Chapter Text
Ping.
Roman reached for his phone on his bedside table to see who sent emails at nine in the evening on a Friday night. The brightness of the screen momentarily flash-banged him but, once his eyes adjusted, he furrowed his brow at the subject line.
Orange Blossom Music Fest
He was surprised to recognize the event—it was one of Florida’s bigger music festivals, held at the end of the summer which aimed to spotlight mostly local talent. He had gone once as a spectator with Remus and Virgil just before high school. He clicked the notification and was brought to the full email.
I know the band doesn’t do too many performances anymore, the email read. It was from the organizers of the event. Apparently, another band suddenly couldn’t make it, and they wondered if Morbid Myth could take their spot.
Roman turned off his phone without reading past the first paragraph, sending his room back into darkness. Across the hallway, he could hear the whispers of Remus listening to his rock music.
He was reminded of all the times Remus would turn his music on blast, so much so that Roman would yell and bang at the wall for him to turn it down. Maybe his twin finally learned some house manners while Roman had been away at university, or the family conversation that evening had put him in a mood.
Roman wouldn’t be surprised; he wasn’t feeling like his usual self either. He squeezed his eyes shut to push away the memory from that evening of his parents sitting him and Remus down on the sofa, their faces so serious that his first thought was that Abuela had passed away.
That wasn’t the case. Their mom was sick.
“Cancer,” she had said. “Luckily, they caught it quite early.”
Remus, who was always in movement—whose report cards always consisted of something along the lines of “he’s an energetic student but needs to learn to sit still when given instructions,” who broke more pencils than he used by tapping them against surfaces—had sat as still as a statue, not even breathing.
That was the only lucky thing about the diagnosis. That it was highly treatable with chemotherapy.
Roman had sensed Remus’ worry, because he had the same one. It had been a while since they’d been able to read each other’s mind; the last time it had happened was probably before the band split. Before their relationship became strained. A part of him was comforted by knowing what his twin was thinking, that they were on the same page for something as important as this.
Money. That was the worry. While they hadn’t grown up in poverty, it wasn’t as though there was an excess of it laying around. A high school band teacher and a landscaper weren’t exactly rolling in it. Out-of-state summer vacations were incredibly rare, and they’d only been to Disney World once, for their twelfth birthdays.
Both Roman and Remus helped as much as possible by slipping them money when they weren’t looking (twenties in jean pockets, fives in the couch cushions, a little extra here and there to save their parents’ pride), but they were still only students with part-time jobs.
Roman did have some savings in his bank account that he'd been contemplating using to buy a new electric guitar, but that would have to take a backseat now.
Roman and Remus had glanced at one another, on the fuzzy couch in their living room.
I’ll take out student loans, Roman thought. He would figure out how to give his parents the excess money once it was done. Better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.
Remus had jutted his chin down in silent agreement.
The gesture felt like an olive branch in their long-standing cold war with one another. It wouldn’t fix anything, but it was a start.
~~~
Even though they were technically identical twins, it was fairly easy to tell Roman and Remus apart. Almost as soon as Remus was born (two minutes after Roman), he was plagued with various different sicknesses. While Roman was able to go home a couple days after the birth, Remus had to stay there for months to be carefully watched by doctors and nurses. And, even after Remus was finally brought home, he was shuttled to and from the hospital often as he managed to get every and any disease a baby might have.
Because of the constant sickness, Remus had a slightly paler colour to him. It wasn’t noticeable to strangers or passers-by, or even to some friends, but if one really looked, Roman’s golden-brown skin was a couple hues warmer than Remus’. Their builds were also marginally different. Roman’s broader shoulders and larger build were in contrast with Remus’ slimmer look; even when they looked at each other’s shadows, it was clear who was who.
That wasn’t the only effect of Remus being constantly in and out of the hospital. He’d had some pretty serious sicknesses and, despite their parents only talking in hushed whispers after bedtime, Roman would sometimes sneak out of his room and listen as they worried that Remus would die.
So, Remus was always doted on. And, even when he got sick less and less as he grew, everyone seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never came. It wasn’t as though he was perfect now; when September hit and they went back to school, Remus was always down for a good two weeks. He was a magnet for disease, but it wasn’t deadly, just incredibly irksome.
Looking back, it made sense, of course. However, being a young child, it still felt incredibly unfair. Why was Remus allowed to get little dollar store gifts after a surgery and not him? Why did Remus have special food only he could eat while Roman was having microwave nachos for supper?
By the time Roman grew up and understood Remus’ situation (and his parents’ lack of resources to logistically treat them both equally), he had accepted it. However, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
~~~
When Roman woke up, it was strangely quiet in the house. After managing to roll himself out of bed, he found Remus and his best friend, Virgil, in the living room watching Monster House over bowls of cereal.
“Oh! Hey,” Virgil greeted, glancing back at him for a moment before bringing his attention back to the TV.
Remus kept his eyes glued to the screen.
So, they were back to the cold shoulder.
Roman made his way to the kitchen off to the side. “Hi,” he said. He poured himself some cereal and milk and sat himself at the dining table, listening as the movie wrapped up.
At the credits, Remus stood and stretched. “Lillian should be here in five minutes, then we can go.”
Roman furrowed his brows at the name of one of the kids who did piano lessons with their mom. “Lillian?” he repeated. Their parents were visiting Abuela and weren’t supposed to be back until after lunch.
Remus shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve taken on some of mom’s piano students.”
“Since when?” Roman’s voice was louder than he intended. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, I guess no one told you.” Remus coolly strode off in the direction of the little music room where their mom did her lessons and had its own door to the outside.
Virgil turned off the TV and brought his empty bowl and spoon to the sink.
Roman never knew what Virgil was thinking. Virgil was Remus’ friend first, ever since elementary school, and Roman had mostly stayed away, understanding the silent agreement that, because they shared the same DNA, they were not meant to share the same friends.
However, after they formed Morbid Myth, Virgil became as much Roman’s friend as Remus’. Their friendship fractured when the band broke apart and Virgil, understandably, took Remus’ side.
Now, the most interaction they had was liking each other’s Instagram posts.
“Guess what?” Roman said with a little chuckle, pulling out his phone.
“Hmm?”
“Orange Blossom Music Fest is apparently short on acts and asked Morbid Myth to play.” He opened the email again, this time skimming the rest of the email.
Virgil’s eyebrows drew down, sitting down across Roman. He stretched his arms across the table and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “They must be desperate.”
Roman's eyes caught at the end of the email, where the organizers listed how much the group would be paid. “Oh my God! We need to do it.” He turned his screen towards Virgil whose eyes bulged.
“Wow, they must be seriously desperate.” Virgil straightened back up, and he bit his lip in thought.
The amount wasn’t so crazy that it would alleviate all, or even most, of the doctor and chemotherapy appointments his mom would be needing, but it wasn’t exactly a number to sniff at. And then, if Morbid Myth continued performing in other places, everything would add up.
It seemed like a miracle landing right in his lap.
Slowly, and choosing his words very carefully, Virgil said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to getting the band back together—I had a great time playing with the both of you, don’t get me wrong—but I’m not exactly the one who needs to be convinced.”
Roman winced. “But if it’s to help our mom, surely he’d agree to it.”
Virgil's lips pursed, and it looked like he was about to say something more but stopped himself. “You should talk to Remus about it.”
“You think he won’t.” It wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t say that,” Virgil said, quick and forceful, but he slowed to continue, “I just think that…the breakup happened two years ago. A lot of time has passed, and perhaps some talking would do the two of you good.”
Roman frowned, a sense of foreboding building in him.