Chapter Text
Late mornings have always been Atsushi's favourite part of the day. There is something incredibly and undeniably peaceful about them, he thinks. It is even better if they're foggy, rainy and chilly, just like today.
Usually Atsushi is working at those hours, not quite able to fully appreciate them. Today however, he has stayed at his apartment, since he was feeling unwell lately. His nightmares have been acting up, causing him to wake up in the middle of the night, frightened, trembling, crying; sometimes even screaming and yelling some incoherent phrases. Over time Kyouka got really concerned about it and forced Atsushi to take few days off. He knew he couldn't argue-he needed them.
And that's exactly why right now the silverette is sipping hot green tea, while being tucked in a heavy, soft blanket. Atsushi is looking out of the window, admiring the calmness of the outside world, seemingly relaxed. His mind, however, is far from quiet. Thoughts are tormenting him to no end. Memories, traumas from his past... He is getting quite overwhelmed and uncomfortable; his own brain is not a safe place to be at, he realises. He sighs and attempts to take a deep breath, which comes out a lot more shaky than he intended it to be. Atsushi sets the mug somewhere aside and leaves to the bathroom, trying to not go insane.
He watches his reflection in the mirror, noticing the bags under his eyes that have appeared out of nowhere. He does not recall them being here yesterday. But then again... Did he look at himself yesterday? He does not remember. Water runs into the sink-cold, making a repeatable sound. Atsushi splashes his face with it just a little. This feels somewhat soothing, so he continues doing it for a while. And when he finally lifts his head, he is met with his reflection once again. Now he sees that his bangs look worse than usual. He should probably cut them just slightly. So he roames through the cabinets, eventually finding the scissors he was looking for. He lifts them and trims his hair, soon realising how dull the tool is.
"Useless." He mutters, more to himself than anything else. The young man decides to reach for a razor blade instead. He has seen people using it to cut their bangs a few times before. It can't be that hard, can it? He wonders. He wants to give it a shot but... He finds himself staring at the sharp metal in his now shaking fingers.
"It can be used in a different way. You should use it in a different way." His mind tells him. He does not listen. Just yet. He doesn't want to do it. No, no, he can't. That would be ridiculous, right? He is not an attention seeker, and he does not want to become a one. "Somewhere where others cannot see." The nagging thoughts keep going. "Just this once. Give your pain a shape." Atsushi drops the razor on the bathroom counter and collapses onto the floor. His eyes are burning with warm, itching tears. He lets them roll down his cheeks.
"You're a failure, a burden. It would be for the better if you died in a ditch somewhere." A familiar yet unwanted voice appears. He feels like a child again; knees pressed tightly to his chest, head hidden in them. "You're useless." Useless. Useless. The silverette suddenly can't breathe anymore. That isn't surprising. It happened countless times before.
It continues for a moment; he remains on the icy tiles, the blade ramains on the counter, whispering sweet reassurances. He still does not listen. It stays this way for today. His bangs entirely forgotten.
He manages to compose himself just in time. Kyouka came back home. He's ought to cook for her, he remembers.
"You're early today. Something happened at the Agency?" He forces a smile and the girl notices the insincerity. She doesn't comment on it whatsoever. Only observes. "Not really." The teen replies.
"Yeah? That's good, I guess. Nothing to worry about, I take it?" Kyouka shakes her head just a little. Her expression seems serious, more so than usual. "You. You should worry about yourself. Everyone does. You're acting weird nowadays."
This takes Atsushi off guard. "W-What? I'm fine! Alright, everything's alright! I just... I've had a fever! Yeah! A fever! That's it. Nothing serious. See?"
The girl stays quiet, as if commiting something to her memory. Her roommate doesn't sound good at all, yet she knows better than to pry. "Okay." She murmurs instead, before giving a subtle I-know-the-truth-glare and heading towards the kitchen. Atsushi simply chuckles nervously. "I haven't made lunch just yet. Is there anything you'd like-" Kyouka cuts him off. "No. I'm not hungry that much. I can have the leftovers from yesterday. You rest. We don't want your "fever" acting up." The conversation ends here.
The next day is even worse. When Atsushi's alone, he cannot calm down. For an unknown for him reason, he keeps feeling abandoned and unbearably lonely. He paces back and forth the apartment, eventually ending up on the bathroom floor once again.
This time he does not look in the mirror. He sits down straight away, before he curls up in the same position as yesterday. He rocks himself like a child but it doesn't ease his mind one bit.
"Maybe doing a small cut is not such a bad idea..." His thoughts agree. Of course they do. He reaches out for the razor hidden nearby, the same one he wanted to use the day before. He hesitates. Milions of "what if's" wash over him at once. He wants them all to be quiet; his head almost hurts. Minutes pass by and the silverette cannot calm down still, cannot focus on anything else but hurting himself. So he presses the blade to his pale skin, slowly dragging it across his forearm. Everything is suddenly silent. He finds the strength to breathe. It doesn't last long, though. Panic rises within him. He wants it to stop; he can't take any more of it. That's why he cuts again. And again. And again. Quickly, carelessly, more times than he should-he's aware of it.
When he finally stops, he's afraid of opening his eyes. He does not want to see the mess he has done. He does not want to see his own state. Instead, he relishes in the sharp pain-almost as sharp as the dangerous metal itself. He feels blissful. At peace for once. For a moment he's even convinced doing this was the best idea in his entire life. This, too, doesn't last long. He loses consciousness.
Once he regains it, he feels nauseous. Everything is red, covered in blood. His blood. He cannot feel his left forearm at all. This time the panic does not go away that quickly.
Atsushi somehow manages to stand up and put his injured hand in the sink, starting the water. However, once it runs down and hits his skin, he cries out loudly and he regrets his decision immediately. The wounds are burning like hell, and it's way too much for him to handle. He then tries switching to a wet towel. The pain becomes a bit more bearable. He now thinks it was the biggest mistake in his entire life. He feels guilty, grossed out, disgusted. He sticks some patches onto the freshly-made red lines, hiding them from view. He cannot take seeing the damage he has just inflicted upon himself.
Mornings used to be Atsushi's favourtite part of the day. Now they remind him of what he has done to himself, of how weak and pathetic he is (or perhaps has now become). Late mornings now feel more like pure torture.