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Patton could admit things weren't the most...comfortable they had ever been around the mindscape, but on most days he liked to think that they were at least getting better.
Slowly.
(Very, very slowly...)
Despite every heartfelt conversation there had been in the past about the value of communication and accepting one's feelings, sometimes it really did feel like they had all taken about a hundred steps back. Things were just so much quieter most days, more subdued. There was a constant tension in the air that simply hadn't existed before the wedding, and though on most days life went on just as it always had it was impossible to pretend there wasn't a difference. While there had always been the potential for friction during their day-to-day, it was so much easier now for a poorly chosen word or moment of failed consideration to result in that friction casting a spark. Even the simplest of get-togethers quickly became rather fraught, and sometimes even dilemmas with the lowest of stakes could result in a full-on argument. And that was just among his usual kiddos...
Sadly, things only ever seemed to get so much worse whenever Janus or Remus chose to become involved...
Now, even at his most charitable, Patton couldn't argue that those two were never the instigators when things caught fire (or even that, when they weren't, they hadn't been guilty of adding their own kindling), but now that Patton was trying to be more open minded, he could at least see that they weren't the, uh, Arsonists of Argumentativeness that Roman or Virgil liked to insist they were. Because a lot of the time, Roman or Virgil were the ones to actually start it (even if one of the other two had been almost gleeful in their willingness to let it continue). And there had been more than one incident in which one of them (or both of them, just as bad when it came to feeding the other's hunger for outrage as Janus and Remus were about feeding each other's hunger for mischief) had accused the other two of...
Well, it was hard to say exactly what the crime actually was. "Scheming" was a common one, and so was "Lurking". "Sewing Seeds of Sinister Subversion" was one that Roman had quite clearly been visibly proud of. Which was to say, it all sort of amounted to just generally being "Up To No Good" with the ultimate goal of seeking to corrupt Thomas toward their ends. Whatever those ends supposedly were. And Patton knew that, in the past, he would have been all too ready to agree...
Except, often, they weren't really doing anything—or at least, nothing worse than just existing in mixed company.
And Remus could definitely be...a lot, and Patton knew he really hadn't quite gotten the hang of being around him just yet, but the longer he was- Er, forced was maybe a bit of a strong word—he really did want to learn how to get along...if they could get along. But the longer he did spend time interacting with Remus the easier it became to see that his actions probably weren't as wholly mean-spirited as Patton had always judged them to be. It still made him uncomfortable—oh boy did it make him uncomfortable—but...clearly Remus just saw things very differently than the rest of them. Very, very differently. As awful and disgusting and upsetting and weird and icky and—okay, he was getting off track, but as bad as all the things that he thought and did and said might seem to Patton, it was just as obvious that...Remus really was just having a great time with them. Somehow. And Patton didn't get it—he wasn't sure he would ever get it—but he no longer believed that Remus was doing any of it to hurt them, or to hurt Thomas...
He just didn't think Remus always noticed—or maybe even always cared—whether it did hurt anyone or not.
Which was...maybe something that Remus could work on—who knows, none of them were perfect—and even if he couldn't change then it might be something they could find a way to work around eventually. The point was that they were all supposed to be trying to find ways to get along and work together, and while their very different natures meant they would probably never truly see eye to eye on most things, it was important that they learn how to work towards a compromise...
It was only fair. That's what Patton tried to remind himself, whenever Remus managed to dig some comment under his skin. It's what he reminded himself whenever he had to stand up for him or for Janus on the occasions that Roman or Virgil derailed their attempts to make themselves heard. It was fair because while it couldn't be denied that they all tried to talk over each other sometimes when they disagreed, at least he and Roman and Logan—and eventually even Virgil—had been given the chance to talk all these years. But it was important that everyone was allowed to speak up, even if their words weren't the ones that were listened to in the end. It was the bare minimum that all of them deserved, and even if they hadn't all been the best at following that rule they were all supposed to try to be better. And it wasn't fair of Roman and Virgil—no matter what their personal feelings were about the other two—to try to deny them even that.
It was fair that everyone get their chance to talk now, Patton reminded himself whenever his efforts to keep it fair pulled him farther out of favor with the people he cared about.
(The right thing wasn't always the easy thing—Patton reminded himself of that too as he swallowed his own hurt. He would remind himself and try not to think about the wedding—about how doing the hard thing then hadn't been what was right for Thomas. But this wasn't about punishing himself for his past mistakes, even if it still pushed against that bruise. Because if Patton couldn't still believe in fairness as an ideal—in giving everyone their chance—then there wasn't much left for him to stand on.)
So things weren't easy, and they only seemed to get harder the more people were involved, but they weren't the hardest they had ever been, either. Even slow progress was progress, and, slowly, things were mending. Sometimes, when it was just him and Roman, or just him and Virgil, or him and Logan, or him and Janus, then...things felt okay. Things felt almost normal with the others, and...
Well, there was no normal with Janus, was there? Not one that he would have wanted to return to. What they did have was too new, really—the two of them spending time together the way they were now. It was...
It was nice. It was intimidating, and confusing—Janus was intimidating and confusing—but it was honestly, shockingly, nice. It was almost startling how naturally they had fallen into...whatever it was they had now, and it felt like, after so many years spent at odds, Patton was finally getting to know Janus...
(And, sure, there was every possibility it wasn't the "real" Janus he was getting to know, whoever that was, but it was definitely a version of him that he hadn't had the pleasure of knowing before now. Either way, Patton thought he liked the glimpse he had been allowed to see so far.)
Even if it was easier to handle the others one at a time—to only have one set of hurts to worry about, and only one set of mistakes to make up for—Patton still always felt some level of guilt for spending it with just one of them, because time spent alone often felt like he was hogging them to himself. But, for better or worse, it wasn't as if any of them were clambering to spend any time with Janus themselves, so when Patton was alone with him it felt...okay to have that moment for just the two of them—to have Janus all to himself, in a way that didn't have to be shared. And wasn't that a thought that would have made him uncomfortable once upon a time—wasn't he supposed to want to share? But Patton was trying—not always succeeding, but trying—to live up to the lesson Janus had worked so hard to teach them, to accept that selfishness wasn't always an evil to be avoided at all costs. It never felt easier than when he was in the presence of the self-serving side himself.
(Wanting Janus all to himself somehow managed to feel like a more innocent sort of greed, no more dangerous than a second cookie...and gosh, Janus seemed to give him a sweet tooth.)
So it really was nice, and Patton could guess that it must have been pretty obvious to anyone who was looking that he enjoyed the time they spent together—and it was easy to let himself enjoy it when clearly Janus felt the same way.
Or, at least, Patton had thought that he did.
In fact, he had been absolutely sure of it only a few hours ago. Just a couple of hours ago, he and Janus had a little movie night just for the two of them. They had watched All Dogs Go to Heaven, which both of them had seen before individually but neither had revisited for a while. Picking a kids movie that pulled on the heartstrings was sometimes a bit of a gamble—when they weren't hanging out in more neutral areas of the mindscape they only ever risked meeting in Patton's room because it's influence was much more predictable, but when it came to feelings, boy did it tend to be predictable. Yet Janus's tendency to start conversation in the middle of the film had turned what might have been a nostalgic and emotional viewing into an excuse for a comfortably low-stakes and casual discussion of its religious themes. And they certainly didn't agree on all points, but the conversation hadn't gotten tense or argumentative. It had felt more like they were feeling their way around each other's way of looking at things than trying to make a point...
And Patton was pretty sure that Janus had learned a lot more about him than would ever be true in return, but that was okay when Patton felt like he had at least learned what a sincere smile from Janus actually looked like.
Only, maybe ten minutes after Janus had left, Patton heard a knock at his door. A light knock—hesitant—followed by a pause before it was repeated more firmly, and Patton had felt a cold, creeping dread start to settle in his stomach.
It was Virgil. Of course it was Virgil.
After all, it wasn't the first time Virgil had come to check on him after a visit from Janus...or even the third or fourth, and he could be all but certain that this one wasn't going to be the last. But it was late—much later than Virgil ever normally came to visit—and Patton had an unpleasant feeling, even before opening the door, that this time was going to be different.
"Can I come in, Pat?" Virgil asked. "It's- I need to talk to you."
Virgil's eyes never quite met his, their attention focused instead on a flaw in the paint that he was worrying on the door-jam with his thumbnail. And Patton missed it so much when the others would just...come to visit. When they would drop by just because they wanted to and they knew they were always welcome. He missed the time when it really would have been just a social call and not...
Patton wasn't even sure what to call these check-ins from Virgil. A plea? A warning? Because that was always what it turned out to be when Virgil came knocking after Janus had left. Some expression of worry that Virgil was trying to make, both insistent yet at the same time...distressingly vague. It was like he was always just words away from making an accusation, one that he was holding back from stating outright, apparently for Patton's sake. Whatever it was, at this point Patton would almost rather he say it—Virgil certainly hadn't made any secret of how little he liked the idea of Patton and Janus spending time together. And it was impossible to miss the simmering anger beneath all of Virgil's worry that it seemed the anxious side was trying to smother, as if that anger was something he was afraid might frighten Patton away. Or maybe he was worried it would drive him deeper into Janus's influence.
But either way, until Virgil was willing to come forward with exactly what it was that Patton was supposed to be wary of he couldn't really take his warning to heart...
(Maybe once upon a time arguments like "Just trust me" and "He's just not good" would have been enough, but Patton was trying to be better.)
But.
"Of course," Patton said. "Come in."
Because what could he have said? Whatever else was going on in their lives, he could never turn one of his kiddos away.
Virgil came in and Patton closed the door behind them. He was tense from the moment he came in, that much was obvious, and knowing Virgil it would continue to build if left on its own until whatever the cause was finally sent it erupting toward the surface. And Patton was almost afraid of what it might be this time—no, actually, he honestly was just a little bit afraid—but he knew it would only be worse if he waited until it did.
Like tearing a band-aid off, right?
"So, uh, what's on your mind, kid- uh, Virge?"
Gosh this was uncomfortable. The tension was already starting to hurt his stomach.
"I-" Virgil stumbled for only a moment before pressing forward. "I know you don't want to hear it, but you have to stop hanging out with Janus-"
"Virgil-"
"No, I'm serious this time," Virgil said, cutting him off. "I- Let me say what I have to say."
And Patton felt that discomfort in his stomach twist even more. Even the deep breath he took failed to help.
"I- Alright."
It hurt his heart how grateful Virgil looked just then, because Patton wanted nothing more than for him to change his mind.
"He's going to hurt you," Virgil said. "He might not even mean for it to happen, but he's going to hurt you, and I- I know things aren't...great right now, but...you don't deserve that."
And, well...it was something substantial at least. It wasn't as if he didn't realize where Virgil's worry was coming from—of course he didn't want Patton to get hurt—but maybe this meant he was finally ready to talk about how he had been hurt in the past...
(And Patton really didn't want to hear it, but regardless of his own feelings about Janus...if Virgil was still hurting, then he needed to listen.)
"How do you think he's going to hurt me?"
"He's lying to you-" Virgil said, and he must have realized Patton was tempted to interrupt, because he barreled on ahead as quickly as he could. "I know that sounds, ugh, biased or whatever, but I'm serious, Pat. I'm not sure he even thinks of it as lying, but it's still not fair to you if he's-"
This time it was Virgil who cut himself off, hesitating.
"If he what?"
"He's faking it," Virgil said bluntly. "Whatever he's like when he's here, however you think he feels about it, about you, it's all just an act."
"Virgil-"
"Patton, I'm serious," he insisted. "He doesn't- He doesn't actually feel any of those things, for you or any one. Any emotion you think he's showing you...it's not real."
And it would have been so easy for him to get upset with Virgil—perhaps even angry—now that the words were said. As much as he might have wanted to, there was no way to go back and stop the conversation from happening, and with no better option Patton wanted nothing more than to speak up on Janus's behalf-
Except...it was impossible to miss when Virgil was angry. Any sort of stress tended to bring out the distortion in his voice, but when he was angry, you could feel the air of the mindscape practically vibrating with the feeling. And just then Virgil didn't sound like he was angry—despite his obvious distress there was no trace of distortion. In fact it was...soft wasn't a word that would probably ever describe Virgil's voice, but it was quieter, restrained...deliberately gentle in a way that instantly made Patton teary, because he realized what Virgil was feeling behind that gentleness was hurt.
It was a plea coming directly from the place of whatever pain had fostered Virgil's anger towards Janus in the first place—a pain that he was clearly hoping to spare Patton from experiencing himself.
For several moments Patton couldn't speak—he knew the need was there, but he just couldn't find the words as he fought the sting of tears that still threatened to fall from his eyes. As he fought to breathe and not break down at what Virgil was suggesting—for Virgil's sake if nothing else, because surely this was why he had held back with his every other warning. He hadn't wanted Janus to hurt him, but of course Virgil had known it would hurt him either way...
If it was true. If-
"I- I need you to go, Virgil," Patton managed shakily.
And Patton couldn't help it—hated it in a way he hated almost nothing—that when Virgil reached out to him, to offer some sort of comfort, he found himself pulling away.
"Pat, wait, I-"
But Patton shook his head.
"I just- I just need some time, okay? It's-"
There really weren't words for what it was, it was too much in that moment to really know what he was feeling, when he was feeling so many things, and none of them the kind of feeling that he enjoyed wading through. And he was getting better about not pretending that he wasn't feeling them for the others' sake, but that didn't make feeling them any easier to handle.
"I just...need some time. Alone."
While he couldn't say that the words really succeeded in soothing Virgil's fears, at the least they seemed to soften them just a bit, loosening the crush of his all-consuming panic down to the grip of a tightly-wound worry.
"Okay, Pat. Whatever you say."
Though just as he was leaving, Patton did finally managed to say:
"Thanks, Virge. For looking out for me."
And Patton could hope, from the very faint smile that Virgil offered just before he sank out, that Virgil understood that he meant it.
(Even if Patton himself wasn't quite sure of just how much he actually did.)
Of course Patton wound up having a bit of a cry about it, after Virgil was gone. He had to if he was going to clear out all the muck enough to actually think about what Virgil had said. He didn't doubt for a minute that Virgil was telling the truth—or that Virgil believed it was the truth, at least. For one, Virgil hated lying, and of course Virgil also wasn't fond of Janus, and in the mindscape one was basically impossible without involving the other to some degree. Even if Virgil had been the sort to lie about something to get his way—which he wasn't, but that wasn't the point—Patton doubted you could lie about Janus without getting his direct attention, which was something he knew Virgil would go out of his way to avoid. But just because Virgil believed it didn't mean that it really was true.
And Patton didn't want to believe it, but sadly that didn't make it untrue, either.
He wanted to be able to give Janus the benefit of the doubt. What had they even been working towards if he couldn't? On the other hand, if he didn't find some way of addressing the question soon then the temptation was bound to creep in to try and ignore it. He had always had a problem with avoiding things that made him uncomfortable, and in very recent memory this was the worst discomfort he had dealt with since the whole...frog...thing. Which had really been the explosive result of trying to avoid things, so...best to avoid further avoiding if it was at all possible. But as much as he wanted to do the right right thing and actually deal with the situation, it didn't help him know what to actually do.
There were only three options that he could see—well, he had already taken pretending things were fine off the table, so that really only left him with just two. Either he could come out and ask Janus about it directly—which could work, and would probably be the smart thing that most of the others would want him to do—but it would also risk upsetting or offending Janus and it might also worsen things around the mindscape in general. Already it was difficult to argue that either Janus or Virgil were even trying to be civil with one another, but there was the bitterly passive aggressive sniping that was as common as flies these days whenever the two crossed paths and then there was the threat of all out war which always seemed to be hanging over their heads, warning what would happen if the tension between the two of them finally managed to snap. If he brought this directly to Janus, even if it was just asking for his side of the story, there was a very good chance he would be upset by the accusation, and whether it was ultimately true or not, there was an almost zero chance of him taking it well if he found out what Virgil had told him.
His other option: he could pretend that things were fine for now. He could pretend that the conversation hadn't happened and try to decide for himself whether it was true on his own. Which...Patton was pretty sure was the option that absolutely no one would have suggested for him to take. If things went wrong, if he fumbled, then there was a chance it would all fall apart and he would be left dealing with a worse version of the consequences from one of the first two options.
But...if it went right, then Patton could just make up his mind quietly on his own—with evidence!—and unless the worst turned out to be true Janus would never have to know that he ever had reason to doubt him. And whether it was true or it wasn't, Patton would still be able to tell Virgil that he had taken his advice, more or less, to heart.
The question, though, was whether he could actually pull it off.
Subtlety didn't exactly come naturally to Patton, and the sly serpent in question was practically an expert by comparison. He doubted there was any chance that Janus wouldn't realize that he was hiding something, but...well. Keeping secrets wasn't something Patton did very often, but he had spent plenty of time hiding his feelings over the years. In a lot of ways this was just more of the same—pushing down the distrust that Virgil had advised far enough that, even if Janus did notice he was acting off that it wouldn't be obvious.
Or at least, he could hope.
It was fine. This would be fine. And...if Janus noticed and he asked, then Patton could always just tell him the truth, and at that point it would be basically the same as confronting him, wouldn't it? And if he didn't notice then all Patton had to do was follow it through until he had...some idea of whether Virgil was right about him or not, and he could decide what he would do then.
(And who knows, maybe Jan would even respect him a little for making the choice to do something that was...sort of halfway underhanded for once.)
Which was all very good as a plan in theory, though of course it wound up being much more difficult in practice. For one, he was pretty sure that Janus had known something was up the very next day. Patton had greeted him with his best, brightest smile when Janus came to join him at breakfast that morning, and yet Patton was sure that he saw a moment of suspicion when their eyes met. It was very quickly hidden—of course it was, it was Janus—but Patton was sure that he had seen it. And it was more than a little discouraging to have been seen through so quickly, but it wasn't as if the whole situation wasn't discouraging on it's own.
Again, subtlety didn't come naturally to Patton, but he was willing to commit to the hard work—even if this was going to be a lot more work than he had thought.
It was...uncomfortable at the start—from that very first day, even just going through the motions of the morning routine felt strangely jagged—like finding a chip in the rim of a favorite mug and having to relearn how to drink without encountering the sharp new edge. He tried to relax, to act naturally around Janus as if nothing else was different, and...sometimes it seemed to work. But...there was still that edge, a wariness, as if, now that he was watching Janus the reverse was true—that Janus was now watching him with the same, assessing attention. And it made things...tense in a way that wasn't any help in trying to find his answers...
Still, it got easier as the week wore on—if he just let himself be in the moment and not think about it, it became a lot easier—but that new sharpness in their interactions still never quite went away.
Into the second week, Patton had finally come to a few conclusions. As the seat of emotions, Patton was tuned in to Thomas's feelings at all hours along side his own, but he hadn't been blessed with the same easy insight into the emotions of his fellow sides. But his understanding of those emotions—and his efforts, in the past, to hide his own—meant that he at least had some direct experience to work from. He was sure that the faint, grudging affection that he had seen from Janus couldn't be entirely fake, but...now that he was paying attention, he had begun to notice how easily, how quickly, those feelings seemed to shift. Quite often, when one of the others entered the room, that subtle softness that it felt that Janus only reserved for him just...vanished. And sometimes it was replaced almost immediately by something else, other times by...a version of itself that felt strangely performative in a way that it hadn't been only moments before.
The other conclusion he came to was that, whether Janus was faking it or not, he still must have had a reason for spending time with Patton. He had something that he was getting out of it, but, well...Patton was getting something out of it too, wasn't he? Even after he had begun to question the truth of what Janus showed him during those meetings, he had still managed to enjoy the time they spent together, so...
So...why not keep doing it? Why should anything have to change?
Of course, he had promised himself that he wasn't going to ignore it—that he wasn't going to pretend—but...that just meant that he had to talk to Janus about it, just like he had insisted that he would in the beginning. Then, at least, Janus could have his chance to give his side of the story. And even if Janus confessed to having motivations of his own behind their interactions, Patton liked to think they might still come to some kind of an understanding...
(Patton had felt so mature in seeking out and finding these conclusions, for choosing to confront Janus openly even if it was hard—even as he knew deep down that actually having Virgil's accusations confirmed would still probably break his heart.)
Of course, despite having come to his decision, that didn't make it any easier to find a time for that conversation to take place. He wasn't eager, after all, and that only made it too easy—too tempting—to put the issue off further.
Fortunately—for Patton's gradually fraying nerve, at least—an opportunity managed to offer itself up naturally. They had been putting together a puzzle in Patton's room, sitting side-by-side on his version of Thomas's couch and engaged in easy conversation. And for a while it had felt just as natural as it ever had before Virgil came to Patton with his claims. But then Patton had cracked a silly little joke, and Janus had flashed him that smile—the one he had once been so sure was genuine—and suddenly the sight of it made him ache.
And Janus must have noticed, somehow, because he instantly grew more subdued—for just a moment, his lips betraying a slight frown. That was what finally gave Patton the motivation to push forward with the conversation that needed to happen. Perhaps once it was out in the open, once they were solidly on the same page, it would be easier for them both to enjoy themselves—or whatever it was that Janus actually wanted out of this—without hitting these sorts of snags.
"You know," Patton had finally managed, a few short minutes later, "you don't have to pretend if you don't want to. Not when it's just the two of us."
His words, of course, had brought their simple conversation to a halt, and Patton found himself immediately under the other's scrutiny. And Patton didn't know what he read in the expression on his face—sometimes it seemed like Janus had the world's worst poker face, revealing more than he could possibly have intended, and sometimes his face was almost terrifyingly empty. Just then it was the latter.
"What do you mean?" Janus asked him eventually, placing the pieces in his hand aside.
"I mean..." Patton tried not to squirm. "I know you have your reasons for spending time with me—and whatever those are you don't have to tell me—but you don't need to, uh, play it up, I guess is what I'm trying to say? I like spending time with you—a lot—but its okay if you're doing this for other reasons."
A trace of unease managed to find its way onto the mask that Janus's face had previously become.
"What brought this on?" Janus asked at last. "Until a few weeks ago, I thought we were both having a very good time, but...I've noticed recently that something has started to change."
"I didn't want it to change things," Patton said quickly. "I mean, I don't want it to change things. I just... I noticed that sometimes when we're spending time together, even if it seems like you're enjoying it, enjoying my company, that something about it doesn't seem...sincere? Like you're pretending you enjoy it more than you do. Or maybe just differently than you actually do? I don't know. And I know that I can't really expect sincerity out of you all the time—it probably doesn't come easy to you any more than, uh, subtly observing, does to me, but-"
At some point, it had become a ramble, and at some point beyond that even Janus seemed, eh, rattled by the speed at which Patton was bouncing around between his words and his feelings and his attempts to keep both of them on track.
Finally, as if to take pity on him, Janus interrupted him.
"Virgil said something, didn't he?" Janus asked.
In that moment Janus was as difficult to read as Patton had ever seen him, his voice inflected gently but not warmly, his face impassive. Something about it made Patton's stomach twist, and that distress must have been as transparent as glass because Janus let out a breath, one that was perhaps weary, closing his eyes briefly before he spoke.
"I can guess what he probably told you," Janus said slowly, "and...he isn't wrong, not entirely, but...it's almost certainly more complicated than he made it sound. I tried to explain it to him once, years ago, but I fear he only ever understood half of the story."
He paused, then, as if weighing his next words.
"And...you're not wrong, either," Janus admitted. "Sometimes my feelings are something of a performance, but...not all of them. I've gotten good at faking out of necessity, but...it's not to cover a lack of emotion—or even often ulterior motives for that matter—but to give the impression of consistency."
"I...don't understand?" Patton said—asked?—honestly confused.
"Patton," Janus finally asked him, "why does Thomas lie?"
For a moment, Patton almost felt like Janus was testing him.
"To protect himself," Patton was quick to say. "You- You try to protect him."
"But what does he lie about the most?" Janus asked, in that same gentle-but-empty tone from before. "In his heart, what are my deceptions for?"
And Patton took the time to think about it, because that seemed to be what Janus wanted. He thought about all of those moments over the years where a sudden fib or reflexive falsehood had come to Thomas's tongue, every spike of guilt and moment of unease that came after. He thought of all the little white lies and the false affirmations handed out to friends and family, all the lies of omission where Thomas held back hurt feelings or resentment or disappointment. Every little "I'm fine" and "I love it, thank you" and "you look amazing" and "it's no big deal" and "I forgive you" that came almost automatically to his lips...
"He lies to protect other people's feelings," Patton said quietly. "A lot..."
Once upon a time it would have been a lot harder for Patton to acknowledge that—it used to be one of the things he was happier to pretend wasn't true. A lot of the time, Thomas didn't even think of it as lying—it was just so common, the done thing, a kindness, simply polite—so it had been easy enough for Patton to forget that as well. But Patton knew Janus better these days, and if those recent efforts had amounted to anything worthwhile then it was being able to accept those lies for what they were—to accept that all those gentle lies that he had thoughtlessly acknowledged as necessary were still lies, and that they were no less Janus's responsibility or his creations simply for being kind.
(At least...Patton had thought he knew Janus better. Right now, it felt like everything Patton had once assumed he knew was being called into question.)
Still, this must have been the answer that Janus had been hoping to hear—or at the least it was the conclusion he had wanted Patton to come to.
"We were all formed with our own unique idiosyncrasies over the years," Janus said mildly. "In my case, Thomas's mind chose to sculpt me with numerous...contradictions. On the one hand, I was made to be the cold-blooded snake with no warmth of my own, but on the other? If your goal is telling people what they want to hear, you have to know what that is, don't you? And in order to help Thomas lie to protect the feelings of others, I would have to understand those feelings myself. I'd need to know how to help him intuit the feelings of those around him in order for Thomas to navigate them to his benefit..."
He paused briefly, and Patton thought that he must have been considering his words. They were always so carefully chosen, especially when it was just the two of them—especially these days, now that Janus knew that Patton was willing to listen if he took the effort to help him understand his point of view. Just then, however, there was a faint look of concentration that gave the impression he was choosing his next words very carefully.
"You know how, when I imitate another side, I'm not just reflecting their form but also their function?" Janus asked him slowly.
And Patton nodded, because of course he did. All of them were a part of Thomas, each defined within the mindscape by the roles they played. And none of them were truly fixed in the forms they favored—they were simply effortless, while maintaining the concentration to appear differently took more attention and focus to achieve—and yet there was no mistaking Logan for Patton no matter how similarly they might look, because Logic and Morality felt so very different. And Roman was a very fine actor, but no matter how faithfully he changed his appearance or replicated another's mannerisms, he would never be able to pass himself off as Virgil, because for all the two concepts were very closely linked in Thomas's mind, there was no way for Creativity to truly feel like Anxiety in a way that any of them would believe.
That was where Janus had always truly stood out from the rest of them—not in his serpentine appearance or in his obvious fondness for wearing masks, but in his ability to actually mimic one of the others in a way that could, at least in the short term, feel like the right function was there. In a moment of confident error, it could still feel like one was thinking Logically even if it wouldn't hold up long under scrutiny. Even absent a true spark of inspiration Thomas could force his way through pushing out a particularly low-effort short (even when he knew it would be obvious to anyone who saw it that he had been phoning it in). Sometimes when an opportunity was missed it was easy to convince oneself that they were better off, after all surely it would have only ended in disaster anyway...
(Sometimes, rarely, it fell to Janus to carry Thomas's ability to hope for the best from people, because sometimes there was too little evidence in front of him for even Patton to truly believe it.)
And already, Patton felt like he was on the edge of understanding where Janus was going with this—as if at least he was starting to see the shape of it—but he found himself hesitating on the final step before committing to that understanding.
Because what it implied was-
"In many ways, I am...very much like a mirror," Janus confessed quietly. "I reflect...other things as well. You see, it's not that I feel nothing, which is what I'm sure Virgil believes, or even, often, that I'm disguising what I really feel...quite the opposite. It's that so much of what I feel—most of it, really—isn't actually mine."
Patton teetered briefly on the edge of it—a reluctance that never truly had the chance to form into denial before the gravity of it took him down. And it really was a horrible, heavy, sinking feeling as he sat there, trying to swallow around the realization.
"Then it- It really is all lies," Patton managed finally, his voice heavy around the truth he was so painfully being forced to accept.
"I suppose I can't stop you from seeing it that way," Janus countered—and there was a faint, almost resigned sorrow in his voice that, though the way it was expressed felt and sounded so entirely like Janus, Patton was stung by how closely those feelings still matched his own. "And perhaps from a certain point of view it's even true. Though, personally, I disagree."
Patton looked at him through the blur of tears already threatening to fall, confusion returning to rejoin the mix of uncomfortable turmoil in his chest.
"I- I don't-"
"Well, what you're feeling right now is pretty real, isn't it?" Janus asked.
Patton couldn't help the weak laugh—pained and more than half a sob—that escaped him, nor the tears that escaped with it.
"Y-yeah?" Patton managed shakily.
"You're feeling hurt, of course," Janus said. "You feel...disappointed. Confused, betrayed—even, understandably, a little bit angry, though you're pushing it as far down as you can. A whole mess of ugly things, and none of them very much fun."
Hearing Janus list it all out like that, at that very moment, Patton half felt like his chest was going to cave in.
"That's what I'm feeling too, right now," Janus said softly. "I suppose I can't really know for certain that it's exactly the same, but it's probably very close. And I can tell you, it feels very real to me, as well."
Though Patton thought that, if Janus really was telling the truth about that, he must have been downplaying it an awful lot, because what he was feeling was horrible.
"I do experience some emotions of my own," Janus continued, "but they're rather limited in scope if not their depth. I adore Thomas, of course, down to the very marrow of my being—and it's the strongest feeling I own. And I feel satisfaction when I'm allowed to fulfill my role for him and frustration when I can't, just like any other side. But anything else is...muted, almost to the point of silence—hardly even a murmur compared to what I feel from the rest of you. It's all just so much more...vivid than most of what I experience myself. Often it feels more real to me than the emotions that are actually mine."
During his explanation, while his tone remained just as even and his words just as composed as they ever were, there was nevertheless this encroaching sense of melancholy that seeped its way in. And it took Patton a moment to process, to remember, to realize the meaning behind that shift. Because if Janus was telling the truth—if his emotions really were so limited and so easily overshadowed—then that really was tremendously sad. But it was Patton's sorrow over the idea that was creeping in to color the conversation, now, wasn't it?
And the realization was like a knife in his chest, because it only grew worse the longer he was left to think about it...
To think about the way all of them tended to feel around Janus—about Janus. To think of the fear and unease, the contempt, disgust and dismissal, the suspicion, anger, and outright revulsion that had so often been the norm whenever the other side was around. To imagine what it would have been like to have his only true, clear, positive emotion be his love for Thomas, and yet have his every attempt to serve his purpose towards him met with varying shades of...
Of hate, more or less, when all of it was taken together. Hate that he would then have been forced to feel as if it were his own.
Would that have felt more like hating them back, Patton had to wonder, or more like hating himself?
He could hope that it was the former. Because that would just explain so much, wouldn't it? It would certainly explain the way that Janus had treated them all in return—if all of those sharp edges of his that had given them so many nicks and cuts over the years had been honed against their own, initial rejection of him. Patton could hope that was how it worked, because it would make it so much easier to forgive Janus for all of his snipes, for every barbed word teasing at their insecurities, every venom-laced, back-handed compliment he had sent their way...
(Patton hoped with all his heart that Janus had simply hated them back, because if the alternative was true, he didn't think he could ever properly forgive himself.)
Either way, Patton's sorrow—both his own and what he felt on Janus's behalf—had grown into a sharp ache in his chest. His fight against tears had already been lost at the start and now they were flowing freely, and he could feel his breath starting to catch. But it was when he noticed the echo of his own distress in the figure at his side that things truly started to fall apart—the sheen across Janus's eyes and the subtle hitch of his shoulders as he fought against the same weight of misery that had already nearly reduced Patton to a sobbing mess. And that realization—of the increasing visibility of just how much his own sadness was effecting Janus—sent his whole mental state into a careening spiral of horrible feedback, because not only was Patton's sadness inflicting itself on Janus, but now Patton's awareness of that was making it worse.
At least that managed to break apart the heavy blanket of sorrow that had been weighing down his every thought...shredding at the edges as it began to transform, at least partly, into panic instead.
Patton wasn't sure it was even really a thought before he acted, standing up in a rush with every intention to flee—never mind that they were in his room, or that he would be abandoning Janus, that he would be leaving him to handle what he was feeling on his own. There was only the desperate hope that distance might stop him from feeling it at all, because Patton was still so confused, but the one thing he did understand was that he was hurting him.
Janus was hurting because of him, and he needed to get away-
But just as fast as he stood, Patton felt a hand come up to grab his arm, the gloved grip of it just shy of bruising, and Patton found himself looking down at Janus—at the reflection of that very same panic staring desperately back from his eyes as the other side finally gave into tears.
"Please stay," Janus choked out. "Please. I've never- Never had the chance to- Not about this..."
And what else could Patton do when Janus looked at him like that, practically begging—begging for the chance to cry? As if his strings had been cut like a puppet, Patton dropped back down on the couch next to him and, without wasting another thought, pulled Janus towards him.
The frantic crush of arms that were suddenly clutching him back was almost painful, but nowhere near as painful as the way that he and Janus finally broke together. Janus hid his face against the fabric of his hoodie just as the last bits of Patton's composure crumbled, leaving him to dissolve into a mess of ugly sobs. Despite the intensity of what both of them were feeling, Janus's crying was still so quiet that Patton found it almost alarming—just an overcome stampede of hiccuping breaths half-stifled against his shoulder—but he could feel the other side's tears soaking through his hoodie and into his shirt, and the quietness of it only made him want to hold Janus tighter.
There was really no way of guessing how long they stayed like that—either how long their crying went on, or how long they held each other in silence, after. Time in the mindscape could be funny anyway, and because they didn't have physical bodies to worry about they tended not to feel strain or soreness unless something caused them to overthink what they had been doing. Which was just as well, because regardless, Patton had a feeling it had been a pretty long time before either of them bothered trying to move. Janus's breathing had only just evened out, and Patton was still sniffling in the aftermath when the wrung-out silence between them was finally broken.
"I suppose if this was going to happen, it's for the best it was with you," Janus muttered weakly into Patton's shoulder. "It means I probably won't have to feel embarrassed about it once we've both come to our senses."
And Patton couldn't help the huff of breath the words startled out of him, nor the somewhat helpless burst of laughter that followed. Or the guilt—the little sliver of it that snuck its way in—because he really shouldn't have been laughing about it, should he? But then, it wasn't as if Janus wasn't right about that. As often as he might have tried to hide his own heavier emotions in the past, he couldn't have said he had ever been embarrassed by them...
But the brief moment of startled mirth seemed to have brought some measure of life back into the other side. Janus drew in a long breath before sitting up—not yet pulling away, merely positioning himself more comfortably within Patton's arms.
"I- Thank you," Janus managed quietly. "For what it's worth, I- Thank you. For that."
And Patton didn't know what to say just yet, so he didn't, only holding Janus slightly tighter. And, as the pressure was returned Patton found his voice at last.
"Has-" He paused with a wince, his voice just as froggy as it ever was after a solid cry. "Has it always been like this? For you?"
"At least as long as I can remember."
"Why-"
The question on his tongue died before it even needed to be asked—he knew Janus more than well enough by now to realize why he never told any of them. It was in his nature as Deceit, after all, to hide things—to keep secrets—and until very recently there hadn't been any reason for Janus to believe that Patton or the others could have been trusted with a secret this personal...
After all, it was only too easy to imagine, though certainly uncomfortable to think about, how differently he might have interpreted things if he had learned about this sooner. How Patton, already so firmly mistrusting the embodiment of Deceit, would have only seen it as another way that the other was false. Even now, he didn't want to think about how Roman might react if he learned the truth—perhaps he would even dismiss it as a ploy to try and gain sympathy.
Still, there was clearly more to it than that, as Janus deigned to answer it anyway. Perhaps, Patton thought, he needed to say it, now that it was out in the open.
"I mean, it's turned out so well for me when I've explained it in the past," Janus said. "Why tear the band-aid off at all when I could just as easily leave it to fester just to avoid that extremely pleasant experience..."
It was almost surreal hearing him twist his words as he normally did when his voice was absent its usual acidic edge. Despite the sarcasm, it made him seem far more dour and despondent than his usual displays of bitterness. And Patton didn't want to think about why that would be—why it was missing, where it usually came from—but it was impossible not to when his past with Virgil had been looming over their conversation from the very start.
But he doubted that bringing up Virgil by name would help either of them very much, unless the goal was to get both of them crying once again.
"Is it always so...awful?" Patton asked instead.
"Is that really a question to which you want an honest answer?" Janus asked in response.
There was a note of...something almost coy in his tone. And it certainly felt very Janus, but in the context of his new understanding of the other side, Patton couldn't imagine where it was coming from. Janus had said that his own emotions were muted, not that he didn't have them, so perhaps it came from there? Then again, it was already becoming clear to him that, even if Janus was only reflecting Patton's own emotions, he was obviously processing them very differently. Though it was just as possible that the tone was one he had chosen to affect in hopes of making Patton rethink his question. After all, if whatever Janus's answer was held the potential to upset him, it might drop them right back where they started.
(And it was funny how, even with new insight into what Janus was actually feeling, Patton still didn't feel an inch closer to actually guessing what was going on in Janus's head. Patton was surprised to find himself honestly relieved by that fact. As uncomfortable as it could be whenever his confusion got the better of him while dealing with the deceptive side, he wasn't sure how he would have handled having that kind of an advantage.)
And Patton could appreciate Janus giving him the option to back out—to spare them both more misery when what they had already shared had nearly been too much to handle. But he wanted to know—if it was even remotely possible there was something Patton could do to make things better, then he wanted to be able to do it. And if Janus was even remotely willing to give him an answer, he felt like he needed to listen...
"Not always," Janus answered slowly, no doubt picking up on Patton's cautious resolve. "But...I'd definitely be lying if I tried to claim that 'awful' hasn't historically been the norm..."
Janus eyed Patton for a moment as if weighing something before he finally let out a sigh.
"You have to understand," Janus said, "there's nothing pleasant about being denied your purpose. In being shoved away from the one thing that gives your existence its meaning. As a consequence, pleasant feeling was at something of a premium for those of us that Thomas has...pushed away. The omnipresent grief that comes of knowing, beyond doubt, that you're unwanted was a staple of the experience, with generous helpings of frustration and resentment served on the side. It made experiencing nearly anything else quite a treat, let me tell you..."
It was a struggle, but Patton did his best to tamp down on his own feelings for Janus's sake—his returning sadness and the looming threat of guilt that was predictably trying to worm its way in. Sorrow was easy enough for him to push away—Patton had more than enough practice distracting himself from that feeling so that he could be there for others. But fighting against the guilt was harder—it had never felt right trying to distract himself from feeling guilty before. Just then it still didn't, but it helped that he wasn't doing it for himself—knowing that whatever feelings he let in would wind up being dropped into Janus's lap as well made it easier to put in the effort. Feeling guilty right now wouldn't fix or help things, and might even make them much worse.
(And it wasn't as if there was any chance he wouldn't wind up revisiting those feelings much later, anyway...)
"But there were moments of reprieve, of course," Janus continued, almost blandly, without a hint of reassurance in his tone—Patton couldn't help but think that Janus knew that attempting to comfort him in this moment would have had the opposite effect in terms of keeping that guilt at bay. "It's important, during hard times, to seize whatever moments of joy you can—and I've always encouraged the others to do so, for their own sakes and mine. We weren't quite the fond famILY that you lot had going, but...when we could, when we could bear ourselves enough to do so, we did try to be there for each other in the ways we best knew how."
Janus paused for a moment before finally letting out a sigh.
"Virgil and I once enjoyed...something together," Janus said, softly like it was a confession. "We...never really talked about it, back then, not in a way that could put an easy label on it, but we had something that was just ours, something special. Something that I'd allowed myself to think it was possible to keep. But then I made the mistake of tipping my hand. Virgil noticed that I was...different when the others were around. He began to worry, as you did, that it was just an act, that I was playing some kind of game with him. And eventually, when I was forced to explain..."
In his pause he seemed to weigh his next words very, very carefully.
"I know that he tried to understand," Janus said at last. "Of course he tried, but Virgil never did very well with ambiguity. The parts he did understand left too much room in between them for doubt to creep in. He became...rather hung up on the fact that the feelings I held for him weren't real, by his way of thinking. They were real to me—they were his, but that was why they meant so much to me. I'd never imagined before that anyone could- No one had ever-"
Janus halted once more, his breath shaking as tears threatened once more in his eyes.
"You know, you're very good at this," he commented wryly.
His words startled a noise out of Patton and startled Patton out of the sadness that had been aching in his chest as Janus related his story.
"I- What?"
"The whole feeling things thing," Janus said. "I dare say you could make a living out of it."
It took Patton a few confused moments to make sense of his words and to realize what he meant. He was doing it again—letting his own feelings slip in.
"I- I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Janus said. "Really don't. It's...I was really only half joking. It's truly a testament to your own empathy that you're able to feel so much for me when my own feelings about that time are only a washed out memory. It feels...almost natural. Almost like they could be my own."
Patton wasn't sure that was a good thing, but Janus seemed to think that it was.
Then again, Patton couldn't help trying to imagine it from Janus's perspective. What it would be like to have a friendship that meant so much, and then lose it all. And Janus really had lost it all—not just in the sense that the friendship had fallen apart, but whatever he and Virgil had once felt together had also been torn away. Because whatever those feelings had been—the good and the bad—it didn't sound like Janus had managed to hold onto very much of it after. If Patton understood it, Janus hadn't just lost the joy of the good times, but also whatever upset and heartache should have come afterward.
And it was bad enough to have lost a friend—or whatever he and Virgil had been—but if Patton was right, Janus wouldn't even have been able to grieve that loss properly.
"At least-" Patton could hear his own voice threatening to break. "At least I...understand, now, why Virgil was so...worried about me."
The smile that Janus managed at the words was as ugly a little thing as Patton had ever seen on him. He couldn't help but think that some part of the emotion twisting behind it were his own conflicted feelings about Virgil's attempts at protecting him.
"It makes sense that he would be," Janus said. "Suspicion has always been in his nature, just as much as hiding things is in mine. It's probably a miracle that things between us even lasted as long as they did. It's hard not to think that, even if I were...otherwise than I am, it might still have fallen apart. But..."
"Being the way that I am," Janus said, "I have to think that made it worse. It was...hard, feeling it all slipping away from me. Feeling his doubts creep in to taint everything. And of course no attempts at reassurance I made ever managed to help, for much the same reason—I am, after all, Deceit, how could he ever trust a word I said? Eventually every other feeling we'd ever shared was eclipsed by suspicion, and after suspicion resentment, until finally that was all that was left..."
Janus drew in a breath.
"And then it wasn't long after that he was gone, as well," Janus concluded. "While I obviously couldn't say that I was pleased about that, I'd also be lying unnecessarily if I said that it wasn't...something of a relief in its own way. I should probably count my blessings that his feelings for me only bloomed into outright hatred after he left."
Patton didn't feel like he could ask, but he couldn't help but wonder whether that meant Janus was lucky enough not to have been lonely in the aftermath. It was hard to keep himself from dwelling on the idea, because either possibility was sad to think about—whether Janus was even capable of missing Virgil with no one there to feel it for him, verses Virgil not being missed at all despite whatever meaning their relationship might once have held for the both of them.
Then again, Janus hadn't actually been alone after Virgil had left, had he?
Patton felt unease bloom in his stomach as he made that realization. While Janus's expression hardly changed with it, the other side turned to look at him as if trying to figure out what had caused such a turn.
"I just realized-" Patton fumbled, trying to explain. "After Virgil left, it would have been just you and Remus and-"
And Patton cut himself off, because he really didn't like to think about it. Patton didn't like to think about Remus period when he could get away with it—and he was trying his best to be better about that, but just because he was learning (slowly) how to tolerate the...wilder half of Creativity, didn't mean that he liked to speculate on what was going on in his head. Remus seemed blithely unaffected by most things, but while Patton doubted that was an act he wasn't sure what he should actually believe was the truth, either. Janus had already said, himself, that he had lived with the others' feelings surrounding their rejection by Thomas—their resentment, frustration and grief. He had even hinted that they may have taken it out on each other. Had Virgil's leaving possibly worsened things for him in that regard?
"I may not actually be able to read your mind," Janus said slowly, "but I can tell you its nowhere near as bad as whatever you must be imagining to have started feeling like that. I mean...I certainly couldn't say it's a picnic when Remus is shoved down and left to stew on Thomas's darkest thoughts without the reprieve of being allowed to express them—that can be rather unpleasant—but on those rare occasions when he's given latitude to run with them? When he's in his element and being given the opportunity to make those thoughts work for him? It's..."
He trailed off, and Patton was unnerved by the silence at first.
"It's...actually a lot of fun," Janus said at last. "He's always so genuinely pleased with himself, and so grateful to have someone listen to his ideas. And he gets so excited for his pranks and his traps, especially when he has a partner in crime to share them with—someone to get excited with him. And...he doesn't really care that most of it is his own excitement being reflected back... He's always too caught up in the moment to second guess things like that. If he's ever taken the time to doubt them afterward, I've never felt any sign of it. Perhaps he's never even thought about it. Or maybe he just decided that the company of his own reflection is still preferable to nothing at all."
Patton realized only gradually that the slow pace of his words was due to the effort in drawing on the recollection of those feelings from memory. And he still didn't want to think too much about the details—he was probably much better off not knowing whatever the two of them might have been getting up to together that would have gotten Remus so excited, but... It couldn't be read from his face—Janus seemed to have abandoned any efforts at affectation relating to the feelings he was trying to describe, given that he couldn't currently feel them—but it nonetheless sounded like these were moments that had been joyful to him—to both of them—at the time. And that...
It was conflicting, given what Remus had always represented to him in the past, but...Patton found to his own relief and delight that he was happy for them.
However they had found it they had found joy together, and whatever other hang-ups he still possessed about the more shameless half of Creativity, even he couldn't manage to find fault in that. Patton was glad to have found himself at this point—where he could be happy for them—and not just so that he could offer that feeling back to Janus right now. Patton didn't understand Remus—it was possible he might never understand Remus—but that didn't mean he didn't want the best for him in his way. If he couldn't hope for Remus's happiness—if he couldn't believe in Remus's happiness and feel happy for him in return—then Patton would have been failing at a core part of who and what he was supposed to be...
"You're getting it," Janus said softly, a faint smile pulling at his lips.
And Patton thought—just maybe, potentially—that he was also starting to get a handle on telling the difference between what an expression looked like when Janus was presenting a mask and when it was born of something real.
"Were Virgil and Remus the only ones who knew?" Patton asked. "About..."
"As far as I can tell," Janus said. "Given Virgil's suspicious and watchful nature it was only ever a matter of time before he noticed, and Remus...is a lot more observant than most people give him credit for. As for our other compatriot... Well, I suppose I couldn't say for certain that he doesn't know, but I've never noticed any difference in his feelings or habits that would suggest otherwise. And Virgil only told you very recently. I'd assume that was because he felt the information was suddenly relevant, so I'd say you're most likely the first he's told..."
He trailed off again, quiet for a moment.
"I...suspected early on that he might have said something to you," Janus confessed. "You suddenly felt so differently about our meetings—you were never truly devoid of your own suspicions or doubts, not with our history, but...suddenly they all felt so much sharper, and those moments of joy that you had once allowed yourself to feel were dampened. It seemed obvious to me why that would have changed—whether he'd told you, or if you had figured it out for yourself. It was certainly very familiar, the way that suspicion and doubt began to overshadow things. Still, I thought for sure that...that I was about to lose everything—every piece of progress we had made and what had grown up along with it—just as I had before. Well...you certainly feared losing those things, I think, and I feared it with you. And remembering how it went with Virgil, I'd already braced myself to lose them, except..."
Janus trailed off, his expression turning to a soft frown.
"Except, as nervous as you were, as suspicious, as cautious as you've been these past weeks, there never was a point when I didn't also feel a glimmer of...hope behind it. Hope, I'd assumed, that whatever you were wrestling with wouldn't ruin what we shared together...because why else would you have stayed? And, well...I suppose that hope became mine as well."
His frown smoothed out into a very faint smile...the subtle one that Patton had noticed him wear from time to time, usually just a glimpse when the other thought he wasn't looking. It was one of the few genuine-feeling expressions that Patton had caught him hiding, and it made sense when he realized the warmth of what his own feelings held just then. Patton had never had any problem leaving that kind of softness out in the open where anyone could see it, but he thought he could understand that might be far too vulnerable a thing for Janus to do so easily.
(Everyone knew that Patton was a sap anyway. He wasn't about to apologize for it...)
"Still," Janus finished slowly, "regardless of that hope, I don't think I'd quite let myself believe it until you brought it up tonight that...it might not have to end. That there was still a chance that we could keep this. And...that I might even get a chance to see...whatever might come after it."
And Patton was about to tell him just how much he did want to work to keep this—that it might take time for him to figure out what this new information would mean for their friendship, but that he still wanted it more than anything. Except, something in those final words struck him as odd. Something in the slow, almost hesitant way that Janus spoke them. As if perhaps, even though he couldn't feel it, Janus might have thought he should have been afraid to say them—as if there was a risk in saying them, one that he recognized even devoid of whatever nervousness he might otherwise have felt. And that didn't make sense to him, not at first...
Except, then Patton realized how closely they still sat, how he was still holding on to Janus, even though the immediate need to give him comfort had passed, and suddenly that warmth that he felt when they were together found itself subject to the same level of scrutiny that he had been applying to all of his emotions since the moment Janus had explained his situation. He had never really had cause to look at it very closely—there had never been a reason. Because if there was one emotion that Patton knew inside out then it was love. And of course that was what it was—because he loved all of the others in their own unique way. They were his friends, his family. Even when he hadn't gotten along with Janus and the others he had still felt love for them, in that cautious way one was meant to try to love their neighbor—to love the sinner and hate the sin—for though he recognized now how horribly those feelings had been colored by his biases and by some measure of pity, it had still been in him to recognize that they wanted to help Thomas, even when Patton had still so misguidedly believed they were only capable of hurting him.
But it was only now, being forced to look at it closely—being forced to examine the feelings, the love, that he was, by extension of Janus's unusual nature, causing him to feel as well—that Patton really saw the difference.
Because his heart lifted when he saw any of his friends, but never with the same distinct giddiness he felt when he looked at Janus. And missing his friends when they weren't around was an ache that was almost physical—especially now—and yet with Janus there was an element of longing that never left, even when he was there. They could be side by side, and it still felt like there was some missing inch of distance they had yet to close between them.
Looking at it now—looking at it closely—Patton found he recognized the feeling, for while he had never experienced it before in his own right it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. After all, even if Patton had never fallen in love in quite this way before he lived in a place that was close to the heart, and Thomas certainly had.
"Oh," he managed quietly, the word a startled breath that was almost a whisper.
And Patton's heart was beating rabbit-fast in his chest just then, and he knew that some of it was from panic but certainly not all of it. He had feelings for Janus, didn't he? Romantic feelings. And he-
Oh, gosh, that meant that Janus-
There was a smile on Janus's lips that was at odds with the panic Patton was feeling. One that was faint, and soft, though easily missed, and it failed to reach his eyes.
"I've...been waiting for you to realize those feelings," Janus said, slowly. "Because I'd thought—even hoped, whenever I was able—that there might be a chance, however small, that you'd allow me to return them. Properly. In whatever way it's possible for me to do so..."
Remembering what Janus had said earlier about borrowing his hope, Patton couldn't help but feel a little sick. But what wrenched his stomach even worse was watching even that fragile facsimile of a smile that Janus was wearing crumble under the weight of it, and watched the sheen of new tears catch the light in Janus's eyes even as his own misery overran him once again.
"I- We- We can't!" Patton said, and it felt like he was twisting a knife in a wound even as he said it. "I- I'm not saying I wouldn't want that—I do, so, so much, believe me. But it just...it wouldn't be right."
"Why not?" Janus challenged quietly, evenly, though his voice was thick with its own restrained echo of Patton's misery.
"Because I- I'd be forcing you to feel those things," Patton said. "It's not- That wouldn't be okay. I can't just-"
"So you'd rather force me to miss feeling it?" Janus said. "To feel your pain, instead, as you deny yourself something that might make you happy?"
"It's- It's not the same."
"Why not?" Janus asked again. "After all, it's not as if it was your choice to feel this way in the first place, any more than it was mine. And if I were given a choice, I couldn't imagine choosing not to feel it. How could I when I know, by my very nature, that you feel the same?"
"You don't know that," Patton said. "You can't know that. And I- I haven't even earned it. I wouldn't deserve it. Not when I've made so many mistakes. Mistakes that hurt Thomas—that hurt you. You couldn't have fallen in love with me."
"Why not?" Janus said a third time, so very quietly. "That obviously didn't stop you."
Patton stared back at him, shocked into speechlessness once he grasped Janus's meaning. He tried to protest, shook his head to deny it, but his silence couldn't stop Janus from continuing.
"I can't imagine that I'm easy to love," Janus said, quietly and yet far too certainly, as if he were simply stating a fact. "I wear far too many masks, and the creature dwelling beneath them might as well be hollow inside, but... Somehow you managed it anyway. And if now, somehow, impossibly, learning the truth about that still hasn't managed to ruin it...?"
(And it really hadn't, had it? After all, if Patton's convictions were actually worth anything, surely Janus would have given up by now, but as long as Patton's feelings persisted, why would Janus ever choose to let them go?)
"Just the fact that you can love me...it's like a miracle," Janus said, and he sounded...almost bewildered by the thought as he placed his hand on Patton's cheek. "Even if things were different and my feelings were wholly my own—if my masks and shadows were all you had to fight through to see anything worth loving—how could I do anything but adore that about you?"
And Patton shook his head, trying in his own soul to deny it—but it felt impossible to deny his feelings without denying that Janus was worthy of them. Everyone was deserving of love, in whatever fashion they needed it, and what did Janus's belief that he was an exception say but that he so very clearly needed it?
Words were beyond him as the sorrow threatened to close his throat entirely. It was starting to feel like his tears were never going to stop...
"And I can feel the guilt that you're holding on to, you know," Janus said, "but...I'm begging you, for once, Patton, to think about what you want. Not about what the others might think, not about what's right or wrong by anyone else's measure but your own—not even mine. Think about what would make you happiest, Pat, because if you're truly, honestly happy with it then I will be happy. And I think, one day, if we can figure this all out, then it might even help Thomas find a way to be happy, and you have to know that even I would never lie about that."
And Patton did know that much—or knew that Janus believed it, anyway. Because Patton had doubted so much about Janus's motives in the past, believing as he had for far too long that the serpentine side was a reflection of the evil impulses that Thomas was meant to resist and banish from his life. But he had never doubted that Janus believed that his means would make Thomas happy—he had so clearly always valued that, even above the safety and the happiness of others. Patton had never doubted that Janus wanted Thomas happy, only that his methods could ever be the right way to achieve it—after all, how could a good man ever be happy if that happiness came at the cost of another's suffering?
If his love for Thomas really held the importance in his world above all else the way that Janus had described—if it was at the center, not just of his purpose, but the hole of his being—then it seemed impossible that he could ever want to betray that.
Patton knew that Janus believed it, but he didn't know if he believed it. He didn't know if he could believe it, or if he dared. Because the right thing could never be as simple as just reaching for what he wanted...
No matter how long or hard Janus had worked to try to convince him otherwise.
It nothing else, Patton supposed he was past the point where it was worthwhile to deny that he wanted. He wanted the very specific kind of love that he felt only for Janus, the personal kind that existed uniquely for two people no matter what other loves they had in their life. Something just for him, just for Janus, just for the two of them together...
"I-"
(A love that was one-sided, in a sense, but neither a lie nor unrequited—and if Patton was the Heart, then why shouldn't he be able to love enough for the both of them? If Patton loved and Janus welcomed that love, then what reason was there, truly, to deny him?)
"Yes," Patton said, startling himself.
It was the answer he held in his heart, but he hadn't thought it was one he had been ready to give. However, now that it was spoken, now that he had given it, Patton couldn't bear the thought of taking it back...
"Yes?" Janus asked. "You-"
He sounded hesitant, unsure, almost breathless—no doubt affected by Patton's own surprise, but perhaps, in some measure terrified to have misheard or misunderstood Patton's answer. And it wasn't as if it was necessarily obvious, not when that terror was surely an echo, in whole or in part, of his own. But Patton had admitted to himself that he wanted and the world hadn't ended, and he had said yes, he did want it, and nothing had struck him down. Now, there was only reaching for what was offered—or offering what he had to give—and committing himself to his answer and the side he was speaking it to...
For good or ill.
"Yes," Patton said, the word fighting its way free past the fear that was trying to smother it.
And he watched his own joy at finding his voice ignite like a rising sun behind Janus's eyes.
"Well," Janus said, his voice suddenly shaking, subtly, with emotion, blinking against the tears that were threatening to rise. "Okay then."
And he looked so...bewildered, so disbelieving in that moment that Patton knew, for once, that it was something that had to be wholly Janus, because now that he was here—in this moment and with his answer given—Patton couldn't remember the last time he had managed to feel this sure about anything in his life. And he knew, with an equally solid conviction, that the only way to smooth away the last traces of uncertainty still hiding in the line of Janus's lips was with a kiss.
The moment felt so impossibly fragile, as Patton reached out, as if a single wrong move—just a breath out of place—might shatter it. But as his hand found Janus's face, as he felt the coolness of scales and the warmth of tears beneath his palm, as he gently drew Janus toward him, it ceased to feel so delicate, but became, instead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.
And as their lips came together, for once, Patton allowed himself to be truly selfish.