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it wasn’t supposed to be this way.
that was the thing with stone and robotnik; he’d push stone to do more, to be better, and stone would follow like a loyal dog, eager for praise.
but lately?
things had changed, and he could feel it gnawing at his insides, a slow erosion of what little happiness he had.
the noise around him faded, leaving only the hollow echo of his own thoughts. he moved through the routine motions, hands fumbling as if they belonged to someone else.
he was feeling more like a phantom than a man. every step felt heavy, his legs carrying him forward while his mind lagged behind.
“stone! focus!” robotnik’s voice sliced through the fog. he was hunched over his latest invention, brow furrowed, oblivious to the way stone’s hands trembled as he adjusted the controls.
“yes, doctor,” stone replied, forcing the words out, his throat dry and scratchy. he could feel robotnik’s eyes on him, piercing through the haze of his own thoughts, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
.
.
the days had turned into a blur.
each morning, stone woke up feeling heavier, like the weight of the world had settled on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. he told himself it was just exhaustion, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.
it was hanahaki disease, blooming and festering in his chest, each petal a reminder of his unrequited feelings for the doctor.
his loyalty felt like a chain around his neck, a constant reminder that he was nothing without the doctor’s approval. so, he kept working, kept obeying every command, even when it felt like he was breaking apart at the seams.
stone thought he’d gotten used to the pain.
it had started a few weeks ago, a subtle tugging in his chest that he initially brushed off as stress or fatigue.
now, the occasional coughs that expelled delicate petals left him feeling like a ticking time bomb.
time passed in fits and starts, each tick of the clock dragging him deeper into despair. robotnik’s frustration rose with every mistake he made, and each time the doctor snapped at him, it felt like another piece of his heart withered away.
in robotnik’s lab, the air was thick with the scent of oil and metal. stone’s heart raced with anxiety as he gathered his notes for the latest project, trying to push the thoughts of the flowers away. every time he coughed, he felt the petals catch in his throat, reminding him of his feelings for his boss, the brilliant yet insufferable dr. robotnik.
“stone! where are you?” robotnik’s voice boomed from the other side of the lab, snapping stone back to reality. he straightened his tie, a nervous habit he had developed since the onset of his illness.
“right here, sir,” he called, forcing a smile even as he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. he could feel the petals stirring, a reminder of the love he buried deep down—love that felt like a curse, not a gift.
robotnik emerged from his office, his brow furrowed in concentration. “i need you to fetch me the schematics for the new prototype. now.” his tone was impatient, but stone had grown used to it.
“of course, doctor,” stone replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. he turned to retrieve the documents, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.
“and while you’re at it, could you make sure the analysis on the last experiment is complete? i want to discuss the results.” robotnik continued, his eyes glued to his tablet as if he was more interested in the screen than the person standing in front of him.
“yes, sir.” stone bit his lip to suppress another cough. why was he so invested in this man? every interaction felt like a needle pricking at his heart, each word robotnik said sending a rush of warmth through him.
as stone worked, he couldn’t help but glance over at robotnik. the man was infuriatingly brilliant, dedicated to his work, but stone also recognized the moments of vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. he thought about the late nights they spent in the lab, the discussions that turned into laughter, the fleeting touches that made his heart race.
but then reality crashed in. stone’s love was unrequited, and his feelings were just a burden he had to carry.
“stone!” robotnik’s voice cut through his thoughts again. “are you daydreaming? we have a tight schedule!”
stone straightened, heart pounding. “no, sir. just… organizing.” he forced a smile, but inside, he felt the familiar guilt creep in.
“good,” robotnik replied, but stone noticed the flicker of irritation in his eyes. it stung more than he wanted to admit.
he was a shadow of himself, a husk of the person he used to be. but he kept moving, kept obeying every command, even as the world around him turned to ash.
and then one day, something shifted.
stone noticed the way robotnik’s eyes lingered on him, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he masked it with irritation. he almost hoped for it, for a moment of clarity where the doctor would realize just how bad he was hurting. but every time their eyes met, the moment slipped away like sand through stone’s fingers.
“stone,” robotnik said one afternoon, voice low, a hint of something softer creeping in. “are you feeling well?”
stone froze, the question hanging in the air between them. it was such a small thing, but it sent his heart racing. “i’m fine, doctor. just… a little tired.”
robotnik frowned, but stone could see the gears turning in his mind. the doctor was always so analytical, always dissecting everything, and for a brief moment, stone thought maybe he could see through the facade.
“you look like hell,” robotnik muttered, turning back to his work.
stone felt his heart drop.
“thanks,” he replied, forcing a laugh that felt hollow even to his own ears.
the days continued, and the invisible clock ticked on, but stone could see robotnik starting to piece things together. little by little, he saw the way the doctor’s eyes narrowed, the way his brows furrowed as he watched stone, almost like he was trying to decode a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
but it didn’t change anything. robotnik was still robotnik, still the man who demanded perfection and expected nothing less.
and stone was still stone, still the loyal servant, even as his body betrayed him.
he was sick, and robotnik didn’t know how to help.
the doctor just kept pushing, pushing, pushing, and stone kept obeying, each order a dagger to his heart.
he wished he could scream, could tell robotnik everything. but the words caught in his throat, trapped by the fear of what the doctor might say. would he dismiss stone like he always did? would he see him as weak?
stone couldn’t bear it. so, he stayed silent.
as the days turned into weeks, he watched robotnik become more frantic, more demanding, while the petals inside him wilted, each breath a struggle. but still, he obeyed, still wore his mask, pretending everything was fine.
“why are you still dragging your feet?” robotnik snapped one evening, and it felt like the final straw.
“i’m trying!” stone cried, voice cracking, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
for a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
robotnik turned, surprise flickering across his features before he masked it with annoyance. “then try harder.”
“i can’t,” stone whispered, heart racing as he fought back the tears threatening to spill. “i just can’t.”
the doctor blinked, and for the first time, stone saw a flicker of something in robotnik’s eyes—was it concern? regret?—but before he could grasp it, the doctor turned away, shutting stone down like he always did.
“stop whining,” robotnik muttered. “i don’t have time for this.”
and just like that, the moment shattered, leaving stone standing in the ruins of his own heart, feeling more lost than ever.
he was nothing more than a loyal dog, obedient to the end, even as his world crumbled around him.
and as he watched robotnik throw himself back into his work, oblivious to his suffering, stone realized that maybe he didn’t want saving after all.
maybe it was easier to hide in the shadows, to pretend everything was fine, than to face the truth that robotnik would never care.
because the reality was simple: he’d never love stone back.
and stone was running out of time.