A.N.: As I've said previously, there are going to be flashbacks in here but I don't go *Flashback* in the paragraphs because I just don't. I hope you guys can tell what's going on. 

He stared at the box cutter in his hand, wordlessly sliding the blade in and out of its plastic body, creating clicking sounds in the silence of his room. He had gotten a lot better in the last few months, and was now trusted enough to have the sharp objects left in their rightful places instead of hidden away in drawers with locks on them. But a person who had once been broken can never be truly fixed. At least he didn’t think so. Sure, things had eased up a fair bit and he could live easier now, but there are good days and there are bad days and sometimes on the bad days all he could think about was how it would feel if he just slid the blade across his wrist and let himself bleed out on the bedroom floor.

It had been a really, really bad day.

He pushed the slightly rusted blade out to its full extent, and stared at it some more. He really is a failure, he thought bitterly. He was hesitating, debating with himself if he should do this at all. If it were just a year ago, he would already have made several cuts in the amount of time since he sat down at his desk. But things were different now; it was no longer just about him. His boyfriend would be so disappointed; he would be heartbroken if he found out he had tried to hurt himself again.

“Jinki, what are you doing?” The voice that came from right behind him startled him out of his thoughts, making him jump a little in his seat.

In the next two seconds that took for him to turn around and face the very person he had just been thinking about, the box cutter was snatched out of his hand by said person, its blade retracting back into safety.

“Ki–” Jinki started, but was scared into silence when his younger boyfriend dropped the box cutter on the desk and grabbed each of his arms, pushing the sleeves of his dress shirt back to inspect the not-so smooth expanse of skin for new cuts in a nearly frantic manner.

“I didn’t, Kibum-ah. I didn’t… cut.” He said feebly when he finally found his voice again, feeling the tense energy emanating from his boyfriend’s almost rough actions.

“But you were thinking of it, and might have if I came home just a bit later!” Kibum retorted with an accusing tone, his beautiful brown eyes glinting with betrayal and hurt.

Jinki kept quiet, unable to deny it knowing that what the younger had said could very well be true. They held gazes for a moment longer before Kibum let out a sigh of both relief and exasperation as he let go of Jinki’s arms, running a hand through his perfectly styled blond locks.

“Jinki, I can’t even–”

“Kibum, you’re bleeding!” Jinki cut in, eyes widening when he saw the open wound on one of the fingers that just emerged from his boyfriend’s hair. It must have been inflicted when Kibum was grabbing the cutter from him.

Carefully, he took hold of the injured hand and fumbled for tissues on his desk, pressing it to the cut to stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay; it’s just a small cut.” Kibum freed his hand and turned to walk out of the room without a second look at the other, of course not before taking the offensive box cutter on the desk with him.

----

“Is this the residence of Mr Lee Jungwook and Mrs Lee Yoojin?”

“Yes it is, sir. They are my parents but they’re away right now actually. Is anything the matter?”

 “Son, I’m sorry to tell you that your parents were involved in a traffic accident. They died on the spot.”

----

If the way Kibum left the room previously was not enough indication, Jinki was now sure that he was upset with him.

They sat at the coffee table, eating their takeaway dinners that Kibum had brought home, the only sound in their apartment coming from the television which neither of them was paying any attention to. Jinki was mostly just pushing his food around in its container; he was too affected by the day’s events to have any appetite.

“Kibum-ah… How did your meeting go?” He decided to break the pregnant silence between them and start a conversation.

Kibum usually had a lot to say when he got home from work. He usually had a lot to say all the time. He’d tell Jinki how his day went, what he had for lunch and if it was good or bad, what his boss wore today that should be considered a crime coming from the editor of a top fashion magazine… But it was quiet, much too quiet for Jinki’s liking right now and it was enough to drive him crazy.

“Good.” Came the curt reply from the blond. That’s it. There was no elaboration, no excited ranting about anything at all. Just ‘good’.

“So did your boss decide to let you cover the piece on Seoul Fashion Week in the end?” Jinki tried again, hoping to spark some kind of reaction from the other. He knew how much his boyfriend had wanted to cover the special of the next issue; it was all he talked about for the last two weeks whenever he brought up work-related topics.

“Hmm.” But again, he was disappointed with the monosyllabic hum of response.

Before he could think of any more to say, Kibum had put the cover back on the container of his food – which Jinki happened to see was not very much emptier than his own – and stood up.

“I’m done. I’ll be in the work room.”

“… Okay.” Jinki’s reply came out as a mere whisper. He suddenly felt too weak to do anything. He had screwed up again; just like he had all his pathetic life and now his own boyfriend was mad at him.

There was not a single reason why he should still be alive.

----

The first time Jinki cut, it had been almost four years since his parents’ passing. He was 23, and in his third year in a decent enough university.

His parents haven’t left him with much; they didn’t even have much to begin with. Their tiny flat had been sold off, but there wasn’t much left after all their loans have been repaid. All he had left was the memory of a once beautiful family. Since Jinki was underage then, the family court had ruled for him to live with his uncle’s family, his only other next-of-kin. Life only got worse from there.

His aunt and uncle… he supposed they were alright, or not. They were rich, and lived in a house with two stories, wherein the bathroom alone was enough to contest the size of his old bedroom. Jinki had learnt early on that there seemed to be some kind of bad blood between his uncle and his father when he was still alive, and he was not a welcomed addition to the family.

His aunt and uncle didn’t abuse him or starve him, and they left him to his own devices for the most part, but they were certainly not kind with their words. It wasn’t like they were inherently bad people, but they didn’t like him being there, and that much was obvious. The only thing Jinki felt he actually liked about the arrangement was having his cousin Taemin around, who was a couple of years younger and always there to provide him angelic smiles and what little comfort he had to offer.

It was the passing of yet another day. Jinki had returned home to find that the university had sent a warning letter regarding his poor attendance and failing grades, and what better chance for his aunt and uncle to ridicule him than this? So he stood there in the hallway, listening to them talk about him in third person – like he wasn’t just right there – about what a grand waste of money it is sending him to university when he wasn’t even going to put in any effort.

Jinki looked down, hands clenched into fists at his sides. It wasn’t much different from their insults on any other day, but they struck a raw nerve when they talked about how he would probably end up just like his dad, useless and struggling all through life, and dead before he even achieved anything.

Pretending to be invisible, Jinki quietly climbed the stairs to his room and closed the door gently, locking it for good measure. He’d also learnt early on that slamming doors or showing any signs of petulance in general just got him into even more , and right now he really didn’t need it. He didn’t want to alert Taemin’s attention to come and check on him either.

His chest heaved with agitation as he sat down at his desk, fingers feeling cold and shaky. He was upset, his heart ing hurt and he needed to let it out, he wanted to cry until he passed out and put an end to this bad day. But he sat there, head in his hands and faced all scrunched up and ready to crumble, but the tears wouldn’t come.

Why couldn’t he cry?

Frustrated, he grabbed the box cutter from the pen holder on his desk and held it in an impossibly tight grip. He had been eyeing the sharp objects around the house for days now, wondering how it would feel like if he just took a slash to his arm and bled a little. Jinki didn’t want to live, but he wasn’t doing this to die. He just craved some kind of pain because he could not cry to feel better. He wanted to feel some kind of pain that can hopefully take this feeling of emptiness away. He needed to feel that he’s still alive.

Pushing the blade out, he pressed it just below the front of his elbow, careful to avoid the veins that are visible through his skin. He pressed the blade in harder, though not sliding it to form any incisions. The blade wasn’t sharp enough to cut just from that. After another second of hard pressing, he let out a guttural growl and loosened his grip, letting the cutter slip out of his hand and onto the table top.

The tingling feeling left behind by the tip of the blade and the faint white line on his arm made him want to break skin and draw blood, but he was too cowardly to go all the way.

ing coward. He thought, feeling even more irritated than before. A surge of anger at himself saw him picking up the cutter, holding it to the same spot and sliding, all before he had the chance to chicken out again.

Blood.

It was unbelievable.

The tightness in his chest ebbed away as his brain registered the sting, crimson blood starting to seep out from the fresh cut. He felt better.

Jinki’s lips curled up in satisfaction. He had found a new coping mechanism.

A.N.: So this is the first thing I've written (and posted) in over a year. I'm trying out a new style of writing, with bits and pieces of flashbacks not in any chronological order, so if you found this confusing in any way, it'd be awesome if you let me know :) I'm really just writing my mood and trying to get back in touch with writing again, so this is probably not my best work but I just needed to get it out. 

Comments would be lovely. 

xoxo.