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Kyojuro took in a slow breath of air, exhaling silently through his parted lips. His tongue darted out to wet them before pressing them into a thin line. He gave his head a shake and closed his eyes, fighting to regain his focus. He had to focus.
His hands were stiff now, cold nipping at his fingertips. He squeezed his hand into a fist to bring fresh blood to his pale fingers. He readjusted his grip on his blade and positioned it against his wrist once more. In a single motion he dragged it across his skin, splitting it open into a white yawning smile. Blood sprang forth in beads at the edges, swelling and running down to fill the hollow valley of the wound and immediately spilling over onto his tan skin. He watched, mind blank, as the blood wept, running together with the other rivulets twisting down his arm. Stunning rivers of red, immortalized as the blood thickened and congealed.
He swept a thumb across the wound, watching the way his deep red blood filled the cavity over and over. If he looked very carefully, he could see the faintest pearls of yellow fat peeking out against the red flesh. He wanted to see more. Another flash of the blade and there it was, sunshine yellow bubbles of fat, bulging forth from his wrist. The blood that came gushing forth was hot and oily, shining in the light of the bathroom. It flowed down his arm, violent and unending, running all the way to his elbow and dripping onto the tile before he could move.
He stared at the beautiful wound in wonder, eyes alight with curiosity. He pushed at the fat with the tip of the blade, sucking in a sharp breath when electric pain jolted down his hand. Did he dare make another?
Kyojuro froze when he heard footsteps outside the bathroom door. The creaking of the loose floorboard just in front of the bed. Tengen. Of course. He had known this was a gamble, doing this when Tengen was home, but he had wanted to anyway. He had needed to. No one else would understand, but he did. He did.
He reached for his blood soaked towel, now unpleasantly wet and cold, and wiped at the blood on his arm. It was congealed now, coming off his skin in dark chunks. He stood up, bracing himself against the sink as a wave of dizziness hit him. He had been sitting too long. That was all. He reached to turn on the sink, sticking his arm under the flow of hot water. He ignored the way his wounds stung, too distracted by the way the water flushed pink as it circled the drain.
“Kyojuro?” Tengen was just outside the door.
“Yeah? I'll be out in a second.”
“D’you wanna watch a movie tonight? I thought we might order something out, too. I'm not really in the mood to cook.”
Kyojuro rubbed at his arm, washing away the blood that had dried to the underside. “Oh, yeah, that sounds nice. What do you wanna order? I'm fine with whatever.”
“Mexican, maybe? Or Thai? Or, like, pizza. Something. I don't know, I’ll figure it out and tell you.”
Kyojuro made a noise in his throat, turning off the sink and drying his arm with a fresh paper towel. When he laid it over his wounds, red dots blossomed forth, unfurling and spreading like flowers.
“You ok? You've been in there a while.”
Kyojuro considered the mess on the floor. He had been careless and let his blood drip freely onto the tile and now there were miniscule dots of red across the side of the tub and the bottom of the toilet. “Yeah. Something I ate earlier disagreed with me, I think. I'll be ok.”
As he knelt to mop up the congealed mess with a damp paper towel, he heard Tengen leave. The floorboard creaked again. Part of him, wound with tension he hadn't noticed, relaxed.
With the floor cleaned, Kyojuro sat on the edge of the tub, his medicine kit beside him. Of all the elements of this ritual, this was the most soothing. He snapped on a latex glove and set about wiping the cuts down with disinfectant, methodical and practiced. They lay in parallel lines across his wrist, neat and perfect just like the rest of his pale scars. The only one that stood out was the deepest he had done. It sat asymmetrically to one side, bulging and hot. He laid squares of gauze over the wounds and pressed on a large bandage to keep them in place. He had done a good job, he thought as he repacked his kit and stood to stow it away. He leaned against the vanity, staring into his eyes in the mirror. He looked normal. He looked ok. Beneath his bandages, his wrist throbbed in time with his heart beat. He was ok. He would be ok.
He exited the bathroom, rummaging through Tengen’s side of the closet to find one of his jackets. He shrugged it on, watching carefully to see where the ends of the sleeves fell. His clothes were huge on him, the sleeves reaching halfway down his palm. Satisfied, he nosed at the shoulder, taking in the scent of Tengen and detergent. As he went out into the living room to join Tengen in choosing their dinner, he felt a restlessness at the back of his mind. It turned and flexed, a shapeless serpent barely subdued. He ignored it, sitting heavily on the couch with Tengen and scooting to lean against him. Tengen wrapped an arm around him, eyes fixed on the TV.
“Hey,” he said absently, clicking through the movie menu. “I couldn't decide. So we're having pizza. I don't really know what we're watching. Something we've seen before, I think.” He looked down at him. “That ok?”
“Good,” Kyojuro said, shifting to rest his head on Tengen’s shoulder. “I don't want to have to think.”
“Yeah.” He turned his attention to Kyojuro, the arm around his shoulders holding him closer and toying with his hair. “Long day.”
“Very long.”
The day had been taxing, but not for the reasons Tengen thought. From the moment he opened his eyes, Kyojuro could tell this was not going to be an easy day. His mind was darting, unfocused, unable to hold onto a piece of information for longer than a few seconds. He felt jittery, like he was connected to a live wire. He had hardly slept. His anxiety had been at an all time high, heart fluttering hard in chest, but despite his best efforts he couldn't pinpoint exactly what his mind was alarmed by. He could hardly stand still long enough to brush his teeth. An uncomfortable tension started building in his body the longer he was still, a tangible sense of dread.
Not to mention the mood swings. He was not, he thought, a particularly temperamental person. So it had startled him when he found himself barely holding back white hot anger when Tengen tried to kiss him in bed, or when he found the sound of the sink too loud or the cold of the refrigerator too cold. He had supposed he'd simply woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but the rage disappeared completely by the time he arrived at work. He felt almost euphoric, hardly able to contain his jitters as he started his shift. His coworkers were initially confused but enthusiastic, then quickly irritated by his inability to calm down and his flightliness and the nonstop tapping of his feet. By lunch, he had crashed once again, overcome with dread and paranoia so powerful he could do little more than hide in the bathroom, head in his hands. At the end of his shift, he simply felt numb. He stared blankly ahead on his drive home, barely able to remember the route he took, and stayed in the car like that for an amount of time he couldn't quite recall. He had managed to wrestle a smile onto his face when he saw Tengen, but it left him feeling exhausted, as if he had just run a marathon.
He retreated to the bedroom and sat on their bed, looking at a crack in the ceiling. All the while, his heart hammered in his chest, fast enough to make him feel sick. And still the pain when he tried to be still. He paced, tapped his leg, chewed his nails and yet it would not leave him. That was when he had rummaged through his nightstand to find his things and retreated to the bathroom.
Now, the ceaseless humming was still with him, as were the anxiety and the heart palpitations, albeit muted now. Driven off by pain and blood. He was grateful for this bit of calm.
The movie started. Kyojuro shifted to lie against Tengen, curled into his chest. Tengen pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, one hand curling his hair around a finger. It was indeed something they had both seen before. Kyojuro struggled to pay attention to it or Tengen or anything else but the growing buzzing in his head and his joints. He shifted again, laying his head in Tengen’s lap, quite careful to lie with his right arm under him. Tengen placed a hand on his head, petting his hair back absentmindedly. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Tengen’s body, the weight of his hand on his head.
A third of the way through the movie, the pizza arrived. Tengen moved to get it. Kyojuro laid on the couch, absently watching the figures moving on the screen with unfocused eyes. He pushed his hand into his sleeve and felt the soft shape of the bandage. It was hot and when he pushed on it, aching pain throbbed up his arm.
When Tengen came back, he was holding the pizza and two plates. Kyojuro found that on top of his endless anxiety and inability to focus, he also could not eat. He was hungry, and the food looked and smelled amazing, but as he chewed he found that he did not want to swallow. He could hardly register the taste at all, could hardly remember if it had had a taste to begin with when he bit into it. He managed to choke down a slice and a half, at least for the sake of not startling Tengen by spitting half chewed food onto his plate.
He was lying now between Tengen’s legs, leaning back against his chest as Tengen leaned on the arm of the couch. Tengen’s arms were around his waist, holding his hands in his lap. One thumb rubbed at the back of his hand as they watched the movie. Kyojuro jolted, suddenly aware of his heart beating faster. His face warmed and he tipped his head back to look at Tengen. He was watching the movie intently, pulling at the dry skin of his lips with his teeth as he did. Something in Kyojuro stirred. He squeezed his hands, sitting up to turn around in his lap. Tengen looked at him curiously.
“Hi,” he said softly, intertwining their fingers.
“Hi,” said Tengen, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He was, Kyojuro decided, very handsome.
Kyojuro pressed against his chest, placing a hand on his biceps. Tengen's eyebrows raised a hair and half a smile played across his lips.
“What about the movie?” he said, voice light and teasing.
“We've already seen it,” Kyojuro purred, tracing circles against his skin. “We know what happens.” He leaned forward, putting a hand on the back of Tengen’s neck and bringing him forward to kiss him.
Tengen hummed in the back of his throat, pleased. He snaked an arm around Kyojuro’s waist, pulling him closer. Kyojuro kissed him hungrily, lips moving against him with greed. He lapped at the crease of his lips, prompting him to part them. He pressed his tongue into his mouth hurriedly, groaning at the wet warmth. Tengen shifted, the arm around his waist tightening. He pulled back a bit, huffing out a laugh.
“Fuck, Kyojuro,” he breathed. He brought a hand up to grip the wrist of the hand on his neck. Suddenly, his face changed and he turned his head. He fell quiet.
“What?” Kyojuro nosed at Tengen's cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his pale skin. Tengen pulled back and looked at him. There was something in his face, something Kyojuro’s brain couldn't quite decipher. “What?” His heart was beating so hard in his chest, he thought it might burst through his ribs. His mind churned with thought, moving at lightning speed and painfully slow at the same time. He pulled back. “What?” His gaze darted to the side, at where Tengen’s hand encircled his left wrist. Something prickled at the back of his mind. “Tengen… what?” It all hit him at once. The prickle spread like dye in water, gripping him around the throat and running down his spine. White hot dread. The look on Tengen's face was confusion, he realized.
Kyojuro snatched his arm away, holding it to his chest. His wrist stung. His heart pounded. “Stop. What? What is it?” He sat back on his heels. The dread got hotter and hotter, sweat beading up at his temples and above his lips. "What?"
“Kyojuro.”
A flash of anger. Kyojuro’s eyebrows came together. “What?” he spat. His voice shook.
“Kyo… What's that on your arm? Can I see?”
“No.” The word pushed its way out of his mouth before he could think. “There isn't anything there. I don't know what--”
Tengen shifted, reaching an arm out towards him. Kyojuro watched him reach for his guarded wrist, fingers brushing his hand. Kyojuro startled, crawling away from him.
“Don't touch me!” he snapped. He took in a sharp inhale of breath. “Don't do that. I didn't do anything. I don't know what you're talking about.”
Tengen furrowed his eyebrows. “I felt something on your wrist. I want to see it. Can I look at it?”
“Stop s-saying that,” Kyojuro said, scooting away from him. “Don't touch me.”
“I'm not mad at you, Kyojuro. I just want to see what's wrong. I just want to make sure you're ok.”
“Don't touch me.” His back touched the other arm of the couch. He cowered there, curling around himself, guarding his arm against his chest. He watched, eyes wild, as Tengen approached him. He held out his hand once more, palm open.
“Please? Can I see?”
Kyojuro stared at him, heart beating wildly in his chest. "Don't touch me," he whispered. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was right. Tengen wasn't supposed to look at him like this and he wasn't supposed to know and his wrist wasn't supposed to be throbbing like this and he wasn't supposed to feel so out of control. He realized he was trembling, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. He suddenly felt cold and lightheaded.
He took in a small breath. He opened his mouth to say something and instead let out a long, shuddering sigh. He looked away, a hard lump in his throat. Hot tears welled suddenly in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, dripping from his shivering chin. He curled in on himself tighter, wrist screaming where it pressed against his collarbone. He sucked in a quivering breath, barely holding back the sob building in his throat. He groaned, grasping at his own hair with his free hand and tugging until it hurt.
He felt Tengen's hand touch his wrist, encircling it gently and coaxing his hand from his hair. He jolted involuntarily but he let him, let him slowly maneuver him until he was lying with his head in Tengen's lap, arms still clinging to his chest. He closed his eyes, eyebrows coming together as a broken sob pealed from him, shoulders shaking. His voice cracked as sobs wracked through him, tearing at his throat. He grasped at the hoodie still around his shoulders, cold sweat soaking every inch of him. He curled in on himself, trembling. Each time he opened his mouth, another wail tore through him, rattling him to his very core. He gasped for air, choking on his tears and the saliva pooling in his mouth. His hands tore at whatever part of him he could reach: his cheeks, his chest, his hair. His mind went numb as he wailed, tuning out the noise and shrinking away.
Tengen held him, strong arms wrapped around him and his head resting on his back. He was silent, eyes closed, tears of his own rolling down his cheeks.
Kyojuro was quiet, tongue heavy in his mouth. He held onto Tengen’s arm where they wrapped around him, fingers denting the flesh. The tears on his cheeks dried slowly as Tengen held him, rocking him gently. He heard him humming something, a tune his ears were ringing too loudly to pick up. His throat was hoarse and painful, torn to shreds by his cries. He closed his eyes. He felt so small. Like a child.
“Can I see your wrist, baby?” Tengen murmured.
“I don't want you to,” Kyojuro whispered hoarsely. His throat burned.
“I know. I know. But I'm not mad, I promise. I just want to see how bad it is. I just need to see if you need to have it looked at.”
Kyojuro pressed his mouth into a quivering line, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. He let out a shaky breath. “I c-- I already put bandages on it. I'm ok.”
“Kyojuro, I’d like to see it for myself.”
Shame, slow and warm, spread through him. Wordlessly, he sat up. He let Tengen help him to his feet, shuffling with him to the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, shoulders hunched and face swollen with tears. His eyes were hollow. He looked away. He chewed at his lip as Tengen sat him on the edge of the tub, coaxing his hoodie off his shoulders. He stared at the floor. He found a few spots of blood he had missed. When Tengen began to peel back the bandages, he jolted as he felt the scabs shifting, arm jerking away instinctively.
“It's ok. I'm sorry. It's ok,” Tengen murmured, gently touching his forearm. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” Kyojuro watched as he peeled the bandage the rest of the way off, revealing the deep red lines splitting open his skin. He flicked his eyes up to watch Tengen’s face, watching for a single twitch of his eyebrows, a frown, any sign that he had lied.
His face was calm. He seemed to simply observe the wounds, taking in their shape and placement. Kyojuro didn't dare blink for fear that he would miss the crackle of anger, disappointment, pity across his features that was sure to come.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Kyojuro was taken aback. He shook his head quickly. Tengen looked upto meet his gaze. His fuschia eyes were gentle, achingly so, and full of concern. Not a single ounce of anger. Sorrow, yes, but no anger. No disappointment. No pity.
“Would it be ok if I bandaged it up again for you?” Tengen asked softly. “I’d like to.”
He looked down at his wrist again, at the fresh bright blood beginning to ooze from the wounds where the scabs had been disturbed. He nodded. “Ok.”
Kyojuro watched as Tengen cleaned the wounds again, much more gently than he had, and padded them with gauze. He reached for cotton bandages and wound them around his wrist with the barest amount of pressure, tying off the ends so they would stay. Tengen rose to wash his hands, and Kyojuro looked at his handiwork. It was neat and tidy and it did not make his wrist throb. He bit his lip.
Tengen turned off the sink. “Do you want to come lay down?”
Kyojuro nodded silently. They climbed into bed next to each other, Tengen's arms around him as he curled against his chest. There was something palpable between them; the weight of what he had done had not yet dissipated. But Tengen's arms were still strong and his chest still warm and his embrace still soft. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Kyojuro’s head, one hand twirling his hair around a finger. Kyojuro took in a slow breath, exhaling through parted lips.
For the first time all day, his heart did not pound. His head did not spin. His body did not ache. He was calm. He was safe.