Random RQ oneshots (and SL + TR I guess)

A heart of darkness and a bit of love.

Dark was sitting at the edge of the new lake. This one was much more secluded than the last, hopefully harder to find, too. Nightmare destroyed the last place he went, so he hoped this place was more secure.

Dark loved being here, and he hated the way it made him feel. The way it made him question things.

Dark let his hand fall to the ground. He just barely hovered over the prickly grass before gently placing his hand on the earth. He breathed in, feeling the blades of grass on his skin and the breeze in the air. Of course, to no one's surprise, it didn't take long for the grass to wilt and turn yellow and the dirt to turn gray. His chest ached as he watched the life seep away from the earth as the darkness spread. Dark took his hand away hastily, but the darkness stayed. Each touch was a permanent reminder of the consequences of his power. He didn't understand why that made him sick to the stomach.

Anything that touched his skin was infected. He had tried to cover up his skin more—he tried gloves, long baggy pants and socks, he even experimented with some turtleneck sweaters—but Nightmare disapproved. He didn't force Dark to wear shorts and tank tops like an idiot of course, but the king didn't like the idea of his darkness slave wearing gloves and NOT infecting things.

The darkness would retreat ever so slowly. To the land, it was just a disease, and it'd run its course eventually. People, well...people weren't so easy, Dark had come to learn. People weren't reversible. People didn't heal with time like the earth did.

This was Dark's fate: to be a slave to both Nightmare and the darkness. He was nothing but a manifestation of darkness, a connection point between Steves and it. Each and every thought of him being even slightly worth more than that had to be selfish.

Still, he wished for more. Selfishly. The darkness was selfish, and so was he. He wanted more, always, constantly. A terrible thing. Such a terrible thing, to dream and to want.

—

Time and Dark were sitting at the couch in their shared house in comfortable silence. Sabre was gone—off doing chores and exploring, as he told them—leaving just the two of them alone.

Dark was, per usual, wearing heavy clothing that covered every inch of his body. Except for his hands. He used to have a pair of gloves, back when he was working with Reverse, but they had wore down, and he had thrown them away. And a lot had happened since then, anyways. He'd been gone for months. He kept his hands in his lap, nervously trying not to touch anything.

Time seemed to catch onto his anxiousness. "I made you something." Time pulled something out of his coat pocket; a pair of mahogany gloves, knitted with some fancy pattern. "It's skin contact that does it, right? So, in theory, if you wore these..."

"You...you made these? For me?" Dark questioned, eyes a little wide. Time laughed—a hearty giggle, Dark noted—and nodded.

"Yeah, of course! I figured the whole 'everything I touch turns to darkness' gets annoying. So..."

Dark stared down at him, almost bewildered. With shaky hands, he took the gloves (careful not to accidentally make contact with Time) and pulled them over his hands. Dark immediately felt the soft warmth of the gloves against his skin, a feeling of comfort that was rare for him. "I..."

"The yarn I used was a bit weird, I got it from some random villager, so if it's uncomfortable, I don't mind making you another pair with some yarn I'm more familiar with-"

"Why? Why would you do that?"Dark frowned, almost demanding it. He didn't mean for it to sound mean, but it probably did. He cleared his throat. "No, I'm sorry...I just- I don't get why you'd do this for me..." the gloves were warm against his skin, and he couldn't help but wonder why Time thought he deserved this.