He took such care as he cored an apple, sliced it evenly, and arranged the pieces in a separate plastic bowl so they would not touch the sandwich.

It must have seemed like a hopeless effort. In the last few days, the plates Malcolm retrieved were left untouched and stale. At first, he painstakingly cooked Onyx's favourite meals, then plain pasta or rice, which gradually became sandwiches in hopes of getting anything into him at all.

From what he had heard, entering Onyx's room was a delicate gamble. Push too hard, and he would knock plates and glasses to the carpet. Leave him to his own devices, and he would ignore the food entirely. Caelan pressed him to drink some water, only to have the glass snatched from his hand and hurled into the wall.

Onyx had made no further attempts since that night, but he had all but given up.

Still, Malcolm never wavered, never once grew irritated, disheartened, or even impatient. He merely continued to cut away bread crusts and slice apples.

"We just have to give him time," Malcolm remarked as though he could read Ty's mind. "He will eat when he is ready." He turned around, the plate in one hand and a water bottle in the other, and smiled. Even he could no longer shield his fear.

"I'll take it up to him," Ty said. "Maybe I can talk to him."

"Are you sure?" Malcolm's brow furrowed in worry.

"I've got some stuff for him anyway," Ty held up a plastic bag he had brought along and shifted it to hang from his arm. "I'll try, at least."

"Thank you, dear," he replied with a faint sigh and passed him the food. "I will be here if you need me, alright?"

Ty nodded as he accepted them, shuffling out of his seat and making his way upstairs. The house had an odd atmosphere now, like water so still it mimicked glass. It was heavy on his chest for certain, but it was nothing compared to what he felt that night after all was said and done.

Onyx had been admitted into the hospital under watch, alive no matter how severely he may have wished otherwise. They sat with him until they were sent away with nothing left to do but wait until morning. The drive home from the hospital was utterly silent. Walking through the door to sit down on the nearest seat was mindless.

It was there, on the sofa, as Malcolm offered him a cup of tea, it all washed over him. His jeans were stained with dirt and sand from kneeling on the river bank and smelt like bile. Aching hands trembled as he finally acknowledged that they were the only reason for his brother's survival, how they forced him awake to feel the ribs he'd just broken.

The dull pain across his entire body grew sharp with the realisation of it all, and his eyes, which had remained wide with shock, filled with tears. He had tried to answer as the mug hovered in front of him, but his breath shuddered violently and collapsed into a sob.

Caelan had burned through his panic and tears, immobilising him until the exhaustion gave him clarity. Ty, on the other hand, always pushed it all down. Focused. Responded.

It wasn't until the first moment of quiet that he realised the severity of the situation and how close he was to losing his brother. Whatever surfaced at that moment was cold, ugly, and raw.

Now, he supposed he was doing the exact same thing.

Ty knocked on Onyx's door and opened it a moment later, greeted by a shell of his bedroom. Years ago, it was practically fit to burst. He remembered how posters, lights, and art fought for wall space and shelves piled with collections and well-loved belongings. A desk overflowing with sketchbooks and figurines, a wardrobe he could barely close, and a drum kit that used to drive him mad.

All of that was a memory now. He supposed what was not thrown away or destroyed by that wart of a human had to be left behind. Onyx left the shelter with a single duffel bag containing the clothing and amenities they provided him, which he discarded by the door and had not touched since.

The bed was pushed up against the far corner like it always was, dressed in a black quilted duvet and surrounded by abandoned blankets.

Onyx lay within it, his back to the door and face inches from the wall. Malcolm said he only got out of bed to go to the toilet, and that was only with prompting.

Ty swallowed thickly. "Hey Onyx," he spoke up, but his brother did not even twitch. The only sign of life was the duvet gently rising and falling to signal breathing. "Dad made you something to eat."

He walked over to the bedside table and gently pushed the identical untouched plate to the side to make room for the new one.

Now that he was closer, he could see Onyx's eyes were open, staring blankly at the wallpaper. It was bizarre to see him without his mohawk. His hair had grown out to his neck in its natural shade of dirty blond and stuck together in neglected clumps.

Onyx blinked idly but otherwise made no indication of hunger or will.

Ty hovered momentarily, then averted his gaze so as not to stare. He rummaged in his bag and walked over to the windowsill.

Part of him wished he could crack open a window, but they were strictly locked. The air was stagnant with the scent of soured sweat.

"Did I tell you I'm working at a garden centre?" He remarked as he carefully produced a plastic saucer and placed a flower pot upon it. "I've been working there for about a year now, I'm even thinking about becoming a supervisor."

No response.

He glanced over his shoulder, but Onyx's attention remained internal.

"I brought you some succulents – they're pretty low maintenance so I figured they'd be perfect for you." Ty set two more upon the windowsill and smiled sadly to himself. The stems had already rooted themselves in the soil, bearing the faintest blossom of a new succulent. "Don't worry, I didn't pay for them. I swiped some dropped leaves while no one was looking and propagated them for you. Don't let anyone tell you y'can't pirate plants."

When he turned back around, the food was still untouched, and Onyx had not moved.

Ty's heart sank, yet he walked to the foot of the bed and sat down. Onyx shifted his feet away.

"You wanna try having something to eat?" He prompted.

Onyx tensed his shoulders.

"What about a bit a water?"

He curled further in on himself. Any more, and he would surely twist himself out of existence.

Ty sighed heavily and stood up, putting a hand on his hip. "I'm not gonna let you waste away in here, y'know." He said firmly. "As much as you might want me to."

A single noise emanated from him as his muscles grew rigid—a scoff.

"Scoff all you want, but I mean it." Ty rummaged through the bag again and produced a plastic bottle. He looked at it for a moment, then back toward him, and his eyes softened. "Look, I got you some hair dye. How about I fix your hair – get you feeling a bit more like yourself again, yeah?"

Finally, Onyx made some form of response and craned his head to peer at him with heavy eyes. Hazel irises glanced between his face and the bottle in his hand, rusted cogs stirring in his head.

Wordlessly, he sank back into his pillow, and Ty almost lost all hope right then and there. He began to feel that familiar pain burrowing away into his chest, but then Onyx shuffled.

He moved ever so slowly. Not out of malice, he noticed, but rather physical exhaustion. The duvet fell away to reveal that his t-shirt was hanging off him, and his skin was almost an ashen grey.

The scars across the lower half of his face were as plentiful as they were evident. Deep, inter-crossing indents slashed through his cheeks, chin, and over his lips.

Of course, Ty never once stared. He stepped away to allow him space as he shuffled thin, bony legs over the side of the bed and stood up. At first, he wobbled to such a degree that Ty thought he might topple over like a stack of books, but Onyx strictly shook his head when he reached out to help.

So, he stepped back again and let him totter through his bathroom door, thankfully only at the foot of his bed.

When he followed suit, he noticed Onyx's head trained strictly downward as though rearing away from something.

"You alright?" Ty asked, and his brother's shoulders tensed again. At first, he was utterly lost, and he looked around aimlessly for any source of discomfort, only to find nothing out of place. Yet when Onyx lifted his hand to his face, he noticed the mirror and how he pressed himself into the wall to avoid his reflection. "Oh! Shit, hang on."

He swiftly grabbed one of the towels from the rack, then draped it over the mirror and adjusted it until not even a slither remained visible. Once content, he looked back to Onyx, whose hand was back to his side.

"That better?"

He nodded.

Ty had him sit down in his desk chair to improve his comfort, and got to work.

Perhaps against his better judgement, he had brought along an electric razor and a pair of scissors. However, Onyx sat with his hands limp at his sides, never once even eyeing them.

The ends of his hair were already matted, but they needed to be cut off anyway, so he made no attempt to salvage them.

"I should probably say now that I'm not a hairdresser, so this might look like absolute shit." Ty remarked more light-heartedly, to which Onyx gave one of his typical "don't care" shrugs.

Still, he did his very best to keep it even. When it came time for the razor, he informed Onyx and waited for his approval before switching it on.

He wanted the 0.1, of course, so the razor glided through the blond hair and let it fall away in thick, wavy clumps around Onyx's feet. Ty took his time ensuring it was as neat as possible, but the border between the top and sides was undoubtedly uneven.

Onyx didn't seem to care in the slightest, though. In fact, he kept his eyes closed through the majority of the process as though to feel every strand fall away.

"We should probably wash your hair so the dye sets well, we don't want it patchy." Ty remarked, tentatively placing his hands on his brother's shoulders and, much to his internal joy, was not shaken off. "That alright?"

Onyx hesitated, opening his eyes and giving a faint nod.

"Want me to wash it?"

More hesitation.

"I don't mind, Onyx, it's not a problem for me."

Another nod – more confident this time.

So that was what they did. Onyx sat in the tub in a towel, his head leaned against the side while Ty lathered his hair in shampoo. He had his eyes closed again, but Ty took exceptional care in ensuring not a single bubble reached his face as he massaged his scalp. All the while, he made one-sided conversation; how work was treating him, his plans for his upcoming birthday, the boring stories he never got a chance to tell him about.

Onyx seemed to listen. Or tuned him out. He was unsure which.

What surprised Ty was when Onyx reached for the soap and a cloth and began to wash himself without a single word of prompting. Whether out of motivation, a need to complete his routine, or simply because he was already there, Ty remained unsure.

It took him a good few minutes, of course, but Ty busied himself with preparing the dye to give him some privacy. Then, once Onyx was dried off and wrapped in an old towel, he moved on to the next step.

He had no need to bleach his hair, so dyeing it jet black was a simple, familiar process. It almost felt normal, like he could forget about the circumstances if he focused enough.

But Onyx's hand was pressed up against his side, silently nursing the broken ribs Ty had snapped through that night. He could just about see it from the angle he stood. It didn't seem to be deliberate, hell would he know if it were, but rather an act of necessity. A hand concealed almost perfectly by the towel, subtly gripping a faded bruise.

Somehow it hurt far more.

That Onyx still insisted on keeping his pain under a thick cloak and dagger. To ease guilt or for fear of weakness – Ty would be forever unsure.

Nonetheless, he focused and steadily applied a generous coating upon his hair. He took his time to ensure his roots were filled in and, once satisfied, sat on the side of the tub to wait for it to set.

They watched some videos on Ty's phone in the meantime, a welcome source to direct their attention and pass the time. Onyx watched, albeit with the same interest one would have for a magazine in a waiting room.

When it came time for rinsing, Ty had him stand in the shower while he stood on a stool and shampooed the dye out of his hair. The bubbles and his once-white gloves were pitch black, as well as any water that ran down the drain. Onyx seemed amused by the sight, allowing the bubbles to pass through his fingers and smearing a sad face into the tile.

He found a clean pair of pyjamas for him to wear, and for once, Onyx did not resist.

Once blow-dried and combed out, his hair puffed into fluffy waves. Ty had opted for a mohawk with a thicker width and a shorter length, producing an outcome which could stand alone without the need for styling. He deduced that it would be easier to maintain and allowed Onyx the freedom to customise it when he got back on his feet.

"Alright, all done!" He said as he dried his hands. "Wanna see?"

Onyx eyed the shrouded mirror with a twinge of anxiety yet still nodded. Ty took the edges of the towel, watching him closely.

"Ready?"

Onyx put a hand over his mouth and nodded again, going rigid as Ty peeled away the towel to reveal a reflection he had not acknowledged in almost a year.

Ty walked behind him and ran his fingers through the silken waves, fluffing them out as Onyx tentatively opened his eyes and witnessed something more familiar.

"You like it?" Ty grinned, "I think I did a pretty good job, all things considered." He wrapped his arms around his neck and leaned his head on his, smiling at him in the mirror. Onyx's shoulders loosened as he slowly inspected each angle and drank in the sight. "It looks way better than before, at least."

He nodded, using his other hand to run over his scalp and watch the hair — his hair — bounce back into place.

Once he had stomached enough of his reflection only a few seconds later, he spun the chair around to the side, averted his eyes, and removed his hand. Ty gave him a gentle squeeze and his hair another ruffle before promptly releasing him as he pushed at his arms like a displeased cat.

Onyx's pace was still just as slow and uncertain, but at the very least, Ty could finally recognise him. Even when he crawled back into bed.

"Hey–" he caught him before he could lay down, and Onyx begrudgingly turned to sit "– have something to eat? Just a little bit, at least?"

Ty sat down on the side of the bed and offered the plate. At first, Onyx only glared at him and pulled his knees into his chest.

"Please...?"

A few seconds drifted by as those rusted cogs in his head began to whir. Narrowed eyes leered at him, then the plate, then with an incoherent grumble, he took one half of a sandwich.

Ty completely froze in place; his eyes widened in disbelief, afraid that even the slightest breath may discourage him.

He managed three bites at one corner before he put it back. One small one, then two larger ones. His eyes were strictly pointed toward the wallpaper as he slowly chewed, his head hunched toward his knees.

He ate one and a half apple slices despite the air browning them.

Then, finally, a third of the water in the bottle.

Onyx wiped his mouth roughly with his wrist, then lightly pushed the plate away. He laid back down in his bed with his face to the wall, pulling the duvet over himself.

"Thank you..." Ty sighed and stood up, opting to finally leave him alone.

He collected the older plates but left the latest in case he was still hungry. Then, he gathered the old bottles and used one to water the succulents on his windowsill before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

.

They'll always look out for each other <3

I just wanted to write this because it's always buzzing around in my head and it deserved to finally be written up.