gay one shots | ✔️

shot twenty six: empathetic (bitter) distractions

A/N: sorry that I've sort of been away for a long time but I was caught up in a long time where I didn't have wifi soooo... so so sorry. anyway, I know no one gives a shit about me or this book so here's the writing that I've been editing without wifi (and losing the edits to) for the past few days:

Harley opened his eyes, brushing his curly hair out of them, as he saw Rhys walking in, one hand on one hip.

"Harleyyy," Rhys said, his hands falling from his hips as he saw his boyfriend's swollen, red eyes.

Harley only looked up to acknowledge his boyfriend's presence, then hid his face in his knees, which were curled against his chest.

Rhys knew the posture all too well and quickly sat down next to Harley, his arms wrapping around him. "Hey, shh... wanna tell me what happened?"

Harley nodded and gestured for Rhys to come into the room they shared instead of talking on the couch in the living room, where they were currently sitting. None of their other roommates was home, but Harley still went into their room just in case one of them walked in. Harley leant against the door, closing it, and Rhys stood before him, holding his hands. He walked closer to his boyfriend, kissing his cheek.

"What's the matter? Please tell me," he whispered into his ear.

Harley shivered. "Alright, but promise not to freak out, okay?"

Rhys looked suspiciously at his curly-haired counterpart, but when he saw that he was being absolutely serious, he nodded in agreement. "I promise."

Harley pulled up his shorts and boxers a little bit, exposing crisscrossing red lines on his thigh, all the way up to his hip. There must have been ten or fifteen of them. Some of them looked newer, some of them older. Some of them were just scars, meaning he'd been doing this for a long time now, and some of them looked as though he'd done them today, yesterday, the day before...

"How long?" Rhys asked, and took Harley's hand—the one that was holding up his shorts—so that his shorts fell down again, and his scars were hidden once more. Harley collapsed into Rhys's arms, crying. He obviously couldn't answer right now, but he tried to anyway.

"Th-three mo-mo-months," he hiccupped and stuttered, but his boyfriend caught it all.

"Three months? How did I not notice when we--dear Mother of Go-"

"P-please don't make a big deal out of i-it?" Harley begged.

Rhys hugged him tighter. "Don't worry. I won't. I can't stop you from doing it, but I can encourage you not to."

"Rhys..." Harley wiped his tears and pulled away to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

"Hmm?" he kissed Harley's cheek.

"Can we pretend I didn't just show you that?"

"No." Rhys sighed, but not out of disappointment. He considered the situation. Harley needed more help than he was getting. Perhaps that didn't mean only through therapy. "Is there anything I can do to--"

"W-what were you going to s-say when you cut off earlier?"

"I-I nothing," Rhys felt his cheeks warming as he looked down at his feet.

"Okay. Tell me later," Harley leant into him again and felt Rhys's arms wrapping around his body. The familiar fuzzy feeling took over his heart, which only made him cry more.

"How did you, like, hide it? It's the summer. You wear short-shorts all the time."

"I've just been pulling them down more, and no, I don't wear short shorts all the time anymore. I mostly just borrow your shorts because my shorts don't fit me so well anymore. Also because I didn't want you finding out about my... my..."