In the birds' nest • woosan

VII. You are never alone and you will never be

[tw: self-harm]

☾

The razor blade felt deceptively light between his trembling fingers as he stared at the thin, red line blossoming on his pale skin. He had perfected a new technique, one that allowed the blade to cut deeper without causing any lasting damage. He liked the moment just before the blood came, the breathless second when the white of his flesh was exposed, stark against the superficial layer of skin. In that instant, everything felt suspended, like his entire being had been filled with helium, lifting him away from his reality. Then, the blood would follow, a slow, warm trickle that dribbled down, painting the marble sink with crimson streaks.

But with each cut came a wave of guilt so overwhelming it threatened to drown him. He knew he was spiraling, that this ritual of pain was destroying him piece by piece, but the release it offered, however fleeting, was too intoxicating to resist. Every time he picked up the blade, he felt as though he was betraying everyone who cared about him, especially Yeosang. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder that he was hurting more than just himself. He could see the disappointment in Yeosang's eyes, the unspoken question of why he couldn't just stop. But that was the thing—he couldn't. The urge was too strong, the need to feel something, anything, to break through the numbness that had settled into his bones.

Wooyoung had started cutting himself more frequently since the last time he met Woobin. The fresh wounds on his arms were stark reminders of his escalating self-destructiveness, yet he felt powerless to stop. Yeosang's anger didn't deter him, nor did the discovery that Yeosang had attempted to rid him of his tools. Wooyoung knew where the kit was hidden—it was under a loose tile in the bathroom—but Yeosang had found it after the third fresh cut he spotted on Wooyoung's arm.

"If I get rid of this, will you just get a new one?" Yeosang's voice was taut, laced with frustration as his leg bounced restlessly. The question hung in the air, a cold, sharp, thing that made Wooyoung's insides churn with guilt and self-loathing. Still, he couldn't bring himself to answer.

He had tried, so many times, to stop, to break free from this cycle of self-destruction. But every attempt only ended in failure, leaving him feeling even more worthless. How could he explain that to Yeosang? How could he make him understand that the blade was both his tormentor and his solace? The shame was almost unbearable, knowing he was causing Yeosang so much pain. But he was trapped, caught in a web of his own making, and he didn't know how to escape.

"I'm sorry" he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Answer the damn question, Wooyoung" Yeosang's anger seemed to melt into something softer, more resigned.

A tense silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Wooyoung forced himself to respond, his voice breaking, "Yes"

Yeosang's sigh was deep, filled with a weariness that made Wooyoung want to flee. The disappointment in Yeosang's eyes was a blade sharper than the one Wooyoung held. But he was too tired, too defeated to move. Yeosang disposed of the kit anyway, and Wooyoung, true to his word, acquired a new one. It was a sick game of cat and mouse, with Yeosang always finding his hiding spots, and Wooyoung always finding new ways to hurt himself.

They didn't speak of it again until the night Wooyoung almost passed out at The Nest. He had been expecting it—knew he was playing with fire—but he couldn't stop. The self-harm had been joined by prolonged fasting, the taste of food turning rancid in his mouth, making it impossible to eat unless someone forced him. His world had shrunk to a handful of activities: cutting, working at The Nest, and sleeping, though sleep rarely offered any respite. The nightmares had grown more vivid, more grotesque. One night he dreamed of peeling the skin from his arms until nothing but raw flesh remained, and he knew, deep down, that he would eventually reach that point if he didn't escape the hell inside his mind.