Sanders Sides One-Shots!!

5. only get better (moxiety)

Virgil makes a pitiful attempt to cover his bare torso with his arms, but it's not much help. His arms are covered in scabs, too, ugly and scarred and impure just like the rest of his body, unfit to be touched by the softness that is Patton's fingertips, the goodness that is Patton.

"D—don't look at me," Virgil gasps out through clenched teeth and heaving lungs. He wants to curl in on himself, twist into a tiny ball and disappear, but then Patton will see his back too and he, he can't see Virgil's back too. "P-please."

"Oh, honey." Patton's voice is soothing. It's almost too sickly sweet. And oh, god, this is where he laughs at Virgil, isn't it?

No, no, Patton isn't that horrible, he wouldn't do that. No, this is the moment where he pities Virgil. Yeah. This is where he tells Virgil that he just can't be with someone so...so ugly? No, Patton wouldn't say that aloud either, even if he privately thinks it.

No, Patton's going to find a way to softly break it to Virgil that he just isn't attracted to that, that he just isn't attracted to Virgil, that Virgil obviously needs to work some stuff out on his own, that the two of them should go their separate ways. And fuck if that isn't worse than the laughter and the humiliation would be.

A soft blanket winds its way around Virgil's shoulders, startling him out of his thought spiral so abruptly that he almost starts right back down another.

Virgil looks up to see Patton kneeling in front of him, an arm's length away, careful not to touch his skin to Virgil's as he secures the weighted blanket around him.

Noticing Virgil's wary eyes on him, Patton smiles. "Hey, there you are." His eyes are gentle with...maybe it isn't pity, maybe it isn't disgust, maybe it's...could Virgil dare to think it's...understanding?

No. No. He can't get his hopes up like that. Even if it turns out that Patton really does understand, Virgil can't let himself hope for that. He has to prepare for the absolute worst. Then maybe the worst will hurt less when it inevitably comes.

Virgil stares up at Patton, mouth half-open as he wheezes for breath through his clogged throat. Stuck in the emotional duress of the moment, unable to process, his body reacts even as his mind freezes. Underneath the blanket his right hand instinctively crosses to his left side, going to scratch at his lower stomach.

Patton seems to notice the movement and, still careful not to touch Virgil's bare skin, presses a hand to the part of the blanket hanging around Virgil's lower torso and his hand. He carefully places a slight pressure on Virgil's hand, just enough to immobilize it and keep him from scratching, and yet not so much that the touch burns and bubbles and froths uncomfortably underneath his skin.

"Do you want something to hold?" Patton asks, holding up his other hand and offering one of his beanie babies.

Virgil's right hand darts out from under the blanket where it futilely yearns to tear apart his skin, and Patton's own hand quickly draws back to let him do so. Virgil accepts the purple plushie in his hands and begins to quietly squish and knead at it, relishing in the soft fabric texture and the crunch of the beans in its tummy. The light weight helps him focus and ground himself just a bit more as he juggles the thing in his hands.

"Would you like to run through your breathing exercises?" Patton says, looking earnestly into Virgil's eyes. The intensity in those wide brown eyes makes Virgil look away, down at the stuffed porcupine in his hands.

Virgil shakes his head mutely in response to Patton's question. He thinks he has himself under control now. Kinda. Enough to collect his belongings and flee to his room when Patton breaks up with him, at least. Enough to walk out of the door with dignity even as his self-worth is in tatters. Enough to hold himself somewhat steady until he can escape and shatter in private.