Chapter Text
I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
-”No Children”, The Mountain Goats
The sight of blood hits Dream before the pain. So bright. So red. So stark against his pale skin.
He gets that almost euphoric rush of sick heat. His ears ring and everything else goes silent. His whole world is limited to that dash of scarlet across his wrist.
Then the pain hits.
“Shit, oh shit,” he curses, clapping a hand over the injury. He hates the way he relishes in the searing sensation, hates the way his heart races with the adrenaline and he likes it. He always has.
His gaze drifts over to where his razor dropped onto the floor, the sharp silver of it speckled with blood.
The guilt hits last.
He shouldn’t even feel guilty. It was an accident. It really was. While he was shaving, the soap or something made his hands slip and when he fumbled for his razor, he ended up knocking it against his wrist. It’s not even that deep. If he looks closely, he can even see how the line wavers and isn’t entirely even.
But against his old scars, it looks like a relapse.
He’s irrationally angry at himself. He’s supposed to be clean. He’s been clean for years, long enough that his scars have turned white and started to fade. There are too many that were a little too deep for them to fade entirely but he’s supposed to be recovered. And now he fucked it up.
He grabs a washcloth. Luckily they got some in dark blue and not white. He leaves bloody fingerprints on the sink. He ignores the way his vision swims. For something he used to do so often, any injury still gives him that lightheaded feeling of almost passing out, maybe from the adrenaline drop.
He bends down to pick up his dropped razor. (Why are his ears still ringing?) He swallows as he gets a grip on it, his own blood staining the handle. (Oh, that’s why.) As soon as it’s in his hands, he thinks to himself, well I already ruined it why don’t I just keep going?
“Oh, um,” Dream breathes. He can’t rip his eyes away from the blade.
He shouldn’t do it… Does it matter? Then it really would be a relapse. Even just a little… Fuck, no, it’s a bad idea. He knows Sapnap is home. He could call him in. But then Sapnap won’t let him even try again. Well, that’s the point, right? He should—
“S-Sapnap?” Dream calls out before he can second guess himself. He can’t tell if he just stopped himself from doing something he’ll regret or if he regrets drawing attention to himself.
“Dream? You in the bathroom?” He hears steps approaching from down the hall.
“Yeah, the door— the door’s unlocked.”
There’s a creak behind him, then a sharp inhale. “Oh, Dream,” Sapnap murmurs.
“It was an accident,” Dream insists, his gaze finally pulling away to look at his friend. He can tell by Sapnap’s face that he’s not sure if he believes him. “It really was. I slipped.”
“Okay, okay. Just let me— We gotta clean you up, okay?” He holds his hand out. “Why don’t you give me that?”
Dream hesitates and Sapnap’s face shutters closed. “Dream. You said it was an accident, right? You don’t need to hold onto that.”
“What if I need to shave?” Dream protests weakly. Contradictions twist in his mind. He wants it and he doesn’t. He knows he shouldn’t but the reason is almost over ridden by the want.
“You’re not going to need to shave while I clean you up. Just leave it here.” Dream opens his mouth but is interrupted by Sapnap pleading, “Dream, please. Come on, dude, I can’t…”
“Okay,” Dream finally agrees, voice low and guilty. He drops the razor on the sink ledge and lets Sapnap take his hand, dragging him towards the kitchen.
Right as he sits Dream down at the table, Sapnap’s phone rings. They both flinch. Sapnap keeps one hand on Dream’s shoulder like he thinks he’ll make a run for it if he lets him and pulls his phone from his pocket. He dismisses the call without even checking it.
“Who was that?” Dream asks, sick with himself that he almost wants Sapnap to be distracted.
“Dunno. Doesn’t matter,” Sapnap replies curtly. “Let me see.”
Shame creeps up Dream’s chest, hot and heavy. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He did everything he was supposed to. He stopped himself from going any further. He called Sapnap for help. He’s letting his friend patch him up. This is what he’s supposed to do, this is what progress is supposed to look like. He’s supposed to be recovered.
So why does he feel so bad?
He turns his wrist up for Sapnap to see. “It really was an accident,” he whispers, trying to meet Sapnap’s eyes. “See? If you look at it, it’s not even. I wouldn’t have—”
Sapnap’s phone rings again, somehow even louder this time. Sapnap growls, dismissing the call again, clicking a button, and throwing his phone on the table.
When Sapnap turns back to Dream, his gaze softens. “Sorry, I put it on do not disturb. Can I…?” He holds a hand out and Dream places his wrist in Sapnap’s gentle grip. He leans down to take a closer look. Dream can almost feel his eyes scanning over the injury, analyzing each waver and fluctuation. He’s seen Dream’s old scars. He’ll know if it’s a match.
“Do… Do you believe me?” Dream asks after a couple seconds of silence.
Sapnap brushes his thumb just around the edge of the cut. “You promise it was an accident?”
Dream nods. “I promi—”
Sapnap’s phone rings.
“Oh my— What the fuck? I thought I put it on—” Sapnap grabs his phone. His voice trails off. Dream sees him scroll down to check what he assumes are text messages.
“Sap? Who is it?”
Sapnap’s eyes dart up to Dream and then back down to his phone.
“It’s Karl.”