summary: you break down but luckily Jean Loo is there to help
(Jean Loo Pissoir x gn reader)
warnings: self harm, hurt/comfort
word count: 1,052
I'm not much of a writer tbh, I mostly write poetry, but I got inspired and had to write this. if there are any other warnings or anything I should add let me know
you had known it was getting bad again,
you had felt it building for the past few weeks.
you had hoped you could just ignore it,
keep pushing it down deeper and deeper until it went away,
but that never works the way you want it to.
you trip over your feet as you go into the bathroom after a long day,
overwhelmed and spiraling and needing something to ground you.
you go to splash water in your face but pause when you see the first aid kit sitting on the sink.
you know what's in there,
your box cutter.
there so when the urge gets too great, hopefully, you'll clean yourself up afterwards.
your fingers twitch towards it unconsciously,
you sigh and shake your head trying to rid yourself of these thoughts,
the need to hurt,
but you can't.
everything is too much
and you know the pain will make them quiet,
at least for a little while.
your resolve crumbles and you quickly unzip the first aid kit and dig out the knife tucked behind the bandages.
sitting down on the toilet lid and pushing your sleep shorts up higher on your thigh,
you bring the sharp edge to the soft skin.
red blooms in its path and with it you feel relief.
the relief that only comes with pain and giving in,
temporary,
hollow.
and soon blood drips down the sides of your thighs.
dripping onto the cold white porcelain on the toilet lid.
tears fill your eyes as you realize what you've done.
you let the blade slip from your fingers,
distantly you hear it clatter against the tiles.
you had been doing so well,
it had been months since you'd given in like this.
your eyes fix on the blood pooling against the white,
stuck in the regret and pain swirling around in your head.
you always forget it feels like this after,
the relief is so short lived when the regret settles on your shoulders.
you feel something shift under you and you yelp,
the cold unyielding porcelain changing to something warm and soft,
familiar.
you feel arms wrap around you and pull you close
"mon amour, I am so sorry"
you were so used to how soft your home looks through their lenses,
you forgot you had the glasses on.
it didn't even occur to you to take them off.
now that Jean Loo is here,
you finally let go.
let the tears you've been holding back fall down your cheeks.
"I'm sorry Jean" you sniffle shaking your head. disappointed in yourself, feeling guilty for the blood now staining the white of your lover’s pant leg,
feeling guilty for making him see you like this.
"non do not apologize to him" he turns you to face him, gently taking your face in his hands.
holding you like you're the one made of porcelain, like you're something precious.
he presses a kiss to your forehead and tucks your head beneath his chin as he takes you in his arms.
he runs a finger over the frames of the dateviators
before resting his hand on the back of your neck,
the weight of it familiar and comforting.
you sit like that for a while.
you think he needs this as much as you do.
you think of all the times you've been in this position without him to comfort you.
how this is the first time since having the dateviators that you broke like this.
how this is the first time you've been held like this
with this much care.
after a while he reluctantly pulls back,
"he will get you cleaned up, oui?"
he nudges you, encouraging you to stand, then guides you to sit on the bathtub.
he leaves your side just long enough to move the blade somewhere out of sight
and retrieve the first aid kit.
in a moment he's back kneeling in front of you.
gently taking your hands in his, he kisses them tenderly
before carefully cleaning your thighs.
washing away the blood staining your skin with a warm washcloth,
applying antibiotic ointment,
and bandaging the wounds.
your eyes haven't left his face as he attends to you with so much care and tenderness it makes your chest ache.
when he's done he leaves his hands resting on the sides of your thighs for a moment.
you watch him squeeze his eyes closed and a tear slips free.
guilt seizes in your chest as you realize
every time you've resorted to the box cutter
you've been sat on the closed toilet seat, sat on him.
before the dateviators,
how many times he had to sit and watch you dig a knife across your thighs
without being able to do anything?
reaching up a hand,
you wipe away the stray tear.
"thank you" a whispered gratitude
said like a prayer,
worshipful and devoted.
you cup his face in your hands mirroring his earlier gesture.
bringing his face close and leaning in,
pouring all the love you can into the kiss you place on his lips as you wordlessly mouth thanks over and over.
he shifts closer to you,
you can taste the love on his lips
and it's only reinforced when you pull back
to see the look he's giving you;
concern, warmth, and tenderness swimming in his gaze.
"he will do this a thousand times over, mon amour, but he hopes he will not have to. he hates seeing you hurt" he tucks his face into your neck, his breath warm on your pulse point.
you slump forward into him, the two of you curling together, both needing the closeness despite the awkward position on the cold tub and bathroom tile.
Jean Loo, not willing to let go of you for even a second, carefully lifts you into his arms with a soft mumble you only just catch,
"let’s go to bed, mon cœur"
he sets you on the plush bed, tucking you under the covers before he follows suit
pulling you close, both of you needing the reassurance that the other is still there.
reassurance he gets from holding you and tracing patterns into your skin
and you get from his steady presence unwavering care in his touch.
your mind is quiet as you fall asleep safe in his arms.
absolute cinema
