First Published: March 10th 2018

Pairing: none

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1020

Warnings: implied suicidal thoughts, implied depression

Summary: Roman is tired. So very, very tired.

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Roman clenches his fist, allowing the paper inside it to crumple too. His chest heaves as he stares at the messy desk in front of him. A splash of wetness on his fist brings him back to the present, and he blinks furiously to keep the rest of the tears at bay.

He could do this. Just keep pushing forward and keep moving, moving, moving-

He chucks the scribbled on paper in the general direction of his overflowing trashcan and summons a new, clean piece. This time, the idea will be good. This time he will keep going until it's finished. This time he won't fuck up again, this time-

Roman shoves away from his desk, allowing his knuckles to turn white as he grips the edge. He needs a break, that's all. He heaves himself up, trying to ignore the fatigue circling his mind and his limbs, weighing him down. For a brief moment, he considers just plonking back down in the chair, but he needs to eat. So he continues moving.

Just get up and leave the room and walk and walk and walk and push open the kitchen door and open the pantry and find yourself some food and-

Somehow, Roman manages to get himself to the table with toast on his plate slathered in peanut butter. He sits down to eat, but even as he does, he can't help but think about everything that still needed to be done.

Thomas hasn't posted a short video in a while; the Sanders Sides video needs an arc of some sort; Thomas wants to write a song with Joan; he needs to-

"Hey, kiddo!" Patton greets as he sits down beside Roman. "How are you?"

Roman hears the genuine concern in his voice even though Patton keeps smiling. He's giving him a choice, Roman realises.

Maybe he could tell him. Patton won't judge. Just get it all out in one swoop. Tell him how everything is so fucking hard and how he just wants to stop being anything for a while or maybe forever. He should confess that he's sick of having to keep moving and doing things every single day, and how he doesn't know how long he can continue like this. It would be so easy to explain. Patton would listen. Roman should just-

"I'm fine," he said, then he looked into Patton's eyes. "I'm just tired."

"Okay, Roman! You should go take a nap at some point," Patton suggested. "Love you, kiddo!"

"Love you too," the prince mumbled as the father pulled away. He watched as Patton left to go talk to Virgil, and he felt worse than before.

He doesn't deserve Patton. He doesn't deserve any of them. He can't even contribute what he's meant to. He should stop annoying them. He should stop everything, he should stop-

Roman manages to convince himself to get up and return to his room, even though the fatigue weighs down like an elephant now. If he could get away with collapsing on the floor and staying there for the rest of his life, he would. Except the others are sending him concerned glances. And he doesn't want to worry them. He's not worthy of the worry.

So he locks himself back up in his prison. He doesn't even get back to work, he just stares up at his ceiling as the light entering through his window dims every passing minute. Soon, it's night-time, his room is grey and Roman still hasn't finished anything he needs to. Instead, he falls asleep at 8 p.m. in his prince outfit.

He wakes up the next morning at 8 a.m. He still feels exhausted, but he gets up anyway because he has work to do and everyone is counting on him.

He just has to get through his work, okay? Just get through it, hand it over to the others and he's done. Ignore the fact that he'll have to do it again soon, and again, and again. Ignore the fact that every passing day grows harder and harder to simply live through. Ignore that he wants to stay in his bed all day. Ignore how exhausted he is. Ignore how he's tired, so very, very tired-

After an hour of work, he finally comes up with an idea that's alright. Roman realises he's still in yesterday's clothes, and he switches his regal outfit for whatever his hand lands on when he opens his wardrobe. It's a simple t-shirt and shorts.

Roman drags his feet along the floor, his idea gripped in his hands as he enters the commons. Upon seeing the others, he fixes his posture and smiles warmly.

He doesn't feel like talking at all, but they expect him to. So he does.

"Sorry for keeping you guys waiting! The first one is for the new short video, and the next few ideas are all possible main channel ideas. Tell me what you think when you're done!"

The others all thank him, giving him equally bright grins. Roman is filled with relief as he sinks down. He's still a good actor, at least.

Once he's back in his room, the pretence drops. His shoulders sag and he feels the fatigue creep its way around his heart as he looks at the mess his room has become over the past few weeks.

As he flops onto his bed, something Patton said ages ago swirls around in his mind.

"We can always count on you!"

He doesn't think this is true. Not anymore. So he stares up at his ceiling once more and lets the day slip him by.

Why can't everything stop? Will he ever stop feeling so fucking tired? He wants everything to go AWAY. Maybe they would if Roman did. Maybe everything would stop if he allowed them to. Maybe if he remains here, unmoving, then everything will slow down and he'll be able to catch up with himself.

Why is he here anyway? What good does he do? Maybe he should leave. In fact, Roman will. Just for a little while. Just until he's okay again. Just until-