The Day We Met| Quackbur/TNTDuo| Highschool AU

You Weren't Supposed to Find Out...

|WARNING, this chapter is focused around self harming|
(Descriptions of kissing at the end)

Wilbur's POV
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As I've said before, I picked up on some...
bad habits, over spring break.

Recently, it's gotten worse.

I'm depressed, I know I am, but when I look back, I don't think I would've guessed that I'd be where I am now.

Hiding in my bathroom, my arms covered in bloody cuts, holding my butterfly knife, and enjoying the pain, for more than one reason, while my boyfriend is sitting in the next room over. Shit.. Quackity! I need to cover this up, and quickly. Normally I just wipe them up with a wet paper towel and put my previously blood stained yellow sweater on to cover it.

On the off chance I can't cover it, I just blame it on my dad being drunk. I can't do that with Quackity though, he somehow always know when I'm lying and coaxs it out of me. He's just so, irresistible, his gorgeous, ocean blue eyes, perfect pretty pink lips, and... not the time.

I rushed around to find bandages and my sweater, in my panicked running, my foot got caught in the shower curtain and I fell, taking the rod down with me. It made a huge clattering noise and definitely alerted Quackity, I scrambled to find my sweater before he opened the door and saw my arms.

I forgot my sweater.
It's not in the bathroom with me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am i going to do?! Quackity is knocking on the door trying to make sure I'm ok, "Wil? Amor are you ok?" "I-I'm fine! Just tripped, knocked off the curtain rod!" I called back. "Oh, here I'll help you put it back up!" my boyfriend opened the door.

He saw me, sitting on the bathroom floor, arms covered on new, bloody cuts. I looked at myself in the mirror, then at the butterfly knife on the sink that's now got a fresh coat of blood on it, then back at Quackity. "I-" "What the hell..." he cut me off. I stared at my arms, blood dripping down my arm from a particularly deep cut on my shoulder.

"I-I'm sorry, Ducky, I didn't..." I was cut off again when I felt my breath get shallow, tears welled up in my eyes. Quackity stared at me, I screwed my eyes shut and curled myself into a ball, tears falling from my eyes.

I muttered apologies repeatedly as I rocked back and forth slightly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I shuddered, tensing us instinctively. Then I felt a cold sting of pain surge through my arm, I hissed at the pain and tried to pull my arm away.

"Nope! I'm cleaning up your wounds, then you can explain." Quackity held my arm in place. I stopped struggling and forced myself to go limp, tensing slightly every time the disinfectant touched either of my arms.

"All done, do you have bandages anywhere?" Quackity gave me a small comforting smile. I nodded, unable to speak without sobbing, and pointed to the cabinet under the sink. Quackity leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then went and grabbed the bandages before coming back and wrapping both my arms.

Now that my arms have been taken care of and I've got my sweater on, Quackity is making me explain why I hurt myself. I'm terribly anxious about telling my boyfriend everything, see, I've got a couple reasons why I do it, one of which, is very embarrassing.

"So" Quackity urged me to start. I looked at the ground, refusing eye contact. "Uhm, well," I swallowed hard and braced myself,

"I started a few years ago when my dad became abusive. Four or five, I think. My dad had just broken up with his girlfriend and started to take his anger out of me, for looking like my mom. I couldn't take the stress and had on to talk to, so I turned to the only sense of comfort I could find. The only time I ever felt seen, or okay was when my dad would beat the shit out of me, the moments before I went unconscious were the only times I felt good. So I originally started with punching walls until my knuckles bled, then I became unsatisfied with the results, so I beat my head against walls until I passed out, after that proved to be dangerous I stopped. Three years ago Tommy got me a butterfly knife for my birthday atter that I started just using it for my own purposes. I've tried to stop but, every time I end up craving the pain, needing to see the marks all over my arms, taste the blood it brings. After a while, I guess I realized just a bit ago that it's not only stress relief but, it feels almost, sensual..."

I explained it all, though I made sure I whispered the very last bit. Too embarrassing to say normally, I mean, what kind of insane person enjoys pain so much they hurt themselves on purpose. Well, me, apparently, I'm that insane person that loves feeling pain.

A couple moments of silence passed until Quackity spoke, "I do not approve of any of this. But, I'm always here if you need me, for anything, Amor."
I nodded and gave a small smile showing my understanding.

"Though I am slightly confused, and concerned about the whole, finding pain sensual thing." Quackity looked worried. "Me too.." I responded and looked down at the ground.

"Why don't we look into it?" my ravenette suggested. "Sure, ducky, that's sounds good." I smiled, more comfortable this time. Quackity got up off the bathroom floor and pulled me up with him, we fixed the curtain rod and put the curtain back up before we went back to my room.

I sat down on my bed and swing mynlegs over the side, I patted the bed next to me for Quackity to come sit. I guess he had a different idea because instead, he sat on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me in close.

"Ducky? Wha-what are you-" he cut me off with a passionate, loving kiss. I melted and kissed him back, bringing my hands up to cup his cheeks. Quackity bit at my bottom lip and I gasped into the kiss, then feeling him slip his tongue into my mouth.

We stayed there for a moment until Quackity pulled away so we could catch our breath. Soon enough our lips connected again, and again, and again. Until Quackity started to pick up the pace of our make out session.