Wes didn't know how long he sat there rocking, the distraught freshman clutched tightly in his arms. He could vaguely recall waking with a damp chest and an unfamiliar weight on his lap, with some strange object pressing into his back… He considered briefly moving them to his room – Trent could sleep on the spare bed, which was reserved especially for occasions such as these – but before he could gather the willpower to disturb him, his eyes were yet again fluttering shut, his body somehow moulding itself to the upright against which he now lay.

But soon enough Dawn was poking her gaudy face through the gaps in the shutters, and Wes knew it was time to move. He stretched, gently, carefully, trying to waken his aching arms and neck, then cautiously began prodding the boy on his lap. He wouldn't leave Trent alone – he couldn't: they had to at least acknowledge something had happened – but he wanted Trent to keep his dignity too – and being found by the boarding masters, or some of the earlier risers, was probably not the best way for this to happen.

"Trent? It's morning."

Like he was almost expecting, Trent threw himself out of Wes' arms the instant his eyes snapped open and Wes couldn't help but feel a little guilty. The mornings were such a personal time – each boy reacted differently when woken, but dreams belong only to the beholder, and the reaction to them, let alone the merciless ripping of consciousness from dream to reality, is one event that ought not to be shared. It was one of the reasons why Wes woke so early – because if there were someone sleeping on that other bed, he could spare them a few minutes of privacy before their entire life tended to be painted graphically over the empty canvas of his mind. But desperate measures serve desperate circumstances, and so, with a sigh, Wes once again placed a gentle hand on Trent's shoulders, pulling him back away from the window – away from the beguiling façade of light – and back upstairs to the enforced privacy of his room.

He breathed in relief as he closed the door behind him, setting Trent down on the spare bed before brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead and setting the kettle to boil. "Trent, I want you to know that I won't force you to tell me anything. But there are some questions that I want to ask. Is that okay?" Wes sat down on his own bed, bending forwards with his elbows on his knees, hands lightly clasped midway – hands that were ready to reach for tissues, to wipe away tears, to comfort.

Again, Trent shook his head fearfully. "It's too much of a burden. You don't need to worry about me."

Damn it. "On the contrary, Trent, I definitely have need to worry." One hand stroked the tiny popping of fresh stubble on his chin as he thought, the other now placed cautiously on the younger boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry it had to happen this way – I'd much rather you came to me of your own volition – but you can't deny that I'm involved now." He sighed – such a heavy sigh, one that spoke of the confusing mash-up of thoughts flying through his mind, sometimes crashing into others and melding, sometimes being recognised, sometimes wearing a thick black cape so that they could escape conscious thought. A sigh that let out a tiny amount of worry, of frustration, of sheer helplessness. If Trent had come to him, he'd know exactly how to handle the situation – because the boys that did were actually seeking help, it was a lot easier to get the information he needed without feeling like he was prying or invading their privacy. But now he felt morally obligated to dig – only if he handled this with even the smallest error, he could push Trent away – and he had a nasty feeling he was one of the few people that could help him, that could bring him out of that cocoon of his without shattering it and killing the defenceless butterfly underneath in the process. "I apologise for how blunt this is going to sound, but I have to ask…" He cringed at the oncoming words – but he was in too deep now. They had to escape his mouth. "The cutting. Does anyone else know about it? Or am I the first to find out?"

Trent was so still – the room was so still – that Wes could swear he saw the words form, leave his lips and just hang there in the thick air. Then, with a movement so small that if he'd blinked he would actually miss it, Trent shook his head. "You're the first."

"Okay." Transformation to confidant and protector complete. "How long ago did you start?"

A pause. Then another pause. The kettle began to whistle and boil over. It was only when Wes was standing, back turned, pouring water into cups with a remarkably steady hand, that Trent found the courage to answer, his voice barely above a whisper. "A few months, I guess."

"And did you ever consider talking to someone about it?" Wes handed over a steaming mug of tea – Earl Grey, so they wouldn't need milk – reassuming his perch with a second cup clutched to his stomach.

"No." Trent sighed, and they watched the citrus-scented fog from the cup slowly drift between them. "There's nothing anyone can do to help. So I didn't think I'd bother them with it, you know?"

Wes gave a tiny murmur of acknowledgement, one hand blindly searching for the tissue box as he gazed at the sick boy, deep in thought. His gut told him that Trent didn't seem suicidal – and he didn't want to prod more than necessity dictated. He set the tea briefly down on the bedside table so that he could clamp both his eyes with the heel of his hands – the only expression of exasperation he could allow himself – then dropped his hands, staring straight at Trent, begging him to understand – but to trust as well. "Look, I won't force you to talk. You can leave my room at any time. You don't have to speak. But I really want to understand… why?"

The next words that came out of Trent's mouth were so quiet that, despite the half metre between them, Wes couldn't make them out. But then he started sniffling and tears were cracking his façade, and Wes' arms were wrapping themselves around him and pulling him tighter before he even realised he was sitting on the other bed.

"I'm sorry, Wes. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Such harsh words, whispered with a broken voice. Repeated over and over and over again. Trent was hysterical. And all Wes could do was hold him again, rock him, try soothing words – "it's okay, it's not your fault, you have nothing to apologise for" – and no response but more tears, more despair. Though at least some of that tension was being released.

Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime?

The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine.

It's hard to tell the night time from the day.

You're losing all your highs and lows.

Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?

Over and over Wes sang, sometimes substituting words or melodies, sometimes completely parodying it, sometimes even changing the song, but on it went. With each Desperado… Trent became more and more calm. His breathing evened out again – well, as much as it could for an overwrought kid with bronchitis – but when Trent finally began to hum along in Wes' ear, chin buried in the niche between his neck and shoulder, Wes knew his song had done its job. He wasn't comfortable – not by a long way – but at least the anxiety had been reduced enough so that the boy could drink in a healthy amount of air.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He pulled away, watching Trent's lower lip tremble. But men are not made of straw – there was a spine of titanium buried somewhere deep within. Clutching Wes' pillow to his chest, Trent drew in a huge breath of preparation and began to speak.


Finally got there. Poor darling. My poor baby. I'm sorry, hon. I didn't want to mercilessly cut you off there. But the cutting there leads me to a rather lovely 5 chaptered story and, you know, art is art :P

I'm such a horrible person.

I won't go all rambly on you because I desperately need sleep. But assessments are dying down soon so I'll be able to focus a little more on finishing this, and TSAB, and getting my next couple of fics on the road!

I've said it before though, and I'll say it again. If you ever need to talk about anything at all, I'm always around - PM me or hit up my Ask on Tumblr (pi-on-a-skateboard. tumblr. com). I'm not burdened by them, I don't judge. Whatever it is you're going through, you don't have to face it alone. I know you have the strength to face any sort of troubles - but sometimes you just need a little help, and that's okay too.

Like it? Hate it? Want me to take on the appearance of a treble cleff? Please let me know!

Keep smiling! :D