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For someone who seems to go through life as if it always had something exciting and grand to look forward to, filled with as little worry as possible, Chris was just the exact opposite behind closed doors. Not even his own family—not even Nick or Matt knew what lied beneath his cheery nature, what he hid away from the world to not have to force his own issues onto anyone close to him.
During the very early stages of his life, he walked in on Matt in the midst of changing his clothes one day and he could feel the exact second the cogs turned in his head, heart fluttering like it never had before. At the time, the feeling was fleeting, nothing more than an odd occurrence that was easy to look past and shove away like he did with most of these things.
Started to repress it all, kept it all locked away deep, deep down and fought himself and whatever was wrong with him until he was finally secluded and let his tears spill into his pillow. He always waited for his brothers to be fast asleep so then he could weep silently into the night and then eventually join them. It was all he knew, and it only got worse as time stripped his precious childhood away from him.
It only resurfaced when he heard Matt make that stupid joke about moving out from their shared LA home and living on his own.
Chris felt his stomach plummet, his heart beat picked up speed. He realized then why he had always been so afraid of that possibility, the inevitable future, perhaps, of finally one day having to deal with separating from his brothers. Living his own life and finding someone else to fill that hole.
He knew it was just a silly joke that could easily be laughed off but deep down he also knew it would become a reality at some point, and he dreaded that day more than anything he could imagine in those short five seconds.
Shortly after having that horrifying realization is when the cutting started.
It began as just small scratches with his nails, hardly breaking the skin on his upper thighs and drawing only the smallest sliver of blood that didn’t even dare to ooz out. He had just been so frustrated, lacked any form of release for all his pent up emotions over the years. All the feelings he had been in denial of made him want to just grab a knife and plunge it through his heart. But pushing his nails into the palms of his hands felt good enough for the time being.
And his brothers—Oh, his brothers who he loves so dearly that it eats away at his consciousness like an animal feasting on its freshly hunted prey—kept him going as much as it burdened him, the ongoing battle of what he should do about his problems becoming harder and harder to reconcile with. Especially when he had become clingier, almost frighteningly so, to hold onto Nick and Matt until his last breath.
It’s not like they were completely unaware of his mental state either, Chris couldn’t hide that from them forever; the trio had always shared their feelings together whether they wanted to or not. It was merely the gift, or curse depending on who you asked, of being triplets.
***
The rain loudly poured down onto their big windows, thunder clapped nearly every few seconds in what felt like an overbearing amount of noise for Chris and it sent him over the edge. His thoughts were racing more than usual and the noise outside felt like God had been taunting him and forcing him to get up and run to his bathroom in the middle of the night.
He sat on the toilet head, fiddled with his shaver, hands shaking and fingers picking at the head of it while he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He dropped it on the floor, the sound of the plastic clanging to the tiles only further overwhelming him, and he carefully held the razor up to his thighs.
The scratches from his previous outbursts never scarred, always healed over and faded within a couple of weeks. There was only one small, light-brown line still fading right in the middle of his legs, barely visible anymore. Chris didn’t mean to scratch that far down, knowing that the summer heat would come and his brothers could have seen it. It was pure luck that the last few days had been an endless loop of thunderstorms.
Chris pressed down onto his right thigh, and quickly swiped the blade across. He hissed. His eyes widened fearfully down at the open cut. The inside was a bright white at first, confusing him for a moment until the blood started filling it up. He watched in pure awe as the blood trickled down and dripped onto the tiles, right next to the broken shaver.
Lightning struck then, startling Chris out of his daze and he blinked down, realizing that the blood was far from stopping, that he needed to wipe it off before it had the chance to dry and stain the floor.
Chris never forgot how he felt that night, the sharp blade pushing deeper into his skin than he had ever done before. The moment was brief but addicting, and so he went back into his bathroom not too long since then and slashed over the cut to make an ‘X’ shape. Chris smiled at his work, not sure as to why the self mutilation had eased his mind for the first time in ages. He wasn’t even too fond of the pain, it was probably his least favorite part of the whole thing, but the aftermath is where he really found solace. Something that belonged to Chris and him alone.
But it was one more thing that he had to try to hide from his brothers.
“Chris, what’s wrong?” Nick asked one evening.
They stood in the kitchen, Chris held the fridge door open and faced inside without giving Nick a glance.
“What are you talking about?”
“I can feel it. Like, in my gut or something.”
“You’re crazy—”
Nick slapped Chris’ arm, causing him to wince in pain. It took his attention away from the fridge, slamming it shut and rubbing his arm.
“Ow!?”
“We’ve literally known each other for our whole lives—I know when something’s up with you.”
“I’m just a little stressed out.” Chris replied rather coldly, turned around to start moving to the direction of the stairs to his room.
“About what?”
He stopped walking. “Y–you won’t get it–”
“Like hell I won’t!” Nick ran to Chris, grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him to face him dead on.
“You can’t just avoid this, Chris… you know how terrified I was before coming out to you?”
“Really? You’re gonna use that card on me?”
“Yes, I fucking am. I’m just–I’m just really worried, and I’m in a ‘mood’ right now, and you’re gonna make me cry if you don’t talk to me about whatever’s going on.”
Chris’ entire body tensed, he knew Nick felt it with his hands still firmly pressed on him. His mind filled with a million scenarios and outcomes to this conversation, none of them giving him the courage to look his brother in the eyes.
“I’m tired.” He almost started to walk away, heading for his room again, but Nick was stubborn as always and kept his hold on him tight.
“Wanna sleep in my room tonight then?” His voice was sweet, though it felt a little patronizing, it didn’t sound like it at all. Chris just sighed with a weak smile on his face.
“Yeah.”
Nick went up first, as Chris actually did end up going back to his room to grab a few of his things. He walked past his bathroom and the thoughts of cutting himself flooded his head, but he pushed the urge down this time and ran up the stairs, holding a teddy bear in his arms.
Nick was already lying comfortably under his silk covers when Chris came in. The younger could see his eyes light up at his arrival, and he couldn’t help the flush that spread to his cheeks as he laid down beside him.
“If you’re not ready to talk, or whatever, that’s fine. Just–I’m here, okay? And so is Matt. You know that.”
“I know.”
Nick turned to face Chris, hands flying to him and bringing them in close to plant a soft kiss to his knuckles. Chris’ heart raced. He hoped Nick wasn’t able to hear the pounding of it against his chest.
“Goodnight. Love you.”
Chris swallowed, eyes still focused on their intertwined hands.
“Love you, too.”
***
Chris runs through tall, forest green trees, ones that are either lost to the night’s looming shadows or are just too grown over, towering over him like skyscrapers that reach above the clouds.
He hears a faint roar in the distance, and attempts to run faster only to feel like his weight has been held down by an invisible rope. His legs still frantically mimic the motions but his feet only sink into the ground, and all his movements are painfully slow as the deep roaring grows closer and closer.
He falls forward into a white, illuminated room with tiles that make up the floor similar to the one in his own bathroom. The one difference being that these floors were splattered in blood, his brother’s blood Chris realizes as he looks up to find it leaking out of what looked like a much younger Nick’s leg. He screams, much less in pain but more filled with sorrow, accusatory eyes staring up at Chris as he sobs louder.
Deafening.
Then suddenly all the saturated colors blinded him in an instant, meshing together into a whirlpool of nothingness right before Chris’ eyes shot open, and he shook in his bed.
His first instinct was not to swipe off the beading sweat that quickly smudged his pillow but to reach his hand out to pat the warm body next to him. In the absence of it the real panic began to settle in, and he stumbled out, almost slipping off the sheets when his already worry ridden head caught a glimpse of a glow peeking out through Nick’s bathroom door. His stomach churned, his eyes blurred, and with all the might he could muster he ran into the door, while kicking and banging and crying out delirious pleas for Nick to let him in.
“What is your problem, I just had to pee–” Nick soon replied as he opened the door, oblivious to how dire the situation felt for his brother until Chris had swung his arms up, and he weeped into the crook of his neck.
“Hey, hey, woah. Wh–what happened?”
Chris sighed, took in his surroundings, focusing in on Nick—his voice, his body, his scent, everything.
“It was just a dream.”
“It was just a dream…”
The next night, Chris tried to switch it up and sleep in Matt’s room this time around, thinking that the simple solution of a location change could allow him some actual time to rest without any anxiety induced nightmares to ruin it. The only problem then was that, well, he just couldn’t fall asleep at all.
He lied there wrapped up in a large, heavily weighted blanket that fully covered both him and Matt. He lied there for an hour after Matt drifted off, counting the freckles on his face. He noted each and every time the man would snore, stroked the bundles of curls that got caught over his eyelashes behind his ears, and for some time he even mimicked the pace at which Matt was breathing, following the slow and long rhythm until they were completely in sync. Chris’ heartbeat was just a bit faster than his.
Why would he want to sleep anyway, when his insanely gorgeous brother was right there for him to admire? He knew there wasn’t anything very pleasant waiting for him on the other side of his subconscious, nothing but the haunting knowledge he already possessed being forced back down his throat in distorted, grotesque visions that kept him awake for nearly twenty-six hours since the first nightmare.
But even then, he didn’t want to lay this burden on those closest to him, trying to run past them to reach the top of the stairs.
“You sleeping in Nick’s room tonight?” Matt stopped him. Nick stood beside him at the front of the railing, tentatively waiting for Chris’ answer.
“No, I’m gonna try mine this time.” He answered with a forced smile, one he was sure wouldn’t even have convinced himself, but he turned quick enough and bolted down to avoid the looks. Just needed to get into the bathroom, needed that rush he had been craving.
There were, for once, no thoughts ravaging him when he stumbled in, leaving the door unaccounted for because all that he could feel in that moment was the instinctual urge to slice his skin open.
He had gone a bit further down his leg, barely reached the hem of his shorts and pushed. Blood spilled out. Chris marveled at it. Swiped over the cut once more to ensure the eventual scarring.
The sound of a slight squeak in the door’s hinges brought his adrenaline up, choked on his own saliva as he raised his head up from the mess and locked eyes with Nick.
Because, of course, Chris had been so engrossed in the ludicrous, sick act that he wouldn’t have heard one of his brothers rush down the stairs after him to make sure he was truly okay. That’s on him for not having as much faith in them at the time.
Nick dropped down to the floor, arms sprawled over the younger’s legs and rolled out toilet paper, vigorously tried rubbing the blood off. Chris’ heart ached.
Only in his quiet and unnaturally relaxed stature did Nick halt his actions, pondering.
“I’m sorry.” Chris muttered out.
He wondered how Nick hadn’t burst into tears yet; he felt like he was on the cusp. But that wasn’t really in Nick’s nature, even if he has cried over lesser stuff than this. Still, Chris was grateful. He didn’t need to break in front of his brother now. And Nick’s brows just furrowed, the pain of the realization hitting him all at once.
“How long have you been doing this?” He asked monotonously, and without steering his eyes away from the cut.
“Since, like, the end of March, I think.”
“And me and Matt didn’t know.” Nick sounded defeated, like he should have already figured out a way to help him. Now he had sat there staring down at the consequences to his mistreatment, his supposed negligence.
“It’s not your fault.”
“But I knew something was wrong!”
“I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up, because it’s not even–” Chris tried to suck up his guilt, laid his defense down as confident as he could with Nick’s hand pressed firmly onto his bleeding thigh.
“–I kind of like it.” The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Nick’s hand squeezed around him, only slightly stinging the fresh wound.
“N–not in a weird way!”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Nick looked up at him then. Even he didn’t seem so sure of himself, and it left Chris bewildered by the thought. He almost wanted to push him, tease a more thorough explanation out of him. But now was not the time to mess around. He would probably come back to it later.
“I know it’s really weird—I don’t like the pain, trust me—but it helps.”
More silence took over the bathroom. Nick glanced down at the tissues in his hand. Chris followed his lingering eyes until they landed right above his hand, taken aback by the scars that had risen up the younger triplet’s leg and made a home for them. Without warning, he brought his free fingertips up to the keloids and softly brushed over them, feeling every small bump. Chris’ eyes widened, but his body didn’t flinch in the slightest.
“Sorry, does it hurt?” Nick asked gently. It was so sudden, his change of tone, but it wasn’t laced with anything sour, and so Chris allowed his hands to wander farther.
“No.” Chris swallowed, “Those ones are healed.”
Lightly, Nick continued to tread over the scars with a sort of amusement.
“I don’t know if this means anything to you, but, could you try to stop doing this? For me?”
Chris, too shocked by the question, or request, couldn’t even respond. The words caught in his mouth while his doe-like eyes did all the talking for him.
And Nick just nodded, told him it was okay.
He only whispered a final “Goodnight” and then stood up, throwing the tissues out in the room’s mini trash can, and left Chris sitting in his bathroom in the most confused state he had ever been in.
Chris was nothing but guilt ridden for what he was doing, rationalizing 24/7 that he deserved it for being the way he is, having the thoughts he had for his brothers amongst a lot of other things. Things he felt too ashamed of to speak out loud even to himself. So, then why, when Nick caught him in the act did he not look at him with the same disgust he felt for himself, why did he even appear captivated by each scar he was exposed to?
When he allowed some time to pass after the event, he found himself comfortably watching a show on the living room couch. Footsteps approached him and he did not flinch or scoot away, or attempt to hide his legs with a throw pillow. He sat there and waited, and soon one of his brothers plopped himself down onto the cushions with hardly any space in between the two.
Immediately, Chris could tell it was Nick without having to turn his attention away from the TV, and the tattooed arm that hugged at his waist confirmed it. He stiffened just a bit, nervous from not being touched this intimately since their last encounter. He wondered if Nick had just forgotten about it, but that seemed too good to be true, especially as the older’s hand fell from his waist and dropped down to his shorts.
Chris couldn’t have looked away then. Nick threw one of his legs over him, like he was securing him in place and kept him stuck in the position while he glued his eyes to the screen, barely able to pay any attention to what was actually going on anymore.
Just as Chris was beginning to shift his focus on the TV again, Nick pulled him right out of his head with a light squeeze to his thigh. Chris let out a gasp, brief enough for the uproar of applause coming from the screen to drown it out.
The peace didn’t last, Nick felt he would be up for games it seemed, sprawling his fingers across Chris’ leg until some of them sneakily found their way up and under the boy’s shorts. Chris shuddered, but he couldn’t move, thought only about how tender his brother’s touch felt.
Fingers searched for the scars, knew they were too high up for comfort. But he took that risk anyway, Nick’s hand fully riding up the fabric now, exposing a bit of Chris’ boxer briefs in the process.
Chris didn’t look away from the screen, although he couldn’t tell anyone what was going on in the show or movie or whatever it was at all, now too heavily aware of just how close he and Nick were on the couch. How Nick didn’t shy away from pushing them closer together with his other arm wrapping around Chris’ waist. It was absurd and overwhelming, but God, Chris didn’t want him to stop.
“Can I touch them?” Nick suddenly whispered, sending Chris’ heartbeat into overdrive.
He hummed before reluctantly turning his head to find Nick’s reaction, and he looked at him with a blank expression. Chris couldn’t bear the heat that flooded his cheeks, struggled to breathe while Nick seemed totally unaffected by any of this.
Then Nick’s fingers were sliding up his leg, and once again they found Chris’ raised scars. Pressed down on them with more purpose, more edge. Like he was playing with a damn fidget toy. Surprisingly, Chris’ breaths evened. Nick’s palm was flat on his thigh and he had never felt more at peace.
“Matt doesn’t know, right?” His stomach sank again.
“No.” He said, faint and weak. Hardly wanted to remember how bad it felt, now.
Nick just sighed, but he kept his hand on his leg and gently squeezed it before pressing his lips to Chris’ cheek. His eyes felt like they popped out of his head, turned to Nick only to see the same unreadable look on his face.
He stood up abruptly and left Chris in a state of shock, confusion, a bit of heart ache at the loss of warmth. Too many thoughts swirled in his head and he wanted to say something but Nick was already gone.
***
The nightmares continued. All as terrifying and strange as the next, scenes of Chris stabbing arrows through his stomach and pulling them out to inspect the bloody fat that would pop out of him. His head forcing him to listen to his brothers’ agonizing screams before he woke up in the dead of night. Needless to say, his sleep schedule wasn’t getting any better.
On the plus side, since Nick found out about his habit, he couldn’t even pull any of his blades out without seeing Nick’s horrified face in his mind. Chris thought it was stupid, but he really couldn’t do it. For Nick. And the thought of Matt possibly joining in on that made his insides hurt too much to go through with it every time he had the urge.
But the strangest part, he thought, was how nonchalant Nick acted towards him. It was almost like nothing had ever happened. It made Chris antsy, hoping it was just Nick’s way of avoiding the awkward conversations. So he could forget about it, forget about Chris. Maybe that would have been the best outcome.
What Chris did not expect in the slightest was for Nick to barge into his room, eyes wide and a bit of a buzz in his body. He looked like the next step he took would have made him explode.
“Are you good?” Chris asked cautiously, turning his phone off and slowly setting it down on his bed. Nick hummed, fast to hop on the bed with him.
“Can I ask? Have you still been– you know?” Chris’ brows furrowed.
“No, actually. You kind of guilt tripped me into stopping… for now.” He wanted to leave then, but something halted him. Maybe it was the manic look in Nick’s eyes that pierced right through him, maybe he felt stuck in his place as Nick leaned in.
“Well, what if I, like, did it for you?” Chris sat up, head tilted and eyes wide. “What?”
Nick huffed, like he was the one being pressed suddenly, “Can I cut you?”
His first instinct was to hit Nick on the arm, tell him to fuck off for making jabs at him. But he couldn’t help lingering on his words, the way his heart rate peaked and his stomach churned all at once. The idea wasn’t setting off any alarms, not in the moment anyway.
He stammered then, “You– what? Why?”
“‘Cause then I would know you were safe?” It almost made sense for a second, but the feeling of uneasiness crept up on him. Chris had been hiding this for months, too ashamed of himself and his thoughts to ever think of telling his brothers. So, why the hell was Nick acting like this?
Either way, he locked eyes with him and he swore he saw a blush on Nick’s face before he looked down. He fumbled in his hoodie pocket and pulled out a box cutter, startling Chris back up against the headboard.
“Are you serious?” Nick simply nodded in response, lips pressed into a flat line. Chris took a deep breath.
Nick wouldn’t let another moment pass, hand already raking up Chris’ shorts—convenient, he thought—and he didn’t have to raise them that high up, but he did. And Chris didn’t stop him. Just watched Nick’s lips turn upward, breaths coming up short as he stared at the scars.
Thumb soothed over them, and Chris’ head felt light and his body twitched by instinct.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You know I would never hurt you.” Ironic, Chris thought, as his brother brought the box cutter up to his thigh and lined up the blade just above one of his latest cuts. Still light pink but it was thin, bothered Nick enough it seemed to choose that spot.
He went at a steady pace at first, tracing over the scar with the blade and waited until blood seeped out to slide it across. Chris let out a little whine; he cut him so painfully slow.
“C–can you go a little faster?” Instant regret hit him after he spoke but Nick just chuckled softly and brought the blade back up, pressed it into his skin and swiped. Chris gasped but it felt good. It was unexpected, unlike anything he had ever done to himself, but he liked it. The thrill. The way his skin sliced open, showing a splotchy mix of white and yellow in the cut before blood filled it up.
“I’m gonna do something a little crazy, okay?” Nick said, left Chris confused for barely a second, then he dove his head down, placed his mouth over the cut before there was a chance for the blood to trickle out.
Chris only sucked in a breath, eyes stuck to the obsceness of it all. Nick drank up the blood right out of him like he had been craving it for his entire life. Tongue slid over the little drops that seeped out of his lips, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh. Chris tried to make some sense of it, but the flush to his cheeks was too potent, his body reacting unexpectedly.
Breathless, he encouraged Nick some more, eliciting a hungry groan from the older as he gently sunk his teeth down, careful enough as not to break through flesh. But just deep enough for Chris to whine in his throat at the sharp pain that shot up his leg. Even so, all he could think about was his brother’s mouth on him, hands gripping onto him and probably leaving bruises.
He might have seemed crazy for pouting when Nick raised his head up and wiped at his blood-stained lips.
“Why’d you stop?”
Nick giggled, “I got it all, babe.” And, he really did, Chris realized when he shot a glance back down at his thigh and saw the spongy material was left with only a few red splotches. Purple already spread around his skin. It was mesmerizing.
“Do you have bandaids?” Nick asked, a little breathless himself. No figures.
“Of course I do. In my bathroom.”
“Okay!” Nick hopped up from the bed, but not before leaving a quick, chaste kiss to Chris’ flushed cheeks. Dumbfounded, Chris brought his fingers up to his cheek, caressed it while a smile formed. From everything that had happened, that’s what really got his stomach fluttering and his mind racing.
The tightness in his chest only worsened when Nick came back shortly, sat closer to him—if that were even possible—and began to wipe away the excess blood. He worked the bandaid onto him so gently, stark contrast to how desperate he seemed to get his mouth on Chris’ thigh. Which, now that he had some more time to let it sink, was something he shouldn’t have brushed off so quickly.
“Can we do that again?” Also, probably not what he should have asked. His adrenaline was rushing, so his mouth kept running, “Would Matt like this?”
Nick all but grinned, finger tracing over the outline of the bandaid. “You that desperate to get his mouth on you, too?”
Chris looked down, then anywhere else but Nick’s knowing stare, though it was impossible to hide the smile that forced its way onto his face. Didn’t want to admit that Nick was right on the money. Scoffed instead.
Nick let out a small huff, reached for the box cutter to teasingly wave it up in Chris’ face. Chris didn’t even flinch, just looked up into Nick’s eyes.
“You think he’d be okay with this?” The abrupt sound of a click made Chris jump slightly, then the box cutter’s blade was pointed towards his face. Only a couple of inches away and Chris’ heart started to pound.
He swallowed thick, mouth dried up. Nick pressed him on with a coy smirk giving Chris a plethora of insane ideas, “You want him to know how fucked up you are?”
And he leaned back as Nick came closer with the blade, until he fell flat on his bed, breath hitching. Nick lifted his legs up and over his lap, never took his eyes off of his brother even as Chris squirmed under him. Painstakingly hovered the box cutter down to his chest.
Chris noted how much further away it felt from his skin than Nick’s own face; nose aligned with his own and his eyes darting back and forth from Chris’ eyes to his lips, or his chest, he couldn’t quite decipher it and it made him so, very dizzy.
“H–he could be down for this.” Chris breathed out shakily, tried to match his brother’s cool demeanor only for his voice to catch in his throat. His body felt light as heat passed through it, his brain a foggy mess. Couldn’t think straight with Nick leaning in even further. The tip of the blade making contact with his skin.
“I think there’s something wrong with me.” Nick said softly.
Chris couldn’t help but smile. For once in his life the sick and vile thoughts that plagued his mind every day didn’t feel so scary. For once, he thought maybe he could finally have someone to share this burden with. He felt truly alive.