Work Text:
The clock struck twelve as Vil lied hunched over his garbage can, collapsed in the bathroom, trying to catch his breath in between the spouts of the thick, vantablack liquid that fell from his mouth. He gripped the edges so hard he could almost feel the plastic threatening to shatter in his hands. He could barely get another breath in before he lurched again, the vile, sticky substance splattering onto the bottom of the barrel. Vil coughed, his head falling forward as he slumped over the can further.
Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Vil’s eyes opened slightly, staring into the abyss, vision blurred and watery. Why was this happening now? His eyes blinked, and dribbles of fluid stuck to his eyelashes. He shook his head, resting it on the edge of the can, breath shaking as he attempted to draw in a deep inhale, which only resulted in him coughing up more of the substance onto the floor. His eyes widened as he clasped a hand to his mouth, squeezing shut with every cough.
His body felt weak. He hated the feeling. The feeling of a wracking pain all throughout your body, the feeling of not being able to stand on your own two legs, the feeling of cold numbness coalescing with the agonizing hurt, the feeling of being helpless. He could barely help himself. It was pathetic.
It was repulsive. How did he let himself get to such a low point in the first place? He was careless, letting those feelings build up, thinking he could overcome them through will, work, and underhanded tricks. He hated thinking about feelings. Such childish behavior, childish words, such things should be past him. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this. Perhaps this was retribution for his actions.
Vil tried to move, yet her body wouldn’t heed her commands. A bolt of muddled terror seized her chest. Why weren’t her limbs moving? Her whole body felt numb. What would she do if someone found her like this?
She had to move. She couldn’t let anyone see her in this moment of weakness. After a short moment, she managed to flex her fingers. Slowly, feeling returned to her body, however faint it may be. Despite it, this was all she needed.
Slowly, meticulously, Vil clasped the hand that remained on the top of the can around the edge. With another flex of her fingers, she mustered up the energy to reach her other hand up to grab the other side. Her arms were trembling as she moved. It was agonizingly slow. Every second she spent on the floor could mean this secret being revealed.
It felt like it took hours before she was able to get up off the floor and prop herself onto the edge of the sink. It practically took all her breath trying to stand. She gave heavy exhales, leaning against the hard edge of the counter. His lungs felt like they were burning her alive.
She coughed a couple times into the sink, breath failing her. He leaned over the sink, staying there for a minute, trying to keep himself standing long enough for her to catch her breath. Within a minute or two, she finally pushed herself up on the sink, shaking her head to clear the fog that was building in her head, and the utter despairing uselessness she felt.
She couldn’t dwell on those thoughts. All that mattered was getting out of this room.
Vil pushed herself off of the counter, using all of her willpower to stay standing. She could barely feel her legs. Even still, he pushed forward, taking a careful step forward, and another, all until she got to the closed bathroom door. She put most of her weight on the doorknob as she grabbed it. Finally. It was about time this exhausting, unnecessary fuss would come to an end.
He carefully twisted the doorknob, opening the door and gingerly stepping out into his carpeted room.
He wasn’t able to feel himself collide with the floor.