NYGMOBBLEPOT • one shots

Heal and Reveal

Heeeeey, it's the author here. This was my first try at writing a Nygmobblepot Ficlet. I wrote this long ago and I know that it's a lil OOC but please bear with me, I'll get better.
This One Shot was inspired by @/riddlemehoes on Instagram. You can also find me on Instagram, Tumblr and Ao3, check the bio on my profile.
So, without any further delays, enjoy!

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Night.

The only time Oswald feared.

Because, in the quietness of the dark, he could hear the volume of his thoughts. Of his memories.

Because, in the night, he was vulnerable to his weakness. His weakness that stood proudly in the center of his club. Bathing in moonlight, glistening with innocence.

Edward Nygma had been frozen for three months. So had been Oswald's heart. Or so he likes to think.

The Penguin was now someone of power again. He was feared again, the King of the Underworld of Gotham, the Iceberg Lounge was his castle. He had the most expensive crystal chandeliers, the finest cutlery, the softest sheets. But these sheets itched, making him toss and turn in his sleep. Now, surrounded with luxury, he felt the emptiest ever. Nothing to drive him other than the next day to live.

That's when he developed a habit. A dependence. A necessity.

Every night, when the voices got too loud, he would rip off the covers, and go downstairs. He would feel the coldness of the floor on his bare feet. He would walk until he was face to face with his center piece. And he would just stand there. Contemplating.

Contemplating the face of a man he once loved. The face of a man he still loved.

Ed's face was contorted in one final expression of desperation. His hands reaching out. As if he was trying to grasp Oswald one more time. But Oswald himself knew better. Edward didn't love him. Period.

That night was no different. Oswald stared at the ceiling, lying on his bed. And, when his own conscience became too much to handle, when his feelings threatened to crush him, he slid out of bed and padded barefooted the path his feet knew too well.

And there he was once again. Bare, vulnerable, attentive. Gazing the blueish tinted features of his captive. From his sharp cheekbones to his defined brow.

Edward Nygma was so beautiful.

Even when in pain, his brown eyes had such a gleam, such a shine to them. He always had the excitement of a child when he found a challenge. He was so eager to learn, so ready to give. Oswald had fallen so hard.

"But it's my fault." He whispered.

He knew. He knew that. And it killed him.

Oswald looked once again at frozen man. The ice created a pattern of light on his face, almost glowing from within.

I. Don't. Love. You.

A sting in his eyes made his lip twitch and he welcomed the rush of emotions with open arms.

He fell on his knees, the hard surface hurting his injured leg. Hands on his thighs, Oswald tried to stifle a sob that wrecked through his throat. Fighting to stay quiet. As if somehow, if the world didn't know about it, it would go away.

With hot tears streaming down his cheeks, Oswald bit down on his fist to release the knot in his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He said, voice cracking. "This is my fault. You hate me and it's my fault." He rested one hand against the ice, letting the temperature burn his skin.