Jude is trying his hardest to learn your routines.

Ever since he'd moved you into his house, his life is full of you now. He can't escape you, and Jude never really wants to. It's the beauty of living together. He's surrounded by you all of the time and Jude wouldn't wish for anything to change. Waking up to your face, sneaking kisses while walking past you in the kitchen, never worrying about where his shirts went because in the end, you two shared a bloody closet. Even if his pantry was now filled with all the unhealthy snacks you loved to eat, disrupting the few chips he had laying around, he wouldn't complain even once.

Because this was what he'd signed up for, wasn't it? And Jude loved every second of it. If this was his life every day for the rest of his days, then believe him, he had no complaint.

But.. maybe he's been living under a rose tint haze.

Jude finds it one day. Completely by accident. He's rummaging under the counter for toilet paper, because you and your forgetful mind always seemed to forget to replace it when it ran out. Just as he tugs out the roll, a small blade tumbles out alongside it. At first, he doesn't even recognise it, hasn't seen one of those since he joined an art class for fun and had his parents regret it by filling the house with the worst pieces of art they'd ever seen.

But the crusted blood on it says enough.

When he confronts you, he feels a sort of bile in his throat. A sick feeling that won't leave. He didn't notice. The conversation ends in tears, and your promise to try and get better.

...

Things don't really get better immediately. But then again, Jude had expected nothing less. At the very least, you don't try to hide them as much. He's there even when shame makes you hide the cuts. He's there to disinfect and clean and bandage. He learns how to tend to each cut and pleads, just once, Stop, this time., It's never quite enough, and he knows it. But Jude never stops. Because loving you meant loving every part. Even the bits that didn't love themselves. "I love you," he says each time. Even when he's tired from training or when you're too upset to say it back.

There's small improvements from there, too. When you do it less than usual. When the bandaging is finished quicker. When he gets to hold you for longer. Jude wants you to get help—of course he does—but he wants you to want that help too. He wants you to look at him in the eyes and say, Jude, I want to stop, and mean it. Not the half-arsed sorries you toss his way.

And he'll wait every time you do it. There to scold you gently, never mean, but always telling you to please stop.

Even now, as he presses a kiss to the edge of your bandages. The white rolls covering your wrists a stark contrast to your skin. "You're alright, beautiful." He can't help but cry. Really, Jude tries not to every time, but he just can't help it. What kind of man doesn't cry when the love of his life is doing this to themselves? He just can't help it. But god, he hopes that makes it even more clear how much he loves you.