Title: Pandora
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
ktbob
Recipient:geekchick1013
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Deniz/Roman
Summary: Sometimes scary things come in small packages
Rating: adult
Word Count: 2700
Author's Notes: Many thanks to N for the last-minute beta!
The first thing he notices when he walks in the door is the quiet.
Since Florian moved in, the apartment was rarely quiet anymore. The TV was on, or the stereo, or Flo was just bopping around the place, talking and moving and bumping into things, like teenagers do.
And it wasn't like Deniz was known for his ninja-like stealth, either. Between the two of them, the place usually hummed with activity and conversation.
But today, it's almost eerily still. No background noise from electronics, no bickering down the hall about who'd left toothpaste in the sink again.
Roman smiles wearily, sinking down onto the couch and resting his head against the backrest. It's a rare thing, having the place to himself, if just for a little while. And after the day he'd had, a little time to rest and regroup is definitely welcome.
There was another competition coming up, as was usual this time of year, and things behind the scenes were going to hell, as was usual any time of year. He wonders idly if this was payback from the universe for any diva-like tendencies he'd exhibited during his years as a competitor, then shook off the thought. Even at his worst, he'd never been as bad as Katja and Isabelle. Throw Claudia into the mix, and it was a recipe for a migraine, every damned day.
He squints one eye open, glancing at the table to see if maybe, just maybe, someone had left the paracetamol out so he wouldn't have to walk all the way to the bathroom to fetch it. But no such luck, the table was actually clean for once, with nothing on it except a couple of placemats and a package, set square in the middle.
It's come in the post, that's clear, with tape binding it together on every seam, and one edge smooshed down so it's no longer a perfect rectangle. It hasn't been opened yet, so chances are good it's for him, and Roman isn't one to let a mystery remain unknown for long. Besides, the holidays are fast approaching. This could be his first Christmas present.
Curious, he pries himself up from the couch and heads over to the table, brow furrowed as he squints at the label. It's a little smudged, but definitely addressed to him. He grins briefly. Nothing like an unexpected treat in the post.
Then he catches the return address out of the corner of his eye, and everything inside him turns to ice.
Posted from Hamburg. Sender --
"Marc."
Deniz's voice makes Roman jump, which he realizes belatedly makes him look guilty, but there's nothing he can do about that. "You startled me," he says quietly, turning to look at Deniz, standing behind him, arms full of groceries. He takes a bag and places it on the counter, his back to the kitchen table as he starts to unload the bread and vegetables and a bunch of bananas. After a long moment, Deniz joins him, and they put the food away in silence, a silence which is somehow more charged, more dangerous, than any cat fight brewing between his two ice princesses.
And then the bags are empty, and Roman is folding them into tight little squares, stowing them in the third drawer down next to the refrigerator, and Deniz is leaning into the vee of the counter between the sink and the stove, arms crossed over his chest. If Roman wasn't feeling so raw and exposed right now, he'd be admiring the way that pose shows off Deniz' pecs, muscles sleek and tight against the close weave of his short-sleeved shirt.
Roman closes the drawer, then wipes down the counter with the washcloth hanging over the faucet. He folds that up neatly, too, making sure it's tidy and square on the faucet again before he turns away. With every movement, he can feel Deniz's gaze on him, heating his skin in a thoroughly unpleasant, nonsexual way.
They both studiously avoid looking at the table, and the package on it.
Finally, the tiny kitchen is spotless again, and Roman searches for something to say, anything to break the silence. Desperate, he settles on the banal. "How was your day," he asks, glancing at Deniz' cold, granite face.
"Fine."
Roman nods. "Uh, work go okay?"
Before Deniz can give another clipped, one-word answer, the front door slams open and Flo breezes through, already mid-conversation. "... the Steinkamps will give me an extra shift or two next week if I ask nicely? I know I've got loads of training to do, too, for the next competition, but with the holidays coming up I could use the extra cash. Plus there's a new club opening this weekend that I want to check out." He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and bounces over to the fridge, brushing past Roman to grab a drink. Turning, he leans over the table to look at the package. "Dude, who got the present? And why isn't it opened yet? I don't care if it's a Christmas gift, once it's here, you've gotta open it. So who's it for?"
Roman can pinpoint the exact moment Flo sees the address label. His mouth closes so quickly you can almost hear it snap shut. He backs away slowly, glancing first at Roman, then Deniz. "I'll, uh, be in my... whatever,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the doorway.
He's through the door and down the hall before either of them can say boo, if they even want to.
"It's a valid question," Deniz says finally, his voice sounding loud in the thick stillness of the room.
"What is?" Roman looks at him sideways.
Deniz shrugs. "Why haven't you opened the package?"
Roman bites the inside of his cheek. There’s no answer that will work in this situation, he’s sure of it. So instead, he shrugs, glancing out the window at the light flakes dusting down in the light of the streetlamp.
Deniz sighs, a wealth of meaning in that small breath, and pulls his coat back on. “I’ve got to go,” he says.
“Deniz.”
“I forgot something at the store,” Deniz lies, so smoothly and easily Roman could almost believe him. But he knows Deniz, and he knows lies.
“Please don’t.”
But Deniz only smiles tightly and pulls open the door. “I’ll be back,” he says, and Roman closes his eyes and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that this, at least, is the truth.
****
It’s past midnight when the front door opens again. Roman sits up on the couch, rubbing bleary eyes.
“You didn’t have to wait up.” Deniz drops his keys in the bowl by the entryway. “I know you have an early practice tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Since they’d reconnected, Roman had needed Deniz’s warm body next to his at night, maybe even more than before.
“Still. It wasn’t necessary.”
Dread grows in Roman’s stomach like vines, curling and tangling and squeezing.
“Deniz, shouldn’t we talk about this?”
Deniz’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, we should. But not tonight. I’m wiped.”
He heads down the hall to the bathroom, Roman following behind. Right before the door closes, Roman casts one last desperate look at the box on the table, ironically smack dab in the middle of the only pool of moonlight let in by the kitchen window.
It glows bright, and tempting, and deadly. And he feels the pull slowing his steps as he slips through the door and shuts it most emphatically.
****
The thing was, they’d never really talked about it.
Once Deniz had approached him at the wedding, and they’d ended up shagging six ways from Sunday (coat check, bedroom, back room at No. 7 on a trip to find sustenance after hours) in celebration, he’d been so happy to have a second chance he hadn’t focused on that fact. If anything, Deniz’s lack of interest in hashing out all the painful details had been a relief, a chance to set back the clock and put the Marc incident on a back shelf of his mind, labeled, “Mistake, Over.”
But it wasn’t. Just like his feelings for Marc had been slumbering in the background, waiting for the moment they would burst free again, the emotional fallout of his cheating and betrayal lurked under the veneer of happiness and contentment they both worked so hard to maintain.
Roman rolls over again, too cold to sleep. Most nights they slept tangled up in each other, Deniz’s long limbs wrapping around him, warm breath puffing against the back of his neck. Tonight there is an invisible line of demarcation, the heat of Deniz’s body a faint shadow on his side of the bed. He curls in on himself, tucking his hands under his armpits, and squeezes his eyes shut once again.
****
At two am he thinks about slipping out of bed, snatching the package off the table and stuffing it in the dumpster outside.
He makes it as far as the doorway before admitting to himself that doing that wouldn’t solve anything, either, and would likely make the situation worse.
He crawls back into bed and wraps the comforter tightly around him.
****
At 3:17 he slides one hand across the mattress, under the covers, until he brushes against the back of Deniz’s hand.
Five minutes later, he links his pinky with Deniz’s.
Ten minutes later, he finally falls asleep.
****
At 5:42, he wakes up wrapped in warmth. Deniz had somehow commandeered Roman’s side of the bed, one foot between Roman’s calves, an arm around his midsection, nose pressed against his jaw.
Roman holds himself absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, not willing to do anything to disturb the tenuous nature of their positions. Slowly, he slips back into sleep, hoping against hope that when Deniz wakes up he won’t turn away.
****
When he wakes again, it is daylight, and Deniz has his hand down Roman’s sleep pants, stroking him almost roughly. Roman turns his head, but Deniz won’t meet his eye. Instead, he bends forward and attaches his mouth to the juncture of Roman’s neck, sucking a bruise on the sensitive skin. Just like that, Roman is coming, muscles trembling as he pulses in Deniz’s hand.
Once he recovers, he reaches for Deniz, but he had already slipped out of bed. “Shower,” Deniz says by way of explanation as he heads out the door.
****
Roman is sitting at the kitchen table, package right in front of him, when Deniz finally comes into the room. He stutters to a halt, then continues past the table to pour a mug of coffee. The whole time, he won’t look Roman in the eye.
Roman says nothing. He just takes a knife and slices open the tape at the top of the box.
“Careful,” Deniz says, the word sounding like it had been dragged out of him unwillingly. “You wouldn’t want to damage something.”
Roman swallows, wondering if something isn’t already irretrievably damaged. But he forces that thought down and opens the box.
At first, it looks like just a bunch of crinkled-up newspaper and outdated advertisements. He lifts out layer after layer, setting them aside, as he digs a little deeper. And throughout it all, he can feel Deniz’ eyes on him, though each time he looks up Deniz is looking away.
Then the paper is gone, and Roman looks inside. Next to him, he can sense Deniz glancing in as well.
Silence stretches. Finally Deniz blurts out, “What is it?”
For the first time since he’d seen the package on the table, Roman smiles. “Memories,” he says. He begins emptying the box of its contents.
“Must be good memories,” Deniz mutters, and the bitterness laces the air around them.
Roman stops mid-motion and looks at Deniz, waiting until they made eye contact. “Some of them,” he says. “Others, not so much.” He places the item in his hand on the table and pulls out the chair next to him. “Deniz, please sit down.”
Slowly, unwillingly, Deniz folds his lanky frame onto the seat. Roman reaches over and grabs Deniz’s hand, holding tight as Deniz makes a half-hearted effort to pull away.
“I’ve never really told you about Marc,” Roman says, reaching into the box for another item.
“That’s fine by me.” Deniz glares at the box. “The less I hear about that asshole, the better.”
“No, it’s not,” Roman replies. “It’s not fine. Because right now, it’s this, I don’t know, huge dragon in the room with us that we keep tiptoeing around.”
“Don’t you mean elephant?” Deniz’s voice is sullen.
Roman resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just saying. It’s this thing, and it’s there, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.”
“Everything was just fine until this package showed up,” Deniz says.
Roman picks at the tape on the edge of the box. “Just like everything was fine until Marc showed up. But it wasn’t, not really, because there was so much I kept suppressed, so much of myself I never shared with you. So much I never dealt with. And we both know how well that worked out.”
He watches as Deniz swallows, the muscle in his jaw tightening.
“When I moved to Essen, I wanted to leave my past behind me. I wanted to, I don’t know, reinvent myself. So I turned myself into an only child, and an out and proud gay man, with parents who accepted me. Someone who’d always been the strong one. And after a while, I believed it. I was that person, because I’d worked so hard to become him.”
Roman sighs, sifting through the items on the table. “Until Marc showed up and tore that web of lies to shreds.”
“Roman—“
He barrels on, anyway, knowing if he doesn’t say it now, it might never be said. “And to deal with it, to deal with those emotions and issues and memories, I started building new lies. I didn’t face it head on, and that, as much as the cheating, ripped us apart.”
Deniz makes a strangled little noise, and Roman looks at him with concern. But the younger man just swallows and nods once.
“The cheating was awful, Deniz, and I accept the blame for that. But it was my other betrayal – the lies, the hiding myself from you – that I haven’t dealt with yet. That we haven’t dealt with yet.”
Roman picks up a sketchbook, a little worn on the edges. A tiny smile plays on the corners of his mouth. “So I’m done hiding. Here I am, in all my frayed, shopworn glory.”
Deniz finally speaks, his voice low and strained. “I thought I already knew you.”
“In so many ways, yes, you did,” Roman says, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around Deniz and let the past fall away. “But I think I always held something back, afraid that if you saw the real me, you’d leave.”
He spread the items from the box out on the table. “This is everything I left behind when Marc and I broke up. Everything I left behind when I tried to become someone new. Because I didn’t believe I was enough.” He pauses. “You were never second choice, Deniz. Never the default. It was just that – I guess I felt like two different people, pulled in opposite directions. But in the end, you were the one I wanted. Here, with you, was where I wanted to be.”
“But what if this—“ Deniz waves a hand at the stuff on the table – “just brings back memories? What if this is Marc’s way of winning you back?”
Roman shakes his head. “This is goodbye. He’s letting go of all the parts of me that I’d left behind. I just … I just need to embrace that part of me now. Accept that it’s a part of who I am, who I used to be. And hope that you can embrace it, too.”
Silence stretches between them, the clock ticking like a metronome in the background. Outside, a car door slams.
“So.” Deniz picks up a cassette tape and turns it over. “What the hell is this?”
Roman smiles and squeezes Deniz’s hand.
Author:
ktbobRecipient:
geekchick1013Character(s)/Pairing(s): Deniz/Roman
Summary: Sometimes scary things come in small packages
Rating: adult
Word Count: 2700
Author's Notes: Many thanks to N for the last-minute beta!
The first thing he notices when he walks in the door is the quiet.
Since Florian moved in, the apartment was rarely quiet anymore. The TV was on, or the stereo, or Flo was just bopping around the place, talking and moving and bumping into things, like teenagers do.
And it wasn't like Deniz was known for his ninja-like stealth, either. Between the two of them, the place usually hummed with activity and conversation.
But today, it's almost eerily still. No background noise from electronics, no bickering down the hall about who'd left toothpaste in the sink again.
Roman smiles wearily, sinking down onto the couch and resting his head against the backrest. It's a rare thing, having the place to himself, if just for a little while. And after the day he'd had, a little time to rest and regroup is definitely welcome.
There was another competition coming up, as was usual this time of year, and things behind the scenes were going to hell, as was usual any time of year. He wonders idly if this was payback from the universe for any diva-like tendencies he'd exhibited during his years as a competitor, then shook off the thought. Even at his worst, he'd never been as bad as Katja and Isabelle. Throw Claudia into the mix, and it was a recipe for a migraine, every damned day.
He squints one eye open, glancing at the table to see if maybe, just maybe, someone had left the paracetamol out so he wouldn't have to walk all the way to the bathroom to fetch it. But no such luck, the table was actually clean for once, with nothing on it except a couple of placemats and a package, set square in the middle.
It's come in the post, that's clear, with tape binding it together on every seam, and one edge smooshed down so it's no longer a perfect rectangle. It hasn't been opened yet, so chances are good it's for him, and Roman isn't one to let a mystery remain unknown for long. Besides, the holidays are fast approaching. This could be his first Christmas present.
Curious, he pries himself up from the couch and heads over to the table, brow furrowed as he squints at the label. It's a little smudged, but definitely addressed to him. He grins briefly. Nothing like an unexpected treat in the post.
Then he catches the return address out of the corner of his eye, and everything inside him turns to ice.
Posted from Hamburg. Sender --
"Marc."
Deniz's voice makes Roman jump, which he realizes belatedly makes him look guilty, but there's nothing he can do about that. "You startled me," he says quietly, turning to look at Deniz, standing behind him, arms full of groceries. He takes a bag and places it on the counter, his back to the kitchen table as he starts to unload the bread and vegetables and a bunch of bananas. After a long moment, Deniz joins him, and they put the food away in silence, a silence which is somehow more charged, more dangerous, than any cat fight brewing between his two ice princesses.
And then the bags are empty, and Roman is folding them into tight little squares, stowing them in the third drawer down next to the refrigerator, and Deniz is leaning into the vee of the counter between the sink and the stove, arms crossed over his chest. If Roman wasn't feeling so raw and exposed right now, he'd be admiring the way that pose shows off Deniz' pecs, muscles sleek and tight against the close weave of his short-sleeved shirt.
Roman closes the drawer, then wipes down the counter with the washcloth hanging over the faucet. He folds that up neatly, too, making sure it's tidy and square on the faucet again before he turns away. With every movement, he can feel Deniz's gaze on him, heating his skin in a thoroughly unpleasant, nonsexual way.
They both studiously avoid looking at the table, and the package on it.
Finally, the tiny kitchen is spotless again, and Roman searches for something to say, anything to break the silence. Desperate, he settles on the banal. "How was your day," he asks, glancing at Deniz' cold, granite face.
"Fine."
Roman nods. "Uh, work go okay?"
Before Deniz can give another clipped, one-word answer, the front door slams open and Flo breezes through, already mid-conversation. "... the Steinkamps will give me an extra shift or two next week if I ask nicely? I know I've got loads of training to do, too, for the next competition, but with the holidays coming up I could use the extra cash. Plus there's a new club opening this weekend that I want to check out." He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and bounces over to the fridge, brushing past Roman to grab a drink. Turning, he leans over the table to look at the package. "Dude, who got the present? And why isn't it opened yet? I don't care if it's a Christmas gift, once it's here, you've gotta open it. So who's it for?"
Roman can pinpoint the exact moment Flo sees the address label. His mouth closes so quickly you can almost hear it snap shut. He backs away slowly, glancing first at Roman, then Deniz. "I'll, uh, be in my... whatever,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the doorway.
He's through the door and down the hall before either of them can say boo, if they even want to.
"It's a valid question," Deniz says finally, his voice sounding loud in the thick stillness of the room.
"What is?" Roman looks at him sideways.
Deniz shrugs. "Why haven't you opened the package?"
Roman bites the inside of his cheek. There’s no answer that will work in this situation, he’s sure of it. So instead, he shrugs, glancing out the window at the light flakes dusting down in the light of the streetlamp.
Deniz sighs, a wealth of meaning in that small breath, and pulls his coat back on. “I’ve got to go,” he says.
“Deniz.”
“I forgot something at the store,” Deniz lies, so smoothly and easily Roman could almost believe him. But he knows Deniz, and he knows lies.
“Please don’t.”
But Deniz only smiles tightly and pulls open the door. “I’ll be back,” he says, and Roman closes his eyes and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that this, at least, is the truth.
****
It’s past midnight when the front door opens again. Roman sits up on the couch, rubbing bleary eyes.
“You didn’t have to wait up.” Deniz drops his keys in the bowl by the entryway. “I know you have an early practice tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Since they’d reconnected, Roman had needed Deniz’s warm body next to his at night, maybe even more than before.
“Still. It wasn’t necessary.”
Dread grows in Roman’s stomach like vines, curling and tangling and squeezing.
“Deniz, shouldn’t we talk about this?”
Deniz’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, we should. But not tonight. I’m wiped.”
He heads down the hall to the bathroom, Roman following behind. Right before the door closes, Roman casts one last desperate look at the box on the table, ironically smack dab in the middle of the only pool of moonlight let in by the kitchen window.
It glows bright, and tempting, and deadly. And he feels the pull slowing his steps as he slips through the door and shuts it most emphatically.
****
The thing was, they’d never really talked about it.
Once Deniz had approached him at the wedding, and they’d ended up shagging six ways from Sunday (coat check, bedroom, back room at No. 7 on a trip to find sustenance after hours) in celebration, he’d been so happy to have a second chance he hadn’t focused on that fact. If anything, Deniz’s lack of interest in hashing out all the painful details had been a relief, a chance to set back the clock and put the Marc incident on a back shelf of his mind, labeled, “Mistake, Over.”
But it wasn’t. Just like his feelings for Marc had been slumbering in the background, waiting for the moment they would burst free again, the emotional fallout of his cheating and betrayal lurked under the veneer of happiness and contentment they both worked so hard to maintain.
Roman rolls over again, too cold to sleep. Most nights they slept tangled up in each other, Deniz’s long limbs wrapping around him, warm breath puffing against the back of his neck. Tonight there is an invisible line of demarcation, the heat of Deniz’s body a faint shadow on his side of the bed. He curls in on himself, tucking his hands under his armpits, and squeezes his eyes shut once again.
****
At two am he thinks about slipping out of bed, snatching the package off the table and stuffing it in the dumpster outside.
He makes it as far as the doorway before admitting to himself that doing that wouldn’t solve anything, either, and would likely make the situation worse.
He crawls back into bed and wraps the comforter tightly around him.
****
At 3:17 he slides one hand across the mattress, under the covers, until he brushes against the back of Deniz’s hand.
Five minutes later, he links his pinky with Deniz’s.
Ten minutes later, he finally falls asleep.
****
At 5:42, he wakes up wrapped in warmth. Deniz had somehow commandeered Roman’s side of the bed, one foot between Roman’s calves, an arm around his midsection, nose pressed against his jaw.
Roman holds himself absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, not willing to do anything to disturb the tenuous nature of their positions. Slowly, he slips back into sleep, hoping against hope that when Deniz wakes up he won’t turn away.
****
When he wakes again, it is daylight, and Deniz has his hand down Roman’s sleep pants, stroking him almost roughly. Roman turns his head, but Deniz won’t meet his eye. Instead, he bends forward and attaches his mouth to the juncture of Roman’s neck, sucking a bruise on the sensitive skin. Just like that, Roman is coming, muscles trembling as he pulses in Deniz’s hand.
Once he recovers, he reaches for Deniz, but he had already slipped out of bed. “Shower,” Deniz says by way of explanation as he heads out the door.
****
Roman is sitting at the kitchen table, package right in front of him, when Deniz finally comes into the room. He stutters to a halt, then continues past the table to pour a mug of coffee. The whole time, he won’t look Roman in the eye.
Roman says nothing. He just takes a knife and slices open the tape at the top of the box.
“Careful,” Deniz says, the word sounding like it had been dragged out of him unwillingly. “You wouldn’t want to damage something.”
Roman swallows, wondering if something isn’t already irretrievably damaged. But he forces that thought down and opens the box.
At first, it looks like just a bunch of crinkled-up newspaper and outdated advertisements. He lifts out layer after layer, setting them aside, as he digs a little deeper. And throughout it all, he can feel Deniz’ eyes on him, though each time he looks up Deniz is looking away.
Then the paper is gone, and Roman looks inside. Next to him, he can sense Deniz glancing in as well.
Silence stretches. Finally Deniz blurts out, “What is it?”
For the first time since he’d seen the package on the table, Roman smiles. “Memories,” he says. He begins emptying the box of its contents.
“Must be good memories,” Deniz mutters, and the bitterness laces the air around them.
Roman stops mid-motion and looks at Deniz, waiting until they made eye contact. “Some of them,” he says. “Others, not so much.” He places the item in his hand on the table and pulls out the chair next to him. “Deniz, please sit down.”
Slowly, unwillingly, Deniz folds his lanky frame onto the seat. Roman reaches over and grabs Deniz’s hand, holding tight as Deniz makes a half-hearted effort to pull away.
“I’ve never really told you about Marc,” Roman says, reaching into the box for another item.
“That’s fine by me.” Deniz glares at the box. “The less I hear about that asshole, the better.”
“No, it’s not,” Roman replies. “It’s not fine. Because right now, it’s this, I don’t know, huge dragon in the room with us that we keep tiptoeing around.”
“Don’t you mean elephant?” Deniz’s voice is sullen.
Roman resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just saying. It’s this thing, and it’s there, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.”
“Everything was just fine until this package showed up,” Deniz says.
Roman picks at the tape on the edge of the box. “Just like everything was fine until Marc showed up. But it wasn’t, not really, because there was so much I kept suppressed, so much of myself I never shared with you. So much I never dealt with. And we both know how well that worked out.”
He watches as Deniz swallows, the muscle in his jaw tightening.
“When I moved to Essen, I wanted to leave my past behind me. I wanted to, I don’t know, reinvent myself. So I turned myself into an only child, and an out and proud gay man, with parents who accepted me. Someone who’d always been the strong one. And after a while, I believed it. I was that person, because I’d worked so hard to become him.”
Roman sighs, sifting through the items on the table. “Until Marc showed up and tore that web of lies to shreds.”
“Roman—“
He barrels on, anyway, knowing if he doesn’t say it now, it might never be said. “And to deal with it, to deal with those emotions and issues and memories, I started building new lies. I didn’t face it head on, and that, as much as the cheating, ripped us apart.”
Deniz makes a strangled little noise, and Roman looks at him with concern. But the younger man just swallows and nods once.
“The cheating was awful, Deniz, and I accept the blame for that. But it was my other betrayal – the lies, the hiding myself from you – that I haven’t dealt with yet. That we haven’t dealt with yet.”
Roman picks up a sketchbook, a little worn on the edges. A tiny smile plays on the corners of his mouth. “So I’m done hiding. Here I am, in all my frayed, shopworn glory.”
Deniz finally speaks, his voice low and strained. “I thought I already knew you.”
“In so many ways, yes, you did,” Roman says, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around Deniz and let the past fall away. “But I think I always held something back, afraid that if you saw the real me, you’d leave.”
He spread the items from the box out on the table. “This is everything I left behind when Marc and I broke up. Everything I left behind when I tried to become someone new. Because I didn’t believe I was enough.” He pauses. “You were never second choice, Deniz. Never the default. It was just that – I guess I felt like two different people, pulled in opposite directions. But in the end, you were the one I wanted. Here, with you, was where I wanted to be.”
“But what if this—“ Deniz waves a hand at the stuff on the table – “just brings back memories? What if this is Marc’s way of winning you back?”
Roman shakes his head. “This is goodbye. He’s letting go of all the parts of me that I’d left behind. I just … I just need to embrace that part of me now. Accept that it’s a part of who I am, who I used to be. And hope that you can embrace it, too.”
Silence stretches between them, the clock ticking like a metronome in the background. Outside, a car door slams.
“So.” Deniz picks up a cassette tape and turns it over. “What the hell is this?”
Roman smiles and squeezes Deniz’s hand.
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