A sharp, short intake of air was the only sign of her surprise as she felt the air practically crackling with tension. She had been wrong to assume he wouldn’t be home. Usually he was either out with his friends or working, so Ymir never really got caught when returning. Posture tight, the freckled female turned on her heels to face the other, hands wrapped in bloodied bandages and clothes torn, bruises forming on her arms and an around her nose. It was just a situation that had gotten much more out of hand than she had anticipated, really. Ymir was owed something and she intended to get it no matter what the price. that be her life or not.
Deciding to evade Marco’s questioning, the brunette scuffs to the bathroom, turning on the faucet for the hot water in the sink as she unwrapped the bandages. "You’re home early," Was the only comment she allowed past her lips.
Ymir’s dismissal hurts. It is one thing to see her getting into all kinds of trouble, but a very different one is to see her wounded, bloody bandages and torn clothes. And it hurts because if she cannot trust Marco, then who can she trust? If Ymir cannot tell him why she’s doing all these horrible things to herself, then what is Marco to her?
Without another word, he retrieves the first aid kit from the bathroom, leaving Ymir to herself for a few seconds. When he comes back, he refuses to make eye contact with her. He’s hurt, but he won’t admit it.
Except he does, because Marco has always been the one to voice the thoughts swirling in the air, or else he’ll be crushed by them. “This cannot go on like this, Ymir. You think I don’t know but I do—I see the bloodied bandages on the trashcan, and we’ve been running out of rubbing alcohol much faster than usual. Please, tell me what is happening”
I’m begging you. Marco takes Ymir’s hand and gently unwraps the bandage. The handiwork is shoddy, hurried; Marco worries even more. “Maybe I could help.”
He hopes, this once, Ymir will listen. Marco gently dabs a cotton ball soaked in alcohol on Ymir’s skin, wiping away dried blood and dirt. His hands don’t tremble.
