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It becomes an obsession even before a conscious thought. Dragging his intact fingertips over a still unblemished face becomes almost ritualistic. There are no grooves, no ridges, no ugly scars splitting his face open. The mirror does not offer immediate solace either; the images in Faith's mind do not match the ones in his reflection. By the time he truly processes, his breathing has picked up several notches, hands shaking at his sides.
The makeup comes next. A compulsion to see what he'd look with the scars he'd so narrowly missed. Faith has always had a good hand for makeup, only further improved by his time with Bianchi. While prior he'd use his skills before he hit the clubs, now the final results are for his eyes only along with a shameful photo for a locked folder in his gallery.
He uses the washroom mirror after everyone's gone to bed, too scared for anyone to notice the disproportionate time he spends here. His room is out of the question, in case Junior ever managed to wake up and question just what exactly Faith was doing. Truth be told, he had no idea.
It brought him no comfort to confront the the grotesqueries spread across his face. Even still, he can't stop. The time it takes him varies greatly on how much of his face he allows his fears to take up. Some days it's a small cut under his eyes with confident strokes and a mind numbed. Other days, the scars are mottled and twisted and ugly, taking up half his entire visage, drawn on with shaking, shuddering hands.
His Helichan notifications are set off for now; have been for a while. He'd hated the concern from the get-go. Felt only worse when he'd finally taken the chance to glance at what exactly was being said.
Faith's stomach hand sunk with each comment that asked first and foremost about his countenance before his health. He stopped replying, stopped engaging at all, and simply logged out. Billy didn't ask about it long. Faith has never been particularly good at being flippant with him. Despite his best efforts, Billy knew.
When he's finished his nightly routine, he splashes water onto his face and scrubs it violently, clawing off the fabrications in his mind. His skin is raw and red by the time he finished, and in his bared state he feels nothing short of shame and self directed disappointment. The face creams are a balm for both his tender skin and a tender mind, a closure to the night's bout of relevant thoughts.
It's a simple matter that does not need to be made a big deal of. Faith had prided himself for his upkeep, hadn't he? Worked hard to maintain himself to look low effort? People liked him for his aesthetics and when had Faith ever disappointed.
He receives no respite in his dreams, with false memories of getting slashed across his lips, of having his cheeks sawed off and of deep cuts over his eyes. It is the visual rather than the associated imagined bodily reactions that cause him to wake up night after night in a cold sweat.
There is no way Junior doesn't notice. Most nights, Junior's awake too, from whatever the Rookie League had unearthed for him. Despite the darkness, they hold eye contact as a means of silent communication. Faith is never quite sure what Junior conveys then, doesn't quite know his own replies. He never asks, and Faith returns the same courtesy.
Most nights, Faith listens to Junior's breathing until it evens out, and he follows suit. At some point, there is an innocuous white noise machine on the floor in the division between both their spaces that neither Faith or Junior know the origin of. It helps, somewhat.
The shame of his odd behaviour being noticed keeps Faith tossing and turning, wanting nothing more than to go back to before the incident ever happened. Brad doesn't visit and Faith tells himself he doesn't care, that he won't dwell; he doesn't believe himself. The only reason Faith had ever believed himself to be a good liar is because most people never cared enough to go under the surface to dig out the truth. Recent time and company had changed that.
The important thing is that he's figured out how to go through with his own compulsions without leaving extra breadcrumbs on his trail. How would anyone sane even react to this?
Of course it happens when he thinks he's in the clear. Or maybe Faith hadn't thought much at all. He doesn't remember grabbing his makeup bag and brushes, doesn't remember walking to the washroom, doesn't remember locking it. Doesn't remember taking the photo or unlocking his folder to add to his shame. And that last bit is precisely when Junior's standing in the doorway of the too bright washroom, wincing. Ah. Faith really hadn't lockede the door.
"Aha…" Faith says, hands shaking enough that the brush and phone in his hands clatter onto the floor. His voice trails off into a quivering laugh.
"Shitty DJ…" Junior rubs at his eyes as he squints at Faith. "The fuck are you doing?" There isn't much room in between breaths for a response before Junior's glaring at the phone and reaching to pick it up. There isn't much room at all for Faith to breathe. He doesn't. Can't, more like. He remains perfectly statue still. For all that his beauty has been compared to sculptures, human imperfection like the need to fill his lungs still mar his existence.
Faith doesn't look at Junior after that. He doesn't particularly want to see pity yet, and to be reprimanded through disgust feels like an equal blow. Faith doesn't reply when Junior calls out to him, "Shitty DJ," as always. His voice is harsh as ever and Faith is stuborn. Fingers wrap around his wrist and momentarily, Faith bristles.
And then relaxes.
Funny. Junior and gentleness aren't exactly a perfect match, yet in this moment, it's as if he'd never been anything but.
Their steps are nearly as mute as Faith as he trails after Junior. He's sat on Junior's bed by hands on his shoulders that push him down before they disappear to rummage through drawers. He watches idly as Junior returns and kneels on the bed with his makeup wipes.
The lights are dimmed but they feel too bright even now; Faith is thankful they're in Junior's side. Fingers lift his chin and rub in circles at the corner of his left eye; that's where the travesty on his face starts. He shuts them both. He didn't want to see whatever expression Junior wore, be it pity, confusion or disgust.
It's almost nice, relaxing. Faith could have leaned into Junior's hand and fallen asleep right there and then. Warm hands and a warm bed calls for a warm night's sleep.
"Oi," Junior's voice is quiet as he gently rouses Faith from his doze. "Don't fall asleep yet. Go wash your face first."
When he stares without moving, Junior rolls his eyes, gets off the bed and starts to pull him up by the hands. "C'mon. Do you want to break out?"
Something pensive shadows over Junior's eyes and he lets go. "Or not. You could just sleep as you are."
Faith's on his feet faster than any coherent thought.
Junior doesn't say anything initially but Faith sees a frown lower the corners of his lips. "Okay then. Go get washed up."
Perhaps Junior has a fondness for breaking expectations. Faith banks on Junior going to bed right there and then. But no, for every step he takes, it's echoed by Junior's. The blond watches Faith go through his nightly skincare routine, despite the later hour. Junior generally goes to bed early and takes a while to fall back asleep should he awaken in the mid of night. Faith's watched him toss and turn before.
After Faith dries his face, Junior nods in acknowledgement in the direction of their room. He doesn't take Faith by the hand this time, doesn't turn to check if he's still following. Still, the warmth on his wrist is ever present. He sits down on his bed, the dip of the mattress feeling all too foreign.
"I'm a little surprised you didn't just rub the wipes all over my face, Ochibi-chan," Faith attempts at injecting humor into his voice, anything to make light of the aftermath of a catastrophically vulnerable moment. Despite Junior's considerate rubbing, Faith might as well have had his face flayed entirely off, left to bake in morning sun and shame.
Junior shrugs. "Seems like a stupid way to use them."
"You have experience with wearing and removing makeup?"
"Band stuff remember?"
"Ah."
Faith dreads the silence that comes up, yet has no way to break it, mind eeriely empty. But the question never comes. Junior doesn't ask. He's still standing by doorway, hand lingering over the light switch.
"I don't know what you were doing or why. But you'd look pretty cool with a scar you know?"
Faith stares, not entirely sure how to reply. It doesn't seem to deter Junior either way.
"When I was younger, I really wanted a scar. Like a lightning shaped one on my forehead." He lifts his bangs to trace a pattern.
The breathe of air that leaves Faith does so in the form of a laugh. "Like Harry Potter? You're half British so halfway there. You've got to expand your vocabulary a little though. Throw in some 'bloody hell' s for variety."
Junior scowls. "Fuck that guy, to be honest. He didn't patent the concept of lightning scars. I'd be way cooler than him as the chosen one. You could be that ginger redhead."
"Ron Weasley? Or do you mean Ginny," Faith shoots Junior a wink. Junior doesn't miss a beat, already dramatically gagging over his shoes. "It's been a hot second since I read the books." Faith blinks. "Also, ginger and redhead are kind of redundant, no?"
"Fuck you, you can be Snape. You got the hair for it."
It's Faith's turn to scowl. "My hair is not greasy. And if it is, it's cuz Keith keeps stealing my shampoo and never replacing it. I think he's got Dino in on it too. Are you going to start stealing my shampoo too?"
"If you keep bothering me, yeah, I think I will. Start buying extras, chop chop."
The faux frustration holds only as long as their eye contact. Faith looks away first. Junior doesn't seem to notice. "Anyway. I was gonna say that the looks you do are pretty sick. If you need someone to experiment on, I'm up for it. It's easier to do it on someone else right? That third one I scrolled to looked kinda neat. The one with the cut over the eyes. Are you trying to get a part time job as a makeup person on a movie set?"
Junior has left his post at the light switch, instead moving over to his drawer. He brings out eyeliner and draws a lightning shape over his forehead. "There. Oh come to think of it, this is like Gray's scar right. We match now. What do you think?"
Faith watches Junior, not entirely sure how to feel. On the one hand, getting caught had felt like an intervention in it's own right. Yet Junior doesn't antagonize his behaviour or pathologize it; surely, it is odd behaviour to be spending hours fantasizing about scars. Faith can't help but feel grateful.
He smiles. "You should send him a photo in the morning."
"Fuck yeah."
Junior beams, heading finally towards the light switch. In the split second between light and dark, Faith catches Junior's expression shift, but the microscopic in-between is not enough to figure out the destination. There are footsteps and Junior cussing as he underestimates the size of his bed and bumps his knees against the corner before Faith listens to the sheets shift.
Silence, as per usual with Junior, does not linger long.
"Shitty-DJ?"
"Yes Ochibi-chan?"
"…Are some things just harder after the Rookie League for you too?"
"…Yeah."
"It's going to go back to normal. Right?"
Faith considers Junior's tone, his false bravado for Faith's sake. Under the cover of night, of his blankets, Faith's smile is reserved but true. "I want to believe it will."
Then again, after another five minutes of rickety quiet, "You know, even if you had a scar, nothing would be any different right? You'd still be Shitty-DJ. You'd still be annoying. And your music taste would still be shit."
Maybe Faith's a little emotional after having been caught at a vulnerable moment. He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Keep in mind, you asked me for playlist reccomendations a couple of days ago."
"Fuck you, they were all shit."
"Mhm. We both know that's totally true."
"You suck."
"I'm going to be the responsible adult and not reply to that. And maybe try to catch some sleep despite the noise pollution."
There is the rustle of bedding and the soft give of a mattress before Faith's eyes startle open at the soft mass thrown in his face. Junior's pillow, he realizes belatedly. "That's for always being annoying," Junior grumbles. Then he toes his shoes off and throws himself haphazardly onto Faith's bed, uncaring of the limbs that smack his roommate straight across the face.
"…Ochibi-chan?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing?"
"Pestering you in silence."
"Are you going to be here all night?"
"Probably. Got an issue with that?"
"If I go sleep in your bed, will you follow me there too?"
"Yeah, probably."
Faith's sigh turns into an exasperated, tired laugh somewhere in the middle. This feels like too much effort. He shifts over closer to the wall. "Then make yourself at home I guess."
Junior ends up falling asleep before Faith, if his little snores and the level rise and fall of his chest is anything to go by. Majority of what little space the twin bed provides is taken up by Junior, and then some. He's got one arm thrown over Faith, and a leg falling out the side. Still, he seems comfortable.
For all that this is a hassle for Faith, he's grateful Junior managed to fall asleep.
The night is not nearly as long as it had felt on previous moons. It is a good thing that the next morning is a weekend. By the time Faith wakes up, it's ten minutes past ten and he's still groggy. Junior's still fast asleep, head on Faith's chest, curled against his side.
The conversation from last night plays in his mind over and over. Well, Faith supposes, if no one's banging on the door, he might as well catch up on the sleep he's been missing the previous nights. He adjusts the comforter over himself and wraps an arm around Junior's back to keep him from falling off the bed. When Dino and Keith need him or Junior, they'll just have to call on them.