may shatter on impact (tronnor)

51. 2 AM & Little Talks

small trigger warning: talking about self-harm

The red numbers glow red in the darkness of my bedroom; 2:08 AM. The soft echo of footsteps and floorboards creaking turn the silence of sleep into a horror movie. I sit straight up, refusing to yawn, refusing to close my eyes to the darkness just in case there's someone here.

"Troye?" someone whispers, the voice setting my on edge, huddled into the blankets, leaching warmth from them and hoping that the shadows are enough to mask me and my fear. Someone pauses outside my door, their hand hesitating on the handle, breathing slowly, fogging up the cold air. "You awake?" I don't answer. "Troye, it's Tyde. Can I come in?"

I immediately relax, laying back down and watching the shadows at the door. "Y-yeah," I whisper back at him.

The door swings open and he steps inside, heading for the bed as soon as he makes sure that the door is closed.

I pat the bed next to me, telling him to join me. "You alright?"

He shrugs, covering himself with the sheets and rolling over to face me. "I just...can't sleep." I nod, facing him and closing my eyes, letting my breathing even out until the air in the room is broken by the soft beat of my heart and breath from my lungs.

"Tyde, can I ask you something?" 

"I guess?"

"I - I saw..." I hesitate. I probably shouldn't even mention it. He's my baby brother and he's hurting and he probably doesn't want me to know and yet here I am. These are the kind of words only spoken in the darkness, only whispered at two in the morning when thoughts are the world's only danger, when heartbreak is both a thousands miles away and right here, right now. The kind of words we can barely even think to ourselves because if we speak them then they're real. My words turn the worries real, turn simple suspicion into hardened truths confessed in the dark. "I saw y-your wrist earlier."

He stiffens, on guard, scared. "I - "

"You don't have to tell me anything, " I whisper before he can finish his sentence. "I just want you to know that...that I'm here to...to talk to you if you want."

"Troye," he sighs. "I can't - I don't - I - I know I have a 'perfect' life or whatever, but I just..."

"Tyde, you don't have anywhere near a perfect life. You've been through things no one here could even imagine - "

"I - I started b-before," he tells me, stumbling over his words, grasping his fingers and shuddering. "I c-continued because of...of it but - " He doesn't finish his sentence and I don't say anything after that.

"I - I am trying to stop. I know how - how bad it is and t-that I shouldn't but - I can't," he whispers, voice steadily rising in agitation. "I'm trying so hard and no one can see that and I keep failing, I'm a fucking failure - "

"You're not a failure, Tyde. You're doing pretty great considering how...how hard it is. You are not a failure, you're - "

"Please stop talking right now, Troye. I - I appreciate it, but I c-can't - I can't believe that."

"Tyde, it's true."

And I think that in the darkness and the secrecy of the night, he smiles despite the way his fingernails were trailing up and down his arm only minutes before. Half an hour later, he's sleeping beside me, mind at rest and brain at peace and his heart beating slowly, evenly, steadily, again and again.