I feel jittery. Restless. I try to concentrate on something, anything-music, books, repairs to Deathscythe, and I can maybe focus enough for about thirty seconds before my attention wanders. My skin burns, it itches for a blade, but they’re gone, all gone. Heero took them. Damn that bastard. What right did he have to take them away? They were mine, dammit, all mine, my only means of… release. I needed them. Need them. Always need them.  But he took them. He found them and he yelled and he took them and he won’t let me get any more.

He watches me, ya know. He always wants to know where I’m going and what I’m doing. Like a stupid motherhen, making sure I don’t do anything ‘stupid’. But it’d not stupid, dammit! Stupid implies wrong, and this isn’t wrong. It could never be wrong. The blade sinking into my flesh feels so good, like a bittersweet melody that remains in you head, haunting and taunting until you can’t hear anything else, until you can’t feel all the pain and the horror and the fear and dear Gods I need a blade!

I don’t realise that I’m shaking until Quatre comes and wraps a blanket around me, asking if I’m okay. I flash him a grin that I’m sure is completely see-through, but he goes away anyway. I feel eyes on me, and turn to find Heero watching me closely from where he’s sitting on the sofa. I look at him, silently daring him to say something, but he looks away. Good. Because I am so close to slugging the bastard. He didn’t have the right!

I couldn’t breathe suddenly, couldn’t draw in enough oxygen to think, not that I could think with oxygen, but still… someone touched my shoulder and I jumped, springing to my feet. I dragged air back into my lungs with a ragged gasp, and Trowa stared at me with wide eyes.

“Are you alright, Duo? You’re white as a ghost and breathing heavily.”

“I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m fine. I, uh, think I might be coming down with something, a cold, ya know, I mean, I’ve been out in some terrible weather lately, what with all the missions, and I’ve never really been sick before so I guess I was bound to sooner or later…” Oh, god, I was babbling like a fool, even I could see that. Quatre was frowning at me, Trowa was as unreadable as ever, Wufei was staring, and Heero was typing on his laptop, but his typing was a bit slower than ever.

Gods, why did he do this to me? Did he want to hurt me? Hurt me in a bad way, I mean. Doesn’t he understand what he did? What he’s still doing? I know he has the blades somewhere, he hasn’t left the house and I searched all the bins, and he wouldn’t risk hurting the somewhat touchy plumbing by flushing them, so they have to be somewhere, but I searched his stuff and it wasn’t there, and Gods I just need them.

“Duo, calm down,” Trowa aaid soothingly, “You’re panting. Just take a deep breath, hold it, now let it out. That’s good. Come on, again. Again. There. Now, tell us what’s wrong.”

No, no, no! They can’t know! No one can know! “N-N-N-Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” Gods, the lie tasted bitter. I fought a wince and dredged up a smile. “I, uh, think I’m gonna, uh, go upstairs and, uh, get some rest. Yeah.”

I might’ve broken the sound barrier as I fled up to my bedroom. I don’t really think my feet touched the stairs. I slammed the door without meaning to and pretty much just collapsed on my bed. I curled up into a tight ball and tried to ignore the burning itch that was crawling over my skin, scratching, itching, begging attention, demanding satisfaction, demanding a blade.

Someone opened the door and I tried to tell them to go away, but I’m not sure if I actually managed to or not. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, needed a blade… needed to cut…

“Sssshhh, Duo, it’s going to be alright,” someone whispered, and the mattress sunk as someone laid down beside me. They wrapped their arms around me and I clung to them, not really aware who it was that I was probably bruising. The person was stroking my braid and humming some sort of lullaby, but it didn’t soothe me. Needed to cut, needed that release, oh, Gods, my skin itched.

“Come on, Duo, just breathe,” the person whispered. “I know it’s hard, but it’ll pass. Just remember to breathe. Come on, Duo.”

Was I breathing? I wasn’t entirely sure. I couldn’t think of anything except the hot itching of my skin, the desperate need to cut.

“Duo, breathe, dammit!” There was a note of panic in the person’s voice, and they shook me roughly. “That’s an order, pilot! Come on, breathe!”

My training made me react to the order without thinking, and I sucked air into my lungs. Apparently, I hadn’t been breathing.

“Come on, Duo, focus on my voice. Just listen to my voice. Forget everything else. There is nothing else but my voice.” Then the voice softened and began singing a lullaby in Japanese. I couldn’t focus enough to translate the words into English, but it was nice, and I let the song envelope me, surround me.

The itching faded, slowly, so slowly, and I was able to breathe again. I still wanted, needed, to cut, that hadn’t changed, but it wasn’t the all-consuming urge that it had been a moment ago. I could think again. Enough to recognise the body I was pressed up against.

I shifted, turning my head, and met a pair of drowningly-deep cobalt blue eyes, watching me in a very strange way.

“H-Heero?”

“Sleep, Duo, you’re exhausted. I’ll be here.”

I wanted to question, to ask what he was doing and why and a million other things, but I was tired, so tired. I let the questions slip away, deciding to maybe ask them later, and rested my head against his chest. He began singing again, the same lullaby as before, and it was the last sound I heard as I drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.