Sanders Sides One-shots

Better Now (BROT4/OT4 - Poly)

Ship: BROT4/OT4 Poly (You can perceive it however you want, lol. I left it pretty ambiguous).

TW: Mentions of self-harm, but nothing graphic. Probably swearing. I don't even know, lmao

OKAY. THIS IS IT.

THIS IS FUCKING IT.

THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THIS STUPID BOOKLET.

I CAN'T BELIEVE Y'ALL STUCK AROUND THIS LONG.

OR STUCK AROUND AT ALL TBH.

AND HONESTLY I'M SURPRISED AT MYSELF; I HAD NO IDEA I'D GET THIS FAR, NOR DID I THINK I'D MAKE IT TO A WHOLE YEAR.

HONESTLY. FROM THE DEPTHS OF MY NONEXISTENT HEART; THANK YOU SO DAMN MUCH.

I HOPE Y'ALL CONTINUE TO ENJOY THE GAY SHIT I WRITE.

Note is at the bottom!

They used to be functioning. They used to be good.

~~~~~~~~~~

Logic remembers boredom. 

Days crawled past as slowly as his host's progress in unravelling his purpose in the oversaturated world, and the ticks on his calendar grew at the very same rate.

The only highlights of his days were dependent on the coloured events in his planner, who's scarcity remained at a constant high. 

The stains that lingered at the bottom of his mug slowly grew more prominent, and the frequency of which 'coffee' was written onto the grocery list increased noticeably so.

The ubiquitously filled trash can at the foot of his desk had likely been outside of the room more often than him, he'd noted one mundane evening when he quickly placed it outside for Patton to deal with later.

The times where he'd exited his room had been of reluctance, and on numerous occasions he had cursed his body for needing food and water for sustenance.

The uniform, cyclical routine that he followed each day had been memorised and embedded in his muscle memory, and despite this, he felt compelled to use the daily planner that lay on his desk.

The curls of his lips tended to lean towards frowns and scowls, and the only smiles he granted were only out of polite obligation; they looked (and were) unnatural and forced.

Logic remembers thinking that grey monotone was satisfactory. 

Logan knows enjoyment.

Childish excitement coursed through his veins at the thoughts of a new day when his hand slammed down his alarm's button, hands enthusiastically lifting up to rub away the blurry sheen over his eyes.

His boring, black planner had been cast aside in favour of the gifted small dark blue notebook littered with cat and dog stickers. His highlighters had taken permanent residence on his desk ever since he'd found that events he looked forward to rose in frequency.

His voluntary decision to spend his free time in the Common Room had taken him far too long to realise. It wasn't an unpleasant revelation, more the opposite, though he'd never admit it aloud.

His hand reaching towards Virgil's vanilla chai tea packets instead of the coffee jar went unnoticed by everyone, except Virgil himself, who smirked and decided against speaking up again.