Roman huffed and growled and stamped his foot. He ran his hand through his hair, effectively ruining his hours of work on it. He shook his head, trying to make the stagefright jitters infecting his mind to dissipate.
"It's fine, Princy, it's fine," He said to himself, his hands frantically smoothing out the fabric of his new outfit. "You look good, you always look good, it's fine!"
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It's okay, just pretend that you look amazing, this is just another part to play. Another role. The role of the dashing, gorgeous prince. He smoothed his hair back down and tried to ignore the deep curl in his gut.
Roman's eyes opened; his gaze landing on the dark cloth in front of him. It was the only dark part of his room; it was tucked away, hidden in a bathroom he never entered. Even still, it was as obvious as a spotlight, but it was the only thing Roman didn't want attention to be drawn to. He only kept it there for moments like this, moments where he had to face such a horrific beast. It was a battle he didn't want to fight, but he knew he must.
"Come on, Princy, be a hero!" Roman grunted to himself as he slowly took a step forward. His hand was shaking as he reached forward. His fingers brushed against the black sheet, dust shifting under his touch. He wanted to gag, not at the mess, but instead at what he'd have to do. He closed his eyes once more as he yanked the cloth away. He'd have to get this over with. He'd have to know.
"Mirror mirror, on the wall," Roman whispered, his voice shaking, "Please, this time, don't make me fall."
A small whine escaped his lips as his eyes flicked open. With the kind of effectiveness that Logan would be proud of, Roman's eyes tore across his form, taking in every detail. He let out a choked gasp at the mess looking back at him.
He was going for Glinda, but all he could manage to create was Elphaba. The bags under his eyes were nowhere close to designer. Plaque gathered in the crevice of his gums. Thin hairs dared to spread out away from his eyebrows, the literal opposite of on fleek. And speaking of hair, his was destroyed, thanks to his own stupid actions. What made him think he'd look good with purple hair, anyway? His nose was too big and his lips were too thin.
He stumbled backwards, running into the open door behind him. The doorknob jabbed him in the back and it was only then that he remembered what he came in here to do. The outfit. How does his new outfit look?
He got this idea in his head, and once he has a thought, it's impossible to just not do it. So he thought that everyone could use a new outfit, and he made his own. He had been working on it for weeks, and he wanted to impress everyone with it, but in order to do that, he had to see how it looks. Look at the outfit, Roman, look at the outfit.
The prince's eyes lowered away from his (disgusting, revolting, imperfect) face to look at the sewed outfit he was wearing. It was horrible, but what did he expect? The white fabric made his skin look greasy. The sash was three inches too long. The badge on his shoulder was slightly crooked and did he really need so many golden stripes? It was the cheapest costume someone could have ever made. This wasn't what he wanted, this isn't what he worked for.
He wanted to rip off his outfit, he wanted to cut his hair, he wanted to hide his face in a bag and never come out again. No one could see him like this, he couldn't go on stage without proper makeup, but his makeup was colored by a child. Hours of planning, cutting, sewing, was thrown away because it wasn't good enough. He needed perfection, but this wasn't it. His notes were flat, his line was skipped, his mic was broken, and his costume was ripped.
Roman took a long time singing "Michael In the Bathroom" on repeat, until he was emotionally drained. He covered the mirror again, red-rimmed eyes being hidden once more. He stumbled out of the bathroom, wondering if a new wardrobe change was worth this.
His heart missed its cue when he felt that tell-tale call of Thomas wanting them for a video. He groaned and pounded on the wall with his fist. His life was over, this was the worst possible thing to happen to him. He stood up straight, taking deep breaths.
Roman quickly changed back into his normal outfit, it wasn't good, but he was used to it. He took another second to get into character, refusing to look at the outfit that hung on a hook next to him.
The video was much like all the others. He kept glancing at himself in the reflection of the camera lense and was reminded at the trauma he just went though. The others didn't notice, because he's a brilliant actor, of course.
When he returned to his room, he tried again. He pricked his finger on the sewing needle, but it was worth it to fix all of his careless mistakes. It looked much better this time, but still not good enough. He threw his hands up in the air, and took a short break to watch all of the classic Disney movies nonstop.
Another video comes and goes.
He still doesn't announce his outfit.
He still doesn't return to the mirror.
He still isn't good enough.
It was only when he got lost in the world of Harry Potter with the other Sides, was he distracted enough to think that his new outfit might be a little bit okay. He's trying to … not … look like a loser.
In a blink he disappeared and quick changed. He glanced at the covered mirror through the open bathroom door, but refused to let himself look at his reflection. Roman closed his eyes and reminded himself, "Don't forget the importance of body language."
With that, he reappeared in his new outfit, before Logan could even finish his thought. The logical side deadpanned, "Oh, that's nice."
Roman's mind whirled as he took in the lackluster response. Of course his outfit wasn't good enough, it wasn't perfect. He smiled brightly, pushing down his shame, as he started to say, 'I know it's not my best, but I'll keep working on it, and eventually it'll be stage-ready!' But his words never surfaced, because Patton squealed. And then Thomas grinned. And did Virgil just check him out? And Logan confirmed it was good.
It was good. Not perfect, but, they didn't seem to notice. They liked it, even if there were six too many stitches on the left shoulder and the pockets were accidentally sewn shut. None of them cared. In fact, they all followed his lead, and made their own new outfits.
And they all looked perfect!
Maybe, just maybe, he won't spend hours trying to fix this outfit. Maybe it was already good enough. And, there's a small, small chance, that maybe one day, he'll be able to take that cloth down from in front of his mirror, and not loathe all the imperfections that stared back at him.
Tell me what you think!
