Sidemen Shots

Deepthroat Spray ~ Wroetozerk (7/7)

- Self-harm.

Josh stands, shakily, in the shower. Just barely. His legs are twitching; He can't feel his arms. His eyes are wet, and not from the shower water.

A mantra of Harry and love you circles around his mind, alongside a generous amount of self-loathing thoughts.

Josh's left leg starts bouncing, but he's completely unaware of that fact, too caught up inside his own head.

"I'm sorry." Josh chokes out quietly, voice wet and broken.

~~~

Josh is observant, always has been. He's fine to simply sit in a corner and monitor the room. His brain works at a mile a minute, in the background. At the forefront, there is nothing but euphoric silence as he watches the actions of others.

(That's why Josh can so often be found inside a park, people watching and trying to rid his brain of its incessant judgements.)

Sometimes, observation works in Josh's favour. Others, not so much.

~~~

Josh wants to scream; shout; scratch at his ears until they bleed and the expectations stop.

But they never do.

Sometimes, they volume down, but they never completely stop.

Josh moves away from his desk. He can't work right now. He wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep, but he knows that won't work.

Instead, he goes for a shower. When he comes out, his skin is a blistering pink and his mind is blissfully still.

His cheeks are still wet, but he doesn't notice as he scrubs at his face roughly with the scratchiest towel he owns.

(Lately, they're all getting coarser and coarser. There is no point in Josh buying soft, comfy ones when they do naught for him.)

~~~

Josh has apologised profusely to Harry: in his mind, out loud, all of it.

Only, Harry has never actually been there when he did it. Not once.

It's odd. The guilt is eating Josh from the inside out and yet the idea of broaching the subject to Harry makes his skin crawl.

But, this is something Josh needs to do, eventually. Hot shower, people watch, deep breath.

Harry, love.

~~~

"Harry," Josh starts, voice strong and assured, though he feels the absolute opposite right now.

Harry hums, relaxed, and Josh doubts once again if now is the right time. He watches with sad eyes as Harry nibbles on the adorable little necklace that Tobi gave to him. (Because Tobi is a much better person than Josh is.)

"I-I'm sorry." The stutter is obvious, but Josh's calm, collected tone means he's able to play it off.

Harry's head tilts all the way to one side, confusion written across his face, his nose scrunched and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Sorry for what?" He asks, holding the charm away from his lips long enough for his words to be coherent.

Now, Josh doesn't know how to word this.

"For the spray." He settles on, and hopes that Harry just, understands.

He does, fortunately.

"Josh..."

Harry's voice is soft, sensitive, and just what Josh needs right now. It doesn't look like it, but Josh is fighting back tears. Quite vigorously.

It's just, these past few months, Harry has been having all of these problems. All of which would never have happened if it wasn't for Josh and his stupid gift.

And Josh tells Harry as such.

~~~

Later, when Josh's apology is over and done with, tossed aside by an assuring Harry, Josh feels... Josh just, feels.

His brain is, for sure, not silent at the minute. There are so many 'theories' whirring around inside his head that it is impossible for him to hear the sound of the kettle brewing over them.

For starters, Josh can't believe that, after all this time, Harry would lie to him so blatantly.

"It's fine Josh.", "It doesn't matter.", "It's not your fault."

Lies. Lieslieslieslieslieslies.

So many fucking lies.

Josh, angry and working on autopilot, picks up the recently made coffee, missing the handle of the mug completely. It hurts, of course, rises from a shooting tingle to an excruciating burn in a matter of seconds; it gets hotter the longer he holds it.

And yet, it's as if Josh doesn't know, doesn't realise, that his hand is burning, that the mug is blistering the palm of his hand at this very moment.

Unsurprisingly, the coffee is just as hot inside his mouth; enough scalding on his tongue you could cook a pizza on it.

Josh takes one gulp, two gulps, three gulps, in quick succession, seemingly unbothered as he does so.

A distant, far-off part of the back of Josh's head actually seems to relish in the smarting burn that begins to throb.

Lies, lies, lies.