Virgil

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One tiny thing can really set a lot of regrettable decisions into action.

It doesn't quite matter what happened, just that Virgil is desperately trying to pry open this disposable shaving razor to alleviate some of the pressure inside his veins that's building exponentially by the second. He's not sure if he should be frustrated or happy that it's next to impossible to dismantle the thing; it's almost like the manufacturers don't want people to take the blades out and hurt themselves or others or something.

He leans his forearms against the bathroom sink and lets out a shaky breath, his tears escaping with it. This is stupid, he tells himself in one fleeting moment of reasoning, but he suddenly comes quite close to being able to open the godforsaken razor and any rationale is completely lost on him.

His five other roommates are also home, each probably doing their own thing. Virgil could always go to one of them and see if he could find someone who's feeling okay enough to help him feel okay too, or just ask for a hug, or even just to sit in the same room as them, because then he at least has a safeguard if he were to give into the urge and try to cut again. However, clouds swirl around inside his skull, blocking his vision, rainfall trickling out of his eyes, and now - now he almost wants to do this, wants to feel the pain.

The now freed piece of metal shines with the reflected light of the ceiling lamp above him. Something's stopping him from making the first cut, though, like an invisible force. Virgil's mind is taken back to his conversation with Remus that had started with him grabbing his arm to stop him from bruising his collarbones with his pencil. He almost feels like Remus is stopping him from doing this, too, even though he's not in the room, or probably even aware of what Virgil's doing. What would Remus think or say if he could see him right now? Virgil recalls the events of the night Remus found out about his habit like it was only yesterday.

Virgil winces and clutches his shoulder as the sting subsides at an agonisingly slow rate. He always regrets this immediately after it happens, now that the initial frustration has been replaced by an overwhelming of pain that has tears pricking at his eyes, which momentarily scrunch shut at the feeling of new bruises forming. Soon there'll be a new blossoming of them to go with the others, in varying stages of healing, some purply-blue, some with a hint of yellowy-green. It doesn't help that they contrast so well with his skin.

He trudges out of his room to find an ice pack; he may as well, he tells himself. Besides, he wanted a glass of water anyway. So, he eventually enters the dark kitchen and crouches down, beginning to rummage around in the freezer (with difficulty as he didn't want to turn on a light and blind himself) until a voice suddenly startles him.

"Virge, is that you?" It sounds like Remus - of course he'd be up late at night too. Virgil doesn't have time to hum in response before a bright light stings at his eyelids and he brings his hands up to rub at them. Remus' hand places itself on the small of Virgil's back. "What are you looking for in there?"

"Ice pack." He replies hoarsely, the reminder that comes with saying it aloud making him aware again of how much it hurts.

Suddenly, he's being manoeuvred up to a standing position and then lifted onto the kitchen counter with ease. At last his eyes begin to adjust to the light; the sight of Remus creating a makeshift ice pack with ice cubes and a small dish towel comes into focus. He seems to be examining the bruises peeking out from underneath Virgil's shirt as he pulls the hair tie from his hair and fastens the ice inside the towel. Then, he sets the ice pack down next to Virgil on the counter and moves to touch the bottom hem of Virgil's shirt.

"May I?" He asks with a hint of playfulness; Virgil rolls his eyes with a smile but nods, lifting his arms to allow Remus to remove his shirt and get a better look at the bruises. His face immediately falls to one of concern and he winces empathetically. "What happened here, emo?"

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