Work Text:
It usually starts off small. He brushes his teeth a little too aggressively and makes his gums bleed, he picks at his cuticles a bit too much, forgets to put out his cigarette before it burns his fingertips. It's nothing serious. Then he moves on to slightly bigger things, like 'accidentally' cutting his finger when he's chopping vegetables. Sometimes, he takes a shower so hot it makes his skin raw, and he feels so dizzy, he has to hurriedly open the bathroom door to let cold air in. He skips meals intentionally. That's typically when he realizes it's getting bad, that's when he has to make a decision. It's either get better or get worse. He's really not in the mood to spend hours with his therapist, get back on those meds that make his dick not work, get rid of all sharp objects in his house. He'd rather have some fun.
Kaoru doesn't see much when he looks in the mirror. He sees a person, he can tell it's a human, but it's not connected to him in any way. It's more like a blurry shadow that mimics his movements. He likes to take a shower before he has an 'episode', or whatever his doctors told him this was. He sees it as more of a cleansing ritual, the begging of something beautiful and bloody, a sacrifice to a god he doesn't believe in. He opens the medicine cabinet.
The first cuts are always small- he can't go all out right away. It's usually his upper arms. The blade goes over the scars that are already there, and Kaoru feels a weird sense of pride inside him. He likes strangers' shocked faces when he wears short sleeves, he likes making everyone around him worried, he likes the disgusted looks. It makes him feel special. He likes attention. He likes when Raimu doesn't know where to grab him, hesitating. He watches the blood drip down his arm, creating a beautiful brushstroke line.
He makes a line under each of his ribs. It's as symmetrical as his shaky hand lets it be, but it's still elegant to him. The blood soaks into his boxers, he pulls them down to let it reach his feet. He feels pretty like this, he feels happy and content. Help never feels as good as this does. At best, it makes him numb. He loves feeling, even if it's bad. He's used to the sadness and anger, it's always been a part of him. When it's gone, he doesn't know how to behave. He's starting to get a little lightheaded from the pain, so he stops for now.
He imagines Ivan petting his back, Raimu scowling at him, Jeremy crying at his feet. Using his bloody hand, he gets himself hard pretty fast. He thinks about his father watching him do this. He'd love to tell him it's his fault, look how fucked up you made me, see how dirty I am, pay attention to me for once. He holds onto the bathroom counter with his free hand, hunching over the sink. He thinks about Raimu again, how he'll have to come in to work tomorrow, wearing a black shirt, in case the blood seeps through the gauze and bandages. Raimu will look at him weird all day, smelling fresh blood all over him. Maybe he'll press on one of the wounds, maybe he'll glide his finger across it, maybe he'll lick it. Kaoru watches his cum mix with the blood in the sink.
At this point, he needs to sit down. He leans his back against the wall, hating how cold it is. He wishes someone would hold him right now, share his happiness, maybe hurt him too. With a new razor, he adds more to his thighs. They make a nice pattern, he was always mindful of it, even when he was younger. When he lived with his mom, he only did it on the insides of his thighs, and the healing process hurt to the point of it no longer being pleasant. He doesn't have to worry about that anymore. The pain makes him feel sick and overwhelmed, he knows he has to finish. He inspects his work, the cuts on his arms already clotting, the ones on his ribs bleeding continuously as he moves and rips them open. He feels beautiful when he looks in the mirror, barely able to stand at all. Now, he recognizes it's him, the way he's supposed to be. The corners of his vision get blurry, he knows he's about to pass out, but he doesn't really care. He only closes his eyes before blacking out, hoping he cracks his head open on the tile.