"Yuuri had struggled with anxiety, depression, and atelophobia, a fear of not being good enough, which was the prime cause of his anxiety."
Viktor looked at the doctor in disbelief before putting his face in his hands, his voice breaking as he stuttered:
"W-why d-didn't he t-tell me?"
🕇~▪~●~▪~●~▪~♦~▪~●~▪~●~▪~🕇
He would wait until his husband was gone, that's when he'd lock himself in he bathroom, bringing pills, a knife, or something that could hurt him, and some cleaning utensils to get the liquid off.
Yuuri cried silently as he pierced the knife into his leg, the pain to him didn't hurt as much anymore, he had been doing this for months.
He took the pills, gaining satisfaction from the nauseous feelings he was having.
He looked at the floor drowsily, his own crimson blood trickling down his arm and into the sink, and on the light blue, icy tiles.
He didn't know why he kept choosing to do this instead of going to get help.
He knew he had depression.
He knew he had anxiety.
And he knew he had atelophobia, the main cause of his anxiety.
But why did he keep doing it?
He knew the answer full and well.
He had convinced himself that he could never live up to Viktor, his fiance, the man who chose him to be his husband, the man who kept giving him compliments.
The man he kept giving fake smiles and laughs to.
The man he hid his scars and wounds to, the winter weather was the perfect excuse.
The man who was oblivious to how he felt on the inside, but he didn't tell him, he didn't want him to be worried.
Why didn't he just reach out to someone for help?
He was facing this alone, building up a self-depricating complex over the course of years.
Only for that complex to take over him as he walked out the door and out onto the ledge of the very building he lived in.
Only for him to jump and land on the cold, hard ground, feeling and seeing his blood seeping out onto the snow. Hearing the screams of the person who found him.
But these screams were from his fiance.
🕇~▪~●~▪~●~▪~♦~▪~●~▪~●~▪~🕇
Viktor would never get to hear the beautiful laughs of his husband again, he wouldn't get to touch him, see his face, nor kiss him.
Because his husband was dead on the concrete, his blood slowly seeping onto the pure white snow, right in front of him.
Viktor wanted to know why he would do thus, so he talked to their doctor.
"Well, Yuuri was hiding a lot from you, such as trying to see a therapist."
"It appears that the therapy didn't help that much, but the therapist did manage to give me the information as to why he would do this tragic act."
The doctor pulled out a slip containing everything Viktor should have known.
"Yuuri had struggled with anxiety, depression, and atelophobia, a fear of not being good enough, which was the prime cause of his anxiety." He was now crumpling the paper in his trembling fist.
Viktor looked at the doctor in disbelief before putting his face in his hands, his voice breaking as he stuttered:
"W-why d-didn't he t-tell me?"
"People who usually do these things don't want anyone around them to feel burdened because of them." The man explained
"But I was his fiance, I had every right to know." The Russian starts to cry.
"Didn't he realize that this would be a bigger burden on me?" He asks to no one in particular, crying harder.
The doctor didn't talk as he left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Viktor alone, his sobs breaking the silence.
