Pannacotta Fugo x Reader One-shots

[77] sunshine, how are you?

Hi, how's everyone doing?
I know,  it's been a while. Have you guys eaten yet? How was the weather? Are you healing from what's been bothering you? There's so much to talk about, to uncover.

TRIGGER WARNING!
Self-harm, cutting, starving, drugs, suicidal thoughts, and the list probably goes on.

I hope you read the warning before reading. I apologize for the heavy theme after not posting for so long. I am kind of projecting to Fugo right now, please understand. I am sorry if you can't read it. I'll try to write the fluff ones later.

Thank you.
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Fugo almost tripped on his way downstairs. 

Hands brushing over the dusty walls, leaning, careful to not fall yet he missed a step. Hearts almost stop beating from the sudden adrenaline. Probably because he's a bit too light for someone his age.

26 years old on the run.

172 centimeters.

60 kilograms.

It doesn't look that bad. If no one knows that he's been starving himself for three days on purpose. Surviving only on water and was on his way to take one from the kitchen.

Fugo sat on the chair after helping himself with a glass of water. He feels full, a bit nauseous. The empty glass sat on the same spot every time that the table was marked circle from the dripping water. The other side of the area was filthy. 

Fugo feels dirty enough that he can't do anything about his living environment.

He was spaced for a while. An hour. Spending time so long alone while not doing anything. Not even thinking. He sits and stares into the abyss. 

If he didn't remember he still works to do tomorrow, Fugo probably will sit until the morning comes.

Fugo has to sleep.

Sleeping was a luxury he never had before. He couldn't sleep from all the stress and overthinking. And life finds its way.

To climb upstairs, Fugo's dragging his hand on the handrail. It takes more effort to go up than down but he made it to his room.

He stands in front of the mirror to undress his shirt and pants to pajamas. Fugo moves slowly, frail fingers, and pale. The image in the mirror shows him how his body looks.

Fugo is now used to the scars on his sleeves and arms. Some are browning, some are still red from this morning, the blood is stuck on his shirt and he let it be. 

He's buttoning the pajamas from the bottom. Covering his ribs that can be seen even from far away. Fugo looked up the mirror with his eyes, clouded and lifeless, darkened under. His chapped lips are growing more skins. Without much thought, Fugo picked the skin until the blood slipped in between his teeth. And his nails.

Since he has work tomorrow and has to sleep tonight, Fugo didn't touch the cutter on his nightstand. Instead, he reached for a bottle. Drugs for headache. At first, he only needed to take one to sleep. After only he knows- he needed more.

Two.

Three.

Sometimes four.

Fugo took two tonight. Reminding himself to get proper sleeping pills or even stronger headaches drugs later.

He dreamed of Purple Haze choking him to death.

Fugo was ready sharp at 7 in the morning. He brushed his hair and gelled it to the back. A bit of lip balm on his lips. Shaved. A glass of water. Expensive black suits with black necktie. Shiny shoes.