The silence between them was stifling. Awkward in a way that turned the air to thick smog that couldn't be taken into his lungs, no matter how hard he tried. He might have grown out of his near-constant panic attacks, but the feeling was still far from forgotten. He was under constant pressure, after all; from his family, his teachers, his peers, but most of all himself. Which was what led him to this current situation, he supposed.
Haruhi wasn't saying anything. His tongue was swollen and stuck to the roof of his mouth. His chest rose and fell hard, which would've embarrassed him if he had the presence of mind – of consciousness – to think on it. Sitting on the couch with his girlfriend, shirtless, hyperventilating because of the thought of pulling down his trousers.
It was truly ridiculous, and he couldn't even speak up. Not after he flinched so hard and all but tossed Haruhi to the ground. Apologies coated the back of his throat like the bile that crept up from his stomach, burning and swallowed down harshly. He couldn't even breathe; how could he ask if she was okay? How could he say sorry when he was so breathless, and his head was spinning?
"Kyoya, what's wrong?" He heard her ask, a barrage of mental insults spewing forth and threatening to carry away the small remainder of thought he had left in a sea of vomit-inducing self-hatred. He should be asking her that, but instead it was reversed because he just couldn't do anything.
Because what would she say when she saw? It wasn't like she thought he was completely unscarred by just about everything that went wrong in his life, or even that she thought he was truly the king of ice with no emotions. She stripped his defences away one by one, saw who he tried to hide behind his many masks, but this… was different. This wasn't some unfortunate circumstance or trance of a real person beneath his cool apathy.
This was damage. This was undeniable proof of how fucked up he was. It was evidence of tears and blood shed in the shower, because he was someone incapable of making friends like a normal person. He only ever attracted vultures, drawn to his family's name and prestige. Jesus, he needed to get out of the spiral, but he couldn't, and he was just making everything so much worse.
He was no stranger to panic attacks. He used to have them constantly, but he grew up. He got a tighter control of his emotions, a thicker skin, a stonier mask. But here it was, crumbling apart in his hands just because his girlfriend wanted to have sex with him. He wanted to, but then she reached for his trousers and… she couldn't see. He was meant to be strong, not broken.
A hand – Haruhi's soft, small hand – raked through his hair. At first it was something that made him flinch, not expecting the touch, but the tension slowly eased from his coiled muscles. He loved her running her fingers through his hair; it was so soothing. It helped, if only a little, and he did his breathing exercises in silence. The touch helped him focus, so he could ease out of the spiral himself. So he could just breathe for a moment. He knew she was worried, but all he felt he could do in that moment was wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle into her shoulder.
He was still shaky, still had to focus on drawing air into his lungs, but it did ease into something calmer, less urgent.
"We don't have to do anything," She assured, the hand not in his hair rubbing circles into his permanently tense shoulders, "We can just lay down and cuddle if you want. Did I push -?"
"No!" He rushed to deny, voice a bit too loud in the silent apartment, and he cleared his throat in some sort of attempt to ease the awkwardness he felt. Her hands had been pushed off him with the force in which he sat up, and she could only blink owlishly at him for a moment, obviously unsure how to proceed, "It's… It's not that I don't want to be intimate with you, I just… There are…"
He couldn't stop stammering, unsure what to say, but he only really had one option: the truth.
"I have… scars there…" He admitted, so quiet yet clear as a bell in the still, stuffy, indoor air of the room. Haruhi just cocked her head to the side – like some sort of inquisitive puppy – and looked at him with an expression that just screamed "and? So what?"
She wouldn't care about scars from surgery, or an accident, or some childhood fuck up – and neither would he. Scar tissue was normal, but these scars were different, and it wasn't because of some shallow, aesthetic insecurity of his. They were straight, silver and almost pretty against his pale skin, but it was the connotations. The circumstances. It was tangible proof of how much of a mess he was, and he didn't want her to see.
"You know it doesn't matter to me," She stated, soft but matter-of-fact, "You're beautiful, Kyoya, but I love you for a lot more than that. You're sweet, and soft, even if you don't let many others see it. Even if you showed it to me without meaning to, at the time. Scars aren't going to change that."
"But they will," He faltered, "It's not… the scars themselves, but what they represent. I don't… You wouldn't want to see them, because then your opinion of me will have to change."
"Maybe it will and maybe it won't, I can't say I can tell with how little I know about those scars. What I can tell you, is that it won't stop me from loving you, because what's happened in the past is already over," She soothed, coaxing him back into her embrace once more, "You don't have to show me tonight, but… I think we need to talk about it eventually."
"I love you too," He whispered, "I… I don't think I can just show you, but…"
He took a deep breath, eyes stinging, trying to force the words from his mouth. It was a simple sentence; five little words. But it held so much weight, despite being in the past. Three years clean, and it was still a part of him he couldn't seem to get rid of. It still whispered to him, even if it had been so long since he actually acted on those impulses.
"I used to cut myself," He blurted, unsure that he'd be able to confess if he didn't do it quickly. He could feel Haruhi's arms tighten around his shoulders, her lips pressed to his hair, and he just couldn't seem to stop talking, "I haven't done it in years. I was a stupid, depressed brat back then, and I quit. It's not very attractive, I know, but –"
"Kyoya," Haruhi broke in, her voice suspiciously thick as she attempted to bury her face in his hair, "Just shut up for a sec."
Her embrace was firm, only pulling him closer, but he still couldn't help but feel anxious about it. Like she'd push him away and he'd lose the warm, delicate touches he'd had for almost two years now. He'd lose the girl who he wanted to be open with, even if he found it difficult. He should have told her sooner, he knew that, but it never came up. It was in the past and so he couldn't make himself admit to the kind of person he used to be.
"It's not unattractive or whatever, it's just that you hurt enough to do something like that to yourself," Haruhi sniffed, and Kyoya startled slightly. Blinking sent the burning tears that had been setting his eyes on fire trailing down his cheeks, wetting the t-shirt Haruhi was still wearing, "I wish you'd told me before, but… I'm glad you did. How long…?"
"I've been clean for three years," He smiled, although the words were certainly watery, "I sometimes get the urges, but I ignore them. They pass easier than before, even if they never really go away."
"Well, next time those thoughts come back, please tell me; I'll help you through it. You don't have to be alone in this anymore."
Ranka opened the door to the apartment sheepishly, hand covering his eyes just in case he was… interrupting something. Still, the house was calm in the fresh morning light, and no suspect sounds were heard.
What he did find, however, was them asleep on the couch, some sort of mindless cartoon on in the background. The most compromising thing about the scene was how far Kyoya could spread his legs in his sleep. Laying between Haruhi's legs, one of his own slung over the back of the couch while the other foot rested on the ground beside him. The bedhead was impressive, as was that Haruhi put up with the fact Kyoya drooled so sloppily in his sleep. It was pretty adorable.
Snapping a quick photo on his phone to remember the impossibly cute scene, he went to the kitchen to make both himself and the happy couple something to eat when they both finally woke up. What more could a loving father do for his daughter and future son-in-law?