Work Text:
Phoenix stared at the blood on the knife as it dripped onto the floor. Why was this so comforting? He put his arm in wraps and left the room.
Comfort.
That word haunted him for days. Why was hurting himself comforting?
It shouldn't be.
He knew he would go too far one day, but he didn't care; as long as he was comforted, he was fine.