#ive been rotating this fic idea in my brain for far too long

[elemom]

Do You Regret What You Did?

Magolor looked at Marx for a while. He was reminded of the time he himself attempted a galactic takeover, and how the power all but killed him in the process. He remembered the moment he lost control of himself as the crown he so desired overpowered his will. He remembered spending what felt like eons trapped in that empty dimension beyond time and space, thinking about all he had done, all he had wished to do, and all he had ruined with his greed and corruption. It was as though he ceased existing, yet all he could do was exist. And all he could do was think about what he had done.

Without thinking, Magolor asked Marx a question.

“Do you regret what you did?”

Here’s my first Kirby fic! It’s about Marx and Magolor, and the tiiiiiiny bit of non-kill-maim-murder deep within Marx. Or basically, I made the grape sad. Whoops.  This story is VERY stream of consciousness and it’s also not beta read. We die like Nova. I wrote this in one sitting and did not reread it once.  RATING: T

RELATIONSHIPS: Gen

CONTENT WARNINGS: Angst with a happy ending.

WORD COUNT: 1446

Do You Regret What You Did? Magolor walked into the Lor’s training room to see Marx launching attacks at a sandbag with a picture of Kirby’s face on it. Magolor floated closer and Marx gave him a glance.

“You really don’t like Kirby, huh..?” Magolor sat down on a chair in the training room. Marx gave a glance towards Magolor, shifting his focus away from his barrage of attacks on the sandbag.

“What’s it to ya?”

“He’s really not that bad of a guy, yknow.” Magolor shrugged. “Gullible. Way too nice. Sure. But really, he’s a nice kid.”

“Nice kid or not, he’s the guy who got in the way of my goals!” Marx summoned a ball and kicked it hard towards the sandbag, knocking it into the wall with a puff of powdered sand. Marx gave a proud huff as the sandbag exploded from the impact, only for it to be replaced by another identical sandbag appearing from a panel in the lor’s floor.

But Magolor knew Marx all too well. He could see right through the jester.

“Something’s bothering you.” Magolor smirked beneath his cloak, proud to be able to recognize Marx’s tiny signs of stress like him not cackling loudly after exploding the sandbag, or how he didn’t immediately try and crack a dumb joke.

“Bothered? Me? Hahaha!” Marx gave a loud cackle. Once again, the Halcandran could tell Marx was lying.

“Look Marx, you and me have been through similar things. I know that attitude when I see it.” Magolor invited Marx to sit down next to him.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. Get over here.”

“Ugh, fiiiine!” Marx floated over to the seat with his rainbow wings. “But you’re wrong, you know.”

Magolor looked at Marx for a while. He was reminded of the time he himself attempted a galactic takeover, and how the power all but killed him in the process. He remembered the moment he lost control of himself as the crown he so desired overpowered his will. He remembered spending what felt like eons trapped in that empty dimension beyond time and space, thinking about all he had done, all he had wished to do, and all he had ruined with his greed and corruption. It was as though he ceased existing, yet all he could do was exist. And all he could do was think about what he had done.

Without thinking, Magolor asked Marx a question.

“Do you regret what you did?”

***

When Magolor first found Marx, they were both completely alone in the depths of space.

Magolor had spent years alone, traveling through the cosmos by himself in the Lor. After so long, he’d convinced himself he didn’t need any company. After all, who was there left for him? If he was to survive in this universe, he would have to do it alone. 

Marx was alone for an entirely different reason. He had failed. He succeeded in tricking Kirby, yes, but he had been defeated by the pink dreamer before he could complete his plans of world domination. Caught in the explosion of a clockwork star, Marx was launched into the depths of space to drift for eternity.

He had plenty of time to think, out there in space. As his home planet faded away into the distance, Marx found himself wishing he’d tethered himself to something. But it was too late for that now. 

He didn’t realize how empty space was until he was in the midst of it. He’d hoped he’d bump into a tiny asteroid to potentially use to change his trajectory, or perhaps he could cross paths with a habitable planet and wind up pulled to its surface by gravity. But no such thing came. At one point, he saw a little pink rock float by, so he imagined it was Kirby and laughed to himself as he shot a laser towards it. He watched it explode into tiny pieces, but it didn’t do anything to change how empty everything felt.

Eventually, he lost track of time. It could have been 15 years floating in the void, or it could have been 3 years. He couldn’t tell anymore. 

Something appeared in the nothingness. It was a bright glowing light blue, as though it was a specter floating through the pitch black abyss. He assumed it was a hallucination- his brain filling in the black emptiness surrounding him. But the spectral object got closer. After awhile, he was able to identify it as a ship of some kind, a kind he had never seen in dream land. It looked like something from another galaxy- perhaps even another time. He still couldn’t tell if it was real, and he even doubted himself when the large ship stopped by his side.

A tinny sounding voice boomed from the ship.

“Are you okay?”

Marx shook his head. Real or not, he might as well say something, because it’s the most interaction he’s had in years.

“Is this for real?” Marx said. Probably not the best thing to say to a potential rescuer, but he’d all but forgotten how to appear as his innocent persona after all those lonely years.

“Oh good, you ARE alive!” The voice from the speakers seemed relieved. “You don’t find much this far out, much less living beings.”

“Ahem… Well of course I’m alive!” Marx said, realizing this WAS probably real and attempting to put on his cute demeanor again. “So won’t you help me out and take me home? I promise I’ll make it up to ya!” He put on a fake smile.

“Oh, yes! Here, there’s room on my ship.” A set of stairs materialized from the vessel. “I don’t have anything better to do, so I can take you home.”

Marx felt the material of the stairs beneath his feet. It was the first time he’d touched solid ground in nova-knows-how-long. As much as he wanted to cause chaos to this strange rescuer, he didn’t want to spend a single second longer floating in space. His chaos would have to wait. 

As he stepped through the door and into the ship, a thought crossed the back of his mind. He tried to shut it out immediately, but it still lingered. All that alone time had made him too soft, but what could he do about it?

Perhaps Marx could make a friend.

***

“Marx?” Magolor waved a hand in front of Marx’s face. “Halcandra to Marx, are you in there?”

“Hey, hands off!” Marx came back to reality. “And yes, I’m here!”

“So I take it your answer to my question was yes.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked before you dazed out on me.”

“Well my answer to THAT one is no. I regret nothing because I have never done anything wrong in my life.”

“You can tell me the truth, you know.” Magolor got serious. “I’m your friend, Marx.”

Friend. The word was strange to Marx. Kirby had considered him a friend all those years ago, but he had betrayed the pink astral’s trust for his own gain. He didn’t have many friends on dream land after that, not that it even mattered for all those years drifting out in space. What he did know is that nobody came looking for him. And why would they?

“Jeez, fine, I regret it! Is that what you wanted me to say?” Marx crossed his wings in front of himself in an angry gesture.

Magolor stayed silent for a minute.

“Marx, how long were you alone out there?”

“Pfft, like I know. Too damn long, that’s for sure.” Marx shrugged with his wings. A feeling of sadness was written on his face.

“Me too. I lost track of time after a while. It was hard to even tell if time was real anymore.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But yknow, we’re not alone anymore.” Magolor said, leaning back in the seat. “Kirby and the others forgave me. I haven’t really felt very lonely ever since.”

“Oh I see what this is about. You want me to be friends with the pink bastard, dontcha?”

“Maybe.” Magolor grabbed something from his coat pocket and set it next to Marx. It looked to be a letter. “Or maybe he wants to be friends with YOU.”

Magolor laughed to himself as he left the room, clearly proud of his delivery. Meanwhile, Marx looked down at the letter he had been given from Magolor.

It was a simple sheet of white paper covered in crayon doodles. He opened the card to find what appeared to be a bunch of scribbles- luckily, there was a translation beneath it.

“Join the Star Allies! 

We even made some snacks for you!!

From, Kirby.”

[pllandcompany]

(now if we’re) talking body

Summary: Roman should have caught this. But he didn’t and now Logan’s falling.

Warnings: food mention, anxiety mention, brief description of a panic attack, eating disorder/disordered behavior (big one for this fic), self-destructive behavior, injury mention, brief blood mention, fainting, hospital mention, needle/IV mention, crying

Tagged:  @shxtxpp @apologieslogan  @crofters-jam @asylia5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable@flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein

Notes: Hey, remember that ice skating AU I came up with months ago? And I said I would definitely write in it? And then proceeded to crawl into a hole of my own shame never to be heard from again? Yeah, me neither, no idea where this came from. On a serious note: please heed the warnings on this one, y'all. The entire subject centers around someone struggling with an eating disorder. If that is triggering or upsetting to you, please don’t read it. Parts of it were honestly hard for me to write. If you do read it, I hope you find some sort of catharsis with it. Know that if you battle these issues or issues like it that you are not alone. There is always help so talk to someone. Reach out. Tell ANYONE who will listen. All right, loves, stay safe. 

If Roman is honest with himself, he has to admit that it took him just a bit too long to notice what was happening with Logan, for his taste at least. Logan is his competition, sure, but he’s also his friend in an ‘I hate you, please love me’ sort of way. He should have noticed sooner. Well, that’s not totally fair. He did notice some things. But for some reason, he just didn’t say anything. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he wanted to be absolutely certain, maybe he just didn’t want to deal with it; he doesn’t know. What he does know is by the time he finally finds the bravery to connect the figurative dots, it’s almost too late.

It starts when Logan comes back from the off-season looking, well, different. He’s leaner, especially in his waist and legs, and while his body is certainly more…defined, it’s also definitely smaller than Roman remembers. It’s not a bad look by any means, it’s just very different, enough to make Roman pause and take stock of the svelte man in front of him.

“You’ve been training hard this off-season, Specs.” Roman means it to be an offhand comment but something in the way Logan’s shoulders stiffen makes him wonder if he should have said anything at all. Logan looks up slowly and blinks at the redhead, an impassive expression on his face.

“I always train in the off-season. It’s important to maintain strength and endurance so the transition into training at full capacity is less of a strain on the body.” He sounds like a textbook, the Skater’s Guide to Success or something and Roman stifles a chuckle, not wanting to offend his friend any further than he apparently has.

“I know that, Wikipedia. I mean that you must have been doing something different. But you look good! Just different than last year. You’re…smaller and more…muscle-y.” He rubs the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic display of insecurity, nervous that the tension radiating off the dark-haired skater is partly his fault.

“That is not a word but…thank you, I presume.” Logan looks so uncomfortable that Roman has to get up and leave, heading out to the rink before he even fully has his skates on.

“You’re welcome. I’ll, uh, see you out there.”

After that awkward encounter, Roman vows to not say anything else about Logan’s appearance.

****

The next thing Roman notices is Logan’s eating habits have changed.

It’s not like the boy had a huge appetite to begin with, typically electing to eat smaller, more frequent meals throughout the day. But lately, Logan has been skipping his snacks in favor of more practice time. Roman figures he just started making up for it at the normal scheduled mealtimes but when Logan comes in one day with just a small salad with no protein or dairy in it and then another day with a cup of grapes and some sliced apples, he realizes that he’s cut back there too. Regardless, he’s still eating and he still drinking water (he thinks) so it can’t be that bad, right? Shaking the worries from his head, Roman just barely brings himself back to reality in time to notice Logan’s stiffened up again, only this time the cause of it seems to be whatever Patton is saying to him.

“Logan, are you sure you’re not hungry? I have another piece of string cheese and a tangerine if you want it.”

Logan is sitting on the bench they’re sharing with his body slightly hunched over, arms folded across his stomach. To anyone else, he just looks a little cold but Roman can just barely make out the slight wince at the corners of his eyes. He’s definitely in pain and he’s definitely trying to hide it.

“I’m fine, Patton. I don’t need anything right now.” And Roman is certain that is a lie but he knows his teammate well enough not to directly call him on it. Patton, on the other hand, keeps pushing.

“Well, how about some water? Or a sports drink? You look like you might be cramping. You have been out there for a while without a break.”

“No, for God’s sake, I am fine, Patton! Will you please stop it with your incessant worrying?!” Logan snaps and immediately regrets it, doubling over as the effort of his anger causes another stitch to go shooting up his side, one he can’t cover up. Yet another thing that seems to be different; the usual picture of composure that Logan wears on the surface has slowly begun to dissipate, revealing a pulsing layer of frustrated magma underneath and more and more people have found themselves getting burned if they get too close. Patton, however, maintains a gentle look on his face even with the unexpected outburst but Roman can see the hurt and worry lurking in the bubbly skater’s brown eyes. He glances over at Roman briefly before standing up and preparing to walk away, leaning over for a moment. Roman cranes his neck to see Patton place a water bottle and the aforementioned fruit and cheese on the bench next to Logan. He seems to have recovered from his loss of temper and the subsequent cramp but now he is decidedly refusing to meet the older man’s eyes. Patton lays a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder anyway and Roman braces for it to get knocked off but the moment never comes.

“Okay, honey. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize I was prying. But you need to take care of yourself, Logan. Food’s there if you want it.” Patton simply walks away after that, eyeing Roman sadly as he passes by. A moment passes before he steals another glance down the length of the bench at the now despondent Logan. He’s turning the small orange over in his hand, eyebrows furrowed in heavy deliberation over something that should be so simple. Roman knows better than that; he knows how complicated food can get for some people, especially athletes that compete at such a high level as they do. Admittedly, he never expected his overly logical teammate to ever struggle with something like this. Reason should surely step in and make this easy for the stoic skater, right?

When Logan eventually puts the fruit down and settles on taking a small sip from the water instead, it becomes clear that for him, this is very complicated.

****

Roman’s closing up the rink one night as a favor to his father when he gathers the courage to confront Logan about his recent change in behavior.

Trash is clear, showers are cleaned, doors are locked- you finished in record time, Roman Prince. He’s about to turn off the lights when he realizes that someone’s still on the ice. Roman is stunned, it’s well after eleven and it’s already been a full day of training. Who could possibly want to be practicing at this hour-

Logan. Of course.

Roman stands and watches for a minute as Logan glides across the ice, prepping for what looks to be his signature triple axel into a triple toe loop, a complicated sequence, sure, but nothing Logan hasn’t accomplished before. He figures he'll let Logan finish this element before he lets him it's time to go home-

Something's off.

Logan is far too tense. His shoulders are way too high. His legs seem wobbly and unsteady. And worst of all, he's not wearing any gloves, which would be concerning for anybody but is damn near insane for the typically pedantic skater who is more than happy to lecture everyone else about skate safety. It dawns on Roman just how long it's been since that man has walked into this arena.

And the man in front of him now? Couldn't be farther away from his normal picture of Logan if he tried.

Roman is just about to say something when Logan suddenly leaps into the air, attempting the jump. Right away, Roman can see plain as day that his approach is off and it throws his body out of alignment, causing Logan to over-rotate and come crashing down to the ice with a sickening smack.

Oh, God.

Thankfully, two things happen: one, Logan is smart enough to tuck and roll and land on his backside instead of his arm, thus avoiding a more serious injury, and two, he's not too far from the wall and slides into the flexible plastic, not too far from where Roman stands, momentarily frozen in shock. It takes a beat too long for his body to catch up to his brain screaming at him to move, run, go to him and finally-

"Logan! Logan, are you all right?" Roman leans over to see Logan seated on the ice, propped up against the wall and panting heavily. There are going to be bruises all over him, no doubt, it was a hard fall but nothing appears to be broken. Roman reaches out a hand to him, his concern for every aspect of his teammate's health growing by the second.

"Here, Lo, come on. Take my hand, let's get you off the ice. You can stand, right?"

Logan hesitates ever so slightly before he nods and Roman doesn't miss it. He suppresses the urge to wince at the weak, ice cold grip Logan has and instead focuses his energy on pulling the taller man to his feet.

"Turn towards me, grab both my hands. That's it, Lo. And I'll walk around and you sidestep; we'll meet at the entrance and then we'll sit and take a breather." It takes a moment for them to finally reach other. Logan is shaking badly and Roman keeps having to grab him to keep him upright. Finally, they reach the opening and the trembling skater practically collapses into his rescuer's chest, still breathing erratically as Roman holds him steady to check him over. He grabs both of his freezing hands and holds them in his warm ones, calmly whispering at Logan to take a deep breath, something he finally does himself. Eventually, they both calm down and a few moments pass before someone speaks.

"I'm sorry," Logan whispers. It's small and ashamed and it breaks Roman's heart just that much more.

"Please don't apologize. Just tell me what is going on." Logan's head snaps up and he almost looks like he's about to deny everything all over again and then he takes inventory of the situation and slumps over, defeated.

"I...I don't know what's happening to me."

"I think you do," Roman says, afraid yet brave for just a moment. Logan's eyes widen, fear turning over and over again in his stomach. "I think you know exactly what this is."

Logan nods, glossy tears threatening to spill out onto his cheeks. Roman is right; there is no fooling anyone anymore. He nods again and clears his throat twice, suddenly unable to unstick the walls to get anything out.

"Logan," Roman presses on, "you must know how this ends. You know this can't continue." Logan nods a third time, looking up at the concerned redhead through wet eyelashes as his voice makes a quiet comeback.

"I know...but I can't stop."

****

Roman regrets every choice he's ever made with Logan when it comes to their next competition.

He's waiting on the sidelines for his turn at bat, so to speak, when he sees Logan blow past them, ignoring them all and taking his place on deck.

"Well, what the hell was that about?" Virgil grumbles. "He didn't even wish us luck or anything!" Patton places a hand on his shoulder and offers up a weak smile.

"He's been...off lately, Virge. I think he just needs some space right now." Something in Roman's gut twists at that, the sheets wrongness of leaving Logan to his own devices eating at him. He glances over at Patton who gives him the same half-hearted smile and then glances down at a very stressed out Virgil with his face buried in his hands. Roman gets it and the ache in his chest subsides. Virgil's anxiety is playing against him and he doesn't need yet another thing to worry about. None of them do, really but that unfortunately doesn't stop anything from happening to anyone.

The three look up as they hear Logan's name called out over the loudspeaker and the cheers as he glides onto the ice, giving a the crowd a tight grin and a small wave. He's never been overly expressive with his entrance but yet again, Roman can see the extra stress around his eyes, the dark circles even more prominent against the pallor of his face, the way his legs tremble as he takes his starting pose.

The guilty churning comes back tenfold. Roman should have said something. He shouldn't be out there.

The music starts and like a light switch, Logan comes alive for a brief moment. It enough to make his teammates almost relax until he attempts his first jump sequence and it goes sideways, Logan wobbling as he lands.

"Did...did he just wobble on a triple flip?" Virgil asked, incredulous.

"He just wobbled...on a double flip...that was supposed to be a triple," Roman says, quiet and halting.

"Something's wrong." Patton echoes the thought radiating off the others. "Something's really wrong."

Logan barely makes it through the rest of his routine, tipping and wobbling on almost all of his jumps, modifying other elements down, an obvious display of a lack of confidence. His turns are sluggish and his moves lack more and more luster and enthusiasm as time goes on. No one would dare say this out loud but it's possibly the worst Logan has ever skated in a long while. Finally, it ends and Logan looks wrecked. Not only does he appear to be exhausted, his expression is utterly defeated as the crowd cheers out of sheer sympathy, still loving him despite the struggles he's had tonight. It doesn't seem to register to the tall brunette as he skates around to each side of the rink to acknowledge the audience, his chest heaving with the effort of fighting back tears and screams of frustration. His teammates look on, trying and mostly failing not to let their pity and shock show. The most steady and consistent person on their team just crumbled and none of them could speak. They could only watch as the person they knew faded in front of them, the sense that something had irrevocably changed haunting them all. Logan shakily starts to make his way off the ice, pinching the bridge of his nose when the unthinkable happens and his blades slide out from underneath him, pulling his body down to the ice, limp and unconscious and not moving.

Chaos erupts as medics and coaches flood the ice and the crowd shrieks in horror. Roman almost leaps onto the ice himself but he's pulled back by someone he briefly struggles against. He finally registers Patton's blonde curls and suddenly he can hear again.

"Roman, stop it, do you hear me? You can't help him right now, the medics, they've got him, okay? He'll be okay, just let them do their job! Roman, look at me, look at me! He will be okay!" Patton's voice is shaking with uncertain sobs but still Roman nods, knowing that it's truly too late, the time for action on his part has long since passed.

"Come on now, come with me, come help Virgil, he needs us right now." Roman looks over to see the small skater curled up on the bench in the throes of a panic attack. Roman grabs his hand and places it to his chest absently, taking one last glance back at the rink. The sound of Patton's counting Virgil’s breaths fades into the background as he zeroes in on Logan's unmoving frame between someone's legs. There's a small pool of blood on the ice around his head.

The sight of it makes Roman want to vomit.

****

It’s hours later when Logan wakes up to a slow, steady beeping machine. Hospital, it registers, and he wants to groan out loud but there’s barely enough energy left in his body to open his eyes. His head hurts, his body hurts, and his throat feels like sandpaper. He tries to shift and something pulls at his arm, what is that? Oh. The IV, pumping me full of sugar and fluids that are just going to-

Keep you alive.

Is this really where he is? Is he really so far gone that he fears something as innocuous as an IV drip? Is he really at such a low point that he needs to be on a IV drip? 

What the hell has he done to himself?

A small gasp startles him and he turns his head too fast to the left, a wave of dizziness crashes into him briefly. Roman seems to notice and pulls over a small cup of water with a straw. Logan hates himself for it but he pauses for just a second. Roman stays patient, his face unreadable as he waits for Logan take a sip, pushing the cup away gently when he’s done.

“Thank God you’re awake,” Roman mutters.

“I take it that I didn’t place,” Logan responds dryly. Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Really? That’s what you’re concerned about?” No response. “No, you didn’t,” he sighs out, “gold went to another team. I took silver and Patton was just shy of bronze.Virgil..Virgil struggled too.”

“I probably terrified him.”

“You terrified all of us.” Roman’s tone was soft but abrupt. “You weren’t moving, I thought you were- I thought...” He cleared his closing throat, swallowing the lump that had formed there. “Anyway...if you’re worried, we’re handling the press. My father is releasing a statement that your...collapse was due to a recent bout of severe flu that turned into pneumonia. You’ll be taking some time off to recover in the hospital and then at home privately until you’re strong enough to compete again.” 

“Your father would do that for me? That’s...that’s wonderful. That’s just- it’s- that’s just perfect!” Logan breaks down sobbing before Roman can even blink and to his surprise, it chokes him up too.

“Logan?”

“They don’t see me, Roman. Your father would lie for someone he hardly knows. But my parents..I’m never good enough for them. I’m not good enough for anyone. And I try to make myself perfect but they still...they don’t see me.” 

“So your answer is to disappear?” Silence again. “Logan...this has to stop here. You need help or you’re gonna...please tell me you’ll end this.”

Logan swallows thickly. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

Roman drops his head, the urge to cry only growing stronger. “I should have done something. I should have said something sooner.”

“Roman, this isn’t your fault.”

“No, I knew! I watched this happen! I watched you deteriorate and I said nothing! And now you’re...” A hand reaches across his face, wiping the tears that had collected on his cheeks.

“Alive, Roman. I’m still alive.” Roman nods, the guilt slowly easing its way out of his chest. He grabs Logan’s hand and squeezes, both of them clinging to the fragile strands of hope that connected them.

As long as he was alive, he still had hope, right?