cannibal; kendall roy

The After: 2

The first time Roman Roy had tried to reach out to his brother had been on his forty first birthday. He had quickly discovered his number had been blocked. He did some digging. He tried sending flowers. They were sent back. The Roman Roy of two years ago probably, would've accepted defeat—or at the very least, would've been spiteful, maybe even resentful. Especially after Kendall Roy's treatment of his younger brother. Those final moments in the office. But Roman had found himself still progressively needy, wanting to empty himself out to someone, and Kendall was the best option.

Shiv Roy was busy playing wife to Tom Wambsgans. They had a daughter, and were too busy spending thousands of dollars to make her happy, or as adjusted to life as she could be—which in Roman's mind, as an Uncle, or a survivor of his father, made him more skeptical. In all honesty, with someone like Shiv as a mother—their daughter was destined to fail. Even if she was supposed to be "bright" for a baby. As determined by a baby psychiatrist. The fuck did that even mean? Roman didn't know. Hell, all he really knew is that he had nobody in his corner, and he didn't particularly want to change diapers—yet.

But his older brother was rejecting him.

Over and over again.

Kicking him, maybe.

Finally, he had done the most responsible thing he could've done—which was to just show up. He'd managed to make it up to their building. Up to their hallway. He was still on the list, surprisingly, Kendall and Marguerite had taken him off of it. His head had been rushing with adrenaline when he'd done it—sure, it was a silly thing to grow excited over, but he thought, maybe—just fucking maybe, his brother would walk out and give him a hug. That maybe—they could go back to the way things were. His therapist had little to no clue that he had even decided to visit his brother. She would've been against it. She'd thought that the duo had been making progress as of late. Apparently not.

He'd rung the doorbell, and at first, well—for the first few minutes, there was nothing. No response. No scuttling around. No noise. Just clean, preposterously clean white walls. Eggshell. Roman hated eggshell. Then it had opened, revealing Colin. His father's former bodyguard, and supposed best friend. Someone Roman had used to joke about—poke at, even. Now the very sight of the man was making him sick. He hadn't seen him since the funeral, and Roman wasn't too keen on reliving anything related to that day. After all, his memories of Colin belonged to his father. Entirely, to Logan Roy. So seeing him in the doorway of his brother's home was sickening. It pinched him in his gut, and traveled up to his head.

"Roman" the man starts, nodding his head at him. As if he was beneath him, or a fucking stranger.

Roman feels squeamish in this moment. A bit lightheaded. He bites his cheeks. He doesn't want to cry, or make a fool of himself. Not here. Not in front of someone useless, or so fucking—wait, he's working on being better. On treating people like people. He's human, so is Colin. What difference does any of it fucking make?

"Hey, is he in?"

Colin glances back into the apartment and then back to Roman "No. I'm afraid not."

"Oh. Okay. Can I wait?"

Colin shifts uncomfortably "Can you?"

"Look man, I just want to see my brother" he snaps a little, and isn't sure if his words come off as unhinged, or slightly twinged. Or if he sounds like a dick. He's confided in his therapist that his delivery can come off of as dickish. She agrees.

"Roman" Colin clears his throat, looking back inside the apartment, before holding up a finger and ducking back inside the apartment.

He stands in silence for another few, long and tedious minutes. His hands sitting in his pockets. The weather outside is cold. He walked to their apartment, and for the first time in forever, he's wearing a coat—protecting himself from the layers of hell and hail outside. Maybe even giving himself the layers, and warmth to even be there.