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Chapter Text

Maybe you remember a certain budding model whose brother rose to prominence without him, Remus King. Perhaps you remember a few unfortunate pictures of said budding model being admitted against his will into a rehab. There’s a possibility that you’ve wondered where that man went. 

Well, I found him. 

In a small town in southern California I ran into Remus King, living under an assumed name playing at a small town artist’s career. I don’t have his permission to link that art, as he wishes to remain a small town face, but the story he told me is far too juicy to be left to small town gossip mills when it would so much better serve you, dear readers, and so… here it is. The exposé of the ages, straight from the mouth of Remus King himself. Why he left, where he went, and what drove him there. 

Remus King, as you may know, spent the majority of his young life in the spotlight. The time that he didn’t spend being photographed, he spent auditioning, conditioning, and, if reputation is anything to go on, generally being a nuisance to the people who minded him. Whether that be his less-than-savory mother, his unsupportive brother, or the myriad of people who assisted his burgeoning career, there was “always someone who needed [him] to perform.” In Remus’ own words, things were not always what they appeared. 

In the last several years, there has been an array of stories coming out of Hollywood about children and teens being taken advantage of by the system that made them “famous” and this one is no exception. 

Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was a little bit odd, a little eccentric, perhaps, but he was just a creative spirit. Surely, this should be nurtured. And it was. Amid the photographers and the artists, Remus King’s interesting way of behaving, especially in contrast to the prim and proper behavior of his publicly beloved brother, created a dynamic that took the world by storm. 

Even if you don’t know the name “Remus King” you probably know that face in duplicate in some of the most influential images of the early 2010s. Valiant red and white contrasting a sinister black and green. A devil against an angel. A beloved vs a beloathed. Once upon a time the public was enthralled by the King twins, so similar and yet so different, and as the public is wont to do, they essentialized them.

Once upon a time, a set of young boys became a part of a public fairy tale. The good twin and the bad twin. The true child and the changeling. The desirable and the undesirable. Roman was the “good twin” where Remus had to play the bad guy in every iteration you may be able to imagine. (If you’ve ever had to play the bad guy in someone else’s story, you know how exhausting that can be.) Yet still, through it all, and in spite of his obvious typecasting, Remus was an electric character, beloved by the darling emo children of the world, my unfortunate self included, and he garnered a success just as big but not quite as respectable as Roman’s. But fame does not always mean fortune and for many child stars it actually means the opposite. Difficult working conditions and adult expectations on children are bad enough, but what do we have to say about a child who isn’t even allowed to be who they truly are? When every part of your life is played up for the camera that takes a toll, certainly.

 Remus had this to say about the experience. “No one ever wanted me to just be normal. I made more money by being strange and off-putting, so… I could never stop. Not even if I wanted to.”

Consider, reader, the boxes that you have been put in through out your life, the way it feels to have people assume what you are, and expect you to act accordingly. 

Now imagine being a child, and having that happen to you. Imagine your family’s livelihood depends on it. Imagine your family hating every part of how you live your life, but directly profiting off of it just the same, shaming you for the behavior at the same time that they depend on it.

“Oh, [Roman and I] butted heads all the time. He was the perfect golden child and I was the mistake. The screw up. The kid that everyone just wanted to disappear… Even [Roman] kind of wished he didn’t have to be attached to me all the time. . . I’m sure me leaving was the best thing that ever happened to [Roman and their mother].”

Like you may have, reader, I wondered what caused Remus to leave. Sure, there were the stints in rehab, but that doesn’t necessarily lead to the end of a career. We’ve seen plenty of celebrities go down the unfortunate path of drug addiction and then pull themselves back onto a path of success. So why, if Remus is well over 2 years sober, didn’t he chase the same fame his brother finds so easily? According to Remus he’s the best he’s ever been, so why hasn’t he tried to come forward into the spotlight and instead chosen to just run a faceless art Instagram account with a paltry few thousand followers? 

Well, Remus King doesn’t seem to have anything positive to say about the industry that made him famous. 

“Before I worked for myself, I had the most insane schedules. 16 hour days that weren’t ‘really’ 16 hour days. Shit schooling between jobs. My mom didn’t give a fuck if I couldn’t read above a 5th grade level. I didn’t need to read to do a good job at being their publicisable disaster. [A friend] has actually been upping my reading level for the last few years by just giving me books to read. I’ve honestly learned more from him than I ever did in ‘school’.” And then Remus chuckles the sort of heart-wrenching thing that lets you know that this is something that bothers him, even if he pretends otherwise. 

Imagine, a mother who prioritized money over your ability to read? But, really, does that surprise any of us who haven’t been living under a rock for the last several years? We know the sorts of wrongs that get done to these children as they grow up in industries that care more about their ability to make money than how they might carry that into adulthood. Any parent with true care and consideration for their child would never push their young children into a spotlight that was never going to benefit them in the long run. 

About his mother, Remus had to say this. 

“She was an abusive bitch. She always pitted me against my brother. Never had a nice thing to say about me, or my art. Now, I make art that I know would make her disgusted because she’s just so shallow that she’d never get it. She’d never understand it. And honestly, I strive to make things my mother couldn’t understand. Because then I know that there’s a real audience who might be able to take something away from it. . . Some people can’t see their own flaws. You or I might be able to admit that sometimes we make mistakes and are selfish, but not her. She’s the type who will tell you that everything, even things falling to total shit, was part of her own grand plan. And maybe she believes that, but I know better, and I make art for the people who know better.”

Remus asked his name not be associated with his new burgeoning art career, and I can respect that, but I hope you, dear reader, take this knowledge into account the next time you pick up a magazine that features teens or children. I hope you think of this when you see children’s programming, or a child star age out of their beloved role. Behind that star there may be a tragic image that you may not want to support. 

On two separate ends of the country, two identical twins are reading the same article. The article has been published for several days, it took that long for it to get traction, but somehow, by the coincidence of social media, they are reading the article at the same time. 

Roman King is not yet so rich that he lives in one of those scary, open concept high-rises with floor to ceiling windows and a piano you can’t figure out how it got there, but he does live in quite a nice apartment. It is a high-rise, and the building has a doorman. It helps keep the adoring fans (not an exaggeration) from sneaking pictures of him in his underwear grabbing the mail. (Not that he’d ever do that, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

So, Roman is sitting in his very beautiful apartment, scrolling through twitter and his notifications are blowing up. He clicks a link that he thinks might amuse him a bit, and as he reads he finds horror after horror. The implication that his brother left, that he was abused, that Roman played some part in it, that Remus was the better person of the two of them.

The Quote. 

That fucking quote. 

Roman knew his brother had abandoned him, but he didn’t think he outright hated him. 

Roman dials his publicist, and isn’t surprised when he picks up and says, “So I take it you saw it.”

Roman tries not to rant as he has the publicity strategy that Jordan has been working on for the last several hours outlined to him. Most of it he can get on board with, but then, right before they hang up, Jordan drops a bombshell, and Roman does not take it well.

“No. I don’t want to see him. I don’t even know where to find him!”

On the other end of the line, Jordan sighed like he was asking a toddler to eat vegetables. “Listen, this doesn’t look good. Either you talk shit about him, which you’ve always told me very firmly you didn’t want to do, or you get him to recant, or say the quotes are taken out of context, or something. The other option is that I get a lawyer to serve him defamation charges. Do you want to do that?”

Roman rubs at his temples, the throbbing headache starting to form behind his eyes making him want to turn off all the lights and lay down for at least an hour.

“No. Fine. I’ll… see if I can get ahold of him.”

“Great. And, babe. Don’t pull any punches. No soft shit. Tell him like it is, pull the abandoned brother card, make him feel like shit for saying this. And remember, if you don’t, then I’ll have to.”

“I know, Jay. I can do it. Just... I got it.” Roman sighs, head falling into his free hand.

“Okay. Do you want me to tell your mother, or do you want to?”

Roman has flashes of Remus’ choice to use the word “abusive” and he thinks it’s an unfair assertion.

But he also sends Jay to have this conversation with his mother instead of owning up and doing it himself, so…

No. His mother had only ever tried to help him. After 12 years in the industry, she’d only ever done what was best for him, and Remus before he’d decided to run off and become a drug addict. 

He couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the idea of going to see Remus, after all this time. After the last time they’d seen each other had been so destructive. 

But, he closes the article and goes looking for Remus’ old contact.

“Is this still your number? We need to talk. -R”

Chapter Text

Roman knows he’s found the right coffee shop because he recognizes Remus’ art style on the alley-side wall. It’s more refined than the sketches he used to catch glimpses of, but it’s also been 6 years since he’s seen Remus’ art. Even so, he doesn’t need to study it to know it’s Remus’ handiwork, and so he strolls by it and into the waiting coffee shop, not unlike the kinds of places they used to go as a family before… before.

Roman briefly spares a thought for how his own career has changed him, but shakes it away before it can get worse. He’s greeted by the barista behind the counter, a jovial man in a bright blue shirt and dark rimmed glasses. He had the same energy a puppy has when you’ve just come home from a long day, and the guy didn’t even know him. It was exhausting. 

“Oh my gosh! Re! What happened to your mustache?” The man is flapping his hand at Roman like he’s made an earth-shattering discovery and it’s all Roman can do not to roll his eyes.

Before Roman can respond that he’s never had a mustache, because they were tacky and made things more difficult for the make-up artists, some kid beat him to the punch. 

“That’s not Remus, Patton. It’s Roman .” 

Roman’s gaze, which had previously been locked on the barista, snapped to a purple-haired emo guy who looked like he was one stiff breeze away from being completely blown over, tall and spindly like a purple crape myrtle. The emo behind the counter meets his gaze head on with a dark, intense stare that would probably photograph really well…

If he hadn’t been so rude, Roman might have offered to put him in touch with some people.

But, as it stood, Roman would do no such thing for someone so rude to him without cause. Roman had never had his name spit with such vitriol by someone he’d never met before. Plenty of people had cursed him over his lengthy career, but never someone who he’d never interacted with. At least, not that he had ever been around to hear or cared about. 

The barista called Patton looks horrified, for what reason Roman couldn't fathom. Even if they were friends with his brother, what had Roman ever done to Remus to deserve such hatred? Remus was the traitor. 

That horror did briefly give Roman pause, but the fiery-eyed, purple-haired emo  beat him to it again. “And he’s not welcome here.”

Patton, obviously older, tried to bring down the emo’s temper, while Roman tried to figure out who over the age of fifteen still dressed like that . The guys had twenty. “Now, Kiddo. That’s no way to behave. Roman hasn’t-”

“Shut up, Patton. You don’t know what he’s done. Kick him out or I’m leaving.” 

Roman liked to think he usually let things slide right off his back, but he took deep offense to this. “Hey, Scaramore, how do you know what I have or haven’t done? Did it ever occur to you that Remus might be lying?”

The emo’s eyes flashed with rage and the one called Patton had to bodily stop him from vaulting over the counter to- what? attempt to strangle Roman? Good luck with that. 

“Don’t you say that about him! Don’t you ever fucking-”

As the emo is trying to escape from Patton’s hold, his shoulder hits Patton in the sternum and the older man cries out. “Ow!”

This immediately stops the emo’s protests and he looks wide eyed at the older barista, horrified at himself. “Fuck! Pat, are you okay?”

“Way to yuck it up My Chemically Unbalanced Romance.” 

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here!”

“Virgil!” Patton cries, still rubbing at his chest. 

Roman is quietly satisfied that at least now he has a name for the emo guy and it’s just as emo as one might expect it to be. Virgil. Like from Dante’s Inferno. Wow. What a pick.

Roman’s quiet amusement doesn’t seem to temper Virgil’s fury at all, as he continues to be loud and belligerent. “No, absolutely fuck that guy!”

From the back room whose doorway was partially obscured by fake hanging flora, an oh so familiar, grating voice rang out with a characteristically unreserved comment. 

“Which guy? I’ll fuck him!” 

And then a more serious voice that had apparently followed Remus in through whatever back room they’d come from snapped back a cool, “You most certainly will not,” without ever looking up from at train wreck that was unfolding in front of him, instead tapping diligently at his phone.

Remus and Roman stood in each other’s presence for the first time in 6 years, somewhat unexpectedly, and while Roman was feeling aggravated and a little speechless, Remus had no such qualms and, like always, spoke exactly what was on his mind.

“Oh fuck me.”

Roman couldn’t even get it in his head to say “yeah, fuck you” before the clean shaven man wearing a whole button-up and tie ensemble in the middle of the summer to a cozy coffee shop, and had still not looked up from his phone, said, “That would be more acceptable, assuming you’re talking to me.” 

When no one, including Remus, responds to this he finally seems to finish with whatever he was doing that was so important and when he looks up, it’s first at Remus, who is watching Roman like he’s the one to be afraid of, and when The Guy in the Tie finally looks at Roman, there is a soft sort of understanding in the tilt of his eyebrows.

“Ah. I see.” 

Remus, never one to try to bring tension down, and always one to escalate it, jumped right into saying the most insane shit Roman had heard since… well, since the last time he’d spent any meaningful time around his brother. 

“For clarity, that is my twin, not my clone, so one of you is going to have to fuck him.” He looks around the room like he’s looking for volunteers and it makes everyone except poindexter visibly uncomfortable. Both the baristas are looking like they could sink into the floor and Roman is only barely holding back an “I’m not gay” comment because he knows that’s not the done thing anymore. It was also kind of obvious Remus might be, and so… no need to set any more nuclear bombs off in this cafe, now was there.

The barista called Patton looked at Remus like he was trying to be sympathetic, but he was definitely still squirming. “Remus, now is not really the time-” 

But they never get to know what interesting euphemism this soft man in… were those cat paws on his sweater? In a cat-paw sweater was going to try to say to talk Remus down because Remus, like always, cut him off and said his own piece without any consideration for anyone else.

“You know why he’s here, Patty. Yeah, this is the time." He looks back to Roman then, obviously unimpressed, "Unless you’ve come all this way to apologize, I don’t expect this to go well. Might as well start it off right.” 

And that was just fucking like Remus to start making assumptions, and saying the worst shit he could think of, and Roman knew he shouldn’t have even bothered! But whatever loyalty he had left in him wasn’t going to let him just throw his brother under a bus, but maybe he should’ve! Maybe he should’ve just lawyered the fuck up and said “fuck you for doing this to me” and left it at that. 

It was like Remus walked in the room and Roman was 17 all over again. Constantly trying to reign in his own anger at his brother because he knew that it was bad for their image, but constantly, constantly frustrated by Remus’ inability to just behave!

“Me? Apologize to you ? Um, I’m sorry, but which of us walked out on the shoot that was going to be the turning point of our career, and left me blacklisted for months and set my career back years-?” Roman feels his face getting hot, but Remus doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it.

“Oh, please! You are literally wearing avoid-the-paps High Fashion to come visit me in the middle of nowhere. You’re not exactly hard off. You’re just a drama queen.” Remus spit at him and Roman hadn't fought like this with someone since he was a teenager. He was supposed to be good at keeping his cool. He worked well under pressure but add Remus to the mix and apparently that brought out the worst in him.

“Oh, I’m a drama queen? That is rich coming from the only man I’ve ever met without the capacity to sit still for 5 minutes.”

“I have ADHD!” Remus screeched, but it was not the effective tactic he might have thought it was. It only really made Roman angrier.

“Oh my god. That is such a fucking cop out and you know it! You used to be able to sit for hours drawing your fucking pictures. You’re not ADHD. You just can’t be bothered to try hard enough to help your own brother!” Roman can feel the vein in his temple is throbbing.  Remus’ teeth are bared like he’s going to make a lunge for him.

“You are literally just an ableist asshole. I suddenly remember why I left your ass at that photo shoot instead of trying to take you with me. You’ll never get out. You’re fucking hopeless!” There was a fire in Remus' eyes that Roman knew instinctively should set off camera flashes, and when none came it was a little jarring.

Roman’s eyes narrowed, thinking of Remus’ vague interpretation of the situation from the article. “Is that what you told that reporter you slandered me to? Can’t give away to many facts, can we? Might make me look decent if you told him the truth.”

Remus threw his hands wildly in directions that seemed to be intending to articulate something, but were just meaningless to Roman. “I was talking about my art ! How the fuck was I supposed to know he knew who I was! He never even asked me about you! It was great! For the first time ever I got to be recognized for my creativity and it had nothing to do with you !” 

“Gentlemen.” Poindexter, who Roman had forgotten about in the midst of his unfortunately heated argument, had stepped in front of Remus now, holding his hands against his shoulders. “I think this is a conversation best had in private. Patton, may we commandeer your office briefly?”

Roman was such a fucking idiot. He looked around for any sign of cellphone cameras or recording devices, but the last patron was actually walking ou the door just as Roman turned around to survey the scene, and it did not look like they’d been filming. It looked like he was uncomfortable.

Fuck. They’d made a scene. 

While Roman was praying to the publicity gods that the CC TV footage of this never saw TMZ, Patton was telling the glasses guy that they could talk in his office, but Roman didn't even care. 

He didn't care, until Patton reached into the pastry case and handed something to Remus, a pastry, obviously, and then offered to Roman, “Apple or Rhubarb?” 

Roman hesitated, a cold sort of panic swelling up in him. He knew refusing would be rude, but… he wasn't sure what was in it and he couldn't risk it making him bloat when he knew he had a shoot coming up, assuming it isn’t canceled again, and-

“He’ll take the apple.” Remus says, frustrated and turning on his heels to exit swiftly.

Before he made it much farther, glasses guy takes him by the elbow and gently made Remus face him, and they had some sort of silent conversation. At the end, Remus relaxed just slightly and poindexter squeezed his arm where he was holding it. 

Roman has a hard time looking away from the tenderness of it, actually.

He can’t help but look away when Patton hands him a pastry, and he knows it would be rude not to take it.

Roman said thank you while contemplating how much of the pastry might be socially acceptable not to eat and Remus started muttering to himself and the guy (boyfriend?) that had just calmed him down.

“I can’t believe he just told me I’m fucking faking my ADHD.”

Roman scoffs, fucking bewildered at Remus’ audacity. “I can hear you!”

He knew that no one would really be on his side, but that knowledge was confirmed quickly by poindexter, who had the nerve to say, “And considering the genetic component of ADHD and your status as identical twins, the likelihood that you don’t have some degree of executive dysfunction disorder is quite low, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to condemn your brother.” 

Roman was flabbergasted.

Remus, who could not be appropriate to save his own fucking life, says, “Talk dirty to me daddy,” while leering at the man who Roman really hoped was his boyfriend because if not that was widely inappropriate on several levels.

“Ugh! Remus, what the fuck?” Roman made a show of being disgusted, not because he thought it would get him any sympathy, but because he was disgusted. Why would you mix those two things?!

“He’s my boyfriend. Get the stick out of your ass!” Remus said, like this in any way addresses Roman’s real concern.

“Wha- If he’s your boyfriend then why did you call him…” and Roman cannot even make himself say it. It feels wrong. The only time either of them had ever talked about their own (absent) biological father they had addressed him as “their father” so this just… did not sit well with him.

Apparently this whole thing was some joke that Roman wasn’t getting, because Virgil laughed with something that sounded like a combination between vindication and mocking. “It is insane to me that he’s spent this long in Hollywood and this is the first time he’s ever heard someone abuse the D-Word.”

Poindexter sighed loundly, which Roman hoped was a sign that he was about to get some answers, but it was not. The Emo Freak only seemed to laugh harder in spite of Patton’s attempts to shush him. Remus, once again made things more wildly inappropriate than they already were. Could this day get any worse?

“That’s not the D-word. This is the D-word. Pen-”

Before Remus can yell “penis” in a bakery that is only nearly empty, poindexter pressed a finger to Remus’ lips, silencing him.

“We are in public. Restrain yourself.”

Remus, who didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, or any situation, ever, kissed his finger and then said, “But Daddy-”

“Cease, and I will let you have full reign of the entertainment selection for the rest of the week, with no exceptions.”

“Deal! Oh, Logie bear, do I have some things to show you! When was the last time you watched a really good slasher movie? I have one that’s-” 

Logan put a finger to Remus’ lips once again, and Remus grinned. “What do I get for shutting up this time?”

Logan smiled thoughtfully. “I’ll think about it.” 

Virgil rings up a customer that has just walked into this house of madness and then turns to them. “You know you’re just training him to keep misbehaving if you reward him when he behaves badly.” 

“It is a reward only if he continues to behave well, so I am rewarding good behavior. And even if I was rewarding inappropriate behaviors, it is amusing that you assume that wouldn’t be my intention from the beginning.” Logan said this with such a straight face that for a second Roman thought that he just meant that.

Remus grinned, and Roman wished he could rip his ears off before something inevitably strange came out of his mouth. “Daddy’s trained me like a good little dog.” 

And Roman’s instinct had been right. Shame his ears were so necessary to his career. They were too necessary to the face to the be spared, really. Maybe he could stab himself in the ears, then he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of whatever the fuck Remus was going on about right now.

Virgil sighed, not like he was upset, but like he’d been defeated. “I don’t even know why I try to keep up with you guys. Uncle. I yield. Fuck.”

“Sorry V. My boyfriend has made it very clear that only he is allowed to fuck me.” He smirks and Virgil gags. Remus grins triumphantly.

“You’re literally like my weird gross brother. As if.”

“You know you want this.” Remus gestures to his flannel shirt over ripped band tee and oversized jeans, wiggling his piercing studded eyebrows, and laughs when Virgil cringes away from him like he’s a vampire being burned by the sun.

“I really don’t.” He says with an uncomfortable twist to his face that almost makes Roman want to smile. It’s a really interesting face actually. Might be photographable-

Nope. He was not going to launch this emo nightmare’s career. He didn’t even want to seem him ever again after this, let alone give him any aide. 

Roman was noble, but he was not that noble.

So, instead, he turned his attention back to the couple, Remus and his tie-sporting boyfriend, deciding the emo was not worth his time.

Roman crosses his arms as he looks between the two men. “I didn’t think anyone would ever be as unhinged as my brother, but it appears he’s met his match.”

Remus seemed to take offense to this comment. “Um, excuse you. I’ll have you know Logan is very hinged. He’s the most hinged man I’ve ever met.” Remus threaded his arm through his boyfriend’s, Logan’s, as though to stake a claim, but to what end, Roman could not understand.

Virgil snorted and his face was twisted up like he was trying not to laugh. “Yeah. Logan is hinged. Absolutely. Definitely the truth.” 

(Roman does not think about Virgil's voice getting deeper when he is amused. Because why would he think about that? Of course, he would not. So he was not. In any way. Thinking about that.)

Logan looked relatively unaffected except for the blush at the tips of his ears, and Remus grinned, kissing Logan’s red ears, and then his cheek. “He’s hinged to me .” Remus smiled, pressing himself along the entire side of his boyfriend's body and batting his eyelashes at him like a smitten fool. 

There was a brief silence that Patton broke by reminding them of how they ended up in this strange little ceasefire. “Did you guys want to relocate. To my office?”

Remus looked gleeful. “We can fuck in your office?”

Virgil snorted at the horrified look on Patton’s face while Patton tried to salvage things.

“To talk to your brother?”

“Oh.” He looked discontented at Roman. “You’re still here?”

“Trust me, I’m not happy about it either, but we need to talk.” Roman’s arms were still folded in front of him, and Remus rolled his eyes, as though this is a ridiculous request.

“Just break up with me and get it over with. None of this ‘need to talk’ nonsense.” 

Roman, who had no idea why Remus was like this, said, “I can’t break up with you. You’re my brother.”

“Oh my god. Why do you take everything so literally! Come on. Grab your fucking muffin and let’s go talk apparently.” 

Roman looked down at the pastry in his hand that was decidedly not a muffin and couldn't decide if he should stay or go. Cut his losses and call the whole thing off.

“Quite.” Logan accepted an apple pastry from Patton as well and then lead Remus by the hand to the office in the back. 

Roman, without really knowing why, followed them.

He remembered why as soon as Remus started talking. He was kind of desperate to get the article recanted because it was a bad look and Roman’s image was his everything. It was his only thing. Without it he could lose… everything. 

Everything.

“I want to make it very clear, I am only here because I’m going to get to show my boyfriend all the movies he usually vetos. So… go ahead, let it all out. Tell me what a horrible brother I am and how I ruined your life. Get it all off your chest.” Remus rolled his hand like he’s asking a car to keep on coming and Roman doesn’t even know what the fuck to say to that. When had he ever told Remus all his problems were Remus’ fault? Roman was frustrated by Remus more than once (a lot more than once) throughout their lives, but he wasn’t a fucking idiot. Remus hadn’t ruined his life. He’d made it harder, but… ruined? That was a stretch.

The boyfriend, Logan, seemed to be aware of this because he was trying to reel Remus in a bit. “Remus, that’s not entirely-”

And maybe the reprimand would’ve worked, but Roman has already lost his temper once today, and it was still sitting pretty close to the surface, so now it was his turn to cut people off and talk over them. “It wouldn’t be that much different than what you told that reporter! At least I have the decency to come and face you.”

“Oh my god. Do you just not process things in that pretty model head? I didn’t tell the reporter anything about you! I said ‘my brother’ but I was talking about Duke’s fictional brother, not you! As far as I was aware, the guy was writing a piece on local artists and the laws around murals. That was what we spent 80% of the time talking about. The family stuff was supposed to be related to my inspiration, not a fucking exposé. The fucker lied to me! That’s not my fault!” Remus was seething by the end, but all Roman could hear was the blame being shifted back to him, and he couldn't handle it. He worked too hard trying to hold them together as a kid to handle it.

“You said that I hated you, as though I didn’t do everything I could to support you!” Roman accused, but Remus had his own come backs.

“To support me? No no no, you supported my career, which at the time was attached to your career. You didn’t support me. You supported you. And our bitch of a mother.” 

It set Roman’s teeth on edge to hear Remus say that. He’d been trying to keep them in work. Trying to appease everybody. Trying to fight through all of Remus’ lack of cooperation and adhere to their mother’s every very necessary push to make them better, and how could Remus even say that! “Don’t talk about her like that! Do you think I’d be living like I do without her? You could be too, if you weren’t a fucking coward!”

Remus scoffed. “Oh, sure. Yeah. Hey, what happened to all that money we made as kids? You ever see any of that? Because I sure didn’t.” Remus leveled him with the sort of look that Roman used to hate. It made him feel like Remus was looking into his soul. It felt like he was being dissected. Like he was waiting for Roman to shoot himself in the foot, and Roman hated  it.

So he told his brother through gritted teeth. “It was used to keep us alive.” Because it was. Because their mom was single and they were working together to keep them all flush with cash, give them the space to live decently. And how dare Remus suggest otherwise.

“Last I checked, that was Mom’s job. Do you even have access to your own finances, or is she controlling that too?”

Roman’s hackles rose. “I have an accountant.” He says, jaw held strong, but his weight was shifting from foot to foot, wondering when the last time he’d checked his own paperwork was. 

It was like Remus could smell blood in the water and he went straight for what would hurt Roman most. “And how often do you look over the work that accountant does?” Remus smirked, and Roman felt himself getting ready to yell again, but he didn't get the chance before poindexter came between them. 

Remus’ boyfriend, Logan, sighed and put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, seeming to be trying to have another non-verbal conversation with him, even as he spoke to the both of them. “Gentlemen, I don’t think this is helpful. Can we take a breath, eat a pastry, and maybe-”

Logan was cut off by a knock on the door and a familiar emo nightmare on the other side.

He didn't open the door, just waited for someone to open it for him. “Patton sent coffee. Can I come in?” 

Roman huffed, not at all impressed with Virgil who had taken it upon himself to take up arms against him in Remus’ favor without even knowing what had really happened between them. He crossed his arms and griped, “Oh great, the purple veiled bride is here.” Not even meaning to, but apparently unable to stop himself.

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that. He’s more like my brother right now than you are and I will fucking fight you. Try catching a modeling contract with a crooked nose.” 

Roman gasped at the threat, looking to the only other person in the room to validate him in his feeling of being threatened. 

Logan sighed and squeezed Remus’ shoulder meaningfully, and then stepped between them, towards the door. “I will retrieve the coffee. Neither of you will say a word to each other until both the coffee and the pastries are gone. Do you understand?”

Roman didn't even have time to cringe at the implications of “until they’re both gone” before Remus said something fucking disgusting. Again.

“Daddy, you can’t order me around in that voice, you know it makes me hot under the collar.” 

Apparently, Roman is not the only one done with Remus’s shit, because Logan shot him a look that made the man instantly go from playful to contrite mixed with a little bit of acquiescence. “Okay. I’ll stop. For real.”

“Thank you.” 

He turned to Roman, with that same look, and for a second Roman was taken aback. 

“I’m not calling you 'Daddy'.”

Logan flushed and Remus snickered. Logan cleared his throat to settle himself before speaking. “I don’t need you to do that, and in fact, Remus is only doing it because he knows it is irritating you. Do you agree to my terms?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “What happens if I don’t?”

“I take Remus, leave you my number, and you call when you can be civil. I will set up an appointment at which point I will also make Remus be civil and you can try to talk this out again. Those are your choices.”

“What is he, your handler?” Roman leaned around Logan to look at Remus incredulously. 

Logan leaned back into his line of sight, blocking Remus from his view. “You’re not talking to him. You’re talking to me. Do you agree to my terms or not?” 

This glasses nerd was kind of intense when he wanted to be, and so Roman raised up his hands and said, “Okay, fine, I agree. Just get the coffee.” He took a bite of his pastry like a petulant child, and Remus snickered. 

Roman was trying to count calories based on the amount of sugar that he tasted to decide how much longer his work out would need to be tomorrow. 

The pastry is really good. Tomorrow is not looking good.

Logan opens the door and accepts the paper cupholder full of coffees, and sends Virgil back for another apple tart and a lemon one. 

Through the briefly opened door, Roman catches a glimpse of Virgil’s back, and it irritates him that he’d probably actually bring in a decent career as a model. Even his ass was kind of great to look at. 

He was frustrated by this, and definitely no other feeling.

“I’m not a delivery boy.” Virgil says, in response to whatever request Logan had made at the door that Roman did not hear. 

“Yes, well, you’re also trying to convince me not to tell your mother that your shifts actually end at 8 and not 10, so please bring the requested items at an appropriate speed considering the business of the shop.”

Virgil grumbles. “There’s basically no one here. You freaks cleared out all the guests.”

Logan is unmoved. “Precisely.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and slinked off to fulfill his mission.

Roman wasn't entirely comfortable just sitting in silence, and it felt weird to pull out his phone, so he looked at Logan and started needling. “Am I allowed to ask you questions, or…”

“You may, but not about Remus.” 

The first thing Roman wanted to do was push at Logan’s apparently unflappable appearance. “Is this a thing for you? Ordering people around?”

Logan flushed again, but otherwise showed no sign of being uncomfortable. His voice was level when he responded. “I’m organized and find that things get done more efficiently if I simply tell others what to do.”

Roman looked at Remus, despite the request not to, because that sounded sketchy as fuck. He looked for any sign that this nerd was like… hitting his brother or something, and for the first time in maybe a decade he was trying to ask Remus without asking him if he’s okay. 

Remus rolled his eyes, but he didn't seem intent to get upset. There’s a little fondness there, not unlike Roman’s own little fondness. It told him, at least, that there was something salvageable between them.

There was a chance Remus would take it all back.

But for some reason, that knowledge didn't satisfy him as much as knowing that they might not… hate each other. Completely. That felt more important than what he’d been sent to do. 

Why was everything so fucking difficult?

Remus, who always knew him too well, cut right to Roman’s unspoken point. “Relax. He’s not abusing me. Trust me, if he were, I’d be long gone. Like, the next state over long gone. The only abusers I have are High Fashion and our mother, and I gave them the slip years ago.” 

Roman nodded, but didn’t say anything, just looked down at the pastry he’d taken a single bite of and unfortunately enjoyed. A lot. Today wasn’t looking to good either.

Logan seems to intercede, playing referee before one of them can get a bright idea. “I will take it as a positive sign that you are concerned for Remus’ safety, but I concur. Remus is entirely capable of taking care of himself and I have never made Remus do anything he didn’t want to do. He only complies willingly.”

Remus gave him a lecherous grin. “Because I think your competence is sexy.”

“I’m told it’s a highly desirable trait.” The way Logan looked back at Remus was fond and it made something in Roman’s gut roil. He took a coffee from the sleeve and drank it, only flinching when it burned the roof of his mouth, but refusing to stop drinking it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Remus and Logan looked at each other like they were the only people in the world and Roman's best shot at love was the ex who only called him when she wanted to hook up. 

So… he wasn't feeling great. And his mouth was suffering for it.

They all sat in silence for a while, eating pastries and drinking coffee. The coffee he’d been given had not only an obscene amount of milk or cream in it, but also so much sugar. 

He’d be lucky if he didn't wake up bloated in the morning, but for once in his life it felt good to be eating, and so he let himself do it, despite the consequences.

When he was too near to the end of his his illicit snack for his own safety, he turned his gaze back on Logan, determined to weedle some information out of him. “So, I can’t ask about Remus. Can I ask how long you’ve been dating, or is that about Remus?

“2 years.” Remus says at the same time that Logan says “A year and a half”

Roman raises his eyebrows. “Bit of a discrepancy there.” He thinks this is the kind of strange response that can only come from his brother. 

It would’ve had a certain charm if he hadn’t been exposed to it, and hung his career on it, every day for 6 years. 

Remus sees fit to clarify, “He doesn’t count the first six months because we were ‘just friends’ but he was into me the entire time, so I count it. Plus, it means we have 2 anniversaries.” Remus was looking at Logan like an infatuated teen and Roman… tried not to be jealous of that.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, to try to give himself something else to think about. Logan didn't stop him from directing the question at Remus. Remus didn't look to Logan to be stopped from responding.

“2 1/2 years.” Remus says, but it’s quiet, now.

“So, ever since…” he’d last been released from rehab.

“Yeah. High fashion gossip doesn’t really hit small towns the same, so… most people don’t know.” Remus shrugs, and Roman is about to say something about how there had been zero cameras in their face during their knock down drag out at the front of house a while ago, but he doesn’t in favor of watching Logan.

Logan who brought a sympathetic hand to lay on top of Remus’ and said, “But even if they did, you’d have nothing to be ashamed of.” The tender way he old Remus this felt like it had been said a hundred times, and the way Remus looked back at him, just as tender, said it’d be received gratefully every one of them.

“I know.” Remus pulled Logan in and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thanks for reminding me though, supernova.”

Roman didn't even have it in him to fake disgust. It was too sweet.

Roman couldn’t think of a time Remus had ever been sweet. Even when they were kids. It was…

It was what he deserved. To be able to be sweet.

He thought about the quote again. Not the one about him, the one about his life, about growing up.

“No one ever wanted me to just be normal. I made more money by being weird, and so… I could never stop. Not even if I wanted to.”  

Well, Roman had wanted him to be plenty fucking normal, but he thinks he knows what his brother meant now. Seeing him like this. Soft with his boyfriend. Not playing up the disgusting like he had been for Roman not ten minutes ago. Just… genuine… When had Remus ever been allowed to be that? 

It wouldn’t have photographed the way the they wanted it to. It wouldn’t have sold the idea they wanted to sell. It would’ve been… too different. Roman was supposed to be the earnest one and Remus was supposed to be… outlandish. That was the way of things, back then.

Roman pushed the thought away. Pushed away his own desire to be different. It was a thing he couldn’t afford to reckon with right now. He had more pressing matters at hand. 

When Roman’s coffee is basically gone, Logan clears his throat.

“I think the atmosphere has sufficiently tempered. Would you care to share your real reason for being here?” 

Roman sighed. “I wanted to see you. And… I’m hopping mad. I’m furious. But I also… The last picture I have of you is when you were 90 lbs and straight out of rehab.” This, at least, was the truth, even if it was only a partial sort of truth.

Remus glared, but there was no real heat behind it, just a ribbing. “You were hoping I got fat.”

Logan looked disapproving. “Remus, antagonizing.”

Remus sighed, and nodded. “Sorry. Go on.”

Roman knew this was the part where he should admit that the article was why he was really there and he needed Remus to recant, but… Roman was a liar for a living, even if only with his body. He knows that sometimes you have to say what people want to hear, and he makes a calculated move to sound… better than he is. 

“I wanted to see if you were well. Healthy. Stable. You’re my brother. I can’t exactly help wanting to check on you.” 

Apparently his calculations were wrong because where there had been no heat behind Remus’ eyes before, now there was a LOT of it. 

“Don’t.” Logan said, but he was aiming it at Remus, who was starting to turn red. “I know exactly what you want to say. Ask yourself if this is how you truly want to respond in this situation.”

Roman kind of hoped Remus would take the out that Logan offers him.

He also knew that he  wouldn't.

“Fuck yeah it is, Lolo. I have literally been waiting to say this for years.” Remus was seething. His nostrils are flared and he looked like a bull ready to stampede through a china shop.

Roman didn't know how to fix it. For all he tried, when he tried, he never really knew how to fix it when Remus got like this. Other people could be persuaded by placating and agreement, but not Remus. Remus… was something else.

Logan, apparently, knew how to fix it. 2 years as boyfriends went a long way, he supposed. 

“Take two deep breaths, and if you do that and you still want to say it, then I will do nothing to stop you.”

Remus breathed in once. And then again. Eyes closed and truly focusing on it.

And when Remus opened his eyes they were not the same furious things they were before. They were still angry, but not quite so volatile.

That was sure an easy fucking trick for Roman to have missed all those years.

When Remus finally told him this oh-so-important information, his voice was level, anger masked beneath civility. “Roman. When you say that you care about me, when you have shown me through your actions otherwise, it makes me fucking furious.”

Of course, Roman is taken aback.

“What? When have I ever-”

Remus shakes his head and starts counting Roman’s slights on his fingers. “Just now, you called me a liar, about my ADHD. You called me a liar about Mom’s abuse. Back when we were working together, you only cared about me getting the jobs done, not whether or not I was okay. You never once asked me if I was happy. You didn’t call the entire time I was in rehab. Either time.” Remus runs out of fingers to count Roman’s mistakes on at this point, and just shakes his hand out. “I don’t know where in any of that you think I got care and consideration, Roman.”

Roman spluttered, trying to unpack… all of that. He started with the last point, because he knew how to defend it, has been defending himself internally for years about it, “Mom didn’t think it would be-” he tried to say, good for Remus to see him being successful when he was feeling so down but Remus doesn’t let him finish.

“You should’ve done it anyway.” Remus tells him, and Roman had been chasing that thought into the deepest recesses of his mind for years. It doesn’t hurt less to hear someone else say it. “You were 21 and my brother. What sway does mom really have over you?” Remus is starting to turn red and Logan takes a step closer to being between them, but doesn’t directly block their conversation, giving them the space to, possibly, solve it for themselves. 

And that was sweet of him, but it was a fucking pipe dream.

Roman, on instict, jumps to the defense of his mother, as though she might find out about this conversation and he’d have to deal with the fall out if he didn’t. “Wh- She’s our mother! She’s was just trying to do what was best-”

“No! I’m your brother! You would’ve been what was best, and I bet that deep down you fucking know that. Mom has had a hold on you ever since she told you you were going to be fucking famous and you never got her hooks out of you! You’re no better than her!”

“Our mother did everything for us! She got us our career, she got us our life, before you threw it away! I’m not going to take the blame for your jealousy! You’re the one who ran off and got involved with all those sketchy fucking people. You’re the one who started doing drugs! Mom- Mom had nothing to do with it!” Roman isn’t sure if he believes that last part, but he has to say it. He knows he has to. 

Remus started to charge forward, but Logan placed a calming hand on his chest, breathing distinctly, apparently to get Remus to follow along, which he did, grudgingly.

And when Remus was calm again, Logan turned on Roman.

“I do not appreciate you slinging insults at my boyfriend. Remus has been clean for as long as I’ve known him and he cannot be defined by the things he did to cope with the trauma that he endured in his time spent living with your mother and working for people who couldn’t have cared less about his well being.” 

Roman sputtered while Remus preened in the background. 

“If you wish to continue having this conversation, you will remain civil, or you can come back another day. You’re both adults. Act like it.” 

Roman was caught off guard at first, but not for long. He sneered at Remus around Logan’s shielding. “Your guard dog does a good job.”

Remus’ nostrils flared, gunning for a fight now. “Yeah he does. And when was the last time someone cared about you enough to stand up for you? Because you and Mom never did that for me. Or is she different to you?” 

Roman’s fist balled up, and he closed his eyes, trying to keep his temper. He’d lost it enough today. 

“I don’t even know why I bothered. You’ll never change. Everything is always about you-”

“No, Roman. Everything is always about you . For once, I’m making it about me. I’m putting myself first. And fuck you if you don’t get that. Fuck you all the way to hell and back. Don’t call. I can’t be bothered to listen to any more of your bullshit.” 

Remus left the room without waiting for anyone’s permission and it left Logan and Roman standing awkwardly in the office, each still holding a cup of coffee. 

“I am incredibly displeased with your behavior,” Logan pulled a pen out of his pocket and took the sleeve off of his coffee cup, writing something on the back of it, “But I’m afraid that Remus may wish to speak to you about this when cooler heads prevail, and regret this choice. If that ever occurs, I will text you. If you ever wish to talk, you may text me. I think you would both be well served by a mediated conversation, but that obviously isn’t going to happen today.”

Logan held out the sleeve to Roman and Roman looked at it, and then Logan.

“He just accused me of being complicit in my mother’s abuse. Abuse that never happened. You think I want to talk to him after that?”

Logan's expression didn't change when he said, “Perhaps, if you do some digging of your own into your experience, you may not find it so hard to believe that your mother’s intentions were ill.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Obviously nothing. Would you like to take the number? I need to go make sure Remus doesn’t try to burn himself baking.”

Roman stays quiet. “He bakes?”

“He experiments. When he is stressed. They are rarely edible.” 

Roman smiled to himself and then steels himself, taking the sleeve from Logan just so he can also storm out of the office. 

The coffee sleeve was made of cardboard but it felt like lead in his hand. The weight of walking away from his brother shouldn’t have been this heavy. He hadn’t seen Remus since they were 18, but it still felt like something terrible happening. It felt like giving up on his own flesh and blood. He wasn’t giving up. Remus had stormed out first. Remus had accused their mother of being an abuser. Remus was the problem. Remus had always been the problem. 

“He was the perfect golden child and I was the mistake.”

Reading that line had made Roman wince the first time, but to hear himself say it and then remember how it had felt to Remus, how he’d described being unwanted. 

And it wasn’t that he didn’t want Remus around. He just wanted Remus to be different. Better. But… it was true what they said, about Remus having to be the same chaotic personality any time they were together, anytime they were on a shoot, in front of the press, or the paparazzi. They’d been required to be “themselves” and for a long time, Roman had thought that “themselves” was what they were being. Sure, Roman had been putting on a perfect front for the cameras, but Remus was naturally chaotic. He’d… He’d been playing a part too, though. 

Roman pushed the thought aside and let himself zone out on the drive back to Orange County. He didn't want to think about any of this right now. He had a stress headache forming from the article and the interaction with Remus and the realization that things weren’t always what they looked like and he just wanted to be home already, curled up on the couch watching a guilty pleasure and counting his hunger pains. He didn’t want to think about Remus or publicity or anything else for a few hours. 

And that was what he did. By the time he got home the dulcet tones of Celine Dion had carried all his worries away and he plugged in his headphones to keep the magic going. He waved at the doorman of his apartment complex, and when he tried to walk by he was flagged down. He popped one earbud out and nodded that he was listening. 

“Your mother went up a few minutes ago, Mr. King. Just wanted to let you know.” 

“Oh,” she hadn’t told him she was coming. “Thank you for the heads up.” He tipped the man and then put his headphone back in, grateful for a few more minus of music. He knew she was going to want to go over his talk with Remus and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

While he was waiting for the elevator, he contemplated just bolting. Maybe it would be better. He could treat himself to a night at a hotel. Order room service. Avoid having an uncomfortable conversation with his mother. It would be a win win win, except for the fact that she’d use his credit card records to track him back to his hotel and just show up there. Or she would guilt him about leaving her waiting for him to come home, his poor starving mother just desperate to check in on her darling son. She’d probably accuse him of being ungrateful again and maybe by a certain definition of the word "ungrateful" he was, but… God it just felt like too much. It just felt like so much. 

When the elevator arrived he was struggling to keep his shoulders straight, even though he knew that hunching ruins his figure. He just couldn't help it. He just wants to curl in on himself.

When the elevator took him up to his floor, he wondered if it was too late to make a run for it. His mother had a set of keys, but rather than waiting in the apartment, like a normal person, she was loitering outside his door looking pathetic and probably reiterating the lack of her son’s consideration for her to anyone who happened to be passing by. 

“Mother,” He said with a smile as he started digging in his pocket for his keys.

“Roman, baby! I’ve been waiting for you! I thought you were coming back from Remus’ early? Just a quick talk, right? Is he going to recant?” She smiled expectantly and for a moment Roman thought she looked like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but… that was wrong. Of course.

Roman puts his back to her as he unlocks the door, frowning. “It didn’t go well, mother. I don’t think he wants to recant. I think he really believes those things about us. It’s going to take a while for me to get him to relax and reconsider.”

“Ugh, we should just file a defamation lawsuit. But it would take ages, and it would only bring more attention to the whole thing. Roman, honey, you’re so persuasive. Just really turn on the charm. Remind him that he’s your brother, and if he loves you, and wants what’s best for you, he should be trying to help your career, not ruin it.” She pouts at him as she follows him inside and helps herself to whatever happens to be in his fridge.

Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t move out on his own. His mother was around often enough that it didn’t make much of a difference. It only meant that whatever idea of privacy he had got crushed e very time he thought he’d finally established. She always had good intentions, helping him straighten up, checking on things, making sure the apartment was in good working order, but it would almost always inevitably lead to her poking through things that were supposed to be private, and then she’d cry and say that she couldn’t stand to be abandoned by another son, and didn’t he love her, and of course he did, he was sorry he said anything, come here, let me give you a hug.

Over and over and over. It got to the point where he just stopped having things he needed to hide. 

“Roman, honey. Is this Chinese food in the fridge? You know that makes you bloat. Where’s that kale salad I meal prepped for you? It’s only 200 calories per serving you know!” 

“I finished it. I didn’t have time to cook last night, and I just got something quick.”

“That’s when you’re supposed to call me. That’s what I’m for!” She hugs him like she thinks this is some hardship. “We don’t want you to ruin that pretty figure of yours.”

He decided she didn’t need to know about the fully sweetened coffee, and the pastry he had eaten this afternoon on top of his normal lunch. 

“I know. I just didn’t want to bother you.” 

He hadn’t wanted to have another bland and veggie-heavy meal with almost no substance that did nothing to curb his hunger. He’d wanted to eat Chinese food until he was sick, like he had when he was a kid. But he only got through enough to start being mentally aware of how far over his calorie needs he was and he’d gotten nauseous at the very idea that his mother had put forward. That he’d bloat. That he’d ruin his ‘figure’. That jobs would stop hiring him. He’d lose his career, lose his home, lose everything. And then he hadn’t been hungry anymore. 

He usually would’ve thrown the food out at that point, but he’d been determined to eat it, and so he’d saved it.

Now he regrets that. 

“It’s never a bother, sweetie. You are never a bother. I would do anything for you. Literally anything.” She kissed both his cheeks. “Now, what’s your strategy going to be for convincing Remus?”

And so, despite the fact that he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, he spent the rest of the evening and a solid portion of the night talking strategy with his mother, and (primarily) listening to her rant about how much she hated what had become of her relationship with Remus, and how she wished that he would just clean his life up and be better, but you can’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved and on and on and on. 

And Roman had heard all these things before, so he nodded when it was appropriate, and he did nothing. Didn’t defend his brother, but wouldn’t go along with her berating either. He just… was. He’d gotten good at this, when he’d had to sit still for fittings and hair and make up. Just sitting still and being nothing for a while. 

When she finally smiled and kissed Roman good night on the cheek, he was barely aware of what was happening. He just smiled back at her, walked her down to her car, and didn’t even wave at the doorman on his way back up. He was beyond Celine Dion at this point. He’d just have to go to bed and hope tomorrow was better. He didn’t even have time to really think and process what Remus had said, even if he’d wanted to. 

He just… was in a dissociated kind of way. He was nothing. 

He collapsed on the couch, not even bothering to turn anything on. He just closed his eyes and fell asleep, utterly, utterly exhausted.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Roman wakes up to a text from Remus apologizing about the delivery of some of the things he’d said. The immediate follow up text is: 

I don’t think we can talk without someone else there. I know Logan said he’d volunteer to do it, but… I think we need something stronger. I have a friend who sees a therapist here in town. He does couples/groups. Can we meet there? Just tell me when and I’ll try to make it work.

Roman sees the text, the apology, and feels like he has to say yes. Because… because he has to get Remus to recant. Not for any other reason. Just to get him to recant. 

He texts back a quick I’m free on Thursday at 9:30 and at 9:35 Remus replies.

10am?

Sure.

And then Remus sends him an address. 

-

The first thing we hear is a clock ticking. The camera jumps between a fanciful cat clock with a swishing tail, and a set of twins seated as far away from each other as possible. One sits with his arms crossed over his chest in a white jacket with gold accents, and looks like he walked straight out of a fashion magazine. (Because he did. He walked off a photoshoot about a half hour before walking into Emile Picani’s office.)

The other brother is dressed in a punk style that isn’t overly designed: the sort of leisurely punk that comes with wanting things to look scary, but not actually trying to look fashionable.

Both brothers are wearing sunglasses indoors. An old trick picked up from their mother and never quite shaken, not even by the brother who had been in therapy for the better part of the last 6 years specifically to process that toxic relationship. 

We see a man’s shadow fall over the door and then it opens suddenly and he starts to sing something that you, the viewer, know to be a song from SpongeBob Squarepants, but neither Roman nor Remus had had the sort of childhood that might lead them to be aware of SpongeBob Squarepants. 

“Howdy!” Emile Picani says when he finally finished his rendition and opened the door. “Sorry. That’s just something I like to do to break the ice. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Picani.” 

He holds out his hand. Remus shakes it with more enthusiasm than anyone would normally bring to a handshake, and we see Roman’s face look a little wary right before he puts on a practiced expression of cool ease and says. “You too.” 

“You come very highly recommended by a freak I know in a coffee shop. I’m looking forward to disturbing you.” Remus grins and both Roman and Picani look put off for a moment, but Picani recovers quicker. 

“I don’t know if I know any freaks, but, I’m glad you’ve found your way here. You know, healing relationships of all kinds is an important step in healing ourselves.” He sits down at the couch that is across from both Roman and Remus, despite the fact that they are not sitting next to each other. “Remus, I believe. And Roman?” He asks, pointing directly to each at them in turn.

“How’d you guess?” Roman asked with an eye roll and Picani smiled. 

“My assistant at the front described you both to me. It’s awkward to have to correct someone when they get your name wrong, isn’t it?” He laughed and Remus laughed with him. 

“You should’ve done it on purpose, just for a joke. Roman hates that. Can’t stand the thought of someone thinking that he’s me when I’m so much worse than him.”

Picani frowns, and before he can say anything, Roman cuts in.

“Oh, like you’ve never slung your fair share of vitriol at me?” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “That’s rich coming from my traitor of a broth-”

“Gentlemen.” Emile held up his hands. “I can see we’ve already got some issues bubbling to the surface, and we’ll address those, but I think it’s important that first we set some ground rules.”

Roman scoffs, sinking deeper into the chair and crossing his arms a little more tightly. “Good luck getting Remus to follow any kind of rules. He’s been breaking them since we were 5.”

“All the way to the bank, baby brother.” Remus stuck his tongue out.

Roman and Remus glare at each other, and the camera cuts between the two of them and Emile looking like he’s not sure he’s going to be able to handle this. 

But, he takes a deep breath, straightens his glasses, and proceeds.

“Rule number one. This isn’t going to get anywhere if you’re attacking each other. We can state facts. We can recount things that have happened. But if we’re going to talk about someone sitting in this room, then we need to use ‘I’ statements. Do you know what I mean by that?”

Remus rolls his eyes, but does say from memory “‘I feel -bleh- when you do -blah-.’ Come on, doc. Don’t you have anything original?”

“Do you want something more original?”

“Well, yeah! Roman and I are Cain and Abel. I don’t think we’re going to have our issues solved with the oldest trick in the book.” 

Dr. Picani frowns. “Which of you is Abel?” 

“Me.” They both say, and they exchange first confused and then outwardly aggressive looks. 

“Ah. I see.” Emile nodded and then opened his notepad. “I want you each to take a moment and formulate one sentence that explains your previous statement. Only one.” 

Roman continued to glare, but then looked away to ponder. Remus, more than used to being told to do inane things by his social workers, immediately started trying to ‘therapy himself’ as his Thomas liked to say. 

“Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and share.” 

Roman goes first like he’s afraid Remus will steal his thunder. 

The camera can’t see this, but Remus was always going to let Roman go first. 

“He walked out on one of the most important shoots of our career and left me alone. He betrayed me.”

“That was two sentences.” Remus smirked, satisfied by Roman’s glare and leaned forward like he was sharing a conspiracy. “He chose to stay with our abusive mother over running away with me. And still supports her to this day.” 

Roman’s tem[le throbs. “Our mother is not abusive!”

“Roman,” Dr. Picani said, gentle, but firm. “It’s okay to feel like your mother isn’t abusive, but we can’t invalidate Remus’ experience. Have you considered that maybe his relationship with her isn’t the same as your relationship with her?” 

“Oh, it isn’t.” Remus put his hand against his chest to indicate himself and then gestured towards Roman with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I was the black sheep, he was the golden child. We were not the same.”

“You did that to yourself! All you had to do was behave, and do the right thing-!”

“And all you had to do was support me.” Remus looked flatly at his brother. “Why would I lie, Roman? Why would I lie about that?” 

That hangs between them like a knife suspended by a string. Ready to break and fall and pierce them both at any moment.

“Can I ask what you mean when you say that? You seem to have put a lot of weight on it.” 

Remus and Roman wore nearly identical crossed-arm postures. 

“He knows.” 

Emile nodded. “If you don’t feel comfortable sharing, of course, I won’t make you. Let’s go back to the Cain and Abel bit. I want you to notice how you phrased your single sentences. ‘He walked out…’ ‘He chose to stay…’ These statements put the other person in the wrong and make an accusation. I don’t know either of these full situations, but it’s possible that you are each missing context for the other’s actions and motivations by framing it solely from the perspective of your own experience. Let’s rephrase them, to sound like ‘I’ statements. To put it like Remus did, ‘I felt -bleh- when you did -blah-‘.” 

Roman rolled his eyes. 

Remus, bitterly. “I felt like you weren’t my brother when you chose to stay with mom when you knew what she’d been treating me.” 

Roman, bitingly. “I felt like you didn’t support me or my dreams when you walked out of a fashion shoot that had nothing to do with our mother.” 

“Everything had something to do with our mother back then. She always had her hands in everything.” 

“Okay. So, it sounds like each of you felt hurt by something the other did, so much so that you questioned whether you were cared for. Do you care for each other?” 

“Of course I care about him! He’s my brother!” Roman snapped, offended by the very notion.

“I cared. I care. I’m just not… I don’t think I owe him anything, just because I care.”

“And you don’t. We all set our own limits and boundaries within our relationships. But, if you don’t owe Roman anything, then he doesn’t owe you anything either. Is that the kind of relationship you want to have?” 

They both stayed silent. 

“It’s not the same.” Remus said quietly. “The level of violation of trust isn’t the same. You didn’t believe me. Or you did believe me, and you kept working with her anyway. How can you even compare walking out on a photoshoot to that?” 

“I lost the gig. My career was set back-”

“And I lost years of my life to a drug addiction that was my solution to the shitty life I was living and all the shitty fucking ways I was being treated when we were children.” 

That statement hung in the air just as uncomfortably as you might imagine it would. 

Emile refocused himself entirely on Remus for a moment. “So, I know that in your history you said you’d previously been to therapy. Do you have an individual therapist working with you to process that?” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yes. You think I’m stupid enough to mention this shit in front of you if I didn’t?” 

Emile tilted his head. “Why would that be stupid?” 

Remus scoffed. “Because then Roman would accuse me of trying to one up him and monopolize the session or some bullshit. It’s fine, Doc. I just got pissed. I shouldn’t have even said anything.” He turned his gaze to Roman. “It just makes me so fucking angry when you act like siding with our mother is the same as walking out on a shoot when you know the way she used to talk to me. The way she used to treat me. How much better you had it than me.”

“She didn’t treat me better because she loved me more. She treated me better because I earned it. You were too chaotic. You had to be kept on a shorter leash than I did.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? A leash? Like a fucking dog! Is that how she talked about me? Like I was a misbehaving purebred poodle who just needed to have the obedience beat into me?” 

Roman didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. 

For a minute, he remembered thinking, when he was young, that the way his mother treated Remus wasn’t fair, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint when he’d stopped thinking that.

Remus didn’t seem impressed by his silence.

“I’m checking in. Do you want to continue this conversation, or table it? I don’t think we’re going to get to put it off for long, but it doesn’t have to be the thing we’re talking about right now.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. After 10 years of being ignored, what’s five more minutes.” 

“Okay.” Emile nodded and looked down at his notes. “Why don’t you tell me about your relationship before the falling out?” 

“Hectic.” Roman said flatly. “You know, most people assume I’m the older twin. Because if he were older, shouldn’t he be able to control himself?”

Remus didn’t respond to this.

“Roman, does that feel like a kind or fair thing to say about Remus?”

Roman looked between Remus and Picani, a look of confusion and then anger coming across his face. “You’re just ganging up on me! Remus is just as guilty as I am!”

“Guilt isn’t going to be a helpful emotion to assign here. Not to invalidate you. You are allowed to feel wronged by your brother, but we’re not here to assign guilt. We’re here to work through the things that are keeping the two of you from being the brothers you so obviously want to be.”

Roman scoffed at what sounded like a canned line from this doctor he was quickly losing any faith in. “What’s so obvious about it?”

Picani looked sad when he said, “Would you really be here if you didn’t want to fix things between the two of you? No one can make you come in. I choose to believe that if you’re here, it’s because you want things to go back to the way they were before. When you were kids, and could love each other without having to play things up for the camera, and hadn’t yet been betrayed by the people who were supposed to care for you.”

“So you agree he betrayed me?” Remus asked.

“I agree that you both feel betrayed, and that feeling isn’t going to go away unless we work on it.” 

Roman scoffed and crossed his arms. “See, I thought therapy was supposed to be validating. I don’t feel validated. I feel like you’re talking down to us.”

“Great job using I statements. I hear you saying that you feel like I’m belittling you. Please know that’s not my intention. I want you to feel empowered to say what you mean. If this were individual therapy, I might be more able to side with one of you, because we’d be talking through your perspective exclusively. Because this is relationship therapy, I cannot, and will not, explicitly validate the feelings and perceptions you assign to each other’s actions, but your feelings and perceptions are always valid. You feel the way you feel because you are looking through the lens of your life, and that lens isn’t wrong, necessarily, but it is in conflict with the life you want to be living. If I said one of you was right and the other was wrong, then the one I said was wrong would no longer have safe space to express their emotions in, and this wouldn’t be therapy, it would be a berating. So, please bear that in mind as we continue, and know that you are always allowed to feel your feelings.”

Roman felt belligerent even as he said, “I don’t need your permission to feel,” but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Picani nodded. “You’re right. You don’t need permission. But, sometimes, it’s easier to say things when you have it.” 

Remus groaned and collapsed backward. “Are we done with the touchy feely stuff yet? Let’s get on with it.”

“The touchy feely stuff is ‘getting on with it’, Remus. We have to start by establishing boundaries and norms if we want to have a chance at a successful therapeutic relationship.”

“If we bond over how much we hate this, does that count as building our relationship?” Roman asked, and Remus perked up just a bit. Roman was obviously joking, to any discerning listener, but neither Picani nor Remus treat him like he’s joking.

“It could.” Picani said hesitantly and Remus grinned maniacally.

“Can you leave though? I’d feel kind of bad talking shit about you to your face.”

Roman and Picani start talking over each other then.

“We’re not actually going to-”

“I’m not sure that would be appropria-”

Remus rolled his eyes at them both. “I’m kidding, oh my god! Lighten up!” 

He hadn’t, in fact, been kidding.

The session was… almost entirely unproductive.

—

But, not ENTIRELY unproductive. 

As they’re walking out of the office, Roman and Remus can agree on exactly one thing. “Fuck that guy.” 

Roman and Remus shared maybe the first smile since they were children, and Remus is the one who said “I think this could work if it was someone else. I’ve… I’ve been through therapy a few times, and sometimes you just don’t jive with someone. Can we… try again? Please?”

Roman nodded. “Yeah… I don’t have a lot of experience with therapy but that… didn’t feel quite right. Do you know anyone else?”

“Yeah, Virgil gave me two names. He said this guy was softer. I thought that would be a good thing.” Remus chuckled, but he somehow managed to make it sound self-deprecating. “Let me see…” He pulled out his phone and sent a text while Roman spun his car keys around his finger. “He’s got time on Monday? What’s your availability like?”

“I could do the morning again. I’ve got an appointment at 3.” 

“Hair cut?”

“How’d-“

“It’s starting to get a little long here.” He pointed to his own side burns and Roman put his hand up to feel the exact thing that had made him schedule the appointment. “You always hated that.”

“Yeah.” Roman said softly. “I do. Um, so, Monday?” 

“Yeah, 11am?” Remus raised an eyebrow at him, and Roman nodded.

“I can do that.”

“And, maybe we can get lunch after or something? If it goes well?”

The idea of eating food he didn’t prepare himself made his stomach roil and so he reached for the same easy excuse he always did when he was asked to go out to eat with someone. “Um… I… I’m actually restricting right now. I can’t.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine.” 

Roman nodded and they awkwardly went their separate ways, just barely able to stand having spoken to each other, which was actually a far cry from where they’d been a few days before. 

When Roman walked in, he expected to be the first one there, despite the fact that he was barely on time, but he’s surprised to find Remus already sitting in the chair and rising to… what? Greet him? Until someone opened the door behind him and a man in dark sunglasses emerged, an ice coffee in hand and a broad grin on his face that felt… way too sincere for the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god, you guys are the ones who made Emile cry? Bring it on, bitches.” He gestured widely into his office, the condensation from his coffee dripping onto the ground as he took a step back and let them in. 

“Can a therapist call us bitches?” Roman asked, looking at Remus, who was already following Dr. Dormier into his office.

“Of course he can. I love it, do it again.” Remus encouraged.

“Bitches.” Remy Dormier said with a grin, taking another sip of his ice coffee.

Roman raised both eyebrows apprehensively. “I feel like we have jumped to the other end of the crazy spectrum. Remus, do you know any normal therapists?”

Remus just grinned. “He came highly recommended by a certain purple-haired freak whose ass you were checking out, cradle robber.”

Roman scoffed, scandalized. “He’s 20!”

Remus looked at Dormier, smug. “Notice how he didn’t deny looking at his ass.”

Dormier laughed, but it wasn’t a true laugh. “Oh my gosh, you’re being such a bitch. Stop it! Stop it!” His tone shifted as he used his coffee cup to gesture in Roman’s direction, eyes (probably) still looking at Remus, “But seriously. Stop it. It’s damaging your relationship with him to pick at that sore spot. Look at him. Body language is all caged up, shoulders by the ears, wrinkle in the eyebrows. He’s your brother, not a predator. Lighten up.”

Roman, indignant. “He is always like this!-”

Dormier jingled his coffee cup like it was a gavel in a court room. “Uh. No. Shh. Always statements are pretty much never true. See what I did there.” He took a sip of his coffee and laughed. “Anyway, look at him. He’s all slouchy and pathetic. He feels bad about being an asshole. Cut him some slack, okay?” 

Roman crossed his arms. “I think I liked the other guy better.” 

Remy Dormier laughed (the most obnoxious laugh on the entire planet). “No you didn’t. Oh trust me, no you didn’t.” 

Roman snapped back, “How can you know how we felt about him?”

Remy looked at his notes. “You had… one session with him? Hated his first impression. Probably couldn’t stand the kumbaya approach. Which is so real of you, because I also hate that shit. And, I know because of how you’re about to react to this statement.” He paused, looking up at them both meaningfully over his sunglasses. “If you don’t like me, you can always go see him again.” Remy watched them closely for a few moments and then smirked. “Nose twitch, disgusted face.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Yeah. You might not like me, but at least I’m willing to talk to you like a real life human being.”

“I don’t know any human beings who talk like you.” Roman said, and Remus found he quite agreed. 

(But, they had very different perspectives of how good that was.)

“Roman, I say this with nothing but love or whatever, but that is so stupid. You literally know me and I talk like this.” Remy sat down and sipped loudly at his coffee while Remus took a seat across from him.

“He’s got you there.” Remus smiled, squishing the plush arms of the chair he was sitting in, impressed by it.

“Isn’t it against therapy policy to call your clients stupid?” Roman asked, arms crossed and not sure if he intended to stay.

Remy stopped his loud sipping to look at Roman over his glasses. “You gonna report me to the board?” 

“I might!”

“And admit to the public you’ve been to therapy?” He sipped at his drink loudly.

“It can be anonymous!” Roman said with just enough hesitation for Remy to pick up on it.

Remy smirked. “Can it?” 

Roman looked panicked for a second, and Remy laughed.

“No you’re right, it’s 100 percent anonymous, but let’s unpack that. What got you so panicked about the public knowing you need therapy?” He asked with a smug twist to his lips.

Roman glared. “I don’t need therapy. We need therapy.” He said, gesturing between himself and Remus.

“If you didn’t need therapy,” Remy pointed to Roman, “then you” he gestured between Roman and Remus “wouldn’t need therapy. It’s a classic case of bringing your existing issues to the relationship. From the notes the last guy left, it looks like you both felt pretty pissed about the other betraying him. Let’s talk about that.”

Remus. “But actually talk about it, right? Not just Kumbaya.”

“So long as you don’t start a fist fight, yeah. Go for it, If it helps. Stand on opposite sides of the room so the yelling is as far away from me as possible and I don’t get a headache.” 

Roman looked incredulous. “No bullshit about how yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything?”

Remy shrugged. “Sometimes, you just need to let it out.”

So, that’s how Roman and Remus ended up screaming at each other from opposite sides of the same room. They didn’t get anywhere. They each got increasingly mad with each accusation, and Remy wasn’t literally eating popcorn and watching them like a TV show, but only because it’s incredibly inappropriate to pop popcorn during a live cage match. If he had thought for even a moment that he could get away with it, he probably would’ve been.

When they were both taking a break for breath, Remy held up his hands, and they both refocused on him, having forgotten he was in the room. “So… be honest, did that actually make you feel any better?”

Roman and Remus were each huffing and puffing out of breath, but they didn't say anything.

“Unfortunately,” Remy rested one ankle on his knee and gestured for them both to sit, in opposite chairs rather than on the same couch, “Sometimes we have to see that it doesn’t feel any better to know it for a fact. Do either of you need a breather? Call a loved one. Play with some slime? I’ve got stim toys in the baskets beside your chairs.” 

Remus reached down immediately while Roman hesitated, not sure what the words “stim toys” meant, but feeling vaguely like maybe a therapist shouldn’t be saying it in a professional setting.

“Fuck yeah! I love these!” Remus pulled out a stress ball that was shaped like an animal of some kind and when you squeezed it distended to look like it was in exaggerated distress and probably dying. Roman winced, but Remus was just playing with it, like a toy, so it was probably nothing bad. 

He looked into his own basket and pulled out a soft plush stuffed animal. He only meant to move it aside except, the texture was phenomenal and Remus was literally giggling at the look of an obliterated stress ball, so… surely it wasn’t so strange.

Remy cuts through Roman’s internal dialogue. “Oh, that’s Peter. He likes to be hugged.” 

Roman looked incredulously at Remy, who just shrugged. “I don’t come up with the backstories, I just perpetuate them.”

“Just hug it, Roman. It’s a toy. It can’t judge you.” Remus said, never looking away from his deformed animal toy.

Roman rolled his eyes and hugged it sarcastically, making a face at Remus who went back to playing with his slimy… Dog? Cat? Alien? It was impossible to say. (When the inside spilled out through the thin outer walls it looked green but the face was vaguely animalistic.)

Except, when he felt the soft cloth of the rabbit named Peter (ha) against his cheek it felt… nice. Different, but in a good way. He tilted his head against it, and maybe indulged himself, enjoying the sensation of something soft with no need to reciprocate anything or perform for anyone. 

He didn’t see the way Remy’s face looked ever so briefly sad. He didn’t see the mirror of understanding in Remus’ eyes. 

He closed his eyes, just for a second, to focus on the way it felt to touch something soft, and be touched softly back. 

There was silence in the room for a while, except for the sound of Remus’ squeezing and maybe a pencil writing away. 

After a while, Remy said, “So, do we agree that the yelling got us nowhere?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, still entirely focused on the deforming and reforming mass.

Roman was a bit reluctant, but he did say “Yes,” eventually.

Remy nodded his head. “Good. You can keep the toys. Now, let’s get to work.”

It was a grueling 20 minutes of trying not to snap at each other and trying to take things seriously, but at the end of it, they came to an understanding, a sort of “rules of engagement.” 

Remus and Roman agree that being derogatory toward each other wasn’t necessary to express the way they feel and they won’t be derogatory on purpose. If Remy (not each other) says that they are being derogatory, that is not a condemnation, but a statement of fact, meant to help them reevaluate the way they speak. They agree that they don’t think they could handle having a civil conversation on their own yet, and if they want to talk, they will have a third party present. Logan is offered up, and Remy starts to say it’s not a good idea, but Roman says he’s on board. He actually found Logan’s ability to rein his brother in comforting, and he had acted neutrally enough when they’d talked a few days before. 

Remy agreed with these terms and Roman and Remus agreed to be back in a few days to have an actual, non-negotiation of terms of interaction, conversation. About what happened. Or whatever they want. Remy made it clear that after years of not speaking, they could start with small things, like getting to know each other again.

Not a single one of them thought that was what their next session would look like. 

When Roman got home from therapy with Dr. Dormeir, he was still fuming, despite the fact that he had an hour long drive to cool down and they had ended the session as amicably as any conversation between them could be ended. He thought maybe it was too much to ask of him to sit across from his brother yet again in only 4 days, but he also knew that he was never going to get Remus to recant what he’d said if he didn’t at least get him to hear his side of things. Whatever other nonsense Roman had to spew to get that done was worth it. 

And it was nonsense. Their mother wasn’t perfect, by any means, but she had always done right by them. She was the reason they had a career. The reason that Remus could’ve had a career if he’d been willing to stick it out. 

But then he thought about what Remus said. What he really said. And Roman thought that maybe he would’ve wanted to step away too, if someone in the industry had treated him like Remus had been treated. He thinks maybe that he’d have left too, and wonders if their mother would’ve-

But none of that was real. It was more of Remus’ exaggeration. More of his stories. And of course he said their mother was lying. What else would he say? Their mother was a lot of things, though, and a liar wasn’t one of them. She could be too callous, and sometimes she pushed past what most parents would’ve found acceptable, but that pushing was what made them great. It was why Roman could afford floor to ceiling windows and a luxurious lifestyle. He would never have gotten here if his mother hadn’t pushed him. And he’d never been hurt, so what was the harm, in the end? What sort of a mother would she have been if she hadn’t pushed him? 

Roman reached for his phone, knowing exactly what he’ll find. His ex still had Thursday night off, and without fail, she always texted him to hook up. 

Only, when he unlocked his phone, there was no waiting text from his ex. There was a text from Jordan asking how things had gone, and Roman responded quickly with it having been mostly fine, if somewhat unproductive. 

Well start making it productive, or get him to go on record that you guys are in therapy working it out. I reached out to confirm a shoot for next month and the bitch on the other end said you ‘were no longer required’. This is gonna fuck things up if you don’t fix it. Now.

Roman started typing back Do you think I don’t know that? You try rekindling a bad relationship with your estranged brother after 6 years! But then he deleted it and just wrote back. I’m trying my best.

Jordan wrote back try harder and then the exchange was done. 

Roman felt the silence of his apartment like a plague. He’d thought, when Remus had first moved out, that he’d like living alone, but instead he’d found that it was difficult to get used to living in an empty space. The constant background hum of other people had been a part of his life for 18 years and 6 years later he still wasn’t used to its absence. 

For a brief, insane moment, Roman thought of what Remus’ home must be like right now, Logan almost certainly there in some capacity. Certainly not alone. 

He felt something like jealousy, hot and piercing and just nauseating, but he tuned it out and put something on the television in the background while he went about his nightly routine. And he didn’t let himself think about the difficulty that therapy had been. He didn’t think about his mother. He didn’t even think about the consult he had in the morning for next week’s fashion spread. He just listened to the drone of a sitcom most people his age had probably seen when they were in high school and went through his plethora of skin care products as he gets ready or bed. 

His phone chimed and for a moment he wondered if it was his ex, and he’s almost hopeful that it is, but instead it was a text from his mother. Apparently, Jordan had decided to stop playing middle man between him and his mother.

How did it go?

He almost didn’t answer her, but he knew that she’d just call right before his do not disturb turned on, and if he ignored it he’d hear an earful in the morning at the consult. So he chose the lesser of three evils and texted her. 

It’s okay. I think we’re starting to get somewhere.

You needed to get somewhere yesterday. Has he agreed to recant?

No. He’s really upset with us, you know.

US? What did we ever do to him but love and support him?? He’s the one who got hooked on drugs! I certainly didn’t give him his first hit!

Roman wanted to fight back on his brother’s behalf and say “Well maybe he had a reason”, or ask her why the hell she even brought the drugs up when no one had mentioned it, but he knew that would just make her mad and then she’d call, so instead, he said I know. These things just take time. Trust me.

Maybe I should just go and see him and straighten this all out myself. He is my son. And obviously you aren’t getting through to him.

Mom. He will never listen to you. Please. I’m getting somewhere with him. Just give me some time. 

Fine. But if it takes much longer I’m just going to figure this out myself. With or without you. You’ve always been too soft on him. 

Roman thought, suddenly, that he understood why Remus didn’t like their mother very much.

But he doesn’t contradict her. 

I know. See you in the morning.

Wear the red shirt that shows your chest a bit. One of the executives is a cougar. 

Roman didn’t even want to respond to that, but he knew that if he didn’t, she'd just call.

Okay. 

Okay?? Is that how you speak to your mother?

Roman took a deep breath and then gave the response he knew she wanted to hear.

Sorry mother. Yes, I’ll wear the shirt. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you. 

I love you too, sweet angel. See you in the morning.

Chapter Text

The days he auditioned for shoots were never easy, but the next day it was especially difficult because Roman felt like crap. He’d woken up with a headache to rival the end of days and he didn’t really want to get out of bed. He took a breath, counted the steps to get out of bed, and then threw the covers off himself. He was doing a preliminary with a new modeling agency, one that works with higher profile clients and would almost certainly take him on, so long as he was in order. 

He didn’t eat breakfast or even drink his usual morning water. The consult was early enough that he’d be alright. They’d weigh and measure him, and he wanted to make sure that he looked his best. Not drinking water was probably a large part of the reason he had such a terrible headache, but he couldn’t risk the water weight or anything remotely like bloat. Other people’s bodies were allowed to fluctuate naturally throughout the day, but Roman’s wasn’t. Roman had to be perfect all the time, because if someone called him in for a photoshoot and he was bloating they’d send him home without a second thought and maybe even kick him off the contract. He’d seen it happen to a few fellow models in his time, and he couldn’t do that to himself. Not when he was doing so well. 

He is meticulous in his skincare and his hair styling, making sure he projects the right image to anyone who may be looking. By the time he was ready he'd made his headache worse with the mirror and the lights. But it was okay. It would all be worth it. If he got this new contract it would open the sorts of doors that might mean he can relax a bit. His socials are building and soon enough it might be a viable source of income, if the worst happened, but in the meantime, a secure line of high paying work couldn’t hurt. 

He drove himself to the consult, despite his mother’s offered ride when he admitted to his migraine. Jordan texted him shortly afterward, reminding Roman that minding his mother is not his job. Roman knew that, and said so, and if he hated it so much, he should just block his mother.

I can’t block her. She’s your manager. Get a new one if you don’t want to deal with her.

Roman doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Like he could ever do that.

He left early just in case, and wore his darkest sunglasses. He put on active noise canceling headphones, but left them turned off. He could hear the worst of the honking, and road noise, but only barely, and he couldn’t hear the car noise, and that was all he needed. If he could keep his headache from getting any worse, then the consult would go well in spite of it, and that was all he could ask for.

The consult didn’t go well.

Well, it did go well, but it didn't. They loved him, people always loved him, but they measured him and he came up a 1/2 inch away from being outside of “straight sizes”. In this new agency, they preferred a more androgynous look, and so Roman had been trying to take it easy at the gym. Just the right amount of exercise to stay toned but not do any gains, but obviously he’d fucked something up, because if he went up any more they’d never be able to “use him”. 

He hated it when they phrased it like that. He’d always hated it. But he smiled and assured them that he’d been the same weight with little deviation for years, and he would maintain. No worries. He’ll still be perfect for the shoot they’re scheduling next month. 

They threatened him with a fine for breach of contract if he wasn’t, and he just signed without acting like it bothered him, and the throbbing behind his eyes got worse and it got harder to keep his smile natural looking, but no one noticed. He could always tell when they noticed him slipping. 

His mother got on to him about signing things without reading them, but he was about to be working with one of the greatest fashion designers in LA, so if he had to sell his fucking soul, he would. Fuck what the contract said. 

And then he went straight to a massage appointment that he wasn’t really in the mood for, and hoped the spa had booked him with the same woman who did it last time. She hadn’t wanted to talk and it had been fucking heavenly. It was rude not to answer questions when people asked them, but that didn’t mean he had to like doing it. 

On his way out the door of the agency he added a facial and a full body wrap to his appointment, and confirmed the extra expense for the late booking without even blinking. 

He needed this. He deserved this. He was going to have this. 

Roman didn’t really have the energy for the next therapy session with Dr. Dormier, but when he’d mentioned canceling it to Jordan, he’d been staunchly overridden. Between the new modeling agency that they couldn’t afford to piss off and the upcoming high-fashion photoshoot he was doing, he needed some public good will, and the only way that would happen was with Remus’ publi recanting, or a public reconciliation between them.

Remus shows up with an almost manic grin and a bag full of pastries. He hands them out as soon as they are let in to Dormier’s office. 

Remus digs in without a second thought, but when Roman hesitates, he stops himself midchew and begins interrogating him.

“What? Are you losing weight?” Remus asked, and it was snarky, but Roman thought maybe there was some hurt hidden in his tone. He was feeling low enough that he didn’t snark back, in any case.

“I had a consult on Friday and they said I went up a half inch at the waist. If I gain any more weight I won’t fit the rack sizes, and I’m not high profile enough to ask for custom fittings yet.” Roman looked down at the pastry in his hand, conflicted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat it, it was obviously a gesture of good will, he just… couldn’t.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” Remus said, wincing. “You can put it back in the bag, if you want? Or throw it away?” 

Roman smiles wanly at his brother, pastry still in hand, some of the icing melting from the body heat of his fingers. “It’s okay. Thank you for thinking of me.” 

Remy looked like he wanted to say something, but instead of commenting he took a sip from his seemingly ever-present iced coffee. 

“I think this is the most positive interaction I have ever seen you two have. Bravo. I’m very proud.” He clapped one hand against his ice coffee in a way that felt sarcastic, but taken with his tone and the genuine smile on his face, it seemed like he was being sincere. “Do either of you have a place you wanted to start today?” 

Remus started, and Roman felt a sigh of relief leave him without him meaning for it to. “Oh, that reporter who wrote the article reached out to me. Tried to apologize, but didn’t actually apologize. It was the kind of apology that says ‘Sorry your feelings got hurt’.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“What other kind of apology is there?” Roman asked, confused, and Remy shook his head.

“Real apologies usually say something like ‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings’, not ‘I’m sorry your feelings are hurt.’ One of them is acknowledging wrongdoing and the other is just a play at sympathy.” Remy explained, but without any condescention, which Roman appreciated. It was kind of oddly sincere for a man who had introduced hismelf to them by calling them bitches. While Roman thinks, Dormier turns back to Remus. “I’m sorry that he did that. He sucks. Did you block him?” 

Remus nodded, half chewed muffin in his mouth once again when he answered, “Yeah. I said my piece and blocked him.”

Roman feels himself bristle at that, “Nothing else damning, I hope.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “No, nothing damning. God you’re so dramatic-”

“Judgemental.” Dr. Dormier cut in and Remus rephrased. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I can’t be covert when it’s required of me. When I know I need to be on guard, I’m actually pretty good at keeping a secret. All I said was that he’d really been an asshole, and I thought that he was heartless and probably deserved to go to hell or something. I honestly don’t remember. Logan and I had a fight right before and it just felt good to have someone to be mean to.” Remus settled deeper into his chair, face a little bit more pensive than it had been.

Dormeir nodded. “What did you fight about?” 

Remus sighed. “I had a breakdown after our last session, and Logan was helping me. He got mad about all the shit that’s happening, and instead of telling me about it he locked it all up, the way he always does-”

“Always statements.” Dormier cut him off.

“The way that he tends to-” Remus rolled his eyes at Dormier, “and I just… couldn’t take it anymore. I hate that he feels like he can’t share things with me. I love him and I-” Remus sighed. “I already went over all of this with my therapist. I don’t think I need to rehash it here. Let’s leave it at, we had a long talk and we’re working through it. I used black and yellow snake man as a verbal punching bag, but I didn’t spill any trade secrets.” He looked meaningfully at Roman who did look a little sheepishly back.

Dormier nodded. “Great. Roman, does that answer your question? Gain you some trust in your brother?” 

“Can I see the messages?” Roman asked, and Remus rolled his eyes as he dug his phone out. 

“Knock yourself out. If he was like, my ex, this would be a major red flag, right?”

“Very inappropriate, but he’s not your ex, and these are texts that pertain to him, so if you’re comfortable sharing, then I think it’s fine to show him.”

Remus handed over the phone with an attitude but Roman took it and scanned through the message history quickly.

The first thing he noticed was this was the first message that Remus had exchanged with this man, and he wasn’t even following him.

The second thing he noticed, was that Remus actually knew how to use punctuation.

The third thing he noticed was that Remus was telling the truth.

Yesterday, 10:08PM

Janus Dee: You up? 

Duke Street Art: You know I have a bf right? And he doesn’t even lie about liking my art, so… if this is a come on, it’s not working. 

Janus Dee: Oh shoot. Well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. 

Janus Dee: On a serious note, I wish to apologize. I did intend on running a story that focused more on your current career, but I found the story of Roman’s betrayal far too tempting. I’m sorry if it upset you.

Duke Street Art: Yeah, and I’m sorry to say that sort of makes you an asshole. 

Duke Street Art: You know, if I thought it would activate your conscious, I would tell you all the ways this has royally fucked my life up, but I don’t think it would make a difference and you’d probably just run another story about it.

Janus Dee: It would depend on how bad it is, but yeah, probably. You know I’m on your side, right? I didn’t exactly paint Roman in the most flattering light, and I left your record virtually untouched. 

Duke Street Art: Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. If it makes you feel better to say that you were “in my corner”, then say it, but don’t try to convince me. Being in my corner would be running a story that actually highlighted my art. You didn’t even link my insta, you ass.

Janus Dee: I thought you would prefer to have your privacy. Would you rather I linked your insta? I can add it now…

Duke Street Art: Fuck you. You know I don’t want that. Look, whatever. You apologized, got it all off your chest. You can sleep like a baby tonight, if you want. Just know that from my perspective, you’re the villain in this story. Not Roman. Roman was just trying to survive, just like I was. You’re just trying to make a quick buck off of our pain, and there’s no amount of “sorry” that can make you better than that. 

You have blocked Janus Dee

When Roman finished reading the texts, he handed the phone back to Remus. “Is that really what you think? That I’m not the bad guy?”

“Fuck no. Of course you’re not. Look, I don’t know what kind of weird fucked up relationship you have with Mom now. Maybe she’s changed and she’s an angel now, I don’t know. But I lived with her for 18 years and she worked us like dogs starting when we were 12 years old, Roman. Even if you say it was the best thing for us, we had basically no childhood. No adolescence. We were shoved into the spotlight for all of our formative years, and that’s bound to fuck us up, even if Mom was a fucking saint, which she isn’t. Maybe you came out okay, but I’m telling you, I did not.”

That hung between them for a while. Roman wasn’t sure what to even say to that. He felt like he should defend their mother, but… He also couldn’t stand her most of the time, and that made it hard. But she had made him a success. And maybe he didn’t always like talking to her, or the way she talked to him, or about other people, but… she was their mother. 

“Roman, do you have a response to that?” Dormier asked, trying to bring him out of his own head, maybe.

Roman was feeling a little overwhelmed and Dormier seemed to think that meant it was the perfect time to throw something at him. A soft, plush rabbit landed in his lap, and when Roman looked down at it, it was the same one from last time. He picked it up instinctively and ran his fingers carefully over it, letting himself refocus on the tangible feeling of fabric rather than the roiling of his insides. 

“I have never thought of our mother as being particularly unkind, but… Can I be honest?” Roman asked.

Dormier nodded, spreading his arms wide. “That’s what we’re here for. Let it all out.”

Roman sighed and looked at Remus, the pastry in his hand feeling like a weight somehow. Proof of Remus’ positive intentions and Roman’s own lack of them. “Mom thinks I’m just here to convince you to recant the article.” 

Remy raised an eyebrow, but Remus suddenly wasn’t looking at him. When Remus didn’t ask for more information, Dormier did. “Is that why you’re here?” 

Roman looked down at his pastry. “That first day, yeah. It was why I was willing to show up to some coffee shop in the middle of nowhere and hash it out. My publicist and Mom were both being pissy with me about the article, and I was hurt so…” he bites his tongue while he looks for the right word, the sting of his canine helping to keep him grounded. “I came in guns blazing. I was prepared to do whatever it took to get you to agree to a public retraction, and then… I saw you and it just felt like slipping back into old roles. I felt 17 again, in the worst ways. Mom asked about how our last session went and she… didn’t even want to know how you’re doing. She asked if you decided to recant, and when I said you were mad at us she just… called you a drug addict and brushed you off and… I don’t know. Something about it made me- I don’t know.” Roman didn’t know. He couldn’t place it, the way it made his chest tight and his throat hot. He felt wrong even repeating it, but… it needed to be said.

Remus still stayed silent, but Dormier didn’t. “It’s okay. It can be hard to articulate sometimes. Can you say if it’s a good or bad feeling?”

Roman laughed, painfully aware of a sting behind his eyes that he had to hold back. “Bad. Really bad. I… I wanted to tell her what Logan said, that time in the coffee shop, about how you were clean and it wasn’t fair to just assume things based on something that happened years ago and… I knew if I did she’d want to call and talk and I didn’t want to hear it so I just… said okay.” Roman dropped his head down and unconsciously pressed the rabbit to his skin.

They sat there in silence for a while longer, until Remus finally spoke.

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m just a drug addict.” Remus said quietly.

“You were never just a drug addict. I’m sorry I let people convince me otherwise.” Roman looked up at Remus and he looked like he was about to cry. Honestly, Roman also felt like he’s about to cry.

They locked eyes for a few seconds too long, both unsure what to do, and once again, Dormier seems to have them covered. “This would be a good time to hug, if you’re into that sort of thing.” 

Remus scoffed. “I thought you didn’t do the touchy feely stuff, doc.”

“A good therapist adapts to their client’s needs. You two seem like you need a hug.” Dormier said, hinting. 

The absurdity of the conversation made Roman laugh and so at the first sign that Remus was going to get up, Roman got up too, and they hugged, briefly but tenderly. The first time in what felt like ages, but was really only decades.

Decades. 

Roman was already so tender at the heart strings he couldn’t help but let a final confession loose. “I think you might be right, about Mom. But… I don’t want to think about it yet.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s okay.” Remus hugged his brother a little tighter and laughed when he felt the rabbit that was still clutched in Roman’s hand press against him as well. “I guess Peter really does like hugs, huh?” He laughed, and Roman started to laugh too, and the tension that had been there evaporated and they sat down again. Roman still held the rabbit in his hand, but it was less a conscious comfort and more an unconscious one. 

“So, that was really sweet. I’m gagging, seriously. How do you feel right now?” Dormierr asked.

Remus was always the braver of them, and he went first. “It feels good not to feel like strangers.” 

“Yeah. I mean, we are still essentially strangers, but… yeah.” Roman agreed

“Well, you can fix that now, you know. Or, go get a coffee and catch up? If you think you could without tearing each other’s throats out?” 

“Maybe,” Roman said, half-hearted, and Remus shrugged. 

“You know where I get coffee, and the emo kid behind the counter will warm up to you eventually if you hang around long enough, so…?”

Remy made an appalled noise. “Oh my god. Do you want to or not? No beating around the bush. ‘Yes I’m interested,’ or ‘no I’m not.’”

Roman felt like he had to speak first, as the transgressor. “I wouldn’t mind, if you wanted to go.” 

“Nah ah, that was not the question you were posed, Roman. What do you want?” Remy looked at Roman and he had to think about it for a second, and he wondered why he had to think about it at all. 

“I do want to. Go out for coffee and catch up. It could be good.” Roman hesitated, pausing between sentences like he wasn’t sure he’d be understood or perhaps was afraid of it. Remus met him where he was.

“Same here. Should I call your assistant to set up an appointment?” Remus asked, and then winced, but Roman was pretty sure they weren’t antagonizing each other right now, so he just smiled.

“I don’t have an assistant. Just… Saturday?”

Remus smiled. “I can do Saturday. 10 at Pats?” 

“Yeah. 10 at Pat’s.” 

Remus looked hopeful, and Roman felt it in himself too. Felt like he may want to be able to be a brother again. There was no way to know what that might look like anymore. The few times he and Remus had really been able to be like siblings, they’d been so young. What did it even mean to have Remus as a brother at 24? They’re not exactly going to be hanging out on playgrounds or going to school. 

But it would be good, he thought, to have Remus back. Before… before, even when he and Remus had been at odds, they’d been able to understand each other. It was only when Remus hadn’t been able to perform the way that Roman had for the adults in their lives that they’d really started to grow apart, Roman the compliant “easy to work with” twin who was constantly asked to help wrangle his older, more unpredictable brother. 

And maybe he shouldn’t have been asked to do that. 

And maybe he and Remus shouldn’t have been working full days as children. 

And maybe their mother should’ve stopped that. 

These thoughts were all racing through his head Remus left to catch a ride with Logan, a man who loved him and cared for him and seemed to be looking out for him just because he cared. 

And Roman thought about waiting for a booty call text from his ex a few nights before for some semblance of positive contact, and he thought maybe he’d like something more, but he had no idea how to get it. 

Roman had to stop in the bathroom before he left for his hour-long drive back to his apartment, and by the time he got out, Remus was gone, but Dr. Dormier was there, like he’d been waiting for Roman. He was leaning against a wall, his iced coffee still in hand. 

“Hey. How are you doing? I just wanted to check in. I get the sense you don’t like to admit you’re not feeling well in front of other people.” 

“I’m fine.” Roman said automatically, and then when he heard how fake it sounded in his own head, he tacked on a smile for good measure.

This didn’t seem to get past Dormier, because he just raised an eyebrow at him and sipped his coffee again. “I’m not really convinced. Listen, it’s okay to hate this shit. It’s hard work. Combatting all your inner demons, and the outer ones.” He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. “If you need someone to see, just personally, Emile is really good. That’s his card. I figured if Remus made our appointment he probably made that one too. Reach out. It might be helpful just to talk to someone.” 

Roman shook his head, but took the card anyway. “Thanks, but I’m alright.” 

“Yeah. But you know, most people don’t want to be alright. They want to be good. Really good. Ecstatic, even. When was the last time you felt ecstatic, Roman?”

Roman doesn’t want to answer that question, so he doesn’t.

“Thanks, Doc. I got it.” He made a show of tucking the card into his wallet and then waved goodbye. 

Dr. Dormier watched him leave and then pulled out his phone to text his colleague to be on the lookout for appointment requests from Roman King. Emile can’t tell him whether or not Roman makes an appointment, but at least this way he knows that it’s coming, and that Remy sent him.

Chapter Text

Roman wasn’t running late, but he would be just barely on time. His mother would probably say something about it, but he was apparently having a migraine today and so he couldn’t give two shits about what pleased her. 

When she started to say something at the door of the world-renowned fashion designer, he stopped her with a harsh glare over his sun glasses. “I should probably be laying in bed with a cold compress and an entire bottle of Excedrin. Cut me a break, or I will walk out right now.” 

She started making the offended sort of noises that usually meant he was in for a lecture, but they were in public and she wouldn’t say anything about it until they were alone. Thankfully, he drove himself there and he had seen her car in the parking garage on the way up, so if he was quick he could avoid the fall out of this particular stunt for a while yet. 

The door opened and an assistant beamed at him and then his mother, inviting them in. 

“Roman!” The designer greeted him like an old friend. “It’s so good to see you, darling. Come here. Tell me what you think of these.” 

Roman didn’t take his sunglasses off, but strode forward confidently, kissing the designer on both cheeks and then studying the patterns in front of him. “Oh, I love this.” He floated his fingers along the edge of one of the silhouettes. “You know I was just telling Jordan that we don’t have enough interesting silhouettes in men’s fashion. You’re a genius.” 

“Oh, I know!” They grinned, pulling out the full color mock ups. “I know red is your signature, so I thought we would actually do that silhouette in this color way,” She shows him a largely black and white version of the same design, with a pop of red at the collar, and belt. “And if you’re interested, I think maybe some bright red around the eye wouldn’t go amiss.” 

“This looks a lot like a dress.” His mother said flatly, and Roman turned to glare at her.

“It’s fucking art, mother. If you don’t like it then you don’t need to be here.” 

“No, no,” The designer said with barely hidden vitriol. “Tell me what your plebeian eyes see. I love to get the opinions of the uneducated. It helps me see how the masses will perceive my work.” 

There was no part of Roman that thought the designer was interested in his mother’s ideas. 

“Oh, don’t be so uptight! I only mean, don’t you think styles like that should be given to someone more delicate? What about this one? Roman wears a suit so well.”

Roman looked at where his mother was pointing at what was obviously meant to be a supporting design to the line and not the main show-stopper and then looked gently at the designer, smiling kindly. “Can I have a quick word with my mother? I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.” The designer said with a sharp glare in his mother’s direction. “And preferably come back without her.” 

His mother gasped, but Roman ignored her and took her by the elbow and lead her back out the door and away from it so they couldn’t be overheard.

As soon as they were out of earshot his mother tried to get a word in where it wasn’t wanted. “Roman! That woman wants to put you in a dress like some kind of-”

“Do not. Do not fucking say it. I don’t want to hear it. Listen to me. Listen to me!” He said through gritted teeth when she tried to speak over him. “I have the most massive headache on the planet. The designs are fucking gorgeous. I could very well be looking at the sort of spread that makes you a household name. You can have your opinions at home. I don’t need you for this, and frankly, you’re about to screw it up.” 

“Wha-! Roman! Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“When you’re about to sabotage my career? Yes! That is one of the most prominent designers in California that you just insulted, do you understand that? I’ll be lucky if they decide to keep me on after your stupid little comment. So go home, let me handle this, and I’ll call you if I still have the booking. If I don’t, you can expect that I’ll be seeking alternate management, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” 

Roman had never spoken to his mother like that, but it all just sort of spilled out. His years of frustration at her tendency to be overbearing, all the times he hadn’t been able to entirely convince himself that she was doing the right thing, they all culminated in him threatening to fire his own mother from the job she’d been doing for 13 years. 

But she couldn’t see the damage that she was doing for all that she was concerned about him not being caught up in the “gay craze” as she so idiotically called it on more than one occasion. 

He left her sitting in the hall, flabbergasted, and went back in to try to salvage what he could of the consult.

In the end, they decide on a series of 3 looks, each one more daring than the last.

The first was a two piece black and white set, the shirt made of some sort of silk or satin, just so slightly off white with a red collar that opened in a deep v. The pants would be fairly standard, the cut tapered but not form fitting, contrasting with the shirt’s boxy fit. The look screamed “I’m playing it safe but I wish I didn’t have to be.” 

The next set would be a little more risqué, a fully red shirt, open nearly to his navel, again a silk, this time the pants would be higher rise with the shirt tucked in and an intricate tie at the waist. It spoke to the desire to be vulnerable while also having to keep a tight lid on one self. The pants would be cut to flare at the hips, hinting at the total transformation the full outfit would represent. 

The third look would be monochrome. Entirely Roman’s signature red. The theme would be embracing vulnerability and giving oneself entirely over to the eyes of the other party. The majority of the fabric would be sheer, see through straight to the skin. No more open collars, because everything was on display. The final look would include a red train that flared out from the waist, made of the same sheer material, and other than invisible modesty undergarments, only some strategically placed lace appliqué would preserve his modesty, giving the complete notion that Roman was bearing it all, body and soul, for the consumption of others. Here I am, take me or leave me. 

He loved it. He told the designer so. They had been pleased by the end of it, and Roman had made Jordan FaceTime him to confirm that they were all good for the dates the walk was going to happen and the press that would precede it. Jordan also didn’t seem pleased about the final look, but as far as Roman was concerned, he and anyone else who disliked it could shove their opinion right up their ass. 

“I’m going to be honest,” The designer said as they walked Roman out of their office. “I didn’t think I’d get you to go along with the last one so easy. I thought I’d have to talk you into it. That was sort of why the look was so fun to play with. It was supposed to be me making you bear your heart and soul.” They laughed and Roman smiled tightly.

“But it’s not authentic if you made me do it, is it? Then it’s just being shoved half naked onto a runway and selling my body to the screaming masses.” 

They smiled at him. “I’m glad you see it that way. I’ll have someone call you to try color swatches on you for the final look and get you fitted. Make up tests will be the day before.” They pat his shoulder and closed the door behind him, and Roman wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling for a month if his mother hadn’t been waiting for him like a harpy. 

“I thought I told you to go home.” He didn’t even bother glaring at her, he just strode past her, already searching for his keys. 

“Oh Roman, honey. You know I’m just looking out for you. Did you talk her out of that horrendous outfit? I really think that you wear a suit better-”

“Mom.” He stopped and turned to her. “Suits are for catalogues. Maybe an editorial. This is runway fashion. It has to be interesting. Suits are not fucking interesting. Not the way you want them. If you want suits and masculine wear, then go find some catalogue models to manage. Times are changing and if you can’t change with them I’ll find someone who can.”

She started to tremble like she was going to cry and Roman tried to call back his anger. The indigence he’d felt at being embarrassed by her old-fashioned views and her ineptitude in fashion. He tried to hold on to it as the tears started to form and she took hold of his wrist. 

“You know I only want what’s best for you? What happens to your career after this? Aren’t you worried about what people might say? Sweetie, you have to think about what this looks like. You have a very strong presence, and if you go out on stage in something like that-”

“What? What will it say, mother? It’s 2019, please, enlighten me on what people will say that might be so terrible for my career.”

“Honey, they’re going to say you’re gay. You’re going to get a reputation.” 

“Mom, we live in California. It’d be bigger news if I wasn’t gay. Honestly. Just… can you let it go? It’s my image and I get to decide what I do with it. And you know what, I don’t see why it would be so bad if a bunch of ignorant people assumed I was gay. The people whose opinion I care about, wouldn’t care.”

“I would care! Roman! You’re my only son and-”

“I have a twin!”

“And Remus is dead to me!” She cut him off with a snarl. “He’s dead to this whole family after what he did. You are my only hope to make a lasting impression on the world, baby. Don’t you want that? To make a big mark on the world? You’re so talented, sweetie, I just don’t want to see you shoehorned into a lifestyle that you don’t even belong to.” 

“It’s a runway, mom, not a gay porn. Anyone who chooses to draw conclusions from one runway show is too stupid for me to bother with them anyway.”

She clutched her hair like she wanted to pull it out, and scrunched up her face like something straight out of a cartoon. “You’re not listening, Roman! You’re not seeing the bigger picture. Your image, the way the public sees you, affects the way that casting directors see you. It affects the way designers see you. It’s going to haunt you for the rest of your career if you wear that- that-”

“What? Dress? It’s a jump suit with a train, mom, come on. Just… either get over it or I’ll get someone else to manage me. I love the look, I love the story behind it, and I’m not going to not do it just because it might hurt my career. I’m just not. If you’re too afraid to take risks, I’ll find a manager who isn’t.”

“You’d fire your own mother?” 

Roman unlocked the door to his car, standing directly beside it so that she couldn’t rush the door. 

“Yeah. I would.” He gets in and slams the door on her, and when she sputters, he ignores her and drives, straight out of the parking garage, leaving her gaping behind him, and he only feels a little bit bad. 

Roman started to drive home, but he knew that if he did, he’d just end up with his mother banging on his door. So, instead of going home, where he wanted to be with the throbbing pain behind his eyes, he drove.

He didn’t know where he was going until he saw the familiar stretch of highway out to small town nowhere where Remus had settled down.

He didn’t want to turn around in the middle of the highway, so he told himself he’d just stop to get a coffee and then go somewhere else.

But the road just stretched on and before he knew it he was making his way back to Remus’ little hamlet and he was pulling into Pat’s, the coffee shop run by Remus’ new friends. He put on his sunglasses and a hat, shrugged an oversized jacket on and went in.

He was greeted by the smiling-faced Patton rather than the emo-on-duty, and he waved and spoke softly when he ordered himself an espresso and a small pastry he only intended to take a bite or two of before he threw it away.

Patton smiled and waved him to take a seat and someone would bring it out in a minute.

Roman put his headphones in and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his Instagram. He didn’t have anything playing, but the buds helped reduce what little noise there was, including the buzzing of the lights that always seemed to irritate him when he was having a migraine day.

“Espresso and croissant?” A familiar voice said, and Roman didn’t look up, trying his hardest not to give himself away. He said “thank you” and went straight for a sip of espresso.

He closed his eyes to savor the smooth drink. It was really good for being outside of the city. He almost wanted to ask what beans they use, but then he might give himself away. He sipped on the espresso for a few minutes before he took a single bite of the croissant. It tasted delicious, though it was definitely not fresh from that morning. There was nothing wrong with that, really, but after having spent a week in Paris and tasted what french patisseries could do with dough, no run of the mill American pastry would ever really satisfy him anymore.

He scrolled and sipped, leaving the croissant untouched other than his first initial bite. He was so cognizant of the last consult he had, and how they’d warned him that he was veering from straight sizes, and he didn’t want to end up pushed out before his career even really got going.

He had been sitting for twenty minutes, slumped the way he knew was bad for his posture but he was in too much pain to care, when a plate was set down in front of him and an awkward emo nightmare was standing there in his barista uniform with his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t order anything,” He said quietly, again, trying to keep from being recognized.

“You weren’t eating your croissant. Thought I’d bring you something that was more to your liking.”

Roman looked at the pastry he’d been offered and it was the same apple tart that Patton had offered him and he’d finished off two of before he’d thought better of it.

He looked up at Virgil through his sunglasses, and Virgil wasn’t looking at him, eyes cast to the side. “It’s a day old. It would’ve just gone to waste anyway. It sucks to order something new and not like it.”

Despite the fact that Virgil himself had decided to say this, it sounded like every word was being pulled out of him against his will. Roman was touched by the kindness, and maybe he felt a little too tight in his chest, and he didn’t want to think about it. He blinked behind his glasses and looked down at the two pastries that he absolutely could not eat, and then back at the first piece of kindness he’d had from someone who didn’t work for him directly or indirectly in days, and decided he can’t just throw the food away in front of him.

Roman smiled tightly. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Can I actually take it to go? I’ve got a meeting at 3.”

“You drive in for therapy with Remus?” Virgil finally acknowledged what they both knew, but Roman appreciated him not making a big deal of it.

“No, um… I had something this morning, and I just… ended up here. You know how it is.” Roman shrugged, hoping that even if Virgil didn’t know how it was that he’d just shrug it off.

“Yeah. Sometimes you just have to get away. Pat’s is good for that.” Virgil shrugged back. “I’ll get you a bag. Feed the croissant to the LA pigeons or something.”

Roman smiled, a little more genuinely this time.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Roman finished his last sip of espresso and in almost no time, Virgil was back with two waxed paper bags and packing the tart and croissant in them. Roman thinks they could’ve fit in one bag, but Virgil was the expert here.

He took both bags and left a twenty dollar tip on the table, just because his head still too tender to go looking for smaller bills and definitely not for any other reason.

Roman didn’t know where he was going, exactly. He just was just wandering, knowing the town was too small for anyone to notice him. He had his glasses firmly on his face to obscure him from any odd passerby that might recognize him or confuse him with his brother.

His head was still aching, but he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Or be anywhere. He was too much for himself, too big for his body. He felt like he might burst, but not from the pain. Just from… too much. Everything was too much. He didn’t care where he was going, just followed downtown sidewalks and looked in windows, not really seeing anything.

It was because he wasn’t really seeing anything that he nearly ran into a familiar sweater vest. He knew this place was small, but this seemed a little extreme.

“Hi,” Dr. Picani said, and Roman tried to do what he was supposed to do. Perform for the masses. Make small talk. Smile and be enthusiastic. He’d obviously been recognized, and he couldn’t just brush past.

“Hi.” He stopped in the street.

“It’s good to see you.” Picani said, and Roman thought he might genuinely mean it. He didn’t know why, but the guy just looked so open and genuine when he said it. It was hard to believe, but he’d met actors who weren’t nearly as convincing as this guy, so if he was faking it, he was good at it.

“Yeah. Sorry about the whole, dumping you for another therapist thing.” Roman said, not knowing how else to phrase it and certain that he had to address the elephant in the room.

“No, not at all! I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and I know that. Did you find someone else to work with?” Picani smiled, seeming genuinely unbothered.

“Yeah. Um… Dr. Dormier? I think?”

“Oh, he’s great. Well, if you’re getting along with him, it’s no wonder you didn’t want to work with me.” He laughed. “We have really different styles.”

“Yeah.” Roman didn’t know how else to follow that up, and he was in too much pain to steer the conversation, so his single word response just hung there for a moment before Picani picked up the conversation.

“Which way are you going? I can walk with you.”

“Oh, I’m heading home.” Roman said, knowing he needed to get out of there as fast as possible, even if it was just to go drive around somewhere. He couldn’t be here anymore. It’s too much.

“Let me walk you. Did you drive yourself?” Emile asked and Roman could only nod.

“It’s really fine.” He tried to say, but Picani was persisent.

“No, I insist. I need the exercise anyway.” He smiled.

Roman didn’t know how to say no gracefully, so he just didn’t. He shrugged and turned, hoping that he could get away with not talking.

They walked and Picani talked with relatively little input from Roman. He told Roman stories about people Roman didn’t know, and laughed at his own jokes. Every once in a while Roman mustered up a “Mmhmm” or a “oh wow,” but his heart wasn’t in it.

When they were nearly back to the coffee shop, Picani asked about Remus for the first time since they’d started walking.

“Have you seen Remus’ mural yet?” He looked excited, and Roman couldn’t just dash his hopes.

“Um, no. I can’t say I have.”

Picani started down an alley and Roman felt socially compelled to follow, even though his car wasn’t in that direction. And then he realized why Picani asked about Remus’ mural.

Painted on a brick wall facing the alleyway behind the coffee shop was a mural that Roman had only glanced at once before. When he saw it, he couldn’t breathe.

The mural looked like it was modeled after the style of portraits of the Virgin Mary, a halo around an angelic figure dressed in black. It’s a barely blond figure with an exhausted expression on it. The face was strangely young, uncanny in the way it didn’t match with the adult body it was sitting on. Its dark wings and exposed arms, neck, and face were cut up, bruised, and speckled with blood. Its right hand had a bite mark in it, and in the background, clothes was raining down, on fire like it was armageddon. But if he looked at the face, uncanny as it was, a little more closely, he could see the barest hint of a triumphant grin.

One hand, the hand with the bite mark, carried a sword, and its hilt was drenched in blood, obviously having been used recently. The angels’ bare feet, also bloody, stool on a scroll reminiscent of saints that read “Victorious”.

Roman couldn’t stop looking at it.

The figure wasn’t Remus. It was a generic figure, dressed in black, with the barest hint of white fabric poking out underneath the tunic like maybe it should’ve been white all along. Roman remembered being 12 and looking at their very first headshots and he thought, with uncanny certainty, that this figure’s hair was the same shade of blond as his and Remus’ had been that first day.

He didn’t know why, but that made him start to cry, silently of course. Crying can look pretty in a photoshoot, but not if it’s uncontrollable, and so he reined it in so it stayed pretty.

Emile put his arm on Roman’s shoulder and Roman jumped. “Are you alright, Roman.” The doctor’s face was sympathetic and Roman hated it.

“I’m fine.” He shut everything down, the way he had to do sometimes when he was too exhausted on a shoot and still had a few hours to go. He stopped crying, but it was harder than it should be. He wiped at the tears that had snuck beneath his sunglasses without turning away from Picani, because he could already see them. “I really need to be heading out now, though.”

“Okay. Well, I hate to leave it like this. Can you tell me what about the mural has you getting so upset?”

“What, you can’t just guess?”

“I’m not going to guess your feelings, Roman. Only you know them.”

Roman shrugged. He couldn’t stay shut down. The tears started to flow again, and he turned away, to try to hide the fact he was crying again, facing the mural head on once more.

But when he did that, he had to look at it, and again, he saw the dirty blond hair and his chest was too tight and he wanted to scream and shrink up in a ball hugging his legs at the same time. He wanted to be smaller. He wanted to disappear. He didn’t want to feel this thing that stabbed at his heart and made his headache even worse.

Picani put his hand on Roman’s shoulder again, and this time Roman didn’t flinch.

“It’s okay if you can’t say it. I actually bring people here sometimes because it can be a really powerful image. I imagine with Remus’ life being so much like your own, you feel that even more so.”

“We are not alike.” Roman said through gritted teeth. “We are nothing alike. At all.”

“Well, at least your childhood experiences have to be similar, right?”

“No. No, they’re not the same. Remus just… did whatever he wanted. I kept us together. He- He never did what any of the photographers wanted. He couldn’t follow rules, couldn’t stop fidgeting, he was… it was hard.”

“I imagine that must be hard. Having to carry all that on your shoulders. Did you have any help.”

“Our- Mother was supposed to help with that. But she’d end up chatting with make up artists and lighting directors, just… off in her own world. I was the one who had to keep Remus on task.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a little kid.”

“I wasn’t that little. I was 12 the first time we broke a gig that paid.”

“I’d say that’s pretty little. Would you want to give that responsibility to a 12 year old?”

Roman choked on his own answer. The “No” lodged in his throat like a thorn bush. He felt snagged. Like if he tried to go farther it’d just rip him to shreds.

He stopped again, tried to be nothing, do nothing. Took a deep breath and thought only about breathing, trying to bring himself back from the edge.

“Why don’t we sit down for a minute.” Emile smiled and guided Roman to a bench. Roman sat because he was nothing, and was doing nothing. He sat and didn’t care much for Dr. Picani’s presence. He was used to being looked at even when he wasn’t really there. He didn’t know how long he sat there, or how much time passed, but he didn’t need to know. He’d be back when he was ready. He always was.

“Roman. You’re scaring me a little bit, buddy. Can you give me a sign that you’re hearing me?”

Roman blinked and he saw Dr. Picani without seeing him. He didn’t quite feel like he was looking at him, even though he knew he was right there. It felt the way watching TV feels. Like he’s there on a screen, but not really there.

Roman smiled gently. “I’m alright, Dr. Picani.” He still had a terrible head ache, but he was nearly completely blank, so he didn’t care much about it.

“I’m… Roman, how often do you do this? Just, stare into space like that?”

Roman didn’t know what he was talking about. He shrugged, and stood. “I really do need to get going.”

“I- Okay. Are you good to drive?”

Roman nodded. “I’m fine.”

(Emile didn’t want to let him go, but he had no real reason to withhold him. “Staring into space” by itself is evidence of so many things, but also nothing.)

Roman seemed to have no problem finding his keys or unlocking his car when he turned the corner. “Thanks for the walk, doc.” Roman smiled, not feeling it, but good enough for faking it.

“Yeah. Anytime. I’m serious. Call me if you need anything.” Picani said, his hands squeezing each other in front of himself, wringing like there was something to be worried about.

Roman just smiled and waved, getting in his car and driving off.

(Emile watched him go, an ever increasing concern building in his chest over the state of Roman’s mental health.)

When Roman got home, he collapsed into a too warm bath, the Epsom salts and scented candles working to bring him back into the present gently. By the time he realized the bath was too hot he’d already started to get used to it and just resigned himself to some extra lotion in case his skin started to dry out and swore to himself not to touch his face until the water was lukewarm at most.

He always spent too long in the bath when he took one. His mother would probably disapprove, but he didn’t care.

His phone was on airplane mode, the doorman had strict orders not to let his mother up, and he was not going to think about anything for a while. He had his favorite Celine Dion tracks playing on repeat, and he was not going to move for at least an hour.

The apple tart sitting on his kitchen counter had almost made it into the bath with him, but he’d managed to keep it together. The hour long drive had started to make him hungry, especially with the bite of croissant he’d had, but he had to do this shoot. If he missed out on this runway because of a croissant or an apple tart, no matter how good he knew it would be or how cute the emo who had brought it to him had been, he’d never forgive himself.

And fuck his mother for acting like he didn’t care about that.

The anger rose up, but abated quickly. He’d had a lot of practice letting anger at his mother go. It was irrational to be angry, something Remus would do, he knows, has been told 100 times over. Anger is for people who can’t keep it together.

He wanted to dip his head beneath the water, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. If it dried out his skin he’d be fucked for days, and he just couldn’t handle hearing another editor whine about needing to airbrush him. He can’t.

He felt his hands clench into fists only when they start to get sore from it. He blinked it all away and submerged his hands in the water, curling and uncurling his fingers and massaging feeling back into his palms.

Anger is for people who can’t keep themselves together.

Maybe Remus could bring the worst out in him when they were together, but here, in his own home, he was better than that.

He sunk beneath the water, despite his promise, and the sound of his own heart racing was drowned out by the sounds of the water in his ears. Small, inconsequential drips and the sound of his own faint twitches creating ripples in the water, but otherwise, nothing.

His skin was too hot, he was too hot, but it hurt just the right amount to draw all the anger out of him like a witches brew, leaving him a hollow shell of a Roman, the slate wiped clean.

When he couldn’t stand holding his breath anymore, when he was starting to feel light headed and would probably have splotches in his vision if his eyes were open, he emerged, wiped the water from his eyes, stinging as he blinks the last bits of Epsom salt and soap from his eyelashes, and he took a deep, steadying breath. He breathed so deep it made his chest ache and he felt alive, really alive. He leaned his head back against the tub. His skin started to feel tight as it dried in a way that lets him know that he’d have to put on a mask when he got out of the bath, but it was okay. He was okay. He always felt a little bit better when he forced himself to be in his body. The massages, the holding his breath, the too hot water, they all work the same. A little bit of pain, like a pinch so he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

But he’d never pinch himself. It might bruise.

He laid his head back against the cool porcelain of the tub and he stayed like that until the water got cold.

—

When he was finally done with his bath, carefully drying his hair, he turned his phone back on and received a barrage of notification. He had muted his mother, so those didn’t come in, but he does have a couple of texts from Jordan complaining about his mother, and, surprisingly, several texts from Remus.

He opened the ones from Remus mid-toweling, not as worried about his hair suddenly.

Hey, are you okay? Virge mentioned he saw you in town today.

Virge is Virgil. The emo kid whose ass you like.

Fuck. Sorry. Sometime shit just comes out.

You know, because I’m an asshole.

Roman cringed at that. “Lovely, Remus.” He muttered to himself as he contemplated his response.

Yeah, I had a consult and mom was

Delete

Yeah, I was just passing through

Delete

I ended up on the highway and needed coffee. Pattons’ was close. He finally settled on, and hit send. Remus texted back egregiously fast.

That’s a long drive. Everything okay in Wonderland?

Roman sucked at the part of his thumb he used to bite when he was a kid before responding.

I just needed to get away for a bit. No big deal. You know how it is.

Yeah. I really do. Text next time, if you want. I work from home and I can usually take a break.

Roman starts to just say okay, but finds that doesn’t feel like enough, so he types Okay and follows it up with a second message. What do you do for work?

Art. Duh. I take commissions sometimes, but also the instagram. The one Snake Face pretended he was going to write about.

Roman nibbled at his cuticle, not breaking skin, because he knew he’d get hell for it from the manicurist he saw twice a month if he turned up with wrecked cuticles.

Can I see?

The bubbles of Remus’ message pop up and then go away a couple times before message appeared.

Uh, yeah, sure. But… If you hated the shit I made when I was a kid, you’ll really hate this.

I didn’t hate it. I just… It was just distracting, from the work we were supposed to be doing.

Yeah, that was sort of the point. But I get it. Here.

The next text is a stand alone link to an Instagram account that Roman followed after switching over to his finsta.

It was hard to miss the green that had become his brother’s signature used in more and more egregious ways. It felt like he was trying to make his audience cringe away, like he wanted them to be a little uncomfortable, and that neon green certainly helped.

But he thought that might make sense. Roman wished so many people didn’t just feel comfortable looking at him the way they did. Like he was an object.

This is really good. He texted back.

I know, right? I also take normal boring people commissions, you know, to pay the bills.

Remus followed this up with a nearly finished painting of some kind of husky mix with bright blue eyes.

Oh, and furries! They pay pretty well, but it’s not my aesthetic, so it’s not on the insta.

What are furries? Roman asked, and with the length of time it took Remus to respond, he could feel his brother cackling.

Roman had already turned on his private browsing window and started to google when he suddenly received a half dozen pictures of hybrid animal-humans of all varieties and it followed from the wikipedia article he was reading.

He almost couldn’t believe that anyone would just feel comfortable going around acting like that when Roman gets shit on for trying to wear nail polish to red carpets.

Except, lots of people do lots of things that Roman can’t do, like eat pastries, and take hot showers, and get along with their siblings without needing a therapist to intervene.

Wow. Is what he sends back, because he can’t think of anything more coherent to say, and Remus was quick to respond.

:) I’m glad to be a part of your furry awakening. If you find yourself interested, I know a guy who makes fur suits!

That doesn’t even surprise me. Are you one of these?

Nah. I just like people. The weirder, the better. Like, the people society gawks at and says ‘what the fuck are you doing?!’, those are my favorite people. :)

That doesn’t surprise me either.

It took a few minutes for Remus to respond after that, meanwhile, Roman went back to drying his hair so he didn’t sleep on it and run the risk of it being unmanageable in the morning.

But seriously, though. Are you okay? Real talk.

Roman stared at his phone, not sure he wanted to tell the truth, but certain that he couldn’t lie.

I’m going to be. He finally responds. I’ve had bad days before and I’ll have them again. I’m good for now.

As an afterthought he added, Thank you for checking.

Hey, what the hell are brothers for? You know, besides making money and ignoring each other for 6 straight years. /j

Roman had to look up what “/j” meant, but when he saw it meant “joking” he figured it was okay to shoot back, Exactly. /j

Did you learn that from me just now, or did you know that?

I had to google it.

Figures. I was about to say there was no way you know tone indicators but don’t know what a furry is. I was about to lose my shit.

Nothing’s ever stopped you before.

True.

The last bit just hung there for a while, and Roman thinks he should probably say something, but Remus saved him.

Good night, baby brother. Remus texted, and it was the first time he’d heard Remus say that in 20 years.

Good night giant pain in my ass.

And don’t you forget it. <3

Roman smiled at the last text and puts his phone down to finish his skin care, his face mask ready to be washed off.

He didn’t have to look up “<3”.

Chapter Text

The next day Roman skipped breakfast so he could have food at the cafe with Remus. He didn’t do as much with his hair as he probably should have, choosing instead to put on a hat and dark sunglasses. He didn’t usually have people following him or watching him leave his complex, but he took a few unnecessary turns on his way out to Patton’s Place just in case. He didn’t see anyone following him, at least, and his headache was mostly just a dull ache behind his eyes today. He turned up his favorite playlist (mostly Celine Dion) and by the time he saw the road sign introducing Remus’ personal hamlet, he’d already been belting along with every song long enough that he felt better than he had just 24 hours ago. He was not concerned with his mother or anything else really. He was just filled with the way it made him feel for Remus to have typed “<3” to him and the way it felt to just talk to him like they were brothers again. He didn’t think anything could bring his mood down after that.

He walked into Patton’s Place, hood still up, but he found Remus easily in the crowd. He’d dyed the rest of his hair to match the pale streak that’d been there since they were children. If Roman had tried to go that color his make up artists would probably say it washed him out, but it looked good, interesting. Roman ran an idle hand over his cap covered hair just as Remus turned and grinned at him, waving him over.

Somehow it felt too casual. A couple weeks ago they’d been flinging vitriol at each other, but now they’re sitting down to coffee.

Remus already had something in front of him, and Roman was already scheming how to get out of eating an entire pastry.

“I’m going to go get something. Do you have what you want?”

“I’m waiting on a lemon rhubarb experiment from Patton. He’ll probably bring you one too, but I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.”

Roman nodded. “That’s probably for the best. I kind of forgot what day it was and had a big breakfast.”

Remus just nodded as Roman went to order himself an espresso and whatever pastry looked the smallest.

Virgil was at the counter and Roman tried to play it cool as he ordered. Virgil didn’t say anything, but it felt awkward not to acknowledge it.

“Thanks for the other day. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it princey, I’ve got a reputation to upkeep.” Virgil shrugged it off and started making his espresso. “I’ll bring your muffin to the table with the thing Patton has coming for Remus, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Roman left his change in the tip jar and couldn’t help but look back when he was going back to his seat, feeling eyes on him.

Virgil looked away as soon as their eyes met, so quickly Roman felt startled by it.

“Checking out your next manhunt? I can be your wingman, if you want.” Remus’ eyebrows raised at his own proposition and Roman glanced discreetly in Virgil’s direction to make sure he wasn’t looking before smacking Remus on the arm.

“Will you shut up. I’m not even…” Roman huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeesh. Sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone is as out and proud as me and mine. My bad.” Remus seemed genuinely remorseful, but he missed the mark.

“I’m not…” Roman took a deep breath, clenching his jaw like what he was about to say was a strain. “I’m not gay, Remus.”

Remus eyebrows tilted down, incredulous. “Really?”

“No. Jesus. I… Do you… I can just look at people, okay. I model. People look at me for a living. He’s got an interesting appearance. It’s… it’s not like that.” Roman stressed, and Remus looked him up and down with a sideways sort of gaze.

“Okay,” Remus held his hands up, “It’s not like that. You were just looking.” Remus closed his hands exaggeratedly, flamboyantly, even, as though he was rubbing it in Roman’s face, and Roman wished he had his coffee so he could take a sip of it.

Roman knew that Remus didn’t believe him, but if the matter was put away, then that was all he could ask for.

“Patton’s newest whatever this is,” Virgil said with a wrinkled nose as he put down the plate, “and my own insane concoction, oat milk and a bunch of floral shit you don’t want to know about. Maybe there’s some coffee in there. I don’t fucking know.” Virgil smiled at Remus’ enthusiastic sip as Virgil turned to give Roman his espresso and muffin.

“Holy fucking shit Virgil. This is fucking good! What the fuck?!” Remus exclaimed, sporting a mill mustache that should’ve been impossible

“What, you’re surprised?” Virgil smirked. “Are you doubting my abilities? I’m a better barista than you are an artist, you ass.”

“Uh!” Remus put a hand to his heart and threw himself back in his chair. “You wound me. Emo freak of my heart, you’ve pierced me. Right through the veil.” Remus put his hand dramatically to his forehead, the imitation of a damsel.

“Shut up,” Virgil laughed and shoved Remus, who promptly pretended to almost fall out of his chair.

“Attacked. I’m being attacked, Roman, help.” Remus pretended his voice was cracking on the final syllable, reaching across the table to his brother who put his hands up in surrender when Virgil looked at him.

“Oh, no. Listen, you don’t fuck with the guy who makes the coffee. That is a withdrawal I do not need.”

Virgil grinned at him and Roman didn’t feel warmer in the chest about it. “Smart man. Maybe you’re not so air-headed after all.”

Roman scoffed. “Uh! Remus I take it back, we can kill him in the night.” He put a wounded hand to his own chest, leaning forward to conspire with his half slumped brother.

“Excellent!” Remus sat up straight, chin high, “You hear that Virge, I’ve got a coconspirator. You’re all but dead now.”

“I’m shaking in my Converse. Terrified. Truly.” Virgil delivered these lines with the flattest tone known to man and Remus broke into a fit of giggles.

“Virgil, I love you. You’re the light of my life. The fire in my hearth. The Chemical to my Romance.”

Virgil sighed. “Are you done? I have other customers.” But Virgil was not exactly able to keep the smile off his face.

With utmost sincerity and drama worthy of a soap opera spot, Remus said, “I’m never done with you Virgil. You are my everything.”

“Gay.” Virgil said and then they both broke out into laughter.

“No for real, this is really fucking good.” Remus took another sip of his coffee. “You’ve got a gift, emo.”

“Thanks. Order another. Tip well.” Virgil finger guns as he was about to walk away, and Remus called him back, once last time.

“Ehh, Roman’s a big enough tipper for both of us, right bro?”

Roman glared at his brother . “I feel like there’s an innuendo in that that I don’t understand. I’m not 12 anymore, Remus, you can’t just trick me into saying things.”

“You’re right. And also the last time I tricked you into saying something dirty by accident was when you were 18, so…” Remus trailed off, mischievous.

Virgil nodded like he was coming to a realization after a deep contemplation. “That doesn’t surprise me. You really give innocence, but not in a fun way. In a ‘I think you may have been too sheltered’ kind of a way.”

Roman blushed, much to his own distress.

“Not too sheltered. He did grow up with me.” Remus pointed at himself dramatically.

“Yeah, you also give ‘sheltered since childhood’. You just happen to be a freak.” Virgil smirked.

“And don’t you forget it.” Remus raised his eyebrows like he was flirting, but Roman was pretty sure that he’s with Logan, so… they’re playing? They’re playing.

Interesting.

He’d never flirted like that with someone who didn’t end up in his bed, but maybe things were just different for Remus.

Virgil left with a final, sarcastic salute, and Remus graciously waited until the emo was out of earshot before he returned to their previous conversation.

“So, that’s Virgil. Still not gay?”

“Yeah, Re. Still not gay.”

“I don’t know. Don’t think I missed that blush. Or do you just randomly go red from your neck to your ears in the presence of cute guys?”

“Shut up,” Roman reached across the table to smack Remus again.

“The lady doth protest too much,” Remus said, but shrugged and dropped it, taking another sip of his coffee. “Fuck that is good. Do you want some?”

Roman shook his head. “I don’t take milk in my coffee. It upsets my stomach.”

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

“I watched you down a latte literally less than a month ago.”

“And I got sick afterwards. Can you just- drop it?”

“Yeah, fine.” Remus said quietly. “Whatever you want.”

Roman closed his eyes.

“Also, this is oat milk, so…”

“I said drop it. Please.”

A silence sits between them just for a moment.

“Is this about the calories?”

Roman’s eyes snapped open, ready to fight, but Remus was watching him gently.

“It’s okay if it is. No judgement. You can just say no.”

Roman swallowed hard and then nodded.

“I have a really important runway coming up and… sugar makes me bloat. I can’t… It’s really important to me.”

Remus raised a pierced eyebrow. “Important in a money way or an art way?”

Roman smiled hesitantly. “In an art way.”

“Okay, then you have to tell me all about it. I’m the art guy. You can’t not tell me about your art.” Remus leaned forward, pastry forgotten and waited for Roman to spill his guts.

And he did.

By the end of it, Remus looked almost proud, and Roman didn’t know how to handle that. He didn’t think his mother had ever looked at him with pride except when he said that his contract had been upped or that he wa going to be making more money. It was… nice to be appreciated for the work he was doing.

“I think that’s gonna fucking kill, RoBro. I just have to ask again, are you sure you’re not gay? Because this reads like a fucking coming out story.” Remus had inexact sketches of what Roman could remember of the outfits on the napkins in front of him, done in a multi-colored pen that he apparently just carried around. It said “Love, Supernova” on the side and Roman had to try not to feel something about that.

“I’m probably about to get a booty call from my ex, and I think she could attest to the fact that I’m not gay.”

“Bisexual is also an option.” Remus said with a shrug. “But, you know, whatever. We can’t all be the cool gay twin, I get it.”

Roman looked down at his hands. Processing that for the first time.

“You and Logan. Are you happy?” He asked, because he had more specific questions to ask, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to ask out right.

“Yeah.” Remus smiled, doodling a set of dark rimmed glasses in the corner of his napkin. “We have our ups and downs, but so does everyone. Apparently, there’s supposed to be more ups than downs. Who knew?” Remus smiled up at Roman. “You got anyone special, other than that ex whose obviously only using you for your hot bod.” He gestured at himself and Roman scoffed at his lewd expression.

“No. Not… We were never really that serious and… I don’t know. When do I really have the time? And all the fan favorite date activities involve food, which is just… so hard.”

“Yeah, I don’t miss those days.” Remus sighed, sketching some French fries on his napkin. “Trying to look just right. You know, I had to teach myself not to eat everything in site, once I got out of rehab the first time. Apparently, years of food restriction really fucks with you.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Roman sighed swirling the last bit of espresso in his cup, the pastry to his side only half eaten. The espresso is bitter from sitting out for too long, but he refused to switch to drip coffee. Why prolong the experience?

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Didn’t mean for that to sound judgey or anything.”

“It didn’t. You’re right. You know I… I was having a shit day a while back and got myself Chinese. I had a panic attack about bloating and my career ending before I could get through it.” Roman laughed, but there was no real joy in it. Just bitter longing.

“That fucking sucks, dude.” Remus reached over and squeezed his brother’s hand. “Maybe… I know you love it, but… maybe it’s worth exploring other options. Have you tried, I don’t know, getting behind the camera? Fashion design? Lighting tech. There’s ways to be in the industry without being in it, you know. If you want that.”

Roman shook his head. “No. I… It’d be starting over. I- I can’t. I’ve worked too long and too hard to just throw it all away.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be throwing it away. Just... moving on. Normal people do it all the time.”

“What, like you?” Roman’s tone was spitting, but he regretted it as soon as he heard it. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Remus kept his eyes trained on his sketch-filled napkin. “But, yeah… like me.”

The silence between them was heavy once again. Roman doesn’t know how to talk to his own brother. What kind of person doesn’t know how to talk to his own brother.

The question he wanted to ask, circles in his head, but he ignores it.

“And you’re happy? Here? Like this?”

Remus looked up at him, his face as sincere as he was ever capable of. “Yeah. I’m really, really happy, Ro.”

Roman looked back down at his espresso cup, drained it of the last bitter nothing within.

“Did you know you were going to be happy? Before you left?”

Remus picked at the crumbs on his plate. “I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night. I just knew… I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending for the camera anymore. It was breaking me. Some days I would wake up and I didn’t even know why I bothered. I didn’t even know why it mattered. Why anything mattered. And… it only happened on days when we had shoots, or runways, or something work related. Whether it was going to be at 8am or 4 in the afternoon, it just… It made me feel like nothing was worth it.”

Roman swallowed hard. Neither of them can look at each other while they have this conversation that was long over due but felt too early for the tentative nature of their relationship.

“And Mom?”

“I tried to tell her, once.” Remus’ pen pierced through his napkin and he had to get another one. “She told me no one’s happy all the time, and to suck it up and be a man. That’s the same shit she said when I told her about… you know.” Remus wasn’t drawing so much as he was doodling, now, circles and circles and circles, filling in the gaps between until the new napkin was covered in them. “I thought she’d be different. I think… I really thought that she’d turn into one of those moms on TV who cry with you when you tell them something terrible and she’d demand the bastard be put in jail, and… I don’t know.” Remus looked up and his eyes were teary. “I should’ve left then, but… I was afraid. I was scared of what would happen, of what I’d do if I didn’t have you guys. I didn’t think I could make it on my own. I never had before.”

Roman swallowed hard, his own eyes welling with tears.

“What changed?”

Remus blinked and went back to doodling circles. “I thought you were happy, with what we did and everything. But… That last shoot, I heard you crying in your dressing room and I… I heard Mom tell you to save it for the cameras and you just… didn’t say anything. When you walked out on set you looked like a shell. And I… couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t be a part of that shit. Not when it was hurting you too.”

Roman paused like he was having a realization. “You tried to make me go with you.”

Remus nodded. “I tried to make you come with me. I figured… if we were both unhappy, we could both walk off and mom couldn’t do shit. I thought if you were ever going to go with me, that would be the day. I- And then you said that shit and I got pissed and I couldn’t be around you anymore. I just… I fucked off without even thinking about it. By the time I’d realized what I’d done I was too scared to go back. Too proud.” Remus swallowed, half laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You know, you’re getting Remus King’s Therapy Experience: The Speed Run here. I had to spend like 4 years in therapy working through this shit.” Remus laughed, trying to deflect from the seriousness of what he’s just said.

“Mom doesn’t know where you are.” Roman felt like he had to say.

“Yeah. I’m sure she’d be here breathing down my neck if she did. Thanks for not telling her.”

Roman didn’t feel like any words would be adequate so he just said, “Yeah.”

“If you ever want mom not to know where you are, me and Lo have a spare room.” Remus kept his eyes downcast while he made this offer, like he wasn’t sure how Roman would take it.

“Thanks.” Roman said, choking on his own emotions. “I appreciate it.”

“What the fuck are brothers for, right?”

“Yeah.”

The silence carried on, one, two, three breaths, and Roman tried to find something, anything else to talk about.

“If you wanted to come, I could probably get you tickets to the show. I’m sure Mom will snub it in protest. She doesn’t really get it.”

“Mom doesn’t get anything.” Remus rolled his eyes, but then bit at his lip. “I’d like to support you, but… The article just came out and…”

Roman filled the in the blanks. “You like being out of the spotlight.”

“So much.” Remus smiled, relieved at Roman’s understanding. “I… When we started talking again, some of my therapy stuff did a backslide. Old wounds or some shit. Not from you- from that.” He gestured to the napkin covered in clothing sketches. “I don’t think it would be smart to throw myself on that sword yet.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Roman took a sip from his empty coffee cup, contemplating. “I can have my publicist face time you, so you can see it. Just keep your camera off in case anyone overhears. Oversees? Over… whatever. So no one knows it’s you.”

Remus smiled. “I’d like that.”

The silence hung between them again.

“Do you wanna do this again sometime? We can go to the park or something, no pressure to eat or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Roman smiled softly at the brother he’d missed without even knowing it. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, so I’m eager to hear how your coffee went!” Dr. Dormier started them off several days after said coffee, already sipping from his own, ever present iced coffee before Roman or Remus can think to respond.

“It was good.” Remus answered for both of them, looking to Roman for confirmation.

“Yeah, it was. We didn’t fight or anything.”

“But it would be okay if you had.” Dormier reminded them. “It’d be super normal, in fact. Siblings without the issues you guys have in your past fight all the time. If you fought, that would be okay so long as you knew how to handle it.”

Roman scrunched his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“You know,” Remus sighed, not exasperated at Roman, but at the number of times he’d heard this speech. “Take deep breaths, walk away from the situation before you say something you regret. Wait until cooler heads prevail.”

Dormier nodded, eyebrows scrunching above the dark shades. “Yeah. That’s true. But… do you know how to recognize when it’s starting to get to the point where you need to take these steps?”

Remus was quiet for a moment, pointedly not making eye contact.

Dormier sighed. “We’ve sure got our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

30 minutes later, Roman and Remus have homework to log the way specific emotions feel in their physical bodies as well as their individual responses to them, with instructions to bring the log in on their next session or email it to Dr. Dormier.

Neither of them are really looking forward to this activity, especially not Roman, when his explicit instructions are to log feelings as they happen and he wasn’t exactly going to be able to get to his phone during his contract hours.

“So, aside from the wonderful homework I’ve given you, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” They both said, and then they looked at each other, knowing this isn’t going to slide.

“I feel like fucking shit.” Remus admitted, and it gave Roman the courage to do the same.

“I feel I shouldn’t need to be taught how to know what my emotions are.”

Dormier shrugged. “Everyone has to be taught how to know their emotions. You don’t just spring out of the womb knowing how to handle complex feelings. Someone is supposed to teach you that. No offense, your mom sucked. She certainly didn’t try to help you understand your feelings, just based on the few things you’ve said about her.”

Remus snorted. “Understatement much? She literally taught us to bury our emotions so we could work better.”

Dormier looked to Roman like he expected to get some pushback, but Roman didn’t exactly disagree. Two things could be true at once, their mother made them better models and she didn’t really give them the space to express themselves.

She still wasn’t giving Roman space to express himself.

“Roman, do you still feel bad about having to learn this skill?”

Roman took a few moments to answer. “It still sucks.”

“Of course. How else does it feel?”

“Like it’s my fault. Like I should’ve already figured it out.”

Dormier nodded. “Remus, do you feel similarly?”

“Not right now, no. I definitely used to, before I started talking to a therapist. We were kids playing at adult levels of responsibility. We weren’t really guided so much as we were expected to pick things up. So… yeah, I used to feel like it was my fault when I wasn’t doing things right.”

Roman nodded along to this, and Dormier seemed to be thinking.

“Let’s make that part of our homework then. If you catch yourself blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault, not knowing how to do something you haven’t hd explained to you, not being able to have perfect control of your emotions, etc, add that to your log. We can compare notes.”

“You gonna do one too?” Remus questioned, and Remy raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d feel better if you showed us what it looked like.” Roman said before Remus could say something stupid.

Dormier nodded. “Okay. I’ll email you something tonight, but remember, there’s not a wrong way to document what you’re feeling. This exercise can’t be done ‘wrong’. Even if you accidentally end up recording nothing that we can’t use for my intended purposes, that’s not wrong. There might just be something new we need to explore.”

Roman nodded like he didn’t quite believe him, but Remus seemed pretty sure of himself, so Dormier trusted their newfound casual communication to shore up whatever uncertainties Roman had.

“Feel free to share highlights and lowlights with each other, if you want to.” Dormier planted that seed for them. “Do either of you have any finals words before we end session?”

Roman spoke up. “I’m starting therapy. Like, on my own. To deal with my shit.”

Dormier smiled. “That’s good. I’m proud of you. That can be hard.”

“Thanks.” Roman said, then looked to Remus like he wanted desperately not to be the last person to have spoken.

“Yeah. I think I’ve finally convinced Logan to give therapy a try. Now if I can just get his brother on board I think everyone I know will be getting their head shrunk.”

Dormier raised an eyebrow. “Is that the idea you want to perpetuate if you believe therapy is working?”

“Yes. Shrunken heads are cool. Therapy is cool. My logic is solid.”

Roman snorted, but smiled fondly in his brother’s direction. Remus winked back at him, happy to get the attention off of him if he ever needed it.

“Okay, enough of whatever that is. Let’s talk next appointment. Are you coming in next week? I feel like you’re progressing independently well enough that we might be able to spread sessions out more, but if you would like to continue weekly sessions, we can do that.”

Roman looked to Remus before replying, “I think bi-weekly sessions would be easier for me. That way I can alternate between this and therapy on my own.”

“Smart.” Remus validated from beside him. “We can’t all be beholden to no one, doc.” Remus pointed at himself and grinned. “Roman’s got a real career. I love that for you, by the way. He’s got a runway coming up that I’m literally obsessed with. I’ve been painting for days.”

Dormier nodded, amused. “That’s fun. Make sure to share.”

“Follow me on instagram and maybe one day you’ll get to see it.” Remus did finger guns. “Always be plugging.”

Roman sighed, but it was fond.

“You guys are too much. Too much. Get out. I’ll see you in two weeks. Go away. I’m tired of you.”

Remus grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and grinned. “You love us. You don’t have to say it doc, I can feel it from here.” Remus’ hand fluttered over his chest like he was touching the very love he claimed was there.

“Roman, can you hang back real quick? Bye Remus.” Dormier waved the older King brother away.

Remus waved a them both and made the phone sign at Roman, who nodded, knowing they should probably set up their next coffee sooner rather than later.

Dormier was all business once Remus left the room, flipping through the pages of his notebook until it was firmly shut. “I was going to let you know that you have the option to have me share your notes with your new therapist. Have you done the onboarding paperwork yet?”

Roman shook his head.

“When you do, ask about consent for sharing my notes with your new doctor. They usually give you a form to give me so I can give them what I have. Or they fax me the form showing you’ve consented. You’ll have to sign something, is the main thing. You can also choose not to have me share my notes. It’s up to you.”

“It’d be nice not to have to say everything twice.” Roman nodded, and Dormier scratched something onto a notepad on his desk.

“They’d only get notes pertaining directly to you. Not Remus. I can’t diagnose you with anything in a paired session, so there’d be no notes regarding a diagnosis, but your therapist might be able to use my notes to inform a diagnosis if they chose to pursue one. Do you still want me to share notes?”

Roman thinks for a moment. “Do you think they could diagnose me?”

“Not if you ask them not to. Unless you’re paying through insurance, diagnosis isn’t required. Currently, I don’t see anything that would indicate a major undiagnosed problem, but then again, I’m not looking for one. I can’t guarantee one way or another that there’s anything to diagnose.”

“You know Emile Picani? He going to diagnose me without asking?”

Dormier shrugged. “He’s not going to tell you if you don’t want to know. He’s not going to do questionnaires if you don’t want to do them, aside from the initial ones they make everyone do. You can trust him. I trust him. I’ve referred my own patients to him before when they needed a slightly different approach than I could provide.”

Roman nodded.

“You going to need anything?”

Roman shook his head.

“Hey,” Dormier stands and puts a light hand on Roman’s shoulder. “It’s good you’re doing this. You should be proud. I’m proud of you.”

Roman nodded and smiled as much as he could, but he was suddenly, inexplicably tired.

“Do some self care today.” Dormier said as they started toward the door. “This was a lot. Give yourself a break.”

Roman nodded, but the way his brow stayed taunt let Remy know that he didn’t really intend to do it.

Chapter Text

Roman was in a familiar waiting room. The last time that he was in that waiting room he and Remus had been struggling to keep a lid on things. They’d really been ignoring each other, if they were being honest, but that was entirely to keep a lid on things.

The woman he’d talked to over the phone was kind enough to let him choose between the three therapists working in the office, and Roman had still chosen Picani, feeling like maybe it was safer to sit in a room with someone who already knew some of what was going on.

Instead of being invited in by the secretary Picani opened his office door and smiled at Roman before gesturing him in. “Hey Roman. Come on in.”

Roman felt a pounding uncertainty deep in his chest and clawing its way up his throat. He took a deep breath in the way he’d talked about with Dormier and followed Picani into his office.

Picani was less enthusiastic than he was the last time that he’d seen him, and Roman appreciated that. Not that the enthusiasm was bad, it was just a little overwhelming.

“Sit wherever feels comfortable.” Picani said with a genuine smile as he sat down in a soft cream colored chair. “You can even lay on the floor if you want.” Roman thought that the floor was maybe a bit much, but he did choose to sit on the couch, reclined against the arm. It felt like support.

“Great choice. That couch is my favorite.” Picani smiled and relaxed back in his own chair.

Roman nodded, but didn’t respond.

“So, I think it’s probably best to address the elephant in the room. The last time that I saw you, you were a little out of it. Do you want to talk about that experience, or would you prefer to go in another direction?”

“I… know what you’re talking about, but it’s a little fuzzy.” Roman’s face went hot as he admitted that.

Picani nodded sympathetically. “That’s okay. Would you like me to tell you about it from my perspective? You can say no.”

Roman took a minute and then nodded.

“Okay. I ran into you while I was on a break. I like to do little walks every so often so I don’t get too tense throughout the day.” Picani laughed, self-deprecating for some reason. “We talked briefly. On the way back to your car we stopped at Remus’ mural and you seemed to have a deep emotional reaction. Do you happen to remember that reaction?”

Roman nodded, and then chuckles to himself, remembering the specific observation that had made him so upset.

“It was,” He chuckled coldly. “It was the hair. The color of the figures hair. It reminded me of the headshots that we did when we were kids. I was already feeling kind of off that day. I’d had a fight with my mother, and it didn’t really leave me feeling great about… anything, and so… something about that just really set me off.”

Picani nodded, affirming. “Why do you think that hair color associated wit that time period was so distressing? I hear you laughing, but I also hear a lot of deep introspection happening maybe without being verbalized.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, gave the doctor, a smiling, sort of dismissive scoff. “Come on, Picani, isn’t it obvious what’s so upsetting about it?”

Picani nodded. “I’m sure it’s obvious to you. But I always try not to put words in my client’s mouths. I’m not going to make conclusions unless you tell them to me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of therapy? Aren’t you supposed to fix me by telling me what’s wrong.”

Picani put his notebook down on the table beside him, and looked serious for the first time that Roman can ever remember.

“I’m going to say something and I want you to really hear me out, okay? You’re not broken. I don’t need to fix you, and neither does anyone else. You’re not an object that exists in a state of ‘fixed’ or ‘broken’. People are more complex than that. If you have things that bring you distress, I want us to talk about and evaluate them. Let’s help you not feel distressed about those things anymore. But you don’t need to be fixed. You aren’t broken.”

Roman felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes, but he tried to ignore them, slumping back into the couch and crossing his arms.

“I know I’m not broken.” He said, but the statement made his eyes sting hotter.

“Good. That’s good. I’m sorry if what I said implied otherwise. I just wanted to correct a language use I heard.”

Picani sat in silence then, not offering up anything for Roman to respond to, leaving Roman sitting and stewing in his own feelings, feeling like fucking shit without even entirely knowing why.

Roman stayed silent out of protest for a while, but eventually the hum of the silence and the white noise machine drove him insane.

“What’s the point of coming if you’re not going to fix what’s wrong? I don’t want to stand in the street and fucking cry. If you’re not going to fix that, then why am I even here?”

“Well, I can’t fix that, but we can talk it through. We can understand why it happens, and teach you some coping mechanisms so that you can try to reign in reactions that make you uncomfortable, but I really want to reiterate that there is nothing wrong with you, and there’s nothing wrong with what you felt or how it made you react. It can be good to get some of those feelings out of you. But I understand that it can feel really uncomfortable to have those reactions in public, especially when you are a public figure.”

Roman glared at nothing.

“How are you feeling about what I just said, Roman?”

“I feel like you don’t get it.”

“Okay,” Picani nodded. “Help me understand.”

“I don’t like that I just broke down in the middle of the street. I don’t like that you’re acting like that’s okay. Normal people don’t fucking cry in the middle of an alley after looking at one piece of art.”

Picani nodded. “I have a couple of challenges to that. I don’t think that it’s as abnormal as you think it is. Art is meant to be a motivator. It’s supposed to create emotions within you. It is normal to cry when you see a piece of art that resonates with you, and when you have a personal connection to the subject of the art, I feel that that’s even more true. I don’t think that sort of emotional response is wrong.”

Roman didn’t respond.

“Roman, I want to check in. Can you tell me what you’re thinking right now?”

“I think you still don’t get it.”

“Okay. I might not be doing a great job at listening. I’m going to try not to respond and let you say your piece.”

Roman stayed quiet again.

Picani waited him out.

“You know what. You told me that you weren’t going to tell me what to feel, but you keep doing it. ‘This is normal. You don’t need to be fixed. There’s nothing wrong.’ I feel wrong! I feel like fucking shit! I- I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to have these emotional fucking breakdowns like I’m 14 years old and can’t keep myself contained! I want you to help me with that!”

Picani nodded. “I hear you saying that when I try to reframe your thoughts, it makes you feel like I don’t find your feelings valid. Is that correct?”

Roman nodded, arms still crossed, still glaring at nothing.

“I’m sorry that my actions made you feel that way. I’m going to make the effort not to reframe thoughts with you unless you ask me to. On that note, I need you to let me know when you feel like a thought you’re having needs to be reframed. I’ve had some people say things like ‘tell me I’m wrong’ or ‘I don’t like thinking about it this way’ but you can also just say ‘reframe this for me’. Anytime you feel like maybe your thought is too self contained, you can just make that request and I can help expand it with you. Can you agree to that with me?”

Roman tongued at the back of his teeth as he pondered, and then finally nodded. Picani smiled. “Great. So, let’s return to some of what you were thinking about. Let’s come back to the painting. You said it reminded you of when you were younger. Why do you think that might have caused so much emotional distress?”

Roman stayed quiet for a minute.

“I didn’t necessarily want to do what I do. That young, we were doing a lot of really boring catalogue shoots. Dozens of outfits and pretending to be happy about them. It was irritating. But it was supposed to be glamourous. Mom said it was. That it was an honor to do what we did.”

“Okay. Did it feel like an honor?”

“It felt like shit.” Roman said, and he realized this was probably the first time he’d ever said anything like that. He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that before.”

“Why not?”

Roman blinked. “My mom would’ve… it would’ve killed her to hear me say that. She was so excited about all of it. The head shots, the auditions, booking shoots, being on set. I wasn’t supposed to hate it. I was supposed to be grateful.”

“Okay. And now, looking back on it, are you?”

Roman scoffed.

“I’m- I have a career because of it.”

“Okay. But is 12 year old you grateful?”

Roman laughed to himself. “No.”

Picani nodded. “Okay. Can I put forward a thought?”

“Whatever.”

“It’s okay to feel two things at once, if that’s what’s going on. It’s okay to be upset with your mom for making you work at 12 and to enjoy the career you have now and understand the necessity of that work at 12 to get you here. You don’t have to pick one.”

Roman sat and stared into space for a minute.

“Roman, are you hearing me? Did I overstep?”

Roman looked directly at Picani.

“If I ever told my mother that I didn’t like doing this when I was 12, I would be subject to an hours long lecture. I can’t just… feel that.”

Picani nodded. “It sounds like you care a lot about your mother. Do you want to talk about her?”

Roman scoffed. “No. I never want to talk about her. I want to avoid her.”

“Okay. How often would you say you talk to her, despite the fact that you don’t want to?”

“Nearly every day. She’s my manager.”

“Okay. Does she do a good job of that?”

Roman looked down at his feet, not sure how to answer. “She used to, maybe. Recently she’s been… less in tune with what I need. I met with a designer to talk about their next runway. It’s not the kind of runway that’s previewing real, wearable clothes. It’s meant to be art. Maybe some of the pieces are a part of her upcoming collection, but the overall runway is artistic. And the final look is something that’s not traditionally masculine. My mother tried to… she told the designer to their face that she didn’t think I should wear it and I loved the look. I loved the story they were telling. I made her leave so I could talk to them on my own.”

“It sounds like you did a good job setting boundaries. How did you feel about doing that?”

“I was seething. I… she could’ve ruined my ability to work with that designer and I hated that. I hate that she is so stuck in the past. I haven’t done a catalogue shoot since I was 17, but she still pushes back on so much of the more avant garde stuff that I really enjoy. I feel like she wants me to stay like I was back then. I… do you know anything about Remus and I, from outside of our sessions?”

“No, sorry.”

“Okay. Well… Remus and I used to be a modeling team. We started doing a few editorial shoots when we were 16, but when we were 17 we really had something go viral. It was this shoot where Remus and I were royalty, and since we were twins, the differences in our clothes and styling was really stark. We were sort of… enemies. Brothers on two sides of a war, that kind of thing. It was really big, and then we spent like a year doing shoots like that. Artsy, me vs. him type things. I was always the ‘good’ twin and it was so stressful to try to be that. And now, I’m trying to break out of that, I have been for 6 years, but she just keeps trying to draw me back into that stereotype. I don’t want to just be wrapped up in a bow and called ‘good’. I’m a person. I fuck up. Sometimes I’m an asshole. Sometimes I don’t do things that I should. I’m just… I’m tired of her thinking about me like I’m this perfect, two dimensional character.”

Picani nodded. “Is there a reason you can’t choose to have a different manager? This seems to be very upsetting for you.”

Roman shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “I can’t just do that. I’d have to find a new manager, and she’d… I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Is there a way we can frame it where it doesn’t feel like a blow to her? Maybe something like ‘I want to spend more time together as mother and son rather than business associates.’?”

Roman scoffed. “I don’t want to spend time with her as my mother. She’s… difficult.”

“You chastised me earlier for not taking your feelings seriously. You can be honest. Usually hesitation like that, before a word like that, means you’re trying to say it the nice way. There’s no judgement here. You can call your mom a- I don’t know, the b-word, and I won’t bat an eye.”

Roman laughed. “Did you just say the b-word.”

“Cursing in a professional setting just feels wrong to me, but you of course are welcome to use whatever language makes the most sense to you.”

“Yeah? Well, my mom’s a bitch. She’s hard to be around. And I love her, but she’s so fucking emotional about everything. Anything I do and she has to get worked up about it. ‘Is this how you treat your mother?’ she asks me, when I’m just trying to make sure a business deal goes well, but then she has the nerve to show up unannounced at my apartment and make a nuisance of herself. Is that how you treat your son?!”

Picani nodded. “It feels like you’ve been keeping this bottled up for a while.”

“She’s my mother.” Roman said, like that explained everything.

“I have lots of clients with rocky relationships with their mothers. It can be hard, but at the end of the day, parents are just people. They’re no better than you or me. They’re just people who had a kid. That doesn’t make them some new species incapable of making mistakes and acting badly. You’re allowed to be mad at her for it.”

Roman bit his lip while he pondered that.

“I don’t know how to be mad at her. I just… I ignore her until she goes away or I nod and pretend I’m listening when she won’t. I don’t even know what to do with angry.”

Picani nodded. “That’s okay. Do you want to be angry?”

“Of course I don’t. Nobody wants to be angry.”

“Well, some people do, but let me rephrase. Do you want to be allowed to express your anger, when you feel it?”

Roman was quiet for a much shorter time than all his previous pauses. “Yes.”

“Okay. Then let’s work on that. Not making you angry, just giving you the tools to let that anger out, when you want to, okay?”

“Okay.”

——

The last half of the session Emile told Roman how to reign anger in intentionally, and they talked about strategies for releasing it productively. They talked about art (which Roman isn’t very good at). They talked about music (which Roman indulges in regularly). They talked about screaming into pillows and writing venting letters, and not stopping anger when it wells up so long as it’s not hurting anyone. Letting it loose so it doesn’t eat him up.

Roman added what he’d learned about anger to his list from Dr. Dormier, and they went over the activity he and Remus had been asked to complete.

“This really helps, actually. Thanks.”

“No problem. Feel free to check in if you need to. You have my email. I’m really proud of you for coming in today, Roman. Good work.”

Roman didn’t know what to say to that so he just nodded and waved awkwardly on his way out the door, not feeling quite up to putting on his entire facade when he’d just spent the last 45 minutes being so uncomfortably honest.

And maybe he wondered why it was so uncomfortable to be honest, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he checked the clock, and his calendar, and when he’d confirmed that he wasn’t going to miss anything major, he sent Remus a text.

I’m nearby. Wanna get coffee?

Fuck yes! Meet me @ Patton’s. I’ve got something to show you >:)

Roman couldn’t find it in him to be worried about the emoticon Remus had chosen. It felt too much like when they were kids to get him on edge the way it once did.

And maybe that was a miracle.

Roman walked down to the coffee shop, feeling like stretching his legs. He knew he had a few gentle make up wipes in his car so if he sweat more than was acceptable, he could always wipe it away before it made him break out.

He enjoyed the few block lengths walk to Pat’s Place. It brought him peace to hear the intermittent car drive by and the bird song happening from the tops of buildings and the few concrete moored trees along the walkway swaying in the breeze.

He felt a little lighter for having seen Remus’ excitement at them meeting up. He didn’t know what Remus wanted to show him, but he hoped that it was the sketches from their last meeting, but slightly more refined.

He practically bounced into Pat’s and smiled broadly at Virgil, “Hello, My Emo Valentine.” Roman sang as he approached the counter. “An espresso, please.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “It’s 4 in the afternoon.”

“What, do you not serve espresso at 4 in the afternoon?”

“No, we do. I just thought you’d be anti-caffeine. Gotta get your beauty rest and all that, don’t you model?”

Roman grinned. “I am too elated to sleep well anyway. I may as well have an espresso if that’s what I want. So chop chop. Please and thank you. And make whatever Remus usually likes as well. He’s meeting me.”

Virgil gave a little salute and got to work on the coffee, but instead of picking a table in the empty coffee shop, Roman took a seat at the bar, continuing his line of chatter.

“So, emo of my heart, what is the news from this part of the world? How is my brother? How are you?”

“I’m fine. Midterms are kicking my ass, but I’ll survive. Remus is Remus, not much to say there. What about you? You seem pretty chipper today.” Virgil gave him a half grin as he started on his espresso drip. “Last time I saw you, you looked like someone had run over your favorite outfit.”

Roman rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t annoyed. He felt too good to do that. He was playing along, and it felt good. No one was making jokes at his expense. They were just joking.

“I had actually just been in a fight with my mother, which has nearly the same emotional devastation.” Roman shook his head like he was deeply troubled, and Virgil reached across the counter to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about you.” Virgil said with nearly no sincerity, and it made Roman burst into laughter.

Virgil cleaned something in the wake of making Remus’ drink and then handed Roman his espresso. Roman sipped it indulgently and Virgil, with his back turned, continueed his previous question. “For real though. You alright?”

Roman nodded into his espresso, and when Virgil turned to look at him over his shoulder, he smiled gently at him. “Yeah, emo, I’m okay.”

“You know, Princey I have a name.”

“And I’ll use it as soon as you use mine.” Roman smirked, and Virgil snorted, and Roman tried not to think about how that made him feel.

Except, it was part of his homework, wasn’t it? To think about what he felt, and not just ignore it?

He pulled his phone out and made a note.

Virgil - Pat’s - joking.

Light. Butterflies? (Ew). Nauseous? Happy.

“You texting Remus?” Virgil asked, putting a plate that Roman didn’t ask for in front of him.

“Yeah.” Roman lied, smiling as he locked his phone. “He’s-”

The front door swung open wide and loud, announcing Remus’ presence before Remus himself.

“Virgil, I’ve arrived! And I brought my hot boyfriend so you have someone to talk to.” Remus dragged a semi-reluctant Logan in behind him and Logan seemed to share some sort of long-suffering understanding with Virgil from across the room.

“What, am I not good enough to talk to your hot boyfriend?” Roman asked, mostly joking, and he didn’t expect Remus to take it to its logical conclusion, which is, of course, a mistake.

“I didn’t think those sorts of things mattered to you, my apparently token straight brother.” Remus grinned, and Roman scoffed and grumbled about the word “apparently” but otherwise offered no comment.

“Hey, Remus, love you man, but uh, shut the fuck up with challenging people’s identities, yeah?” Virgil pushed the plate closer to Roman, making space at the bar for Logan to sit. Roman tried not to make it obvious that whatever feeling he was getting before had increased itself 10 fold at Virgil coming to his defense, so he channeled himself into sticking his tongue out at Remus, like a child, rather than being an adult and trying to understand what was going on with him.

“Okay. I am hearing you say that I’m not behaving appropriately. And under normal circumstances, I would agree, but I would like to offer the following context. Siblings.” Remus smiled and plastered himself to Roman’s side. Roman elbowed him in the stomach, not hard enough to really hurt, but Remus made a show of being “hurt”, bending in half and clutching his abdomen like he’d been gut punched. “You see what I have to put up with, Virgie? How can you take his side?”

“Because in this singular instance, you deserved it. Stop being an asshole. I made you something new. Go rate it one to ten. Anything lower than a 5 and I’ll spit in your next coffee.” Virgil handed the drink over and a plate with Remus’ rhubarb tart.

Roman glanced down at his own plate, another apple confection, but this one was a muffin. It smelled delicately of apples and cinnamon, and Roman smiled gratefully at Virgil, going to fish his wallet out of his pocket, but Virgil just shook his head.

“I’m experimenting. Just take it, let me know what you think.”

Roman smiled and said a soft thanks as he followed Remus to their table.

The table was only unofficially their table. It just happened to be one they liked and had sat at every time they’d been at Pat’s. It was nice to have the consistency, and it was nice that their mother couldn’t burst in and take it away from them somehow.

“So, what were you in town for?” Remus asked as he dug into the rhubarb filled tart, not much caring for the red that got on his face and in his mustache.

“Therapy. My first solo session.”

“Oh, was it all about Mom? My first one was literally 100% about Mom.”

Roman smiled wryly, and Remus just grinned. “Twinning.”

“Haha.” Roman said dryly, and Remus smirked back at him.

“I know. I’m hilarious.” Remus grinned and put his tart down, licking his fingers messily and reaching into the messenger bag at his side. “Okay, check this shit out. I’ve got a few different concepts going. Here.”

Remus dropped his beaten up sketchbook on the table. The black canvas cover was covered in paint splatters and dirt stains. The edges were bent and tattered, probably from being thrown around and shoved into his bag. There was something about it that was so very Remus that made Roman feel fondness, a more airy feeling than the one with Virgil. He felt full in his chest, but not like it was too much. More like a warm cup of coffee heavy in your hands on a cold morning. It felt good. Comfortable. Heartwarming.

He pulled his phone out and documented the feeling as best he could while Remus went looking for the sketches he wanted to show him.

Remus - coffee shop - sketchbook - full, content, light, happy

“Are you doing therapy right now?” Remus asked, grinning at him from the page that he’s found.

“No.” Roman said sarcastically. “I just thought I’d be rude and text while we’re talking.”

Remus grinned. “Can I see?”

“No.” Roman pulled his phone back as Remus tried to lean over the table to see his screen.

“You’re going to have to share next week anyway. Come on. Show me.” Remus batted his eyes like that was going to sway Roman, who wasn’t even looking at him.

Remus - begging to see notes - annoyed, tighter jaw. Heart beat increased. Pain?

“Boundary. This is making me uncomfortable. I’m still sorting through this myself, I don’t really want to have it scrutinized.”

Remus sat back in his chair and shrugged. “You know what. Fair. Do you want to see mine?”

Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Not like ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’ Just genuinely. Do you want to see?”

Roman shrugged. “If you want to show me.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” Remus pulled his phone out and tapped around a few times until he had the right note and threw it down on the table.

“Okay, this morning, Logan made me breakfast - happy - smile, warm chest, tingly hands. I had to hug him after that. I couldn’t not. DM from commissioner - anxiety - heart racing, sweating, blurry vision. I kind of forgot about the commission to work on these.” He gestured down to his open sketchbook, full of bright, fiery red. “They were actually really understanding, especially when I sent them a sneak peak of this. That was relief, felt lighter. Etc.” He typed that into his note, and Roman wrinkled his nose.

“Did you just type ‘etc.’?”

“Yeah. It’s okay not to always be able to name everything, little bro.”

Roman glared at him for calling him “little” and Remus smirked.

“Real talk,” Remus said as he put his phone to the side and turned his sketchbook around. “Is it really fucking with you that I keep implying you might not be straight? I promise it’s a compliment. The Rainbow Mafia are my favorite people on the planet, and I just want you to be one of us.”

Roman focused his attention on the image in front of him, consumed by bright red that morphed to oranges and yellows and brilliant, bright-hot blues in a few places.

“I mean, it doesn’t feel great to have you thinking I’m something that I’m not, but it’d feel like that if you were saying anything. Like, redhead or short, or whatever. It’s just not how I see myself. It feels weird to have to keep saying it. It feels like I can’t really defend myself without looking homophobic.”

Remus nodded and pulled a pencil out of nowhere jotting a note down upside down on the page. The scrawl was squished and too messy to read, so Roman ignored it in favor of the drawing that was only messily colored.

The background was a brick wall, cracking and crumbling in places. There’s a set of bright red and orange wings painted on it. The eyes weren’t colored, still the white of the page shining through the messy scrawl of skin tone and licks of fire. The figure that Roman knew was supposed to be him was distinctly masculine in spite of the more feminine silhouette of the outfit. The waist looked pulled in by the train, and a loose fitted shirt gave the illusion of a larger chest, creating an hourglass figure in bright red with swirls of black beneath that hint at something dark and terrible lurking beneath the surface.

The slashes of red on the figures face, when he looked again, looked like blood.

“What do you think?” Remus asked, and Roman didn’t answer for too long, just reached out like he wanted to touch it, but he didn’t.

“It’s perfect.” Roman finally said, stunned.

Remus grinned. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if this was what you meant when you said it was supposed to be masculine and feminine. It felt right though. I really like it. Challenging gender norms. It’s a great concept. I don’t think I can post it anywhere, but I definitely want to do the full painting so you can have it. Do you want the outfit to look like the one you’re going to wear, or can it just be my interpretation of the concept?”

“It doesn’t have to be the one I’m going to wear. Just… keep going. I like it.” Roman felt hot behind his eyes, but he tried to ignore it.

“Awesome. Okay. Now, hear me out. I was thinking about doing the eyes like they’re on fire. Like you’re burning up from within. And maybe hands on fire. And maybe like, you’re standing in fire? Also, do you want the face to be you? It doesn’t have to be. I’m pretty good at making up faces. It can also be someone else. Thoughts?”

“I…” Roman didn’t know what he wanted, so he asked, “Why isn’t the face in the mural your face?”

Remus frowned. “It’s always going to be what happened, but I don’t want it to be a part of me anymore. That’s my past. It’s not who I am. I don’t want it to look like me. I just want it to show what I’ve been through.”

Roman nodded. “I want it to have my face.”

Remus grinned. “Excellent.”

They chatted for a little longer and when they finally go their separate ways, Roman mentioned commissioning Remus to finish the painting. Remus tried to refuse, but then Roman said something about doing your art for free when it had value and Remus grudgingly allowed it.

As they go, they hugged, but it was less brief than it had been the times before, and Remus said, “Thanks for believing in me.”

It hit Roman hard enough that he knew he’d have to write it down in his therapy note.

“Thanks for not just turning me away when you could’ve.”

Remus hugged him a little tighter and said, “What are brothers for?”

Roman held him a little tighter back and when he started to turn away, he caught sight of Virgil watching them, and smiled hesitantly.

Remus raised an eyebrow at Roman, which Roman ignored, and then waved at Remus and Virgil on his way out the door.

And maybe he imagined the way that Virgil’s eyes followed him in the reflection of the door. Or maybe he didn’t.

And maybe he wondered if he wanted his eyes to be following him.

But maybe he didn’t.

But maybe he did.

Chapter Text

The runway was going great. The makeup artist had sworn at least three times, but now she was just dousing him in setting spray and the stylist was putting the finishing touches on the way the fabric of his train draped to make sure it was perfect for the initial reveal. The music was pumping, and the adrenaline was still running through his veins from his first two walks, and it was only climbing higher as he waited for his count down to do the final walk of the night, in the show stopper piece that reminded him of a half finished painting his brother had sent him pictures of just that morning.

The stylist comes to see him, and they are obviously riding just as high as Roman is. “Remember, you’re giving fierce. You’re giving transformation. Phoenix rising from the ashes. Girl on fire shit. You get me?”

“I get you.” Roman said and his heart was racing. He couldn’t exactly grab his phone to record it, but he made the entry in his head anyway.

About to do the final look. Smiling. Confident. Nervous. Heart racing. Palms sweaty. Etc.

His choice to put in the etc. felt like an homage to his brother, and he suddenly felt much more confident that he could do this.

“Okay, you’re in 5.” The stage manager started to signal him, counting down the seconds silently, and he took one last look at himself in heeled red boots and sheer mesh that revealed everything and took the signal to walk out.

At a show like this, you don’t really expect people to holler and cheer. But Roman could hear the tinny sound of his brother screaming something unintelligible from Jordan’s phone before he muted it. There was a murmur that rippled through the crowd, and Roman had been on enough runways to know the difference between a good murmur and a bad murmur. This was a good murmur.

He struck a pose at the end of the runway and the fan blew up his train right on queue, the lighter top layer flying up almost like he really is a phoenix on fire. He struck a second post, emphasizing the lines of his body and the exposed skin beneath the outfit, and then he made his walk back. Even with the modesty garments he was wearing, he was a little grateful for the train keeping him from putting his bare ass on display.

He struck a final pose at the top of the runway again, looking back over his shoulder. A quick little “wouldn’t you like to know” sort of expression, always leave them wanting more, and then the lights went all the way down and he made his exit in darkness. When the lights came back up, the stage was empty but for the space where Roman used to be, a shimmering beacon of rebirth.

“That was magical!” The designer said, hugging him briefly before pulling back to look at her handiwork. “I knew you’d be fucking perfect for this. You never disappoint.”

“I aim to please,” he said with a laugh, but then, catching himself, he corrected. “I loved this project, and I did well because you gave me the space to.”

“And your weird mom gave you the space to. I didn’t hear one Karen huff all night, so I assume she’s not here?” The designer smiled expectantly.

Roman shrugged. “I didn’t exactly invite her.”

“Good for you. And uh, who’s the,” she cleared her throat suggestively, “friend screaming like a maniac on your guy’s phone?”

Roman smiled. “Remus.”

“Oh, no shit? I think I read about all that shit. Glad he’s supporting you.” They squeezed his shoulder. “Now go take off my masterpiece while I address my adoring public.”

Roman returned her unwavering grin, “Sure. Keep me in mind for any future projects or the appliqué gets it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. I’ll call you next season. I can’t guarantee you’ll be the head, but I want you on my runways for sure.”

They hugged again and then went off to their respective duties.

Roman was careful getting out of his outfit, knowing full well that it’d be his head if he did anything else. When he was about halfway dressed in his street clothes, Jordan found him and handed over his phone.

“Please take him. I can’t handle it anymore.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and when he put the phone to his ear Remus was gushing like he never realized Jordan had stopped listening.

“And did you see the fucking fan??? I swear to god, I’ve dreamed about this shit. Anyway. ESP or not, I have a painting that captures this entire vibe almost perfectly and I started it weeks ago. Weeks. I’m a genius. Don’t you think I’m a genius Jordan? Jordan?? Jordan, you can’t just ignore me. Where’s my brother? Have you found him yet? You better have flowers for him! Stars always get flowers on opening night.”

Roman laughed. “He’s gone. Has been for a while. You’d know that if you ever took a breath.” Roman smiled, fond.

“Oh, Ro Bro! Listen! Listen. I have this idea. How do you feel about gold appliqué on the face. Like, real gold. Like a circlet. A crown. Or a golden halo? I’m still pondering. Anyway, gold leaf, real gold. None of that fake shit. What do you think?”

Roman smiled. “That sounds great Remus. So I take it you liked the show?”

“Liked it?? Roman, why didn’t anyone tell me clothes could be cool? Also, why did all of our clothes suck so hard compared to this?? This was brilliant. I need to meet this person. Can I meet this person?” Remus sounded quieter, like he’d turned away from the phone when he said, “I am obsessed, Logan.” And then his voice leveled out again. “I’ve been googling their other designs on Logan’s laptop every time you weren’t on stage because I’m fucking obsessed.”

“Oh?” Roman asked, smiling while he finished doing up the buttons of his pressed black shirt.

“Yeah! So? What do you want for it? 100 calorie brownie packs? Lifetime supply of La Croix? My firstborn?”

“That escalated quickly.” Roman laughed. “Just meet me for coffee and I’ll pass some of your sketches along. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

“Done, and done. I’ll even pay. Maybe. I’ll think about.”

Roman laughed again. “Okay, I’ve gotta get going. Tell Logan and Virgil hi for me.”

“Oh, Virgil’s here! He’s drooling-”

“Shut the fuck up!” There was an audible scuffle on the other line, and apparently Virgil won, because Roman heard his deep voice coming in clear over the speaker just a moment later. “I don’t know shit about what just happened, but even a layman knows it was really fucking good. Good job, Princey.”

Roman felt something fluttery in the pit of his stomach but distinctly avoided describing it as butterflies.

“Wow. I think that is the first time you’ve ever called me that and it didn’t feel like a thinly veiled insult.” Roman grinned, feeling something that he’d been contemplating for the last few days and slowly had begun to decide was not normal behavior for someone you only wanted to be friends with.

“Well, that’s probably because it’s the first time I’ve said it and it wasn’t a thinly veiled insult.” Virgil’s deep voice was gently teasing and Roman became certain that he was not really in friendly territory anymore in regards to his feelings.

“Wow, so it was really good then?” He teased back.

“Yeah,” Virgil paused, maybe for a smile? It was hard to tell over the phone, but it sounded fond. “It was really good.”

“Can you guys flirt later? I’m trying to meet an artist whose work I want to consume. Roman? Roman? I’m serious. First born. It’s all yours. I will learn how to have gay babies if it means that I get to meet this person, do you understand?”

Roman laughed. “I understand. Why is Virgil with you?”

“I told him about it and he wanted to see you half naked so he twisted my arm until I let him stay here and watch with me.”

Distantly, “That is not what happened!” There’s some more scuffling over the line, and finally Virgil comes through.

“You lived with this guy for 18 years?”

Roman smirked, “Shared a room with him.”

“Fucking hell. Well, bless you. He’s a lot.”

“A lot to love!” Remus yelled from somewhere farther away from the microphone.

“Yeah.” Roman smiled, thinking about exactly how much his brother was, and how much he wouldn’t ever change him.

Roman also thought about the way it made him feel to be bared on the runway, the way it felt to know Virgil was watching, the way Virgil’s smile and his consideration felt when they’re aimed at him.

“I was wondering if-”

“If you have time maybe-”

They both stopped when they heard the other talking, and they did the standard “no, you go firsts” until Roman finally took a breath and said.

“I was wondering if you’d want to go for coffee? Just us? Maybe somewhere Remus doesn’t know about?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line long enough to make Roman bite his lip. Just as he was about to apologize for offering, Virgil said. “Yeah, Princey. I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Roman smiled and looked down at his shoes, feeling giddy. Someone tried to wave him out of the green room and he nodded at them, waving them away with an “I’m almost done” mouthed in their general direction.

“Um, does Saturday work? I can pick you up.”

“Oh, so it’s that kind of coffee.” Virgil said, and he might have been smirking, and it may have been good or bad.

Roman suddenly felt unsure, “I’d kind of hoped, but if you’d rather it was just friends…”

Virgil didn’t even give him room to finish his thought. “I wouldn’t. Prefer. It to be something else.”

Roman smiled.

“Uh, yeah. Same. Obviously.”

“Saturday? Maybe 11? We can do lunch if it goes well.”

Roman felt a little bit stupid at how fond his smile was. “You anticipating it will go well?”

“I don’t know, Princey. What do you think?”

Roman couldn’t help but needle at him. “Well, according to Remus, you’ve been checking me out for weeks, so…”

Virgil chuckled and its deep resonance made Roman almost shiver. Which… had never happened before. “Well, if we’re listening to the shit Remus says, you should know I find your obsession with my ass endearing.”

Roman laughed, embarrassed, putting his hand over his eyes. “I’ve… God I hate him sometimes.”

“Yeah. That’s about the way we all feel about Remus.”

“You love me?? Are you saying you love me?? Because if not I’m going to riot!” Remus declared from not as far from the microphone as he probably should be.

“Yeah, we love you.” Virgil said before addressing Roman again. “Saturday 11? Get my number from Remus? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

His prediction seemed to come true immediately as Remus screeched over the phone. “Oh my fucking god! Did you guys just do what I think you did!?”

The line went dead, and Roman couldn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his car.

Roman always needed a day to recover from a runway, but as soon as he was able, he and Remus made plans to get together at Patton’s so that Remus could share his portrait and they could talk about the runway.

It felt good to have a common interest. It felt good to know that not everything that Roman did reminded Remus of his own trauma in the industry. It was amazing to see Remus light up as he presented the portrait of Roman that had an eerie familiarity to the mural that was on the wall outside, except that it was so clearly Roman and he was on fire. There was no hellishness to the image though. He looked righteous. There was an almost angelic quality to it, except it wasn’t the sort of soft angel that he used to be in photoshoots. He was an arch angel. An avenging angel. The hands were clawed and on fire, and instead of two burning eyes there were four, and the background was full of a dozen more, all of which seem to be looking out at the viewer, rather than at Roman himself. It was a picture of tables turned. Of the watched becoming the watcher. Of power taken back. And Roman loved it.

He hugged Remus for longer than he ever had before and thanked him profusely. There were tears in both of their eyes before they were done, and Roman was glad that they had this. Glad that they have made their way here, through weeks of slogging through old wounds.

“I like his.” He said, when they finally managed to sit back down. “I don’t even think I’d realized how much mom had taken from us until recently.”

“Yeah,” Remus smiled wanly. “I don’t think I realized it either until I’d been out for a while. Did you really fire her?”

“Yeah. Sent the termination letter right before the runway.”

“Well” he raised his latte like a drink and went to make a toast. “To mothers who should’ve never given birth in the first place. May they pull their heads out of their asses one day.”

Roman raised his own glass and added, “And to brothers who didn’t deserve to be pitted against each other by mothers who should’ve never had children in the first place.”

“Here here.”

They clicked their plastic cups together, more a clatter than anything else, and then Roman got a bit distracted by a flash of purple in the back of the store.

Virgil had just come on shift.

“So…” Remus said with a wide grin. “You texted him yet?”

Roman cleared his throat. “I… um… texted him for a couple hours last night.”

Remus was delighted but didn’t ask for details.

Yet.

“You taking him on a date?”

“Saturday.” Roman ducked his head, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. “I’m… really looking forward to it.”

“Well, can I just say, I’m very pleased to know my gaydar wasn’t as off as I thought it was. You guys will be great together. And when you eventually get married Virgil will actually be my brother, and my life will be complete. So, thanks for that.”

Roman levels]ed a glare at him. “Isn’t it a bit selfish to think about how my possible future relationship will benefit you?”

“Yup.” Remus smiled. “And it’s great.” He threw his head back like he was basking in it, but after a few moments he settled back down and looked at Roman genuinely. “I’m happy you’re giving it a chance. You guys have great chemistry.”

Roman glanced at the bar again, and Virgil just so happened to catch his eye. Roman looked away briefly, almost embarrassed at having been caught looking, but couldn’t help that his eyes were drawn back when he could feel Virgil still looking at him. Virgil smiled and gave him a small wave, and Roman smiled back, his hand barely leaving the table to wave back.

And maybe it occured to him that being with his ex, who hadn’t called in weeks, never really felt like this. And nothing had ever really felt like this, and he wondered why. But he couldn’t stop looking up at Virgil, even when Remus started talking again.

“This is going to get annoying at some point, but right now I’m too obsessed with you guys to care. Just go talk to him, you dork!” Remus shoved at Roman across the table.

Roman made wide eyes at Remus, but Remus kicked him under the table hard enough that he had to get up and go talk to Virgil just to stop Remus from hitting him again.

Virgil didn’t seem to take it personally.

“Hey, don’t rush up here. You wouldn’t want me to get a big ego.” Virgil smiled as he started loading clean mugs into his work station.

“I- Um… I’m looking forward to Saturday.” He said, and he felt so fucking stupid. Surely he could’ve thought of something more cultured to say than that! But apparently not.

“Me too, Princey. You want something?” He gestured to the menu, “Or are you just here for my sparkling company?”

“I wouldn’t say sparkling. More like… dark and mysterious.”

Virgil grinned, his own blush forming. “It’s almost like you know me.”

“I would certainly like to keep getting to know you.” Roman said, and then heard how that might be construed, and Virgil seemed a little uncertain now, and Roman tried to back off. “I mean, however you’re comfortable with. I… It was really good to talk to you last night. And… I like talking to you. A lot. About all sorts of things.” He felt like he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop it.

Seemingly to put Roman out of his misery, Virgil changed the subject. “Weird and unrelated question. How do you feel about trans people?”

Roman was confused, but knew there was probably a right answer even he wasn’t sure what it was. “They’re real?” He said, more like a question than anything. “I don’t understand.”

“No. I’m. Fucking-” Virgil sighed, seemingly irritated with himself. “I’m trying to come out to you. But I sort of suck at it.”

Roman’s mouth popped open in a soft “o” and it took him a second to process that. “Oh.” He said softly. “Is that… we can still go on our date though, right?”

Virgil looked incredulous. “You still want to go on our date?”

“You the same guy I was texting last night?”

It was Virgil’s turn to look confused now. “Yeah.”

“Then, yeah.” Roman smiled.

“Oh.”

“Good oh, or bad oh?”

“Good? I was kind of low key psyching myself up for you to be an asshole about this.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck.

Roman frowned. “Do I seem like I’d be an asshole about this?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “A week ago you very loudly proclaimed not to be gay.”

“I’m not gay.” Roman shrugged. “I’m bi. I think. It’s kind of new. But…” He trailed off, but then looked directly at Virgil. “I like you. I want to date you. I figure the rest of that shit will figure itself out eventually.”

Virgil smiled softly. “That’s a good way to think about it, I guess. Very enlightened of you.”

“Yeah. It’s new. Enlightenment.”

“Well, it looks good on you.”

They smiled at each other for a few moments before Roman heard Remus say something that sounded suspiciously like “gas stove” and he decided it was time to head back.

“It’s uh, good seeing you.” Virgil said with a smile. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it Falling in Emo.” Roman smiled back and then went back to Remus, who was indeed sketching something on a napkin that looked like a gas stove on fire.

When he sat back down there was a text waiting on his phone from Jordan, but he ignored it and instead asked Remus what he was working on.

And Roman could feel the enthusiasm rolling off of him in waves, and he was still a little giddy from talking to Virgil and he genuinely felt for the first time maybe in forever that everything was good, and it’s going to stay that way.

Chapter Text

It was a few days after his first (very successful) date with Virgil that Remus texted him and asked him to look over a google doc for him.

Roman opened the link he’d sent, and was shocked to realize what he was looking at.

It was an open letter to Janus Dee, the man who had single handledly revived their years long animosity, but had also unintentionally brought them back together.

And the letter read:

I’m Remus King. Considering how many people seem to have my name in their mouth recently, if you’re here, I’m assuming you know that. If you’re here, I’m also assuming you know why I’m breaking a many-years-long media silence. Hi Janus. Thanks for pretending to be interested in my art so you could get a juicy story. I hope it’s made you some money and you’re really fucking proud.

For the rest of you, here’s the truth, straight from the whore’s mouth, since you’re so desperate for it.

I owe you nothing.

I don’t have to explain myself, my life, or my choices to you. You are strangers on the internet. I know it’s interesting to get up in people’s business. I also love a juicy piece of gossip. But for a second, pretend that I’m your best friend. Pretend your best friend, who previously struggled with an addiction as a coping mechanism for the abuse he faced at the hands of adults who were supposed to be caring for him, is having the story of that abuse, mostly speculated, flung all over the internet. The information is private. It is personal. It is something I haven’t even divulged to the people who were most important in my life when it was happening. (Roman. I mean Roman.)

So many things are taken out of context and so much speculation is made that the story the public runs with is accurate, but inaccurate. My mother, who I’d happily gone no contact with for many years, now regularly attempts to reach me asking me to recant the accusations of abuse that I never made. I said my mom sucks. She does. I’m not taking that back because it’s objectively true. Anyone with eyes on any of those sets could’ve told you that. But that’s standard around here. The parents whose kids “make it big” are shitty more often than they are not. And that sucks. But it’s not my fault. I didn’t invent shitty parents. So why am I the one who had a creepy stalker reporter show up at my fucking apartment this week begging me to tell him the story of my trauma?

I’d like to remind you all that I am a human being. I don’t care how interested you are in my life. I didn’t want you to have this information. I don’t care how much you care about my wellbeing. I didn’t want you to have this information. I don’t care if you’re trying to help. I didn’t want you to have this information.

Janus Dee sat down with me and called me by my pseudonym the entire time. He asked me questions about my art, and my inspiration, and then he dug deep anytime I mentioned my mother or my brother, who I never mentioned by name. I was a dumbass for not seeing through him, but he was a slimy snake for doing it in the first place.

I am writing this to let you know that not only do you not have my consent to have this information, you don’t have my blessing. I don’t want to be asked to speak out against abusers. I don’t want to be told that I’m brave and strong for surviving. I don’t want to be lumped in with all the other child stars who go through this shit. I want to be left in peace. I want to live my life and move on from the shit I experienced. And maybe that makes me shitty, but that’s my choice. I’m choosing to be that kind of shitty, because it means that I am finally happy and finally have some good things in my life, including a more positive relationship with my brother.

But that’s none of your fucking business unless you’re choosing to be shitty. I do not want to be a public figure. I was made a public figure before I was old enough to consent to the consequences. I want to live my normal boring life in normal boring peace with my hot boyfriend and my art and my chosen family. I don’t owe you any parts of me. I don’t even owe you this statement. Consider this an unofficial cease and desist. If you are ignoring it, then that’s the kind of shitty you’re choosing to be. And I hope you can live with yourself.

Bye forever (I hope).

-RK

Roman smiled and then set back an array of emojis that could only be interpreted as positive.

Roman sent back a thumbs up and then a few minutes later, from the social media account that hadn’t been been active in nearly 6 years, he sent a link to the posted response.

Roman sent back “Proud of you ❤️“ and Roman sent a few emojis that looked like they meant death, but Roman tried to interpret them positively.

“Good Luck on your date tonight!!!!”

“Thanks. Please don’t poison Virgil against me by telling him our worst stories.”

“Oh, baby brother. He’s known that shit since way before he knew you. He likes you anyway. That’s very complimentary to you. Be proud.”

“Oh god. You know, somehow I forgot he used to hate me.”

“He really did. He hated your fucking guts. But you were so hot he forgot. So, good job!”

“Yeah, but if he forgot, he can unforget! Remus, what do I do?”

“You literally haven’t even been on a date with him yet. Like… chill? You can chill. Because everything is going to be fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“And you can’t know that it won’t be fine. So just wear something pretty and go on your date. He’s literally so excited. For an emo with a limited emotional range, he is experiencing all of them. So don’t fuck this up by getting in your own head about it.”

“Yeah? Like, he’s really excited?”

“No, I’m lying inexplicably for the first time ever. Yeah, he’s excited, Genius.”

Roman smiled to himself and changed over to text Virgil.

“I’m freaking out. Are you freaking out?”

“What are you freaking out about Princey?”

“We have a date tonight, and I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“You know I’ve met you, right? If you were going to fuck it up, you’d’ve done it by now. I think you’re good.”

“That’s not very romantic.”

“We’re not dating yet. You have to let me get my licks in while I still can.”

“Oh come on, I enjoy our banter too much for you to stop it just because we’re dating.”

“Well, you asked for it, Princey. I’m screen-shoting this for posterity. Receipts for later.”

“Oh, whatever. I’m never going to regret this.”

“Mhmm… I believe you.”

“Hey, shut up. I’m not.”

Roman starts to type and so Virgil waits, but Roman can’t quite make the words go.

Finally, he settles on.

“I think you are one of the first people I’ve ever been able to talk to without it being a front. I don’t think I’ve ever been safe enough to be this honest with anyone except maybe Remus. Like… I don’t want to fuck this up, because I can’t. I can’t lose this. I know we’ve only talked for like a week, but… it’s probably been one of the best weeks of my life.”

Roman sent the text and waited for the bubbles to appear with Virgil’s response, feeling like he’d put too much on the line too soon.

And then the phone rang.

Roman didn’t know what to do for a second. Looking at his screen and Virgil’s name with it’s black and purple hearts beside it, he almost didn’t pick it up.

When he answers the phone, Virgil’s voice lights him up, until it makes his scoff.

“You and Remus are so different, but literally exactly the same. It’s ridiculous.”

“What?” Roman asked, trying to figure out where this was coming from.

“No. Listen. Literally the first time I ever talked to Remus, he just like trauma dumped on me, and said I was the first person who ever really listened to him, and honestly, it was kind of great. I loved being able to be there for him. Especially because, sorry to tell you this, I used to be obsessed with you guys when I was younger. So… Yeah. Look. This is fine. I’m built for this. I want you to be able to be honest with me. I want to be that guy for you. So… Don’t worry so much. Because I think this is exactly where we’re meant to be. Or something. Whatever.” Virgil coughed, trying to disguise some of his genuineness.

Roman smiled to himself. “You know. I think we’re exactly where we’re meant to be too.”

Virgil was quiet on the other end for a moment. Roman was the one to break it, still worrying about clothes.

“So what are you wearing? For the Date! I mean. What are you wearing for the date? I don’t want to be over dressed.”

“Princey, do you come in any flavor other than over-dressed?”

Roman scoffed. “I can do subtle! I just choose not to. And my closet makes that very apparent.”

“Yeah.” Virgil snorts. “I believe you.”

“So…?” Roman prodded.

Virgil laughed. “I’m gonna dress up. Wear whatever.”

“Oh good.” Roman sighed. “Because I really don’t do casual well.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Virgil’s grin was audible over the phone. “You still picking me up?”

Roman sat up a bit straighter. “6 on the dot. I’m never late.”

“Oh yeah?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just have to hold you to that. For the foreseeable future. For data gathering purpose, obviously.” Virgil cleared his throat, trying to come off casual and failing miserably.

“I think I can handle that.”

“Oh yeah?”

Roman grinned. “Yeah.”

-Fin-