* * *

San woke up. Woke up to mild darkness and this flickering lightbulb slightly swinging over his head. For a while, he just stared at it, at the small moth crudely deciding to find solace on its gleaming surface.

And then, he blinked, trying to regain his momentum and the strength in his limbs. For a while, he felt stagnant. His body was numb, his chest empty and his lips chapped with dried blood.

San felt like heaving, but he couldn't. Not when he felt like he was seconds away from fainting. You should've been used to it by now. But he wasn't, and he didn't think he ever would.

He fisted his hand, wincing at the sticky feel to it. The smell of blood in the air was sickening and made him nauseous. He forced himself to sit up, the bones in his body cracking at the action. He screwed his eyes shut as he tried to calm his wayward heartbeat, licking his dried lips only to recoil at the metallic taste decorating the inside of his mouth.

San's pulse raced as soon as the door to the room creaked open, only for it to slow down when a familiar face stepped in.

The blond haired male let out a barely there smile, but his dark eyes remained cautious and tinged with worry. He took several steps closer to him whilst wiping his hands with a grey rag, the several piercings adorning his ears glinting through the dark.

"You okay?" The older male asked, casting the rag on one of the metal tables surrounding them. His voice was low and sort of raspy, but the familiarity of it helped calm San's nerves down.

San shook his head. "What do you think?" He replied, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. It only reminded him of how dead he once was.

Seonghwa nodded, understanding what he meant. After all, he'd been around ever since San's second death took place.

"I know..." He answered, and his careful tone of voice made San want to feel annoyed even when he knew he shouldn't. I'm not a baby. "That's why I waited for you to fully wake up first. The water's warm, so you can go take a shower. I already have dinner prepared."

San slowly swung his feet over the springy bed he was seated on, the soles pressing against the cold, tiled floors. He glared down at himself. His favourite shirt was now stained with dark blood, and there was nothing he could do to save it. Looking around, he spotted crumpled rags and old clothes at the corners soaked with even more blood. Seonghwa hadn't cleaned them up yet, and San knew it was a result of the older not being too fond of its smell in the first place.

Seonghwa must've noticed his stare, because he decided to add: "I'll clean it up later. Just get washed up, okay?"

He placed a hand on San's shoulder, and his touch made San flinch. He removed it, his expression betraying nothing as he already understood, but San immediately felt apologetic.

I keep fucking everything up. "I-I know you hate it," San breathed, coughing into his arm. He hid the small amount of blood that splattered on it from his cousin's line of sight, even when he had a feeling that Seonghwa already knew. He always did.

"You hate the smell of blood." He looked up at Seonghwa. "I'll clean it up. And then I'll go bathe."

Seonghwa shook his head. Naturally being an affectionate person, he reached out once more to touch the younger male's shoulder, only to halt his movement. San didn't like being touched. "No, no, it's fine. What matters is you getting better. Feeling better. Leave it to me."

"I can handle it," San began to argue, because he could. He'd been able to handle the amount of pain and anguish he'd passed through the years. He'd been able to handle the presence of death that loomed around him wherever he went, never wanting to let him out of its grasp. He'd been able to handle a lot of things but forgiving himself.

"San, it's fine."

"It's not," San answered, clenching his fists shut. "Nothing is."

Seonghwa didn't reply, but San didn't need him to anyway. He pushed himself off the bed, hating the way his knees wobbled at the sudden movement. He hated everything lately. Hated the way Seonghwa babied him, hated how nothing seemed to go his way, and he especially hated himself. Because if he hadn't been born, then none of this would've happened. Then maybe his parents would still be alive, then maybe Seonghwa wouldn't have to be burdened by him.

* * *

Seonghwa had already placed a new set of clothes on the sink in the bathroom, and it only made San sink further into his guilt.

Tossing his already destroyed clothes in the trash, he avoided the mirror at all costs. He didn't need a reminder, because he already knew how skinny he was, knew of the dark circles that shadowed his eyes and the marks that scarred several areas of his already fucked up body.

He stepped into the shower and let the water run down his body. His head hurt, and he briefly remembered hitting it on the livingroom floors before he'd blacked out. He always blacked out before he died, never knowing whether that death would be the last.

San spent some time there, because dried blood was hard to clean off and he'd fallen victim to his harsh, gruesome thoughts once again.

As soon as he came out, he dried himself and put on his clothes, making sure his eyes never strayed to the mirror.

Seonghwa was already in the livingroom by the time San made his way there, phone in his hand and an open textbook on the table he sat at. Being six years older than San, he'd been more than eager to take him into his care once his parents died, even if it meant having to juggle him, his school and his job all at once.

The older male immediately looked up as soon as he spotted San, and smiled. "Feeling better?"

San avoided his eyes. "Yeah." He quickly shook his head when his cousin looked like he was about to stand up. "No need to get my food for me. I'll take it myself."

Seonghwa nodded, his next words piercing through San's very core. "San, you may feel like I'm worrying about you too much, but I'm doing this because I care. I care about you, even if you might feel like you don't deserve it."

San didn't know what to say. He turned and headed towards the kitchen, his shoulders hunched and his face feeling too hot. His nose felt clogged up and he quietly sniffed, willing his tears to stay at bay. No matter what, he would never cry. It wouldn't solve anything, and would only make others perceive him as weak and childish.

As soon as he got his plate full of spaghetti and some sausages, his socked feet padded their way over to Seonghwa's table, the older giving him a soft smile.

"I'll get you something to drink," he let out, but before San could retort he added: "Come on, Sannie, just let me do this for you. And plus, you can't stay without drinking something, it's not good for you."

San didn't reply as he sunk deeper into his oversized sweater, his dark locks falling over his eyes. He liked his hair like that, made him feel invisible. Made him feel like he didn't hurt people with his mere existence.

After Seonghwa returned with some fruit juice, San ate in silence for some time until his ears perked when Seonghwa chuckled at something on his phone.

San bit his lip. "...Are you talking with Hongjoong?"

Seonghwa nodded, the smile on his face widening. Hongjoong was Seonghwa's boyfriend, and they'd been dating for around a year. They were doing that whole long distance thing ever since Hongjoong had travelled to Japan to further his education, but that didn't seem to bother Seonghwa that much.

"Yep. Wished you and I a good night."

San had never seen Hongjoong's face, only knew how he looked like from Seonghwa's words alone. Short, really smart, dyed white hair, lovely smile.

San knew a part of why he hadn't been able to see Hongjoong was due to the fact that the older was often busy with school, but the darker, grim part of him also had a feeling that Seonghwa was sort of hiding his boyfriend from him. And he couldn't be mad, not when he had the ability to take someone's life just by seeing them.

* * *

a/n: thoughts?