Chapter Text
2005
Roman was twenty-one when he found out his brother was a faggot.
They were at a club, mingling with business people, models, and local celebrities, and fucking Kendall was the one who brought him. He never would’ve guessed his lame brother was, like, cool enough to know a place like this. He’d only been twenty-one for a month, and he’d already visited most of the clubs worth anything in Manhattan. It was fucking awesome.
Kendall had absolutely done coke in the bathroom, because he was practically drooling over this model, grinding against her on the dance floor. Roman decided to ruin his fun.
He approached his prey, and Kendall looked up with a confused, brainless expression, mouth wide open. Stupid fucking druggie.
“You know,” he led with, “he’s a moaner. Like a gir—”
Kendall had detached himself from the girl, turning to Roman. “Shut the fuck up, dude. Gross. How do you even kno—”
“In Monaco, dipshit. Our rooms were next to each other,” Roman said. “I was, like, twelve. You totally scarred me. I mean, the whole kit and caboodle: bed slamming against the wall, you moaning like, Ah, ah, babe, I’m— ”
“You’re seriously fucked in the head, you know that?” Kendall got up in his face. In avoiding his brother’s eyes, Roman saw that the grindee was rapidly retreating. Finally, his gaze met Kendall’s.
“Who’d you even sneak in? Some Italian girl? She must’ve been ugly to sleep with you.”
Kendall was good at lying, all the Roys were. But that’s the thing: when you’re good at lying, you’re also good at recognizing it.
“She was better than anything you’ve pulled,” he said without breaking the eye contact.
There was a lie there, and Roman remembered that Stewy had come along for that trip. Puzzle pieces started to slot together in Roman’s head, rapidly creating a grotesque image of his fucking brother and fucking Stewy fucking—Jesus fucki—
Roman’s voice was gleeful and booming above the music when he asked, “Wait, are you a fa—”
The sound of a slap was also audible over the music. Roman lost his balance, stumbling into a man who’d been staring at the encounter. The man pushed him off basely, and he staggered back in Kendall’s direction but caught himself before he could collide with his brother.
When he looked back up, Kendall had a worried look on his face. His arms were raised, just slightly, ready to catch Roman if he needed it—which was fucking stupid considering he almost knocked Roman over in the first place.
“Rome,” he said, stupid fucking mouth hanging open again. “I’m sorry, dude, that was—that was too much.”
Roman almost punched him; he really considered it, but instead, he gave a quick “Fuck you,” and filed through the crowd towards the exit. He could hear footsteps behind him, Kendall following him like an abandoned mutt.
Once outside, the chilly air made Roman realize he hadn’t brought a coat—coats are just a hassle when you have personal drivers; you’re always inside a car or a building anyways— and he hadn’t called his driver.
So, he was stuck with Fido for a bit.
“I’m sorry,” Kendall said again. “I’m sorry. I’m high, and, like, that was super uncool of you, but I was uncool too, so…”
“What do you want, Kenny ?” He spoke the nickname with vitriol. “A medal for taking it up the ass? A cock ring trophy?”
“What are you talking about?” Kendall was speaking breathlessly now. Bad fucking trip, Roman would bet. Serves him right.
Roman ignored him. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and told his driver to come right fucking now .
After he’d ended the call, Kendall said in the most pathetic little voice, a voice he’d never heard from his brother, “Don’t tell Dad.”
Roman hadn’t considered that, near black-out drunk, but as soon as he imagined telling their father, imagined Logan sitting Kendall down and telling him in plain terms that a queer would not run his company… Maybe he felt a tiny bit bad for Kendall.
His father would appreciate knowing, maybe even thank him. It was a leg up. It was a one-way street to CEO. He could taste iron in his mouth and realized he’d been digging his teeth into his cheek.
He remained silent.
When the car pulled up, Roman got inside quickly. When Roman slammed the door, Kendall fumbled for his phone to call his own driver. He watched the car pull away and his body slumped, giving up on finding his mobile. He was probably crying. Roman felt sick.
He told the driver to stop the car once they’d gotten maybe half a block away. He opened the door and yelled, “Get in, fairy!”
Kendall stood for a moment, maybe considering whether he wanted to be in a car with Roman, but eventually he lumbered in the direction of the car and ducked inside.
“Hey, I was just kidding, you know,” Roman said. “I, uh, won’t tell Dad.”
Kendall sighed, some sort of Sisyphus-level of weight to it. “Thanks,” he said sadly. The driver had put the divider up before he started to sob.
“I’m so fucking—I’m so torn up inside,” Kendall said “Stredded.” Oh boo-hoo, Ivy League dipshit putting his feelings into pretty words . Gross. Roman didn’t respond as he continued with, “Everything I worked for— everything I worked for would be guh-gone.” His voice morphed into a whimper on the last word as a fresh wave of tears came on.
“Man, I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were fruity,” Roman said. “You moan and cry like a fag.” The words were malicious, but his tone was light, joking. He laughed awkwardly as if it’d been a good joke.
“Stop,” Kendall said. “Just stop.”
And to his credit, Roman actually remained silent for the rest of the drive. When they arrived at Kendall’s apartment, he looked down at his lap as he said, “I’m serious. I won’t tell.”
“Thank you,” Kendall said, and this time, it sounded much more genuine. Relief.
Roman was twenty-one when he found out his brother was a faggot, and he never told anyone.