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Being left alone was nothing new to him, he could be alone for a couple of hours while Brian was out doing chores is nothing compared to hours of isolation in the hospitals he had faced in his childhood years. Sitting around and waiting for his boyfriend was nothing compared to being doped up on medication and left to very little devices if any. He couldn’t remember too much of those times in all honesty. But he never cared enough to remember either.
His dark eyes kept darting back to the ink drawings on his arms and the nervousness that raced in his mind. He needed a distraction. Getting up from the couch, Tim made his way to the kitchen. Maybe eating something small will help take his mind off of how he felt. He didn't like being alone. It always made him shaken up and paranoid but he always assumed that was because of the reason for his medication. Medical history aside, his trembling hands reached for the cabinet and gently opened the doors. Why was he shaking? He needed to stop shaking.
He was distracted. Too fixated on how anxious he was to realize the bowl he reached for slipped from his hands and shattered on the ground. Why did it have to be ceramic? Why did his face start to burn? His vision seemed so, so blurry. He could feel the wet streams on his face as he fumbled to the ground to pick up the shards on the ground, recklessly attempting to not cut himself on any of the sharp pieces, inevitably being too panicked to focus on doing it slowly and carefully, cutting his fingers in the process. It only worsened his panicking. What if Brian got home? What if he was yelled at for breaking the bowl? Or what if Brian got mad at him for not being able to pick up the broken pieces on the ground? Oh how they mocked him so. Those broken pieces looked just as broken as Tim felt most days, scrambling to pick the pieces up and only to hurt more in the process. The hurtful irony in this scenario only made Tim back up against the counter walls and hyperventilate, unsteady breaths breaking between sobs and cries of panic. He couldn't breathe. It was too much. What was he doing here? Where was here? He didn't recognize his own home and he could only think of ‘I need to go back’. Back where? The hospital. No he can't go back there it wasn't his fault, he was getting better he can't allow himself to go back he’s an adult now he can handle this slip up.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it was, he shouldn't have his back pressed against the wall in a frenzy. He was so supposed to be gentle. He was supposed to be able to handle things better. But as his fingernails dug into the skin of his arms, pulling back on the layers of skin, he felt himself slip away. The blood already pooling from his cut fingers mixed with the blood of his arms that he clawed into with little care. Everything was so hazy, all he could see through blurry eyes were rivers of red oozing from his hands and arms, the disfigured looks of the broken bowl seemed to only stare back at him. He couldn't do this, he had to get out. He found it too difficult to move though, he couldn't get up and run.
The settling pain from his arms sinked in and he realized what he did. “Oh no no no no no– No no no damnit no this-” The once black ink was stained red with blood and his nails were dirty with what he scratched off. Brian drew those. Brian made them and Tim destroyed them. He promised he wouldn't but he just did. None of this was going right. Everything was spinning around him and he felt so sick. He wanted to vomit. Why was he feeling sick? He hadn't eaten anything all day, he shouldn't feel sick.
“I’m home!” The door. He heard Brian call for him and it only made him feel worse. He found himself rushing to the sink and retching. The sickening sound only made him feel worse. The smell was just as bad and he was shaking as he held the sides of the sink to try to stable himself. His stomach clenched in pain. Sweat dripped down his brow through greasy dark, brown hair. The taste in his mouth wasn't necessarily sour. No, it felt waterlogged and bitter. He coughed and spat out saliva before getting up from the sink to rinse the involuntary tears that had streamed down his eyes and the mucus hanging from his nose. He tried to wash away the vomit as much as he could and rinse off the blood from- Well his elbows down. “Tim?” Brian called, much closer than before. He was at the doorway. Tim couldn't face him and he could only choke out another sob as he sank back down against the counter walls.
Brian walked up to Tim and sat down next to him, back pressed against the wall with Tim and putting an arm around him. Pushing Tim towards him and making him lean against him, rubbing soft circles on his shoulder. A gentle kiss placed upon his head and whispers of sweet nothings, words of comfort dripping with honey coming from Brian. Tim could barely understand them but the comfort alone, the act even, was starting to calm him down. Through hiccups and sobs, quiet hushes and “It’s okay, I’m here.”, the two sat there on the floor for moments.
Tim sniffled once more before a broken croak escaped his lips, “I’m sorry.” It was all he managed to say before curling against Brian more. “No dude- No don’t apologize. Tim, never apologize for these things.” His words were soft and lips even softer. Brian had grabbed Tim’s face in a tender cusp and had pecked him lightly on the lips and then the forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up first and then we’ll deal with everything else. Yeah?” Brian only got a nod as a response, but he smiled at it regardless. He helped Tim to his feet and they walked to the sink where Brian would clean Tim's arms and hands with lukewarm water. His fingers felt like a butterfly against the rough skin Tim bore. And Tim could not stare down at his own arms, instead he found warmth in looking at the serene smile Brian wore. “I know, I know. I’m marvelous to look at.” Brian spoke with a chuckle following, drying Tim with a paper towel. He didn't even know Brian noticed but he couldn't see why he wouldn't have. He was so obvious with his gaze, it was full of love and adoration for the other man. Leading the hurt man to a seat, Brian walked off for a moment before stopping and turning back to Tim on his heels. “You, sweetheart, need to stay right there. I am going to find some bandages.” This one made Tim giggle, and with a wink Brian left the room to find bandages.
Smiling down to himself, his eyebrows were furrowing slightly as he felt tears prick his eyes once more. What did Tim do to get a man like him? He didn't deserve such a loving partner but before he could let his mind get to him, Brian came back with a toothy smile, the small gap between his teeth peeking through the smile. Tim smiled at the man as he shook the little box of bandaids. “We are lucky once more, we have the aids!” Brian grabbed Tim’s hands for a moment as he wrapped up the cuts and used gauzes for the arms. He placed his own hands on Tim’s thighs for a moment and looked at him with the utmost care. “I love you a lot, Tim.” Brian said, placing yet another kiss on Tim’s lips. “You and your vomit taste.” He joked, Tim pushing him lightly and laughing as a response. The two sat there for a moment smiling and coming off the high of laughing before Brian moved once more to clean the broken bowl. He refused Tim’s efforts to help and would simply tell him it was okay. And for once, Tim truly felt like it really was okay. And he was happy to say he believed it was.