. Don’t tell anyone. Or– Well– Just, you know…”
“I’m your favorite?”
Janus blinked. “Of course you are.” It was so hard not to say it in his own voice. “Of course you are, Roman.”
Roman stared at him as if the world had just stood still. Then the corner of his lips twitched up into a smile, and he looked down at his nails. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, kiddo.”
Roman stood up. “I should– I’m going to go. But thank you. For helping me.”
“Always.”
Janus watched him go up the stairs before sinking back down to his own room.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
This was who deserved love. This was who Roman saw.
He tore off the glasses and the cardigan and the shirt, throwing them onto the bed. Then he looked back in the mirror, at his scales and scars and his stupid eyes. Roman would never love this. Never. This body, this person, was hated. Ignored. Scoffed at and ridiculed.
He sank down onto the floor, taking the cardigan with him, and putting it back over his shoulders.
Maybe it wouldn’t just be the one time.