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.
Chapter Text
The next morning, Remus was already gone by the time Roman awoke. Maybe his twin knew that Roman wanted to have a serious talk and was making himself scarce. Or, what was more likely, Remus still had a life here in their hometown since he decided to stay and attend the University of Florida.
After almost two decades living under the same roof and going to the same schools, Roman and Remus finally split when they choose to attend different universities. Even though they were both coming upon their fourth and final year of their respective degrees—a Bachelor of Music in Music Education for Remus and a Bachelor of Arts in English with a creative writing specialization for Roman—Roman was only just getting used to living away from his twin.
And it wasn't as though he even left the state; he was attending Florida State University, a mere two and a half hours away. But, despite their current rocky relationship, Roman would catch himself watching a movie and turning to try to find Remus to tell him something or accommodating Remus' awful food palate when grocery shopping.
"Think he's got his shift at the library," his dad replied when Roman asked for Remus' whereabouts.
"He works at the library?" Roman exclaimed. Of all the jobs his brother might have, a library was not one he would have guessed.
His dad nodded, glasses perched on his nose as he completed the NYT crossword on his phone with his index finger; Roman had showed him how over Christmas break. "Got the job, what?" He squinted at the wall as he thought. "February, I believe?" He looked back down at the screen, rubbing his chin. "What's a thirteen-letter word that means small or tiny?"
~~~
Morbid Myth started out as something casual during ninth grade—something Roman and Remus did in their spare time. They'd been surrounded by music from a young age, being taught piano by their mom before they even started Kindergarten. As they grew older, they broadened their horizons and started "claiming" instruments that would be solely their own. Remus started learning how to play the drums and French horn, and Roman took guitar and trumpet.
They'd recently re-watched the movie School of Rock, and it was Roman's idea to start a two-person band. They began with covers of any genre with Remus on the drum kit and Roman singing while trying to pluck out notes on the electric guitar he'd decided to pick up that year.
Virgil was a natural addition. He'd been Remus' friend since Virgil moved to Florida in the third grade and already knew a little bit of the bass guitar. He fit in seamlessly. With him, their trio was complete. They settled on a genre: pop rock. Their sound was stronger, fuller.
Their first argument as a band was over what their band's name should be. All sorts of names were thrown out; they even asked their parents for ideas. The general vibe was already agreed upon—something to do with mythology since their names revolved around the subject. Remus liked Mythic Maniacs. Roman wanted Messy Myth.
Roman and Remus tried to get Virgil on their respective side. Bribery was involved (baking treats, promising the title of godfather, doing embarrassing acts at school, and more).
Virgil staunchly refused to take a side, wheedling both Roman and Remus to agree with each other. It almost seemed like the band would fall apart before it could truly even form, but then Virgil finally proposed Morbid Myth.
Both Roman and Remus agreed: it was perfect.
They performed at their school's end-of-year talent show, and they were an absolute hit. Their classmates loved them. Their teachers loved them. They signed up for a state-wide youth band competition the next year and won.
It felt like absolutely nothing could go wrong. So many possibilities lay ahead of them. It was an exciting time.
~~~
The library was a fifteen-minute walk away and, when Roman stepped inside, he instantly heard children in fits of giggles. The lady behind the front desk gave him a wave as Roman moved deeper into the building, following the sound of laughter.
He stepped between some shelves so Remus wouldn't spot him quite yet, peering through the books to see his twin brother reading a picture book, a dozen or so children seated around him, completely enrapt.
"The white rabbit was so grateful to have found his carrots," Remus read, his voice animated and bright, eyebrows lifted. The book was resting on his lap, leaning against his stomach, and both his hands were in movement, making specific gestures. "He hopped all the way home to share them with his family. The end." Remus lifted both hands, the back facing out, before flipping them to show his palms.
Roman silently watched as the kids dispersed, a couple staying behind to talk to Remus who had as much enthusiasm as he did while reading, giving the children all his focus. Roman hadn't imagined Remus in a library—he was always so loud and rambunctious—but now he didn't know why he had thought such a thing in the first place. His twin looked at ease in this setting; after all, he was hoping to become a music teacher with his degree. Why wouldn't he try to get experience with children at a library?
As if Remus could sense something off, his eyes slid over to where Roman was standing behind a shelf. His eyebrows only furrowed slightly, and he finished his conversation with the children before striding over to Roman.
"What are you doing here?" Remus said, voice low, a bit of bite to it.
"When did you learn ASL?" Roman asked.
Remus' jaw visibly clenched, and his shoulders lifted and dropped by a centimetre. "Halfway through first year."
"Wait, really?" They had still been close at that point. Not physically, of course, but the band had still been together until the end of that school year, and they'd been doing some gigs over the weekend until then.
Remus didn't say anything.
"That's…that's cool," Roman said after a moment. "I mean it, Remus," he added when he saw his brother's sceptical look.
Remus narrowed his eyes further and crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"
Roman pulled out his phone and showed Remus the email from Orange Blossom Music Fest. "They want Morbid Myth to play." He scrolled to show his brother how much they were willing to pay them, not explaining further because he knew Remus understood, how this would help their mom. "Virgil said he'd be willing to do it."
"Did he?" Remus' gaze slid up from the phone screen back to Roman, voice quiet and rough, dark eyes cloudy.
Roman nodded, feeling a prickling at the back of his neck. He didn't know what was wrong, but he knew this conversation wasn't going how he imagined it. Where Remus instantly agreed, where the band got back together, where they continued booking gigs after Orange Blossom, where they were able to pay for their mom's chemo appointments in full, and she made a speedy recovery. Happily Ever After. The End.
He knew Remus wanted to help their mom as much as possible, so it was clear there was something else, whatever Virgil had hinted at the day before, that was holding him back.
"What is it?" Roman asked, annoyance rising in him. Couldn't Remus see how important this was? Whatever was on his mind could surely be ignored for the time being in favour of doing something that would be a net positive. "I thought you liked playing with Morbid Myth."
Remus pressed his lips together and blew out a short breath of air. "I'm not doing this here, right now," he muttered.
"What's 'this'?"
Remus jabbed a finger at Roman's chest. "I'm not having this conversation now, here, with you. I'm working, Roman." He spun and stalked off. Although, as he disappeared around the aisle, he muttered, "I get off at lunch. I guess I'll talk to you then."
Roman found himself stewing in his thoughts on the walk back home. He wondered if the music festival would accept Morbid Myth with a different drummer. But he knew they probably wouldn't, and it also wouldn't feel the same. The magic of Morbid Myth was that they were siblings, twins, and best friends. They grew up together, argued and fought, but always made up. There was a sort of specialness of having that kind of bond.
That's how it was supposed to go, anyway.
But their last argument that broke apart the band was still unresolved, a string that Roman was intent on pulling on as soon as Remus returned home.
Chapter Text
As a band, Roman and Remus were the ones who butt heads, and Virgil usually was the peacekeeper. They'd always bickered—how they should enunciate a word, when to breathe, what tempo they should play at—but they always resolved it, someway, somehow.
The end of Morbid Myth was not an explosive finale. In Roman's perspective, there was nothing that had set it off. One evening, at the end of their practice, Remus had simply said, "I don't want to be in the band anymore."
That was it.
Roman was rightfully angry when Remus didn't elaborate, but Remus simply walked back to his bedroom and locked the door. And, when Roman turned to Virgil for any explanation, Virgil had just shrugged and said, "I'm sorry."
Not, "Let's just keep playing" or "Let him cool off"—the common phrases Virgil said when Remus stomped off in anger during their fights—just "I'm sorry." This was premeditated. Something Virgil and Remus had discussed beforehand. Without him.
Roman had a test that Monday, so he had to go later that evening to drive back to Tallahassee.
And that was it. The end of Morbid Myth. Five years of an upward trajectory cut down in a single evening. No explanation from Remus, and Virgil refused to say anything, no matter how many times Roman asked or texted or called.
~~~
The house was quiet with Roman returned. He found himself making his way to the music room where Remus' drum kit sat in the corner. When he neared it, he saw that it was coated in dust. His brows furrowed at the sight. He assumed Remus still played the drums, even after Morbid Myth disbanded; he'd loved the drums, the constant movement of it, the way it was the heartbeat of every song.
Roman grabbed a dishcloth from the kitchen before returning to the music room and gently wiping the dust off the drum kit. There were no drumsticks anywhere near, which Roman found strange, but he didn't think too much of it. When their band was still together, Remus had gone through many drumsticks by simply leaving them places and forgetting where. If they were going to get the band back together, they'd need to get a new pair (or five), and Roman made a mental note about it.
When the drum kit was dust-less, he moved to his electric guitar on its stand. It was a fire truck red with a golden pickguard, and it was his baby; he'd used his portion of the money they earned as a band to buy it senior year, a graduation present for himself.
He plugged his guitar into the amp, sat at the piano bench, and started strumming a couple chords, humming along a little.
He loved the idea of getting back on the stage, playing music. With lights so bright it was impossible to see the crowd, music thrumming through his veins, the cheering and clapping and whopping. But it wasn't just that. It was the friendship, the mind-boggling fact that he was making money from playing music and singing songs with his best friends.
And then, suddenly, he didn't have that anymore. He made new friends, of course, in university. But Remus and Virgil—Morbid Myth—there was something special about the three of them together that Roman deeply missed. A part of him ached every time he played the electric guitar without Remus' unrelenting beat behind him, without the buzzing thrums of Virgil's notes, without their voices mixing with his own.
His fingers gradually began playing "Amor Eterno," his dad's favourite song—one he had requested he and Remus learn long before they started their two-person band. Their dad was a soft-spoken kind of type, happy to stay at home but could deal with outings as long as his wife was at his side. He wasn't a big talker, but sometimes when he was in the mood, he would pull out the acoustic guitar and sing songs from his childhood. His voice was quiet, much like him, but that didn't mean it wasn't strong and filled with deep emotion.
"Amor Eterno" was a song about loss and grief and longing, and it was perhaps not well-suited to the electric guitar, but it was the instrument in his hands, and Roman couldn't be bothered to go to the living room to pick up his dad's acoustic one.
Roman didn't hear the front door open and close, just felt the presence of Remus in the house, almost like a ghost.
He was at the last chorus when Remus' voice quietly wove in with his own, standing in the doorway, arms crossed defensively, fingers thrumming against his forearm, although his face showed no signs of his previous anger.
Cómo quisiera que tú vivieras [How I wish that you still lived]
Y que tus ojitos jamás se hubieran cerrado nunca [For your loving eyes to never ever have closed]
Y estar mirando [And to be looking at them]
Amor eterno e inolvidable [Eternal love and unforgettable]
Tarde o temprano, estaremos juntos para seguir amándonos [Sooner or later, I will be with you to continue loving each other]
When the last note of the outro rang out, Roman slowly put his guitar back on the stand. Remus pulled the seat of his drum kit close and sat down across from him. They stared at each other for a second.
Remus slowly took a deep breath, foot tap-tap-tapping against the flooring. Then, in a little voice Roman hadn't heard from him before, he said, "I'm losing my hearing."
Roman's spine instantly straightened. "What? Since when?"
Remus' Adam's apple bobbed. "End of senior year. My tinnitus slowly started getting worse around that time." He sounded so unlike himself, more like their soft-spoken dad, and it scared Roman.
"And I'm just learning about this now?" Anger, sharp and painful, bloomed in Roman's chest, but he quickly stamped it down. This wasn't the time to start an argument; there was still more to the story that Remus had to tell him. Roman needed the full picture—needed to understand why his twin brother had hidden this from him for three years. Roman composed himself and, in a softer tone, said, "Remus, why?"
Remus stared at him, eyes searching Roman's face. "You don't remember?"
"Remember what?" Roman asked, trying to recall anything. "I know we always fought about you wearing hearing protection."
It was one of their recurring arguments, and it was one where Virgil actually took Roman's side instead of standing blissfully in the middle. It was dangerous to be playing their gigs with loudspeakers without any sort of ear plugs to dull the sound. But Remus hated it, hated how blunted their sound was with ear protection. "I want to hear the true and raw version of us," he always said.
They constantly fought about it, but Remus was immovable. And Roman couldn't force him to wear them if he really didn't want to.
"You seriously don't remember?" Remus asked again. "Junior year. We were performing at the summer festival here in town; it was big for us. There would be hundreds of people watching us. During practice, we fought about hearing protection again, but I think the heat really got to both of us, and it escalated more than usual."
Roman had a vague recollection of this. Not of the argument itself, but the festival, and the nerves, and the heatwave.
"You got so fed up with me that you stomped out of the room, and as you did, you said, 'Don’t come crying to me when you go deaf.'"
The words hung heavy in the air. Roman's throat felt dry, and he swallowed thickly. He truly didn't remember saying that.
"You came back an hour later with some lemonade dad made, and we continued practicing like nothing had happened."
"Remus—"
"—Wait, let me finish, okay?" Remus took a deep breath. "And I know you didn't really mean it—we were both so angry and tensions were high—but I was too proud to say anything when my hearing loss became more noticeable. It felt like…it felt as though I would be burdening everyone again if I told people. And letting you know that you were right," he said with a derisive snort. "And so I rationalized that simply ending the band without explanation was better than just telling you what was going on. I did tell Virgil, and he told me that I should tell you, but I disagreed, and he didn't push me anymore. I thought that being the bad guy was a better role to have than the sick, needy brother again."
His chin began to tremble, and Roman brought his brother in for a hug. They weren't a hugging type of siblings, but the moment seemed to call for it. Remus instantly collapsed against Roman's chest, and he could feel the rapid beating of his heart.
"And now mom's sick, too, and I—I just feel like I'll be an extra burden on top of everything."
"You aren't a burden, Remus," Roman said, instantly. His eyes stung from unshed tears. "And I'm sorry I said that. I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about your hearing loss."
Remus sniffed loudly and pulled away from Roman's arms. "I want to play at that festival. The three of us. For mom." His voice was more solid now, almost back to normal. "I'll wear hearing protection—maybe double up if I think it's still not enough. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward not to say anything before now. Morbid Myth could have still been playing if I did."
Roman only smiled. "Más vale tarde que nunca." It was one of their dad's favourite sayings. Better late than never.
Remus stood and glanced over at his drum kit. "I guess I'll have to buy new drumsticks, too."
"Where did they go? Did you lose them again?"
"I felt like I didn't deserve to play after I left the band, and I didn't want them to be laying around in case I felt the urge to. I gave them to a kid who frequents the library and started taking out tons of books on drums and drumming."
"You go buy a pair and text Virgil to come over. I'll run over to the store and get some concert earplugs and isolating headphones."
"What? No—they're expensive, Ro. I'll buy them when I go get the drumsticks."
"Let this be an early birthday gift," Roman said. He didn't need to buy a new electric guitar with his savings; the one he had was perfect. It was hard to imagine playing on stage with Morbid Myth without it. "I'm getting them. In exchange, you have to teach me ASL."
"Fine, it's a deal!" Remus exclaimed with a dramatic sigh, although he was grinning.
~~~
A couple months later, Roman, Remus, and Virgil stood on the man stage at Orange Blossom Music Fest, performing once again, their big reunion.
Roman's veins thrummed with anticipation, the sight of Virgil with his purple bass guitar and Remus with his drumsticks hovering over his kit making his heart nearly explode. It felt like a return home.
"Ready?" he asked them both, away from the microphone.
"Ready!"