#roman angst

[nonmanprince]

they dont call me mx mental illness for nothing (no one calls me that)

[dragon-flies-72]

Still on the Sanders Sides train soo Roman HC anyone?

I think when creativity split it was more like Roman got ripped from Remus more than anything, from what we know Creativity got split because of what Thomas believed to be good and bad and as such Roman is the one most stuck on this black and white thinking because that's what he is. He is the result of that.

As for how creativity split I like to belive that King Creativity was locked in a room by the Mind Palace or the Unconscious (i kind of view it as this eldritch horror thing that carrys out Thomas' unconscious wishes, also having it as the Mind Palace means more angst of Roman feeling jusy completely unsafe). This is also why Roman is so on edge in the SvS episode - because he remembers the split and being formed. He also knows that between the two of him Remus is supposed to be creativity, not him (which makes sense as Romulus and Remus are the twins in actual Roman mythology). So anytime he seems to do something 'bad' or 'wrong' there's a chance whoever split them (Be it the Mind Palace or the Unconscious) might come back and 'fix him' until he's Thomas' ideal version of 'Good' Creativity. I also kinda like the idea that this has happened shortly after the split, like Roman controlled impulsive thoughts or something but that was deemed wrong and so was taken from him and given to Remus.

Anyways, this all leads up to Roman being locked up by the entity (once again The Unconscious or the Mind Palace) and whilst Thomas' creativity is still functioning they can't summon him so they do a whole adventure to his room which oops they can't enter cause its under 'maintenance' they can hear Roman though and the poor boy is sobbing amd apologising for not being good.

Insert whole Philosophy debate about defining things as good and bad and accepting Remus as Creativity, and not being inherently bad but also still having a boundary separating creating art that is disturbing to you and art that isn't (because tbh Roman and Remus have been separated for so long is would impossible for Thomas to consider them as one thing anymore so they will never merge).

The door then unlocks, and everyone rushes in and finds Roman, still sobbing and curled up and Remus tackles him into a hug and they have a long crying session and he appologises to Janus for making fun of his name and placing so much pressure on Pattons and for ignoring Logan and initially not wanting Virgil to be with them and labeling Remus as inherently Evil (the damage by the entity is done so hes free from the black and white thinking but now stuck beliving he has always been in the wrong, so like borderline hysterical at this point).

The others are obviously all thrown off and so the whole story is spilled, Roman telling most of it as Remus wasn't entirely aware of the whole situation (they both remembered the Kings memories but Remus physically remembers physically being the King and making choices but didnt realise Roman didnt). Lots more tears and appologies and the other sides being servery disturbed and incredibly concerned by the whole situation. But they all make up and Thomas is sent off to bed whilst the rest of them have a movie night.

Yeah I figure this has slowly delved from a HC to a whole story but eh nothing i can do. Feel free to take bits of this or actually flesh this out into an actual story I just like Roman angst and have so many thoughts about the split.

[spac1ou5]

Something terrible is gonna happen when Remus gets accepted

Roman is actually going to go evil

Don’t ask me what that means

I don’t know.

But Remus getting accepted is just the beginning of the end for Roman and I WILL be crying

[sasi-prompts]

prompt submission:

Remus looked around the room, seemingly unimpressed by all the grandeur. "What a waste. I can see why Thomas was so... disappointed in you."

The words were meant to hurt. If they were from anyone else, they would have. But the sweet irony only made Roman smile. "Disappointed in me? He gave you away."

Roman has never seen Remus' expression crumple before.

It's salt in the wound, for both of them. One was born to be cherished, and the other was born to be discarded.

The encounter happens right after Roman's latest brainstorming session with Logan goes sour. Thomas rejects almost every one of his proposals and leaves Roman feeling inept and desperate for approval.

Remus loiters in Roman's room hoping for some entertainment. After all, Roman reeks of disappointment and anger and he's always fun to annoy in this state.

He kicks at all of Roman's discarded ideas. They litter the floor now, most of them overflowing from the trash bin that Remus likes to pick through when Roman's away. He starts teasing him over his "pissy" mood, telling Roman he's definitely living up to his namesake, and it escalates from there.

Roman normally wouldn't rise to the bait, at least not with so much vitriol, but he's feeling particularly sore after Thomas and Logan's recent rejection of his contributions. He lashes out because he's afraid of being replaced, so he has to deny Remus' importance in order to uphold his own.

He regrets it the moment he says it, but Remus' jovial expression is already closing off to him and shuddering into something much darker and hurt. He scurries off before Roman can even get a word of apology out, and he spends the rest of the evening trying and failing to find him.

He goes into Remus' room as a last resort, but Remus is still in hiding, and when Remus hides, he will almost never be found unless he wants to be. He still has access to the random pockets of "nothingness" that lead to the Subconscious. It used to be his domain, after all. He knows it better than anyone else.

Roman resigns himself to checking all of the ceiling vents and closets for the rest of the afternoon, but right as he starts to leave Remus' room, he trips over one of his projects.

It looks.....familiar.

Because it is. He picks it up, resisting the urge to don gloves as he does so, inspects the object/idea from all angles and freezes.

This is Roman's idea, rewritten and remixed. It was one of the few unrefined project ideas he had scrapped before it could even be presented to Logan or Thomas.

He thought it had potential but he just couldn't get it to work for the life of him, there was always something missing.

And here it is, no longer a crumpled up ball of paper in Roman's trash can. It's been carefully unwrapped and tended to, not given up on the way Remus was, and tucked away in a random messy corner in Remus' disaster of a room, already halfway to refinement.

It's good, loathe as Roman is to admit it, it's not a solution he would have thought of in a million years but already he's buzzing with a hundred different ways to "yes-and" it and frantically pulling his own notebook and pen out to scribe as many of the ideas down as he can.

Remus returns to the safety of his own room after spending hours sulking in the sewers of the imagination, only to discover Roman on the dingy floor of REMUS' room of all places, motioning him over hurriedly to look over the new schematics of an idea that is now just as much Remus' as it is Roman's.

When the next brainstorming session comes around, they present it together.

[milk3ad]

i haven’t seen anyone talk about how devastating this line is…

roman is once again being called inherently selfish, as a part of function of romance. and yet again, it’s perceived as a bad thing, another flaw in his character. just like with hopes, dreams, and the ego, it’s something to be limited, as selfishness “should” be. despite roman believing he’s fighting for something noble and good, what’s more pure than love, he’s still being selfish, he’s still wrong. another knock against him and one that he never disputes or defends himself from. and it comes from c!thomas no less…

look at his face here :( someone give my boy some love. there’s nothing wrong with pursing what you want

[give-me-a-minute-to-think]

it took me a while to get to writing this post bc it was hard to gather my thoughts abt it, but something i've been rotating in my mind ever since the video came out is not only the fact roman didn't try that hard to defend himself when logan suggested something that went against his very core and propose; but even after everything was settled, when he tried for a moment to (very politely and calmly may i add!!) stand up for himself, he immediately backed down.

im talking about THIS moment:

after everyone (including even janus) thank logan and address his attempt at contribution, he looks at roman. roman, who so far has been uncharacteristically quiet. and what does he say?

"look, we can't all be good at romance, logan..."

"...but i would never advise thomas to give up on being logical, just because i don't understand it."

and look at logan's face in reaction to that. that line clearly strikes something in him, as it should. logan realizes here, i think, that by suggesting they remove from thomas's life something that is at the core of roman's being, he has unintentionally crosses a line that shouldn't be crossed. this is roman defending himself (again - look how CALM he is abt it! how rational. he is being the most mature and level headed abt this that he can, even tho he is undoubtfully hurt and shaken), and logan SEEING HIS WAY. this is logan accepting his point.

but then, immediately after:

roman backs down. he steps back. he downplays it, tries to say something nice to logan to prove he can see reason or be a team player and not make a scene; he lowers his voice back down.

and you can see in virgil's reaction that he notices. and furthermore, he doesn't approve.

also interesting to point that roman's eyes flick over to thomas in the middle of this. and it is a quick movement; i had to slow him to 0.25 speed to even take this screenshot. and he does it again right after the shot of virgil too:

and after that we can also see that not only did virgil noticed, but thomas and janus did too.

patton, interestingly enough, is the only one not showing signs of noticing something is amiss; he whispers to roman that he could have "given [logan] a little more".

so, what is my point?

i think roman is containing himself on purpose, out of fear of being too much. i think he's afraid of demanding things for himself, even when it's important, and i think he's scared shitless of thomas not approving.

all of this things we as viewers already knew of course. but i think the others are starting to notice as well. god i hope this is all gonna blows up.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Solitary

Read on Ao3

Warnings: solitary confinement

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3550

Roman never really fit in with the rest of the family. Or, 'family,' he supposes, because it isn't really, not for him. Sure, he's one of the main henchman's kid brother who wasn't to be trusted enough not to blab if he didn't work for the family, so they just gave him a basic job to keep him off the streets and out of trouble, but not enough to know anything worth knowing.

Roman never really fit in with the rest of the family. Or, 'family,' he supposes, because it isn't really, not for him. Sure, he's one of the main henchman's kid brother who wasn't to be trusted enough not to blab if he didn't work for the family, so they just gave him a basic job to keep him off the streets and out of trouble, but not enough to know anything worth knowing. And sure, stocking bookshelves in the front of one of the money laundering places wasn't exactly bright and shiny work, but Roman liked it well enough. It was cool to actually read some of the books—even though his boss laughed at him when he asked if they could get a shipment of some of the new horror novels in—"This ain't a real book store, kid, it's just a front. Ain't nobody comin' in here to actually buy the book 'cept for tourists."—and the store always had a strange antique-y sort of vibe to it that let his imagination run wild.

Roman was too nice for mob work, you see, he really was. He was all smiles and earnest attempts at conversation and that really didn't sit well with most of the upper level, where Remus was. Remus had enough of a reputation to keep most people from trying anything with Roman, but part of Roman feels like he caused some of that reputation to slide away. Come on, how many people expected Remus's kid brother to be like…that?

Still, he did his job. He was smart enough to keep his head down and stay out of the way of anything really important and his boss even said he was good with throwing off whatever tourists did wander in, distracting them with 'all the charm of a pup eager to please,' he'd said, and Roman would take that. Didn't matter that he wasn't doing it to be sneaky or anything, he really did want to help them, but it worked to keep most of the family looking elsewhere.

Until Remus got reports of a mole.

Then suddenly there were eyes everywhere. There were sudden drop offs and surprise visits and thinly veiled threats that Roman could never realize were coming until he was hiding in the back room, trying not to panic too loudly. It didn't help that he was a 'pup eager to please' then, not when he rambled when he was nervous and everyone really seemed to love making him nervous right now.

He tried to ask for Remus once and the resulting smack made his ears ring for the next hour.

The standoff happens in a dark parking lot somewhere under the hustle and bustle of city streets. Two of them, one shaking as another young boy screams that he's the mole! It's him! He sold us out!

Janus DeLuca regards both of them with no expression. 

“Chief,” the shaking one whispers, “Chief, please.”

He turns to him. 

“You know me,” he says again, “it’s me, it’s really me you can trust. Please, don’t listen to him.”

Roman doesn’t say a word. He keeps his eyes on Remus, looking back and forth between them every once in a while. Remus's expression is neutral; his eyes and hands do not shake. Mr. DeLuca glances over his shoulder. After a few long seconds, Remus lowers his gaze to the ground.

Mr. DeLuca watches him for a moment before turning his attention back to the stuttering boy.

“Please,” the boy whispers again, “don’t—don’t leave me with him.”

Tears begin to run down his face. 

“Chief, I’m didn't do it. It wasn't me.”

Mr. DeLuca moves forward. The boy keeps crying as he comes to a stop in front of him, even as he reaches out to gently brush them away. The boy's next sob hitches as he cups his face in his hand. 

"Ch-Chief?"

“It’s okay, now,” he says softly, “it’s okay, little bird.”

The boy lets out another sob and all but throws himself into Mr. DeLuca's arms, crying into his shoulder. He rubs the boy's back as he cries.

The rest of the men swarm around Roman. He's shoved to the ground and roughly cuffed. Grit from the street rasps against his face. He loses sight of Remus almost immediately. He strains, trying to see him, trying to—

Mr. DeLuca doesn’t look at him once, nor does he see the smile forming on the boy's face as he watches the car drive away. 

They give him up. Roman is taken to a prison to await trial. He's deemed a security risk if he can speak with other prisoners. In the lower levels of the prison, there are concrete blocks for solitary confinement. Each prisoner has four walls and a thing slot of light through which food will be pushed. 

Four walls, a cot, a sink, a toilet. 

Roman stares at the walls. One of them has a series of tally marks on it. He counts once. They add up to make at least a year. If it takes that long to convene his trial, he will be lucky. 

The concrete is thick. He can hear barely anything except for the muffled footsteps of the guard who brings his food and the slide of a tray as it’s pushed through. Sometimes, if he strains, he can hear the voices of the other prisoners through the walls. 

(Roman doesn’t know that he’s the only prisoner in this block.)

Every time he gets fed, he scratches a mark into the wall. He doesn’t know how many times a day he gets fed. He doesn’t know if it’s consistent. For the first few days—or what he assumes are days—he tries to speak, to not let his voice fall into disuse. But when no one replies and the silence only feels all the more stifling, he stops trying. 

Roman exists in the silence, now, does not approach it, let alone break it. He taps out the rhythm of songs he can remember on crossed legs, experimenting with how to create different pitches and tones with his lips sealed. Remus used to call him a canary. He thinks this might be how they felt when they breathed in the gas.

Concrete blocks aren’t known for their heat-preserving properties. On the few nights where he can sleep, it’s fitful and spent shivering under a sheet so thin he can feel his fingertips grating together. His limbs ache by the time he stirs in the morning—or what he assumes is morning—and rubbing them won’t make it go away. 

When he cannot lose himself in remember song or stories, he gets lost in nightmares. Without enough stimulation to keep them in check, he starts to lose himself in the rambles of his brain and he can't pull himself out. The guards are used to this, however, and his cell has no objects sharp enough for that. He supposes he should be grateful. He doesn't remember the last time he was allowed to be on his own for so long. He doesn't remember the look on Remus's face when he realized his kid brother couldn't be left alone. He doesn't know what happened to make Remus stop believing in him.

(He doesn't know that Remus isn't here on bad nights.)

He thinks he hears him sometimes, talking outside his cell. He moves to the slot every time, only to see an empty hallway. He thinks he sees people inside too, during long stretches where he can’t sleep and everything feels as though it could rasp his skin off. But they never stay. They leave and he is alone, yearning for someone else. Anyone at all. Just to have someone to talk to, to touch, even if it’s only for a moment. 

At one point, he starts to wish for pain. 

Somehow this experience will mark him, leave him with bruises, a scar, something because it would be better than endless, monotonous nothing. He wants something else to hurt, something else to focus on. Even tangible anger. 

A guard spitting at him. Another prisoner lunging for him. Even one of the family, though he doesn't dare hope for Remus, not now, not after everything, come to see an impostor that tricked them into caring about him, however fake or cordial it might have been. 

But no one comes and he slips deeper and deeper until he is numb with cold, with the voices he cannot hear and the touches he burns to feel. 

He does not know how long it has been. 

When someone unlocks his door, he doesn’t move at first, convinced it is another hallucination. But then he is being taken for a shower. The guards cuff him again. He hides away in a dark part of himself that cannot feel how badly this burns. In all the times he has been taken for a shower, they do not leave him entirely alone. He washes, quick and perfunctory, the only semblance of normalcy he has left. This time, he is not re-cuffed as he exits the shower, not until another set of cuffs is brought. This one has a long bar in the middle designed to keep his hands spread far apart. They lock on with another taste of burning metal. 

He is not led back to his cell. He is lead to a loading dock where a police car waits. He is led down the stairs and put into the back of the car. It starts to drive away. 

He watches the world pass by until he grows weak with nausea, turning his gaze down into the lap where everything is still a little too brightly colored but much less. The rumble of the car makes him cold. Even as the driver turns the heat on, he shivers. 

He doesn’t know where they are at first when they stop, only that the car is suddenly at a halt and the driver is getting out. Then his door is being opened as there are hands, warm hands unlocking the shackles from his wrists. 

“Roman,” a voice is calling, “Roman?”

He looks up. 

“It’s me,” the man says, “it's Patton, do you remember?”

Yes, he knows this man. 

“The warden who was supposed to look out for you just transferred,” he says as he eases the metal from Roman's wrists, “we couldn’t get to you until now, I’m sorry.”

Wait, what? He tries to ask a question but his voice, worn away by the time of disuse, refuses. 

“Hey,” Patton says in a softer voice, “can you speak? It’s okay if you can’t, I’m not sure you’ve used it the way you’re used to.”

Roman nods and he makes a sympathetic noise. 

“I imagine you’re also touch-starved,” he continues, “solitary doesn’t exactly encourage contact. It’s going to take a while before you’re feeling like yourself again.”

Roman flinches. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He knows, but the sting still ripples through his arms. Patton reaches out, palms open. 

“Here,” he encourages, “put your hands here, let me see them.”

The squeeze of his hands around Roman's is a lot. It tingles and burns and he doesn’t want to pull away. 

“Squeeze, Roman,” he instructs lowly, “good. It will take time, okay? I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

Roman's…out? He made it out? Is he…he’s really free?

“Yes, Roman,” Patton says when he asks the question in his deteriorated voice, “you’re going to be okay now.”

“It’s cold.”

“Come on,” he encourages, pulling him slowly to his feet, “let’s get you inside. They’re waiting for you.”

He looks up and blinks. He's at the mansion. He focuses on the door as it swings open, revealing someone standing there. Does he know them? There’s a hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward them. Oh. Oh, it’s Virgil. 

“Hello,” he says, nodding to Roman, “they want to see you.”

“He's not going to be able to say much for a while,” Patton explains in a low voice, “and he’s going to need to be re-acclimated slowly. It’s also not a bad idea to have a doctor look at him.”

Virgil nods. “Are you staying?”

“No, they need someone else to clean up the last of the paperwork.” He touches Roman's shoulder one more time. “You’ll be alright now, kiddo.”

Roman turns to watch the car drive away before Virgil calls his name. 

“Come inside, Roman,” he says softly, “there are clothes for you to change into.”

He can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears as he leads him up the stairs to a bedroom. He opens the door for him and points at a small pile of clothes. 

“You can shower if you like,” he says, “I can wait outside.”

Roman carefully picks up the sweater—his sweater, his favorite one, the thick creamy cable-knit one—and wants and starts to change. The door closes behind him with a very soft click and on second thought, he leaves it open just a little. The sweater is warm and soft and he breathes a little easier as he pulls it down. 

“Roman?”

He pushes the door open the rest of the way and Virgil smiles slightly as he comes to stand next to him. 

“They’re downstairs in the study,” he says quietly, “come on. They’ll be happy to see you.”

When he hesitates, Virgil reaches out and carefully knocks his hand against Roman's. 

“You can take your time, they’ll wait for you.” The idea of them waiting for anyone is too big for his brain to handle. He doesn’t know how long they stand there but eventually he takes a breath and nods. “Ready?”

Roman has to stop again outside the study. Virgil waits with him, patiently, until he stars to walk forward again. He makes it into the room first, causing the low murmur of conversation to pause as they turn their heads. 

He's still cold, but there they are. 

“Roman!” Remus screeches, powerful enough that even Mr. DeLuca winces, as Remus bolts toward him.

Despite every instinct in him screaming to hug his brother, he flinches and steps back a little, overwhelmed by the noise and the movement as Virgil holds out a hand. He explains what Patton said in a low voice as Remus pauses.

"So I can't hug my brother?"

"Remus, he's like a pup fresh from a shelter right now. He's terrified and skittish and no one's been kind to him in ages. We need to be careful."

But Roman can't let his brother think he doesn't want to touch him, so he reaches out his hands. Remus ducks around Virgil in an instant, taking them both and squeezing hard.

He’s warm. He’s so warm. Roman's hands are burning and he doesn’t know what to do except hold on. Remus squeezes back, both of their knuckles turning white as he tips his head forward to rest against Roman's. 

“I missed you, Roro,” he murmurs, “I’m so relieved you’re back.”

"R-Re," he croaks, "I didn't—I never—"

"Oh, Ro-Bro, I know. You're my kid brother, you apologize to the last cookie you eat for making it wait its turn."

"R-Remus—"

“I'm gonna go make you some tea, okay? Your favorite. Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head. Remus frowns.

"Prison food blows, Roro. You need something actually decent in your stomach."

"Slow, Remus," Virgil reminds, startling Roman—how could he forget they were here? Remus just rolls his eyes.

"I'm making my brother a sandwich."

"Remus—"

He watches Virgil chase after Remus, the two of them already bickering about something. It feels surreal. It's not impossible for him to blink and see concrete walls.

Only when there's a quiet creak behind him does he remember that there's someone else here too.

Mr. DeLuca's face doesn’t look the same as it did a lifetime ago. Gone is the imposing black suit and cane, gone is the stern impassive judgment. Instead, he's looking at Roman with something he would dare label fondness, even though he knows that can't be true. The two of them look at each other for a long moment before Mr. DeLuca turns to his desk.

“Come here,” he calls. When Roman doesn’t move immediately, he looks up. “Do I have to come and get you?”

It’s said softly, with a smile, as he looks for something in the desk and Roman goes, coming to a stop in front of the desk as he pulls out a white drawstring bag and holds it out. 

With shaking fingers, Roman takes it and pulls it open. His gold necklace falls into the palm of his hand. He swallows and sets the bag on the desk, carefully going to clasp it back around his neck. But his hands tremble and his fingers can’t hook around the clasp right. 

“Here,” Mr. DeLuca says quietly, “let me help?”

He takes it from Roman's trembling hands and fiddles with the clasp. 

“Which one do you wear it on, the shortest?” Roman nods. “Alright.”

But the instant he moves behind him, he whirls around, shaking his head with his lips pressed together. Before he can stumble his way through ruined apologies, Mr. DeLuca hums gently.

“Not behind you?” Roman shakes his head again. “That’s alright, can you come forward?”

He coaxes Roman away from the desk, standing at his side, arms hovering just above his shoulders as he lowers his head close enough to brush the fabric of his shirt. 

“There, that’s it," Mr. DeLuca says as he hooks the clasp and lifts his hands, letting Roman adjust it the way he needs to. Absentminded instinct sets his fingers to fidgeting with the pendant, sliding it back and forth along the chain. "It looks good."

His head jerks up.

“It looks good,” Mr. DeLuca repeats softly, “it belongs to you.”

His expression flickers. 

“I didn’t know the warden had left,” he says after a pause, “nor were you supposed to be so isolated.”

Roman just nods, still fiddling with the necklace. Mr. DeLuca watches for a moment before he sighs, deep and profound.

“I’m not used to this part,” he murmurs, “I still don’t know what to do. Comfort is…foreign to me, but I owe you a deep apology, so you may have whatever it is you need from me. What can I do for you, little bird?”

Roman looks up at him and slowly edges a little closer. Mr. DeLuca's eyes widen in understanding and he opens his arms. Roman opens his too and carefully hugs him as though if he moves too much, he’ll disappear. Mr. DeLuca has no such reservations and holds him tightly, threatening to steal his breath as a rush of warmth flickers through him. Roman's hands tremble against his back and he hums. 

“You can hold onto me, it’s okay.”

He tightens his grip as Roman does, letting out a soft ‘there you go’ as Roman's hands curl into the back of his shirt. Roman lets out a shaky breath against his shoulder. 

“…did you know,” he croaks after a while, “when…when we were both…did you know?”

"Oh, from the second he was foolish enough to frame you. It was proof he didn't know what he was doing; no one who'd spent even a moment talking to you would think you capable of something like that. My only regret is that we weren't quick enough to take care of you while we sorted him out. No, little bird, you were always innocent."

"I'm sorry—"

"Hush, none of that. You have done nothing wrong. It is our fault and our failing that we were not there to catch you. Family looks out for each other and we have failed in that. You need do nothing but let us apologize."

"That's right."

He turns to see Remus and Virgil returning, Remus carrying a sandwich that clatters onto the desk as he swoops in to wrap his arms around Roman too. He can't stifle the sob that works its way up his throat and Remus just coos, kissing his temple as Mr. DeLuca rubs his back.

"I let you down, Roro," he murmurs, "I didn't keep you safe. Now you have to let me keep you safe."

"C-can I still work in the book store?"

"Of course you can," Mr. DeLuca says, "just so long as you're willing to commute in for dinner every weekend."

No small part of Roman blanches at the thought. Dinner? Dinner here? That was—that meant—

"Not those dinners," Virgil interrupts before Roman can spiral too far, "actual dinner. Where Janus gets to mother hen you about eating and you get to watch Remus be scolded for not sitting properly."

"O-oh."

"But in time," Virgil says, more for the others than for Roman, "you settle the pace for this, okay? You've had enough of people making choices for you for a while."

"Come eat, Ro," Remus encourages when Roman just hums, "you need it."

And maybe…maybe this can be a family. The type where Roman can sit on a couch he never thought he'd be allowed to look at, eating a sandwich while Remus and Virgil bicker and Mr. DeLuca—Janus keeps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly every time Roman needs it.

Maybe he can fit in here.

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