Work Text:
OJ sighed as he set his head down on his mahogany work desk. The room was dim, with the exception of his desk which was illuminated with a cheap desktop lamp. Piles of work that he needed to fill out crowded the space, leaving little to no room for the dishes piled up beside them. They had begun stacking up, since he ate dinner while working most nights. Long story short, his workspace was a complete mess. But of course there were more important matters to address than tidying up.
OJ really dreaded filling out this paperwork. Some were taxes, or creepy love letters from Salt. Others were complaints he needed to address around the hotel. He’d really need to complete these soon, but he couldn’t force himself to. He huffed as he officially gave up, the sound of the chair dragging on the carpet following soon after as he stood.
OJ hadn’t been in the right state of mind to complete much of anything as of recent for some reason. He supposed he was just stressed from all of the commotion that happened in the hotel on a day to day basis. Sure, Paper had been helping him and he had to admit, he didn’t know what he would do without him. OJ was eternally grateful for all that he did around the hotel. He had proposed that maybe he should work out a money agreement with Paper to make up for all the work he’s done, but he declined. Paper was very kind, and OJ thought that he didn’t deserve him.
“I shouldn’t think like that, of course I deserve him!” thought OJ, “right?” As soon as that thought appeared, ten more popped up. OJ had been struggling with thoughts like these for quite some time now, and he couldn’t seem to make them go away. He felt incredibly guilty and disgusting every time he thought them, he was supposed to be the stable one in his relationship. So, he tried to push them down. Unfortunately, they always bubbled their way back up.
OJ turned around to look at his and Paper’s bed, where Paper rested peacefully. OJ smiled at the sight of his beautiful boyfriend, the desk lamp just illuminating his soft facial features. OJ felt bad that he never went to bed at the same time as Paper, since he always had extra work to do. He always snaked his way under the covers eventually, cuddling close to Paper. But OJ did not do that tonight.
OJ looked at his bedside table with tired eyes, thinking hard. He couldn’t do it again, could he? He had been clean for about a month now and did not want to ruin his record. Especially since he had promised Paper that he would quit when he had caught him cutting for the first time. That day had been mortifying for OJ, yet he assumed it had been mortifying for Paper as well. As he thought it over, he gave in. He was tired of the routine. He needed something new.
He reached into the top drawer of his bedside drawer and pulled out a shiny blade, tucked between two pages of a book. He felt bad for hiding the blade after Paper made him throw it out, but he couldn’t give it up. He remembered how he dug through the trash can, how disgusting he felt in that moment after he promised to quit. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. He carefully closed the drawer shut as to not wake his sleeping boyfriend next to him, and headed to his bathroom.
As he flipped on the light, he looked around the bland bathroom. Him and Paper had not gotten to decorating yet, since they had recently moved into the same room. OJ looked at himself in the mirror. Tired, baggy eyes stared back at him, his pupils blown wide. The rim of his glass shone in the fluorescent overhead light, and his juice moved a bit as pulp settled to the bottom. He looked different from his usually vibrant persona, now a shell of the personality he showed to the others.
He slid down the wall, careful not to spill any juice. He watched as the blade shined gorgeously in the light, its lustrous surface reflecting the light hanging over the mirror.
He brought the edge of the blade to his thigh, inhaling sharply as it dragged across his skin, leaving a white line. Shortly after, blood started to pool from the cut. His tired expression morphed into a smile as blood dripped down his leg, dripping onto the tile floor below him. It felt so nice. He littered both thighs with beautiful cuts, each getting just a bit deeper each time. He loved how they looked, truly.
He watched the ruby red liquid drip ran down his leg. It felt warm. Every time he left a new cut, he felt accomplished. He felt like he deserved it, after all he’d hadn’t exactly been an angel in season 1. He felt like he didn’t deserve anything nice. But cutting made those thoughts go away, it made him feel happy. It gave him back the control he so desperately needed.
OJ stared into the medicine cabinet, eyeing the Benadryl. He picked it up into his hands, read the label. He was thinking about it. He’d been thinking about it. For a while now. Even Paper didn’t know about these thoughts. It didn’t matter, anyway. He’s far too much of a coward to ever commit. He shoved the pills back harshly, and turned his attention back to his thighs.
As he turned back to the mess he made of his skin, he came to a sudden realization that his blood might stain the tile grout. He reached for toilet paper and frantically tried to scrub it out, which was luckily working, just very slowly. As he almost finished cleaning as he heard a soft, yet tired, voice come from behind him. “Jay?” Paper asked, “what are you doing? Why are you on the floor?” OJ panicked as he realized that he had been caught. “Nothing, sweetie! Just, cleaning up in here!” OJ was technically telling the truth.
There was a pause. Paper said in an almost whisper, “OJ, please turn around.” OJ sighed as he turned, showing Paper the damage he had done to himself. Paper clung his arms to himself as he looked over OJ’s torn up thighs. His voice broke as he said, “you told me you were going to stop, OJ. Why did you do this to yourself?” The silence hung heavy in the room as Paper kept staring. OJ tried to force a smile, “I’m fine, sweetie,” he said. But the lump in his throat gave him away as he started crying.
“Paper, I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it. I’m so sorry!” OJ broke down quickly. He wanted to remain in control, but was slowly losing it. That made him cry even harder.
Paper gave OJ a hug. “OJ, stop apologizing. I’m the one who should be sorry for letting you feel this way again. I should’ve picked up on it.” OJ noticed the way Paper tried to avoid the blood dripping down his leg. He knew his blood was disgusting.
Paper grabbed OJ’s cork and put him into the shower. He needed to wash him off, even though it stung. OJ whined as the water hit his skin, and watched the blood drip down the drain. OJ stared at the wall as Paper disinfected his wounds, avoiding eye contact out of shame. He went against Paper’s wish, he should just leave him. OJ didn’t understand why Paper was still helping him even after he went behind his back.
“Earth to OJ?” Paper said. Apparently he had been trying to get OJ’s attention. OJ didn’t respond verbally, instead he looked Paper in the eyes. “I was just saying that I’ll put this ointment on your wounds and then we can put these big bandaids on. After your wounds close up a bit more we can apply vaseline to help with scarring,” Paper told OJ gently.
The silence was prominent until OJ finally spoke, “Why are you still helping me, Paper? You don’t get anything in return. You help me all day in the hotel, and then you do this for me. I don’t deserve it.” OJ’s voice broke on the last sentence, knowing that he was about to start crying again. OJ doesn’t like being seen like this, he hates seeming vulnerable. He was supposed to be the hotel supervisor, the chill, responsible one.
“Oh, OJ. You do deserve this. You deserve to be loved. After you helped me in season 1 with Evil Paper, it’s only fair for me to help you. I hate to see you hurt yourself like this, you do not deserve to hurt,” Paper paused to lean down and kiss OJ’s wounds tenderly, also kissing his old scars. OJ blushed at this motion, “I help you because I love you.” Paper kissed OJ gently on the lips, slow and full of care.
OJ sobbed into Paper’s arms, trying not to get him soggy in the process. “Thank you Paper. I love you too. I love you so much.”
Paper grabbed OJ’s blade off of the counter. “Jay, please don’t go behind my back again, though. Talk to me before you resort to something like.. this!” Paper held up the blade. “There’s better ways. You don’t have to hurt yourself.” OJ nodded. “I’m sorry, Paper. I really, really am. I’m trying.” Paper sighed. “I’m going to hold onto this,” Paper said as he took the blade into his palm. With his other hand, he led OJ back to the bedroom.
Paper set the blade in his bedside table, making sure to hide it well. He and OJ then nuzzled together under the covers, their arms wrapped around each other.
“OJ, can I ask why you did that?” Paper asked, barely above a whisper. OJ didn’t respond for a long time, Paper thought that he maybe fell asleep. “I was having horrible thoughts. About myself. But, I still don’t really know exactly why I.. cut.. myself at all.” OJ felt embarrassed to say what he was really doing to himself. “Paper, can I.. tell you something?” Paper turned to look OJ in the eyes, then pecked him on the lips. “Of course, babe. Anything.”
OJ began to tear up again. “In that bathroom, I was.. thinking of killing myself. Actually, I’ve been thinking of doing that for quite some time now.” Paper began to tear up too, tear streaks making him soggy. “OJ, please don’t ever do that. Please. So many people would miss you. I would miss you.” OJ chuckled, “I’m too much of a coward to do it anyway.” Paper elbowed him, “This isn’t funny! You are NOT a coward, OJ! Please, if you ever, EVER have those thoughts, tell me. Please.” Paper brought OJ in closer as he mumbled those last words into his chest.
Paper’s hand reached down under the covers. “Can I touch these?” He asked as his hand hovered over OJ’s wounds. OJ nodded, then whimpered as Paper touched his wounds all over, his hands moving delicately. OJ had to admit, he loved when Paper did that. “God, Paper. That feels so, so nice.” Paper hummed as he felt over the bumps of his cuts through the bandages, savoring the feeling in his fingertips.
The two fell asleep just like that, Paper stroking his wounds until he drifted off. OJ thought about how lucky he was with Paper. He squeezed his arms around Paper tightly, and pecked a kiss onto his forehead as he drifted off.