It was another “bad” day.  Some days were good, he was smiling and happy, and would play on the piano for hours, filling the apartment with music and light.   But today was a bad day.  And it would be a miracle if Yoochun would even get out of bed.  He would refuse to talk, to eat.  He’d throw things, yell, scream.  Junsu sighed.  He’d have to keep a close eye on him today.  The last time, he’d gone out for some basic groceries and came back to find Chunnie in the bathroom cutting deep lines into his inner thighs, weeping uncontrollably.   Once Junsu had wrestled the knife from his hands, he had sat there on the cold bloody floor holding the shaking man tightly, whispering over and over that he loved him, would never leave him, to fight, to just keep fighting for the good days.