Yixing didn't know what hurt more, the ache in his in heart or the blade on his skin. Maybe the cold tiled floor of his bathroom. It could be the stinging of his eyes or his tired muscles. He wasn't sure, it hurt all the same. Pain is pain.

So when he's only with the only thing he trusts to take his pain, he sits on the bathroom floor, back against the tub and knees propped up. He debates for a while. Eyes staring right at the object, it's shiny despite the long period of time he's had it. Yixing swears it calls his name right before he decides to just go to bed.

He takes it in between his thumb and index finger the metal warming underneath his touch. He debates once more, the thighs or arms. Maybe his stomach or calves. His hips or forearm. So many places. He looks at his thighs, already scarred up the healed wounds either white from being thin or sticking out pink from being deep. Some fresh, scabbed over and others just now shedding those scabs and turning into nasty scars that remind him that he is – worthless.

For every scar, every cut there is a story. Yixing could sit all day and night telling each one. But who would even listen?

The cool tip of the blade touches his hip bone, his breathing picks up and his heart is racing. Fingers shaking as he gently pressing the sharp object down, blood flowing out in a small stream. The stinging only lasts a second. He closes his eyes as he takes a sharp in take of oxygen. He does it again and again.

Until it no longer stings and has become numb. His hand still shakes as he drops the blade down, red splattering onto the tiled floor. The blade hits the ground, making a small echo. After that, there is only Yixing's irregular breathing and heart racing through his ears.

He doesn't look at the damage he has done to himself but instead stands up on shaky legs. He bandages himself up and hides the evidence of his crime. He leaves the safety of his bathroom and goes to the bedroom. It's warm in there. He's comforted by this and the sight of one half of the bed rising and falling. A soft snore coming from the bed.

Joonmyun.

Yixing slips into bed, careful with his hip. He settles himself carefully. The moonlight is the only source of light, he uses it to look at the soft peaceful features of Joonmyun. He's skin flawless under the moon. His lips are slightly parted as he snores. Yixing smiles because this is his comfort. Joonmyun is his comfort.

He doesn't notice when Joonmyun wakes up, he's too busy lost in his thoughts. But the soft stinging rising in his hips and the gentle kiss planted on his forehead pulls him back. He hisses softly as Joonmyun wraps a lazy arm around his waist. “Yixing..” Joonmyun mumbles. “What have you done to yourself?” Yixing doesn't answer, maybe it was the way Joonmyun said it, disappointment leaving his tongue or maybe it was the way he pulled Yixing into his arms careful with the Chinese male, either one, made Yixing cry softly. Joonmyun rubbed circles into the small of his back. No words were exchanged as they held each other in their arms. “Baby, don't cry.” Joonmyun pulled back so their faces from inches apart, his eyes scanned over Yixing's. Thumb gently rubbing the tears away. “Speak for yourself.” Yixing mumbled.

Joonmyun was confused for a second until he felt the warm tears being kisses away by Yixing. Joonmyun didn't quite know why he was crying, he wasn't the one emotional damaged, he wasn't the one who took a blade to his skin but there was something about the thought of Yixing hurting so much that hurt him. When Yixing cried it felt like the world's sharpest knife was being stabbed through his chest, when Yixing talked foul of himself Joonmyun wanted to just hug and kiss him until those foul words left his mind.

“I'm broken, why do you even stay with me? It's like trying to piece together a mirror that has been broken into shards. I only hurt you in the process.”

Joonmyun looked at Yixing for a moment, “Even the most broken mirror can one day be put back together, it just takes time and patience from the person putting the mirror back together.” He took one of the thin wrists from the Chinese male and brought it to his lips, kissing the thin white scars. “But even the most broken of mirrors are still beautiful.”