Work Text:
His skin is crawling.
He has to do something about it he has to, he has to, he has to.
Or he was going to explode.
It’s 1 am.
He texts Akira in a fit of desperation. Something to tell him not to do what he was about to do.
are you awake?
He hits send.
He wonders if he'll ever tell Akira about this. How do you even tell someone you want to relapse? How do you tell someone you're about to relapse?
He sits at the edge of his bed in nothing but boxers and a baggy tank top.
1:05.
His skin is crawling.
He gets off his bed and quietly makes his way to the kitchen and fumbles for a pair of scissors.
They’re small and flimsy, but they’ll cut through skin and that’s what he wants.
That’s what Ryuji wants.
To feel. He feels numb.
He shuffles into the bathroom and swiftly shuts and locks the door behind him.
He’s shaking from the core. Every ounce of adrenaline in his body is pumping. He’s on fire.
He places the cold steel to the soft skin of his left thigh.
And he cuts.
And he cuts.
And he falls back into a pattern he wished he’d forgotten.
Ten minutes pass.
He looks at his thigh, and it’s littered in small, bloody scratches.
He blinks for a few seconds. What had he just done?
He feels sick. His stomach churns, and he swears he vomits into his mouth.
Before he makes himself any sicker, he cleans his leg and the blades of the scissors before trotting into the kitchen, placing them carefully back in their spot.
He blinks again and he’s back in his room.
He lays down.
The sick feeling is still there, tingling at his cheeks.
But his skin isn’t crawling.
He isn’t on fire.
He closes his eyes before sleep overtakes him.
He hopes he doesn't seem off at the Phantom Thieves meeting tomorrow.