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It’s not easy to just get back to normal right after a suicide attempt. No, scratch that; it was impossible. After the all-time low and emotional mess that happened the night before, Simeon was entirely unable to put on a good mask. He was exhausted in every sense of the word. Frankly, all he wanted to do was lay in his bed for the next few centuries and pretend he could escape everything plaguing him that way. But he had things to do; he was an exchange student with responsibilities, and..
Luke. Simeon woke up late in the day, and he barely had enough time to get dressed before Luke was due to return. He did, though; it took longer than he wanted to admit, and Solomon was subtly fussing over him the whole time, but he did put on a calm face, so Simeon was thankful. When the time finally came for Luke to return, Simeon greeted him at the door with a smile that (while just as forced as any of his smiles in the past few days, perhaps weeks) wasn’t as comforting as he thought it’d be.
Luke had asked if he was okay, because he didn’t seem very happy. Simeon had only hugged him, feeling overwhelmed with the fact he was alive and Luke wasn’t going to lose him (hopefully.)
He couldn’t bring himself to say he was, so what he did say was “I will be, don’t worry.” Of course Luke was worried about that answer, but Simeon told him he didn’t need to know everything, just that it was being handled and it’d be okay, and maybe he can get a little more of an explanation later. Barbatos leveled him with that same look from the day before, though a little lighter now, and for a moment, Simeon wondered if he knew.
. . .
That day at dinner, Luke was the one to claim rights to the kitchen. While he didn’t press about Simeon, he did seem worried about it, so he decided to cook dinner for him. The older angel protested, but only briefly, because he honestly felt too tired to actually try to convince Luke, and too tired to actually cook. In the end, it was Luke who cooked dinner, and Solomon who helped, being strictly placed on cutting the vegetables job.
Silently, throughout dinner prep, Simeon’s eyes wandered to Solomon’s knife. The thoughts that ran through his head while he sat there, the way his arms burned and itched, it frightened him.. though he missed the way Solomon caught the look in his eyes and the object of his attention.
Dinner wasn’t as vibrant as usual. Simeon was quiet and didn’t eat as much as he usually did, despite the fact it was black tapir casserole and he hadn’t eaten much else that day. Solomon tried to get him to eat more, and Simeon did want to—he did try–but his appetite was entirely shot. So in the end, what wasn’t eaten was put away as leftovers.
When dinner ended, Solomon didn’t go to his own room. He followed Simeon into his. Luke spared a concerned glance, but didn’t speak up, only going into his own room.
“Simeon,”
The angel in question looked over at Solomon, who wore a concerned look now that they weren’t where Luke could see them. Simeon fidgeted with his gloves, sitting down on the end of the bed. There was a lot they had to talk about, he knew, even if he didn’t want to. Solomon walked over and sat beside him, gently interlacing their fingers. It did help slightly.
“Can you tell me what was going through your head when we were making dinner?” Solomon asked, his voice soft. Not forcing, but an encouragement that seemed to express he would much rather they talk about this. Simeon bit the inside of his lip, squeezing Solomon’s hand slightly; he didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew he had to. He knew he couldn’t just handle it alone.
“I haven’t felt the urge to..” he paused, not sure how to say it. Solomon waited. “..to hurt myself.. in a long time. But.. I guess, last night reminded me of how it feels… and I know it’s wrong, but it’s- it’s hard to stop the.. itch.”
The sorcerer nodded, an empathetic look in his eyes. He carefully ran his thumb over Simeon’s hand, and the angel leaned over slightly to rest his head on Solomon’s shoulder, looking down a bit as if trying to hide from the world. Perhaps he was.
“Thank you for telling me that.” Solomon said softly. “There’s a lot of things we need to talk about, but for now, let’s focus on that. Do you want to try alternatives?”
Simeon raised an eyebrow slightly, just barely looking up enough to see the other. Or rather, so Solomon could see him.
“Something that mimics it, or takes your mind off the urge.” Solomon elaborated. Simeon thought for a moment, before nodding. “Okay.. have you tried anything in the past to distract yourself?”
“It’s never been this bad before,” Simeon answered softly. “But.. when I felt the urge in the past.. I would write.”
“Did it help?” Solomon asked.
“Not really.” The angel admitted. “It’d always come back worse the next day.”
“Okay, so let’s try something that you can do that might help the urge as opposed to just pushing it down.” Solomon thought for a moment, looking around the room. “Maybe a pen, or ice dyed red?”
Simeon was quiet for a moment, staring into nothing, before he seemed to acknowledge the words. “Maybe a pen?”
With that, the sorcerer slowly moved Simeon off of him. While disliking the disappearance of comfort, he didn’t complain, watching as Solomon rifled through the items on his desk to find a pen. Silently, Simeon took off his gloves, staring half-presently at the scars that marred his wrists where the deeper cuts he’d made were. Solomon’s healing magic was impressive, but it seems it couldn’t exactly prevent that much.
Perhaps he’d always have the memory of how bad he fucked up, branded into his skin just under the gloves he usually wore. At least he already wore gloves, and wouldn’t have to answer to why he was starting to. Because he was not willing to share these, at least not until he was long clean and okay.
Which might be a while.
Solomon pulled him out of his thoughts by handing him a red-colored pen. Simeon took it, carefully eyeing the item. Solomon sat beside him, setting his hand on the angel’s leg. Perhaps the constant touch was a reminder he wasn’t alone.
Truly, Simeon appreciated it greatly.
He uncapped the pen, slowly turning his wrist upward and drawing along it. At first, he just made little doodles, pressing harder each second until the skin protested. And then he tried lines. It was.. he didn’t know how to explain it. It was a nice feeling, but it wasn’t enough. It was pain, but not the type of controlling pain cutting gave. Being on the precipice of pain but not enough was overwhelming. The red gave the illusion, but it was not blood. And he knew that.
Tears welled up in his eyes in frustration, and Solomon carefully took the pen away after he stopped. Neither needed to say anything; the result was clear. It wasn’t working. Simeon scratched at his arms, not enough to break the skin, his nails weren’t quite sharp enough for that. Solomon slowly moved his hands away, gently rubbing the skin instead, pressing deep enough it was almost painful but not quite.
Simeon only moved closer, crying into Solomon’s shoulder. Again.
Why was this so hard?
. . .
They tried ice the next day, along with an online yoga video, writing (though Simeon mentioned it hadn’t worked in the past, Solomon wanted him to try), and a rubber band. None seemed to work. Dinner rolled around again, and Luke again decided to cook. Simeon instead sat in the common room this time, within Solomon’s line of sight. Honestly, he wanted to disappear into the couch.
It was exhausting. Every last attempt to find something that helped, and none worked. In fact, every time, he cried not only because it didn’t help but because the effort was too much. His chest tightened when he had to do anything, and he had to remind himself over and over again it was necessary. Letting himself rot away would do nobody anything good. Not himself, not Solomon, not Luke.
His mind wanted to make himself feel like a burden on the sorcerer. The attention he was given felt too much. But he knew better than to self-sabotage—despite those feelings, he loved being held by Solomon. He loved his soft, comforting words; the way he didn’t make Simeon feel bad for this all, didn’t just tell him to stop and abruptly force him away from cutting or his self-hatred.
Of course the end result was to get there, but it was a long journey, and it seemed like Solomon understood that. He held Simeon and told him it would end up being okay. Not that it was already okay. He reminded Simeon he was not alone. He tried to help him find things that would help, and Simeon in turn had to try. And he was, truly. Even if it was tiring.
He was brought back from his thoughts by Luke walking in, a nervous expression on his face. Simeon sat up, taking a breath and urging himself to do something aside from melt into the couch and pretend he had no problems.
“What’s wrong, Luke?” He asked. The younger angel fiddled with his sleeves.
“..I wanted to ask you that.” He answered quietly. Simeon’s expression softened; he was barely surprised. Luke was a very sympathetic angel. He understood quite well that Simeon wasn’t okay.
He wanted to spare the boy the burden of knowing the truth, but he couldn’t lie. Luke deserved to know. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, he was able to handle knowing big things. That didn’t mean that Simeon wanted to tell him the full truth; not the self-harm struggles, not the attempt, not how bad it really was. But he wasn’t going to lie. Standing up, he carefully kneeled in front of Luke.
“There’s a lot of things going on right now.” He said softly. “I won’t lie to you. I’m not okay. I’m struggling a lot right now. But I’m working on it, and I’m going to get better. I told you yesterday, and I mean it: I’ll be okay. I just need some time.”
Luke watched him carefully, small tears building in the corners of his eyes. Simeon sighed softly, opening his arms. Luke stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
“I’m sorry, Luke.” He said softly. Luke shook his head.
“No, it’s okay.” He whispered. “Don’t apologize for that. I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you’re struggling so much.”
Simeon could feel himself tearing up slightly. He really, truly couldn’t believe how he thought it was okay to just leave Luke.
“It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize. If anything, you’ve been giving me a lot of strength, Luke.” Simeon admitted quietly, pulling back slightly to wipe Luke’s tears. They had stopped as soon as they came, and Simeon willed his own away too. The younger angel gave a small smile.
“Hey.. I hate to ruin the moment,” The two of them looked up to a slightly sheepish Solomon standing in the entryway between the common room and kitchen. “But the food’s going to get cold.”
“Ah, right..” Simeon smiled softly, standing up. He gently ruffled Luke’s hair before heading towards the kitchen.
. . .
That night, Simeon sat against the side of his bed, his nails digging into his arms. Tears just beyond his eyes. Solomon sat beside him, a look of distant helplessness in his eyes. Something Simeon hated seeing on the sorcerer.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Solomon’s eyes widened slightly.
“It’s alright, Simeon. It’s not your fault. I just wish I could do more to help you.” He said softly. They’d discussed therapy, but Simeon was frightened at the idea; he’s still vulnerable right now. And talking about his emotions and telling somebody new about this all.. it wasn’t something he was entirely open to yet. So all Solomon really could do right now was keep him afloat enough not to try again.
They were silent for a while. Simeon was getting used to having Solomon there constantly; once RAD started up again after the break, it’d be a bit more difficult, but he has a feeling the sorcerer will figure it out. And silently, he’s hoping he will.
Solomon eyed him carefully, a look Simeon couldn’t quite describe passing over his features. The angel caught his gaze, conveying his curiosity silently. Solomon looked down, seemingly thinking.
“I.. thought we’d be able to find something better for you that could calm your urges. But they don’t seem to be getting better. I can tell it hurts.” Solomon said slowly, softly. Simeon looked away, because it was nothing if not the truth. “I want you to promise me that you’ll keep trying every day to be clean, or at least get closer, Simeon; it’s an obstacle that takes time, but you can’t give up.. but if nothing else works, and it gets too much, then at least let me be there.”
Simeon’s eyes widened slightly. Was Solomon suggesting.. he cut?
“I don’t want you to give in every time. If you can work through the urge, then do that. But if you have no way out, then let me make sure you’re okay, and don’t hurt yourself more than you have to. Okay?” He looked up at Simeon, who chewed silently at the inside of his lip, giving a soft nod. Carefully, Solomon pulled him into a hug, pulling him close. The itching that had been building up was bearable for now, so he leaned in, practically being pulled into Solomon’s lap. He could hold back for now; for now, he let Solomon’s arms wrap around him and hold him close, protecting him. Maybe it’s from himself, but it’s a comforting feeling nonetheless.
. . .
When Simeon found the need to take Solomon up on that, it was two days later. Luke still refused to let Simeon cook, but tonight, he finally let up enough to let Simeon help. Solomon kept Simeon from doing much, which frankly, the angel was thankful for; despite the exhaustion seeping into his bones he had yet to get rid of, he was still trying to push himself to seem normal. And while continuing on day-to-day was good, both for Simeon’s health and Luke’s concern, Solomon didn’t want him to overdo it when he was still very clearly struggling.
They were making soup today, so there was a lot of cutting involved. Solomon took half of it, Simeon the other, while Luke prepared the pot with water and the first few ingredients. Everything had been going smoothly, the three even making conversation that wasn’t as empty as it had been just after Simeon’s attempt, until Simeon found himself distracted.
Partially with the conversation, partially with the way the light reflected off the knife. The color difference between the very edge of the blade and the vast majority of it, the way it cut through the carrot smoothly, highlighting the sharpness. Maybe his mind wandered to how easily it would cut through his skin. Maybe he winced slightly when he accidentally put his finger a little too close and nicked it on the blade.
His instinct was to pull the finger away, but he went silent when his eyes fell on the blood, and his mind fully registered the pain. The itching in his skin flared up again, suddenly remembering how he hadn’t felt that pain in days and craving it, despite the fact he knew he shouldn’t.
“Sorry,” He said, smiling back at the two; it wasn’t perfect, but it did look more genuine than the faux smiles he gave just four days ago. Solomon watched him carefully, and Simeon isn’t sure if he noticed the distant, empty look he’d been giving the wound. “Accidentally got myself, I’m going to go clean this up.”
He set the knife down and walked away, perhaps faster than he really had to. Instead of going to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, he went to his room, going to sit beside his bed. The same place he spoke to Solomon about this all. His body screamed at him to open the bedside table, to take the pocket knife he knew he had in there.. but he kept himself still, gripping himself tight, focusing on the pain shooting up his finger as if that would be enough.
He could hold on. He didn’t need it, but every part of him continued to tell him he did until eventually he had the small box containing the knife in his hands.
Breathe in; you don’t need it, put it down.
His breathing sped up as he fought against his own urges. He stared at the box. He didn’t open it; just stared, because it was right there and it would be so easy to just take it out and—
Breathe out; it doesn’t help, it just hurts.
Oh, but doesn’t it? The pain is so euphoric, it makes it so easy to pretend everything’s okay. He thought silently about everything that had been happening, and it all felt too much. Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in? It would make it all easier to handle.
“Simeon,” He looked up to find Solomon at the door, closing and locking it in case this took long enough Luke got concerned. The sorcerer walked up and sat beside him, carefully setting his hand on Simeon’s leg. A silent option to set it down and hug him, if Simeon was strong enough.
He wasn’t.
Solomon was here, to make sure he didn’t hurt himself too badly. Heal him as soon as possible. He was safe, and at this moment, he was not strong enough to stop the itching. He took off the box’s top, unsheathing the blade, shaking and feeling tears in his eyes. He was scared, more than anything, because he didn’t want to fall back down when he was getting better, but Solomon’s hand was gentle. Reassuring. It’s okay, he’s okay-
“Simeon,” Solomon spoke up again, and gently squeezed Simeon’s leg. “Stop the second you feel like you can, okay?”
Simeon nodded slightly, taking the blade and carefully pressing it to his skin. Mercifully, Solomon did not stare at him, simply keeping him in sight.
1,
2,
3.
4.
The feeling ws relieving. It made him feel guilty, sure, but good.
5,
6,
7,
8.
He didn’t cut deep, just enough that the cuts were long, red lines. The pain shot up his arm, but it gave him the grace of being able to almost forget for just a little.
9,
10,
11,
12.
His breathing slowed just slightly, though the tears kept coming. The itching ebbed, for the first time since his attempt.
13,
14,
15.
He tried to pull the knife away, but the need continued to burn under his skin. More.
16,
17,
18.
Solomon’s thumb carefully rubbed against Simeon, and he tuned into that feeling instead of the pain in his arms.
19.
20.
The tears let up slightly, and he almost cringed at how much blood was on him. It wasn’t nearly as much as that night, not even close, but it still covered his arms.
21.
He stilled the blade, his hand shaking slightly. Solomon reached over and slowly took it from him, setting it aside and gently holding Simeon, healing the wounds with a soft light. The pain ebbed, but the itching did not return. Not right now. Simeon did not speak as the sorcerer stood him up and led them to the bathroom, washing off the blood from Simeon’s arms and drying them.
When they returned to the bed, Solomon sat them down on it and held Simeon close. The angel leaned into the touch.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. He should’ve been able to be stronger.
“It’s okay. I’m proud of you for holding out long enough for me to get in here. I’m proud of you for stopping before you hurt yourself badly. I’m very proud of how you handled Luke’s concern.” Solomon said softly. Simeon swallowed back any response. How could he be proud? Simeon just cut himself. He didn’t stop himself. “You’re safe, Simeon.”
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Simeon looked up, not raising his head, too tired.
“Solomon? Simeon? Are you okay?” It was Luke. Simeon was glad Solomon locked the door, because even now that the cuts and blood were gone, he didn’t really want Luke to see him like this.
“Yes, we’re fine,” Solomon called. “Go back to cooking, I’ll be back in there in a minute.”
There was a slight pause. Simeon could feel the hesitation from his ward.
“Okay,” Luke decided eventually, his concern palpable through the door, but he trusted Solomon enough to leave it alone. Simeon sighed, closing his eyes.
Eventually, Solomon moved him to lay on the bed. He sat up, confused, before Solomon gestured for him to lay back down.
“Rest for a minute. I don’t think you have the energy to deal with Luke right now, as much as you love him. I’ll bring you some food when it’s done.”
Simeon hated to admit he was right. If he stepped out there, Luke would be extremely worried over him. As sweet as it is, Simeon probably wouldn’t be able to deal with that, at least, not in a way that wouldn’t concern the boy even further.
“Alright.” He said softly, leaning back in the bed.
Solomon came back later to lay with him while the waited for the soup to finish, and then again after that to bring him a bowl. They ended up cuddled up together; Simeon couldn’t be surprised. It had become a regular thing, in the past couple days..
He couldn’t help but feel thankful for that. More than just because he had somebody, but because that somebody was Solomon.
They fell asleep like that, together in Simeon’s bed, hiding from the world together even if only for a little while.