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stardustsides · 9 months

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A Midwinter’s Tale

Synopsis: Roman can’t say he’s ever had a stranger camp out in his yard before. He also can’t say that he’s ever met someone who carries their broken heart in a paper bag, but hey, first time for everything, right?

Ship: Royality

Word Count: 2,022

Content Warnings: Divorce mention, death mention, car accident mention

Author’s Note: This is a little wintery oneshot based on the play “Almost, Maine” by John Cariani, which I was in a few years ago! This is magical realism, so just suspend your disbelief :-)

There was a man in Roman’s yard.

Roman watched him from his window—he was hard to make out in the dark, but he was fairly sure that he wasn’t from Almost; he’d recognize him if he were.

He stared as the man wrestled with what looked like a tent—is he pitching a tent in my yard?—and set up a telescope, angling his face towards the sky full of stars. There had to be thousands of them—that was one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere, no light pollution—and although he couldn’t clearly make out the finer details of the man’s face, he could see the way he clasped his hands in front of his chest in utter delight.

For a moment, Roman contemplated just leaving him to his own devices and going to bed, but he had to admit that he was intrigued—it wasn’t every day that someone would camp out in your yard, after all, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone from out of town came to visit.

He hastily stuffed his feet into his slippers, slipped his warmest robe over his flannel pajamas, and padded downstairs. He could see the man much better out of the downstairs window, and, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, he spent a moment just watching him stare at the sky.

After a second, though, he realized that he was probably going to look like a total creep if the man saw him, so he decisively opened the door and quietly slipped out into the freezing winter air.

He shivered—growing up in northern Maine had instilled a high tolerance for cold weather in him, but a small part of him still wished that he had worn a coat—and stood on his doorstep. The man didn’t seem to notice him.

“Um…hello,” Roman started, venturing closer, and the man startled a bit, turning to look at him.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, both mittened hands springing to his heart, possessively clutching a brown paper bag. In the back of his mind, Roman registered that the man was very pretty—he had what he’d describe as “puppy dog eyes”, big and wide and brown, partially obscured behind a pair of round glasses, and a generous amount of freckles scattered across his rosy cheeks and nose. He had both a knit pom-pom hat and earmuffs on, but Roman could still make out a curl of brown hair sticking out from underneath it. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

“It’s okay,” Roman responded, looking quizzically at him. “Can I…help you?”

“Oh! No, that’s okay, thanks!” He said cheerily. “I’m just here to see the northern lights.”

“…Okay,” Roman said slowly, cocking his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you’re in my yard—?”

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind!” He chirped. “I just needed somewhere to camp for the night, and this is just such a great stargazing location because of how open it is, so I’ll only be here for tonight and then I’ll be gone!” He paused. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said again emphatically. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Roman said, smiling a bit. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh! Good!” The man sighed with relief. “Y’know, it said in your brochure that you wouldn’t mind—see, I’m a hiker, and it said in this brochure—“ he produced a thick pamphlet from the inside pocket of his winter coat, “that Maine people generally won’t mind, because you’re all about exploration and adventure and all that, so!” He let out a happy huff of breath. “I’m glad that you’re so kind and that you’re letting me stay here, because I really need to!”

Roman tilted his head, amused. The man was all smiles, and the way he spoke was endearing, as if he couldn’t talk as quickly as he thought of new things to say. “Why do you need to?”

“Because I need to see the Northern Lights tonight! And this is the perfect spot! It’s so open,” he repeated.

“It used to be a potato farm,” Roman explained. The man nodded.

“Makes sense. No trees! Are you a farmer?”

“Oh, no. I’m a waiter,” Roman paused. “I’m really a writer, though.”

The man gasped and clasped his hands together. “A writer? What do you write?”

“Oh, mostly just romances. I’d like to get more into fantasy, though.”

“Wow,” the man breathed, looking genuinely amazed. Roman was oddly flattered. “That’s incredible! Wow. A real writer! Are you published? Wait, no—that’s a stupid question, it doesn’t make you any less of a writer if you’re not published, of course, and I know that there are some people who just write for themselves! Are you one of those?”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the word-vomit. The man was looking at him, those big brown eyes wide and unfathomably earnest, and Roman’s heart felt a little melty all of a sudden.

“Don’t worry! I’m technically published, in the Almost town paper, so I have an audience of about twenty.” The man laughed, a light, bell-like sound, and Roman’s smile only grew wider. “But I’ve been trying to sell my creative work to actual publishers. You’re right, though—I do mainly write for myself, and what I’d want to read.”

“That’s such a great talent to have,” he sighed wistfully. “I’ve never been much of a writer—I’m more of a traveller, meet all the people I can, y’know? Gosh, don’t you think it’s crazy how every person you’ve ever passed on the street have their own lives that are just as complex as yours? That’s so much life!”

“So many stories,” Roman agreed, and the man nodded, the tuft of curly hair bouncing against his forehead. “That feeling’s called ‘sonder’, by the way.”

The man’s face lit up. “Really? I had no idea there was a word for it!”

Roman grinned. “Yeah, well…it’s funny, because when you live in a town as small as this, you never really get that feeling, because you already know who everyone is.”

“That’s true! I hadn’t thought of that!” The man paused for a moment, thinking. “What town is this, by the way? It’s not on my map.”

“Well, we call ourselves ‘Almost’, but it wouldn’t be on your map, because we’re not technically a town. To be a town, you’ve gotta be organized, and, well, we almost got around to doing that, but never did, so now we’re just ‘Almost’.”

That bell-like laugh again. “Well, it’s lovely up here. So much sky.” He gasped. “Oh! Where are my manners? Set up a tent on someone’s lawn and don’t even tell them your name! I’m Patton.”

“Patton,” Roman repeated, trying it out. It was a soft-sounding name, the kind of name that sounds familiar even when you’ve never met anyone else with it. It suited him. “I’m Roman.”

Patton smiled, and it was dazzling. “Nice to meet you, Roman.”

And for a moment, they stood in companionable silence, staring up at the sky and listening to the sounds of the midwinter night all around them, when suddenly Patton gasped, a ragged, shuddery breath that made Roman jump.

“I need that!” He yelped, pointing at his brown paper bag that had somehow found itself into Roman’s hands. Roman stared at it quizzically. He didn’t remember taking it.

“Oh, I’m sorry—“ he started, handing it back to Patton. He snatched it back and held it close to his chest, relaxing a little.

“No problem,” Patton replied, infinitely calmer than he was a second ago. Roman stared, bewildered. When Patton made no move to explain what had just happened, Roman cleared his throat again.

“So,” he started. “Where are you from?”

“Oh,” Patton started, and waved his hand around vaguely. “I wander a lot, you know, travel around, but my husband and I had an apartment in Colorado.”

“Oh, you’re married?” Roman felt the tiniest twinge of disappointment.

“Well, not anymore,” he responded. “We had been separated for about a year, but since he died recently, I’m here to pay my respects.”

“Oh,” Roman said dumbly, unsure of what to say at such a revelation. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Patton shrugged, but his eyes stayed trained carefully on the sky. “My mom used to tell me stories when I was little about how when you die, the northern lights are the pathway leading you to the afterlife. Like, the lights are the souls of the recently departed and all that. So I have to see the Northern lights, because that’s him.”

“Oh,” Roman repeated.

Patton glanced over at him sheepishly. “I know it’s silly.”

“No,” Roman blurted. “It’s not silly at all.”

Patton smiled then, a sweet, sad thing that made Roman feel warm from the inside out, like drinking a mug of hot chocolate or a bowl of his favorite soup on a cold day.

And then Patton gasped again.

“I need that!” he wheezed, clutching his chest and grasping at the brown paper bag that had, once again, inexplicably found itself in Roman’s grasp. “It’s—my heart, I need it, give it back—“

Roman practically threw the bag at him, and, once more, Patton’s expression settled immediately. He looked completely normal, if not a little embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he said, catching his breath. “Sorry.”

“Um…no problem,” Roman said belatedly. A thousand questions were firing in his head, and he grasped at them desperately, willing his voice to work. “Your heart?” he managed finally. “I’m sorry, is that what you—?”

“Oh,” Patton looked down bashfully, the embarrassed smile on his face contradicting the ever so slight waver in his voice. “Yeah. Uh…well, last year, I came home early from work, and found my husband in bed with someone else, and, well, when I saw, my heart just broke. Shattered. Into nineteen pieces.” He held up the paper bag and shook it. “Put it in here, and I’ve had to carry it around ever since.”

“Oh,” Roman began, unsure of how to respond. “I’m so sorry.”

“A few months later, he came back—knocked on my door, begging me to take him back, and—well, I’ve never had the easiest time saying ‘no’ to people, so telling him to leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever done…he was so upset that when he left, he didn’t notice the car headed right for him.” His voice broke off, and he lapsed into silence. “I can’t help but feel like I killed him.”

“No,” Roman said, with a conviction that surprised both himself and Patton. “Patton, I—I’ve only known you for ten minutes, and even I can see that you’re one of the most goodhearted people out there. It isn’t your fault.”

Patton hastily wiped a tear from his cheek. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…you must think I’m crazy, a strange man with a broken heart in a paper bag crying about killing his ex-husband on your lawn.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” And just like that, the bag somehow found itself in Roman’s hands again. He held it out to Patton. Patton hesitated.

“It’s never done that before.”

“Does it hurt?” Roman asked, suddenly curious.

“Sometimes. But in an empty way, like how your stomach hurts when you’re really hungry. Mostly, it just feels hollow.”

“Have you ever tried to…piece it back together?”

“Yes, but it’s never worked. Glue, tape…they don’t stick.”

Roman clutched the bag tighter. “…May I?”

Patton’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and he nodded haltingly. Carefully, Roman opened the bag, and peered into it. It looked like shattered red glass. He took out two pieces. He could hear Patton’s breath catch.

They sealed back together seamlessly.

They looked at each other in stunned silence. Patton held his chest, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain.

The Northern Lights exploded overhead. Patton gasped, and tilted his head back in awe. “Goodbye,” he whispered into the night.

He looked back down at Roman, who had found himself on one knee. He normally would have been mortified, but instead, all he could do was hold out the delicate glass heart, whole and lovely, to Patton.

He smiled tearfully down at Roman and laughed a bit. “And hello.”

#sanders sides #my writing #roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #romantic royality #thomas sanders #ts sides #ts fic #sasi fic #sasi

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