The fragile peace shattered like a cheap vase. It happened during a quiet dinner, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been simmering beneath the surface.

They were at Chris' house, a few days after Chris' breakdown. Felix had been unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his plate, picking at his food. Chris, sensing his unease, tried to engage him in conversation, but his attempts were met with monosyllabic replies.

"Something wrong, love?" Chris asked, his voice laced with concern.

Felix looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "I... I don't know," he mumbled, his voice trembling. "I just feel... off."

Chris reached across the table, his hand gently touching Felix's. "Tell me what's wrong," he urged, his voice soft and reassuring.

But the words wouldn't come. Felix felt a lump forming in his throat, choking him. He tried to explain, to articulate the fear that had been gnawing at him, the constant dread that Chris might lose control again. But the words caught in his throat, swallowed by a wave of panic.

"It's... it's nothing," he finally managed to whisper, his voice barely audible.

Chris's expression hardened. "Don't lie to me, Felix."

Felix flinched. "I'm not lying," he insisted, his voice rising. "I just... I need some space."

Chris's eyes narrowed. "Space? What does that mean?"

"I just need some time alone," Felix repeated, his voice trembling.

Chris pulled his hand away, his face a mask of hurt and anger. "Is this about the other night? Is that it?"

Felix looked down at his plate, unable to meet Chris's gaze. "It's... it's not just that," he mumbled.

"What else is it then?" Chris demanded, his voice rising. "What have I done wrong?"

Felix felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Nothing," he whispered, "You haven't done anything wrong." Felix blamed himself, as he always did. He was too sensitive, too needy, too clingy. He was always doing something wrong, always pushing Chris away.

But the words rang hollow, even to his own ears. He knew it wasn't true. He knew that Chris's past, his demons, were slowly creeping back into their lives. He knew that the fear, the constant fear, was slowly consuming him.

~•~

Felix reached his apartment, the silence deafening. The empty space seemed to mock him, a constant reminder of the loneliness that had crept back into his life. He sank onto the couch, his head in his hands.

He felt a strange disconnect, as if he were watching himself from a distance, a detached observer of his own misery. His mind was racing, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Fear, anger, self-doubt, all swirling together in a chaotic vortex.

He looked around the room, his gaze falling on the sharp edge of a nearby sculpture. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and a cold, insidious thought crept into his mind.

He reached for the sculpture, his fingers trembling. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself.

He brought the sharp edge to his skin, the cool metal a stark contrast against the warmth of his flesh. He hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. But then, he pressed down, a sharp, stinging pain shooting through him.

He didn't cry out. He just sat there, staring at the blood trickling down his arm, a strange sense of calm washing over him. It was a physical manifestation of the pain he felt inside, a tangible expression of the shattered pieces of his heart.

He knew he shouldn't have done it. He knew it was wrong, self-destructive. But in that moment, it felt like the only way to release the pent-up anger, the frustration, the despair.

He looked at the blood on his skin, the crimson stain against the pale flesh.
He felt a wave of dizziness, the room tilting precariously. He was shaking, not just his hands, but his whole body.

He thought of Chris, of his love for him, of the fragile hope that had been slowly rebuilding. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he had shattered it, just as he had shattered his own skin.

The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the sound of his own trembling breath. He was afraid. Afraid of losing Chris, afraid of another outburst, afraid of the darkness that seemed to lurk beneath the surface of their relationship.

He curled up on the couch and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to quell the tremors that were racking his body - a constant reminder of the fragility of their love, the fragility of his own sanity.
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See Y'all after 25th March😀

-Mrin