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Can you write a Roman angst sick fic where Roman gets sick but tries to hide his illness because he feels like he has to constantly be able to help Thomas and the other Sides out?The other Sides and Thomas eventually realize Roman is sick and convince him to rest and let them take care of him. – monkeythefander
hihi i've recently gotten back into sanders sides, and ur roman angst is like. i dont even know how to describe it literally fulfills everything ive ever wanted from roman angst its so so good... i really love the way you write spiralling and of course the comfort after the storm! i think that itd be really interesting to explore a fic where there isnt actually a big breakdown or anything that spurs comfort just... a realization after a long spiral, because things can get really bad without ever crossing a threshold. maybe its a gradual realization where the others realize that hey, things havent been the same with roman not for a long time, and things are actually not right. idk if this makes any sense, so feel free to ignore. i just wanted to let you know your a super talented writer and your works are so <333 – anon
It's when Roman gets sick that they realize just how far they've come from the days where Roman would actually tell them anything.
They didn't notice it, at first, not that he really expected them to. Everything was all about working for Thomas, working together, so if it wasn't about that, they didn't care. Sure, it took him a few too many times of being scolded for 'derailing the conversation' before he really understood that no one wanted to hear about what story ideas he had for his own work, or even the direction he though the stories should go—which he really didn't understand, wasn't that literally his job?— but he understood it now. He wasn't going to ask them to clarify it again and subject himself to hearing everyone politely pretend they cared.
There wasn't space for him in the living room anymore. No, that was dramatic—"You're always so dramatic, Princey, you know you don't have to perform when the cameras aren't rolling, right?"—he was definitely still allowed in the living room and it wasn't like they were acting as though he took up too much space just by existing, but that's…sort of how it feels sometimes. He tries to spread out all of his notes so he can see everything and plan everything how he wants to, and he gets scolded for being too messy, look at Logan, see how Logan's notes are all contained to one place? He tries to do one of his other hobbies and he gets a talking to from Patton for being a little irresponsible, look at how much of this is getting everywhere, are you going to clean up after yourself this time, or will someone else have to? He tries to just do one of the puzzles they have sitting in the middle of the coffee table that hasn't been touched in months and he's being selfish for taking up the whole table, what if someone else wanted to use it, where is Janus supposed to put his teacup now? And God forbid he actually try to do some work because Roman likes to mumble to himself or stare off into space while he tries to get his words in order and that's creepy, Roman, talking to yourself is annoying and staring at people is rude, so don't do that, and staring off randomly into space doesn't look much like working, are you sure that's what you're doing?
But not spending time with the others is selfish. Not wanting to come out of his room to do 'family time' is annoying and a little pretentious, so he can't bring his work with him because that's not what this is for. And forget trying to have a say in what they do, he's just going to get a glare from Logan for trying to railroad the discussion—he tried to push back on that once. Once. His chest still hurts at the memory of the absolutely scathing words Logan had for him after he'd dared to say that it was a little rich coming from him—and Virgil's going to snicker about him being a pouty prince in the corner. Never mind that he can't actually remember the last time they did something he actually wanted to do, the last time they listened to his suggestion and didn't immediately pass him over only for someone to say what he'd been thinking the whole time and be praised for it—he tried to say that it was what he'd been thinking once when Patton had given voice to the idea he'd been holding in the whole time, and he still has the memory of trying to hide sniffles behind coughs and laughs after he'd been yelled at again for being selfish and trying to steal someone else's idea, so he's just been keeping his mouth all the way shut.
He's stuck. He can't be himself around the others, and he can't be himself alone, and he can't do what he used to do when they were younger and just wait for everyone to go to sleep so he can slip into the Imagination and do whatever he wants, because Patton and Virgil will feel that he's still awake and scold him for making everyone tired the next morning. Not that it's fair of them to do that either, when they're too busy making Remus and Thomas feel bad for whatever his mind conjures up in the middle of the night because that's how it works, but he's tried to tell them that too and…
And maybe he and Remus haven't mended things as much as he thought they had. The memory of his brother's face snickering as he said that maybe Roman wasn't as useful as he thought he was flutters on the backs of his eyelids and he knows, he knows Remus knows how much that hurt. He just thought they might be at a place where his brother might care.
So. He's stuck. He's stuck and he doesn't know how to get unstuck.
He thought he'd done it right, after the wedding. Thought if he walked on his knees for long enough, bent his head and groveled and pleaded enough, that he'd be—not welcomed back with open arms, but at least tolerated again. No, no, he's being dramatic again. He knows they care about him. He knows they don't wish for him to be in pain. He knows they're not really mad at him anymore, but he can't help it. He really can't help it, not when it feels like he's one wrong foot away from being exiled again, from being yelled at like he's a child that doesn't understand anything again, from being painted as nothing but the annoying character that no one likes until they're punished enough by the narrative that the audience can stomach the thought of them again.
He's still being dramatic, he knows. He can't really help it, though. It's just who he is. Roman doesn't do things by halves, he's in it, all in, every time, for better or for worse.
For worse. It's definitely for worse.
So when he wakes up with a sore throat and a stuffed nose, his head full of cotton balls and his chest thick, he doesn't say anything. He downs a dose of medicine like a grizzled veteran throwing back a shot and smears makeup on so his color isn't different. He puts on his costume and sallies forth for breakfast, hoping to get downstairs before Patton so he can convince himself to choke something down and avoid their piercing stares as he tries to make himself a little more presentable.
He keeps hoping that one of them might call him out on it. On the way he won't sit so close to them because God forbid, he gets them sick too, or on the way he has to make himself cup after cup of tea—his tea, from his room, because he'd be scolded for using all of it in the kitchen—to combat his sore throat and rough sinuses, or the way he artfully dodges any obligation to be around the rest of them. He keeps looking at them, hoping they might notice the way his nose is a little too red, his eyes a little too swollen, his mouth open a little too wide just so he can breathe. But they don't. Of course, they don't. Why would they? They've made it very clear they don't care about him like that.
He indulges just a little bit, though. He does, because he's sick and so he lets himself have a little more comfort than he otherwise would, and so he daydreams about what it might have been like if he'd gotten sick before he messed everything up. Patton might bring him soup, might stay with him while he eats it. Virgil might loan him the nice pair of earbuds he has, the kind where you can lie down in them without them making that awful squeaking sound against the bed. Logan might remind him to eat and drink throughout the day, look at him with that slightly softer expression that he wears only when he's comforting someone he cares about. Janus might let him use some of his bath salts and shower steamers that help clear his sinuses, or even just to soak in to let his sore muscles relax. Remus might barge into his room like he did way before, back when there was still a little bit of love between them, and insist they watch stupid movies and old cartoons until they fell asleep. That might be nice. He thinks he might get better a little quicker, if he could have something like that.
But he's Roman. He doesn't get nice things like that.
It's fine, really, it is. He goes through the days a little more sluggish, a little quieter, a little smaller. He sits in the corner of the living room with headphones on, listening to a podcast with his eyes closed and his head tilted back just so he can grant himself a moment of peace—the others like it when he just sits and stays quiet, he's not even humming to music this time. He's careful not to fall asleep, though; the others don't like it when he takes naps anywhere outside his room. He can't breathe well enough to sleep, anyway, so he just sits there with his eyes closed. He also keeps a notebook in his lap, because Logan likes to look over and see that he's being at least a little bit productive, but he's not making notes on the podcast. No, it's…actually far more pathetic than that.
The only reason he's letting himself do this in public is because he knows they don't care enough to actually look at his notebook. It's embarrassing, it's shameful, and he has no idea what they'd do if—what he'd do if they found out that he writes little encouraging things to read later when he feels bad. They'd probably scoff at him and say he doesn't need to feed his own ego anymore, it's big enough already, or something like that. Sometimes he imagines snapping at all of them, yelling that he's had to resort to this because they're starving him, but he knows better now. He's not allowed to do stuff like that. That's for people who've proven that they can be reasonable with their emotions.
He reads them at night when he's taken his medicine again and snuggled himself in bed with his stuffed animals and pillows that won't hate him if he needs to be a little clingy and needy. He looks at his scrawling words of it's okay, you don't have to get everything right today and thinks that he might believe it.
At some point.
He's almost in the clear. The worst of the cold's almost over, he didn't have to sleep with all the cough drops on his nightstand last night, and he's actually able to breathe most of the time now. He's just in that stage where his body's trying to get all the excess snot and stuff out so he's sniffling all the time. He thinks it's pretty clever, the way he gets a pack of tissues in his pockets and positions himself in front of the trash can so he can just drop them in there whenever there's a moment of distraction. It's going pretty well, at least so he thinks, until Janus laughs in the middle of Thomas talking with Logan about…something. He's not actually paying that much attention.
"Goodness, Roman, are you trying to make a mountain in that poor trash can?"
He looks up like he's been caught robbing a museum. A quick glance around shows that now everyone's staring at the slowly growing pile of tissues. "Uh—"
"Are you feeling okay, Roman?" Thomas's brows draw together. "Are you getting sick or something?"
"What? No, no, I'm not—it's almost gone, I think I'm in the last day of it or so. I'm fine, it's fine, we can get back to the meeting."
Everyone goes quiet. He looks around again, trying to figure out what he's said wrong this time, only for Virgil to frown. Heavily. "What do you mean, 'it's almost gone?'"
"My…cold? It wasn't even that bad, it's just been a week—"
"A week? You've been sick for a week and you didn't tell any of us?"
Roman reels back, stung. "I was careful! I didn't sit too close to anybody, I didn't take food from the same places as everyone else, I didn't do anything that would risk you guys would get it too!"
"No, Princey, that's not—" Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose— "why didn't you tell us you were sick?"
"Why would I tell you?"
That was also not the right answer, somehow, because everyone's staring at him like he's just hit a puppy in front of them.
"Roman," Logan says quietly— quietly, not softly, because Logan doesn't speak softly to him—"Roman, could you—could you tell us why you didn't feel as though you could tell us you're sick?"
"What? No, I didn't mean it like that, I know I could've told you guys, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"I think Logan means why didn't you want to tell us," Patton interrupts, his brow also furrowed, "'cause you used to—I mean, Roman, if you thought you were getting sick, we all used to know about it."
It was just meant to be a joke, he knows, at least he's pretty sure it was supposed to be a joke, but all he hears is the vitriolic words spat at him about being too dramatic, too much, too much, always too much, and he can't stop the way he flinches.
"Whoa, hey, Princey, it's okay," Virgil says quickly, "we didn't—Patton didn't mean it like that."
"I know, I know, it was just a joke, I'm sorry—"
"Ro," Remus says, and Roman has to clamp his lips shut so he doesn't do something stupid like whimper at how concerned his brother sounds, "Roro, can I—I'm gonna come give you a hug."
"No!" He winces at how loud it came out. "No, seriously, Re, I think—I might still be a little gross, you don't want that."
Remus gives him his patented you're my idiot brother alright, no one else would be that dumb look before wrapping his arms so tightly around Roman that he thinks he might have squeezed the whimper out anyway. "How dare you accuse me of not wanting to do something because it might be gross."
"Have you eaten?" Janus asks from over Remus's shoulder. "Do you need something before dinner?"
"What? N-no, no, I'm okay, besides, I have to you—you said you needed the draft by Sunday, right? I have to go and—"
"Yeah, see, no, you're not going to go work on anything," Remus says from his place hooked over Roman's shoulder, "you're gonna go rest and feel better."
Roman almost laughs. But then Virgil's agreeing and talking with Logan about adjusting the time frame and Patton's asking Roman what he wants to eat for dinner and Janus is coming a little closer and putting his ungloved hand against Roman's forehead to check if he's warm at all and asking him if he wants to take a shower or a bath and Roman—
Roman chokes on a sob.
"Aw, Roro," Remus murmurs right away, "you feel crappy still? Can I come help you take a bath?"
"I'll bring you my sick basket," Janus announces and just…sinks out to go do that, like that's a thing he does now, and Roman just blinks dumbly at the spot where he used to be.
"Roman," Logan says gently, and that's definitely gentle, Logan doesn't normally speak to him like that, "don't worry about anything except feeling better right now, alright? We can figure everything else out later."
Later, which is going to be after Remus helps him upstairs and has him take the most indulgent bubble bath he can remember while Remus washes his hair. After Virgil drops off a bag of the good chocolate and promises that he has a cool new deck of cards Roman can use to amuse himself while he waits for Janus to finish getting his bed ready so he can have a good nap. After Logan promises that no, Roman isn't still contagious, which means he can sit right next to Patton and get snuggles all the way through movie night where they watch a very stupid movie they can all make fun of.
Later.
Right now, though, Roman just closes his eyes and thinks it's okay, we don't have to get everything right today.