Of Kings and Queens

Part II/5/Separation/

•May, 26th, 1:47am•

"I got troubled thoughts.
And the self-esteem to match,
What a catch, what a catch.
...
We're going down, down in an earlier round.
And sugar, we're goin' down swinging."

"I don't know-" She would have continued her sentence if only someone had not knocked on her door. She said, "Come in."

Oliver appeared in her doorway with a bored look on his face. She straightened up and turned in her chair expectantly.

Perry bristled.

"I heard a scream." Oliver stated. His cautious gaze swept from Perry's annoyed composure to Robin.

"No one asked you to make sure she was okay. That's my job." Perry bit out at him.

"I wasn't aware this was an invite only party, Calzone." His even, yet intimidating tone replied.

He acted far beyond his years, Robin thought as he stood before her, straight as a pencil but not in his usual button down shirt and tailor-made trousers. This time, had was wearing pajamas. Not the regular kind; these pjs looked like they were made for a king.

He stared at Robin, evaluating her. He noticed her blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes and his eyes lingered on her face a little longer than needed. He cursed himself internally for faltering.

A feeling other than the usual contempt he felt for most of his peers welled up in his collar bone, and he couldn't place it at first. Then he realised he was worried about her emotional state. Something was messing her up a lot, recently.

"I'm alright. I just had a nightmare," Her voice quietened at the end in embarassment of still having nightmares at the age of fourteen.

She had answered his unasked question and he nodded in understanding. "Sorry for interrupting, then." He glared at her brother, daring him to pick another fight.

He spared her another glance; Her nose twitched and he almost smiled at her little habit. But he didn't smile, he just left.

The door closed loudly behind him.

•2:03am•

"Stop it. Stop it." Oliver whispered to himself in the mirror. A long standing depression grasped hold of his facial features and twisted them into something weak and unpleasant. The result of too many beatings. Too many backhanded insults. Too many years of living.

Oliver Roscoe was crying.

He had locked himself in the bathroom. And as he let the tap run, he felt the water drip onto his hand.

"Insecurities and missed opportunities. Hourglass chimes. The harsh truth that we're all running out of time." He quoted to himself. He didn't even know his own voice anymore.

"Nose to nose, eye to eye, but a reflection he didn't recognise." He finished.