Seeking the solace found only in touch and texture, Soda took a washcloth from the stack in the bathroom. He turned on the warm water, putting the cloth underneath the faucet to soak in the heat, before pressing it to his face. You're okay, he told himself. Just feel and breathe.

The warmth granting little relief, Soda turned on the cold water and put the washcloth into the liquid that was fast-approaching freezing. He then pressed the soaked material to his face again, willing his skin to accept this solution to the temptation that sought him as its prey.

Soda felt a shiver move through him, goosebumps popping up, as he breathed in the coldness, water droplets wringing themselves from the washcloth to land on his shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment's time, opening them again only for the tactile distraction to lose its power, as the bathroom drawer beckoned him to open it and find the relief of the blade inside.


Steve slammed the Curtis' front door behind him, as he grumbled to himself. "Damn my old man. I don't need him anyway. It's no wonder Mom took off with somebody else."

He felt his own scowl covering his face, knowing the anger and bitterness would need no cover from his best friend. He stalked off in search of Soda and found the bathroom door open, the sight in front of him evoking a terrible memory at the same time it ignited flames of fear and fanned already-existing anger.

Soda stood with his back to the bathroom door, pressing the blade of the razor to the pads of his fingers, creating small nicks, as if he were testing out its sharpness. Tiny drops of blood sprang up on the skin, the sting satisfying the impulse he'd once again given up on fighting.

Steve still wore the scowl in his expression, as he went over to Soda and snatched the razor away, throwing it hard to the tile floor. He then grabbed several tissues from the toilet paper roll and pressed them to his best friend's bleeding fingers.

Soda avoided eye contact with Steve, the present moment evoking the same memory that was in the other Greaser's mind. "Sorry. I was just- I was tired."

Steve pulled the tissue away and studied the small cuts, the sight making his stomach turn, as he fought not to lash out at Soda. "Tired, huh? Then, all you had to do was come find me. I already caught you doing this one time before, and that damn pocket knife is still hidden somewhere at my house. And damn it, Soda, it's one thing to hear about you slipping. It's another to actually see it."

"I didn't want you to see it. I just- I was trying to do stuff I always do to make that feeling go away. Cause I was thinking about the accident again. And- and it didn't work, so I thought maybe I could do it just a little bit, you dig?"

Steve held onto Soda's hand, pressing the tissue to the cuts once again, more to hide them from sight than to stop any remaining bleeding. His eyes then wandered to the scars on his best friend's arm, the ones that had begun to fade in the months of recovery. "Yeah, I dig that. But 'a little bit' will still make you want to do it more. You know that, buddy. I sure as shit don't need to tell you. If I do, you've fallen too much already. Is this something that's happening a lot again or just a slip?"

"Just a slip. I did it that one other time before, but that was it."

Steve looked at Soda's face, the shame a visible entity since he knew well how the cutting made his best friend feel. Still, he reached for his other arm, eyes searching every inch of it for any evidence of recent relapse.

"You don't believe me?"

Steve turned away from Soda for a second, as he crumbled up the bloody tissue and tossed it into the trashcan. "I don't know. I think I just see how ashamed you get, and I'm afraid there will be times you won't tell me cause of that."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. I mean, I didn't tell you before. But I wouldn't- I wouldn't lie now when you're asking me."

Steve picked the razor up off the floor and shoved it into the drawer that he then slammed shut. "Darry needs to hide the damn razor and only give it to you to shave. Cause, apparently, it's too much for you to even know it's here."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

Steve watched Soda's fallen expression, the sadness so clear in it making his voice take on a softness reserved only for his best friend. "I ain't mad at you, okay? So don't even start thinking that. I get this isn't an easy thing for you. You've told me enough, and I've seen enough to understand."

Soda lifted his hand and touched the cuts, their sting one of pain now that the rise of adrenaline and want for refuge had worn off. "You're actin' mad though."

"But I'm not mad at you. I'm just pissed you're still fighting this and pissed that it hurts me like hell to watch it." Steve settled his arm around Soda, leading him out of the bathroom. "Come and let's me and you go forget about this shit for a while."

"I don't know if I can."

"You can. You've done it before. We can talk more later if you want to, but if it's the only thing I manage to do today, I'm going to get your mind on something else."

A/N: It's been soooo long since I've worked on this, I didn't even know if I could shift my mind into this universe, but here we are!:)

~Panda