Roman had heard dozens of Black Friday horror stories over the years. People getting trampled to death in the doors at Walmart. A woman who'd used pepper spray on a group of fellow shoppers in front of a video game display. Countless brutal fights to the death over particular clearance items. A day of absolute chaos and gluttony and materialism, ironically falling immediately after the day of giving thanks and generosity and hospitality.

The world was a strange place.

Fortunately J/C had no such Black Friday tales of mayhem to pass onto customers and other employees. In fact, the only real business the little coffeeshop gained was the daily brief morning rush. Late morning and early afternoon dragged. The weather reflected yesterday's, cold and light snow but not enough to fill the streets with dangerous slush.

When Roman was off, he decided to swing by Escape Velocity. He hadn't been by the store in a while, and he wondered if they had any deals going on for the post-holiday shopping frenzy. Not that the little shop was ever crowded or flourishing on business by the day, unfortunately, but that only meant less people in Roman's way as he sponsored his favorite emporium in the city.

Downtown was hectic and lively as anticipated. Roman parked on the second floor of a parking garage in which he had to cough up five bucks to the gateman. It wasn't much, and it was worth it. Better than trying to find a spot anywhere near his destination. The lot was situated east of downtown, in territory Roman wasn't used to passing through, so his eyes brushed over other shops on his long walk. A costume store open year-round. An accessories shop with an $850 purse in the window. A pizza bar and coffeehouse with an attached bookstore and toy store: four businesses rolled into one. He passed by the bar where Dean said he'd first met Bray Wyatt, and a chill unrelated to the cold set off in Roman's spine. He wasn't afraid of Bray Wyatt, or that little fink Luke Harper. His fear centralized on Dean's behalf. As though the fear Dean didn't have—or claimed not to have, staring it in the face with a sense of arrogant grit as a mask—was felt by Roman, entirely by Roman, for him.

He was lucky, or perhaps Bray Wyatt was lucky, that Roman didn't see him in the area. He crossed the street and pushed through the door at Escape Velocity.

Cody and Neville were in a heated argument of nerdy proportions.

"You can't even use the voice as a point," Cody said, sliding a duster over the top of one of the comic book racks. "Everyone always makes fun of the voice. The point is, it doesn't define him as a character."

"Yes, it does!" Neville argued from behind the counter. "It doesn't matter how badass your nature is. The minute Bale opens his mouth and Batman sounds like a sixty-five year old smoker of forty years, you're not going to take him seriously. It's way too distracting, so yes, it does help define him as a character."

"And Keaton's total lack of charisma? The fact that you can never tell what he's thinking? Not saying he can't act, but Bale has this way of letting people know exactly what he wants and the confidence that he'll get it, no matter what it takes. He took on the role of numerous styles of Bruce Wayne, and Batman, and made them each distinct. He's the perfect Batman. Keaton, you wouldn't even think he was Batman just looking at him."

Neville was hopping now, in pure thrill for what he was about to counter with. "That's why Keaton makes a great Batman! You're not supposed to know what Batman is thinking all the time! He's Batman, he's an enigma, he's this mysterious creature of the night! You wouldn't expect someone as reserved and inwardly-focused as Keaton's Batman to be Batman, and that's what makes him a great hero with a secret safe identity. Bale is so open and silly in his performance, that one look at him and you can guess he's the hero right away. Remember how many people petitioned for Keaton not to play Batman because nobody would see him in the role? That's the point! You wouldn't suspect it! He maintained his secret identity well."

"Whoa, whoa, shots fired, please don't hurt me, guys," Roman said, shielding his eyes with his arms.

"Hey, Roman!" Neville greeted. "What's up?"

"Just wondering if you guys had any Black Friday sales going on. Didn't know I was walking right into the third World War."

"Oh, it's not a war," Cody said. "Just a casual debate about who played a better Batman: Michael Keaton or Christian Bale."

"Keaton, hands down."

"What!?"

Neville howled laughing. "I told you! Roman knows what's up." He reached over the counter for a high-five.

"Keaton's Batman was more than just Bruce Wayne, a man. He was a myth, a legend, almost godlike. He was a badass. He was the goddamn Batman," Roman said, laughing.

"What I appreciate about Bale's Batman though is the opposite of that. He humanized the character. He made us able to sympathize with him because of how he played off his emotions. He didn't keep it all in like the insipid Keaton. He expressed how he felt in situations because he still is a man. Sure, he's Batman, but he's also human. It makes for a more realistic character. That's why I can't stand Superman. He's not a 'man', he's this alien-like super force that can't really feel a thing. We can't feel for him, we can't sympathize because he's not really human. He's an indestructible Martian who has the most cop-out weakness in the universe."

"Do not even get me started on Superman, Cody, I'll shut you down. He's my favorite of them all." Roman grinned, feeling his tongue sliding through his teeth. Dean had quite the impact on him.

Cody sighed, admitting defeat with a soft smile. "Fine."

"We have a sale on t-shirts going on right now," Neville said. "Nobody's really buying them since it's winter."

"Cool. I'll look through them. And while we're arguing about the better of two men, who do you guys think was a better Mystery Science Theater 3000 host: Joel or Mike?"

"Mike," Neville said at the same time Cody blurted: "Joel."

They stared each other down.

"Great, look what I got started," Roman said. The banter went off behind him as he flipped through the t-shirts on a rack. Most of these were extra-large, a bit too big for him, but he couldn't resist picking up a white shirt featuring a chibi Spider-Man reading through one of his own comic books. Beneath the icon, bold letters read: "I HAVE ISSUES." It made him smile.

Several comic books, shirts, and a couple of action figures for his desk later—one of Heisenberg from Breaking Bad, a weeping angel from Doctor Who, and Magneto from X-Men—Roman lugged his purchases up to the counter.

"I'm such a freakin' child," Roman said. "Collecting all these actions figures. I don't even play with them—they just sit on my desk at home."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Neville said, his eyes smiling behind his glasses. Roman knew he wasn't just saying that because Roman's geekiness meant more business for him. Neville was a truly understanding person, a fellow nerd, an outspoken geek without a care who had to protest. Why the hell didn't they hang out more? "You should see my living room. I have collectable statues of all the Doctor Who doctors on my mantle."

"It's true, he does," Cody concurred.

"The ladies love it." Neville rang up the purchases, then squinted at the computer screen. "Just so you know, Doctor Strange #1 is coming in in December. You wanna pre-order it?"

"You bet I do," Roman said. "Thanks."

Neville added that to his list. Roman ignored whatever price Neville gave him and handed over his credit card. He didn't spend money on much else. He didn't like to consider himself materialistic, but comic books and shirts defining him as a whole, who he was purely, made him feel more confident in himself. He was accepting who he was, finally, after a lifetime of feeling left out because he wasn't an athlete. He worked out, sure, and he was muscular, but he didn't like jocks or sports or hardcore partying. He was solidifying himself, securing his identity as a proud nerd.

He liked who he was.

It was others that had the trouble accepting it.

For the most part.

"Well, thanks for being our greatest purchase of the day, Roman," Neville said after Roman signed his receipt. "And here we thought we were going to lose money for staying open today."

"I'm happy to help you out."

"And we're happy to have you!" Cody said. "Come see us again soon, and remember, there's always room for you on our team."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, guys."

Roman heaved two great bags off the counter and pushed out of the shop. The wind was picking up, making the snow look like it was coming down much harder than it truly was. Flakes hit him in the face. He stuck his tongue out, trying to catch one of them for the cold, sweet taste.

He was a child again.

Down the street was Acacia Park, a popular gathering area of children during the summer and the homeless year round. It was where a great deal of street musicians gathered to play, whether on their own or in a makeshift band with fellow performers. Roman approached the park on his walk back to the car when his ears picked up a familiar sound.

A familiar voice.

It was Dean, withstanding the cold to play for money, huddled against a concrete barrier between two leafless trees. By his open guitar case, Roman found he was doing rather well today. Dean was tweaking Annie's strings with gloved hands (thank goodness) and eventually put his voice into the music.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight."

He opened his eyes and acknowledged Roman's presence with a smile, but continued playing. Roman was happy he hadn't interrupted the beautiful song. He brushed some snow off the barrier and sat next to Dean, listening to him play.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yule-tide gay

From now on

Our troubles will be miles away."

It was a slow and steady performance. Not one note was off. Not one word was missed or altered. As unpredictable as Dean was, as irrational his behavior and befuddling his thought process, Roman did appreciate how seriously he took his music. How he'd crafted his talent into total perfection. Dean was the perfect guitarist, no questions asked. No debate about it. The fact that he was a lunatic sort of promoted that idea even further. If there was one thing he had going for him, one perfect abstraction in his unkempt existence, it was his music.

Dean finished the song and reopened his eyes. He hadn't seen three people come by and deposit money into Annie's case. It didn't seem to really be about money anymore. Dean did what he loved because he loved it. What a life to live.

"Guess I'm not allowed to criticize you for playing Christmas music," Roman said. "It's now officially allowed nationwide."

"Psh, nobody tells me when I am and am not allowed to play Christmas music. I'll crank this shit out in the middle of July if I want." Dean smirked, playful. His arm twitched as he readied his fingers for another song.

"You alright?" Roman asked.

"It's a little cold out here," Dean laughed. "Doesn't bother me."

If the sun had presented itself at all that day, it would have been nearly gone from the sky by now. The atmosphere darkened, the frost intensifying. "How long have you been out here?"

"'Bout an hour or so. Maybe longer. I kinda lose track of time." He reached in his pocket and fished out his e-cig. He made sure to blow the sweetly-scented vapor away from Roman's face, with the wind.

"You should probably give your body the chance to warm up a little."

"I'm alright." For the first time, he didn't sound like he meant it.

Roman had an idea. He set some bait and hoped it worked. "What if there was coffee involved?"

Dean pressed his lips together. "What kind of coffee?"

"One of my specialties."

"From J/C?"

"Actually, I still have leftover ingredients from yesterday. They're at my house, if you wanna come over." Roman was surprised by the boldness in his voice. I must be really growing up. He couldn't deny how hard his heart was pounding, though.

Dean pondered the decision.

"You can look over the song I wrote," Roman coaxed. "See if we can put some music to it."

A smile threatened to unfold on his lips. Roman almost had him.

"Just you and me, drinking coffee, playing music…and if it gets really cold, you can always put on one of my sweaters and curl up next to me on the couch."

Dean reached for his guitar case. "Sold."

It would really be the two of them, because Randy wasn't due back in town until Sunday.

Roman couldn't believe it. He'd been daring enough to invite Dean over, just the two of them. His anxiety had plenty of ammunition, but he countered it with his developing confidence. How could Dean rub off on him so much?

Side effect of being in love, perhaps? Roman asked himself. You're such a sap, Reigns.

"Your place is a lot nicer than mine," Dean said, stepping in through the door. He slipped out of his wet boots and left them by the door, then carried his guitar case into the living room. "Much cleaner."

"Yeah, it's nice having a roommate who isn't a total slob."

"Mine isn't a total slob."

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant—"

But Dean was chuckling. "I know. Tell me about him."

"Who, Randy?"

"Is that your roommate?"

"Yeah. Uh, he's a cool guy, I guess. Real ladies' man. Loves to party, loves to drink."

"And he's not a total slob?"

"Nah. He picks up after himself. Something I appreciate."

"Is he cute?"

"I go more for personality," Roman admitted.

"Which means he's either a hottie and a total asshole, or he's decent-looking and a respectable dude. And hey, if you go more for personality, guess I'm set there."

"You're cute." Who was he?

"Ha, thanks." Dean opened his guitar case. He absorbed compliments well for someone who didn't seem to care what others thought of him.

"I'll go put this stuff away and get that song," Roman said. "Then get started on our mochas."

"Anyone ever tell you how awesome you are?"

"Yeah. My professor. Every single day. That's why I'm in his course."

"Must be acing that one, Ro."

Roman's chest was swelling. He tossed his bags onto his bed, snatched his History of Psychology from the desk, and returned to the living room with the spiral opened to his finished song.

"I'm really happy you did this," Dean said. "Sounds lame, but when other people take interest in music, I tend to take interest in their interest."

"I get that."

"Yeah, it's probably like you with your comics, right? If I sit here and say, 'Batman is stronger-willed and better-looking than Superman', you think, 'Wow, what an intelligent and totally right guy I have in my life.'"

"Intelligent?" Roman made a face. "Eh…totally right, on the other hand…"

"I am right."

"You're the right guy, alright."

"Damn, we're weird. We should have our own skit on SNL."

Dean glanced over Roman's lyrics, strumming spontaneous chords on his instruments. Roman started on the drinks in the kitchen. He listened to Dean try out different ways to sing each line, repeat each word in a different key until it worked. He was plowing through the song faster, to Roman's full impression, and by the time Roman finished making the drinks (adding the remaining caramel of the jumbo-sized bottle to Dean's), he nearly had the entire thing down.

"This is good, dude," Dean said. "Seriously. These lyrics are killer."

"Thank you." Roman felt proud. He handed a coffee cup to Dean, who took a slow sip, then made a face.

"Ew. Way too sweet."

"Quit bullshitting me."

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Alright. No, it's tastes really good, per usual. Thank you, Mr. Reigns." He took another drink, then set the cup aside for the time being. "Okay. What do you think of this so far?"

Dean cranked out much lower chords than Roman usually heard from him, presenting the song in a darker tone, more somber, the point Roman was aiming to hit.

"Watching, waiting, wondering, weakening

For the things that might not be

For the things I've yet to see

Hoping, hurting, hurrying, handling

The feelings that rise

Feeling buried alive

There's a light and it's fading to nothing

There's a hope and it's losing its way

Calling my name, each and every day I am

Praying to whoever might be out there listening

Saying, come and save me

Take me far and let me close

My eyes, let me rest in peace

In knowing what you already know

I'm falling, and it kind of scares me, but

I'm just waiting for you to tell me

Everything will be alright

Fading back into the light."

Dean drew his playing to a close after the first verse and chorus. "That sound good?"

"Holy hell," Roman said, arms wrapped around his legs as he came back to a shaken reality. "I wrote that?"

"You did," Dean said, smiling.

"And you played it like you knew the entire song before I did."

"It's a gift. No big deal. It sounds very Breaking Benjamin to me. Which is awesome. I like them a lot."

"You're awesome."

"I think we've had this conversation before. This is the part when I say, 'no, you're awesome', and you say something about how it's your major, and we laugh at our lame little joke."

"Do we need a new one?"

"In due time, my Roman. In due time."

His Roman.

That did it.

Roman slid up beside Dean so their arms were touching. He anchored his gaze into Dean's oceanic eyes. It drove him wild, looking at him like this, realizing how real everything was though it felt very much like a dream.

Dean read his mind. He carefully pushed his instrument away, then reclaimed his gaze on Roman, taking Roman in fully, completely, everything he was. Roman loved the hell out of Dean, past, present…and future.

It was unclear who instigated the kiss, because together they came as one, pressing their lips into one another. Dean's mouth fell open in a delighted breath, and Roman plunged his tongue down Dean's throat. Dean fought back with passion, pushing strong against Roman but defenseless against Roman's power. Dean fell back, and Roman wrapped his arms around Dean and gently lowered him to the floor without breaking romantic form. Dean's fingers lifted to graze through Roman's long falling hair. Roman moved his hungry lips from Dean's, planting a kiss on his cheek and lowering towards the collarbone. Dean shivered when Roman's mouth met this area. Roman remembered how sensitive he was. He took his time, moving slowly, not wanting to rush or make Dean jump to the ceiling. Not yet, something told him.

He took the skin of Dean's neck in the gentlest of nibbles. Dean gasped, clutching Roman's hair, pulling him even closer. Roman took it as a sign to keep going, turn up the intensity. He scattered kisses across Dean's collarbone, his tongue gliding over those sweet spots that made Dean moan. He couldn't go any lower as of now. This shirt was in his way.

A phone buzzed.

Dean huffed. It was his. He reached for his pocket and pressed a button to silence the vibration. "Sorry," he grumbled.

Roman pulled Dean to a sitting stance, his hands clutching the bottom of Dean's shirt. He lingered here, waiting for permission. Dean gave a small nod. Permission granted. Roman lifted Dean's shirt over his head, stripping him to a bare chest. His neck was already red and riddled with bite marks. He looked so good. This was so good. He felt his cock stiffening in his jeans from this alone.

"Even trade?" Dean suggested, voice breathy.

Roman grinned, feeling cocky. "Sure."

Dean helped Roman out of his shirt. His eyes broadened, once again taking in the sight of a shirtless Roman Reigns. He didn't feel coy, but rather gratified, watching Dean watch him like this. He didn't work out for nothing.

Dean practically tackled Roman, this time pinning him to the carpet as he enveloped Roman in another vigorous kiss. Roman's nails clawed at Dean's back, a feeling he must have enjoyed, the way he was moving back and forth against Roman's fingers, as if going for just the right spot. Roman's erection perceptible by now. But he preferred Dean beneath him, under his control, under his dominance. He wrapped his arms around Dean tight and lifted him into the air, eliciting a surprised exclaim. He carried Dean towards his bedroom, but not quite there yet. Instead he gently pushed Dean against the wall. Dean's legs wrapped themselves around Roman's waist, and Roman held him there, breath heavy, heart on overload.

"Damn, Ro," Dean breathed.

Roman targeted his sweet spot again, that tender area between his shoulders. He picked up the goosebumps pulling Dean's skin tight. Now it was Dean's stubby nails grabbing into Roman's shoulder, his only means of unleashing just how much pleasure he felt.

Another buzz. Long and loud.

"Fuck," Dean said. "I'm sorry, Ro. Let me turn it off."

Roman was impatient but not upset. He let Dean off the wall and watched him jog over to his phone, unable to resist checking out Dean's butt as he bent over to fetch the device.

"Oh, my God," he said after a moment of screen staring. "Oh, God, oh, no."

"What?" Roman asked.

Dean looked up at him. The color had drained from his face, and now his eyes were broad out of dread, not ardor.

"It's Seth. He's in the emergency room."