A/N: Hey, this is just a little fic that's been nagging at me for quite a while. I may eventually post the original fic that inspired this and then crashed and burned so I haven't written it. Anyway, enjoy the fic!
They'd been dating for weeks. Sam and John were so close to each other that they were practically joined at the hip. They slept over at John's whenever Sam's dad would allow it, and sometimes, when the loneliness got to them, John would jog over to the brunette's house in the middle of the night and they would hold each other close on Sam's bed; not doing anything, just enjoying the warmth of each other and the safeness the other boy's body provided.
But there was one thing that Sam just couldn't tell John, Sam telling himself that John didn't need the stress of knowing what Sam thought about himself – what he did to himself. He had a litany running through his head at all hours of the day and night: John doesn't really love you. You don't deserve him, anyway. You're just a piece of shit kid who can't even tie his shoes in the morning without thinking about his runoff daddy. He ran off because of you, you know.
The only thing that made Sam's mind shut off for any amount of time was something he ended up hating himself even more for. And he just couldn't tell John about that. He chose instead to hide what he did with his dad's old jacket and long jeans. Even when he and John slept over at each other's houses, Sam refused to strip any further down than that.
Nearly a week after school ended had passed, meaning Sam didn't get to see his boyfriend every day. Without John's presence being a constant reminder that everything was okay – that Sam wasn't completely worthless, the brunette retreated farther into himself, ignoring John's calls completely or else giving a lame excuse as to why he couldn't see him.
He kept doing this until John got fed up. The blonde missed his boyfriend and hell, he wanted to see him. Late one Friday night, he started his usual jog over to Sam's house. He ran down the narrow path running through the wood behind their houses and when it connected with the town, John counted ten houses before going up to the correct one and scaling the wall silently. The blonde pushed open Sam's window. He stifled a gasp at the sight of Sam shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips – scratching at an extensive collection of cuts the spread down his arms and chest and onto his hipbones.
At John's sharp inhalation, Sam tensed and lunged for a shirt on the floor, jostling some of the fresher cuts. He gripped it to his body as if trying to hide what John had obviously already seen. Before he could actually slip it on, though, the blonde ripped the blue fabric out of Sam's hands and threw it to the floor.
Sam didn't dare move.
"What is this?" John whispered. His eyes flitted up and down Sam's body, finally settling on his scored wrists.
"John," Sam breathed. He closed his eyes and seemed to bracing himself. His mouth was downturned and almost sickened.
John stepped closer to Sam and the smaller boy flinched at the sound of his boyfriend's bare feet on the wood. Before either boy knew it, John had pulled Sam into a bone-crushing hug and was shaking as tears rolled down his face. Sam let the taller man hold him, feeling limp. He'd expected a slap, yelling, angry things that would lead to countless sleepless hours. But instead he's gotten caring and tears…
Sam felt something heavy and angry inside him break, and with it, tears streamed out of his eyes. The brunette gripped at the collar of John's coat and John craned his neck down to kiss Sam, their lips gliding over salt-tears and saliva. The taller boy pushed Sam down onto his bed and broke apart from him, wiping the tears off his face and sniffling. He placed kisses on Sam's wrists and arms and hips, each movement of his body screaming, I love you. You are beautiful. There is nothing wrong with you.
Sam shivered at John's tenderness and brought him back up to his mouth to kiss him. The boys stroked careful fingertips over each other's skin on their wrists and sides, tracing careful circles and designs into the smooth flesh found there.
John backed away from Sam's mouth and looked him square in the eyes. It was as if the past few weeks and all the cuts inflicted on Sam's skin had never happened. "You are worth so much more than this," John said softly, and kissed the other boy's lips again. They lay next to each other on the bed and tenderly kissed the tears off their partner's face, starting again when more of the salt water took its place.
Hours later, Sam broke off his whispering and kissing with John to let out a jaw-popping yawn. Sam and John settled into each other's arms and slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.
A/N 2: Okay, so I basically didn't want to give anything away, but now that you all have read it (hopefully) I just wanted to say that I myself have not cut, but I know more than one person who, sadly, still does. I am mostly banking off my own experiences in finding out here, so please, no flames. This fic may not be entirely accurate as a whole but it still means a lot to me because this affects me so personally.
Okay, well that's about it. I really hope you enjoyed!