(I'm adding a severe trigger warning for this one.)

"I'm sorry, but... I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." The silence that fell between the two of you was palpable. He brushed a shock of hair from his face as he began to pace about the room. You watched him with wary eyes, tired, and oh so sick of feeling the way you did. Numb.

"You're always painting me to be some sort of villain. Why? Am I really that bad of a guy?" Mark asked, almost sadly.

You sighed and shook your head, your eyes slowly closing on their own. Against his pained expression, the hurt in his own eyes. "No, Mark, I don't think you're a bad guy," you replied quietly, almost inaudible.

He suddenly knelt on the floor in front of you, hands covering your own. His were full of life and vitality, warmth emanating from them in waves. "So then talk to me. Tell me what's been going on. We don't talk anymore, not really. We used to, all the time. So what changed?"

You scoffed, looking away from him, from his warm gaze, pulling your hands out of his stronger ones. "Mark, people just change. It's not like it can be helped. I mean, look at you now, running two separate channels and a clothing brand? Seriously? Mark, that's..." It was incredible, really. He had always managed to stay busy, for as long as you had known him.

Your gestures did not go unnoticed, and he reached for your hands again. "Tell me what's been going on. Please."

How could you? His grip was so strong and firm on your hands that you didn't have the heart to pull yours away for the second time. Your mind began to spin, a whirlwind of thoughts echoing and bouncing off the walls of your brain.

Should I tell him?

Of course not! Don't be stupid, he... he wouldn't understand.

With a soft grunt you stood up and maneuvered your way around the Korean male, headed for the door. Or at least you would have if he hadn't reached out and grabbed your wrist. You hissed in pain and jerked your arm out of his grip. Mark's eyes went wide, a little confused and a lot alarmed. "Did I hurt you?" he asked warily, clearly worried.

You his your arms behind your back, fiddling with the long sleeves of your hoodie. Your Cloak hoodie, to be more specific; it had been a gift from him. You had already worn it more times than you could count. You cherished the thing, especially seeing as how it had come from Mark. "No, you didn't hurt me," you lied, looking down towards the hardwood flooring of his kitchen. You were so close to the door; so damn close. If only you knew you would be able to reach it without him stopping you again.

Mark's eyebrows had furrowed together as he tried to understand what had happened. You could only hope he didn't put two and two together. "Wait... h-hey, you're not..."

"Not what?" You took a small step back and away from him, still heading for the door.

"Are you... hurting yourself?"

Your thoughts drained from your mind, along with the color from your face. It was a dead giveaway. You spun on your heel and ran for the door, not bothering to look back as you ran out and away from Mark's house. You could hear him yelling, calling out to you, but in the blur of your emotions you had tuned him out altogether as you ran back home.

~☆~

Now he knows... he figured it out, that I have a bad case of depression... I can't ever see him again.

You would have been crying, if you didn't feel so numb.

I'm such a fucking idiot. I shouldn't have said anything. Why did I even...?

It didn't matter. At that moment all you could think about was the pain. The numbness. The awful, awful flatline in your mind that you could never seem to lift.

Your hands were fidgeting. You took it as a sign, and not a good one. Slowly you rolled off of the bed onto your feet, headed for the bathroom before you could stop yourself.

You were never able to stop yourself.

It wasn't just your wrists. It was everywhere, your arms, your legs, even your stomach once in awhile. The pain was awful and the blood messy, but the pain was the only distraction you had from feeling numb.

Your phone going off startled you, dropping the offending weapon onto the floor before it could make it's mark on your skin. It was getting late, who in their right mind would be calling you? "Hello...?" you murmured into the receiving end of the phone as you answered the call.

"Are you all right?" Mark's voice was like balm on your soul, low and smooth and concerned. It brought the tears to your eyes that you had been lacking as of late.

"No, Mark, I'm not fucking all right," you whimpered, staring down at the blade lying on the tiled bathroom floor. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a razor," you suddenly snapped.

"Don't," he begged loudly. His heart was in his throat, gripping the bottom of his shirt tightly. "Please. I am begging you, put it down."

"Your stupid phone call scared it out of my hands, Mark," you spat out in a fit of bad humor. Who the hell did he think he was?

"Good. Don't pick it up, just... just throw it out. Please."

"Mark, you can't--"

"Please!" Was he... crying? "Please... if I had known what was going on sooner, I'd have... I'd have... fuck me, I don't know, but I'm begging you not to hurt yourself."

His voice was broken, shuddering and unsteady. A lump began to form in your throat at this realization that yes, yes he was crying. "Mark, don't cry over me," you whispered. "Please. It hurts knowing you're crying over something this stupid."

"It's not stupid. Not to me. Please, I..." Here he hesitated. What for? There was the faint sound of a door opening and closing from his end, and you wondered vaguely just what in the hell he was doing. "Stay on the line with me. All right? Just... stay with me."

"Mark..." you protested softly, already feeling the icy tendrils of the familiar numbness creeping up your body again, wrapping around your thoughts and threatening to cut you off from the rest of the world. "Mark, I don't... please don't... I don't know..."

He was panting ever so slightly, in a rhythmic sort of fashion. Like he had decided to take that very moment to start exercising. "Stay put. Stay on the line with me."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Just stay with me."

You eyed the blade on the floor, glittering dully in the fluorescent lighting. How easy it would have been to simply pick it back up. To use it for a purpose it had not been created for.

And so, as Mark continued to pant on the phone, you picked up the blade in the silence. But the silence must have been far too telling, for his voice cut through your thoughts of harm. "Put it down."

"--How the fuck did you know--"

"Just put it down!! Please!" Before you could say anything more there was a hurried knock at your front door.

Then you understood: Mark had run all the way to your home. But... why?

With an aggravated sigh you left the blade on the sink's edge, going to answer the door and consequently hanging up the phone all at once. "Mark, what the fuck do you--"

He burst in once the door had been opened, pulling you into a kind of hug that made your body weak. His face buried into the crook of your neck, and you felt wetness there. His own body was shaking as he clung to you tightly, unwilling to let you go for any reason whatsoever. "I'm sorry," he murmured against your skin, "but I couldn't just sit around knowing you were hurting."

You chewed at your lower lip, trying to get it to stop shaking. The lump had reappeared in your throat, threatening to make you burst into tears. "M-Mark, I don't... this was really unnecessary..."

"No," he replied, shaking his head as he pulled away, wiping his face clear of the tears that were running down from his warm brown eyes. "I love you too much to let this go that easily. I'm sorry I'm crying like such a bitch baby, but... I got scared."

Mark? Got scared over you? The knowledge was only making it harder, and you finally buried your face into your hands as you burst into tears. Mark gently pulled you into another hug, rubbing your back in slow, soothing motions.

But you began to push at him, albeit gently. "Go... you shouldn't be h-here..." you protested weakly, the tears running thick down your cheeks.

"I'm not going anywhere." As if to punctuate what he said, Mark slowly closed the front door behind him. Reaching over he wiped the tears from your face with his warm hand. "Right here is where I belong right now. All right? I'm not leaving you alone. Definitely not tonight."

Did he say...?

Sniffing slightly, you looked up at the male with watery eyes. "Mark. Did you... say you loved me?"

"Whoops. Well I guess the cat's outta the bag now, huh?" He grinned a little bit, rueful. Reaching down he took hold of your hands in his, rubbing them. "I promise you," he went on, "for as long as you'll let me, I'll be here."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you hurting yourself anymore. Even if that means I have to watch over you for the rest of our lives, I'll do it."

"What are you trying to do, Mark? Be my savior?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."