⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️
This chapter contains depictions of self-harm, suicide attempt, and blood imagery. It may be distressing or triggering for some readers. Please read with caution and prioritize your mental well-being. If you are sensitive to these topics, you may choose to skip this chapter.
••__________________________••
The scissors were cold in my sleeve.
Too light, too small to matter unless I made it matter.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels deliberate, like the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting to catch me in the act.
Every tick of the clock pressed against my ribs like a warning. Every creak in the wood overhead made me flinch, sure that someone had already found me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the chain at my wrist coiled slack like a snake, pretending it wasn't alive, pretending it wasn't always watching. The metal left my skin raw, bruised, but I ignored it. My pulse pounded against my temples, a drumbeat screaming now, now, now.
I pulled the scissors free. The tiny sound of metal sliding against fabric seemed too loud in the suffocating silence.
The blades glinted in the dim lamplight ugly, honest, sharp enough.
My breath shook. My hands shook. But I pressed the blade against my wrist anyway. The skin dimpled, stretched, then split.
Hot red welled up instantly.
It poured. Too fast. Too much.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I only stared, entranced by the way the blood gushed free. My blood soaking the sheets, seeping through the mattress, dripping down my hand to the floor. My freedom spilling with it.
For a moment, I thought maybe this was it. Maybe I had finally escaped.
"Finally," a voice said softly.
I froze.
The door hadn't creaked. The chain hadn't buzzed. But he was there.
Suna. Leaning against the frame, his tall frame bathed in shadow, eyes dark, calm, like he had been standing there forever. Like he had expected this all along.
"I knew you'd try again," he murmured, pushing off the doorframe. His shoes clicked against the wood with unhurried steps, as though I weren't bleeding out in front of him. "Did you really think we wouldn't?"
I jerked my arm back, trying to cover the wound, but the blood was already dripping between my fingers, splattering across the boards. The metallic scent burned my nose, clung to my tongue.
"Stay away," I rasped, my voice shredded.
But he didn't.
Instead, he crouched in front of me, his gaze locked onto the cut. His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're beautiful like this," he whispered. "Fragile. Bleeding."
I tried to pull away, but he caught my wrist the bleeding one. His grip was firm, almost tender, until he pressed his palm into the wound. Pain shot up my arm, white-hot, forcing more blood to spill. I gasped, thrashing, but his hold only tightened.
"You know," he said softly, as if sharing a secret, "I heard something once. A story. About blood."
His other hand slipped into his pocket.
When it came out, a knife gleamed sleek, sharp, merciless.
My heart dropped into my stomach. "Don't… don't-"
Before I could finish, he dragged the blade across his own palm. Deep. Blood surged instantly, dark and thick, dripping down his wrist.
I stared, horrified, as he held his wound above mine.
"Our blood mixed," he said, his voice trembling not with fear, but with reverence. He let the crimson drip directly into my cut. "Our souls bound. From this night forward, we are eternal."
Hot, alien warmth stung where his blood touched mine. It burned. It seared. I gagged, jerking, but his grip tightened like iron shackles.
"Stop!" I screamed, sobbing. "Stop it, Suna!"
But he only smiled wider, his pale face splattered with red droplets, his eyes gleaming with devotion. "You can kill yourself a thousand times, doll. We'll still drag you back. But this…" He pressed his cut harder against mine, forcing the mingling, the mess. "This way, you'll never leave me. Not in this life. Not in death."
The metallic tang suffocated me. Our blood pooled together, slick and hot, soaking the sheets, staining my skin until I couldn't tell where mine ended and his began.
I sobbed harder, thrashing, my voice breaking. "You're sick… you're all sick!"
The door slammed open with a crash that shook the room.
Kuroo. Oikawa. Bokuto. Atsumu. Semi. Tsukishima. Osamu. All of them.
They didn't rush to stop him. They didn't shout, didn't panic. They just watched. Calm. Silent. Some with faint, terrible smiles.
Kuroo's eyes fixed on the mingled blood dripping between Suna's and my arms. He exhaled slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "About time," he said.
Oikawa tilted his head, his lips curving. "A ritual fit for devotion. Poetic."
"Romantic," Semi whispered, breathless, almost envious.
Bokuto's voice cracked, his fists clenching at his sides. "You're hurting her."
"She hurts herself," Suna replied flatly, never looking away from me. "I'm just making sure it means something."
My body shook violently, weak from blood loss, from horror, from the chains pressing against me. My voice cracked when it left my throat. "You… you're all monsters."
Kuroo stepped forward finally, crouching beside Suna. His hand brushed across my cheek, smearing a streak of blood there like paint. His smile was soft, cruel.
"Monsters?" he murmured. "Maybe. But monsters don't let their dolls shatter. They keep them. Bind them. Love them… in ways no one else can."
Suna pressed his bleeding palm tighter into mine. His voice dropped into a chant, low and steady, each word sinking into my skin like a brand:
"Our blood mixed. Our souls bound. From this night forward… we are eternal." he repeated
The room seemed to breathe with him. The chains rattled as if alive. My chest heaved, shallow and frantic. My tears mixed with the blood on my skin until everything felt wet, suffocating.
They all stared. Silent witnesses to the grotesque vow.
And I knew, deep in my marrow, that they wouldn't let me die.
Not now.
Not ever.