It was a blur.
The news story. The interviews. The memories.
The funeral.
Virgil was numb.
Four months.
Four months ago was when Remy had passed out in the middle of the night.
Four months ago was when Logan had called.
Four months ago was the last time he had spoken to Janus.
Four months.
Four long months.
He had considered moving. Leaving the memories behind. But it was too much, too soon, too painful.
He left everything as it was. Shutting the door four months ago. A shrine in the form of a messy room, filled with Disney and theater and notebooks filled with stories the world would never get to see.
He'd ignored it. It's what he always did; ignoring everything that didn't matter.
When his parents died, he'd cried once. For Remy.
When his first boyfriend broke up with him, he didn't bat an eye.
He just took it in stride.
Figured he was broken.
Was he?
Sure.
Four months.
He stared at the doorway, unsure. Feeling as though he should go into the room, his room, sort through the mess. Find an end, a meaning, something. Some answer in the chaos, a pattern in the void.
He turned away.
Went to his room. Took down the two Nightmare Before Christmas posters, the ones his roommate had begged him for.
Rolled them up.
Walked out of the room. Up to the door.
Slid them under.
A final, parting gift.
He had let himself mourn for exactly two days. That's what he told himself, anyway. There were still remnants. Subtle. Discreet. Hidden. But there.
He turned his back to the door, leaning against it. A smile picked away at his face as he slid to the floor, imagining what he'd say.
He hummed a bit, the tune that had first come into his mind when he'd thought of the door.
"What are we gonna do," he sang softly, biting his lip as a tear rolled down his face.
And that was the only time Remy wasn't home to see Virgil cry - truly cry, as though the world was coming to an end. And yet he did.
~
"It's gonna be alright, sweetheart."
Janus shut his eyes and leaned back into Patton's warm touch. "I want answers," he whispered.
Always so curious. He'd found himself on the roof of a building with Virgil and Logan, both having no clue how they or the others had gotten there. Or where Roman had gone.
He wanted to know.
He let Patton hug him, staring blankly into the wall.
Eight months had passed since he'd last seen Roman's shining, smiling face.
He was still out there somewhere. He had to be.
"I just want answers," he repeated, letting the everlasting lull of sleep drag him away from the pain.
~
Remy stared into the sun.
Every day. He came back, back to the last spot he'd seen his friend.
He'd kept this part a secret from the others.
He'd found himself on the room, just as the others had.
But he'd gotten there first.
A small glimpse. It was all he needed.
A flash of the two of them. ROman and Logan. Together.
And they were there. For just a second, they were there. And they were both scared and wounded, and bruised and bloodied, but they were there.
As soon as Remy had processed what he was seeing, as soon as he'd reached out, trying to stop it, they'd disappeared.
That was what he remembered. Time was a fierce enemy, but he was certain of it.
Logan had come here to his building, this roof, the last place he had seen Roman.
Roman.
Saying his name in his head, Remy felt a twinge of something inside of him.
He had to just let it go.
He punched the fence angrily, kicking it as he panted, attempting to regain his dignity. "It's not your fault," he muttered to himself.
Roman was gone. He had been gone for a year. And he would be gone for even longer.
Remy still didn't believe it.
He told himself that he came back every day to pay respects, like a twisted, cruel funeral, or possibly even to relieve the event. See if there was anything new.
But he knew, deep down in a part of him he couldn't consciously go, that he was still holding onto that part of him tightly.
Let go.
Roman. The dazzling, sparkling star that was Roman. Him and all of his egotistical, ridiculous, heroic glory.
No. No departing, no closure, no leaving.
Let go.
He sighed. He knew he couldn't live the rest of his life like this.
He removed his phone from his pocket. Found Roman's number.
He still hadn't deleted it, even after a year of silence on both ends.
With shaking hands, he typed out three small words.
You: I miss you.
And then two more.
You: I'm sorry.
He shut his phone off, replacing it in his pocket, and walked home.
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Fanfiction[multishippers, get your asses in here. this one's for you 💖] Roman Trente has a few things. A roommate that he's gotten fond of. Well, as fond as you can be of a short, emo nightmare. Fond nonetheless. They're as close as he'd like them to be. Whi...
