Warning: Mentions of cutting and eating disorders, attempted suicide

Disclaimer: I do not own SNK or any of the characters affiliated with it. I own the plot of this fic and that's it.

Eren's POV

"You know what you are?" Her voice was a set of fangs sinking into the back of his neck and freezing him in place. Yes, he knew what she was going to say, more or less. He knew. Yet he silently begged her not to say it, to say something else and prove them all wrong. To prove his own mind wrong.

"You're a monster. You're so messed up, I bet you're not even human."

They all teased him, reprimanded him when he let their words hurt him. But their words weren't words, they were knives coated in poison that gave them a lasting sting that slowly faded to an ache that never really went away. When the wound healed, there was still a scar to show for it. Invisible scars piled up on each other, covering every inch of his body. It was a miracle, a curse, he didn't know which, that no one else could see them. Maybe it was just because covered them all with a fake smile so good it seemed real to everyone.

"I'll bet your father left because of you." Things like that were said with a purpose.

"Maybe your mom didn't die, maybe you're lying because she left you too." These kinds of words were said on a whim, regretted but never taken back. They didn't care enough to apologize.

No one cared, right? And no one ever would. That's what the voice in his head told him. He wasn't even sure if that little, cold voice was him, or something else. It seemed both the embodiment of his demons and the source of them. But nothing he did shut it up. Telling himself that the people in his life loved him was useless when he didn't believe it himself. They put up with him, but he saw the way they glared at him when he screwed something else up, got detention yet again, got in another fight. He didn't try to stir up trouble; trouble seemed to stir in him. He put on a smile. Maybe if he smiled enough he would actually begin to feel happy (he'd read that somewhere online, but it never worked). Maybe the lies would become truths (they didn't). It went on longer, the voice in his head got louder and those of other people got meaner.

So he tried the next logical step. He tried to bleed his demons out. He tried to hack them out of his body, a bit at a time. It always worked for a moment, the sting of pain an eraser for his thoughts and the dark blood pearling on his skin like a sigh of relief. But it was only for a moment, for many moments in quick succession until there were scars lining his wrists up to his shoulders and scattered across his hips. These ones were solid, tangible, and felt completely different from the imaginary ones left by other people. They were a different kind of pain.

He covered them with long sleeves, but occasionally someone would see. And it was always the person he wanted to hide them from the most.

"You cut? Gross. That's pathetic. You're just seeking attention. Stop being so selfish."

But he wasn't looking for attention. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should reach out for help, but every time he considered telling someone what he was actually feeling that voice came back and reminded him that no one would care, that they would just dismiss it all as "attention-seeking lies".

The same thing happened when he tried to eat less, until it got to the point where he consumed nothing more than water some days (nowadays he ate more, keeping up appearances so as not to worry Mikasa or Amrin or Rivaille, but food had stopped tasting like anything long ago).

His life had never been all darkness, though. There were rays of light, little suns that he revolved around. But anything that made him happy was used against him, warped until it changed from a precious gem into a blade against his throat.

Sometimes, their jaded words struck dead center.

"Why do you always cling around him? He's weird. Do you like him? Faggot."

Was it really so wrong? Of course it was, everything about him was wrong. That's why he never said anything (even when Rivaille let out that so rarely heard beautiful laugh and his lips looked so kissable Eren though he was going to explode), covered it all up with that painted smile and fake laugh he eventually perfected. Even when he got older and people at school stopped being so verbal and just ignoring him and shooting him dirty looks. Even when it felt like he was breathing through a pillow and walking on knives, he kept up a happy face. He tried drowning everything and keeping it pent-up, letting it all out later alone with his blades.

But that could never go on forever. He knew that, and the voice in his head murmured that to him every day. He was a burden on everyone, wasting what little money Mikasa and he had to pay for the college he might as well never have applied to. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, why he was still here.

Why he hadn't done this before now.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Eren glanced down at his phone, unsurprised to find another text from Mikasa. How're you feeling? Still sick? I can buy some medicine after class. Eren sighed, picking up his phone, telling her that he'd found some behind the bathroom mirror. He wasn't ill, not physically. His stepsister needed to stop wasting her money on him. Even if he was actually sick, he wouldn't be around to take any pills this afternoon. Besides, he already had plenty.

Plenty enough to get the job done.

He didn't even know if this would work, but he had to try. If he failed, he would create an even bigger mess for everyone. But the door to his and Mikasa's shared flat was locked, and she wouldn't be home until far later. The pills would kick in by then, right? His phone went off again. Okay. If you feel better try to study a bit. Eren sighed softly and responded with a simple K, thanks Mikasa.

It was a little weird thinking that was the last text he'd ever send her. He set his phone down on the counter next to the single folded sheet of paper that was his only note and sat down on the toilet lid, opening the bottle of sleeping pills with shaky hands. Why are you shaking? Are you scared of dying?

No. He wanted this, he didn't, but he did. It'd be better when he was gone.

You're scared.

Maybe he was, a little bit. But it wouldn't matter in a little while. He poured some of the little blue pills into his palm, dropping one. He picked it up gingerly and stared at it for a few long moments before taking a deep breath and popping the first few into his mouth, falling over the edge of doubt.

That's it. Swallow them. It's too late to turn back now, keep going. Keep going. The voice in his head blocked everything else out, egging him on until it too faded and it was mindless repetition. It was going to be over, finally over, his joke of a life was finally ending...

I'm so tired...

Rivaille's POV

Something wasn't right.

Mikasa had given him her key and a bag of stuff to give Eren, telling him that he would be home and probably awake. He'd come to their flat, where he'd been plenty of times before, expecting Eren to be totally fine after a day of being "sick", sitting on the couch and playing video games or something. But when he walked in, the house was silent. And clean (not to his standards, of course, but after a day of Eren lounging around the place was usually a dump). He announced his presence, left the bag of medicine on the counter and wandered through the place, peeking his head into both bedrooms in search of life.

Rivaille was worried now. He tried texting him a few times, eventually hearing a buzzing noise from behind the closed door to his bathroom. What, is he taking a shit or something? He knocked on the door, waiting for a reply...

None came.

"Eren? You in there?" No answer. He tried the handle, found it unlocked and entered, deciding that if he walked in on him passed out on the toilet he'd take a picture and use it for blackmailing purposes later...

He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. Or maybe the whole world. Maybe the entire universe had imploded, collapsed into a black hole with Rivaille as the center. His thought process came to an abrupt halt and ice coursed through his body instead of blood. Whatever he'd been expecting, it was not to find Eren collapsed on the floor, an empty medicine bottle by his hand and a few blue pills scattered around him. Rivaille's first movements were jerky, hesitant as he took a few steps and bent over to pick up the bottle that had once held...sleeping pills.

And then all slowness was gone and he wasn't even thinking anymore he was just moving, acting on instinct because this fucking idiot had swallowed almost an entire bottle of sleeping pills and fuck he was going to be violently sick or paralyzed for days or die no he couldn't die not Eren- He was already dialing the number, barking out the situation in a tone that was panicked and sharp, his breaths shaky when he finally remembered to take them, his entire body shivering because he hadn't expected this. Rivaille, who was so calm and collected was falling apart at the seams, going hysterical as more time passed and the idiot woman on the other end of the phone tried to calm him down, that someone was on the way because fuck what if they were too late, what the fuck was even happening, why had Eren done this why?

Now he shoved that damned bottle, Eren's phone, and the paper next to it in his pocket, lifted the damned idiot off of the ground and headed down to where the ambulance would be any minute now, they had to be there soon because who knew how long he'd been lying there for, who knew how many of those fucking pills he'd taken, who knew how long he'd been thinking about this... but he didn't have time to feel guilty now.

So he just moved, passed Eren to the paramedics and snapped at them to be careful, for fuck's sake, because Eren was fragile even though he pretended not to be and he was precious even though Rivaille acted like he wasn't. God, why hadn't he ever told him that? Maybe this wouldn't have happened, maybe if he'd told Eren how much he needed him he wouldn't have done this...

But now was not the time for guilt, now was the time to text Mikasa the details in short sentences as the ambulance rushed to the hospital. Her response was equally clipped, and Rivaille knew she was panicking at the other end of the phone. The paramedics asked him a few questions and he answered in a strained monotone, looking down at his hands. They were shaking. He was scared.

Scared, because Eren could die. Scared, because he hadn't had any idea that Eren felt like he had to do this. Scared, because who knew how long he'd been struggling with this. Rivaille was scared and hoping, praying to a god he didn't really believe in that Eren was going to keep breathing, that his heart would keep pumping oxygen through his drugged body until his system cleared and he woke up and kept living. Rivaille couldn't just lose him.

He couldn't.

There was someone sitting next to him, repeatedly assuring him that Eren would be okay until they got to the hospital. Rivaille wasn't sure if he believed her, but those words still calmed him enough so he could think. His hand slid into his pocket and his fingertips ran over the crisp edge of the folded paper he'd picked up whilst running on autopilot. It's his note, right? He withdrew his hand like he'd been burned, placing it over his knee. There was no way he could read that, not now. Maybe not ever. He'd give it to Mikasa when she got to the hospital.

His thoughts soon spiraled down to focus on one sentence, repeating over and over in his mind: I'm sorry, we'll be there soon. He breathed it again and again like a mantra, not caring if the woman sitting next to him heard.

Eren I'm so, so sorry.

A/N: Okay, I'm not sure where this came from. Originally, it was going to be a oneshot but I thought of a longer plot that I liked more, so now it's going to be multichapter. Not very many chapters, though. I know it's really depressing right now. It's also very ooc, especially with Rivaille. It also seems rushed to me...OTL

I'd just like to mention, I have written for depressed characters before and have been asked if I feel this way myself. I don't. I have been in a place where I wanted nothing more than to let my unhappiness out, but I've never cut. Please, I don't want anyone to be able to relate directly to this story because that is such a sad thing, such a horrible place to be in. I'm here if anyone ever wants to talk 3