Four
"Dean?"
"Mmm…"
It was Wednesday afternoon and both men had no other classes that day. Roman was sitting on his bed Indian style with Stephen King's It on his lap while Dean was lying on his bed with a Walking Dead comic.
"Why do you go to the bar every night? I know you told me the reason before but on Thursdays-" Roman continued before he saw Dean sigh and toss his comic on his bedside table. "I just go there to hang out, Rome," he replied.
"With whom?"
Dean huffed in annoyance. "What is this? Twenty questions? I'm not allowed to have friends outside of you and me?"
Roman was taken aback by that. "No. Not at all. I'm just curious, that's all."
"It's just to unwind, Rome."
"Okay," Roman allowed reluctantly. Dean was hiding something and Roman knew it. He had a persistent need to find out what it was.
He found Dean narrowing his eyes at him in what he guessed was suspicion. "Something else bothering you, Rome?"
Roman swallowed hard. "No… just thinking about stuff."
"Stuff like?"
"Ummm… my goals and …stuff," he finished lamely.
"Well, what are your goals, Rome?" Dean swung his legs over the bed. "Besides being a teacher, of course."
"Well, I've always wanted to live in an apartment with a dog."
"A dog?" Dean repeated, slightly dumbfounded Roman noted.
"Yes. A dog-"
"Let me guess: you even have the breed in mind."
"Yes, I do actually. It's a Golden Retriever. I'd like to name him Charlie."
Dean stood up at that and stared out of the window. "Do you always plan things, Rome? Sometimes life doesn't always go your way, you know."
"Of course, it can," Roman insisted. "If you work hard for it."
"But things can change in an instant," Dean replied turning to face him. "Don't you just ever want to live and just do things?"
Roman shook his head. "Things like taking a minor? Because I have been considering taking Psychology as a-"
"Far from that, Rome. I mean like dropping everything and jumping into a car and riding off to the unknown."
"I don't like not knowing things. I like to plan them so I know where I'm going. The unknown really scares me."
"The unknown excites me. I'm telling you, Rome, once I graduate, I'm heading out of here and moving to another country."
"You have a country in mind?"
"I haven't thought about that yet."
"Well, it'd be best if you do. There's many things to take into consideration: accommodation, expenditure, visas-"
Dean waved him off. "I'll figure that out later."
Roman didn't know how to respond to that. Dean and him had another thing in common, he realised: they were both running from something be it past or future in a different way.
While Dean got ready to head down to the bar, Roman decided that he would follow Dean to this bar. He knew the name of the bar – Chevy's – and made a plan to drop by at about 9pm. He was so lost in this thoughts that before he knew it, Dean was leaving the dorm.
"See you later, Rome," he said before closing the door.
"Later."
While waiting for the time to pass, Roman decided to continue reading but his mind kept going back to Dean. This was crazy, he thought. No one ever got under his skin like that.
By nine, Roman found himself standing outside the door of Chevy's. He checked his reflection in the window, going over his look. His hair was neatly tied up in a man bun and he had on a tight black t-shirt, jeans and black shoes.
When he stepped inside, he couldn't find Dean at all. Where was he? Maybe he went to the gents. That was it. He chided himself for always being suspicious. Dean was his practically his best friend so why couldn't he let this thing go?
Sitting at the bar, he placed an order for a Coke.
His eyes wandered across the room. At the far end counter at corner of the bar, he saw a man with his back facing him, blonde hair slicked, nodding to a fairly muscular man with tattoos. Roman was sure that he must have known the man from somewhere; his built was familiar.
The man stood up and stretched his arms. Roman saw a gun in a holster by his hip; he gulped.
"Here's your Coke," the bartender said, snapping him out of his reverie.
"T-thanks," he replied.
The bartender followed his gaze. "That's Dean Ambrose. His father is the owner of this place," he said. "And many other businesses."
"He's in the food and beverage line?"
The bartender chuckled. "Hardly, man. They're in the business of doing business. They're mobsters. The whole family."
Roman felt his blood turn cold at that. He shook his head and slowly stepped down from his stool. When he turned around, Dean's cold eyes met his.
He ran out of the bar as fast as he could.