Chapter Text
“Are you a fucking queer, or something?” Dad opens with and Roman’s been thinking for a while now he should have some sort of ‘fucked-up-shit-daddy-says-to-me’ bingo card drawn up. He has one going in his head but they come so fast and thick sometimes (haha) that it’s tricky to keep up.
And fuck – this is not what he should be focussing on right now. No, no, no. He has to focus on the Very Stupid Thing he just did which will surely blow his life into smaller pieces than it’s ever been left in before. He drops into the chair his dad indicates, lowers his gaze. Tries to make himself as small a target as possible. “Come on, dad, I obviously didn’t mean to send it to you.”
It’s when he doesn’t immediately snap back, doesn’t start throwing punches that Roman starts to realise just how deep he’s in the shit here. He chances a glance up and immediately regrets it. This is the expression his dad wears when he’s going in for the kill. When he’s about to fire someone, to hostile takeover the fuck out of some poor idiot. When he’s seeing off Ken’s vote of no confidence with half his brain still mush.
“Son, do you think I’m stupid?”
Everything and anything even remotely coherent leaves Roman’s head and he splutters, “I – what? No, of course I don’t – I - ”
“Oh good,” his dad says. “That’s good to know.” His tone says wrong fucking answer, kiddo but there never seems to be a right one. He leans back in his chair, appraises Roman like he’s some fucking moron kid that failed and kept failing but somehow kept an upwards trajectory and – “You know, your sister has some ideas about who you actually meant to send this picture.”
And fuck, fuck, fuck. If that’s not the rotten cherry on this shit sundae. He takes a breath, starts trying to build of defence – of Gerri if nothing else but then his dad says, “So, I’m going to reiterate my earlier question.”
Roman’s mind goes blank. Shiv knows about him and Gerri. She’s actually been pretty fucking un-subtle about it. The only reason she’d lie is if she’s making a play and – oh.
Oh fuck no.
“Are you a fucking faggot?”
There’s this odd static in Roman’s head that’s reserved itself for moments like these. It starts out quiet. Like it’s from a few offices over. It’s something to focus on. Something to never try and look beyond. “Dad, no,” he says, over the hum. “I date women. Come on, you know that. You’ve met – ”
“Sure, sure, you date women. Flaunt them around, talk big, talk loud. The problem, son, is that it’s quite widely known you don’t actually fuck these women.”
There’s so much disgust in his voice. Roman flinches and he hopes his dad didn’t notice but of course he fucking did because he’s Logan Roy. The static is getting louder. Makes it difficult to think. Difficult to breathe, even. “I – ”
“Do you know what that’s like? To have to deal with that sort of speculation? Connor’s a moron, Kendall’s a fucking nut and Shiv’s a liberal but Roman? Roman’s a fucking deviant.”
“Dad – ”
“Is it my fault? Did I not do right by you, Romulus?” He sighs, shakes his head, like he’s actually pained by this. Like Roman’s actively stomping on his chest right now instead of quietly having a panic attack. “Maybe I should have done more. But what the fuck else was I supposed to do, hm? Even fucking military school couldn’t toughen you up, couldn’t beat that shit out of you. And now this fucking, Matsson shit.” He spreads his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m supposed to be impressed. My son, who thought he could talk me in to an equal fucking merger with his boyfriend or fuck buddy or whatever.”
There’s part of this that would be hilarious if it wasn’t all so terrifying. That his dad is sat across from him, imagining a world where he and Lukas “hard-on for failure” Matsson fucking assassinate him and fuck over his corpse, or something. And shit, he can feel the hysteria rising up in his chest, threatening to drown out the static in stupid, high pitched laughter and his dad will put him in the hospital if that happens –
“Just get the fuck out of here, Romulus.”
“But the deal – ” Roman manages.
“We’ll call you when we need you.” His dad sneers.
-
Roman’s a good little boy. He does exactly what daddy tells him to and goes back to his room at the villa to wait. Then, to stop himself spiralling - or maybe to keep spiralling – he video-calls Matsson. He’s not actually expecting him to pick up but it’s fucking topsy-turvy day so he does, looking fucking unhinged and Nordic as ever.
“So, got some news,” Roman starts. “There’s a teensy-tiny 100% chance my dad thinks we’re fucking.”
Matsson blinks. “Excuse me?”
Roman sighs. “So long story short: there was a – uh – incident? I guess? Yeah. There was an incident earlier and my bitch of a sister used it as an opportunity to make up stories to my dad about us fucking. What can I say? She’s always been the most unloved so she makes up little stories to make herself feel better about it. And anyway, my dad’s like a million years old, as you know, so he’s a little upset right now and – ”
He keeps rambling, waiting for Matsson to say something. To recoil, to ream Roman like an orange or whatever the fuck for screwing up this deal for both of them but all he really does is tilt his head slightly and say, “Huh. So, how do you feel about it?”
“How do I – what?”
“Your dad’s mad. But what about you?”
Roman’s mouth is suddenly very dry. His cheeks feel kind of hot. Are they red? Can Matsson tell? “I don’t – what? How do you feel about it?”
The corner of Matsson’s mouth twitches, not quite a smirk but something like it. His gaze flicks away. “I already told you I was interested.”
Roman swallows. Before all this he did a deep dive on Matsson. He might be dumb but he knows enough to not go into a potentially major business meeting completely blind. And he could dredge up a fucking library’s worth of shit on his business philosophy, his drug use, his humble whatever-the-Swedish-equivalent-of-apple-pie roots but there was nothing on his personal life. No jilted exes, no messy social media breakups. In Roman’s experience it means one of two things: Matsson has a very good PR team (which Waystar should immediately poach) or Matsson’s a scarily efficient serial killer who makes sure there’s no one left alive to blab his secrets to the press.
All that’s to say: Roman has a type. Tall. Blonde. Fucking smart as hell and very able to destroy him with minimal effort so Matsson ticks all of his proverbial boxes. But even outside of that big mysterious gap in Matsson’s history, there’s his dad’s colourful slew of insults layered in with everything. The echo of a droning buzz. He looks down, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, you uh – certainly did that. I just – you know, wasn’t sure if – I mean, you weren’t exactly selling it that way, so – ”
Matsson lets out a little huff of laughter that sends something warm curling through Roman’s gut. It’s like when he gets Gerri to smile properly, gets her to drop the serious mask she has to wear all day and be a fucking person for a few minutes. Shit. He should probably text her or something. Damage control. See what Shiv’s told her, what the current company line is. Apologise.
But first, Matsson who is fully smirking now. Just with his eyes, not his mouth. “You want me to sell it?” he says and that goes straight to Roman’s cock. He laughs in an attempt to regain some dignity.
“Yeah, sure, I want you to sell it.”
Matsson is quiet for such a long time after that, that Roman taps his phone to check it’s not frozen. Or maybe it was all a joke. Maybe Roman took it too far. Tripped and went sprawling over that invisible line that only seems to exist for him. His heartbeat’s starting to rattle again when Matsson exhales, “Sell it,” he repeats, softly. “Hmm. You know, I employ a marketing team to do this for me usually.”
Roman’s about to give him an out, to call this whole thing off because maybe he’s had enough excitement for one day? Maybe he doesn’t want his heart to give out? Matsson evidently does though, because he looks directly at Roman and says, in a very calm and steady tone, “I suppose ideally we’d use your father’s desk.”
Yeah. Roman’s heart is gonna give out.
“The one in New York, obviously. I’ve read it was very expensive.” Matsson continues. “We’d wait until he was in a meeting, or something. Gone but not gone. I notice you don’t wear a tie a lot but maybe you would for that. You look like you’d be noisy and I don’t think you actually want to get caught. But maybe someone would.”
Fuck. Maybe Matsson’s done his research too. But no, Roman’s dad’s worked hard to keep any hint of Roman’s shit under wraps so maybe Matsson’s just fucked up, or perceptive. Or both. God. Roman kind of hopes it’s both.
Matsson is still speaking languidly, “You think that would be enough to kill him? Your father, I mean. If I fucked you over his desk?”
Roman shudders. He has to close his eyes a moment because he’s dizzy with it. Because he’s getting fucking emotional whiplash between imagining Matsson holding him down, cool wood beneath his cheek and the crushed-glass, jagged knife edge to his father’s words. Are you a fucking faggot?
“Roman,” Matsson says. Prompts. And there’s something –
Roman exhales. Opens his eyes. Tries his best to turn on that patented Roman Roy smirk. “Not sure I like how quick you were to put me on the bottom.”
Matsson laughs, fucking really laughs. “Well, I’m not opposed to you riding me.” He says, like it’s no big deal. Like this is a normal conversation to have with your future business partner. Ex-future business partner?
“That is…good to know.”
There’s still the hint of a smile on Matsson’s stupid face. Roman has the distinct impression that if he asked nicely, Matsson might actually just talk him off. It probably says a lot about him that he’s considering it, that he had this conversation so soon after The Incident at all. Maybe it’s adrenaline, a nervous breakdown.
A knock at the door bursts that bubble. The real world – represented by fucking Kerry of all people – barges in without waiting for a response. “What the fuck? Who the fuck bursts in like that? I could have been jerking off in here.”
Kerry curls her lip as she steps into the room. “That would be very disturbing considering what just happened.” She looks at him like he’s dirt on her shoe. Not even gum or dog shit or something that would take time and effort to properly get rid of. Just plain old dirt she can brush off without a second thought. “Your father wants you to go on ahead and meet with Matsson. He’ll be along shortly.”
She turns to go before Roman can process, strides oh-so-casually out and Roman stares after her. There’s probably a world here where she comes out on top of all this shit.