Work Text:
Zero days clean.
Varian is zero days clean.
As he obsessively swiped the blade repeatedly across his wrist, he watched the reddening skin quickly choke up spasms of beautiful, crimson blood. It looked tasty, so enamoring, he wanted nothing more than to take a lick.
His flesh stinged, and burned, and felt the same way your throat feels when you drink soda - fizzy, irritating, prickly. The red liquid started dripping down his arm, but he paid no mind.
Consume me.
He thought.
Love me, eat me, choke me, kick me, comfort me, consume me. Take me until I am nothing more than the sum of your parts.
He had been doing so well; avoiding his urges, keeping his hands clean. But he couldn't keep it in anymore. He hated having to compromise with himself. Hated having to hold himself back, like he was a wild animal. He will take what he wants, no matter what is considered 'right'.
This was his refuge - his proof of autonomy. This was his evidence that he is at his own mercy, and not the mercy of another. He could kill himself, if he wanted to, but it was his own mind that held him back, and no one else's.
Hugo stood in the door frame, terrified at what he had just witnessed.
However, the first emotions he felt bubble up were not feelings of concern or worry, rather they were feelings of guilt.
Now, Hugo knows that it isn't his own fault, nor Varian's, but things become easier if he blames himself. He feels guided, aware, when he applies his own shortcomings to every scenario around him.
Maybe if he had come sooner, Varian wouldn't have been hurting. Maybe if he tried harder, if he worked harder, loved him more, Varian would recover quicker.
Everything to Hugo was a game of blame, and he needed, more than anything, to win.
But at the end of the day, regardless of Hugo's emotions, Varian is still standing above the bathroom sink, painted with red. Still looking at him with desperation, and regret.