"I'm cutting this friendliness bullshit short. We want to watch."

TJ just wanted to finish mowing the lawn. It was still early in the morning and he wanted it done and out the way before the noon and it was the hottest. He'd been putting it off for a few days, might as well get it out of the way. But like many things as of late, it wasn't going his way.

He wondered for a moment if he went to volunteer at the animal shelter before doing this, if they would've came up to him later rather than sooner.

"Watch what?" He asked, finishing the last bit of grass on the lawn. There was still the edges to get with the weed wacker, and weeds to pull from the front garden. . . .

"You cutting yourself up," Spinelli said. She and Vince stood on the edge of the lawn.

". . . .Why?" For once, they had him stumped, which was a bit refreshing. He was used to them trying to reestablish some sort of friendship with him, but this?

Spinelli shrugged, folding her arms. "Humor us."

"I'd rather not," he said, pushing the mower into the garage. The two of them followed. "The five of you been following and watching me for weeks. I want to be left alone."

"It wouldn't be all of us. Gus can't handle blood," Vince said, pressing the conversation forward.

It was bad enough that he had to get used to them following him and trying to start some sort of friendship or whatever the hell they were up to, but this? Nah.

But maybe if they were put off enough by seeing it up and close, it would get them to call him a lost cause and find some business of their own to mind.

"Fine, whatever," he said, grabbing the weed wacker. "Tonight."

"Tonight?" Vince asked.

TJ nodded, and grabbed the weed wacker. "Can you go away, now?" By the time he was back on the lawn, they left.

ZZZ

They weren't going to show up.

His parents were out for dinner and a movie, they won't be back for hours; he had the house to himself.

They had to be bluffing.

He grabbed what he needed from under his bed. His trusty pocketknife, a few needles, tissues and paper towels, rubbing alcohol, and bandages.

There was no way they were going to show up.

Goddamn, did he need this after all these weeks of bullshit-

tap* *tap*

He paused, looking at his window. A small rock was thrown against the glass again. Sighing, he walked over and opened it. Standing in his back yard were the others, minus Gus, just like Vince said they would arrive.

Shit.

"We tried knocking on the door but you wouldn't answer," Spinelli shouted. "Have you started, yet?"

"No," he said. "Hold on, I'll be down in a second."

Within a few minutes, the others were following him upstairs and through the hall they haven't been through in years. TJ paused for a second to grab a towel from the hall closet before they reached his room. It certainly looked cleaner than they remember him being.

"So, uh, how are we going to do this?" Vince asked.

"On the floor," said TJ.

He didn't do this on the floor that often. His desk was just more convenient, and it didn't have as big of a risk of getting blood on the carpet.

He sat against his bed, while the others sat opposite. They watched as he laid the towel down and moved everything from his desk to the floor in the same neat and organized way. The number of questions they had only grew when the four of them saw the extent of 'supplies' he had on hand.

"I didn't expect you to come," he said. He started disinfecting everything with the rubbing alcohol in a small dish. "I thought you were bluffing."

"Well, we weren't," said Spinelli.

"Clearly." While wiping off his pocketknife, his phone vibrated. He checked it, and turned it off before tossing it on the bed.

"Who was that?" Gretchen asked.

"No one," he said. "Do me a favor and turn off your phones?"

"Why?" Asked Vince.

"To make sure you aren't recording me," TJ said. "Call me an asshole, but I don't trust any of you. I'm not starting until I see you all turning your phone off and leaving it in front of you where I can see it."

To prove his point, once he was done cleaning off his 'tools', he leaned back and waited on them to do what he said. So they did. Once he saw their phones off and on the floor, he grabbed the first needle in one hand and tapped his fingers along his arm.

His forearms were a no-go. Still a little too sore from the last time. His upper arms, though, that might be fine. He preferred his left arm to work with, but he's been giving it a break for a while, allowing the scars to fully heal and disappear. His right upper arm was off limits, though.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asked.

"Checking for somewhere I can work with," he said plainly. The cuts on his stomach, he wanted to give that a few more days just to be sure. His neck though, that was fine, pretty much just up to how much he wants to freak out his audience. Whether or not he was in the mood, though, that was the question.

But his audience, they were getting bored.

He picked up his pocketknife and gave it one last look over before pressing the blade against his left forearm. And dragged it across his skin, leaving a thin cut behind as blood seeped out and traveled down his arm. Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And agai-

His pocket knife fell to the ground as he gripped his bloody arm. The unplanned pain made him curl in on himself as blood seeped through his fingers. Goddammit, he didn't mean to cut that deep.

"A-are you okay. . .?"

"I'm fine."

"But you're bleeding a lot, dude."

"I said I'm fine," he said, collecting himself from the shock. "I just cut too deep. It's not like I haven't done it before."

Settling into calm, deep breaths, he looked over the cut after wiping the blood away with tissue. not too deep. He just need to sew that up when he was done. For now, it could wait. After making sure his hand wasn't shaking, he picked up the knife again and focused on his lower arm instead. It's still not too warm for long sleeves, anyways.

1, 2, 3. . .

He was surprised they haven't left at this point, especially after that deep cut. Good thing he stocked up on supplies earlier. Maybe they'll leave when he's sewing himself up like a rag doll.

". . -ey. . .h-hey. . ! Hey!"

One of them yelling brought him out of his trance to see he did more than expected on his arm. It was only then that they pain sunk in. And he sunk it in even deeper when he squeezed and pressed down on them.

"Question." He blinked, and look at the four of them, each having their own look of barely contained horror.

"What?"

"Is this like. . .a sexual thing, or. . . ?"

"Nothing is a sexual thing. I'm asexual." He lifted his hand for a better look. Today was not a day to go any further. He wiped his hands as clean as he could before grabbing the rubbing alcohol and bandages. "I'm surprised you stayed this long."

"We said we wanted to watch. And see why the hell you do this to yourself."

"Did you find your answer?"

"No! God, no, TJ. We all just watched you slice up your arm like it was a piece of meat! And we still don't understand why the fuck you do this-"

"Because it feels good." He threaded a needle, and tied it into a tight knot.

"It feels good?!"

"Wait, you aren't gonna stitch yourself up, are you?" Gretchen asked. "You need to go to the hospital and get that done by a doctor."

"I know how to do it myself. I didn't cut into muscle." He took extra care to cleaning that cut in particular before starting. "I dunno what you were expecting. You got what you came here for."

"Teej, just. . .try to think about how this looks on our end."

"Probably horrific," he said. "So now what? Are you going to keep following me around?"

"God is that all you care about?!" Spinelli snapped. She stood up and towered over him as he stayed sitting, but that didn't seem to phase him as he continued patching up his cut.

"Spinelli, please, you said you weren't going to-"

"I know what I said, Mikey! To hell with what I said! And goddammit, look at us!" Spinelli grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Calmly, he took her hand off her face.

"I like to cut myself. I like getting beaten up." He tied off the end of his homemade suture before reaching for the bandages for the rest of his arm. "I'm not depressed. It's not a sexual thing. I just like pain. I suppose you can call it masochism, if you want, but without the sexual bits."

"But why?!"

He shrugged, and climbed onto his bed. "Who knows? I just do. So if you're worried about me offing myself, don't be." He picked up his phone. "I'm ordering a pizza. Either leave or get out money if you're staying."

They didn't. Not after seeing what they did. But TJ wasn't complaining. That just meant he could put pineapple on his pizza without any protest.