Needless to say, it was the worst dance practice ever. Everyone was super awkward the whole time, and Seungkwan was basically fighting tooth and nail to keep from breaking out into tears randomly. He wanted nothing more that to be alone, to disappear.
As soon as it was over, Seungkwan snatched up his backpack, booking it out of the practice room without any regard to the rest of the group. He speed walked all the way to the 2nd floor east wing bathroom, the most secluded bathroom in the building. Upon entering, he dumped his bag down on the counter, zipping it open and sifting through it hastily.
The stress inside him was building with every passing moment. He needed to do it again. He NEEDED to do it again.
He dug around his bag until he felt the zipper of a small pencil case that was in there. He pulled it out, unzipping it and retrieving his razor.
He pulled up his left sweater sleeve, hesitating for a moment. He examined his arm, raising an eyebrow.
'You're running out of room.'
He rolled the fabric back down, rolling up his right sleeve instead. He was now faced with a blank canvas to ruin.
It was routine now; the blade sliced, searing pain, a new wound appeared, blood dropped into the sink. Seungkwan knew the drill far too well by this point. He welcomed the pain like an old friend.
He kept going, the cuts got deeper and messier. His strokes becoming more sporadic as he grew increasingly more flustered.
Seungkwan had long since let out the cries he'd been holding in for the last 3 hours. Hot, salty tears poured down his face, no attempt was made to stifle the sobs.
He just kept going, the blade kept cutting; more blood continued to spill out of his arm until he was struggling to stand, leaning against the counter for support.
Seungkwan didn't stop until he was 3/4 of the way up his forearm. Blood dripped down the destroyed skin, pooling at his palm and dripping off of his finger tips. The pain was more than any he'd expected, his arm was on fire.
He stood there, waiting for the bleeding to stop, waiting for the crying to cease, trying his best not to collapse right there on the bathroom floor. The stress was suffocating him, choking him slowly. The pressure was gradually building up until he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
'They'd be better off without you.'
Seungkwan rinsed out the sink, wiping the counter clean of blood. He rolled his sleeve back down, the ripped skin stinging against the fabric of his sweater.
He gathered his things, exiting the bathroom, and walking around like nothing happened. He went about the remainder of his day just like he would any other, struggling to make pleasantries; wearing a plastic smile. He hated it. Normal people didn't find it that difficult to simply be nice to people. Only Seungkwan, and he hated himself for it.
'Maybe you're just an asshole yah? That's probably why everybody hates you so much.'
•••
After arriving back at the dorms, Seungkwan was greeted with cold silence, since everyone else had already gotten home.
Jihoon sat on the stairs, writing lyrics.
Junhui and Minghao were watching some Chinese drama in the kitchen.
Everyone else was watching a movie in the living room.
They didn't even notice him come in.
Seungkwan didn't bother announcing his arrival, he went straight to his room, collecting some clean clothes, and heading to the bathroom to shower.
He let out a sigh of relief as the hot water enveloped him, causing the wounds on his arms to sting even more.
His empty stomach ached, his legs felt like jelly beneath him, he braced himself against the wall of the shower to keep from collapsing.
He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to falter, his mind to wander; the walls of the shower enclosing him in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
*knock knock knock*
A hard banging on the bathroom door pulled him out of his trance.
"Seungkwan, hurry up already! It's been like 20 minutes, I gotta pee!" Mingyu hollered from the hallway.
"Y-yeah sorry, I'll be right out!" Seungkwan announced in reply, shutting off the water to the shower. He quickly dried off, getting dressed and hurrying out of the bathroom.
Once in his bedroom, he wasted no time climbing into bed and attempting to fall asleep. He was in no mood to talk to any of the other guys. His cuts burned and seared under his sweatshirt, he hopelessly tried to ignore it. His stomach ached, he hadn't eaten since yesterday. He was sweating profusely under his sweatshirt, too.
•••
After Seungkwan finally left the bathroom, Mingyu hurriedly rushed in, filled with urgent panic...and a full bladder.
After taking care of his business and washing his hands, the tall male noticed a neon pink zip up bag on the counter.
"Must be Seungkwan's" he mumbled to himself, grabbing it off the counter.
Unfortunately, it was unzipped. All of its contents spilled onto the counter.
"Oh Shit!"
Mingyu hastily tried to shovel everything back inside, stopping cold in his tracks when he felt something sharp scrape up against his palm.
"A straight razor?" He whispered to himself, inspecting the piece of steel with befuddlement and worry.
He twirled it around in his fingers carefully.
'Wonwoo-hyung told us that Seungkwan was six months clean; What if...eh I'm probably being paranoid, I bet this came out of his shaving razor.'
Mingyu put the rest of the stuff into Seungkwan's bag, zipping it up and putting it away, hardly giving a 2nd thought to what he found.
YOU ARE READING
I Hold The 12 Flowers Tightly In My Hands (Seventeen Seungkwan fic)
Fanfiction'That night, for the 4,000th time in his life, Seungkwan cried himself to sleep, And nobody ever knew.' TRIGGER WARNING: I cannot stress this enough GRAPHIC depictions of mental illness, self-harm, self hate, and suicidal thoughts.
