Work Text:
A demon with no feelings don't deserve to live.
The lyrics echoed in Rumi's head as she looked down at her patterned arms.
She supposed the plus side of the patterns was that they helped to hide the scars from all her self-inflicted suffering. But, on the other hand, it was frustrating, because a part of her wanted people to see.
She wanted to be cared for and for someone to truly see the level of pain she was in.
Rumi took a deep breath as she slid the razor down her arm, grinning and bearing through the pain.
She always went for her forearm because she found it was the least painful area to do it and, well, it wasn't about the pain for her.
It was about the aftercare.
The part where she cleansed and wrapped her wounds. The part where at least someone was caring for her.
Even if it was herself.
But, well, this time, Mira walked in.
Mira knew about Rumi's self-harming. She'd figured it out even before she saw Rumi's arms.
So, she didn't panic.
She didn't judge.
She gently took the blade from Rumi's hand and set it aside, then went to work at gathering first aid supplies.
Rumi began to cry, partially out of embarrassment and partially out of appreciation.
To her, it seemed her work had finally paid off.
She was being taken care of.
She knew it was an irrational way of thinking and she knew it wasn't healthy but, well, that's how she felt.
If Mira was willing to patch up her struggle marks, then maybe Mira wouldn't leave.
"I've got you" Mira said gently as she cleaned up the wound and began to wrap it in bandaging.
Once she was sure the site was covered, she silently offered Rumi a hug.
And Rumi took it.
Because, fuck, she needed it.