If you asked him, Ryan would suppose it all started with his father.
Mental and psychological abuse, they'd call it, though the words made him physically cringe. His father was, admittedly, a cruel man, never missing a chance to remind him how much better his sibling was, or how disappointing it was to have not only a gay son, but a son that valued science and reasoning over blindly believing in ridiculous religious notions that had been shoved down his throat time and time again. 'Retarded', 'disappointment', and 'burden' were common phrases, and it only got worse when his mother, his only source of sanity, married a man almost a mirror of his father, though with a greater love for physical punishment and loud screaming that left both his mother and him timid and afraid.
Overall, it started with his father, but it most certainly didn't end there.
He was twelve, not even a teenager, when he first cut into his skin. A lot of people had been doing it at his school, mostly for attention, and it had become some sort of sick, twisted trend to gain looks and sympathy; Ryan, however, saw an entirely different benefit to it, one that he didn't disclose with anyone (not that he had any friends to talk to anyways, what with his quiet and intimidating disposition).
He'd stolen his first razor, unfortunately, but he had no funds and knew that there was no way his mother would buy him razor blades with no good reason behind it, so it had been necessary. He started with shallow, small cuts, often cursing at his low pain tolerance, but there were many at a time leaving a constant sting on his thighs each time he took a step for days after he had made them. As he did it more, he became more bold, digging deeper and making them longer and more frequent. Soon he had scars, and they were reminders to him of everything that had hurt him. He would run his fingers over the bumpy tracks of skin when he was bored or sad and marvel at the texture that was quite literally unique to only him.
He always kept his little hobby to his thighs. It was easy to hide and even easier for him to dig deep into the tough skin there, admiring the blood that would flow down his leg until it mingled with the shower water around his toes.
As he grew older, entered his mid-twenties, the hobby that had kept him alive through his youth began to dwindle, happened less often, until the scabs turned to pink and stretched scars.
That's when the stages began.
He'd have months where'd he'd be fine, happy, and his normal self, and he loved those more than anything; he was an excellent suppressor, and it was surprisingly simple to pretend his past, and everything emotionally or physically jarring in it, were not his own memories, as if he'd read a very thorough book of another person's life and the details of it had become fuzzy. He'd laugh and joke and even began to make friends by his early thirties at his new job, a job that not only indulged his love for tech but also his love for video games and witty banter.
However, the streak would come to an abrupt halt with a single comment, a single crystal clear memory breaking through, and he'd spiral into phase one of five, the fifth of which he never reached. It hadn't been a problem at first; he might skip a couple days of work, or be abnormally quiet, but he could always pass it off as just feeling under the weather. It all came significantly harder to hide away, unfortunately, when he entered a polyamorous relationship with the rest of the Achievement Hunter men, and even more so when they moved in together.
He could hide the cuts and scars easily; either topping in sex where he could brush off not removing his pants completely in the throes of passion, or making certain the lights were all left off for a more 'romantic effect', as he put it. And when they weren't living together, the sickness lie held strong, thankfully.
But they all were together now, in a big house full of love and joy that staved off stage one, until the fateful day he felt it coming.
Of course, it'd be Gavin to set him off, of course.
"God, Ryan, that move was horrid! What are you, retarded?" He teased as Ryan's character died on the screen.
Ryan chuckled, but his mind was screaming as a memory, painfully real, flashed behind his eyes.
"God, Ryan, are you fucking retarded? Jesus fucking Christ, I can't give you even the simplest of tasks without you fucking them up. The paper towels are right here! Of course you couldn't find them with your fucking retarded brain."
"I... I'm sorry, daddy. I just didn't see them!"
"No, don't fucking talk to me. Don't even fucking LOOK at me. I should have sent your brother. God knows he's the GOOD child in this family, you fucking disappointment."
Ryan cringed as the words echoed through his mind, harsh and too real, his heartbeat picking up it's pace.
"You okay there, Rye?" Gavin grinned at him and Ryan steadied his expression, smirking at him.
"Of course. But you won't be when I destroy you." He retorted, easily shooting Gavin's character down, but he didn't join in on the laughter that followed, instead focusing ice blue eyes on the screen, unseeing of its contents. His breathing was shallow, heart pounding in his ears as he fought against the panic attack threatening to overtake him, and he excused himself to the bathroom as soon as the recording ended.
"Don't do this." He mumbled to his reflection, face red with the effort to swallow the lump in his throat. "Not now, not with them." But it was too late, he knew; there was no stopping it once it began, he could only follow his system and hope his odd behavior would go unnoticed for the next week or two.
He took a deep, steadying breath that felt much too constricted to be calming before returning to the small office, not batting an eye as he was met with a surprise hug from Gavin, returning the kiss only half-heartedly.
"You looked upset, luv." Gavin cooed happily and Ryan forced a grin.
"With five amazing boyfriends like you? Don't be silly." He spoke reassuringly, mostly to himself, but the others all fixed him with appreciative looks.
"Ryan's aiming for a blowjob." Geoff muttered, receiving snickers from the lads.
"Please, Geoff. I don't have to try for a blowjob. I know the Lads are all about it." Ryan teased back and the younger men's faces flushed red, Michael spluttering over his can of Red Bull.
He could easily slip out of the conversation after that with no suspicion of him being in a poor mood as he snapped his headphones on, feigning work. In reality he was merely clicking aimlessly on an already-edited video, desperately trying to rebuild the dam holding back his memories that was cracking as the others chatted animatedly around him, none the wiser.
Stage one, as he so bitterly called it, was always the same. It lasted a couple days before seamlessly blooming into stage two and consisted of his walls breaking, hidden panic attacks, and a much more subdued mood.
When he had become so accustomed to it, he didn't know, but he had. He ran through the stages in his head, clicking his tongue as he reviewed what would happen in each one and what steps he would need to take to hide his utter devastation from the five men under the same roof as him. Only three more stages, he reminded himself. He purposefully left out the fifth stage, gritting his teeth as he thought of what reaching that place would imply.
"Ryan!" He was startled from his musings as he looked up to see Geoff staring down at him with mild concern. Judging by his tone, it wasn't his first attempt at gaining the dazed man's attention. "Jesus, Ryan, are you going deaf or something?" Jesus, Ryan, you too dumb to comprehend what I'm fucking saying?
Ryan's eyelid twitched unnoticeabley at the familiar words of another time, but he shook his head, bringing his boyfriend's face into more clarity.
"Sorry, boss." He quipped, emphasizing the word boss teasingly. "I was just really into my work, I guess."
"You work too much." Jack mumbled, rubbing soothing circles into his tense back as he stood, eyes flitting to the clock momentarily; it was the end of the day, he saw with a surprise. He'd spaced out for at least three hours.
"No, he works the normal amount. You assholes work too little." Geoff groused and Ray sniggered, pressing a wet kiss to his boss's neck.
"C'mon, Geoffers, you love us!" Michael squeaked and Geoff rolled his eyes.
"If I didn't you assholes would probably be fired by now. At least Ryan isn't completely worthless." He winked at the younger gent, but Ryan's blue eyes had become unfocused again as he forced his breathing to regulate. It was just Geoff's usual teasing, he told himself, he didn't mean it.
"Get your ass up, Ryan. Time to go home." They turned away and Ryan quickly tucked his shaking hands into his pockets, grateful yet slightly bothered none had stuck around to check on his odd behavior.
That night he'd excused himself from their fun time, muttering something about a migraine and popping a few Tylenol to make his story more believable. They'd shared a worried glance but allowed him to leave, knowing they occasionally happened to the sandy-haired man. When they'd all finally settled down for sleep, snuggling together on the huge bed, Ryan found himself toward the edge, Geoff's arm carelessly draped over his midsection.
He laid awake, listening to the soft breathing of his sleeping lovers, but the lull refused to take him, leaving him to stress over what he knew was to come. At around three am, he managed to slide out of the bed, rushing to the bathroom just as hyperventilation took over, tears streaming down his face as the panic attack overtook him, alone and desperate.
Of course he didn't sleep. He didn't try to pretend, either, choosing instead to get a head start on their morning routine. He set out six glasses, each of different size and shape, emblazoned with his lovers' names and preferred colours, and filled them with their favourite drinks. Gavin liked tea, Geoff coffee, Jack milk, Ray orange juice, and Michael Mountain Dew (despite Gavin griping at him for having soda directly in the morning). As he heard the alarm beep and be slammed down immediately, he couldn't help but smile.
Jack shuffled in first, his eyes squinting at the blurry shapes in front of him without his glasses. He graciously took his mug as it was handed to him, mumbling something unintelligible before pressing a lazy kiss to Ryan's lips.
Gavin was next, already grinning and peppy, his golden-brown hair puffed up and unbelievably messy. He skipped to Ryan, throwing his arm around him and nipping at him playfully before grabbing his tea. The others followed at various paces and in different states of tousled disarray, Geoff taking up the rear as always.
"You're up early." He grunted, cocking an eyebrow at Ryan, the latter of which merely shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep. I figured I'd get everything ready for you guys and hop into the shower first." He said nonchalantly, jumping slightly as he passed Geoff and received a firm thwack on the ass.
"We missed you last night." He sighed out and Ryan felt the smallest of weights lift off his chest. "I hope you're feeling better today."
"So do I!" Gavin called from the toaster, popping in an English muffin. Ryan smiled warmly at him before disappearing around the corner; the smile dissipated immediately. If only they knew how much worse it would get, but they couldn't. He'd held the facade too long to let it go now.
He swiped his phone from the charger and locked the bathroom door behind him, carefully stripping off his clothes. His eyes glanced down in the mirror, as they always did, to his white scars, prominent against his naturally tanner skin. He could feel them tingling, calling to him, begging to be ripped open again; it made his fingers itch.
He threw a furtive glance at the lock once again before popping the case off of his phone, revealing the dirty secret he never quite got rid of. Three razor blades clattered onto the counter and he plucked one from them, inspecting it. It was clean and free of rust and he held it against his palm calmly as he free hand started the water.
"Stage two." He murmured to himself, stepping under the hot stream. "Like stage one, but with an extra kick." He bit his lower lip, bracing himself against the wall as the razor hovered over his skin. He always did the cutting first to allow some time for the bleeding to stop some while he did his other shower activities.
The first contact sent a chill up his spine, relighting old memories and only making him hungrier to draw blood, to hurt himself like he so desperately felt he deserved.
It sliced through layers of skin so easily, leaving a thin line of red that quickly began to run down his thigh, mingling with the water below to turn a faint orange before washing down the drain. He grunted as another cut was made, then another, then another, the smallest hint of madness glinting in his blue eyes.
He couldn't stop, he didn't want to, and soon his right thigh was a dark red, completely riddled with deep cuts just shallow enough to avoid needing stitches thanks to years of practice and mistakes that occasionally led to him hiding in his room with a wash cloth and a sewing kit.
The razor was making its way towards his left leg when several hard bangs on the door startled him, causing him to elbow the back shower wall.
"Ryan! Hurry the fuck up! There's five more guys out here and we have to be at work in two hours!" Michael's voice was hoarse with sleep and Ryan felt his heartbeat speed up as he hastily set down the razor and began to shampoo his hair.
"Almost done!" He called back, washing his head haphazardly as his thigh continued to spurt blood.
He rushed out, careful to use the darkest towel to wipe his wounds down, new blood beading in its place immediately as he pulled out the first aid kit from its place under the sink. With practiced fingers he wrapped up his thigh, hissing at the contact, before toweling the rest of his body off and throwing on clothes. He jumped back as Michael faced him, gaining a quizzical look that he brushed off immediately; Michael shrugged, making his way into the bathroom when Ryan suddenly remembered the razor left in the shower, his body freezing up in panic before he whirled around, roughly pushing Michael out of the doorway with a yelp of his name.
"What the fuck, Ryan?!" Michael growled angrily as the door shut in his face.
"Um, I forgot something!" Ryan hastily dried the razor, tucking it back behind his case and reopening the door to an extremely pissed boyfriend.
"So you fucking shove me into the God damned wall?!" He glared at Ryan, the older man averting his gaze.
"S-sorry about that. I didn't mean to. I guess I'm just really tired."
Michael set his jaw before shouldering past him with a mutter of several dismissive curses. Ryan sighed in relieve, shoulders heaving as he padded across the bedroom and snatched up his keys, his head swimming. He tripped over the doorstep and would have tumbled had Jack not happened to have caught him. Ryan blinked the black dots out of his vision, smiling up at the bearded man with a new-found euphoria.
"Woah, Ryan. You okay, baby?" Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. Ryan merely nodded, grinning up at him.
"My hero." He murmured and Jack's face flushed red in embarrassment and confusion.
"You feeling okay, Ry?"
"Yeah, just a little woozy. I think I'm getting sick." Good, implant the possibility of sickness now so his later behaviour wouldn't be as odd.
"Well, just try not to trip anymore, okay? I might not always be here to catch you." He smiled warmly but Ryan's returned grin was bitter, seeing the double meaning that Jack could not; he was right, he couldn't be there to catch Ryan as he fell through his own mind.
Work was dull, at least to Ryan. He wasn't even positive he said a single word, his hand occasionally squeezing his right thigh just to send a jolt of pain through him, to remind him that he was there, rather than in the past that was taunting him. If the other men noticed his odd behaviour, they didn't say anything about it, and it only further advanced his bitter outlook.
Transition into Stage three came easily, around midday, as he blinked tiredly at his computer screen. He hadn't eaten lunch; he hadn't eaten anything except for a piece of toast that morning, actually, and even that was settling uneasy in his stomach. He stood abruptly, wobbling slightly but catching himself on the arm of his couch, muttering something about the bathroom as he stumbled out.
He blinked again halfway down the hall, opening his eyes to find himself inside of a stall he didn't remember stepping into. He fell to his knees, glaring at the porcelain bowl before shoving a finger down his throat.
Stage three, as he knew it, consisted of his body screaming for as much harm as possible. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, and, if anything happened to get down his throat, it was quickly disposed of. He gagged around his hand, retching forward into the toilet. Bits of toast mingled with stomache acid spilled from his lips, tasting sour, and he groaned.
"Ryan?" He heard a voice just as another wave of bile arose, sending him heaving. "Ryan!" The voice was more alarmed and he recognized the panicked tone as Ray's.
Fuck.
Ray was not only the most motherly of them (excluding maybe Jack), but he was extremely perceptive, even for Ryan's excellent ability to hide his emotions. He heard Ray jiggle the door to no avail and let out a huff.
"I'm... I'm fine, Ray. Just..f-feeling a little sick." He managed to choke out, wiping his mouth with a bit of toilet paper. He listened intently, hoping Ray would leave at that, but he knew better.
Wiping his nose and watering eyes, he flushed the contents down and unlocked the door to see an extremely concerned Ray. The youngest man's hand was on his head in an instant, frowning at whatever he felt.
"You're warm." Was he? Ryan sent a silent thank you to the overly-hot temperatures of the Rooster Teeth building. "We should tell Geoff to bring you home."
Ryan nodded, allowing himself to be led back to the room, spacing out as Ray explained what was going on. The next thing he remembered, he was alone in their house, sitting on the bed. He stared blankly at the white wall, a vague memory of helping paint it running through his mind.
He continued to look, so tired but unable to sleep, until his lovers came home. Gavin found him that way, still blankly staring, and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Um... Ryan?" The older man didn't reply, his eyes unfocused and glassy. "A-Are you okay?" Still no answer. "Um... I'm going to go... get Geoff." He shuffled out of the room and Ryan blinked.
Geoff was in front of him-when had that happened?-, inspecting Ryan's eyes. "He doesn't seem too well." He mumbled to presumably the rest of the men, just out of sight. Ryan had no energy to check.
"Should we take him to the hospital?" He heard and an alarm went off in his head: Hospital meant revealing his cuts.
"No, no hospital." Ryan slurred out. "Just need sleep." He saw Geoff's skeptical face through blurry vision, but the older man trusted him.
"Okay... but if you're not better by tomorrow, we're taking you." Geoff scolded and Ryan nodded, his head like lead. "Let's help him to the guest room. It's probably best he stay in there rather than stuck with all of us." He felt himself be drug up and led through the hall to the room they barely used, a small bathroom attached to it.
"Can we get you anything?" Gavin asked and Ryan nodded, opening his mouth before closing it and retrying.
"Juice?" His eyes drooped shut before slowly opening again. He felt a glass pressed to his lips and took a heavy swig of the orange liquid. "Thanks."
"We're going to let you sleep now, okay? If you need anything, just call for us." Jack asked and Ryan nodded again, head lolling to the side slightly. "We love you."
When the door finally closed, Ryan forced himself to stand, teetering on the balls of his feet as he groped his way to the bathroom. He dropped his pants, blinking rapidly to focus his eyes on the bandage, stained with blood that had leaked through. After ten minutes of rummaging, he finally found the small extra medical kit they kept in there, unrolling the bandage clumsily before unwrapping the soiled one. the fabric stuck to his still-goopy cuts, ripping them open freshly, and he cringed at the intense stinging. Blood squeezed out rapidly and he groaned, carelessly wrapping them in a fresh bandage.
He had barely cleaned up and made his way back towards the bed when his legs gave out, flopping him face-first into the pillows. He stayed that way for several hours before finally twisting onto his back, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the bare ceiling, now dark with the lack of sun.
He closed his eyes and a flash of a cool summer day played across his lids, looking sweet and inviting. The view changed as the camera-like vision shifted to show he was in a car, sitting in the passenger's seat. He glanced up to where a burly man with a thick beard sat driving, his face stern and slightly red.
"Did I say you could fucking look at me?" He asked and the view quickly changed again to show a small lap, tiny hands fiddling with one another idly, the beginning stages of one of many of Ryan's nervous tics he had possessed as a child. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, what the FUCK is wrong with you?"
Ryan could feel his younger self shrug, his answer to many of his father's hard questions.
"Huh? Those aren't fucking words, James!"
"I..I-I don't know..." The smallest voice whispered, high-pitched and hoarse with fear and disappointment in himself. "I'm sorry."
"It's too fucking late to apologize. You're so fucking retarded, I swear. God, shoot me in the head! Just shoot me in the God damned head, I can't even handle you." The words cut like knives and seemed to echo as Ryan's eyes once more to reveal the guest room once more.
He glanced at the clock and saw it was only two in the morning. There was no way he was going to let himself go back to sleep. He sat up, body aching as he did so, and promptly felt a wave of nausea.
He tried to rush to the toilet but his legs gave out, leaving him to resort to crawling as he barely made it in time, heaving sickly green stomache acid into the toilet; it was all his empty body had to offer.
"Fuck." He shuddered, the back of his neck damp with sweat despite how cold he felt. Resting his head on the edge of the bowl, it was another couple hours before he finally pushed himself up, leaning heavily on the counter and catching his reflection in the mirror.
His skin was extremely pale and thin-looking, his eyes lifeless and sunken with dark rings underneath. He looked away in disgust, trembling as he willed himself to walk back to the bed. He hardly made it, breathing heavily as he sat down.
"It's almost over. Almost over." He murmured aloud, voice barely heard by even himself as he cupped his head in his hands, keeping that position until light bled through the sheer curtains. The shrill alarm in the nearby room stung his ears and he quickly laid back in bed, covering his head.
Minutes past before the door squeaked open, no doubt from one of his boyfriend's checking on him. It closed after a brief pause and Ryan sighed in relief.
He only sat back up once he was certain they were gone, hands clutching at the covers.
"You disgust me." He heard a voice say and tensed, eyes darting around the room to see nobody.
"Stage four." He gritted to himself. "Nothing is real."
"Maybe not, James, but everything you feel is. You were pathetic as a child. You still are." The voice mocked him and he tugged on his hair gently, squeezing his eyes shut.
"It'll all be over soon. It'll all be over soon." He repeated over and over, pushing himself back until his shoulders hit the headboard of the bed.
"And then what, Ryan? You do this again in a few more months, and I'll be there. We'll all be here, disappointed and disgusted in how pitiful you are as always." The voice was different, not one of his fathers but deeper, strikingly resembling Jack's.
Ryan could feel his blood run cold as the hallucinations took an unexpected turn, the laughter of his boyfriends ringing through the empty room, cold and distorted.
"NO! No, they love me!"
"Do we? How could we love someone so utterly useless?" The British voice was tantalizingly close to Gavin's, though more harsh than Ryan had ever heard it. Tears began to run down Ryan's face, burning his cheeks.
"NO!" Ryan cupped his hands over his ears, shaking violently as the voices continued to barrage him with insults, occasional shadows flitting past his warped vision.
"Ryan!" It was Michael now and Ryan sobbed, twisting away from the voice.
"PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" He screamed, suddenly feeling hands on him. He thrashed with the little energy he had left, terrified by how real it felt. "LET ME GO, LET ME GO!"
"Ryan! Ryan, baby, it's us!" Geoff's voice broke through and Ryan cried, long and somber.
"No! You're not him! Y-You're not!" He writhed under the touches, holding him down. His eyes were closed but tears still escaped, fat and bitter. "PLEASE!" He begged as he became more desperate, feeling himself slip into unconsciousness. "PLEASE JUST TAKE ME!" He pleaded to the darkness, knowing that if he could just pass out, if he could just stop feeling anything, it would be all over.
The voices became more faint, the touches less prominent, and Ryan faded into nothingness.
Ryan woke slugglishly, bright light flooding through his eyelids. He blinked several times, annoyed by the awakening, and pleasantly felt a hand in his. He glanced down, surprised to see the hospital room around him. Not only that, but he had an IV in him and what felt like a breathing tube in his nose. His boyfriends were around him, watching him with apprehensive expressions. Ray was closest, their hands entwined and his brown eyes filled with what looked like heartbreak and betrayal.
The true severity of the situation hit Ryan all at once and his breath hitched. "Shit." He groaned, throwing his head back into the soft and fluffy pillow.
"Ryan..." Jack spoke first, his voice soft and pitying.
"Please, don't." Ryan spat back, cringing at the tone. "I don't want you feeling sorry for me."
"That's good, because we're pretty fucking pissed." Geoff growled and Ryan's eyes shot open at the pure rage behind it. "What the fuck, Ryan? What the FUCK were you doing to yourself?" He moved towards Ryan and the younger man flinched away, unable to hide the terror in his expression. Geoff froze, blinking as some sort of understanding seemed to dawn on him. The room fell into an uneasy silence as the men struggled for words.
"I'm sorry." Ryan finally muttered, carefully not meeting any of their gazes. He felt Ray's hand leave his and clenched his fist, missing the contact immediately.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Gavin, surprisingly enough, spoke up. Ryan met his green eyes, nearly whimpering at the pain in them.
"Because there's nothing you could have done. This happens every few months ever since... It's happened for a while, okay? I just... I got to let it run it's course, and then I'll be fine."
Geoff's head snapped up at that and he snarled. "You'll be fine? You think this is fucking fine, Ryan?" He pulled up Ryan's hospital dress to show thick bandages around his right thigh, as well as the numerous scars on his left. "You think cutting yourself to pieces is fucking FINE? You nearly DIED from blood loss, Ryan!" His voice cracked, tears welling up. "Do you think that it's fine that we had to walk in on you thrashing and screaming and fucking HALLUCINATING because you were so ill and weak? You didn't even eat, Ryan!" He slammed his fist against the wooden table beside his bed, producing a loud bang.
"It works, Geoff!" Ryan tried to defend, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "I have five stages, and then I'm fine again! I was on stage four, I was almost done!"
"What's stage five, Ryan? Fucking DYING?!" Ryan's face flushed, looking down in shame and Geoff practically roared. "THAT'S YOUR SOLUTION? FUCKING DYING ON US?!"
Ryan tried to sit up but fell back immediately, his eyes flashing between each of his boyfriends, all of them looking so hurt it made his soul ache.
"I never let it get that far! It's just there... as a reminder. I don't know what else to do, Geoff!" He admitted, blinking away his own tears.
"Tell us! Talk to us, and we could fucking help you!" Michael butted in, his anger finally getting the best of him. "Don't just sit there and fucking suffer in silence! Talk. To. Us. God, we fucking love you and it's driving me so damn crazy that we couldn't stop this before it got this far! I just... I'm thinking of every damn sick day and it's KILLING me, Ryan!" He broke, crumbling into Jack's arms, and that was the final straw for Ryan.
His voice came out soft and he sighed. "All I've ever done, since I was born, was ruin lives. I ruined my dad's life, I ruined my mom's life, and I just didn't want to put you through the same disappointment that they had to deal with. I... I wanted to make you happy, not burden you."
The mood in the room shifted; the anger that had been rolling off of most of the men seemed to evaporate and Ryan twitched in surprise when Geoff wrapped big, tattooed arms around him, sobbing silently.
"Ryan, don't you ever think you burden us. I don't know what sort of parents you had, but I bet they were pretty damn shitty if they didn't think you were the most perfect person anyone could have made. Well, except for the other men in this room." Ryan let out a watery giggle at that, openly crying into Geoff's shoulder. "You make us so happy, Ryan, and we want to help you to get better. We want you to be as happy as you've made us." There were hums of approval around the room, the other men reduced to tears as well as they huddled around him, placing soft kisses to his face and arms.
"Will you let us help you get better, Ryan?"
It had been over a year since Ryan's hospitalization.
He sat with his toes in the water, smiling at the men splashing about in their new pool. He was wearing swim shorts, and his scars peeked out from them, but they were just that. Gone were the days that he put his worth into them, as well as the times he'd create anymore. He'd cleared out his razors and had undergone some pretty serious therapy afterwards, but he was better. It'd been hard at first, and he'd suffered a couple relapses, but his boys had stayed by him through it all.
The stages didn't come back, stage five never got its chance to shine, and they were instead replaced with sex in the light, midnight talks, and five men that absolutely blew his mind with their perfection. And as Gavin splashed him (of course it was Gavin), he couldn't help but grin, hopping into the pool to chase the squawking man down.
He didn't need a system, and he was okay with that.