Scars - SwedenxDepressed!Reader

You hated your life. Your parents despised you, your schoolmates teased you, and your siblings (pretend you have some if you are an only child) treated you like the lowliest of insects. A pesky fly buzzing around in their life that just wouldn't leave. You pretended to act like everything was fine, when it was anything but.

To deal with the pain, you slit your wrists whenever your burden became too much to bear. But there was one light in your life, one that kept you from ending everything. And that light was the Swedish transfer student, Berwald Oxenstierna. You had befriended him almost instantly, along with the Finnish student, Tino Vainamoinen. He didn't talk much, but that was what you needed.

Someone who listened. Berwald was certainly a fantastic listener, and he didn't judge you. You told him every secret, every pain you had ever felt, because you could trust him. But never did you tell him about your depression. The cutting. The knife, the blood, the way your skin was sliced like butter, and the way that the crimson blood rushed into the wound and spilled onto the sink.

You hid your scars, old and new, under your (insert favorite color) sweater, never to be seen by another's eyes. You couldn't tell Berwald. You wouldn't. You didn't want him to worry or fuss over you. But later that night, everything took a turn for the worse.
--
"_____, get your ass over here now!" Your mother screeched at you. Standing up from your seat at your desk, you walk into the living room, dreading what was to come. She was drunk, you knew. Your could tell from the slur in her voice. "Yes, mother?" you said, approaching the crazed woman cautiously.

"I heard your hangin' around that Swedish boy. I dun' like it! Stay away from him, ya hear?! Or there'll be hell to pay!" she screamed, hurting your ears. "B-but Mom! He's my friend!" you protested. "I don't give a shit!" Smack! You held your now red cheek as your eyes watered up with tears. Wincing, you ran to your room and slammed the door, locking it shut. You collapsed onto the bed and buried your face into the pillow, crying your heart out into it. You soon cried yourself to sleep.

--

Days went by. Following your mother's wishes, you avoided Berwald as best you could. He constantly attempted to talk to you, be it in the classroom, the hallways, or the lunchroom, he would not give up. Finally, Berwald had had enough, and he confronted you right outside the schoolgates, blocking your way home. You swallowed. Berwald was, in general, a kind and gentle person, but when angered, he was just as intimidating as Ivan, the Russian boy who was like the devil himself.

He towered over you, looking down at you, blue eyes confused and concerned behind the spectacles. "_____. Why are you avoiding me?" he asked in his thick Swedish accent. You averted his gaze, pretending that your feet were very interesting. You played with your sleeve and fidgeted anxiously, unsure of what to say. "_____, look at me." You felt a lump in your throat, and your eyes began to burn at the tears threatening to spill out.

Berwald took your chin and gently moved your face to look at him. He widened his eyes as tears began streaming down your cheeks, not stopping no matter how much you wanted them to. "_____, what---" he was cut off as you threw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder, your salty tears staining his blue jacket.

You clenched his back and squeezed the fabric as tight as you could, afraid that if you let go, you would never be able to see your friend again. You felt Berwald's strong arms envelop your small body, pulling you against him. He rubbed your back, attempting to comfort you, before asking softly, "What's wrong?" "M-my mom," you hiccupped through your tears.

"She told me n-not to talk to y-you anymore.. She s-slapped me and threatened me…" Berwald was silent, waiting to make sure you were finished. Slowly, he pried you off him, and he placed his hands on your shoulders. "_____, you are not telling me everything that is wrong." Instinctively, you pulled your sleeves further down, praying that he wouldn't notice. "What makes you say that?" you asked, sniffling.

Without warning, Berwald grabbed your wrists and flipped them over, yanking the sleeves up to your elbows, revealing the grotesque patterns of scars along your wrists. His eyes widened and he looked at you with concern and perhaps panic. "Did you do this?" he demanded, in a much firmer tone, which told you he wanted the truth. You looked away, feeling the tears coming all over again. "Y-yes…" Your voice cracked. Berwald dropped your wrists and looked at you with those worried blue eyes. "Why?" You swallowed the lump that had once again lodged itself in your throat before speaking.

"I-It was to help deal with the pain… w-with everything, it was the only thing that helped!" Berwald shook your shoulders; it was quite clear he was highly concerned for your well-being. "Why didn't you tell me?!" You shocked at this display of emotion; he was normally so quiet and stoic, rarely showing any emotion whatsoever. Until now.

"I-I didn't want to worry you…" "Don't worry about me! "You know you can talk to me about these things." You didn't reply. "____. I need to tell you something." You blinked up at him, tears still making lines down your face. "What?" "Jag alskar dig.." You were silent for a few minutes, before grabbing Berwald's neck and pulling him down for a gentle kiss. It was soft and innocent, and soon ended.

"Berwald?"

"Hm?"

"Jag alskar dig ocksa."