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༄ IT was about two hours after lunch that day, and Sam tried to hold her temper.

Minho locking himself up in their room made her unable to take anything from her suitcase. But she didn't want to bother him again, so she sat on the couch doing absolutely nothing for... quite a while.

Another annoying thing was that when you are on holiday for two weeks with the same group, everyone eventually gives up on the group activities and does their own thing.

So, she was alone with Fry, who was cooking and claimed he didn't need her "horrible, shitty ass skills" to help, and Minho.

And she had planned to finish her book, if only that stupid thing didn't lay on her nightstand.

"You're staring at me. And it's creepy, Sam. Go do something," Fry said, chuckling.

She sighed. Lay a hand on her forehead. "Fine," she muttered as she got up. "I'll check up on Minho right away."

Wondering if he was ready to talk, she walked up the stairs. If he was still snappy and not in for anything, she'd leave him alone.

Her breathing staggered. With each step closer to the bedroom, the cries turned more audible.

Sam hesitated. He'd hate her for interrupting and seeing him cry, but on the other side, she wished to give him comfort and a hug.

Carefully, she knocked on the door. The sounds stopped immediately and right after that, she could hear things fall down. "Hey, Minho? Is it okay if I just grab my stuff real quick?"

"One sec," it sounded, rushed and unsteady.

Sam waited, patient but feeling her stomach knot together. The door opened not long after Minho's response, revealing him with glassier eyes than normal, and a bit of a pouty lip.

He stepped aside. Pretended he didn't know she heard him cry, or pretended he didn't cry at all. So Sam casually walked in and unzipped her suitcase. "Are you alright?"

It took him a few seconds and a panicked, ragged breath to reply, "Yeah, I guess. You?"

"I'm... worried." She stopped opening the suitcase for a second, taking her time to look at him. "About you. But I won't bug you. Just... please let me know if I can help. Or if you just need a hug. Anything at all."

"Thanks." His Adam's apple moved. Sam could sense how tense he was. How stressed, for some reason. "I'll keep it in mind. Same for you."

As a shiver ran down her spine, she realized she had no reason to look in her suitcase and just grabbed both her phone and her book from the nightstand. Sitting down on the bed, she looked down at her book.

And past it. On the ground.

Blood.

Her head snapped up at Minho, who's eyes widened with more panic and got glazed over again. "Are you hurt?" She wondered.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He averted his eyes, then his head. Shook it as he sat down. "No," but it came out as a whisper.

Sam blinked. Hesitated again. Her mind was spinning when she got up. "Do I have to be concerned?"

"No," he mumbled, lowering his head after he walked closer to the door. A choked... cry, sob, whimper, whatever, escaped his mouth.

She got up before he disappeared out of sight completely, not wanting to leave him this upset, so took his arm.

Minho hissed. He pulled his arm back fast, pressing it on his stomach.
Pain. Always, pain.

Her blood turned cold. For a second, her brain seemed to stop working, and then, everything faded for a second. Turned blurry.

"Minho—" An unwilling gasp left her mouth. Realization hit her hard. Pain in his arms— wrists.

No. No, no, no—

"Wait," her voice broke halfway through the word, yet it didn't stop her from pulling him back into the room before he actually left, except she took his shoulder now.

Comfort, was all she thought about. He needed comfort, with those broken, wet eyes. His now shaking lip and quick breaths after he realized she realized.

And his reaction was enough for her to know it was exactly what she thought.

"Oh, Minho." She wrapped her arms around him. Her hand ran over his back as she did her best to not break down. If she broke down, it would only feel worse for him.

Slowly, he hugged back. His arm hesitated to embrace her back, but once it did, he buried his head in the crook of her neck. Her skin got wet by the gesture. And not long after, he was quietly crying in her arms.

"I'm sorry," he hiccuped. "I'm so sorry, Sam... I didn't want— was afraid and I— I can't help it and—"

"It's okay," she whispered. Controlling her voice and keeping it steady was hard, but she did it. "Don't apologize."

He kept his sobs quiet the whole time, even when she assured it was okay, and that he could cry. Eventually, they ended on the bed. Just sat there, Minho still wetting her shirt as he sniffed and tried to hold back more cries.

"Did you clean up?" She whispered.

He shook his head.

She managed to smile a small, poor smile when they let go and looked at each other. "Should I help?"

His eyes turned big. "You would?"

Sam nodded. "I happen to have a brother who's very interested in medical things. I know how to disinfect and I'd rather help you than do nothing. You alright with that?"

Minho nodded, too. "I've got bandages and everything in my suitcase," he mumbled. Three minutes later, she sat crossed leg on Minho's bed and he sat the same in front of her, looking down.

"Are you okay? Comfortable?" She stared at the long sleeves he was fidgeting with. Red stains.

He shrugged. Another tear leaked. "I don't want to repulse you."

"You won't," she promised. "I'll be okay as long as I can help you while you're comfortable, yeah?"

Minho breathed in, then let go of that breath before he rolled his sleeve up. Hesitantly, he lay his wrist down between them.

Scars and cuts everywhere. White, red, faded, fresh, small, long, as if you could tell the mood he had been in while harming himself. Dried blood sat on his damaged skin and some still came out of the new made cuts.

Sam closed her eyes for a second. She took a sharp breath, forcing herself not to cry. This was to support Minho, not to make things worse. "Alright," her voice turned into a soft whisper. "How do you normally do it? Clean up, I mean?"

He murmured something about a towel and bandages and sometimes rubbing alcohol.

"Okay. I'll wet a cloth." Smiling lightly, she left to drain warm water into a cloth. Before she walked back into the bedroom, she rubbed her eyes. God, from all signs Minho was showing, this never crossed her mind. But now that she knew he'd been harming himself, it made sense.

Why he quit swimming. Why he spoke to Newt before pulling his shirt off. The bracelets. The wristbands he always wore during basketball. The times he let go of the ball or winced when he had carry something, because it might've been too much for his freshly hurt wrists.

It didn't explain why he had been in pain after their first PE class, but that wasn't her biggest worry right now anyways.

"Let me know if it hurts," she told him. She lay the towel on his wrist for a few seconds, then carefully dabbed blood away.

"I'm sorry," his voice cracked. "I don't— I—"

"Shh, it's okay." She chose to not use rubbing alcohol. Too damaging and hurtful. "Don't apologize, Minho."

"You shouldn't be the one cleaning this up," he continued, "or be seeing this at all. I—"

"Minho." Sam squeezed his hand. "Please, I told you, I want to help. I don't even care how long it takes or how much it hurts me or how many times we cry. But please just... stop apologizing."

He sniffed again. "Okay," just another whisper.

She gave him a reassuring nod. "You didn't go too deep. Bandages will top it enough." So she went to work again. Minho sometimes let out a cry, or dropped a tear, which Sam hugged him for, and frequently squeezed his hand.

It hurt. It hurt but it was relieving to know she was now able to help and that he allowed her to. And that she knew about it now. No more mysterious acts, she hoped.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She looked up once she was done cleaning up and had handed him a clean sweater to change in.

He shrugged.

She scooted closer. "Would you be okay to tell me what you use? To harm with?"

"Depends."

She patiently waited for him to continue.

"If I—," a sharp breath, "—do it at school or in the dorm, a sharpener. I don't know... sometimes a knife, but not often."

Sam nodded understandingly. "Okay." And noticed how he was fidgeting with his sleeves again, and how his breathing heaved. "How about we talk about it when you feel better? I'll listen to anything you say, and you can tell me anything you want and are comfortable with."

The hug he attacked her with came with so much force that she nearly fell backward on the bed. "Yeah, I like that," he confirmed, the gratefulness somewhat dripping off his voice. "Thank you, Sammy."

"Of course," she muttered. "I'm glad I could help. And that you told me."

Nodding, he let go of her again. "I'm sorry I was... well, acting like a dick."

She shrugged. "Wasn't that big of a deal."

"I was—" Minho sighed. "I hadn't... harmed myself for three full days. My biggest record in...years." He swallowed.

Sam's stomach dropped. Years. And Newt was the only one he had told? And that was just about a week ago! A year ago, her mother. So other than that, he just kept it all to himself?

"But after Christmas Eve, everyone seemed to mind their own business again," he continued. "I don't know why, but when my friends, or you— I mean... well, just people that I like, aren't around, I get sad. And I can't be happy when that happens. Like, it's me and suddenly all problems in the world surround me. I hate to feel emotions other than happiness. Sometimes I wish to feel nothing at all," he paused. "So when I hurt myself, the emotions go. There's only guilt left, but that'll fade because I've gotten used to it, and I'd rather feel physical pain than mental pain. That way, I can see the pain. I can understand where it's coming from and for once be in control of it."

When he finished speaking, both of them had tears in their eyes, again. Minho smiled poorly, Sam blinked a few times. Let the information sink in.

"Wow," she breathed, vaguely impressed by the logic behind this. Of course it wasn't good to harm yourself, or anything near that, but now, she understood it better than she had ever done before. Books couldn't explain this. "That's a lot. And I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

"It's not even everything." Somehow, he managed to get a little grin at that reply. "But I don't want to traumatize you all at once. I'll spread it nicely around the year."

Sam rolled her eyes as he chuckled. "The year ends in two days, dumbass."

"Next year, then!" He held up his finger, a sudden mood change allowing his eyes to lit up. "But for now, we'll just try to enjoy our vacation and I'll try to break my record."

"Okay," she agreed. "But if you ever feel like you're about to hurt yourself, at any time, come to me. Call, text, wake me up— I don't know, just don't be afraid to do it. Alright?"

"Alright. Promised, Sammy." He held up his pink.

She hooked it with hers, chuckling lightly.
"We'll go on our usual, beautiful walk around the campus someday, and we'll talk about everything."

"Okay."

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A/n: Hey my lovelies,
I hope everyone is doing alright. I'm here for anyone, just like plenty of people in your lives. You're not alone!!

And I hope I managed to portray this well enough.

Luckily I don't have much experience with how it feels to self-harm, or the exact reasons to do it, but since I want to make this as realistic as possible, I spent some time doing research. I hope it wasn't too triggering, yet also was realistic.

❥ Have a good day/night!!

(More A/N's at the end of chapters?? What shall it include? Questions about the chapters/book?)

xx Vera