The new transfer student, Miya, had cuts on his wrist.

Papers were being passed to the back of the class. Hana just happened to glance Miya's way the exact moment that the injuries peeked out from beneath his sleeve.

The wounds were laid out in a neat row, and were painfully red. Some had evidently been made just a few days before, perhaps due to stress of the transfer, or whatever else. It was hard to say. Miya was a quiet kid, and his self-introduction during homeroom had largely consisted of silence.

Hana started on his math worksheet. Even though he focused, the equations weren’t working out. He closed his eyes between attempts and Miya’s wrist flashed in his head. He glanced at his own wrist, at how the faint green veins traveled down his arm.

He couldn’t understand how anyone could willingly hurt themselves for any reason at all.

A few weeks passed and Hana stood alone behind a bathroom stall, listening to the faint booming of speakers from the auditorium. It sounded like it came from a distant dream.

On his wrist were a row of red lines. His skin was not broken, only raised, and in a few minutes it would go back to normal.

He had a small fight with Shuri earlier. It was about something so stupid that Hana couldn't even remember anymore. But they fought so rarely that it ruffled him, and before he knew it, he was detaching the blade of his sharpener and heading to the bathroom.

Over the next few weeks, he continued to make visits to the bathroom stall, and the raised lines gradually turned into scratches. They stopped bleeding once he left the stall, but he still felt great that he finally managed to break through skin; that despite his failings, he at least succeeded in that.

Eventually, the scratches turned to cuts that stung days after they were made. It was the middle of a sweltering summer, and he couldn’t be wearing long sleeves in that weather. At first he hid them with a wristwatch, but they were beginning to take up more space. He switched to a wristband instead, and joined the basketball club just to justify it.

Because Shuri was in the basketball club as well, they ended up spending more time together. Shuri intended to teach him how to play, not expecting that Hana was already quite adept. Several times Hana thwarted him while dribbling. Others teased Shuri about it, but he was proud rather than embarassed about losing.

"Look at you go!" the upperclassman, Kudo, exclaimed. "You're good for someone of your height. We could've used you for the last interschool tourney. Interested? We're training most days after school."

"I'd rather not play seriously," Hana said. "I might not be around as often closer to exams."

"Geez, it's always exams with you!" someone else said. "Ah, speaking of which, that mock exam kicked ass..."

"If you fail, you'll be forced to quit the club," Kudo warned. "Maybe you should follow Hana and take it more seriously for once!"

The club burst out laughing. Shuri approached Hana, his eyes lingering on something. Hana immediately realized that he had been scratching at his arm the whole time, and quickly dropped them to his sides. 

"You alright? You look a little absent minded today."

Hana passed him the ball. "I'm good. Let's continue. Get ready to get your ass kicked!"

Shuri smiled back warmly. "I'm looking forward to it."

A few days passed. The mock exam results were released. Hana did embarassingly bad on his math paper.

Nanase saw it as he passed by. "Would you look at that, Hana's actually starting to get a life!"

Hana tried his best to laugh with him. Then he excused himself to use the bathroom.

He wasn't looking very well, and his laughter had not reached his eyes. Even someone as dense as Nanase noticed, and he awkwardly stepped aside for Hana to leave.

Shuri was watching them both from a distance. After Hana stepped out, Shuri walked over to Nanase and grabbed him by his tie. His entire fist was shaking with cold rage. "Are you just a natural idiot or are you trying to pick a bone?"

Feeling guilty, Nanase didn't respond. It was good that he didn't. Had he said something irritating, Shuri might've socked him right then and there. The whole class breathed a sigh of relief when Shuri released him.

It hurt so bad that Hana crumpled to the floor and stayed there for a solid half hour, panicking. The bleeding wouldn't stop.

When he finally returned to class, it was already past breaktime. He could feel Shuri’s gaze on his back as he went to his seat.

After class, Shuri walked Hana home as always. The sweltering heat was finally abating, but there wasn’t even a slight draft of wind. Still air hung like a suffocating blanket over their shoulders.

“Hana.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Hana didn’t respond. They reached an intersection. The traffic lights were red, and they watched as a single car slowly passed them by. The rest of the street was empty. The light stayed red.

Hana glanced at Shuri, who seemed to be spacing out though the walk button was by his side. Hana reached out for it himself and winced, not expecting the cut to stretch and sting so badly.

Shuri grabbed Hana by the elbow. The motion was awkward. As if he had been planning to catch something else, but changed his mind at the very last second.

“Can I stay over tonight?” Shuri blurted.

He knows. Hana bit back a laugh. He should’ve known better than to think he could deceive Shuri of all people.

They arrived at Hana's house. In the privacy of his room, Shuri pried the band gently off Hana’s wrist. His expression didn’t change at all when he saw Hana’s wrist haphazardly ripped apart. He cut a plastic bag and tied it around Hana's arm before sending him into the shower.

After Hana came out, they sat on the floor, where Shuri tended to his injuries. The whole room was silent save for the faint whir of the air conditioner and the low buzz of cicadas outside. All the while, Hana stared out at the endless night sky, glancing occasionally at the crease that formed between Shuri’s eyes. Each time the pain got to him, Hana couldn't help but make a noise of complaint, and Shuri inhaled sharply in response. It hurt them both. Perhaps equally.

When it was done, Shuri cupped his arm for a while before letting go.

Hana leaned into him and mumbled into his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Shuri sighed. “For what? The act itself, or getting caught by me?”

“A little bit of both, I guess.”

Shuri shook his head. “You’re not sorry for the act itself. You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“I want to,” Hana protested. It was the truth. “It actually hurts a lot, you know? I don’t want it to hurt. But it also feels good. I don’t understand it either.”

He thought of Miya and how all those months ago, he thought it ludicrous that one could ever try to injure themselves. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I really don’t want it to hurt anymore.”

Shuri hugged him a little tighter. There was so much he could say, yet none of it would mean anything in the slightest. "Do you want to give me the cutter?"

"Not really," Hana muttered.

"Let me rephrase. Hana, please give me the cutter."

Hana rummaged in his bag until he found it. He placed it in Shuri's palm. It was small- more a secret than an object. Shuri closed his fist, and like that, it was gone. Seeing it taken away like that, Hana felt a mixture of dread and relief. Already he was thinking about how he could just get a new one without Shuri knowing. But Shuri would find out. He always did. 

They went to bed. Normally, Shuri would be on the futon when he slept over. That night, they locked the door and lied together instead.

"Good night, Hana."

"...night night, Shuri."

Hana's voice cracked towards the end. Sobs ripped through the absolute silence of the room. Hana felt as Shuri pulled him in, as Shuri's slender fingers carded through his hair. The sound of his steady heartbeat eased the pain in Hana's heart. Slowly, his own heartbeat slowed to match Shuri's, and he fell asleep.