Words: 494

Rating: T

Warnings: Self-mutilation.

Notes: Written in a spur of the moment inspiration last spring. It actually came to me so fast that I just grabbed the pen and started writing on my arm - finding paper would have taken too long. But, um, the ending wasn't written then. Like, the veeeery ending. Hence the reason it's bad. Anyway, no ending AN, so I'll say that reviews are loved, and concrit is loved too!

Dedicated to: Dudly and AnuneFan412 for pointing out my typos in Hard to Say. (Because I promised myself I'd dedicate my next fic posted to you guys).

He had picked it up again.

It honestly wasn't his fault. It had just always been there. Like smoking or drinking.

Sure, it wasn't practical. And it didn't hurt, like many assumed. It just was.

He actually didn't know why he did it. Well, he did, but only vaguely. The only reason he could vaguely remember for starting was that he had been curious as to why other did it. So he had gotten some new, shiny, sharp razors and set to figure out why.

From the moment the cool metal had sliced skin, Niou Masaharu understood.

It was addicting.

The first few times there was a slight sting, but after that he could only find pleasure.

Pleasure in seeing the drops of blood run down his arms and legs.

Pleasure in feeling cold metal on warm skin.

Pleasure in seeing clean water run red.

But then he had been found out. By none other than Yukimura Seiichi.

The other boy had questioned him and helped him. He even managed to break the habit, and had him join the tennis team and start interacting with others like a normal human being.

He had completely forgotten about them.

But as fate would have it, he was sorting through his closet for something a few weeks back and had some across and old box. That happened to be full of nice, shiny, sharp razors.

And, after having forgotten so long, he decided to give it a shot to try and figure out what had made them so addicting.

The second skin broke, he remembered.

And, being Niou Masaharu, he continued. Again.

He had actually made it a full two weeks without anyone noticing.

It had been around then, however, that Jackal had fired a power shot and Niou had dropped his racket, causing Yukimura attention to focus on his wrists which, up until then, he had made sure to keep hidden.

When the captain had seen them had had looked a bit surprised, before forcing the other boy to follow him into the club house, where he proceeded to clean and bandage the wounds, while questioning Niou.

One question, Niou remembered quite vividly being asked the first time, was "Why?" That one word had completely baffled him. And when he was asked it again he realized that after almost three years, he had no idea why.

So he settled for the first thing that came to mind.

"Just because."

Yukimura had sighed, gently scolded him, and sent him home.

And as he was walking home, he puzzled. Why did he cut? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't really know. He didn't know why he couldn't give it up, didn't know why it was so addicting.

In the end, the only answer he could come up with was the one he had given. Because cutting wasn't like breathing – he didn't need it to survive. It was just something that was there.

Just because.