[T/W for: self-harm, depression, anxiety, blood. This chapter is really damned ing heavy so please heed and take the warnings seriously because I would hate for anyone to be triggered. Message me if you can’t read this chapter and I’ll gladly, as well as thankfully, break down everything in a healthy manner for you.]

Sanghyuk is coping.

He eats and sleeps (in moderation because he doesn’t have full control over his mind or his body yet) and tries to take care of himself, tries to recognize his own needs. When the room is cold he doesn’t have to feel bad for getting a blanket and he’s starting to get drinks from the kitchen without feeling like he needs to ask for permission. His episodes are becoming easier to handle – he tells Hongbin, or at least makes a physical show of his descent into somewhere that is not here and now, instead of keeping quiet until Hongbin finds him convulsing on the floor half an hour into an attack.

But the nightmares have yet to go away, and that’s the only thing Sanghyuk hasn’t managed to get better at. In fact, he realizes that he has never been as delirious after nightmares as he is now. When he wakes up on his own, it’s screaming and crying and panic and Hongbin can’t wake him up because the one time he did by touching Sanghyuk’s arm, he swung at Hongbin, who thankfully had the reflexes to dodge.

Hongbin says that maybe it’s because his body knows that he’s safe here and that’s why it can react the way anyone else would to a nightmare, but Sanghyuk just can’t bring himself to believe it. The humiliation and embarrassment manages to engulf him like a gust of wind from a door he cannot close every single time. 

The housewarming party was amazing and it’s the first dose of normalcy Sanghyuk has gotten in a very long time. He started texting Leo a lot more now about daily things, things like how his lessons with Ravi have been, or the books that Leo like to read, because of the party. He’s starting to text Nakhun a lot as well and is only just learning to not completely close off when Yoon hijacks Nakhun’s phone to start a conversation.

But now, Hongbin is the one not doing so well.

Hongbin knows everything about Sanghyuk, every detail of his life, privy to living with him for so long. He knows his favorite cereal, his favorite beverage, the fact that he doesn’t like the smell of new wood, his favorite color and the like. But there are so many things Sanghyuk doesn’t know about Hongbin, and whenever he hits a gold mine accidentally – like at dinner yesterday he found out that Hongbin hates seafood - Sanghyuk realizes the true extent of how much he doesn’t know.

And it isn't that Hongbin is being purposefully dishonest with him, it’s more like Hongbin doesn’t see the point of sharing his past with Sanghyuk, not when there are more things to worry about as of now and not when his past is still so raw after so many years.

Sanghyuk sees Hongbin taking medication twice a day – keeps them in a small case so he doesn’t ever manage to find out what those pills are for. Originally he thought they were for a cold but a common cold doesn’t, and couldn’t possibly last so long.

Sometimes Hongbin looks heartbreakingly sad. It takes a sad person to know one, to notice the darkness in their eyes and the slump in their shoulders, but Hongbin – Hongbin really hides it well.

Sanghyuk knows it’s really, really none of his business and that he really shouldn’t go around asking Hongbin about it but he also knows that Hongbin makes him happy. Sanghyuk is happier than he has ever been for as long as he can remember and he wants to make Hongbin happy too.

It’s not – fondness. Or. Anything. Just paying back a favor.

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Hongbin is having one of those nights.

Those nights where he can’t stop his anxiety from washing over him, nor his self-destructive tendencies. Hongbin isn’t a stranger to nights like these but… not since Sanghyuk came to him.  Most of his time now is dedicated to taking care of his roommate and he thought he was becoming better for once but tonight – tonight his mom called. And he can never ever keep himself from going over the edge when she calls; keep himself sane enough to be alright.

Hongbin crouches in the bathroom, back against the bathtub, blade trembling in his hand. He shouldn’t be doing this – he really shouldn’t. But if he doesn’t do it he’ll never feel better. Right? No. Yeah. He – Yeah he needs to – He needs to relax. Relax. Before. He –

He’s crying so hard that he feels like he’s about to disintegrate into a puddle of water. There’s a strangled cry stuck in the pits of his throat but he doesn’t allow it to break free because as long as he can keep it down, he doesn’t have to hear himself fall apart. It’s not crying if he doesn’t make a sound. It’s not. And no one can hear him and no one can call him a  or disgusting or a freak. Or make fun of him for not being manly enough.

He’s not in Seoul anymore. He’s here, he’s here, and he’s not… there. That bad place. Anymore. Doesn’t have to be afraid. Doesn’t have to be shaking like this, hand wiping viciously at his face, tears choking him. But he is, and the glass against his back feels ice cold through his shirt.

His onslaught of memories become stronger and stronger with each wave until he finally gives in. Has to give in. Like always, surrender. It’s too much. He can’t take it anymore. Hongbin brings the blade to his forearm and drags it across the skin. A heartbeat passes. Another. Deeper. And another and another and another. He stops when there’s no more space on the first half of his forearm left to cut and allows himself to breathe. And then all of a sudden pain flows into his veins like white fire, slicing him to shreds from the inside out, cutting him loose from the past, and – and – and nothing.

His memories recede quickly with the bright pain but inches out slowly at the same time. Almost like how you would expect a bullet going through you to feel like. The car alarm outside the house is suddenly silent, time seems to stand still. Hongbin feels like he’s been shipwrecked, washed up on the shore of consciousness, half-alive, but still breathing at least.

At least.

Hongbin doesn’t feel the blood dripping down his arm as he clenches and unclenches his fist but he can feel the rapid thump of his own pulse in his ears. He’s starting to breathe properly – in control – and so he lets himself press a towel against his wrist.

The towel soaks red in less than half a minute and Hongbin panics for a bit before remembering that one night where he couldn’t stop bleeding but nothing happened and he was still ready to face the next day, arm sore but eyes bright. Hongbin lets out a long breath before standing up, holding his arm under running water.

The sink becomes dotted with pink dew and Hongbin can almost scoff at how unable he is to control himself. His left hand searches around blindly in the medicine closet because he can’t stop staring at the new cuts upon the old scars. He really shouldn’t have done that but… it’s not like he’s totally regretting it now. He’ll regret it tomorrow. He’ll leave it to bother him tomorrow.

Like always, Hongbin you bastard. Cheating yourself of the truth. How unexpected.

Hongbin opens the bottle of disinfectant and rubs it over his cuts. It hurts like hell but he promised Hakyeon a long time ago that if he was going to ruin himself then he has to heal himself too afterwards. If there’s one damned promise he can keep, it’s that.

Almost expertly, his hand reaches for the roll of bandage and wraps it around his arm. Hongbin is really quite surprised at how easy this comes to him. After all, it has been months since he last relapsed.

Somehow, he manages to stumble his way to his room to fall into a half-sleep.