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Roman swallowed a wince as he was summoned up to the real world by Thomas. He forced his usual playful grin to appear on his face, praying silently that no one would be able to see through it.
He's not too worried about Logan picking up on it, while the logical trait was certainly the smartest among them but he wasn't exactly skilled at reading emotions.
Thomas had his moments of being particularly observant, and there was always the matter of the host being able to pick up on his sides' emotions at times. But Roman had learned how to mask his deeper feelings with the superficial, burying them below the more easily picked up surface.
Patton was always looking out for his 'kiddos', so Roman would have to be very careful not to set the infamous 'dad sense' off. The last time Virgil had done so, the emo trait had ended up on the couch surrounded by stuffed animals and way too many baked treats watching Winnie the Pooh on repeat while the fatherly trait gave him constant compliments (usually with puns mixed in). Roman still had a picture of a very red Virgil fiddling with a Stitch plush. He had to hide his phone every night to make sure it wouldn't get smashed by the other, but it was worth it.
Speaking of their darkest companion, he was definitely the one to watch out for. His intense awareness tended to make him pick up on things the others wouldn't. Hopefully he would be able to distract Virgil with some of their typical banter. Maybe suggest something a little too out there, making the anxious side focus on keeping him at bay rather than Roman himself.
"Greetings Thomas, Padre, Nerd, Peter Panic." He acknowledged the others, being the last to arrive. He choked back another wince as his usual dramatic arm gesture stretched his wound. It was unfortunately located in a very hard to reach place on his back, so his bandaging job had been less than stellar, and he wasn't sure the healing cream was applied the way it was supposed to be but he'd done the best he could.
It had been his fault anyways; he had aimed an ill-timed swing of his sword at the dragon witch, allowing one of her poisonous claws to graze him. Luckily, this was not the first time dealing with the creature's poison, so he always carried an antidote with him. He'd had to retreat though, to recuperate. His failure stinging far more than the gash on his back.
He'd cleaned the wound up as best as possible and wrapped it. He then spent the following hour and a half cleaning every inch of the bathroom, ensuring not a single drop of blood remained by hand to cause suspicion in the others. He had to stop a few times to redo the bandage as he kept irritating his back as he was leaning over to clean. After his scrubbing was done he took out the trash with the bloody cleaning rags in it and mournfully willed his damaged prince suit out of existence.
Sure, he had plenty more, yet it always struck him hard to get rid of one, like the token of his failure was taking a small piece of himself with it into the void.
Roman sunk back into his room, his 'bright' smile fading instantly. Another one of his ideas had been shot down. He'd worked all of the last three nights on it, getting no more than a few short naps. Not by choice, just whenever he passed out at his desk.
It's fine though. He rubbed his sore neck as he thought to himself. The others were right, it was too risky, not planned out enough, too much.
He crumpled the papers with his sketches and notes on the desk and tossed them in the trash bin before sitting down with a blank page in front of him. He could do better. He must do better.
As he begun to roughly sketch out something new he felt the bright red calligraphy writing on the walls shifting from his favorite quotes to darker red ink and darker thoughts. Failure. Not good enough. Delusional. Stupid. Worthless.
He sketched faster, eyes heavy and hand cramping, the muscles in his already sore neck screaming. But he wouldn't stop. This would be his best idea yet. Sleep was for the successful.
Tomorrow he would apply a thick coat of concealer under his eyes like Virgil applied his signature eyeshadow to hide the evidence of his sleepless nights in front of his beloved mirror, modeled after the magic mirror in 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'. Virgil had once joked that the prince's room was probably covered in mirrors, but he only had the one. It had a large crack down the center from when a frustratedly thrown sketchbook had hit it one night (well, it might have been morning at that point). Roman had never bothered to fix it.
Sometimes, he thought his reflection was more accurate this way.
Roman's chest ached as he sat on his bed reading through the comments on Thomas' latest Sanders Sides video.
He rolled his eyes at all the hater messages. 'Logan is so stuck up.' As the side himself would say; falsehood. 'Patton is a naive idiot.' Clearly this person got 'naive idiot' and 'adorable, kind, puffball of innocence' confused. 'Virgil should have stayed away when he ducked out, he's useless.' So apparently someone didn't understand the entire point of the 'Accepting Anxiety' videos. 'Thomas is a mess and the sides should just leave him.’ Well, that was just ridiculous, and someone really needs to be careful what they type before a certain overprotective emo came after them.
His heart squeezed in his chest as another fan message was scanned under his eyes. ‘Roman is so annoying.’ ‘Does Roman really need to be there?’ ‘Ughhhhh, Princey is such an arrogant jerk.’ ‘Roman is so dull in comparison to the others?’ So this is what the Fanders think of him, he thought solemnly. His eyes never even registered all the comments saying how much they loved him. They faded into static as the insults jumped out.
They were right though, weren’t they? Even Thomas and the other sides thought he was too extra. Too loud. Too overbearing. The words on his wall began their shift again as he picked up the brush he’d originally painted them with, dipping in the darkest red he had. He brought the tip of it to his arm and took his time to carefully write out a word in beautiful script. Annoying.
He scrutinizes his work for a moment before dipping the brush again. The cooling, relaxing slide of the paint on his skin contrasts the chaos and ache in his heart and head. Another word soon joins the first. Unimportant.
He lets the word dry a bit as he dips the brush again and switches hands to paint on his other arm, having trained himself long ago to be ambidextrous, when he’d sprained the wrist of his dominant hand on a quest. It had taken weeks of near sleepless nights and many, many trashed creations but he’d eventually become almost equally good with both hands. By the time he’d completed his goal, both wrists were in pain but he’d felt a sense of pride.
He scoffed at that thought as he added the next word, intricate lettering revealing a harsh truth. Arrogant. Everyone thought so. He knew it. Even his friends. His family. He supposed he’s given them all good reason to think it (“You’re all so handsome, just not as handsome as me.”).
He dipped the brush one last time and moved to the final open space on his arms. He crafted each letter of this short word with extra care. D (Not as fun as Patton.) U (Not as smart as Logan.) L (Not as interesting as Virgil.) L (Not as kind as Thomas.) He stared at the word as, without conscious thought, the ink on his arms and walls turns from dark red to a far more fitting shade of dull gray.
He let the brush drop on his bed, not caring about the paint getting on his sheets.
“And so I ask? What have I done to you that made you feel the need to hurt me so? How could you treat me in such a way? Was I only ever a tool to you? To be used and then shoved away until I was needed again? Or perhaps I was never needed. Perhaps I was not a tool, but merely a convenience. For you to take from carelessly until I had nothing left. Shall I give you my sword as well? So you can drive it through my heart. It would cause less pain than the utter betrayal I have already suffered at your hands.“
Roman stood onstage in the Mind Palace Theater. The room was dark. A single spotlight shone upon him. His voice carried across the empty theater to the single, hoodie-clad, audience member who looked like he was torn between rolling his eyes and wanting to be anywhere else.
“You stole what was mine. What made me happy. What made me full and whole. And you took it away. Greedily consumed it for yourself. Without a single thought for how much I needed it. How much I wanted it. How much it meant to me. How empty I am inside without its warm-“
It seemed that his observer had had enough, as he stood up from his seat in the front row with a huff and a look of pure exasperation. “Alright enough already! This has gone way too far, even for you!” Virgil half-groaned, half-shouted towards the side on stage.
Roman looks into the crowd with an expression of careful hope on his face. “What’s this I hear? Do I dare to hope that the beloved compatriot who betrayed me so fiercely regrets his actions towards me? Have you some remorse my Dark and Stormy Knight?”
Virgil lets out a long breath before giving in. “Fine! If it’ll bring this to an end, then yes! I have remorse! I have so much remorse!”
Roman allows an exaggerated smile of joy to spread over his face. “I knew you would regret it. You would never truly wish to betray you favorite prince! Oh heavens thank you for granting me my companion back after his-” He was cut off by the emo trait.
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry I stole a bite of your Pattoncakes this morning. It won’t happen again. Are we good now?” Roman hopped off the stage to stand beside the anxious side, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We are excellent My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”
“Wonderful. I’m so glad I watched you perform a three hour monologue about betrayal over a freaking bite of food. God you’re so dramatic Princey.” The emo trait muttered with a tone that somehow contained both fondness and bitterness.
In response, the side in the prince suit hopped back onto to the stage. He stood tall as the spotlight was fading, raised his paint stained arms high, ignored the jolt of pain in his back, and gave a winning grin that didn’t quite meet his concealer-coated eyes.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”