another revealed truth

help me help you

trigger warnings listed in opening author's note

✼

karl's hand freezes as the door flies open, his attention whipping over to his bedroom door and his eyes immediately locking on george's.

the brunette looks away with a loud, "fuck! oh my god! i'm so sorry!"

karl's heart drops to his stomach as he yanks the blade away from his leg, his breathing shaky as he drops it into his bedside drawer, slamming it shut. he tries his hardest not to look at george but the brit is still loudly cursing amongst rushed apologies, and it's hard not to glance at him while he tries to pull his duvet over his bloody legs.

he wasn't planning on changing his bedsheets anytime soon, but he supposes he'll have to now.

"what can i do?" george asks, back still turned. karl looks over, noticing how his fingers twitch with uncertainty. "you need help, karl. tell me how to help."

"why did you come in my room?" karl asks, an embarrassing attempt at changing the subject. george turns back, and karl loathes the way his friend's gaze darts to his covered lap.

words feel thick on karl's tongue, the sensation of talking feeling awful after days of not saying anything, but he thinks that being nonverbal right now would make george even more worried so he manages to make himself talk.

"that's irrelevant now, karl. you need help," george says, worried. he looks like he's stressed. karl hates that he's made the other stressed. his emotions are bad enough on their own, let alone when he knows they're making life harder for other people too. sometimes he hates that george cares about him.

karl doesn't know how to reply- maybe because he's not used to being confronted like this by anyone other than alyssa, or maybe because he's still balancing the cusp of nonverbal, and it would feel weird to say the words even if he did have them.

he knows it's not the right thing to do, and he despises himself for it before he even begins to move, but karl says nothing as he rolls onto his side, facing away from george.

he hears the brunette sigh, and stares at the wall ahead of himself. some stupid part of his brain tells him that, if he ignores george for long enough, the brit will leave and just forget this ever happened.

karl doesn't want george to worry about him.

he ignores the sound of his friend entering the room, lightly kicking things aside so he can cross the messy floor. a quiet part of his mind still tells him that he has to keep his eyes on the male in his room, in case george hits him or something, but he manages to shush the worries - george would never.

light pours into the room as george yanks open the curtains, the rays immediately heating up karl's back from where they hit his shirt. he can't remember the last time he had his curtains open, but he supposes they'll stay that way for a few days now until he finds the random motivation to close them again.

"karl, i can't keep letting you-" george sighs. karl can hear how he looks around the room. he imagines how george must be itching with the urge to clean. "it's disgusting in here," he comments, clearly forgetting whatever he was going to say before.

karl closes his eyes. it's a bit of a stretch, but he'd really like to fall asleep right now.

"karl it's- it's unhealthy to live like this, in this mess- is this mouldy?"

karl doesn't look, but he's sure it is.

"i'm so worried about you, karl. do you understand that? you're my best friend, this hurts me so much. i know you're tired but- i can clean for you, karl. i can cook and do the dishes and tidy your room if you can't, i don't mind. i want to help, you just have to let me."

karl wishes he had the words to explain why he doesn't want george's help. he wishes he could articulate how useless and dependent it makes him feel, like a liability. he feels like a disgusting stain on george's shirt, and the brit only wears it because it's all he has, but one day he'll buy new clothes and shove the stained stuff in a box never to be seen again until it inevitably gets given away or sold or just trashed.

"this is graphic, karl."

the brunette screws his eyes tightly shut. he wonders which of his paintings made george say that - probably the one that he knows is on the top of the pile of stuff on his desk, a clear depiction of a child self-harming. his art says so much, and george knows that, and karl hates that the brunette will be making deductions about whatever he's seeing.

karl feels his bed dip behind him, and he instinctively curls in on himself.

"if you're not going to talk to me, you have to talk to alyssa. i can't-" he inhales, shaky. "you're killing yourself, karl. i don't know if you even notice you're doing it-"

he does.

"-but i see you slipping away every day and i- karl, i'm terrified that one day i'll wake up and you'll be gone."

the sound of george crying forces karl to roll back over and pry his eyes open. he almost wishes he didn't though, as the sight frankly breaks his heart.

"i'm scared," george whispers through his tears, so clearly genuinely worried. "i don't know what to do."

george's hands move to cover his face, and karl quickly shuffles closer. he wraps his arms around the brunette's lower waist, his head resting on george's thigh while the brunette still sits up. he's desperate to say something, anything, but that familiar lump is blocking his throat and he can't force himself through it.

"i don't want you to die."

karl pulls back, glancing up, and george looks back down at him with teary eyes. his hands are shaky, and the angle is uncomfortable, but karl manages to sign out 'text alyssa' and he knows that george will fill in the gaps.

"that's good," george says, "a-and i'm proud that you'll text her, but karl-" he cuts himself off with a genuine sob, harder than karl has ever heard from him before. he wipes at his face, genuinely sounding like he's unable to breathe through his cries, "that's- that's not enough, karl. you need to start doing things for yourself too. you won't get better without trying."

the idea that george thinks he's not trying sits heavy on his tongue, mind whirring with spite. though, simultaneously, he supposes the older boy is right.

✼

back at uni and i hate it here and i want to go home

karl is giving projecting

i love you all, thank you for always making me happier

-kit