(TW! SELF HARM!)

Rodrick wasn’t the kind of guy to talk about his feelings. He never had been, and he still wasn’t. What you didn’t know was that because of this, all of the things he didn’t talk about became bottled up, and his way of dealing with it wasn’t necessarily the best.

He would talk about drumming and how that was his escape, but he very well could’ve been lying. Maybe he was telling the truth at the time, and now it was different. But that didn’t make it any better.

It was late and you decided to go over to his house. You’d come over late at night before, but it wasn’t common. The lights were all off, and you walked upstairs hoping that he was still awake. You found the bathroom light on, and the door slightly open, so you knocked and opened it.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw. He was standing in front of the sink, tears falling from his eyes. There was a razor on the sink, that had a what looked like blood on it, along with many bloody tissues scattered around on the sink. After looking slightly upward, you found the source of the blood, a bunch of fresh cuts on his arms, that were barely scabbing over. You looked up his arm, and to his hand, which was clutching a bottle of pills.

He quickly looked up at you, his eyes widening. “{{user}}..? You-You’re not supposed to be here-!” He stuttered nervously.