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Daishou wanted to cry. He wanted to cry, and breakdown, and fucking scream his heart out. Anything to get rid of the emotions he was feeling. Anything to get rid of the itch, itch, itching beneath his skin, the intense need for him to tear open his flesh with anything he could get his hands on.
That day had been bad. The week had been bad. Nothing particularly terrible had happened, but dysphoria had been an absolute bitch, and, for some reason he couldn’t explain, his medications weren’t working right. His anxiety kept spiking and, because of his antidepressants not working, his mood kept dropping lower and lower, easily accompanied by his grades.
At school, he covered those issues with fake smiles and fake laughs, he ignored the constant itch in his forearms.
At home was a different story. His facade fell down, and his feelings started to engulf him within the silence of an empty house. The itch got worse. Voices and noise swirled around his head. “Kill yourself,” They hissed. “Nobody will miss you. Slice open your flesh. You’re obnoxious. A lying bastard. Nobody likes you and you know it, so why pretend? You could jump off a roof. Your medications would certainly numb the pain if you took enough.”
Daishou slammed his hands over his ears, the words in his head continuing to bombard him. Thoughts of his worthlessness, his unlikability, how and why he should die were tossed at him. It was overwhelming.
He barely registered his own movements as he collapsed down on the bathroom floor in front of the cabinet, starting to rummage through the various items stored there. Hand at the back of the cabinet, Daishou grabbed hold of a spare set of razor heads.
Daishou forced himself to pause as he opened the box. Was he really about to do this? He’d been clean for over a year. Was he really about to throw that away? But They were loud, louder than his rational thought.
Voices in his head screeching at him, Daishou took the razor out of the box, easily deconstructing it. “Just enough to relieve the thoughts,” he told himself. He pulled off his t-shirt, throwing it on the floor. The razor blade broke the skin right above his hip. Daishou found small amounts of relief coming as the blood flowed into the wound.
It wasn’t enough though. So he sliced his hip again. Again and again and again, not caring that the blood was leaking into the band of his shorts by then.
When he hit eleven, he noticed that the voices were gone, and his mind was calm, blissfully peaceful. He stopped and, in a bit of a daze, Daishou cleaned up the wounds scattering his right hip.
Once the wounds were effectively sanitized and covered, Daishou walked back into his bedroom, sitting himself down at the desk stationed by the window. He didn’t do anything for a bit, just sitting there, until his phone vibrated. Notifications for voicemails, texts, and missed calls covered his screen.
He picked up his phone, unlocking it and opening the phone app. He clicked the least recent voicemail from that day, one from Hiroo.
“Hey, Daishou. You were seeming a bit down today. Just wanted to check in. Call me when you can.”
Daishou clicked the next one, another message from Hiroo, marked about half an hour after the first.
“Hey, Daishou. You might just be busy or something, but we’re all a bit worried. No one can get through to you. Come on, dude. Just let us know you’re okay or something. Call when you can.”
Scrolling through the voicemails to the more recent ones, he spotted one from Numai.
“Daishou, answer your calls or texts, please. We don’t know where you are so we can’t check on you. Don’t make us contact Kuroo.”
That helped snap him back into reality. Kuroo was one of the only people who knew of his self-harming tendencies. They may not have been on the best of terms, but he knew that Kuroo would head over if he suspected he could have relapsed.
“Fuck! What the hell did I just do?!” Daishou shouted, standing up from his desk chair. “Why? Why the hell did I throw away all that time of being clean? I should have c- called someone! Or- or gone on a walk! F- for fu- fuck’s sake!”
That’s when the tears started pouring. The realization of what he’d done finally hitting him, he fell to the floor, phone falling nearby. Daishou laid on his right side, the pain radiating from his hip making him sob harder. He flipped onto his left side, curling into himself as he faced the wall.
His phone started buzzing again from its place behind the sobbing boy. Daishou’s breathing hitched. He needed to compose himself. He had to answer that call. He’d missed so many calls and texts. People were worried . Why were they so worried?
Inhaling as deeply as he could and letting out a slow exhale, he grabbed the phone and answered it, ignoring the caller ID. “He-” His voice sounded raspy from the previous sobbing so he cleared his throat, trying again. “Hello?”
“Daishou, where are you right now? Are you at home?” The voice on the line was distinctly Kuroo’s, but something seemed off. It was like he was forcing calm into his voice, but something else couldn’t fully be covered. Was it concern that he was trying to hide?
“Is that concern I hear in your voice, Kuroo-chan?” Daishou asked, forcing a teasing lilt into his voice.
“Look, I’m outside your house and I don’t know where the spare key is. Everyone is really worried about you. Please let me in.”
Daishou let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Alrigh-” Daishou hung up before the confirmation could finish. Standing up, he winced at the pain in his side. He knew his face couldn’t be looking good after crying like that, but there wasn’t much he could do so he dried his face before going and opening the front door.
Upon opening the door, he was met with a small gasp. “Do I really look that terrible? Figures.”
“Daishou, what happened?” It seemed like he already knew, but was trying to get Daishou to admit it himself first.
“Nothing happened. I don’t understand what you mean?” A small tilt of the head.
“I know lying is your specialty and all, but when you look like...” Kuroo’s voice trailed off as his vision caught on the stiff, bloody patch of short and shirt by the snake-like boy’s hip. “Daishou, did you...?”
“I-” At that moment, Daishou realized exactly what Kuroo ment. He had forgotten to change his shorts after bleeding, which proceeded to soak into the shirt.
Kuroo pushed the door open more, making his way inside, promptly closing the door behind him. He gently grabbed onto Daishou’s hand, pulling him lightly in the direction of his bedroom.
Daishou put up no resistance, because this couldn’t have happened. This must’ve been some horrific nightmare. Yeah! That must’ve been it. He- he couldn’t have relapsed. That would be absurd!
Kuroo nudged him until he sat down on the bed, sitting himself on the desk chair. “Daishou, are you... You relapsed didn’t you.” It was hardly posed as a question.
Silence stretched between the two as Daishou tried desperately to wake up from a dream that wasn’t happening. “Daishou,” Kuroo tried again. “Dai- Suguru.”
“Shit,” the shorter boy hissed. “I... I really did that, didn’t I?” His voice came out strained, and tears started blurring his vision again. He frantically tried to blink them back because Kuroo is right there and Daishou is sitting there being weak . He can’t start crying , that’s pathetic and he’s being useless again. And since when are the tears streaming down his face? Why is Kuroo sitting in front of him, trying to comfort him?
That’s... that’s not right. They’re supposed to be yelling at each other. Kuroo should be teasing him or something! This is a prime example of how stupid Daishou is, after all. But no, Kuroo is holding Daishou’s hand, stroking his thumb on the back of the smaller boy’s palm because Daishou can’t stop fucking crying.
“It’s okay, Suguru. I promise, it’ll be okay.” Kuroo continued muttering reassurances to him until Daishou was able to calm himself down enough to take decent breaths. “Suguru, can you tell me what happened?”
The snake-esque boy took a shuddering breath, knowing it was futile to argue. “I- my medications haven’t been working. Dysphoria- and- and my anxiety keeps spiking, and the depressive thoughts just keep coming. M-my grades are- are falling too. T-today the thoughts, th-they w-w-were too much.” Daishou gasped for air. “I d-don’t ev-even know how it happened. One- one minute I was sitting on the b-bed, the next a- a razor blade was in my hand. I- I tried to rationalize, I sw-swear! But- but They were t-too loud an-and-” A new wave of sobs wracked through Daishou’s body.
Kuroo took a seat on the bed, going through the motions of calming the shaking boy another time.
“You can get through this, Suguru. You did it once before you can do it again. If you ever feel this way, you can always call me, rivalry be damned.”
“O-okay.”
“You must be tired after today. You should take a nap. Your binder is off, right?” Kuroo inquired. Daishou nodded in response, head already drooping at the idea of a nap. The cat-like male huffed a laugh. “Alrighty-o, buddy. At least lay down before falling asleep, okay?”
Daishou laid himself down, squirming his way under the covers. A tired, “Be ‘ere when I wake?” got muttered as narrow eyes struggled to stay open. Wow, emotional breakdowns sure took a lot out of people.
“Of course. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
Eyes sliding shut, Daishou fell asleep to the faint feeling of a hand in his hair, and soft humming filling the air.