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- I -
Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous-not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance... That pure chance could be so generous and so kind... That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time.
― Ann Druyan
Roman didn’t know how he ended up there. He had left the others in a fit of fury and embarrassment as Thomas was once again thwarted of an opportunity to chase his dream. But it was different this time; this time, it wasn’t in favor of a prior commitment or because of an overwhelming amount of self-doubt that ate away his insides.
All Thomas needed was an idea, one that would be so unique and so impressive that it would cement his future in a career he worked so hard to get.
And yet, he blanked. A creative block. It was all Roman’s fault.
They hate him, he was certain. He couldn’t shake the look of resignation in Thomas’s face when he admitted that the idea was gone. He was useless and pitiful; just a worthless half of a chaotic whole. Oh, Remus should have had a field day with the insults that danced on the tip of his tongue—he should have given a snide, a remark, a cackle, anything other than the look of worry he gave when Roman realized what he had done.
Roman stared at the door of the subconscious. He knew the idea was in there; it should be. All he needed was to extract it. It was the perfect plan; no one would know where he would be and what he had meant to do.
No one, apart from Janus.
Janus had met him on his way there, his face grim and suspicious. “Roman,” he said steadily, “You are not about to do what I don’t believe you are going to.”
“I need to, Janus,” Roman said, clutching his red sash like a lifeline. “It isn’t too late.”
“One wrong move and who knows what will happen to you. We can’t risk that.”
Roman strode towards him and grabbed his gloved hands. “I’d rather risk it for a chance to make Thomas happy. You trust me, don’t you?”
Janus bit his lip. “Roman—”
“Don’t you?”
Janus didn’t need to speak; Roman knew the answer.
“I’m not covering for you,” he said instead.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
Somehow, Janus knew it was a lie before Roman could even realize it himself.
It was an accident, a slip-up, a miscalculated step. Roman meant to tread carefully past the door and into the multicolored twists and turns of the subconscious. Ideas floated in a whirlwind of directions all around him and he chased one that glowed bright red and zipped past with reckless abandon.
He was naive and impulsive. Most of the time, it worked to his advantage. But in the subconscious, it was a death sentence he didn’t know he was writing.
An accident. A slip-up. A miscalculated step. Roman tripped and down, down, down he fell...
...and that’s when everything snapped.
- II -
What if I knew I loved you? What if I loved you more? What if I loved you right?
Then, maybe you could touch beyond the crevices of my mortal flesh, beyond my relentlessly proud façade, and pierce your claws into my soul. A peer in and maybe you would’ve seen that I was at your mercy and that I wasn’t asking you to stay. I was begging.
― Twitter poet @stophmarket, “Infinite”
When Roman wakes, he is 17-years-old and late for his first day of Senior Year. His mom drives him as fast as she could as he continues to grapple with his new reality. He barely makes it when the bell rings and almost runs down the hallway when he sees Janus walking past him.
He skids to a stop and grabs his arm, staring at him as if it was the first time. Janus’s eyes are honey gold and his face is absent of the snake scales Roman grew to be fond of.
Janus doesn’t recognize him.
But Roman does. He figures it is all a dream. And so, he does what he has always done best around Janus—flirt and charm him until he successfully gets Janus to agree to hang out with him after school, right before a teacher scolds them for loitering.
Three years later and they’re in the same college, lying side by side in their dorm room, watching a Disney movie that Roman loves and Janus secretly likes.
Roman whispers a secret on Janus’s ear, and Janus turns to face him. I know, he replies. And they kiss, completely forgetting the movie they had put on.
They break up five years after.
The next life Roman wakes up in, it is 2016 and he’s on the way to the bar with his best friend who ditches him for a girl who laughs at a joke she overhears.
Roman stands awkwardly by himself with a rum cola when a bartender walks up to him and asks if he wanted another drink to go with his self-loathing. Roman laughs for the first time that night and asks him to give him his best one.
He ends up talking to the bartender that whole evening and ends it by bravely asking for his number. They meet up a few days later at a café down the street near Roman’s house and when the bartender talks, it sends a chill down Roman’s spine as he remembers the same voice asking him if he’s done his English assignment or if they can spend summer break at his grandmother’s house at Cape Cod. Roman doesn’t know why his heart breaks over words he hears in his head, but he takes the bartender back to his apartment anyway.
Roman is 36 and struggling with alcohol addiction when he sees Janus in red hair exit a tattoo shop. He feels a certain pull towards him that he can’t explain. He spends the next weeks smoking cigarettes outside the parlor watching Janus emerge and disappear through the doors that Roman never brings himself to go through himself.
He never gets the courage to say hi.
In his next life, he’s taking Jay out for a dance. It’s the far future and the world has become a much kinder and more loving place, and Roman is dancing in the middle of a crowd with the man he loves. Jay trips and flounders with every twirl and dip that Roman does with him, and his face reddens with annoyance and embarrassment that Roman merely laughs at.
You’re adorable, he says. He feels the happiest he’s ever been.
The lie tastes bitter in his mouth.
They watch the sunrise together on the hood of Jay’s car, arms linked and hearts heavy. Thank you, Jay whispers. I wish you could stay.
I wish I could too, Roman says back.
Maybe in another lifetime, then.
Roman smiles and says nothing. A few hours later, he’s on a plane back home where his fiancé will hoist him up with a loving embrace that Roman knows he doesn’t deserve.
They are children now and chasing frogs down a creek. Roman is much nimbler than John, hopping over branches and rocks with ease while John trails behind, panting.
Wait for me, he cries, and Roman abruptly stops.
You’re so slow, John, he whines.
They eventually reach their hiding spot where they had built a cozy throne for Roman out of branches and cloth. In that world, he was king, and he ruled the forest with his best friend.
My cousin’s coming over tomorrow, John tells him with a pout. I don’t like him; he makes fun of my face.
Does he know it’s hypopiggy-something?
Hyperpigmentation, John corrects. He doesn’t care; he just calls me an ugly monster.
I’ll beat him up for you! Roman draws out his cardboard sword for emphasis and John laughs.
No way, you’ll get in trouble, and we might not see each other again.
You should learn to stand up for yourself, John.
I know. I wish I could be just like you.
Roman’s heart swells and he takes John’s hands with his own. I’ll always protect you, John. We’re best friends forever.
John smiles and it’s the greatest thing Roman thinks he is ever blessed to see. He has yet to understand romantic love, but he is there, holding hands with the most important person in his life in a kingdom only they knew of, and he feels that nothing and no one can ever take this away from him.
Until he wakes up one day and it’s 1989 and he’s holding the sunken body of his lover in his arms, dying from an illness they both had. Janus is bald and he is shivering and his body is scalding to the touch, but Roman doesn’t let go.
He knows this illness will take him one day too. And he promises Janus that he’ll follow him into that dark abyss.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Janus doesn’t say it back. It is 4:45 when he passes.
Roman is 17 again and madly in love with his twin sister’s boyfriend. Before Dex was Rachel’s, he was Roman’s—his childhood friend who ended up getting attracted to his sister when they watched a play she starred in at school.
He fakes his smiles and ignores the pain, but cries himself to sleep every night knowing that Dex was never his to love, never his to keep.
I did not just see you dip your finger in the batter, Justin says with an amused face.
I didn’t, Roman teases, licking his finger clean.
You’re supposed to be helping me with these cupcakes, Roman. You wanted to make these.
Roman shrugs. I just wanted to try out this domestication thing.
‘Domestication thing.’ Justin shakes his head. You truly are a weird one, Roman Sanders.
That’s why you like me, isn’t it? Roman revels in the way Justin’s face heats up.
Ugh, you’re ridiculous. Just open the oven door.
Roman hops off his stool and wraps his arms around Justin’s waist instead, nuzzling his face on the crook of his neck. Let’s just stay here. Can you make time stop? Make time stop.
You’re such a sap.
And you’re being a prick. Let me wallow in my emotions.
I will when we finally start baking these stupid cupcakes.
Roman laughs as Justin shoves him away gently. You’re my favorite so far, he says loudly to himself. He believes it; Justin feels closest to his original love than anyone else has been in his past ten lives. He doesn’t want to let this go. He’s afraid of letting this one go.
Please let this be the last, he breathes, clutching onto the countertop dusted in flour and chocolate powder. There is a moment of silence until his face is hit with a wet spatula coated in rich dark fudge. He looks and sees Justin’s completely pink face.
I totally didn’t hear that, Justin says with an embarrassed huff.
Roman sticks his tongue out. Maybe you were meant to hear it, my love.
That’s it, Justin whispers, I’m leaving.
Justin barely escapes Roman’s embrace as he sweeps him off his feet and spins him around, laughter drowning out screams of protest.
I love him, Roman thinks. I love him. Please let this be the last.
But it never is. The next time Roman wakes, he’s on a bus and only meets Janus for a split second outside his window, walking along the sidewalk.
He counts 14 more years until he realizes he never sees him again in that lifetime.
It’s a Friday afternoon and Roman tells his coworker at a third-wave coffee shop about the guy he hooked up with the evening prior. It was his first time sleeping with a stranger and, in panic, left secretly in the morning.
His coworker, wearing sunglasses to hide his red eyes from the weed he definitely didn’t smoke at the back of the store, teases him incessantly. Oh my god, Ro, you’re like, so adorable. Was it a good bang, though?
He was...handsome and caring, and he always asked if I was okay, Roman sighs.
Ugh, I asked if the sex was good, not if he was, like, prince charming or whatever.
Roman sticks his tongue out and, before he replies, he is caught off-guard by a customer who clears his throat. Roman looks at him and almost yelps; it’s the same man he slept with and left alone in his apartment.
Holy Hera, Roman says, Jaz! I could—I can explain.
Jaz quirks an eyebrow and smiles. One Americano, please. And keep the apology. I’m just glad you’re well.
Roman rings up his order and promptly gives it to him at his table. He decides to explain anyway. It’s not that I don’t like you. I do! I mean, I’m just not used to this. But I’m...I’m glad to have had what he had last night.
Jaz just laughs. If that’s the case, then you wouldn’t mind me asking you out again tonight?
R-really?
Jaz rests his chin on his hand. I’m drawn to you, that much I can say. So, how about it? A proper courting for a beautiful young man?
Roman gathers enough will to not melt then and there. Yes, he says, and he lets Jaz take his number.
Oh my god, his coworker whispers when he returns. I’d do that all day, every day.
Shut up, Roman hisses. He refuses to admit that he would too.
There is another timeline when Roman couldn’t save him. JD is bullied and ostracized in High School and Roman is not friends with him. He sees JD one day being dragged to the bathroom and chooses to ignore it, despite the sinking feeling inside his stomach. School abruptly ends that afternoon when JD jumps from the roof.
There is another timeline when it is J who couldn’t save him. Roman strolls down the street with groceries when a masked man shoots him in the chest. As he bleeds on the hospital stretcher on his way to the operating room, he looks up and sees the face of his doctor. “J. Devon” his name tag reads. Hey, I know you, Roman tells him. The pain disappears, and so does he.
But there is a life when Jett goes down on one knee to ask Roman’s hand in marriage. They had met in Paris four years prior and Roman knew from fairytales and romance movies that he was the one. They have a simple ceremony in Central Park, New York surrounded by friends and family. They would go on to live 50 long years together before Roman succumbs to death in a hospital bed, holding his husband’s hand. Where are your gloves? he asks, before he breathes his last breath.
There is a life when it is Roman who holds out a box with a diamond ring inside. Jan is a woman that time, and she bears two beautiful boys whom Roman names Patton and Virgil. They both ask him on separate occasions where he got them. He never knows what the answer is.
In another, Dee screams accusations at Roman in the living room of the apartment they shared. Roman doesn’t speak, just stares at the hardwood floor wondering what he said wrong. Who’s Jan, Dee yells. You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? The apology dies on Roman’s mouth, and Dee walks out with a bag in tow, out of Roman’s life—that life. It would take 9 years before Roman finally forgives himself for the ghosts of his past he can’t seem to shake off and allows himself to fall in love with someone new, only his heart will never sing the way it did with Dee.
One time, he meets Janus at a theater during a solo violin concert. Roman watches him from a balcony and doesn’t understand why tears kept falling from his eyes that night.
You’re beautiful, Roman tells him as they lie under the covers.
You’re a liar.
I’m not. You’re beautiful. The burn on your face won’t ever make me think otherwise.
You’re too kind.
Roman smiles. You could have snake scales and mismatched eyes, and I would still love you the same.
That’s a strange thing to say.
Is it? Roman closes his eyes. I wonder why I said it.
Roman stares at his ex, all spiffy, clean-cut, and dashing in a suit, and smiles at him with all the sadness he could bear. I can’t believe you’re getting married, he says. His eyes trail to the husband-to-be, wearing black frames, a crisp blue tie, and a tight polite smile as he greets the guests that file in.
I hope he makes you happy, Jack.
He does, Jack replies, but that doesn’t mean that I was never happy with you.
Liar, Roman laughs. If you were, you could have been with me.
Jack winces. Don’t. Not here.
Roman watches him turn away, walking to his fiancé with a smile that once lit up Roman’s world. This could have been them. This could have been theirs. He thinks of a vague memory where he carries Jack in his arms as they stride across Central Park. (No, they’ve never been to New York, he thinks.) He remembers Jack’s voice telling him to pick up their kids from band practice. (Kids? What kids?) He reels from his hallucinations and steps out of the garden, past faceless strangers and away from the person he loved—loves—wondering why he feels such a deep and infinite sense of loss.
It’s 2008 and Roman is strumming on his guitar while his bandmate, Jax, flips through a music magazine that had them on the cover.
Roman strums chords he makes up in his head and stops himself from feeling too impressed at how easily new lyrics form in his head.
This is random, but I’m starting to think about picking up a new hobby, Jax tells him.
Like cross-stitch? Roman says, earning a swat on the arm.
I’ve always wanted to learn a new instrument.
Hmm. It would be a shame for you to give up violin, though. You were so great at it.
Jax drops his magazine and shoots a look at Roman. I never played the violin.
Roman squints. Really? Didn’t we meet— He stops. Nevermind. And he continues strumming. Then, he sings.
I don't really care
You can keep the things we used to share
But what did you do with my heart?
What did you do with my heart?
Jax whistles. That’s good. It isn’t our aesthetic, though.
Roman chuckles. Right. It’s too sad, isn’t it?
You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Jax places his hand on Roman’s arm. You’ve been out of it for a while. Something’s different.
You wouldn’t understand, Roman says. He surprises himself. He doesn’t know why he said that.
Try me, Jax responds. I’m here, I’m always here.
Roman glances out the window. Snow begins to fall. No, you aren’t.
There is a timeline when Jules says it first, with his lips pressed against Roman’s as they fumble with each other’s clothing to the beat of the fireworks that light up the night sky.
I love you, he says.
I know, Roman says back. It’s a script he’s learned by heart. I’m yours, love. Always.
I’ll hold you to that promise.
For a moment, Roman remembers. He remembers it all. Thirty-five lifetimes so far, including this one. If only you knew, Jules. I always have.
Jules pulls him down for a heated kiss, and the memories of his past lives disappear once more.
You shouldn’t be here, Roman seethes, his hand clutching onto the hilt of his sword tightly until his knuckles turn white. Johan stares at him from atop his black horse.
I’m your most trusted advisor, Johan reminds him, but I am also your friend. I will not sit idly by in the kingdom while you’re out here fighting for your life.
I need you alive, Roman roars. You are nothing but a liability on this battlefield!
Johan jumps off with a loud thud. I am not weak, he points a finger sharply on Roman’s chest. I have trained alongside you for years. I will gladly throw myself into danger to protect you!
Johan, please, Roman’s voice grows quiet now. You can’t—I can’t—
My prince, Johan sighs, for you, I will gladly give up my life.
Roman’s breath hitches and he grins. Better to die alongside you than to die alone.
Let’s try not to die, though.
Of course, Roman laughs, courage surging through his veins as he faces the enemies charging up ahead. Of course.
There is a dream he once had when he found himself in a cozy little apartment in Florida watching seven figures all huddled together on the couch while watching a movie he doesn’t know.
The figures all look the same, except in different outfits and wearing different expressions. His eyes glanced towards a man who resembled him most, wearing a royal outfit and laughing at the scenes the loudest.
He watched the man place his hand gently on the leg of another—one cloaked in black and yellow—who quietly looped his pinky finger around the other’s as though it was the only gesture of intimacy they could afford while surrounded with company.
He watched them, trying to connect the dots. But when the prince glanced his way, the dream ends and he wakes up.
Which life is this?
The person beside him stirs and sighs. This again?
Which life is this?
Roman, go to sleep.
How long since the last? How long until the next?
The man sits up gingerly from bed with his back turned. He sighs, stands, and walks to the bathroom with quiet movements.
Roman stares at the ceiling. You don’t love me in this one. It’s okay. Maybe the next one will be better.
The man stops. How dare you say that. I loved you for seven years.
Years don’t mean anything to Roman anymore.
I’m leaving in the morning, the man says, his voice trembling. I hope you find whatever godforsaken thing you’ve been waiting for.
Me too. It was all Roman could say. Me too.
Roman wishes he could die, then and there, as he watches his brother put on a drunken dance on top of the tables to an audience of intoxicated 30-somethings on St. Patrick’s Day.
He hears a chuckle beside him and he looks at a man with a scar on his left eye sipping on a martini glass in amusement. I wouldn’t want to be the guy who went with him here.
Roman presses his lips into a tight line. That’s my brother.
The man is stunned briefly before he keels over in laughter. Oh shit, sorry, I hope you’re okay.
Roman slumps his shoulders. Remus does this every time. I just need to make sure he isn’t drunk enough to take off his clothes.
So, I take it that you inherited all the brain cells? The man sipped on his drink.
And the looks, Roman winks, in spite of himself.
The man eyes him, amused, and holds out his hand. My name’s Janus.
Roman pauses, feeling as though he had forgotten something. He shakes his head and smiles.
What a beautiful name.
The baby in his arms coos and Roman smiles, not sparing a glance away from the painting he was working on at his table.
A pair of arms suddenly wrap themselves around Roman’s shoulders. How breathtaking, she says.
It isn’t even finished yet, Roman laughs quietly. When it is, I’ll hang it up on Patton’s nursery.
The baby stirs by the mere mention of his name.
Oh, my love, his wife says, placing a kiss on his temple. I hope he inherits your creativity.
Roman snaps his paintbrush in two. He blinks rapidly. What did you say?
Roman? What’s wrong?
He looks around wildly, gasping for air as he sees pink curtains, a polished crib, a baby in his hands, and the look of a woman’s bewildered expression.
I was looking for… I was… he gulps. What was he looking for again? He looks at the woman. Where am I?
What do you mean? You’re at home. She extends her arms. Roman, give Patton to me.
Roman is distraught when he gawks at the infant. Patton?
The woman swiftly takes the baby and cradles him protectively. What’s gotten into you, love?
He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know who he is.
Warm hands hold his own. Breathe with me, love. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.
He follows along until he sobs and clutches onto his wife. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
She shushes him. It’s okay. It’s me, Jan. Remember?
Jan, Roman repeats. His wife. His lover. The mother of his newborn child, Patton. He’s here at home in Brighton, painting a landscape of a fairytale kingdom he imagines so clearly in his head. He’s nowhere else but here.
I love you, he says.
Jan smiles. I know.
Roman looks at the audience with his charming smile and thanks the Academy for his golden award that glistens under the spotlights.
He says a speech about love, about acceptance, about being committed to change a cruel world no matter what it took.
His eyes flicker to a face in the audience—a man with mismatched eyes and scars on his cheek, who watches him with pride. Roman draws in a breath.
Above all, I dedicate this to the light of my life. Roman could see his partner’s mouth twist into an embarrassed scowl as the people around him glance his way. You’ve taught me how to love myself when I never could. I’m lucky to come home to your arms every day. Tonight, we’re coming home with this. He holds up the statue. I love you, always.
His partner blows him a kiss and mouths the words: I love you too.
Don’t let go, Roman pleads as he desperately keeps his grip on Joan's body dangling on the edge of a cliff. Please. Please. Don’t.
Joan loosens his hold and plummets 60 feet to the ground with Roman’s earsplitting screams as the last thing he’ll ever hear.
Fuck you, Dean says for the 26th time that night, crushing his cigarette on the steel leg of the table beside him. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.
Roman doesn’t flinch at that. That isn’t true.
You’re running away like you always do. Dean glares at him. Do you have any idea how much it hurts all of us when you do these selfish things?
You told me once that it’s okay to be selfish. Roman looks out the window.
Not like this. God, Ro. You’re so fucked up in the head.
Roman leans his head back. I’m so tired, Dean. I just want all this to end.
Don’t give me that. Dean rubs the back of his neck. Be serious.
How did you even get here?
Why the fuck does that matter? I found you. Like I always do.
You should stop, then.
Dean’s glare pierces through his skull. Fuck you, Ro. You’re a fucking asshole. He stands up abruptly and makes a beeline for the door. I’m buying more cigarettes.
He slams the door and Roman slides down to the floor, wishing that he had enough care in the world to climb onto his bed.
He drifts off to sleep on the carpet.
Tell me a story, Janus says, as he sways along to the soft music of the record player on the dining table. His arms are wound around Roman’s neck, while Roman’s palms are pressed on the sides of Janus’s waist.
What would you like to hear? Roman asks.
Janus shrugs. Anything.
Roman thinks about it. He gazes at Janus’s emerald eyes and sees the faint reflection of his own face. He wonders if that’s how Janus sees him—a neat mop of hair, dimples on his cheeks, a tiny mole under his brow—or if he could see through him for what he really was: broken, lost, and so, so in love.
I’ve been having strange dreams lately, Roman says at last. I could tell you one.
Janus waits patiently for him to start.
There is a prince who ruled a kingdom of his own making, where the grass was always green, flowers bloomed infinitely, and the birds sang. In his kingdom, the prince could do anything he wanted; ride across the hills on his steed, swim through the rivers, and dance underneath the warmth of the sun.
Was he lonely? Janus asks. Roman shakes his head.
There is someone, he continues. They’re still dancing slowly to the music. He isn’t royalty like the prince. Just a commoner who often shows up during the prince’s adventures. They don’t like each other at first, until they learn more about each other’s stories and realize that they weren’t so different at all.
How so?
Well, they were both lonely. Until they weren’t anymore. Roman leans his forehead on Janus’s. Two missing pieces of each other’s incomplete puzzle.
Janus closes his eyes. Sounds awfully familiar.
Roman trails his right hand up to Janus’s cheek to feel his soft skin. Can I tell you something?
Of course.
I love you.
Janus giggles. I know.
Roman lays his head on the crook of his lover’s neck. But you aren’t real.
What are you talking about, silly?
It’s this lifetime that Roman feels is his last. In the past 42 years of this particular life, he’s been having flashes of a bright sky, multicolored shapes, whispers of dreams and ideas he knows isn’t his own, memories of a family from long, long ago, and voices of people calling out his name.
Fifty-seven lives culminating to this exact moment on a breezy Sunday afternoon, sharing one last dance with a figment of his imagination resembling the man he’s been waiting for all this time.
He’s coming for me soon, Roman says.
Janus furrows his eyebrows. I don’t understand what you’re saying.
“There!”
The whole kitchen flickers briefly. Janus is still staring at him with wide eyes.
Roman continues to caress his cheek. Do you think he’ll love me the way you do? The way all of you have? Will he dance with me under the moonlight and beside kitchen counters? Will he hide under the covers with me while watching movies and remind me that it’s my turn to do the laundry every Friday? Will he write me songs so I could sing them in front of crowds and hold my hand when catching frogs by the creek?
Janus says nothing.
“Get him out of here, now!”
Tears fall down Janus’s face. You’ve been waiting for him for so long, haven’t you?
He’s coming for me, Roman repeats to himself.
Are you happy?
Roman takes a step back. He hears the rustle of clothing in the far distance and a strange feeling of floating above the linoleum floor.
I think I’ve always been happy.
I love you, Roman.
Roman bows and places a gentle kiss on the crevices of Janus’s knuckle.
I know.
- III -
Maybe love was some combination of friendship and infatuation. A deeply felt affection accompanied by a certain sort of awe. And by gratitude. And by a desire for a lifetime of togetherness.
― Chinelo Okparanta, “Under the Udala Trees”
Fifty-seven lifetimes of watching his lover live and die. Fifty-seven ghosts of a person who loved him, left him, and never knew him. Fifty-seven versions of himself all chasing that one spark that will drag him home.
On Roman’s 58th life, he returns to the one he’s always had.
“Roman?”
His eyes gently flutter open. For the first time in centuries, everything feels solid and real—the carpeted floor, the bright fluorescent lights, the smell of freshly baked cookies on the table by the fireplace, the crackle of burning wood, and five warm bodies hovering over his own.
“Are you alright, kiddo?” Kiddo, Roman thinks. Why did that sound so familiar?
“Princey’s alright, right? Logan?” A panicked voice. A name that Roman swears he remembers. Doesn’t he?
“He seems to be adjusting to where he is. He was in the subconscious for a long time.” Monotonous, like an anchor that drags him down from where he floated among his thoughts.
“How long?” Roman croaks. “How long?”
“30 minutes,” a voice from beside him says. “But you were out cold like an unsexy corpse when we found you. What were you doing there, stupid brother?”
30 minutes, he repeated in his head. 30 minutes. 30 minutes that spanned into 57 lifetimes that slowly melted away from Roman’s consciousness—the names, the stories, the faces, the promises, and…
and…
Roman looks up sharply and meets the mismatched eyes of a man in black and yellow, hands curled into fists to hide their shaking, lips trembling to wrestle with words to say that he doesn’t want to sound like a lie.
Roman reaches out before he even realizes it. He remembers yellow eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, scars, burns, hyper-pigmented skin—they were never right, never have been right. This is him, solid and true, and Roman shivers when he touches his gloved hand.
“What were you thinking?” the man cries, his facade melting away to uncover the bitterness and hurt. “I told you. I told you it was dangerous! If we didn’t know where to find you in time—”
“Janus,” Roman chokes, a tear rolling down the side of his cheek. Janus presses his lips into a tight line and sighs, dropping down to kneel in front of Roman. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m here, you idiot.”
“Let’s bring him to his room.” Logan glances at Patton. “Could you fetch him a glass of water, please?”
“On it!” Patton briskly makes his way to the kitchen as Remus and Virgil hoist up Roman’s body on opposite sides. They lead him to his room and carefully place him on his bed, taking off his shoes and switching out his outfit to comfier pajamas. Roman says nothing through it all, merely letting his companions fuss over his tired body.
When Patton tucks him in and smoothens out his hair, everyone watches him in silence as he let his eyes wander to the wall that is holding up Disney posters, drawings, notes, and plans. He blinks, touching the edge of a polaroid photo of himself taped closest to his headboard.
“We’re here to listen anytime you’re ready to talk, kiddo,” Patton says reassuringly.
Roman does his best to smile. “Thank you, padre.” He pauses. “Could you...give me some time alone please?”
“Affirmative. We must let him rest for now,” Logan tells the group.
Roman watches Patton give him a comforting pat on the shoulder before he hooks an arm around Virgil’s waist to ease his anxiousness as they exit the room. Remus and Logan follow suit until it’s only Janus left.
Silence fills the room before Janus asks, “Do you want me to leave too?”
Roman blinks slowly. “Never.”
Janus moves to sit on the edge of the bed and waits. Roman knows what Janus is thinking—he’s seen him make that face in every life they’ve shared. Confusion. Distrust. Pain. Brokenness.
“What happened to you?” Janus’s voice is so small, so filled with concern that Roman’s chest aches with a yearning to hold him—hold him like he did in all those lives he had lived. “I had to get Remus to help me find you when you failed to return after half an hour. And when I saw you lying unconscious in the subconscious, I thought I—”
Roman reaches out to touch him and Janus holds his hand firmly in his.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to explain it,” Roman whispers. “You’ll never believe me.”
Janus scoffs. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”
“Of course.” Roman smiles. “We’ve been dancing around this for far too long, haven’t we?”
“What are you pertaining to?”
“Our feelings for one another.”
Janus’s mouth shuts.
“In the subconscious,” Roman begins, “time is slow. And I lived and died over and over again, going through different lifetimes as different people. I was human. I was my own person.”
Roman slowly begins to sit up. “Some lifetimes were horrible. Others, sublime. And in every single one of them…” he squeezes Janus’s hand tightly. “…you were there.”
Janus tenses up at the affection that drips down from Roman’s voice. “I’ve met many different versions of you across those lifetimes and fell in love again and again and again.” Roman closes his eyes. “I also lost you again and again and again. And then, I’d wake and be in a different life—and I’d find you once more.”
“Roman…” Janus whispers, his hands shaking.
“But they weren’t real, were they?” Roman chuckles in spite of himself. “Right now, all the memories are slowly slipping away from my mind. All I’m left with is this…confusing mix of happiness and grief and fear that what if this isn’t real either? That I’ve found you, only to lose you again?”
He is staring at Janus now, vulnerable and weak and frightened. Janus moves close to rest his forehead on Roman’s, placing a gloved hand softly on his cheek. “Breathe with me,” he whispers. They inhale and exhale in time with one another and, as soon as Janus feels Roman’s body relax, he carefully lays him down once more. “Rest. I’ll stay here by your side.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I won’t lie to you. Not here. Not now.”
“Lie here with me,” Roman beckons.
Without hesitation, Janus takes off his cape and hat, stripping down to the black undershirt he had underneath his layers and slides under the covers to rest his head upon Roman’s chest.
For a moment, the world was still. Roman softly caresses Janus’s hair the way he did in all the lives he lived.
“Among them all,” Janus mutters, “which one was your favorite?”
Roman hums. “There was one where I met you in a bar; another where we were kids; and one where you asked me to marry you.” He gently lifts Janus’s chin to meet his questioning eyes. “But this… this is my favorite. This is the lifetime I belong in.”
Janus says nothing, until he hisses, “You are prohibited from going anywhere near the subconscious again.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to, anyway.” Roman closes his eyes. “I just want to be with you. Anywhere with you.”
“You’re such a sap.”
Roman smiles. He’s definitely heard that before, and his heart flutters and breaks at the same time.
He leans forward and their lips meet—a kiss so chaste and uncertain and fills their chests with warmth.
“Janus.” Dee. Jan. Justin. JD. Jules. Dean. “My love.”
“Shh. Go to sleep.”
Roman holds him tighter. For the 2,487th time, he says, “I love you.”
Janus smiles. And for the 1,603rd time, he replies, “I know.”
The next morning, Roman completely forgets all the 57 lives he lived and all 57 persons he’s loved.
He doesn’t mind. He was never meant to keep them.
Because he finds Janus there beside his bed, with mismatched eyes and snake skin, waiting for him to wake.
He smiles at Roman and Roman smiles back.
Janus is there.
And they are happy.
- F I N -