#ozwick

“No, no!” Ozpin cried as the news echoed off the walls and the aching pieces of his heart. He was sore, he had barely survived. He found his way to Roman’s old quarters. Mostly abandoned but showed signs of a previous owner. He had went there many times before, during long unrestful nights.

He had never meant to become attached to a vile man. Never meant for one night to become a hundred. He forced a way into the empty cavity of his heart with knives and empty promises.

Promising that things could turn for the better, or worst.

He had only seen him a few days before in the early hours of the morning. His heart speeding up at the sight of him but never showed anything more than furrowed eyes and an armed cane. He never went to see him in prison, even when Ironwood left him messages that Roman would only talk to him. He denied ever knowing him on a personal level.

“Thought you would be happier to see me Ozzy,” he teased, pulling at his heartstrings. “C’mon, I know you missed me.”

Roman was never shy of taking the first step towards him, and Ozpin never pushed him away. He tasted like strong expensive tobacco, like he always did. Ozpin grabbed at his white coat to pull him closer, wanting to feel his form against his once again.

But no amount of coffee could wake him up from this nightmare. His breath was hitched as he sat on the familiar bed as the thought replayed in his head. He was in disbelief; in denial that such a thing could happen to him.

“He’s not dead, not Roman,” he mumbled to himself. He repeated it to himself over and over, hoping it would bring him coming through the door of the room. He sulked, head in his hands, trying to bring his breathing back to normal. He didn’t shed a single tear. He wouldn’t let anyone find out what was happening behind closed doors.