Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

Bruises // pt.2

Not requested.

Ship: Platonic Roceit

Category: Angst

Warnings: Self deprecation, mentions of death, sympathetic Deceit

Summary: Roman goes into the Imagination to be alone. There he meets a surprising ally.

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The dragon let out an earth-shaking roar, stumbling backwards as Roman sank his sword into its scaly chest. Blood spurted from the wound, soaking into the grass at Roman's feet. The dragon moaned and collapsed, it's body disintegrating as the Imagination dissolved the simulation.

Roman walked over to the pile of ash and pulled out his sword, sighing at the grime covering it's shiny surface. Now he'd have to clean it again.

Suddenly he tossed the sword away, his shoulders trembling as he fought to contain that strange feeling that squeezed his heart and made everything hurt. Why did everything always have to hurt? Why couldn't he be happy?

"Oh, the poor sword didn't do anything to you."

Roman whipped around to see another side, wearing a black bowler cap and a black coat with yellow trim. Yellow gloved hands reached up and straightened the collar.

"What do you want, Deceit?" Roman asked tiredly.

"It is what I want," Deceit said, stepping daintily over the fallen katana. "But rather, what I need."

"I don't have the patience for your backward speech," Roman grumbled. "Talk normally. I know you can."

Deceit huffed. "You ruin all my fun."

"Get on with it," Roman snapped. He could already feel the miniscule bruise forming on his collarbone.

"Oh, right. I meant, it isn't what I want, but rather what you need."

"What are you talking about?"

Deceit moved forward, reaching out with one hand and grasping the bottom of his shirt. In one swift movement, he yanked it up, revealing the dark purple and blue bruises scattered over his torso, some big and some small, but all of them hurting. Roman flinched back, out of Deceit's reach, and pulled his shirt back down.

"They haven't been giving you enough attention," Deceit said softly, and his voice was kinder than Roman had ever heard.

"So what? It's fine, I need to be taken down a few pegs anyway," Roman said weakly. Self-directed insults always appeared on his chest.

Deceit tsk'd lightly, shaking his head. "Roman, your creations are amazing and don't deserve to be critiqued so harshly."

Roman gasped as nearly all of his bruises immediately faded, and as he lifted up his shirt, his stomach and waist was nearly completely healed. So many of the insults were aimed at his work. Deceit had healed all of them with one little sentence, that he didn't even have to genuinely mean.

"Thank you," Roman whispered.

Deceit offered a sly grin. "Until you see fit to tell your buddies about this situation, then you can come to me whenever it gets bad. Take it easy for a bit, okay?"

"Okay." Roman hesitated, biting his lip, before extending a hand tentatively.

Cocking one eyebrow curiously, Deceit carefully shook his hand, his grip surprisingly warm.

"See you never," Deceit said. He spun on his heel, whipped his coat around him, and vanished on the spot.

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