If It Means A Lot To You (TSS fic)

Put your blood on ice

Warnings for this chapter: accidental deadnaming and misgendering (Remus is trans ftm but Roman doesn't know that), let me know if I need to add more

‐‐-‐‐

Roman could remember clear as day the dreams if his childhood. Years of watching Disney had told him he could be anything. At first, he wanted to be a prince - a hero who saved the day and was adored by all. He later realized that wasn't a very likely future, so he chose something he knew he had a shot at: stardom.

For as long as he could remember, he'd had a talent for the performing arts. Singing, dancing, acting, even songwriting - it all came as naturally to him as breathing.

Roman's heart had long ached for the spotlight, The adoring fans, the fame, the freedom. He fought tooth and nail for every chance to make himself known, even leaving behind everything he'd ever known, and now, after so many years, he had what he wanted.

Except...no. This wasn't what he wanted. Not at all.

When you're a kid, your view of fame is skewed. Rose-tinted glasses only let you see the money, praise, opportunity, and everything good that comes with being a celebrity.

But it isn't the truth. The truth is that once you become someone everyone knows, you have to make sure you're always known. Little by little, the things that make you who you are can end up being chipped away. The songs you write may mean nothing to you, the characters you play can feed into a loss of self, and each time you dance you may feel more and more like a puppet on strings.

Life among the stars is so deceptively beautiful that you can become oblivious to the fact that your own starlight is flickering out. Coldly, slowly, and lonely, the limelight kills the dreams of those who seek it. Roman had learned that the hard way.

—

“Thank you all for coming, and have a wonderful night!” Roman waved to the crowd of screaming fans as he walked offstage, gratefully accepting the water bottle offered to him. Finally, the tour was over. Just a few public appearances and he could go home.

He cringed. He really wouldn't say the mansion he lived in was his home. It was really just his place of residence. He hadn't had a real home in years.

“Hey! Earth to Roman!” The singer was literally snapped out of his thoughts by his bodyguard, Remy, who looked equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Were you even listening?”

Roman huffed a nervous laugh. “Sorry. You know I space out after shows sometimes.”

“This is the seventh performance in a row that's happened.” Remy raised his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you sure you're not subconsciously starving or losing sleep?”

“I'm fine Rem,” Roman sighed. “This tour has just been..a lot. I just wanna curl up in my bed for a decade, that’s all.”

His friend’s only response was a muttered “Mood” before walking with Roman back to his dressing room. The tech crew backstage rushed past the two, offering quick words of praise before continuing on with their post-show responsibilities. Everyone seemed so much more eager to do their jobs this time. After all, the sooner everything was done, the sooner they could finally rest. Many had been hired to help with the entire tour and had been on the road for months. But now, they could finally go home and sleep in their own beds, and Roman could practically feel their relief.

Remy held open the dressing room door, the performer thanking him as he stepped inside. The moment he heard it click shut behind him, though, he let his shoulders drop. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to stop for a breath.

Don’t get the wrong idea, he loved this. Loved being able to perform for thousands of people, loved getting to travel the world and sharing his creations. It was all he ever wanted when he was younger — and it still is! The letters he keeps stored safely at home, from fans who have found comfort and meaning in life and are still alive thanks to his older music, they make all of the mental and physical exhaustion worth it.

That doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the ache buried deep into his very soul. The pain of trying to pour his heart out into a song that has no room for his heart at all. The interviews that slowly feel more and more scripted. The clothes that scream “rich guy with more money than he knows what to do with” but never scream “Roman”.

God, he can’t even remember the last time he truly felt like himself.

He collapses into the chair in front of his vanity with a heavy sigh, and lets his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. Whatever remaining tension is left in his body, he lets it melt away with a few deep breaths.

“Almost over,” he mutters to himself. He says it over and over, like a reassurance and almost like a prayer. Maybe once this was over, he’d try to go visit Janus. The last time he got to see her was very briefly at one of her concerts almost a year ago.

A quiet 'ping' rings out from his phone, drawing him from his musing. He looks at the notification and sees that it's from one of his private social media accounts, ones he uses to share his personal life without being bombarded by fans or corporations looking for exposure.

It's one of those time-line memory notifications, (you know the ones) with the memory dated back to when he first made the account in high school. With his curiosity piqued, he tapped on the screen to open the post.

A picture appeared on the screen. Three teenagers, two in the background dancing around in the rain, and one taking the picture in selfie mode, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. It made the ache in Roman’s chest grow painful one again.

The person taking the photo was him, he knew it was, but he still felt as though he were looking at a stranger. He had changed so much, a quick glance in the mirror in front of him was confirmation enough.

But it was the people in the background who hurt the most to see. His twin sister, Rebecca, and his ex, Virgil. They were the only two people in the world who had cared about him back then.

But that was ages ago. Roman lost their care when he decided to run away, his last words to Virgil being cruel accusations, and he didn't even leave a note for Rebecca, let alone say goodbye.

That was what he regretted most. Not that he left them behind (though sometimes he wished he hadn't), but how he had left. After all they'd done for him, they deserved better.

Rebecca was his first best friend. From the moment they were born, they were inseparable. As they grew, they fought more and more, as siblings do, but they were always there for each other. Even when their home and school lives were hell, they always knew that their twin would have their back. He should have brought her along, or at least said goodbye somehow. She probably hates him now, if she doesn't think he's dead in a ditch somewhere. He wouldn't blame her.

And Virgil — God, Virgil was the love of his life, had been nothing but supportive of Roman's dreams, and what did he get in return? An ungrateful (now ex-)boyfriend and a broken promise of forever among the stars. Worst of all, Roman never moved on. He had a few dates here and there, sure, but none of them stuck. Not like Virgil had. The guilt of it ate at him, because really, he had no right wanting to cross a bridge long burned when he was the one who lit the fire.

They both deserved better, or an apology at least. And an explanation for why he left in the first place.

The thought had him sitting up straight in his chair. That was it, wasn't it — part of the weight on his conscience. He needed — no, wanted to make amends with the people he hurt in his desperate climb to the top. Apologize to Virgil, for lashing out after all that Virgil had given him. And to Rebecca, for leaving during the years when it was most important for them to be at each other's sides.

And seeing as the tour was coming to an end with no plans for afterwards, he had all the time in the world.

He could finally say sorry.

With his mind made up, he stood and got ready to head back out for a few final fan meet-n-greets before turning in for the night. He'd make it through the interviews over the next week, then immediately hit the road. The sooner he was back home, the better.

He had much more important things to get to.