THE SHIELD ⇾ one shots and preferences

r.r | one shot | lifeless

You were pissed. 

No, irate was a better word.

Roman had promised you that he would stop training so intensely. He had looked you in the eyes and swore up and down that he would change his schedule to better his health; it had gotten that bad.

He was practically living in the neighborhood gym - he would go for three hours, three times a day, only stopping to eat inadequate meals and catch a few hours of sleep. He was becoming a shell of his former self - losing weight, paler, irritable. It all started when he found out about his title match at Royal Rumble, but now that the date grew nearer, it was getting impossibly worse.

When you had sat him down and broke down into tears over the whole issue, he had held you in his arms, kissed your forehead over and over, and consoled you with (apparently empty) promises of improvement. 

Yet, here you were, in the hallway of the emergency room, hands shaking with anger.

One of his fellow gym-goers had gone in for his afternoon run and spotted Roman in a heap on the floor -  sweaty, pale, and unresponsive. The man had attempted to wake him with cold water and a few slaps to the cheek, but Roman remained still. This lead to an ambulance being called and Roman being taken to the local hospital for admittance. 

You hadn't even been home for the whole ordeal - whether that was a good or bad thing, you had no clue. You had been at the grocery store, gathering all the necessary ingredients for turkey and rice soup, when your phone had began buzzing. The EMTs had found Roman's phone and called his first ICE contact - you.

The whole way to the hospital, you were fuming. A million thoughts ran through your head. You were going to leave him, you had told yourself. This whole situation had caused irreparable damage to your relationship. The amount of fights you had had in the past two months was more than the past two years combined. This wasn't fair to you. If Roman couldn't even take care of himself, how was he supposed to take care of you? 

As you waited for the doctor to give you clearance to go see Roman, the same thought ran through your head.

You were going to leave him. 

"Alright, Miss (Y/L/N)," the doctor addressed you as he exited Roman's room, his clipboard and pen in hand. "You can go in and visit now. He was just extremely dehydrated and malnourished, but we're fixing him up now. He should be able to go home by tomorrow morning, so I left a copy of the discharge paperwork on the desk in there."

You nodded at the doctor's words as he walked away, obviously too busy to wait around to make sure you didn't have any questions. 

Dehydrated. Malnourished. Each word was like a slap to the face. They left your face red and stinging. How had it gotten to this point?

Now that there was nothing stopping you from facing Roman, you suddenly felt as if you couldn't. Did you really want to see him like this? Especially if this was going to be the last time you saw him?

You fought through your clouded thoughts and timidly poked your head into the room, hoping that he might be sleeping. It would give you an excuse to retreat to the cafeteria and rethink it all over a cheap chicken salad. But, much to your displeasure, Roman was very much awake and looking at the doorway with a weak, sickly smile.

Except, he wasn't looking at the doorway.

He was looking at you.

"Come on in, don't be shy," he prompted you, his voice matching the exhausted look of his face. It was such a sharp contrast - recently, his voice had been edgy and annoyed, but now it was calm and soft. It reminded you of the way a mother would sound after she felt guilty for yelling at her child over something minute. 

You forced your feet to move as you sheepishly entered the room, instinctively finding your place at his side.

Old habits die hard.

You swallowed hard as he grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss. His hands were shaky and cold. His lips were cracked and chapped. This wasn't your Roman, this was a poor excuse of a stranger.

"I'm so sorry, prin-"

"Don't," you cut him off coolly, pulling your hand from his and crossing it across your chest. You decided to go sit in the windowsill, unable to stand being so close to him. 

Awkward silence filled the room. Neither of you really knew what to say. He was filled with regret and hope, while you were simply alight with anger. 

"You said you were going to change," you broke the silence accusingly, your voice unusually lifeless. 

Roman squirmed in the hospital bed, eventually settling himself in your direction. "I know, (Y/N), and I'm sorry. Everyone in the locker room was telling me that I couldn't do it, and I thought I needed to prove them wrong."

A cold laugh escaped your throat, causing Roman to furrow his brows. He had never heard something so cruel escape your rose-colored lips, although he knew he deserved it. 

More silence filled the room, although it was thicker this time. Nearly choking.

"Y'know, I'm half tempted to leave you. I could walk right out of this hospital, drive home, and pack up all my thing before you even get discharged," you mused aloud, a sick smile finding a home on your lips. Roman's breath hitched in his throat; he hadn't been expecting such a strong reaction from you. His brain was screaming at him to say something - anything - to convince you to stay, but his tongue was frozen. 

"But, that's not what I'm going to do, because that's not how we do things," you decided, squinting your eyes as you looked out the window. You knew you couldn't look at him, so the decaying rosebush outside would have to be on the receiving end of your glare.

"Thank God," Roman let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, his voice cracking over his words. His tears threatened to spill over, but your eyes stayed dry as you stared out that dirty window. Roman let out another shaky breath, looking at the ceiling because he was simply overwhelmed. Who knew he could cause all of this?

"Baby, look at me," he pleaded with you, and you hesitantly fixed him with your icy glance. The look on his face was enough to break your heart, but you didn't let that show. You needed to be firm here, or else he would never change. 

"I love you so much, (Y/N). I'm so, so sorry."

You stared at him with lifeless eyes, and that image alone would haunt his dreams for years to come.