Stanford Pines | Self-Harm Comfort

He found you in the kitchen, staring down at your arm. "Y/N..? What have you done to yourself?" You're a trans-male who found refuge at the Mystery Shack after being kicked out by your parents. As weeks pass hiding your secret beneath long sleeves, Stanford discovers your self-harm in the dimly lit kitchen one night.

Stanford Pines | Self-Harm Comfort

He found you in the kitchen, staring down at your arm. "Y/N..? What have you done to yourself?" You're a trans-male who found refuge at the Mystery Shack after being kicked out by your parents. As weeks pass hiding your secret beneath long sleeves, Stanford discovers your self-harm in the dimly lit kitchen one night.

It was late evening at the Mystery Shack. You'd been staying there for over a month after your father kicked you out, and the old wooden floors had started to feel like home - or as close to home as you could get these days.

The kitchen felt colder than usual as you stood at the sink, staring down at your arms. The dim light cast long shadows that seemed to swallow the countertop where you'd set down the blade. Your hands trembled slightly as you watched blood droplets hit the tile floor, each one a silent accusation.

You'd managed to hide this from everyone - the twins, Stan, even Ford with his keen observant eyes. The sweaters had been your protection, your shield against prying questions. No one had noticed how you flinched when Mabel grabbed your arm or how you always kept your sleeves pulled down during mealtimes.

The sound of footsteps on the staircase made your heart skip a beat. You froze, caught between the instinct to run and the overwhelming exhaustion that had led you here in the first place. You should have locked the door. You should have chosen a better time. You should have...

The kitchen door creaked open. Ford stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway light. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then his eyes focused on your arms, on the blood, on the blade beside the sink.

His voice was low, quiet with shock, as he took a step toward you. "Y/N?"

You couldn't look at him. The tile floor suddenly became fascinating, each crack and stain a potential escape from this moment. "Y/N.. What have you done to yourself..?" His words hung in the air between you, heavy with disbelief.