viii
Maybe Albus liked them fucked up, he muses, as he wraps the pure white bandages around Scorpius' forearm. He pulls it tighter, knowing that if it's too loose then Scor will lose too much blood, and then he'll probably have to go to Madam Pomfrey. In five minutes, the redness will seep through the clean cotton, but until then, at least Albus can look down and pretend that the wound is an old one. At least he can pretend that things are getting better rather than worse.
"What happened this time?" he asks, smoothing his voice so carefully that no trace of his anger and upset leaks through. It doesn't really matter though; they both know it's there.
"Nothing," Scorpius says. At least he has the grace to avoid meeting Al's eyes.
"Really?" Albus asks, his voice uncharacteristically bland. He knows it must sound cold, but he can't help it; if he doesn't hide behind a façade of disinterest then he can never keep his true emotions from showing through. What happened last time will happen again, if he can't keep himself in check. And they both remember how that turned out. He has to be careful about what he says; words cut like knives, and wounds can't always be healed.
"No."
Albus softens his voice. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Maybe he can help. Maybe this time.
"No."
He sighs, and purses his lips together. Why does he even bother asking anymore?
i
"Couldn't you at least use a normal knife?" Albus asks. "If these cuts weren't charmed to remain open, then I could heal them magically. You wouldn't have to wait for them to heal the muggle way, and you probably wouldn't even have scars. I know you hate them."
There's a moments silence that stretches on far too long.
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Scorpius whispers, which tells Albus everything and nothing.
vii
"He does love you, you know."
"He never says it."
"Does it really need saying?"
v
"Sometimes… sometimes I just need to stop feeling."
Scorpius' voice is small, matching his posture. They sit by the glossy water; the curve of Scorpius' back leans up against the tree and his arms are wrapped defensively around his knees. Albus sits a little closer to the lake so that he can skim the occasional stone across its surface. He wants to turn, to look at the boy who he loves and who he thinks might love him. But instead he picks up a rounded stone and throws, counting the bounces it makes as it dances over the reflected sky.
Throwing stones is less likely to scare Scor off.
"What do you feel?" he asks, still not looking at the blonde boy. He remembers all the times he's found Scorpius curled up in the Room of Requirement, his nest of sheets tangling his limbs as his too-thin form shakes with sobs for hours on end. He remembers that night, when Scorpius stumbled into the forest without a look backwards; the night he'd thought he'd lost him.
"Anger, mostly," Scorpius replies. "Hatred. At the whole world. At every single thing in it. For no reason, you know?" Albus didn't know, but he didn't say a word. "If I could… I'd end it all. If someone gave me a big red button and said "Press this and the world will die", then I'd press it without another thought."
"Why?" Albus asks. He hates these conversations, because even though Scorpius tries to explain, he can never understand. He's never felt hatred at things that don't deserve it, and the only thing he'd ever kill might be a spider in the bath. Even then he'd probably just squeal and make Scor or Lily or whoever was closest do it for him.
"I don't know," Scorpius says. "I just do."
iii
He doesn't cry. Albus has never seen Scorpius do so, and the other boy says he hasn't cried since his second year in Hogwarts. Albus believes him.
He knows Scorpius sheds tears of blood instead.
ix
"I used to think that this would end, once I had you," Scorpius says.
"What would end?" Albus asks, although he thinks he knows.
"You know. The cycles. The depression. The cutting. They happen when I'm unhappy, and I thought that if I had you then I'd be so very, very happy."
"But you aren't?"
"Oh, no, I am," Scorpius says, his voice genuine. "I'm the happiest I've ever been. There are times I think I'll burst because everything's so amazing."
"You still cut though," Albus points out.
"There must be balance," Scorpius says. "No one can be happy forever. The happier I am one day, the sadder I am the next."
"That's not how it works, Scor. Nor-" he catches himself, and changes what he was about to say. "Most people go through times in their life that are good, and times in their life that are bad. But they never…" He doesn't know how to continue that.
"They never want to top themselves?" Scorpius suggests dryly. Albus nods. "Hasn't anyone told you, Al?"
Told me what? Albus wants to ask, but he knows Scorpius will tell him whether he says the words or not.
"Normal people are fairy tales. The whole world's fucked up. It's not my fault I'm the only one who can bear to show it."
x
"Do you even want to stop?" Albus demands. He's bandaging Scorpius' cuts again, the ones on his leg now, because that's what he does. Scorpius cuts, Albus finds him, and he pretends he's okay with it even though they both know that he's not. Even though they both know he just wants to run in the opposite direction.
Scorpius' posture is hunched and defensive, and Albus knows where they are in the cycle. First comes the high, where Scorpius is normal and happy. This can last for a long time or a short time. Then, anywhere from two days to two months later, he gets quiet. His temper becomes quick, and he stops sharing his thoughts with Albus. Albus thinks of this as the anger-depression, because Scorpius insists he's angry rather than depressed, but Albus disagrees. It's a compromise, even though he never mentions the name to Scorpius. It seems important, somehow.
This lasts for a few days, usually until he's sunk so low that the knife comes out again. This is where Scorpius had been a few hours ago, when he brought out the knife to drain his blood and rage.
Now they were in the pure depression stage – the part where Scorpius needs to be coddled and kissed and told that it'll be okay. The only time when it's okay for Albus to tell Scorpius that he loves him – the time when he has to tell him, because Scorpius needs to hear it. It's at this stage that Albus worries constantly about what Scorpius might be driven to do, and he detests letting his boyfriend leave his sight.
So Albus knows that this isn't the time to bring it up. He shouldn't expect an answer; if he brings it up, the only thing he should expect is for Scorpius to retreat even further into himself.
But Albus is sick of not bringing it up. He's sick of his life being arranged around Scorpius' moods. He knows it's selfish, and he hates himself for it, but at the same time he doesn't care. Why should he have to be the strong one all the time?
"Why should I?" Scorpius asks. He sounds… dead. There's no emotion in his voice, and Albus hates it. He hates him. "Why should I stop? It's my body."
"And I'm the one who has to put up with you doing it," Albus says, his voice rising. "I'm the one who bandages your cuts and holds you when you lie in the Room of Requirement from days on end when you face the world. I'm the one who's stuck at your side, waiting for you to go back to normal so we can have a few days of happiness and normality before this starts all over again."
"It's not like I chose this," Scorpius replies. "It's not like I'm enjoying it."
"No, but you won't go to the matron," Albus accuses. "You won't get help. You keep insisting that you can't, or that you think you're getting better, but you never do. Teddy said that-"
"You told someone?" Scorpius asks, his voice panicked… and betrayed.
"Just Teddy," Albus said. "And he won't tell anyone. He said that you won't get better on your own. He said you need help."
"You told someone," Scorpius repeated. He pulled his leg away, even though Albus wasn't done.
"I needed to," Albus said, pleading with him to understand. "I can't do this on my own. Sometimes I don't think I can do it at all."
"Then why do you bother?" Scorpius asks quietly.
"Because I love you." It should make everything okay, those four words. Usually it makes some things better, at least. Temporarily. But it can't mend the gaping hole in their relationship, not this time, because Albus doesn't need to wait to know that Scorpius won't say them back. He lets the silence descend anyway, just to confirm it, but the space between them grows too wide for too long.
He wants to yell at Scorpius. He wants to change his reply to 'I don't know', because why should he love Scorpius when the other boy doesn't feel the same way?
"I shouldn't blame you." And those words should be an apology, but they're not. They're too cold, too filled with hatred and rage and the pain of a hundred nights spent wishing he could make things better. "It's my fault."
This makes Scorpius look up. Even then, Albus thinks with derision, it's sluggishly slow, like he's under sedation. "How?" Scorpius croaks.
He should stop there. He could, if he just walked away. It wouldn't even have been their worst fight, although it will take a lot of effort to put it past them.
He can't help himself. He continues.
"It's my fault. I seem to want to choose the most fucked up people I can find. You remember Suzanne?" Scorpius had been so jealous of Albus' first girlfriend. He'd visibly bristled whenever her name was mentioned. Albus found out years later that the day Scorpius had walked in on them kissing had been the day he first cut. "You know how she's not at Hogwarts anymore?"
Of course Scorpius doesn't know that. That would require gossiping, which would require social connections. There's a reason Albus had those and Scorpius doesn't.
"She's in St Mungos. The mentally unstable ward. She has been for months. Stopped eating, you know. Started throwing up." He lets out a cold laugh. "I sure know how to pick them."
He can see the pain in those stormy grey eyes. He can see that he's already done enough damage. He can stop now. He should stop now. But he doesn't.
"You'll end up there, you know. You would have months ago, if it hadn't been for me, bandaging you up and making your excuses." He pauses, then spits out, "I should have let them take you."
He doesn't mean it like he says it; he means that Scorpius might be getting better now, if Albus hadn't been protecting him. But it doesn't come out like that, and for the first time Albus realises that he does sort of wish that he'd wiped his hands of Scorpius. So he doesn't apologise. He just walks away.
Behind him, a single tear falls onto Scorpius' lap.
iv
"You switched," Albus says dully. He'd thought… they'd been so busy recently, and they'd had time for each other but never any privacy. The last time they fucked it had been against a wall with all their clothes on. When had he last seen Scor naked? It must have been months.
And the reason for the length of time was right there, lying in front of him. Red marks lined the blonde's abdomen and marred his creamy thighs. Some of them had faded to white, but most of them were still a deep scarlet. It looked pathetic, with Scorpius' hard cock standing forgotten. Albus had been hard too, thanks to a round of very passionate kissing, but his erection was fast abating now.
"I thought…," Albus trails off. He'd thought, because there had been no new cuts on Scor's wrists…. "I thought you were getting better."
"I'm sorry," Scorpius says, and he does sound genuine.
But this time it isn't enough. "I thought you were getting better. You were though, weren't you? You were just getting better at hiding it."
ii
He can't help it, sometimes. They disgust him, but they fascinate him at the same time. They're something only he will ever see, because that's how close he is to Scorpius. So he touches them, rubs them, caresses them. Scorpius moans and gasps (if they're having sex) and if he's happy he hums and smiles (when they're not). They're the only time Albus doesn't really mind them so much.
And, a part of his mind thinks traitorously, that's how far away the rest of the world is.
But they don't need the rest of the world. They only need the two of them.
vi
"They take away the anger," Scorpius tells Albus, when his fingers run themselves over the angry-looking cuts in his post-coital bliss. "When I make them. It's not until the depression kicks in afterwards that I wish I hadn't done it. Then I hate myself, but I always forget the next time it gets too much."
"Why can't you just remember?" Albus blurts out, before he can stop himself.
"It's not that easy," Scorpius replies, and for a second Albus thinks that the disgust, the hope, in his reply wasn't really noticed. He thinks he's off the hook. But when he looks up into his lover's face, he sees the grey eyes are dull once more, and his face is closed off.
They don't speak again that night.
xii
"Words are like knives, Al," Lily tells him. "They cut deep. They can kill."
"Words can't kill. And even if they did, they couldn't kill as effectively knives would."
"No, but they kill friendships much, much easier."
xi
Scorpius just turns away when Albus sees him next. Albus feels guilty for the things he said, and he wishes he could unsay them. But he doesn't apologise, because he isn't sorry.
xiii
The astronomy tower is cold, windy, and dark. Even the illumination from the moon doesn't touch it. Tears course down Albus' cheeks, merging with the droplets of rain that are blown towards him. The crumpled Marauder's Map is clutched tightly in his hand, but he doesn't even know it's there.
"Scorpius," he calls out, only for the wind to snatch the words away. "Scorpius!"
Somehow he hears him, and turns to face him. "Why not?" he asks, and he is crying as well. "Why not?"
"I love you!" Albus cries. He doesn't know if it's an excuse or an apology or a reason or a goodbye. Maybe it's all of those things.
"And I loved you," Scorpius calls back. "If it ever needed saying."
And Albus sobs, because now that it's been said, he realised that it really didn't.
xiv
Dawn will come, but sometimes the night is preferable.