Resolution

Temperature

A/N: yee haw texas, it's jabba the slut back with another chapter of self projection and oh shit it's 2 am. Also, Hi, Barb, if you're reading this.

Some days were manageable. Some days, he could almost pretend like he was normal, like he fit in with the hundreds of normal people he would pass on the normal street on a normal day. It wasn't often, but it happened.

Other days were agony. He could barely leave bed, all he could do was thrash around until he got the motivation to get out of bed and get the relief he needed. 

This was one of these days. To the delight of the addicted part of his brain, and to the displeasure of the rest of it, Sora was out for the day. He didn't have to see him like this, at least. Didn't have to worry about him.

Sora texted him at lunch, asking how he was, if he ate, what he's been up to, all sorts of things. Mafu mustered all of the energy he had to reply as convincingly normal as possible. Luckily, Sora seemed to buy into it. Once Sora's lunch break ended, Mafu crashed his head against his pillow. He felt awful. For someone like him, he probably deserved it, he thought.

By the time the growling in his stomach had taken over his will to stay in bed, it was late afternoon. He dragged himself to the kitchen and made himself something simple enough to make and eat. He stared at the same spot on the counter the entire hour he spent eating. He should have cleaned the place by now. He was just a lazy piece of shit, wasn't he?

He tried washing his face to motivate himself, but he realized the buzzing in the back of his head when he dried the water off. It was the worst temperature. The kind of temperature when it starts cold, but your skin makes it the kind of lukewarm that sticks to you, makes you feel like it shouldn't be there. 

He paused when he knelt down to the cupboard under the sink. There they were. In a neat, tiny little package, there were the razors. They were the kind he didn't even know how to use the correct way. All he knew was that it was perfect for his own purpose. Perfect size, sharp enough, and simple enough to get out of the package, instead of his earlier days when he had to try to mangle a shaving razor to get out one of the tiny slivers that were too small, and were harder to use when they were all bent up from trying to remove them from their plastic cage. 

They called to him, offering words of comfort, promises of relief. All he had to do was follow through the motions like he always did, and then he would feel better. So much better. His legs would be hit with a shock of relaxation. His arms would drop to his sides, while his hands still worked to keep up the high, if one could call it that. His face would be struck with a creeping, stinging numbness that washed over from the edges of his head. He would drop his head back against whatever was behind it, close his eyes, and sigh in relief. 

He wanted it so bad. Honestly? What was the point of resisting? He knew that at some point, whether that point was a few days away, weeks, or even years away, he would be right back to where he started. So why delay it? Why try to let it build up so the inevitable, oh so inevitable relapse would be worse. 

He carried the razors out and propped himself up against the headrest of his bed. With this, he began the ritual. Taking a single tissue to wipe up any blood, keeping the box close in case he needed more, putting on some sort of background noise to distract himself from the sickening noise that kept him from going deeper if paid attention to, he began the ritual. 

It wasn't until he was completely set up and ready to start, the door clicked open. Mafu didn't bother to move. He was so filled with apathy that there was no point hiding where he was. 

Sora was surprised, based on how Mafu had been talking earlier. He was always scared at how good of a liar he was. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom while Mafu laid with his head tilted back and exposed yet untouched arms at his sides. Sora knew better than to let the large reaction play out, he had to keep calm. 

"Did you do anything yet?" Sora asked first, voice calm and controlled. He was in control. Even if Mafu wasn't at the moment, he was in control. He stayed at his distance until Mafu knew he would be moving forward. 

Mafu had a few emotions barely register in his head. Shame and guilt were the common ones, but so was anger. Sora wasn't supposed to walk in. He was supposed to be able to do this. Sora wasn't supposed to interrupt his ritual. He wasn't angry at Sora, he completely understood. He was moreso angry at the circumstances. Returning to the present moment, he shook his head. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to start before Sora walked in, making him slump back like a tired ragdoll. 

"Can you give it to me?" Mafu shook his head. "Then, can you look at me?" After a few silent moments, Mafu lowered his head and opened his eyes. He missed the comfortable position he had landed in a few moments before, but it was what Sora asked him to do. "What led to this?" The raven asked.

Mafu was not good at talking during times like these. He could only muster the energy to shrug a little. 

"Was today just bad?" Sora knew that these things sometimes happened. Mafu twitched his head in a nod. "I see...Mafu, really, please let me have it." He outstretched his hand for Mafu to drop the razor. Mafu shook his head quietly. "Please?" Sora pleaded. "Can you tell me what's going on in your head right now?"

"Dunno..." Mafu rasped. 

"That's fine." Sora has seen a few of Mafu's relapses, and he knew how his head seemed to go blank. "Can I help you up? We can go to the living room and cuddle on the couch..."

Mafu didn't see any reason to resist any further. He looked up at Sora, dropped the razor into his hand, and shifted to the edge of the bed. 

"Thank you." Sora said quietly before putting the razor in his bag and helping Mafu up. He would get rid of the razor later, along with whatever other ones he could find. 

Sora first brought Mafu into the kitchen, turning on the tap on hot. Sora knew that when Mafu's head was this blank, he was like a lump of clay or an action figure, waiting to be molded into the desired position. So, Sora stuck Mafu's hands under the tap and went to the fridge to get drinks.

It was cold. Really cold. It was a shock to his body, but not enough to free his mind. 

Coping mechanism, a distraction. This was what that was. He hated those words for some reason. They sounded so analytical, so detached from the amount of pain he was feeling, treating it as if it were some simple thing that was taught in psychology instead of something that would mean the difference between falling into despair and holding on one more day. 

The water temperature was starting to move a few knotches up after the heat had some time to move into the water. Still, it was cold enough that if Mafu moved the water up his arm a little, it would still feel colder than his own skin, with the veins bulging on his hands in frustration. 

Soon, he could feel the temperature cross the threshold of being cold on his skin and warm on his skin. It was cold. Cool. Warm. Hot. Scalding. He liked it. The burning heat was finally starting to thaw the frozen state of his mind. His trance was broken when Sora broke the solid stream of water by holding a washcloth over the hot water. Mafu blinked and brought his arms back to his side. 

"I read somewhere that a hot washcloth could help..." Sora said gently. Once the rag was soaked with steaming water, he guided Mafu to the couch and handed the cloth to the albino to drape over anywhere he pleased. That so happened to be his face. His arms were fine after being subjected to the stream of hot water. He felt the steam loosen the muscles of his face and let the rest of his body slowly relax and come back down. He felt the couch dip as Sora placed the drinks for the both of them on the coffee table before sitting down. Once his hands were free, he occupied them with Mafu's. 

Soon, the cloth started to take on the same uncomfortable temperature as the water he washed his face with earlier. He moved to take it off his face and folded it, placing it on the coffee table next to the glasses.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sora asked. That was an easy enough answer. Mafu immediately shook his head. He didn't have the mental energy to deal with all of the emotions. He was too tired. Sora nodded in acceptance and simply wrapped his arms around the albino.

All of the heavy emotions and conversation could wait for another day.