They've been married for a little while now, though Roman's days have blurred into long stretches of lonely boredom; it might have been a couple of months, or closer to a year. He's sure it's not more than a year, at least he knows that. Loneliness isn't the problem, he's kind of used to that, it's the boredom that gets him. Roman's never been very good at being bored.
He wanders the palace most days, texting idly. Tabitha, occasionally Connor, more often staff back home who need his approval to donate in his name, or such like. Sometimes, it's even his husband, a man that he's spent barely any time with outside of official events or when they're asleep in the same, vast bed. Or, rather, when Roman pretends to sleep and instead listens to the steady in-out of Stewy's breathing across the miles of mattress.
Things are less tense between them than when they first married, but Roman can't help but feel awkward around him -- the kind of awkward that winds up his tongue and sets it running a thousand miles an hour, verbal diarrhea, blurting out any half-formed thought that crosses his mind. No wonder Stewy doesn't like spending time with him, the way Roman incessantly goes on and on about nothing at all.
Most of the time, Roman spends his days lounging in the sun, occasionally half-asleep, watched over ceaselessly by Dave. Roman can rest easy knowing that nobody gets by him, the one constant from his life back in England.
Except, apparently, Stewy himself. He should have expected it; heir apparent or whatever, he goes wherever he fucking likes.
' i thought you'd be here. ' or ' i can be your family. ' for the royal couple π ( @rvolving )
Roman startles awake and shoves himself upright. It's probably poor form to lounge in front of the future king -- but then the heat reminds him that he's not at home anymore, and nobody's going to chew him out for slouching or swearing or any of those myriad other things that made his mother tut.
"Haven't you heard of knocking?" he grumbles, though they're outside, shaded only by a pergola covered in climbing roses. He stretches and makes himself comfortable once again, feet kicked up on the plush outside sofa.
"To what do I owe this enormous pleasure? Wait, don't tell me. You missed me, your wonderful, handsome, sexy husband, and you just couldn't wait until tonight to see me again? Or are you here to tell me that your old man's croaked it and you're about to be crowned? Strictly business, sure, I understand. Uh, sorry for your loss, congratulations on the promotion?"
