date: saturday, january 25th
time: after midnight – so it’s technically january 26th…
location: the smoking hole
tag: @struckmynerve
“come potrebbe lei dillo a proposito di me?” nicolas says out loud to himself, arguing like he’ll have somebody to talk to. “lei nemmeno conoscimi non più…” his volume is louder than it should be, but for someone who assumes he’ll be all alone once he reaches the smoking hole, he doesn’t really care. everyone who is anybody on campus is likely still at the post vigil party, probably gossiping about the inappropriate scene between nickie and olivia that should definitely not have taken place at a vigil reception. but it could hardly be considered that anyway – how often are kids getting blasted after a funeral? “ragazze lo sono una perdita di tempo.”
the first thing on nicolas’ mind as he reaches the smoking hole is to find something to smoke on, whether it be someone’s unfinished cigarette ( he knows how disgusting this is, but he’s a little desperate ) or, even better – a discarded pack with one left behind. however, as he pushes past a tree branch, he finds that he is not alone, and that he’s likely going to be thought of as a nutcase now that he’s been identified as the guy shouting at himself in italian. “scusa,” he starts, shaking his head at himself for not immediately transitioning back into english. “sorry,” he corrects himself, “i thought everyone would still be at the party.”
it wasn't an original idea for roman to escape to the smoking hole, but he hoped he'd be alone, anyway. the second he was sure his friends would be safe ( along with any other poor stray they'd pick up who'd been given the privilege to sleep in his rover ), he made his way to what is arguably his favorite place, and where he needed to be. the noise inevitably exhausted him, and suddenly he was back to wanting to be alone. alone and smoking, at that. the alcohol lifted him up, which was well and good for a few hours, but now he needed to wind down.
however, alone was not on his agenda, as he sat there in the deeper part of the clearing. roman heard vague musings in italian, and he couldn't help but chuckle privately. the disembodied voice was soon accompanied by footsteps, leaves crunching and all, and his time alone was just about up. he turned around with a curt smile, seeing the voice have a face. "can't say i agree with your sentiment about girls being a waste of time, seeing as that i lost my ex-girlfriend and all," roman mused, cigarette still perched between his lips. it was a morbid opener, to say the least, but he figured he got a free pass. he pulled his pack from his jacket pocket and offered it to the stranger, "you're here for this, right? don't see one on you."
as soon as he heard the other guy’s voice, the fleeting thought of even entertaining the punch bowl was completely gone. it had to be spiked, no sane or even semi experienced person went to a party expecting normal punch. but when actually told what could possibly be in it, he backed away. casper turned to roman with a slight smile, sigh escaping his open mouth. “well all circumstances given, does not sound like the worst idea right now.” he jokes lightly, picking up a bottle of nearly empty tito’s pouring just enough into his cup. “kinda gave up on actually making it home like… half an hour ago.”
"oh, shit, man, you don't wanna be stuck here, though. like... spending the night here is kind of a death wish, and getting an uber’s impossible this time of night." he warned. roman was unsure where the unsolicited advice ( and kindness ) came from—maybe it was because of the maudlin nature of the party, despite what it had become—but he felt the need to be nice. "if you want, you can look for me or charity at the end of the party and sleep in my rover or something. i feel like that was the plan for us all along, since we're all... kinda fucked up." he had no idea why he spoke as if that was a feeble admission, but it suited the mood. "i don't know, like, i wouldn't want anything bad to happen to anybody, especially when this stupid fuckin' rager supposed to be in chelsea's honor."
maybe that had been the plan, but the stench of sweat and the repetitive thump of the beat in the background had given luke the itch to get a little crazy. of anyone he knew, roman was someone who definitely needed a distraction, so luke had taken it upon himself to become his party master general and guide him to a good time. sure roman didn’t want to get too drunk right now, but he knew charity was a tough cookie so he’d have to see if roman changed his mind later. the rest he had no problem with. luke began to fill the cups as close to the brim as possible as a playful grin danced at his lips. “got it, 100%.” standing in front of the other, luke laced their right arms together, in a way that meant they’d be hooked together as they drank. “you ready?” luke laughed, holding his glass up in triumph.
no matter what, roman knew luke was the type to find the silver lining. it was almost admirable how his friend was able to be in a mood that way anything but despondent during a time like this. of course, he knew luke wasn't completely okay, and this might as well just be one, giant coping strategy, but he was grateful for it regardless. even though roman was a tad bit embarrassed at his friend's antics at times, they would always come out the other side happier ( and definitely drunker ), and so maybe this time it'd be no different. locking their arms together, roman let out an incredulous chuckle and nodded, "let's do this," he said, taking the shot and swallowing it as quick as possible. it burned ( no surprise ) but it was the good kind of burn, and encouraged him to act a little less tense as he pulled away. was it a bad idea to chase tequila with beer? of course, but roman did it anyway, grabbing the nearest open pbr he saw and chugging it down. “fuck, man,” he groaned, chuckling slightly, “i shouldn’t have done that.”
date: saturday, january 25
location: post-vigil party
with: @struckmynerve
“you can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?” sophia snapped at roman. she was two drinks in and her patience was running short. raising her brows, sophia sighed softly. hands tugging roughly through her short locks as she looked at him. “you think you’re the only person allowed to grieve her?” her voice raised as she finished off her drink, tossing the cup in a nearby trashcan. she’d done a fantastic job of hiding her feelings for chelsea, but alcohol was proving to thwart her plan of keeping it a secret.
did he really think he was the only person in the entire warehouse who had permission to grieve chelsea montgomery? the thought alone caused sophia’s blood to boil. sophia and roman weren’t necessarily friends, but they were friendly. of course, that didn’t erase the fact that every time she looked at him she was overwhelmed with jealousy. “what, just because you were her boyfriend, you have the right to decide who gets to miss her? bullshit.”
"oh, fuck you, sophia," he sneered ( and more like half-slurred ) at the girl. roman knew better than to gatekeep his fucking dead ex-girlfriend, but he couldn't help himself. this party was pathetic, the way people who never her spoke about her was pathetic, and frankly, he's had enough of it. "you didn't know her like i did, you fuckin' get that? chelsea was the love of my life. you don't get that." even the way he gesticulated about imbued frustration into their space, "maybe i am the only person who has the right to miss her, so fuckin' what? who the fuck are you to say what kind of person she was? i'm the one who loved her, took care of her, not anybody else, and sure as hell not fuckin' you."
olivia was completely zoned out, a stolen bottle of something in her hand as she sat slumped down against a wall. “i’m the worst friend ever, basically. and girlfriend.” she deadpanned, looking up at roman. normally, olivia could almost flaunt her less appealing traits around him, and face little judgment in return. but this was different, even liv knew how royally she’d messed things up. “scale of one to ten… how bad was it? be honest with me, rome. i need to know if i should just like… drop out and move to vermont.” if it weren’t for the dry humour, olivia was positive she’d be crying right now. so even if it seemed a little inappropriate, she was clinging onto whatever kind of light she could make in this situation.
to be honest, he had no clue about what actually happened in front of him. roman hasn't been in hearst for long, but he has been in too many messy ragers, and at some point, he's learned how to tune out public fights into white noise. hell, even when it came to public fights with chelsea, it was all white noise. pulling her to the side ( in a corner as private as they could get ), he carefully assessed her face. no tears yet. "you're not a bad anything," he reassured, thinking it's the most appropriate thing to say. he wasn't entirely sure on the correct course of action, either—but olivia was upset, and if she started crying, it was past the point of no return. seemingly saddled with the responsibility of defusing that bomb that was her, roman wrapped his arms around her, as if to shield her from her own shame, and softly said, "hey, that was nothing, alright? don't beat yourself up about it." he hugged her a little tighter, rifling his brain for the right words that weren't coming, "it's just petty fuckin' drama, liv. you'll be okay." roman looked down and lifted her chin with his forefinger to meet her gaze, "we can talk about it if you want. you know i won't judge."
Charity started slightly at the voice behind her, but as soon as she realized who it was, a grin broke out on her face and she took one of the bottles from him happily. “I’m always dying,” she returned, taking a long pull from the bottle. “What about you? Are people surprised to see you?” she asked curiously. She would be, as an outsider. “This is so weird. I figured that maybe people would at least be like…. talking about her but it feels more like people are ignoring it on a large scale.” Sure, people would mention her if you started up a conversation, but that felt like that was about it.
"Honestly? I'm not feeling as shitty as I thought I'd be." Roman pursed his lips, scanning the room as he continued, "I think so, some of them were. I got a few condolences, 'we'll get justice for her,' shit like that," he sighed, "but the rest have definitely forgotten the point of this party." He knew better, too; it never took a bunch of stressed-out college students long to fashion a rager like a colony of red ants in a hill. "I think it's for the best, though. It seems wrong to talk about her in a place like this." Thoughts of Chelsea trickled into his brain slowly, and then all at once, like they always had. Guilt, sneaky as ever, twisted at his insides and made him wince at the thought of her witnessing a messy night like this, in her name no less. That was a cue for him to take a swig of his drink, and once the bottle was away from his lips, he sighed, "Have you talked to anyone noteworthy?"
luke wasn’t exactly here because he believed that this party was the best way to honour chelsea’s memory. in fact, he kind of hated the idea. but if his fond friend liquid-courage meant that for a few hours he could kick back and have some fun without feeling guilty about it, it seemed like as good a plan as any. somewhere along the line he’d have to go and see if nico had already turned up, but it almost felt awkward to be sober in this dank room full of loud music and makeshift party lights. when roman pointed out the tequilla bottle, luke began to grin. reaching down to grab it, he gave a shrug and a laugh, “it wasn’t the plan, but you better get your kicking-shoes on.” luke opened it up, attempting to take a sniff of it but getting such a strong whiff that he almost coughed. he knew it was a bad idea and he’d almost definitely regret it the second it touched his lips, but he’d be lying if that didn’t make it more appealing. he motioned for the other to get some of the strewn about plastic shot glasses, “if we’re gonna be here, we should at least do it right.”
"fuck, man. i thought we didn't pre-game because we weren't gonna tanked tonight," he laughed. but things change, and it's less pathetic to drink tequila from plastic shot glasses at a warehouse party than to drink tequila alone in his apartment. grabbing the cleanest-looking ones he can find, roman held out two for his friend to pour the rancid-smelling liquor in. "alright, ground rules," he said, licking his lips, "i can't get too drunk 'cause charity might kill me if i got wasted while i left her to fend herself in his place, absolutely no chelsea talk, and no sad drunk bullshit. got it?"
"hey, don't drink that, dude," roman warned, pointing to the suspect punch bowl on the table, artificially red liquid stagnant in a crowd of half-empty liquor bottles. he would've applauded the inclusivity of easy's beverage choices, were it not for the spiked kool-aid being an obvious trap. of course, it's spiked, but what it's spiked with, roman doesn't want to know. "i think i saw someone put e in there or some shit, so," he slowly nodded, "unless you're in the mood to get real fucked up."
roman was barely paying attention to his surroundings. partly because he got loaded too fast (he won't admit it to luke, but he definitely needed that—he wouldn't have been able to loosen up any other way), and partly because he was still somewhat disengaged from reality. naturally, when a scene unfolded not too far from him, he couldn't help but pay attention. that was the point of parties, right? the most he was able to see was two people walking away, and maybe bonnie was one of them. he wasn't sure. like a spotlight, though, roman's attention was on olivia—and she did not look okay. of course, she'd be here. trudging over to the small girl, he approached with a curious stare, "...the fuck was that about?"
as promised, roman found her way back to charity, even though it was a little later than he intended. "you dying yet?" he asked, coming up from behind her with two bottles of mule with him, the necks of the bottles tucked between his fingers. it was an apology for leaving her alone, but if they were honest, roman didn't have to tell her she was the only person he actually wanted to spend his time with, anyway. touring the warehouse was nothing more than a courtesy, and to let people know he was still a participating member of society. he wasn't exactly enjoying the tribute to his late ex-girlfriend, but it had to do.
not two minutes upon arriving, roman bid charity a quick goodbye, promising to catch up to her later once he's finished scoping out the place with luke, before letting his friend pull him to the nearest booze station. the idea of throwing a party was utterly fucking inappropriate, of course, but what else did he expect? it’d be a waste of time getting all up in arms about it. instead, he looked at the cornucopia of liquor in front of him, and roman eyed his friend warily, unsure if they were really about to go ham this quick. "bro," he chuckled, "if you're about to grab the tequila already, i'm gonna fucking kick you."
as if bonnie didn’t already feel a mountain of sympathy for his situation, hearing him explain that they wanted him to come to the private funeral, that they really had no idea that he and chelsea had broken up, it was the kind of thing no one could be prepared to grapple with. “no, i mean… i think maybe in this case, a lie is the kindest thing you can do.” really, she didn’t know if that was the right answer. maybe it could be revealed to her parents that she wasn’t with roman when she died, but even if that was true, their breakup was hardly a clean one.
exhaling, she let her shoulders drop, feeling a little deflated as he gave her some more insight on his perspective. “what a dick.” she muttered, at the mention of someone so carelessly texting him about chelsea’s death.
the news had broken before the dean had time to control it, she knew that firsthand from the way the gossip had literally travelled through bruckhart at light speed. it seemed like it was getting worse every day. “it seems like people are clamouring for information from literally anyone.”
sighing, bonnie made the decision to cross the room entirely and settle down beside him, considering his question as she gave him a brief smile in return that quickly soured. “honestly? ever since the police chief announced it was a homicide i feel like i’ve been hearing a new theory every day. right now it’s some unfounded crap about a serial killer.” she explained, shaking her head. “you shouldn’t pay mind to it, though. people are just bored, with no classes they have too much time to focus on making up things.”
the kindest thing he can do is lie. roman almost scoffed at that, though not for any reason having to do with her. it all just felt so surreal, and he knew he wasn't well-equipped to deal with loss, especially when he considered chelsea to be the only constant in his life. their relationship was nothing short of unhealthy, he knew that, but it was all that he knew.
the asinine thought of a serial killer running amok on campus made him sigh in frustration. "christ, a serial killer?" he would never consider that theory, even as a last resort. he badly wanted to believe it was all an accident, that no one would ever intentionally harm someone as good as chelsea. or maybe they got the wrong girl. those fervent ruminations caused him to shut his eyes in frustration, trying to regain his composure, but to no avail.
he opened his eyes then and looked at bonnie, almost if he were imploring her, "and that fucking vigil? don't tell me you're going to that thing. you or olivia or anybody else who knew her—i'll lose my fucking head listening to people who barely knew her talk about chels like she was a saint." every word sounded more and more tainted with anger, and he stopped himself from going further before he scared his friend.
winding down, roman averted his gaze once more, this time in shame at the things he doesn't have to stomach to admit to her face, "...things got really fucked between chels and me, i know that, but... fuck, bonnie. you just never think that this could ever happen to you." the young man paused, before softly stating, "i loved her. no matter what anyone thinks."
the second the bag was down and her hands were placed on her hips, she was surveying the place, trying to match whatever answer she got to how roman was doing with the state of his apartment. it didn’t look that different to how the normal apartment of a guy in his early twenties would look, she assumed… though, maybe a little cleaner thanks to the fact that he was the type of guy who could afford to not be sleeping on a mattress directly on the floor. her gaze returned to him as he spoke, hoping that was appreciation in his tone and not something else. “well, i was going there anyway… i figured you could use some comfort food. this is what people do in times like these.” her mother would probably do a better job of it, she’d find a way to bake a desert and bring a whole casserole over, but she’d been born into a family of overachievers.
the sight of him crumbling, just a little, made her heart ache with pity. her hands dropped from her hips, running down her thighs as she watched him. “oh, god… roman, i’m so sorry.” for a moment she was unsure what to do with herself, but then she closed some of the distance between them. “i can’t imagine what they’re going through, or what you’re going through… are they planning to come here or…?” bonnie found that for once in her life she wasn’t really sure of the boundaries of this conversation, she averted her gaze, uncertain. “we don’t have to talk about that, though. i just worry. i know this is a lot.”
ultimately, shock was what he felt. he knew that grief or depression or whatever would come hightailing next, but right then, he was numb. every conversation (the ones he chose to engage in) felt like he was going through the motions, his brain mercifully supplying him with the right words, though they were devoid of any emotion. in a way, it was a relief to hear bonnie's warm voice pierce through the arid atmosphere of his apartment. it made all of this more real, but maybe he needed that. he couldn’t stay in denial forever.
roman could only nod at her sympathy. he dropped his hands down, letting his elbows rest on his lap as he answered, "i don't know if they wanna take her home to jacksonville, but they want a private funeral. just family and me. i didn't know what to say. i couldn't tell them we split." it was only common sense, considering he would've opened a can of carnivorous worms if he'd told her parents anything about their relationship. still, that was where the guilt began to grow.
he wasn't sure if he could talk about it. maybe around it, but it was difficult, regardless. "i didn't wanna believe it when people started talking about it. on my flight back, i got a text from brandon asking me about it like i fucking knew. i must've called her a dozen times. i thought she was just ignoring me, which i obviously expected," he said, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. all of it pointed to him just not being ready to deal with it yet, but he was unsure of how to actually say it.
but despite himself, roman was able to manage a small smile at her genuine concern. "thanks for worrying." —and he meant it. "so, what are people saying now?"
the thin strap of bonnie’s robin’s egg blue bag threatened to slip off her shoulder as she transferred the plastic bag full of food from mabel’s place from one hand to the other. the struggle was all for a good cause, of course, as she balled her hand into a fist and rapped against the door before she turned the doorknob. he knew she was coming in, but she would have felt guilty throwing the door open and walking in like she owned the place. she knew roman, but not well enough for that. she also assumed maybe he had other friends for this, but she couldn’t help the need inside her to make sure he knew she was there for him… that she cared. she could hardly imagine how he was feeling, although things with chelsea had always seemed so rocky from the outside looking in. that didn’t make the loss any less painful, she assumed.
careful compassion was etched across her expression as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her gaze softening even further at the sight of him. “hey.” she greeted weakly and then made a beeline towards the kitchen counter so she could put down the bag. “i would have made you a homecooked meal myself, but the kitchenettes on campus don’t really cut it. i figured mabel’s was as close to that as i’d get. and then… i didn’t really know what you liked, so i just got a bunch of things.” she explained, instantly regretting the rambling as she wiped her hands against her tailored pants and then held them against her hips. “how are you doing?”
bonnie was coming over. roman remembered because his doorman called him not thirty seconds ago about a female visitor. realistically, he had about a minute to straighten himself out and tidy up, so he'll look like he made an effort not to be such a shitshow in front of her. the first thing he did was pick up the bottles of corona on the coffee table, chucking them into the garbage bin once he reached his kitchen. despite the hangover (and active inebriated state), roman also opened the curtains, turned the lights on, and switched the living room tv to an hbo rerun of the avengers. he had just enough time to smooth out his hair and grab a bottle of fiji from the fridge to wake himself up, then sat on the couch so bonnie'll enter a non-questionable living space.
he readied a polite smile as bonnie entered his apartment, replying with a small, "hey," in kind. it was a genuine surprise, though, that she brought him food. his eyes were on her while she walked to the kitchen, and he couldn't help but raise his brows at her generosity. roman didn't quite know what to make of that, but he did realize he was hungry. "shit, bonnie, you didn't have to do this," the young man implored. he almost gave her a small smile of gratitude, were it not for her next question. he weakened at the thought of talking about it. burying his face in his hands, roman wracked his brain to find something say, palms rubbing his cheeks as he did. "i talked to her parents last night," he sighed, "her mom couldn't stop crying over the phone. they didn't know we broke up last fall. i don't... i don't fuckin' know."
tin here! so this is my boy roman—the tldr version of him is that he’s complicated, a little misunderstood, and very intense. when he’s good, he’s very good, and when he’s bad, he’s uhh... so here’s a lil warning that his words and actions in the future may get hurtful and / or unfounded because he’s that kind of guy. everything will be tagged accordingly and do let me know if you have certain triggers!
general info
name: roman vaughn gallo
birthday: october 21
hometown: westchester, new york
year: sophomore
major: finance
three positive traits: forthright, persuasive, self-sufficient
three negative traits: arrogant, domineering, indulgent
aesthetic: wavy, groomed hair / a brown leather strap patek philippe watch / dark-hued trucker and blouson jackets / kenneth cole shoes / an indifferent facial expression / lip-licking and frustrated huffing when he's losing his patience / disingenuous smiles when he's in the mood to be a jackass / 19-69 chronic eau de parfum (bitter grapefruit, cannabis accord, and moss) / oribe crème for style (oribe house cocktail scent)
biography / timeline so far
he’s the only child of colonel elias gallo and sheila gallo (née marquez)
his parents divorced when he was 12, and his father gained full custody, which is why roman went with his father when he was stationed overseas.
roman became a bit of an army brat; he lived in pordenone, italy, for three years and another three in kaiserslautern, germany.
living in airbases taught him extreme discipline and formality; until now, he says "yes, sir" or "yes, ma'am" when speaking to authority (and also maybe when he's teasing his girlfriend).
on the flip side, roman grew up with very little intimacy and emotional support, which created a rift between him and his always-busy father. needless to say, he was heavily neglected, despite having plenty of fellow army brat friends.
his mother remarried when he was 15, and up until then, he and his mother communicated often; communication seemed to wane from bi-weekly calls, to monthly calls, to no calls the older he got.
because of the lack of attention he received during his adolescent years, he became somewhat of a cold and distant teenager, and that hasn't changed as he entered adulthood.
he developed a short temper, too, most likely caused by the lack of conflict resolution he experienced growing up. if he fucked up (and fucked around) in the airbase, his punishments were draconian (i.e., manual labor and lots of verbal abuse from his father).
the second he got the opportunity to leave the army brat life behind, he did. roman needed normal, especially after not having it for six years.
he spent his gap years traveling europe, divided among spain, italy, greece, france, and amsterdam (thank you, dad's money).
he decided to go to college in norcal, because 1) he missed being in the us, and 2) he's always loved the west coast. lo and behold, he got himself a scholarship and applied as a finance major.
in all honesty, he wasn't thinking about taking his education that seriously, but once he found out he actually liked studying and was compatible with the lifestyle, he ran with it.
he also swore to himself he wasn't a monogamous relationship kind of guy, but when he met chelsea during a freshman mixer, they haven't left each other's sights since.
he enjoyed her carefree, slightly wild, independent spirit, and she adored his protective, mysterious, romantic personality. their relationship was intense, to say the least.
so, what happens when you put two explosive, confrontational, and jealous people in a committed relationship? a year and a half of arguing, making up, arguing, making up, ad infinitum. in their defense, year one was pure bliss and pure love. the last six months were when things began to fizzle out, and whatever scars they gave each other began to fester.
they broke up on halloween night (permanently, officially, for the last time), and they've minded their own business ever since. minus the late-night texts and calls, of course.
personality / miscellaneous things
he speaks fluent english (obviously), as well as conversational portuguese, italian, and german. don't ask him to speak in another language for the fun of it. he finds that annoying.
grew up wealthy, but was never spoiled. owning expensive things isn't a big deal to him because he thinks it's the default. he'll go ham on the 7-eleven dollar menu, though. he's no snob.
his hobbies include playing the drums (rip to his neighbors), killing time on video games, marathoning horror movies, organizing road trips and vacations, and wasting money on r/wallstreetbets.
he's actually quite intelligent and obviously hardworking, and if he could get his head out of his ass and prioritize his education, he'd be going places.
he's generally an amicable and sociable person, just don't assume you're best friends after hanging out once. he hates people who're like that and won't hesitate to never speak to you again if you get all buddy-buddy with him, especially when he doesn't vibe with you to begin with.
he's the kind of friend who's down for any type of adventure and will pick up the bar tab when needed; he's a bit of a hedonist in that sense. also, he's the tab picker—you're welcome in advance. you'll owe him in favors, but still.
he's quick to anger but knows better than to visibly show it or throw a tantrum in public. you'll just know when he's angry. his smile is gone, he disengages from the conversation, his jaw is clenched, the works. most of the time, he'll just walk away.
the only time you'll see him act on his anger is when you push him to talk about his personal life or anything he doesn't want to talk about. he doesn't care if you'll trade your own secrets in exchange for his.
he does have asshole tendencies, which are amplified when he hangs with frat boys or when he feels like he can get away with snarky quips around you. he'll usually apologize when he's gone too far, but he has his own spectrum of what's considered to be 'too far,' so ymmv.
despite his demeanor, he’s not an unapproachable war freak. sure, he doesn't smile a lot and has a lot of social land mines, but he means no harm, generally.
