Hello, my darlings! I am so very sorry about how long it took me to update this story. I was in a slump with it for a little while, starved for ideas, and I didn't want to put out just any random crap for the sake of bringing y'all an update. I wanted it to be my very best, and the best for these characters. But here I am, pumped with some great ideas for our boys. To make up for the delay, I gave you a longer chapter with a special moment for Dean and Roman. Enjoy!


"Someone got in late last night." Randy's deriding was the first thing Roman heard the next morning. He was in the living room in front of an episode of The Simpsons.

He crossed into the kitchen to hunt for breakfast. A grocery shopping trip was long overdue. "Yeah, I went out after work." It was all Roman would disclose on the subject. "Where're the girls?"

"Went over to their place last night. You should have been there." Randy's vain smile stretched across his oval-shaped face. "Twins, man. It's awesome."

Roman smiled weakly, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"You really didn't want in?"

"I'm not really into Nikki. Or her sister." The milk in the fridge was expired. With a grimace, Roman tossed it into the garbage bin and settled on a pop-tart instead.

"You'd have to be gay not to be into Nikki Bella."

"Would it be a problem if I was?" Roman raised.

Randy's demeanor changed from mocking to neurotic. "No, no, not at all. I don't judge." He cleared his throat. "If that's your thing, man, then cool, whatever."

Roman was done with this conversation. "Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Flying out to my parents' place on Tuesday after my last class. Coming back Sunday afternoon."

That would make for a lonely time at the apartment. Roman should have been relieved—no rattling walls, no moaning women at one in the morning—but it was a little doleful as well.

He considered Dean's offer.

"What about you?" Randy asked.

"I can't afford a trip out to Florida right now. Even for just a day, it's not really worth it."

Randy winced. "Sorry, bro. That's too bad. But hey, you'll figure something out."

Roman bit off a chunk of pop-tart. "Thanks." Maybe he already had.

Randy went to work later on, and Roman had the place to himself. He killed time on his precious day off with comics, an episode or two of 24, and studying his song, wondering whether or not it was good enough to show to Dean yet…or if it ever would be.

He frowned when his phone buzzed and work's number popped up on his screen. How could they possibly need him in today? It wasn't snowing anymore, but shovelers and plows were still trekking down each street to secure them from hazardous ice with salt and sand. The sun made a noble attempt to pierce the swirling gray clouds, but early winter was dominant.

Roman answered anyway. "Hello."

"Hey, buddy. How goes it?"

"It goes well, Dolph, how are you?"

"Bored as shit, dude. Haven't had anyone in all day. Well, almost. Couple friends of yours swung by a little while ago looking for you."

"Friends?" Roman's nose crinkled at the word. Who could have been in to see him?

Unless…

"Yeah, Dean, is it? Him and some other guy with wonky hair."

"Dean came in to see me?" He couldn't even fake indifference. "Did he say why?"

"Nah. He didn't say much. But he did leave his number for me to pass along to you. Said it was way less creepy than me giving him your number without your awareness."

Roman didn't view it as creepy at all. But he listened carefully as Dolph recited Dean's number. He memorized the digits after hearing it once. He had an excellent memory.

"Thanks, Dolph. Glad you were there."

"I understand you better than most people, Ro. Whether you see it or not."

The nickname didn't sound quite as savory in Dolph's voice as it was across Dean's lips, but Roman appreciated his respect and benignity.

"Thanks, Dolph."

"Go call him up, Rome-no." A pause, then a snicker. "That was supposed to be Romeo, but your name, like Roman, but with the O—"

"I got it." Roman laughed. "Good one, Tony Robbins."

"Hey!"

After hanging up with Dolph, Roman typed Dean's number into his phone and pressed the call button before his anxiety convinced him this was a terrible idea. His heart hammered against his ribcage with each long-drawn out ring.

"Hell-oo?" Even over a phone call, his voice was celestial.

"Hey, Dean."

"Roman, my man! Wazzup?"

"Not the temperature, that's for sure. What kind of loons get out in this kinda weather?" he teased.

"I told Seth your caramel mochas are worth it."

Roman would have been a puddle on the floor if Dean had said seeing him was worth it. But as the creator of the exemplary mochas, he still felt flattered.

"But you weren't there!" he accused.

"Sorry, I get Sundays off."

"Nah, that's cool, though. Glad you get at least one day off a week."

"What's up with you, D?" Roman wished he hadn't said it. D? What sort of lame-ass nickname was that?

"Actually, me and Seth were wondering if you wanted to come with us to Zodiac."

"Zodiac?"

"It's a dive bar downtown. Sorta close to your comic book store. Seth and I go down every once in a while to catch up with friends, have a drink, dance around. It's a nice place. I'd love to have you there."

Dean was good at making Roman feel like the most important being in the world.

He'd never been to Zodiac, or any clubs for that matter. They'd never been his cup of tea. He much preferred Escape Velocity, or his own cozy home. But with Dean, he'd have a great time. Maybe he needed a night to unwind and unbend. Yes. Yes, he certainly deserved it.

"I'd love to," he answered.

"Awesome!" Dean said. "We can pick you up from your place, if you want. You live close to the college campus, or…?"

Roman gave Dean his address. "Killer. We'll grab you around seven, a'ight? On Sundays it's half-off drinks after six."

"Sounds fun."

"See you tonight, Ro."

Roman kept the phone pressed to his ear long after Dean hung up, already missing his voice.

It didn't occur to him until much later on that he didn't know what to wear to Zodiac. Did you dress nice? Dress down? Would jeans and a t-shirt, his stock outfit, suffice? He had to wait until Randy got off work to get his answer. Randy went to a lot of clubs. He would know of anyone. He was a social gathering virtuoso.

"Hey," he greeted Randy in the living room. "Quick question. What should I wear to Zodiac?"

Randy unbuttoned his blue Go-Mart shirt and flung his name tag onto the dining room table. "Um, a shirt that says 'I don't belong here'?" he ribbed. "Didn't think Zodiac was your scene."

"It's not," Roman admitted, "but some friends invited me to go with them tonight. And I don't know what to wear."

"It's a pretty casual place. Jeans, nice top, maybe a sleek jacket on top. Wanna browse my closet?"

"No, thanks." No offense to his roommate, but Roman would probably rip anything of Randy's he tried to pull on or squeeze into. Randy was much smaller physically than Roman was.

After a quick shower and shave, Roman thumbed through his clothing collection three or four times. This was his chance to dress up nice and suave for Dean. Dean deserved to see him outside a grubby apron with his hair drawn back. He finally selected a tight black t-shirt with a large silver Superman "S" logo on the chest, the only pair of jeans he owned without any sort of holes, tears or frayed leg holes, and a gray jacket. He realized in that moment that Dean still had his heavy coat. As long as Dean brought it along for his own sake, Roman didn't care how long Dean held onto the jacket. He looked pretty damn good in it.

Roman combed his hair out and applied gel, sprayed cologne on, and slipped into a low-rise pair of boots. I'm such a girl, he thought with a grin. He couldn't even care. Dean deserved him at his very best.

Inspecting his full figure in the closet-door mirror, Roman had to admit he liked the way he looked. Mature, older, dashing. But something was still missing. He still appeared a bit…insipid.

What was missing?

Roman pulled from his bedroom and knocked on Randy's door. "'Sup?" Randy called from within.

Roman pushed the door open. A hardcore rap song pulsed from Randy's laptop. Randy peered up from his bed, from whatever he was looking at so intently on the computer.

"I feel like something's still missing," Roman said. He felt a bit helpless when it came to fashion advice.

Randy put his finger to his lips, scrutinizing Roman. Roman tried not to feel so self-conscious about it. "Got it," Randy said with a snap of his fingers. He pushed off his bed and flipped opened up a watch box on his nightstand. "C'mere."

Roman obeyed. He allowed Randy to accessorize him with a faux leather analog watch, a dog tag necklace, a double wrap bronze ring bracelet, and a white-gold ring with a fake diamond lodged in the center.

"Look at you," Randy said, frolicsomely slapping Roman on the shoulder. "You're fuckin' pimpin', dog."

Roman had to laugh. He might have agreed with Randy—he really did like how he looked, and his confidence was mounting as a result—but he'd never been described in that way before.

"Thanks, bro."

"So, is this a date, or...?"

"Nah. Just a night out with some friends." Whether or not Randy believed him didn't really matter. Roman had no idea what to expect, but he was ecstatic. He couldn't wait to see Dean.

"Right on."

The apartment doorbell buzzed two minutes after seven. Roman checked himself out once more, probing hard for any flaws. Glad I don't do this all the time. Must be exhausting keeping up with appearances on a daily basis.

He opened the door.

Dean regarded him with a smile that warmed him against the frosty air. Roman watched his eyes scan him from head to toe.

"Damn, you clean up nice, Superman. For real this time," Dean said, referring to the symbol on Roman's shirt.

"Thanks, man. You don't look so bad yourself."

Dean was wearing Roman's coat over a blue button-up shirt, not one button fastened, and that over a white muscle shirt. Dean sure had a lot of those kinds of shirts. Not that each one didn't look great on him. As many shirts as he owned, he seemed to wear those same tight blue jeans with every outfit. Not that those didn't look great on him, either. He wore cowboy-style boots over his feet.

"Thanks. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Roman stepped into the brisk evening and pulled the door closed behind him.

Seth was waiting for them in a black Camaro. "Sweet ride, man," Roman complimented. He was delighted with Dean crawled into the backseat with him.

"Thanks," Seth answered. "With how much money I sink into her every month, she better look good."

Roman smiled. He towed the seatbelt over his shoulder as Seth pulled out of the parking lot. Dean hadn't bothered doing the same. He sat unbuckled, unsafe, in the seat next to Roman. "So how've you guys been?"

"Not bad. Working hard, living life one day at a time. How 'bout you?"

"Same. Working hard, going to school, trying to live one day at a time. But it's way too easy to get ahead of myself."

"Tell me about it. So Dean says you might be coming to my family's place for Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, uh…" Roman suddenly felt chagrined. He hoped Seth wasn't under the impression he'd tried to invite himself over. He didn't want to barge in on any sort of exclusive family time.

"Seth doesn't mind that I invited you," Dean said. "He's good with it. Right?"

"Oh yeah, man, I don't mind. My family's kinda lame, so I hope they don't scare you off with embarrassing stories."

"I'm sure they won't. I really appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all. I felt bad when he said you might be alone."

Roman looked over at Dean, who was drumming an unknown beat on his leg. He still hadn't buckled his seatbelt. Was Seth aware of this? Would Dean feel like a child again if one of them told him it was better to buckle up?

He decided to play it off as a joke rather than condemnation. "You're really not afraid of anything, are you, Dean?"

"What do you mean?" Dean queried, keeping the beat to whatever song was evidently playing in his head.

"If Seth crashes this car, you're gonna go flying out the window."

Dean scoffed. "Seth never crashes. His car is his baby. He'd never let anything happen to her, or me."

"Still…"

"Save it, man," Seth droned. "I can't get him to wear that thing for the life of him."

"But why?" Roman asked.

"Because if I wore it," Dean said, "I couldn't do stuff like this." He slid into the middle seat, his arm touching Roman's now. Roman swallowed hard, his insides buzzing.

"Here," Dean said, carrying on his abrupt mawkish behavior by taking Roman's hand and drawing his arm over his lap. "There. You can be my seatbelt."

Roman was too enamored to argue with Dean about it anymore. He caught Seth rolling his eyes with a simper in the rearview mirror. The matter was let go. Roman only hoped Seth would take the drive exceptionally heedfully.

Dean held Roman there for the entire drive.

Zodiac was only a couple of blocks from Escape Velocity. Roman knew the area well. The bar had its own parking lot, so there was no need to park on the side of the street and take any sort of walk. Dean moved out of the car, and Roman already longed for his touch again.

Seth held the door open for both of them.

Most of Zodiac, Roman discovered, was based underground. They were checked for ID in a dingy, smoky lobby, then Roman followed Seth and Dean down a lengthy set of stairs. Purple, blue and white lights glinted in the otherwise dark atmosphere. The venue was set up in the style of a theater: a stage on the far side of the floor where a "DJ" made the premises quake with music from a laptop; a wide-open space wood floor in front of the stage for dancing; a carpeted area taking up the other half of the floor with tables and chairs. The bar was set up across the floor in a corner and took up a great deal of floorspace on its own.

It was smaller than Roman had been expecting. Less crowded, obviously, because of the time, day and weather. It couldn't have been more perfect.

Dean took a long drag from his e-cig. Roman didn't want to judge him for it. "Welcome to Zodiac," he said.

A song Roman recognized replaced the dissonant pop song that had been blaring: The Wanted's "Glad You Came." Dean apparently recognized it too as he declared, "Oh, I love this song! Let's dance, Ro."

"Sure, but I'll warn you right now, I am a horrible, horrible dancer."

"This ain't Dancing with the Stars. Nobody's gonna be judging you."

"Especially not Mr. Two Left Feet over here," Seth teased.

"Giiiirl," Dean said, breaking into laughter. Seth called something about ordering drinks out over the music. Roman didn't have time to answer him before Dean led Roman onto the dance floor. Roman counted his lucky stars that they weren't the only ones dancing to this song, but Dean had a funny way of making him forget about the world around him anyway.

Dean swayed his hips side to side and took Roman's hands, raising them high above their heads. How someone could be uprightly charming and innocently adorable, and alluring and tantalizing, altogether at once, was an enigma to Roman.

Roman was concerned Seth was going to feel left out, but glancing up, he saw Seth was already engaged in conversation with two girls at a corner table. He'd be fine. Roman focused on Dean and Dean alone.

Suddenly Dean shook his head. "Jesus, Roman."

"What's wrong?" His brain tensed for a needless panic attack.

"I just can't get over how good you look tonight. I mean, not that you don't always look good to me, but…I don't know. It's different tonight."

Roman smiled in the flashing lights. "Thanks. I was hoping you'd think so."

"You get dressed up all nice and pretty for me?" Dean asked, grinning up at him.

"Well, yeah. You're worth it."

Dean sniggered, his tongue gliding between his teeth. "Damn. Got me blushing in this club and shit. That never really happens to me."

Roman didn't want to spoil the moment by running his mouth. He let his hands speak for him. As the chorus played, Roman moved one arm gracefully behind Dean and settled his hand on the small of Dean's back. His other hand ever so gently caressed Dean's cheek, swiping away some of his hair. Their hips swung in unison, motions reflecting one another. Roman's hand moved from Dean's cheek to his mouth, his thumb tracing over Dean's bottom lip. Dean let out a shaky breath. Was he as nervous as Roman was?

This felt so good. So right.

Dean had been glancing down towards Roman's body, towards the floor, until Roman gradually tilted his chin and anchored his gaze into Dean's oceanic eyes.

Dean bit down on his trembling lip. "Roman, there's something you should know."

"What's that?"

"Being with me…it isn't easy. For anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember what I said about me being a puzzle to everyone? Kind of a kook?"

"Yeah?" Were they going to have the same conversation twice?

"It's more than that. Danger has a way of finding me, no matter where I'm hiding. It's my story, my past…it has a way of catching up to me, and I think it's only fair that you know the truth about me."

"Whatever it is, Dean, I'm here."

Dean shook his head. "It's unbelievable how much I like you, how much I want you. One minute you're just a guy making me mochas, the next, you're here in my life as someone I never thought I'd know, someone I never thought I'd have the honor of…"

Roman knew for absolute truth he felt the same way—and, much like Dean, he was rather startled at how quickly everything had fallen into place for him like this—but for someone as unfathomable and unforthcoming as Dean, this was a much bigger shock to hear.

"I only say this because you deserve to know what's happening. I really hope I'm not scaring you."

Roman shook his head. "Of course not."

His words didn't seem to comfort Dean much. "I don't want you to get caught up in my bullshit, Roman."

"Dean, you can't tell me how much you want me, then try to drive me away. I don't care how enigmatic you are. I don't care what you've done in the past. I don't care what this big secret is you're so scared of telling me." Or if that Bray Wyatt guy has anything to do with this. Roman believed it did. "I want you, Dean. All of you. All of you means the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful."

Were those tears welling in the corners of Dean's eyes? "You don't know me, Roman."

"I want to," Roman insisted.

"I tried telling myself, it's not a good idea, get away from him, protect him by staying the hell back. But it's hard to resist you, Ro. You're really something else. You actually act like you give a damn about me."

"It's not an act. I do give a damn about you."

The song had ended long ago, replaced by a slower, bluesy tune, but Dean and Roman remained on the floor, close, within each other's touch.

"And see, that's not the shit I'm used to. I'm so used to people not really caring, that it's weird someone does."

Roman entwined Dean's fingers in his own. "Come on. Seth loves the hell out of you. And Naomi? You've got people in this world who definitely do."

"The only one who really knows me is Seth, and he plays a big role in my story. It's scary opening up to anyone."

"I know how that is. You never know how they're gonna react. You're afraid they might shun you after you've opened up your heart to them."

"Exactly. You get it."

"I have anxiety," Roman admitted. "I tend to overthink things. But if there's one thing I want to promise you here tonight, Dean Ambrose, is I am not going anywhere. I will never leave you as long as you allow me to stay."

"I want you to stay," Dean said in a way as though speaking the words was punishable by death.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Dean couldn't say. Roman felt he'd never know until he got Dean's story. But he was in no rush. All he wanted was for Dean to know Roman was a rock. Roman would never abandon him, judge him for anything, forsake him in any time of need.

And he wanted to prove it.

Roman pushed Dean's chin up again and pressed his lips firmly against Dean's.

He felt Dean sink into the kiss. He pressed back, hard, aggressive, passionate. The music faded into soft nothing. The bar patrons disappeared like ghosts. Dean's tongue slipped from his mouth into Roman's, darting and swirling like a playful eel to all sides of his muzzle. So close to him and only wanting to get closer. Roman could feel Dean smiling.

Roman had to break the kiss, come up for air, but God how he hated himself for it. As he drew back, Dean let out an exasperated breath. He looked dazed, as though he'd fall over any minute.

"What's the name of this song?" Dean asked.

"'Hero'," Roman said. "By Enrique Iglesias. Why?"

"Sentimental purposes."

"Oh." Roman's heart erupted. He took Dean in another kiss, this one quicker.

"Didn't even have to get any drinks in me first," Dean said, chuckling, sighing in immense satisfaction. Roman felt pretty damn good himself.

"You thirsty?"

"Yeah. Let's go find out what Seth's up to."

What Seth was up to was a practical lap dance from a tall, pretty girl with black and blue hair. Not bad, Seth, Roman praised as they approached the bar and took seats beside the couple.

"Hey, guys, this is Paige," Seth introduced. "She's visiting from Norwich."

"Hey there, Paige," Dean said. "I'm Dean. This is Roman."

"Hello, Dean and Roman," she greeted, voice painted with a British accent.

"Dean's my roommate, and Roman is his…" Seth said, pausing to find the right word.

"He's with me," Dean clarified. It could have meant a million different things, but Roman took it in one crucial way.

The night carried on in a bliss. Dean and Roman ordered drinks, learned a bit more about the girl they were certain Seth would hook up with in the near future (it made Roman feel a bit better, he couldn't lie), and swayed in a tipsy rhythm to every song. Roman was happy. He was so happy and nothing could take him away from this—

Until Seth charged over during one of their dances in a panic. "Dean," he said, color drained completely from his face. "Luke's here."

Dean's only response was an annoyed-sounding, "Ah, shit."