Believe Again: Drowning

TRIGGER WARNING: I'm just going to go ahead and put a trigger warning here. There will be self-harm involved in this chapter, so yup. Proceed with care, and if you want to skip past it, just don't read the last section.

The smell of peppermint and shampoo lingered in your nostrils when you stirred awake. You felt remnants of the terrible headache from the night before as you opened your tired eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling. Most of it was gone, however, and you didn't experience all that much pain when you attempted to sit up.

You grasped your sheets, finally registering that you were in your room, evening rays filtering in lazily through the translucent curtains draped over the window. How had you gotten back here from the park?

A wet hand-towel you hadn't noticed fell from your forehead onto your lap, and you picked it up, finding that it was warm from prolonged contact with your heated skin. Who put it there, anyway? Certainly not your parents — they were both on an extended vacation together. And you probably wouldn't have had the energy to do all that after returning home. When you rested your hand against your forehead, you realized that it wasn't as hot as it had been the night before. In fact, your fever seemed to have gone down immensely.

The few questions swirling in your mind soon evaporated however, when memories, hazy and blurred, began surfacing in your mind. Going to the park and not seeing him at the bench, nearly passing out, and then the smell of peppermint and shampoo...

Saeran.

That was right.

He had been there. He had carried you home, and on the way you had lost consciousness in his arms.

Quite absently, your hands went to the sides of your arms, where he had gripped so strongly in his firm, warm ones while carrying you. If you tried hard enough, you could still feel his hands around you, his fingers curled around your arm and pressed against your hot skin, your head resting against his chest, and you could even smell the scent of peppermint and shampoo. His scent.

The fragmented memories made you feel warmth spread to your cheeks, if only briefly, before they began to form the whole picture of what had happened yesterday.

You had told him you liked him. Embarrassment came like a slap to your face, and immediately your eyes flew open, fatigue draining from your body almost entirely.

And soon after, your eyes started burning again, but this time, you knew it wasn't because of the fever.

"You shouldn't have waited."

"You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"...don't wait for me anymore. I won't be going back."

"I... I'm a monster. That's all I'll ever be."

You bit down on your lip. But... he was no monster. Saeran was anything but a monster. You knew him.

And you knew... what, exactly?

He was right. What did you know about him? You never really talked much, after all. You didn't know when his birthday was, how tall he was, what color he liked, what hobbies he had, what he liked to eat other than ice cream.

You didn't know a thing about him.

And the frustrating thing was, he didn't want you to know anything more about him either. He was driving a wall up between the both of you, like the one that had been there before you found the courage to first approach him with ice cream. Except this one was a little more like a cage, a cage that he had set up around himself, so he could be the loner he used to be at the bench, before you came into the picture.

The only thing was, you didn't know if it was to keep you out or to lock himself away for good.

Perhaps it was both.

And that frustrated you even more, because you didn't have a clue as to how or why he was suddenly doing this, refusing to meet you at the park. All you knew was that something had changed the moment you tried to get a little closer to him on that fateful Friday, that moment when the both of you allowed your emotions to take over just for a few seconds.

That moment when he became... vulnerable.

Hastily, you swiped the covers off of you, feeling the cool floor beneath your feet as you slowly stood up, taking some time to stabilize yourself. You noted the half-full basin that was by your bed, which made you raise an eyebrow in puzzlement. It couldn't have been you who placed it there. You could barely support yourself last night, let alone carry a basin of cold water and lay a hand-towel over your forehead.

Unless, it was...

You shook your head. You didn't dare to hope, because you had already dealt with enough disappointment in the past week to last you a lifetime.

Besides, you might have to prepare yourself to be disappointed one more time when you went out to the park again later. Sure, you were sick of coming back home disappointed and empty, but you weren't about to give up. You took your thermometer which happened to by the basin — apparently it had managed to fly there from your desk where you last remembered leaving it somehow — and checked your temperature.

38.0 degrees. Hmm. Not too bad. Your head had been screaming bloody murder yesterday but now it was reduced to a dull throb. Still there, but not enough that it made you feel nauseous like it did before. Perhaps you could make a quick trip down since you were feeling better now. Besides, there was a chance that he would be there, since he had come yesterday.

A girl could still have a little hope, couldn't she?

You stepped over to your closet, and it was only when you opened it that you realized you weren't wearing the clothes you had been wearing yesterday. You were wearing a random shirt and sweatpants that had clearly not been chosen by you — you would never have matched the two together like this, not because it was unfashionable, but simply out of habit.

And in that moment, you felt your cheeks start to heat up uncomfortably at the thought of possibly having been undressed by—

No. You were not going to think about it. You had changed out of your wet clothes by yourself and you simply didn't remember any of it. Yes, that was how it must have gone down. Even the basin and the hand-towel must have been your doing.

...Although, the lingering scent of peppermint in the air hinted otherwise.

You attempted to ignore the embarrassing thoughts creeping into the back of your mind, and to keep your imagination from flying out of control by giving yourself a light slap on the cheek before hastily changing into a simple shirt and a pair of shorts. Then you hurried out of the house, noting that it was already nearly half past seven.

It seemed like ages passed before the elevator finally reached the ground floor with a soft "ding", and you stepped out, walking as fast as you could across the carpark and heading in the direction of the park where he could be waiting. You had to talk to him, ask him why. Why he called himself a monster, why he had changed so suddenly, and why he didn't want to see you anymore. You wouldn't stop until he gave you answers.

Your hand shot up to press hard against your temple as you felt pain start to build up, but kept your brisk pace.

That is, until you were stopped quite abruptly by someone.

You hadn't sensed anyone when you turned the corner towards the street past the entrance of your apartment building, but the moment you did, you felt someone grip you by the arm, jerking you back and nearly causing you to fall. However, he tightened his grip and held you firmly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What—" You yelped on instinct as you did your best to regain your balance while being swung around. The first thing that came to your mind was that you were under attack and you were prepared to scream for help, but your voice promptly died in your throat when you came face to face with the person who had just grabbed you out of nowhere.

As soon as you steadied yourself he let go of you as if burned by your contact. His eyes were cold. Hard. Like frozen glaciers when the sun reflected off the top of them.

He wasn't wearing his sweater today. Just a red tank with bandages along his right arm, and long, black pants. You didn't think a mere sweater could make that much of a difference, but apparently it could. He had a different air about him, one that made you hold your breath in fear, that made your body stiffen.

"S-Saeran..?" you heard yourself ask. It was a stupid question. Kind of. His face remained stony, and he stared at you, studying your face for two seconds more before he turned away and began walking away.

"Come with me," he spoke over his shoulder, in a voice that you didn't recognize.

You stared dumbly at his back, before you found the sense to catch up to him, following meekly behind him, not making a sound. Suddenly all the questions you wanted to ask him before turned into nothing; your mind drew a blank. Your eyes remained on his back, noting the outlines of his taut muscles under his tank top, and the bandages that covered his arm.

This wasn't the Saeran you had come to know over the past few months. This wasn't the kind, soft, gentle Saeran you had spent time with on that bench in the park. This was someone else altogether. Someone unknown. Watching him now, you got the sense that for all your questions, you were finally going to get some answers tonight.

And you had a feeling that you weren't going to like them very much.

Sunday evening, and you were both back on the bench. No ice cream, no clouds, no words. Just silence. Simple, cruel silence.

You always thought that silence was something you could enjoy around him. It was quite strange, to bond over silence, but that was how the both of you worked. What your relationship was built on. But right now, there was nothing but an awkward question mark hovering in the noticeable gap between you.

That's right. Things were different now. While you never needed words from him before, now you were restlessly waiting for him to utter the first sound. Your clammy hands fidgeted restlessly in your lap, while your heart beat furiously in your chest as you waited for him to speak first. Or maybe you should say something. You were always the one who had to make the first move. But then, what could you say? Many things crossed your mind. Desperate pleas, angry demands, or even a long rant. You were spoiled for choice.

But in the end, you settled for silence instead. This time, you wanted him to speak first. Besides, he had come to you on his own today. He must have something on his mind, and you could tell that much at least, from the brooding look in his eyes.

So you continued waiting, and the seconds seemed to drag out longer and longer. The sky was failing as an adequate distraction today.

"So," he began at last, startling you slightly with the abrupt introduction of a voice. He paused, watching as you tried to gather your wits about you. His gaze only unnerved you further, however, and you were an incoherent wreck as you tried to apologize and encourage him to continue all at once.

"I'm alright. Sorry. You were saying?" you managed out at last, much to your chagrin.

He seemed slightly unconvinced but gave a curt nod before turning his gaze away from you and resting them on the sky again. It was already dark, and the night sky was dressed in black. If you looked hard enough, you could spot one or two blinking stars in the distance, only they looked like they could go out at any moment, just like flickering candles.

"You... Last night. Do you remember anything about last night?" he asked in a small voice.

Right. Last night. When he found you sprawled on the ground like a bug and carried you home in the rain.

"I remember bits and pieces," you answered, recalling the words he had spoken the night before, and the questions that flooded your mind earlier.

"Oh."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

His eyes snapped to yours. Glowing mint green piercing through the dark, to you. "Why what?"

"Why you said you wouldn't... come here again." The last three words came out as a tiny whisper. And why you called yourself a monster.

"I meant what I said."

"Then, why were you there, waiting for me downstairs just now?"

"I thought I should give you some answers," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. You didn't like it. It felt like he didn't care anymore. "So that you'll understand why you shouldn't be here. Why we shouldn't meet like this any longer."

"In other words... you think that whatever you're about to say will put an end to... to this." You didn't like how you couldn't describe what it was you shared with him. You didn't like that everything was so grey, so uncertain, so intangible. You didn't like how you were trying to reach out with your fingers to grasp at something you couldn't even find, as if you were mindlessly groping about in the dark, hoping to find something that could direct you anywhere out.

You were lost. Confused. And so was he. Except it seemed like only you were bothered by that. He seemed so ready to let go, to pry you off of him for good.

You didn't like it one bit.

"Yes," he answered. Again, in that sterile tone of his. No emotions, no feelings, just a talking statue made of stone.

"Try me." You were prepared for whatever he would say next. You had seen enough of Saeran to know that he was a good person, at the very least. Whatever it was that made him feel like a monster, was insubstantial. It wouldn't stop you from wanting to see him and spend time with him like you had been for the past few months.

It wouldn't stop you from loving him, either.

He took a deep breath then, closing his eyes for a moment as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

And then his lips parted, his tongue darting out to moisten them briefly before he finally spoke. Loud and clear, short and not so sweet.

"I killed a man."

He stopped there. No elaboration, no explanation. Just four simple words. A confession of a sin on a halcyon Sunday evening.

You weren't sure how long you took to react. You just... didn't know how. How were you supposed to react to someone who just told you that he had killed a man? All you knew was that you couldn't breathe, nor could you believe his words. He was either lying to you to get rid of you permanently, or he was just joking. A small part of you waited for him to burst into laughter at the undisguised bewilderment in your eyes, but you knew it wasn't the latter. Maybe the former, or maybe he was telling the truth.

It was hard to iron the features of your face into a mask of coolness, because inside, it felt like a hurricane had begun brewing. Chaos, pandemonium ensuing in your head as questions flew in every direction, fighting on the tip of your tongue.

"Is that why you called yourself a monster?" you heard yourself ask, in a steadier voice than you thought you would have been able to produce.

"...I am one." A fact. An indisputable, cold hard fact. Engraved in stone, engraved as scars deep in his heart. Scars that you never knew he bore until today. Scars that you couldn't entirely believe even existed. Because all that filled your head was the Saeran who spent time with you in the evenings. Simple, innocent Saeran who enjoyed sky-watching and eating ice cream next to you.

You couldn't imagine him hurting a fly, let alone a person.

"You don't believe me," he said then, noting the conflict that was beginning to show in your face.

"Of course I don't," you replied evenly. You knew him. But at the same time, you didn't.

"It doesn't matter." He moved to stand, and you followed suit, ignoring the wave of pain that hit you in the head again from the sudden movement. "That's all I came to tell you. Just know that you shouldn't meet me anymore. It's... not safe."

"Not safe for you, or for me?" you challenged, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. You weren't done with him.

You saw the ghost of a smirk that was somewhat cynical play on his lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared. A frown appeared in its place as he stepped around to face you. "You don't know me," he said in a dangerously tense voice. He was losing his patience, but so were you.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," you shot back, blinking back the tears that threatened to gather in your eyes. "I don't know anything about whether you killed a man before or why you did it. But what I do know is that you're a good person, Saeran." He scoffed at that, rolling his eyes but you ignored it. "I don't know about the old Saeran, but the Saeran I've seen every day for the past few months? That's the guy I know. That guy is simple, and kind, and... and he's not a monster. He might be struggling, drowning on the inside, but the Saeran I know is not a monster. I know he isn't."

"I've always been the same Saeran. Nothing has changed," he countered, fists clenching by his sides. "I'm still the Saeran who killed a man, the Saeran who has blood on his hands and I'm the Saeran who'll always be a monster. It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. I'm not coming back here anymore, so you should stop coming too. I won't be there to help you when you fall sick and faint in the rain again."

"Wait." You took hold of his wrist again, but this time he violently threw your hand off as if burned by the contact, causing you to stumble backwards.

"Don't touch me," he snarled. "Get lost. Now."

"Please." You couldn't stop the tears anymore, and you were half thankful that he was currently facing away from you. "I like you, Saeran. I really, really do. Please... just don't leave. Don't leave me alone."

He was quiet as he listened to you choke back a sob, but he didn't turn around.

"I know," he said at last. "But that will fade in time. You'll see."

And with that he left, leaving you alone at the forsaken bench, your shoulders shaking as you muffled your sobs with your hands in the shadows.

Saeran had barely gotten half a step into the apartment when he heard loud footsteps thumping over towards him.

"Saeran, is that you? You're back? Oh, thank God," Saeyoung exclaimed, running over towards his younger brother. He was more emotional than usual, his eyes brimming with tears beneath his glasses. Dark circles were evident under his tired eyes, and his forehead seemed to have one wrinkle too many. He briefly scanned Saeran for any physical injuries before throwing his arms around him, startling the younger man and prompting him to release a groan. "Where have you been? Why didn't you text us? Or call us? Did anything happen? Why didn't you come home last night?"

"Saeyoung," MC cut in, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder. "You should give him some space to breathe. He can't answer you if you bombard him with questions like that."

"Oh, r-right..." Saeyoung quickly moved away, only now noting the morose mood that his brother was in. Saeran was quick to side step them both and without a word, he headed to his room, keeping his head down and hands tucked in his pockets all the while.

"Saeran, wait. We need to talk—"

Slam.

"...to you..." Saeyoung finished softly, dropping the arm that he had stretched out towards his brother. Then he raked his hands through his hair in frustration, biting his lip as he plopped onto the couch. MC went to sit next to him, placing a hand reassuringly on his lap.

"He seems like he has a lot on his mind now. Just... give him some time to think things through," she offered kindly, but it failed to ease his mind.

"I know, I can tell. That look on his face always means something is up. Something has been up for a while, actually," he commented with a scoff. "I just wish he would let us know what's going on." Saeyoung sighed, facing his kind, understanding wife. "He's always keeping things to himself. It's like he thinks he can deal with everything on his own without worrying us."

MC gave him a wry smile at that. "You know, you're not really one to talk when it comes to that."

He tried to come up with a retort in response, but when nothing came to mind, he wisely closed his mouth and settled for a sigh instead. "I know..." he muttered. "I'm just worried about him."

"I am too," MC agreed. "He reminds me a lot about you back when we were both staying over at the apartment." Their eyes met, and Saeyoung looked away, feeling shame eat at him as the memories of his cold, distant attitude towards her during that period surfaced in his head once again. But she was quick to bring him back to reality, affectionately stroking his ring finger, right above where his wedding ring was.

"What can we do? And with what Vanderwood just told us? I thought something happened to him when he didn't come home last night, didn't contact us for a full day, and I—" His lip quivered as he took in a deep breath to compose himself. "I thought I lost him again," he said in a near whisper.

MC never needed him to speak to know what he needed. In the next moment he found himself enveloped in her arms, his head nestled against her chest. "But you didn't," she said emphatically. "He's here, safe. And we'll both make sure of it. But maybe we should tell him—"

"No," he cut in almost immediately, pulling away from her. "You just saw how he was. I'll bet my stash of Honey Buddha Chips that it has something to do with the girl he meets— or used to meet at the park every day. He's got enough to deal with right now. What if he gets too worked up and his condition gets worse?"

"Saeyoung, telling him is the right thing to do," MC countered, frowning. "I thought we agreed that there would be no such thing as secrets in this family anymore."

"It won't be a secret," he argued, "We'll just tell him later. That's all." He noted the unconvinced look in her eyes as she folded her arms across her chest, clearly displeased with his answer.

"I still don't think this is a good idea."

"Let's just tell him when he's done sorting out things with her," he concluded, casting a worried glance in the direction of the gloomy hallway where his brother's room was. "He's new to this whole relationship thing, so he might need some time to figure everything out and accept her."

"It seems to me that things aren't going well between the both of them though," MC commented with a sigh. "I wonder what happened. You met her, right? And you said that she seemed promising."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I met her that day. And she promised to stay by his side, to never leave him alone. There wasn't any hesitation in her words. She really does care about him."

"Then, why did he stop going to the park?"

"I don't know," the redhead admitted with a rueful twist of his lips. "Either she broke her promise, or Saeran is being... well, Saeran."

The sound of running water was all that filled the bathroom. Water was dripping from his hair, down the sides of his face and gathering at his chin. Drip, drip, drip. They fell noiselessly into the pool of gushing water in the sink. His hands gripped the sides of it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he watched the water swirl and rush for a while more, getting lost in the sound of it. Like waves about to claim you in the ocean.

Then he looked up, eyes meeting those in the mirror. His reflection. And he noted the fissures that marred the edge of the glass, recalling the time he had punched it. He tightened his grip on the sink, feeling some pain begin to set in his fingers. He was tempted to do just that, but he couldn't afford having Saeyoung or MC hearing the sound of the glasses shattering and running in here. No, he needed to be alone right now. He needed to disappear for a moment, even if it wouldn't last as long as he wished it would.

He had removed his tank top, and he scanned the few old scars over his chest and abdomen. Those, he had gotten while he had been working in Mint Eye. And he remembered clearly when and how he had earned each one of them. The one just over his left pec? That had been when a guy tried to escape while in the middle of his brainwashing, and had slashed at him with a metal wire he had picked up from somewhere. There was a longer one running down his right side. He got that one when he was being chased by a guy from a hacking agency, and he had to jump out of his car while it was going at full speed. Real fun times back then. There were a couple more, but he wasn't in the mood for recounting the rest today.

And then his eyes lingered on the dirty bandages covering his right arm. He removed it, unwinding it slowly to reveal the tattoo that lay beneath. A badge of honor in the past, one that he showed off proudly wherever he went, carved deep into his skin, enjoying the pain of the needles prickling in his skin as it marked him. A place he belonged. A paradise he could enjoy.

But now, that accursed cult was no more. Vanished, without a trace. Only traces remained. Traces like him, and what remained of the tattoo on his arm.

Over the black markings and the pale skin was angry red gashes and lines. Messy, disorganized, like a child's crayon drawing. Even then it was still discernible. That eye, the waves and curves of the graceful logo that woman had put so much care into designing. The waves and curves that he used to trace on his arm absent-mindedly when he couldn't handle the stress of working in Mint Eye at the start, as a form of comfort for himself with the knowledge that he would get his revenge soon.

He looked at it now, disgust filtering through the deep frown etched in his face and the tight clenching of his teeth. The bandages fell to the floor in a heap, revealing all there was. Scars, numerous, uncountable, like the stars in the sky, like the sand on the beach. Each scar was embedded in his skin, like the sins that he had committed was printed on his heart, shackling his mind.

He looked into the eyes of the man staring back at him in the mirror, and he saw mint. Too close to the color of that man's hair. That man, whom he killed, with his own two hands.

Disgusting.

He let out a feral groan in the back of his throat as he drew his arm back and slammed his fist against the wall. Pain immediately shot through him, the recoil of the impact hitting him. But it felt good. Relieving. It cleared his head a little, and he dropped his arm.

Numbly, he reached into the cabinet and took out his shaving razor, and began removing the blade from it with practiced actions. His mind was blank as he went about doing it slowly, calmly, careful not to drop anything or make a sound. All he could hear was the drumming of his heart and his slightly irregular breathing.

And now, with the blade in his fingers, he looked up at the mirror again.

"I don't know anything about whether you killed a man before or why you did it. But what I do know is that you're a good person, Saeran."

"I don't know about the old Saeran, but the Saeran I've seen every day for the past few months? That's the guy I know. That guy is simple, and kind, and... and he's not a monster. He might be struggling, drowning on the inside, but the Saeran I know is not a monster. I know he isn't."

A cynical smirk played on his lips. Struggling, drowning? She may be right there. But she was still wrong. Because he was a monster. He would always be one.

And he would never deserve to be with someone like her. She was too good, too pure, too innocent for someone with a soul as pitch black as his.

"I like you, Saeran. I really, really do. Please... just don't leave. Don't leave me alone."

Her words had made his heart soar. Because after all, she was his first love, his first mutual love. That beautiful, kind, understanding girl was. A girl he had met by chance every day in the park. A girl who had noticed him, and approached him first. The only girl he had held close in his arms, and the only girl who could make him flustered and panicked for an entire night just by being sick.

She was special, unique. His first love.

But those words had also made his heart plunge from an even greater height, shattering it into even smaller fragments. Because, it occurred to him that she would be better off alone than with someone as messed up and pathetic as him.

And he too, was better off alone. It would be far better than messing up another life. He had already screwed with enough lives to last him a thousand lifetimes.

Gripping the blade tightly with his fingers now, he let it hover over his arm, and took a deep breath, before dragging it across his arm. Pain coursed through his arm as the blade ripped open his skin, adding yet another line over the tattoo. But he immersed himself in it. Like sinking yourself into water, muffling the noise of the world around you. In the pain he was alone, he was him, and he was nobody.

The cuts were like constellations, really. Joining the dots. Merging lines. Crossing over some of them. Overlapping and messing up. Forming his own pictures, writing his own story, line by line, and letting the emotions, the fragments left of his heart that pierced painfully through his ribcage, to bleed down his arm, onto the white tiles below.

Drip, drip, drip.

A/N: Uhh, in case anyone is wondering, I have not attempted self-harm before, although I do have some friends who struggled with that before. Not sure if I did a realistic portrayal of this, but yeah.

Anyway, mini PSA here, if anyone struggles with it and wants to talk to someone about it, don't hesitate to chat me up! :) Or talk to your friends and family. It's always nice to talk to someone, because you're not alone, just like Saeran isn't! ^^

Thanks for all your support so far, by the way. It means a lot hehe. Love you guys!