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It doesn’t take long for someone to notice. Three days into their stay in LA, they’re all out by the pool when Jungkook throws a ball at him, and it lands directly on the fresh cuts on his thigh. Yoongi manages to contain the string of curse words that try to come out of his mouth, but he can’t hide his grimace of pain. “Are you okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, guilt and concern written across his face.
Everyone’s eyes are on him, and he doesn’t know if the tension in the air is real or if his anxiety is making him imagine it, but it wraps around his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He does his best to laugh. “Aish, how are you still so strong, Jungkookie? Practically took my leg off!” Hobi makes another joke about how jacked Jungkook is, Jimin throws a ball back at him, and the moment passes.
Yoongi picks up his drink, trying not to let his hands shake too much. Most of the others have turned away, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on him, his gaze a little too intense. He leans closer. “You sure you’re alright, hyung?” he asks, low enough that no one else notices.
Yoongi takes a sip before responding, trying to let the cool liquid settle him further. By the time he sets the glass down, he can almost manage a genuine smile. “Yeah, I’m good, Tae.” Taehyung just nods, his eyes lingering a moment longer before he goes to join Jungkook and Jimin in their game.
Everything goes back to how it was, and Yoongi tells himself that everything’s fine. No one knows. Taehyung was just concerned about how hard Jungkook threw the ball at him. He doesn’t know anything.
That evening, Yoongi sits on one of their balconies, watching the sun set over the ocean. The door slides open behind him, and Taehyung sits next to him. “Beer?” he asks, holding a bottle out, already opened.
“Thanks,” Yoongi replies, taking a long sip.
They sit in silence for several minutes, drinking their beers as the sun sinks below the horizon. Just as the last sliver of sun disappears, Taehyung speaks, his voice quiet. “You’re doing it again.”
Yoongi’s breath catches in his throat. He takes another sip of the beer, suddenly tasteless, to give himself time to think. Taehyung doesn’t know anything yet, not really. He can’t know. “Doing what?” he asks, as casually as he can.
Taehyung turns to look at him, but Yoongi stares resolutely at the horizon, trying to gauge Tae’s reaction out of the the corner of his eye. “Don’t pretend,” he says. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”
Yoongi opens his mouth, preparing to deny that he has any idea what he’s talking about, but Taehyung interrupts him before he can speak.
“Hyung. Hyung, please.”
Yoongi closes his eyes, and he’s back in the bathroom of their second dorm, blood running down his leg, a younger Taehyung kneeling in front of him with panic in his eyes. Give me the razor, hyung. Yoongi shakes his head, fingers gripping the blade tighter. He can’t let Taehyung take this away from him he can’t he can’t he— Hyung. Hyung, please.
He opens his eyes and forces himself to look at this Taehyung. A little older, different hair, but the same pleading eyes, full of pain and concern and fear. Shame twists in his gut, and he can’t face him any longer. He glares down at his bottle of beer and starts pulling the label off at the corner. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mumbles.
“The truth.” His voice is gentle, but Yoongi still flinches.
The silence stretches between them for what feels like years, and Yoongi is drowning in it. Each passing moment makes it harder to breathe. His vision blurs. He doesn’t know if he’s too hot or too cold but he’s too something. He knows he should say something but his thoughts are all static and he can’t make his mouth move and he’s going to die and
Taehyung puts a hand on his shoulder. “Yoongi-hyung,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It’s just me. It’s just Tae. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Yoongi manages to reach up and grab Taehyung’s hand, squeezing it as hard as he can. Taehyung squeezes back, and Yoongi uses it to anchor himself as Taehyung keeps reminding him he’s safe. Slowly, so slowly, the world shifts back into focus, and the panic gives way to embarrassment and shame. “Sorry,” Yoongi finally manages to whisper.
“It’s okay.” Yoongi realizes he might be gripping Taehyung’s hand too tightly, and he relaxes his hold a little. He’s grateful when Taehyung doesn’t pull away entirely. His eyes are still burning into the side of Yoongi’s head, though, and that’s just… it’s too much to bear.
“Could you—” he clears his throat. “Could you maybe not look at me?”
Taehyung immediately complies, turning to look out over the water with Yoongi. “Sorry, I should’ve known that would make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay.”
Another long silence, though this one feels less suffocating, and Yoongi can breathe easier without Taehyung staring at him.
He knows he has to say something, knows Taehyung has been more than patient, knows he owes him some measure of the truth, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. “I don’t know what to say.”
Taehyung hums in acknowledgment. “Well, you’re cutting again, yeah?” Yoongi flinches and tries to pull away, but Taehyung’s grip on his hand tightens. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. I just want to know for sure.”
“I… yeah, I am,” Yoongi whispers.
“Okay.” Yoongi searches for any hint of judgement or disappointment in his tone, but he doesn’t hear it. “How long have you been doing it again?”
He hesitates, and Taehyung squeezes gently, rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand. Yoongi turns his head away so he won’t have to see his reaction. “I never really stopped.” He can feel Taehyung tense up beside him, and when he pulls his hand out of Yoongi’s grasp, Yoongi has to fight back tears. He should have known better. He should never have been this honest, not if he wanted anyone to still love him.
But instead of leaving, Taehyung slides closer to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Yoongi freezes at the unexpected contact. “Okay, so you never stopped cutting,” Taehyung continues like nothing happened. “How many years has it been, then?”
Yoongi doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why is Taehyung still here? Doesn’t he understand by now how broken Yoongi is? He stares at Taehyung and forces his brain to process his question. “Seventeen.” He tries to read Taehyung’s face, but it’s difficult in the fading light. “More than half my life,” he adds without thinking.
Taehyung leans his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, and Yoongi feels himself relax a little bit despite everything. “How bad is it right now?” he asks.
“Not that bad? I don’t know how to answer that.”
“That’s fair.” Taehyung thinks for a minute. “On a scale of one to ten, where ten is the worst it’s ever been, where are you?”
Yoongi considers that. It’s definitely not the worst it’s ever been. He suppresses a shudder at the memories of the darkest months, when cutting had been his only lifeline. He’d cut deep then—too deep. Not deep enough to die, but deep enough to matter. He remembers wounds that wouldn’t close and sneaking away to change bandages every couple hours so he wouldn’t bleed through his clothes. He remembers gritting his teeth through rehearsals while feeling like his leg was on fire, trying to pass it off as just being sore from practicing so much. He remembers seeing the inside of his body in a way that he hadn’t before and hoped he never would again. (He refuses to admit that on his worst days, he dreams of seeing it again.)
He shakes off the memory. No, it’s definitely not that bad. Not even close. But… it has gotten worse recently. As much as he doesn’t want it to be true, the stress of Bangtan’s comeback is getting to him. And he feels so stupid for it. He wants this. He’s been excited for this. He shouldn’t be falling apart because he’s finally reached the moment he’s been looking forward to for so long. But he is.
He’s cutting more often and cutting deeper than he has in years, and it hurts to acknowledge that their comeback is the cause.
It’s probably a seven, he decides. He tries to imagine how Tae would react to that number. He’s once again hit with the memory of a panicked Taehyung in their dorm bathroom, and he can’t be the cause of that kind of panic again, he just can’t. “Four,” he mumbles, grateful for the darkness hiding the guilt he knows is written across his face.
“Are you lying to me?” There’s no real accusation in his voice, just an edge of sadness, which somehow hurts more.
Yoongi doesn't answer.
“Hyung.” His voice is gentle, like he thinks Yoongi might break if he pushes too hard. Yoongi hates it.
He can't make himself speak but forces himself to nod. “Can you tell me what the real number is?”
He twists his hands in the hem of his shirt, tries to focus on the weight of Taehyung’s head on his shoulder, reminds himself that he's not in trouble, and whispers, “Six.” Six is okay. Six is safe. Seven sounds concerning, like things are really getting bad, but six? Six is barely more than halfway. Six is fine. He can admit to six.
Taehyung takes a little too long to respond, and Yoongi suspects he still doesn't believe him, but he apparently decides to let it go. “Okay,” Taehyung says. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.” A beat of silence. “Can I see?”
Yoongi freezes, panic suddenly gripping his chest. “N-no,” he stutters.
Taehyung sighs. “That’s okay. I thought you’d say that. Can you at least tell me if you’re taking care of them properly? Keeping them clean and bandaged and everything?”
“I am.” Yoongi isn’t stupid. He can’t let them get infected. Infection means doctors, and doctors mean questions he doesn’t want to answer and the possibility of it being leaked to the media.
“Good.” They fall into silence, and Yoongi listens to the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. He finds himself being lulled to sleep by the waves and the comforting warmth of his friend. Just as he’s about to drift off, Taehyung speaks again. “You know you can always talk to me, right? I’m always here for you, no matter what.”
“I know,” Yoongi replies. “Thank you.”
Taehyung taps him on the arm. “Good. Let’s go to bed.”
Yoongi groans and drags himself upright. It’s not that late, but he’s exhausted. He lets Taehyung grab his hand and lead him through the house to Yoongi’s bedroom, ignoring the curious glances from Jungkook and Jimin as they pass them in the kitchen. He falls onto his bed without bothering to remove his clothes, and he doesn’t protest when Taehyung slides in next to him, pulling him into his chest. Yoongi listens to the faint beat of his friend’s heart. “Are you going to tell the others?” he whispers through the darkness.
Taehyung told them last time. Yoongi had sat numb and unmoving on the bathroom floor while Taehyung cleaned him up with shaking hands. As soon as everything was bandaged, Taehyung pulled him down the hallway and straight into Namjoon’s room. Yoongi stared at the floor as Taehyung spilled his deepest secret to their leader, his voice wavering as he broke into tears. Namjoon embraced both of them and promised to get Yoongi the help he needed. By the end of the next day, the rest of the members knew too.
Yoongi didn’t blame Taehyung for it. He was still a kid, faced with a terrifying problem. Of course he’d sought out help dealing with it. But they were older now, and Yoongi could take care of himself. He didn’t want to face the heartbroken looks everyone would give him if they knew.
“Do you want me to?” Taehyung asks.
“No.”
“Then I won’t, at least for now. But I think you should tell them. Maybe they could help you.”
“I don’t want help,” Yoongi says, his voice sharper than he intends.
Taehyung sighs and pulls him closer. “I know. Can you at least promise me that you’ll tell someone if it gets really bad? Like if you're at a six now, maybe tell someone if it gets to an eight? It can be me or someone else, I don’t care, just—just tell someone, please.”
Yoongi closes his eyes. “I will,” he promises, even though he knows he won’t.
“And—” Taehyung’s voice cracks. Yoongi realizes he’s started to cry, and he feels guilt stabbing his heart. “Can you promise it’s just cutting? That you’re not—you don’t want to—” he breaks off, unable to say it, but Yoongi knows what he’s asking. He’s thinking of the time Hobi wandered into his studio and found a suicide note while idly flipping through one of his lyric notebooks. Yoongi hadn’t been planning to actually do it—he just wrote notes sometimes, as a way to express those feelings—but that didn’t stop any of them from freaking out.
“It’s just cutting,” Yoongi says quietly. “I’m not going to kill myself.” He avoids saying he doesn’t want to die. He’s lied to Taehyung enough for one day.
“Okay,” Taehyung whispers, and his voice sounds so broken that Yoongi would do anything to make him feel better.
He knows nothing he says will take away the pain he’s inflicted tonight, but he needs to do something. He hugs Taehyung and whispers, “I’ll tell someone if it gets to that point, I promise.” He almost means it. “Thank you for being here. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. With me.”
Taehyung huffs. “I’m here because I love you, you idiot, not because you’re a problem I have to deal with.”
Yoongi wants to apologize again, but he knows Taehyung will say he doesn’t need to, so instead he just says, “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Taehyung replies. “Now go to sleep, I’m tired. Unless there’s more you want to talk about?”
“No. Goodnight, Taehyungie.”
“Goodnight, hyung.”
Despite the guilt and anxiety swirling in his gut, Yoongi falls asleep almost immediately, safe and warm in Taehyung’s arms.