Destroying

Timor ended up in Asean's apartment. Once inside, he felt ill. He was scared and nervous, which gave him a headache, nausea, and a lump in his throat. Timor took off his shoes and went to the bathroom, afraid to turn around and look at others. He locked the door and turned his head to the mirror. He saw that excitement and that fear in his eyes. It made him feel even worse. He turned on the water and washed his hands, then washed his face, trying to forget. He turned off the water and listened. He heard the worried voices of Brunei and Indonesia, which made him feel much worse and more terrible. Everything began to blur before his eyes. Timor unlocked the door and then opened it, barely holding back tears. He momentarily lost all feeling in his body and began to fall. He would have hit his head on the floor, but Indonesia caught him just in time. "Tim? Brother, what's wrong? You feeling unwell?" the red-white one asked immediately. "Uh-huh," Timor muttered in response, grabbing Indonesia. Indonesia picked up Timor and carried him to his room. He laid him on the bed and then touched his forehead. "Hot," Indonesia said excitedly. "You need to relax and lie for a bit." "Indo... stay with me," Timor said. "Oh... of course, I'll stay." Indonesia smiled. "Just wait a minute, I'll be right back." Indonesia walked quickly out of the room, closing the door. Timor sighed. He was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. He didn't know how others would look at him, and that was what made him so scared and shake like a leaf. He couldn't imagine a calm environment when he realized that he was no longer who he was. His imagination began to play with him even more strongly. This imagination contained scenes of how Timor is simply abandoned by everyone and he is left alone, how everyone fears him and in the end he goes crazy alone and then kills himself. He was sickened by his imagination and tried to forget it. The door opened. Indonesia returned to the room. He walked over to the nightstand and placed a glass of water on it. "Tim? Oh my God, you okay? You're... you're all pale, you're shaking." Indonesia grew more and more worried with every word. Timor turned to him. He crouched down and lowered his head. "I feel bad, Indo," Timor said. Indonesia sat down next to Timor and then hugged him. He ran his left hand down Timor's back, keeping his right hand still. "You were nervous, Tim. I hope you'll be okay." Timor glanced at the glass of water. Just plain water... but suddenly Timor remembered how he'd added the sleeping pill to the water, triggering the whole chain of violence. Timor cringed, letting out a soft groan. Indonesia patted him on the back. "Everything's fine. I'm here," Indonesia said. Timor closed his eyes again, trying to relax. Indonesia began to gently massage his head, running his fingers over the top of his head and temples. Timor began to calm down and eventually fell asleep.

***

The doorbell rang. Timor jumped out of bed, startled. He immediately saw that Indonesia wasn't in the room. This caused fear and confusion. The doorbell rang again and then Timor quietly left the room. He saw Singapore approach the door and then look through the peephole. He muttered something with obvious excitement and opened the door. Britain appeared on the doorstep, dressed in a police uniform. Unsurprisingly, he was the chief of police. Britain put his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to Timor, who at that moment wanted to just sink into the ground from fear and shame. Britain gave him a stern look. Brunei emerged from Malaysia and the Philippines' room into the hallway, looking at the open front door with bewilderment, then shock. "Oh, no," Brunei said. "I have to seriously talk to you." Britain entered the apartment. He closed the door. "This concerns you in particular, Timor." Timor raised his hands to his chest, wincing. He looked at Singapore, and Singapore looked back at him. Singapore leaned silently against the wall, arms crossed. He understood perfectly well what was coming, as did Timor and Brunei. The last one in the corridor was Asean. He looked at Britain with both seriousness and trepidation. "Britain, I guess... the investigation is completed?" Asean said. "Yes. I'm shocked by the results, to put it mildly," Britain said, looking down. He took off his police cap. "We searched the house, but that was only at the very beginning. We found there: one – drawings; two – a knife; three – Philippines' windbreaker; four – textile. There were fingerprints on the drawings, the knife and the textile… the same fingerprints. "We know whose they are, Britain," Singapore said. "In any case..." Britain looked at Timor. "It all boils down to the fact that the criminal is you, Timor." these words greatly frightened Timor, although he'd expected this to happen. "All the fingerprints are yours. Moreover, considering that Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines refused to say who the culprit was, the answer becomes even more obvious. It's you, Timor, don't try to lie." Timor trembled. He was afraid to even say what had happened to him. But suddenly he saw Brunei covering him with his hand and turned his gaze to him. "He had emotional issues. He got angry at Indo, Phil, and Mal, but now he regrets it. I know he acted terribly, but it's better to let the victims make the decision." Britain looked down thoughtfully, then put his cap back on and said with understanding: "Let 'em decide. The question's still up to you. All the best." Britain left the apartment. Timor stood there for a few seconds, perplexed, but then turned to Brunei. "Brunei is right," Singapore said quietly. "Wha...? No, you can't talk about this so calmly!" Timor stepped back, dumbfounded, looking from Singapore to Brunei. "If we speak strictly, you'll be afraid, and there's no point in gettin' angry yet," Brunei said, a little confused but trying to remain calm. «No, they can't. It's all a lie, I'm sure of it! They're lying, they hate me, they're in cahoots. Something's wrong here!» "Timor, you can go to Indo's room," Singapore said, lowering his head and closing his eyes. "Yes. You need to come to your senses and rest. We'll sort this out tomorrow." Timor entered Indonesia's room and leaned against the door. He began to breathe nervously and his body began to shake. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was already at a loss. He felt ill again. He walked over to the nightstand and picked up a glass of water, then drank some from it. «What should I do now? Live in hidden hatred? They definitely hate me. What I did is unforgivable. I don't want them to abandon me, but... it seems they already have. They don't need me anymore. I'm a criminal to them. All they can do is secretly hate me, so as not to provoke me!» Ugh! I'mma bastard! Timor threw the glass aside. It shattered, and a puddle of water formed beneath the shards. Timor sat up on the bed, looking first at the shards, then down. The door to the room suddenly swung open. Timor screamed in fright, but then, seeing Indonesia had came, he was surprised. "Tim!" Indonesia smiled. He hugged Timor. "I thought the police'd taken you! I was so scared. I saw the police drive away from our house and I got scared." Timor struggled to accept Indonesia's embrace. He began to tremble, almost crying. Indonesia began to comfort him again. "Don't be afraid, brother, it's okay," said Indonesia. "Sorry I left, I wanted to calm down." "Everythin's f-fine," Timor stammered. Indonesia glanced at the shards of glass. Timor looked at them too, then looked away guiltily. "No need to get angry." Indonesia gently stroked Timor's back again. "You need to control yourself." Indonesia spoke calmly, but his words themselves seemed quite strange to Timor. «He's... he's afraid of me? Doesn't he want me to be angry? He's just comforting me, but in reality... doesn't even want to accept it?» His thoughts led him to the worst possible scenario. Every consolation and attempt to be calmer frightened him, and remembering that they didn’t want to give him away meant only one thing to him... something was wrong. Timor didn't feel the warmth of relief, but felt the cold of fear; he didn't feel the lightness of a good outcome, but felt the heaviness of confused thoughts. Timor closed his eyes. He was afraid to move away from Indonesia, as any sudden movements might frighten him or send him into a stupor. "Indo, Tim, come here for a minute," Philippine's voice came from the kitchen. "Okay," said Indonesia. "Let's go, Tim." The red-white one got out of bed and turned towards the door. Timor also got out of bed. He looked at Indonesia so uncertainly that it seemed like he was seeing him for the first time. Indonesia opened the door and let Timor out, then went out himself. This action by Indonesia further irritated Timor. Timor headed toward the kitchen. He felt an even stronger chill in his body and an even stronger heaviness somewhere inside. He touched the door handle, but then froze. He saw the silhouettes of the Philippines and Brunei through the translucent 'windows'. "You know, Indo would've come to the police station anyway. He's ready to fight for his brother!" the Philippines said. "It’s just… I’m still worried," Brunei said. Timor opened the door. Brunei flinched, and the Philippines remained calm, but both turned to face him. "You can go, Brunei," the Philippines said, closing his eyes. Brunei nodded silently and then left the kitchen. Timor sensed Brunei's uncertainty, it was clearly visible, and that made him even more uneasy. Timor felt as if he was going to his death sentence. "Why did you call us?" Indonesia placed his right hand on his hip, raising one eyebrow and smiling. "Guys, I think you should stick together," the Philippines said. "Together?!" Timor stepped back. "And if I accidentally kill him or... or… o-o-or…" the bieyed one suddenly drooped, almost losing the power of speech from excitement. "Tim, everything'll be fine." Indonesia placed his left hand on Timor's left shoulder, who looked at him with fear. "Indo has had a good influence on you. I think he'll find a way to control your anger," Philippine explained his position. "You sure Indo won't make things worse?" Timor glanced uncertainly at the sunny one. "What do you mean?" Indonesia asked. "What if I can't control myself? What if this all… ends badly?" tears welled up in Timor's eyes. "This will all end badly if you're left alone," Indonesia said, crossing his arms. Timor found a dark side to Indonesia's words. «Alone? He's afraid that if I'm alone, I'll kill someone? And Phil's afraid that I'll hurt him and Mal? He dumped everything on Indo's shoulders so that he could control me and... so that I couldn't show my anger? They just… they just want a quiet brother, I get it. They don't trust me…» Timor felt tears well up in his eyes as soon as he lowered his head. He stepped back, then left the kitchen, sensing Indonesia's worried gaze. «If I'll be with all of them, I'd just feel like I'm in prison! Maybe… if I stay with Brunei, I won’t be so scared?» Timor looked up at the door to Malaysia and the Philippines' room. «After all, if I live with one person, I won't be so nervous». Timor turned the corner of the hallway and saw Brunei at the front door. Timor ran up to him, despite his inner fear. "Bruno?" Brunei winced and dropped something from his hands. They were the keys. He looked at Timor with surprise and excitement. "Yes?" "I… I, um…" Timor looked uncertainly to his left. "If you want to apologize, don't. You already did." Brunei smiled weakly but tenderly. «To speak or not?» Timor looked down, confused inside. "Where are you goin'?" "I wanted to take a breather," Brunei said, turning back to the door. "I thought: 'I'll take a little walk.'" "Can I come with you?" Timor asked, not realizing anything. «Oh, what? What did I just say?!» "Yes, you can," Brunei replied. Brunei picked up the keys and then opened the door with them. Timor sighed. He put on his shoes and then crossed the threshold of the apartment, stepping out onto the stairwell.

***

It was already evening. The sky was already bluish, with a hint of purple and a hint of orange somewhere below, at the very horizon; the streetlights came on and the streets were illuminated with a not so dense, but good light; the space was cool, allowing for a respite from the daytime heat; Brunei walked beside Timor, saying something to him. He was calm and gentle, which Timor found suspicious, but at least pleasant. "B-Bruno?" Timor said quietly and uncertainly. "Hm?" Brunei looked questioningly at Timor, stopping. Timor also stopped and said: "I... I want to come to you. I'm afraid to see others." "Afraid? Oh, well, yeah..." Brunei looked away understandingly. "you almost killed Mal, Phil, and Indo." Timor placed his left hand on his right shoulder, feeling guilty. After what he'd done, all he could do was blame himself and be afraid. "I'll call Asean and tell him you're stayin' with me," Brunei said, taking his phone out of the pocket of his blue jeans. "Thank you, Bruno." Brunei selected the desired number and put the phone to his ear. After a few seconds of ringing, Asean's voice rang out: "Hello? Brunei, is everything okay?" "Yeah, everythin's fine." Brunei smiled for a few seconds. "I just wanted to let you know that Tim's stayin' with me. He's… afraid." "Oh... get it. I hope everything will be fine." "Me too." Timor lowered his head. He thought about Indonesia and the Philippines. The Philippines spoke of Indonesia being close to Timor, but even the good thoughts about that were outweighed by a sense of apprehension. "Okay, we can go," Brunei said, hanging up the phone. "Yes." Brunei took Timor's hand, but this time the younger one wasn't afraid or embarrassed to break free from his friend's gentle grip. Extra touches only finished him off, only brought on thoughts that all the tenderness, all the support and hope were fake, hiding fear and mistrust. Brunei didn't try to take Timor's hand again and just walked towards the right house, and Timor followed him, silently and with sadness on his face. Ten minutes later, they both reached the house. What followed could've been a routine, quick, and unremarkable climb up the elevator, but Timor, almost to the elevator doors, stopped. Brunei pressed the call button, then turned to Timor. He turned around, and at that moment, Timor began to back away. Timor walked to the stairs and then looked up at the stairwell on the next floor. "Tim, what's wrong?" Brunei asked. "I'll walk," Timor replied, already looking at Brunei. "You take the elevator." Brunei nodded hesitantly, and when the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside. Timor took the stairs. The walk proved difficult, but only because Timor was nervous. His body was unresponsive, and he felt sick and heavy inside. Timor struggled to the sixth floor. Brunei was waiting for him outside the apartment, and he'd time to think for a moment while he waited for his younger one. "Oh, you're up." Brunei smiled tenderly again. "Yes." Brunei inserted the key into the lock and turned it twice, then opened the door and entered the apartment. Timor followed, closing the door behind him. Brunei handed him the keys and he locked the door with the same two turns. Timor sighed and handed the keys back to Brunei. Timor took off his windbreaker and hung it on a hanger, and quickly took off his shoes, he went to the bathroom. He locked the door. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to break loose, but he didn't want to make Brunei worry. Timor simply turned on the water and, while washing his hands, tried to calm the hurricane within him. He splashed his face with cold water several times, trying not to burst into tears. When he felt a little better, he dried with a towel, took a deep breath and then exhaled, and only then left the bathroom. Brunei walked in after him, his sympathy palpable, but Timor ignored it. He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He placed his right hand on his head. «It can't be that simple... it can't be that perfect! Neither Singa nor Asean scolded me. Indo, Mal, and Phil are somehow calm, and Bruno isn't angry either for some reason. No, somethin's seriously wrong here!» Timor clutched his head. He let out a quiet moan, closing his eyes. "Tim, you okay?" Brunei asked, walking into the kitchen and standing next to Timor. "No," Timor answered, lowering his hands. "I feel bad, I’m scared." "I understand. Feelin' guilty is completely normal it's a good sign for me." Brunei placed his hand over his heart. "What?" Timor looked at Brunei in shock. "You see..." Brunei looked toward the window, collecting his thoughts. "If you're ashamed of what you did, then you have a conscience. If you have a conscience, then you have a soul." "How's this… supposed to comfort me?" "The soul is your angelic state. If you understand what's good and what's bad, then there's somethin' good in you." "But I'm a criminal!" "Tim... let's talk about this in more detail." Brunei moved the chair back a little and sat down. "You committed all three kidnappin's out of anger, right? You didn't realize you were doin' anythin' wrong, right?" "Yes. I thought it was the right decision. I me-ean..." Timor slowly placed his hands on his knees and looked down. "When I was comin' up with the plan to kidnap Indo and Mal, I convinced myself it was punishment. And Phil turned out to be a witness: he found 'em and it seemed to me it was in vain. I could've apologized before Phil was kidnapped, but... but I got angry... then again, this time at you. "And I'm afraid I'll slip up again and someone'll end up dyin'!" Timor closed his eyes in fear. "Tim, I understand everythin'," Brunei said. "You do?" Timor looked at Brunei with tears in his eyes. "You forgive me for all this?" "This will surprise you, but… yes." Brunei smiled again, yet again, but even more tenderly and friendly, looking warmly at his friend. "It was important to Indo that you calm down. He doesn't see you as a bad person, I know that, I see that. If you're not bad for him, then you're not bad for me either, especially since I clearly saw that you were sincerely afraid and that you were truly sorry when you apologized." "No... it can't be." Timor lowered his eyebrows. "It can. For me, it can." "But what about the others? Have they forgiven me for what I did? I can't live with the thought of the opposite." "I think we should wait. Be calmer, be kinder, and then even the police won't see you as a criminal." Brunei gently placed his right palm on Timor's head. Timor almost burst into tears. On the one hand, everything sounded sincere, kind and tender, but on the other, it felt so unreal, impossible, as if it were just a dream or a cliched movie. "Let me make some chamomile tea? Maybe it'll help," Brunei said. "Do it," Timor nodded. Brunei stood up from the table. He walked over to the kettle and turned it on, checking first that there was enough water. He picked up the box of tea bags and opened it. "Um... by the way, Tim." Brunei turned to Timor, who was trying to wipe away his tears. "Can you tell me what was in your nightmares? Now, as for me, there's no point in hidin'... their content, so to speak. It was as if a poisonous arrow had pierced Timor. All of his aforementioned nightmares were an attempt to justify his behavior. Timor understood that revealing these false nightmares would deeply hurt Brunei. However, the lies could no longer be kept secret, like some kind of classified material. "Bruno, you... just don't get angry." Timor began. He felt sick. He felt nauseous, cold, his heart ached, and his pulse quickened with a wave of excitement. "I wasn't havin' nightmares. I lied to you." Brunei's expression immediately changed. Instead of his usual excitement, he looked shocked, deeply shocked. His eyes widened, his pupils became smaller, and his body froze. Timor wasn't feeling any better. He actually didn't feel any better after confessing. He hung his head guiltily. The silence was broken by the click of the kettle. The water boiled. Brunei came to his senses and shook his head, then disappointment and indignation, tinged with sadness, appeared in his eyes. "Forgive me, Bruno. I was afraid to talk about kidnappin' Indo, Mala and Phil, so... so I used nightmares as an excuse. I-I know you were worried about me," Timor stood up from his chair. "and I was really ashamed that I deceived you." "I understand. But don't lie anymore." Brunei took the teapot by its black handle. He looked at Timor. "Sorry, I'm just a little shocked. I thought there was nothing left to be surprised about, but it turns out there is." "Uh-huh." "Wait a second, I'll be right back." Brunei walked out of the kitchen. As soon as the door closed, Timor fell to his knees. He began breathing loudly and rapidly, and warm tears gushed from his eyes, like blood from a wound. These tears fell onto the floor next to the hands on which Timor leaned, his whole body trembling. His eyes began to sting, and Timor closed them, hunching his shoulders. Tears flowed from his eyes even faster, a hot stream tormenting his already fragile consciousness. It was as if he was bleeding, but the blood was somewhere inside, not just in the blood vessels, but in his cut soul. Timor felt hot and nauseous. Brunei opened the kitchen door, and Timor winced, then turned to face the comer. Brunei looked at Timor with pain, tucking something behind his back. "Tim, I told you I forgive you. I know you still feel bad about what happened, but I'm not mad at you." Timor stood up. He ran to Brunei and hugged him. Brunei hugged him back, placing his right hand on his back. Timor cried a little louder, burying his face in the older one's orange sweater. Brunei didn't resist or get angry, letting Timor release his pain. Timor stayed close to Brunei for several minutes, trying to calm down, and when he did, he moved back with difficulty. He looked into Brunei's eyes, trying to find genuine emotion and kindness there. It was all there. Timor wiped away his tears and sat back down at the table. Brunei has returned to brewing tea. He took a chamomile tea bag and placed it in a green mug, then filled it with water. He didn't add sugar, but he did add other thing, then walked over to the table and placed the mug in front of Timor. "Thank you, Bruno," Timor said, who had been watching all this. He was about to take a sip of tea, but then put the mug back on the table and said, "Tell me honestly, did you add somethin' to it?" Brunei looked surprised and then guiltily looked away. He quietly, calmly, but honestly and briefly replied: "Yes." "If there's sleepin' pills or poison in there, then I deserve it," Timor said, angry with himself. "What?! Tim, no! There's a sedative in there. I don't want to lose you. What about Indo?!" Timor nodded silently and began drinking tea. The unsweetened, chamomile-infused tea tasted sour to Timor, but he drank it anyway. After that, he got up from the table, left the kitchen, and went to his room. Once there, he plopped down on his bed and, a few minutes later, fell asleep. But usually, severe stress leads to bad dreams. That's what happened with Timor. He dreamed that he was surrounded by those who trusted him. Singapore, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei and Asean stood, making a circle. They looked at Timor silently, their faces serious and their gaze stern. This greatly frightened Timor. He trembled, afraid to say anything. It seemed to him that the time had come to face the consequences of his crimes. "Indo, Mal?" Timor turned to the named ones. They remained silent. "Bruno?! Phil?!" the bieyed looked fearfully at Brunei and the Philippines. The first one looked away, and the second one narrowed his eyes, as if he was getting even more angry inside. The silence began to grate on his nerves. He slowly turned his head toward Singapore and Asean, who were also silently watching him. Timor began to tremble more intensely, almost with tears in his eyes. "Singa, Asean? Say something!" he shouted. "You're a monster," Indonesia muttered quietly. "You're a monster, Timor!" Malaysia shouted. "Trusting you... was a fatal mistake," Singapore said, lowering his head. "N-No, no!" Timor panicked. "I didn't mean to..." "But you did," the Philippines said quietly and dryly. "That means you meant to, you knew what you were doing." "Wake up..." Brunei turned away. "understand, your actions are indefensible." "People go crazy alone, and you'll be alone too," Asean said. "It's dangerous to be with you." "Please forgive me!" Timor looked around. "I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to! It wasn't me!" "So are we," Indonesia said. "It's not us." Timor covered his ears. He began to cry quietly. He heard muffled voices and even unfamiliar whispers. His legs trembled and gave way, and then he fell to his knees with a soft groan. And then he felt himself falling. He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly with a loud sigh, clutching the blanket with his hands. It was dark all around. Outside the window, the sky was already dark, with scattered stars. Timor felt the reality, realized that he was in his room and that what he saw was just a nightmare. But Timor was afraid to fall asleep alone again. He got out of bed and walked out of the room through the darkness. He approached Brunei's door and stood there for a few seconds. He tugged the handle hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't be thrown out, and opened the door. Brunei was asleep, evident by his still body and quiet sighs. Timor took a step forward, trying to see anything else. "Bruno?" Brunei heard everything from the first time and quietly rose. It seemed like he had just fallen asleep, which is why he reacted so well. "Tim? Somethin' happen?" Brunei asked. "I had a nightmare," the younger one replied. In the darkness, Timor immediately saw the bewilderment on Brunei's face. It's a coincidence that Timor had a nightmare just after he confessed to having faked nightmares. Timor immediately realized that this was what had surprised Brunei. "This time I really had." Brunei was silent for a few seconds, then sighed and said: "Come here." Timor approached the bed hesitantly. He sat down next to Brunei. Brunei got out of bed and walked over to the desk. He turned on the bedside lamp, which glowed orange. This made Timor feel some comfort, as the darkness was no longer so overwhelming. Brunei came back and hugged Timor tenderly, holding him close. Timor sobbed, then again, and then began to cry silently and quietly, holding his breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his heart began to beat faster. Timor closed his eyes, finding it difficult to breathe through the tears and the lump in his throat. Timor's shoulders began to shake, and he began to sob softly again. Brunei turned him to face him, causing the younger one to flinch and cower. Brunei looked into his wet eyes with sympathy and after a few seconds began to gently wipe away his tears with his fingers. Timor was surprised, but he couldn’t show it in any way, and he just wanted to calm down. He felt awkward, almost ashamed, because he'd given in to tears again and couldn't hold it back. Brunei thought otherwise, but Timor didn't know that. The tenderness and warmth finally helped Timor relax. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, and Brunei breathed a sigh of relief and soon fell asleep as well. The sky slowly brightened with each passing hour – the sun slowly rose above the horizon, and the rooms became brighter. One such hour, when morning was just breaking, Timor opened his eyes. He himself couldn't understand why he'd woken up. He turned his gaze towards the window. Behind it a blue-yellow sky was visible, and the sun was somewhere lower and couldn't be seen. Timor carefully pulled away from Brunei. Brunei didn't wake up, but he sighed quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. Timor got out of bed and looked around. Moments from the previous day flashed through his mind. The stress he'd experienced had taken a significant toll on Timor. Timor went to the bathroom. He washed up and went to the kitchen, where his tired, sad gaze fell on the knife lying on the cutting board. Timor's imagination began to play tricks on him again, but this time against him. Images flashed through his mind of Timor killing himself with a knife or simply cutting his own hands. Timor was dumbfounded. He looked at the knife with fear, trying not to think about suicide, but then he walked over and took it in his right hand. «I must... be punished. They won't say they hate me anyway.» Timor rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and held the knife to it. He sighed and made a sharp cut. Pain instantly shot through his body, and Timor hissed. He stepped back, nearly dropping the knife, and looked at the cut. The cut was severe enough that it started bleeding. The blood brought back those disturbing memories of Timor abusing MaPhilindo. He developed a nervous tic. He chuckled softly as a tear from his right eye slowly ran down his cheek. He twirled the knife in his hand, then caused another cut. More cuts followed, and the pain worsened. Timor groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut, but continued anyway. He did about ten cute, then was distracted by footsteps. Timor, panicked, put the knife behind his back. The door opened. "There you are," Brunei said. "I was already scared." Timor didn't know what to say. He looked to his left, wondering how he would justify himself. Brunei noticed that Timor wasn't just nervous, but was also hiding something behind his back. He didn't see it was a knife, but he guessed anyway. "Tim... put the knife away." Timor looked down guiltily. Still holding the knife behind his back, he wiped the barely visible blood from it with his fingers. He removed his hands from behind his back and showed the knife to Brunei. "I hope it's not what I thought," Brunei said, a little worried. "No, I didn't mean to kill you," Timor said fearfully. Brunei sighed. He left the kitchen and went to the bathroom. Timor put the knife away and straightened his sleeve to hide the paresis. Timor was a little horrified at himself. «What's wrong with me? No... this is wrong! Or right? I haven't suffered for what I did. But I should've...» Timor looked at his hands with a serious face. He took the knife again and, while Brunei wasn't looking, made several cuts on his left hand. He tried to hold back his loud breathing and the tears that were quickly flowing. Hearing Brunei head toward the kitchen, he wiped the blood from the knife and put it away. "Tim, how're you feelin'?" Brunei asked. "I... I'm still nervous," Timor replied, slowly turning to Brunei with tears in his eyes. Brunei covered his mouth with his hands. Timor began wiping away tears, closing his eyes. He was already tired of suffering. "Tim, little one..." Brunei approached Timor and hugged him. "Don't cry. Everything is fine." Everything is fine… «Lyin'! Nothin's good. Everythin's terrible!» Timor thought, letting out tears. Brunei patted him on the back. «No… no, I shouldn't live like this. I shouldn't live at all! It's easier to die painfully…» "Maybe... we should go to Indo? He'll help you." "No! I don't want to see anyone. I'm scared, Bruno." "I get it. When you're ready, tell me."

***

Night fell. Timor left his room and walked confidently into the kitchen. Right in the dark, he approached the stove and picked up a knife. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm again and began cutting into his skin. Sometimes there were just scratches, and sometimes there were deep enough wounds that caused pain. Timor hissed quietly, but continued as his hand bled. Timor suddenly stopped. His right hand was free of scratches and cuts. This could've stopped Timor from committing suicide, as his right hand looked much more alive and beautiful than his left, but Timor became angry. He shifted the knife to his other hand and pulled up the sleeve on his right hand. One, two, three, four, five, and so on until the knife fell from Timor's hand in pain. Timor knelt down and looked at his hands. Scarlet, warm blood dripped onto the cold floor. Timor sobbed, coming out of his rage. He stood up and covered his hands with his sleeves. He felt scared. Cold and trembling ran through his body, and his stomach ached. Timor walked with difficulty to the table and took a napkin, after which he wiped the blood from the floor. «It hurts... but I got what I deserved, right?» Timor looked towards the kitchen exit. «If I had blades, I would've finished this faster.» Timor thought for a moment. He suddenly remembered his nightmare. The hatred he had suspected was confirmed by his nightmare. Timor stared into space, filling with emptiness. He stepped back, then left the kitchen and went to his room. He picked up his phone and turned it on. He felt the urge to go to the gallery and look at photos with others, and when he did and started looking, he was overcome with anger again. «You ruined your life, Tim! You made others hate you or fear you to death. You made 'em deceive you. They're afraid to say that they don’t need you anymore, that they're only holdin' you and your anger!» Timor turned off his phone. The light from the screen faded, and the room was completely dark. Timor put the phone under the pillow and went to bed. Timor didn't stop torturing himself. Every night, or when Brunei wasn't home, he'd take a knife and cripple his hands. He'd also brush off Brunei's requests to go to Indonesia and talk to him. Where there's Indonesia, there's also Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore and Asean. The more people there were, the more Timor feared he'd simply go insane rather than die. He needed to die in a quiet pool, where there was nothing but evil. This masochism lasted exactly two weeks, and during this time Timor's hands were seriously damaged, but there were no infections, major blood loss, or anything else, which only drove Timor even more insane. But every secret comes to light. As with crime, masochism was bound to be uncovered. It was an ordinary day, but there were dark clouds outside the window. "Tim, I think you should talk to them," Brunei said, sitting next to Timor. "No. I'm scared, Bruno! I don't want to go anywhere." Timor sat aside. "Tim, Indo really wants to see you." "And why's he so insistent-" "Because you're his brother. Besides, you need more support." "Maybe..." "You need to make sure of that. Come with me." Brunei bent his right arm. "No." Timor closed his eyes. «Although... maybe it's worth it? Brunei'll continue to ask me» "I understand you're afraid, but believe me, you don't need to." Brunei lowered his hand. "Indo, Mal, and Phil forgave you long ago. Besides, if they haven't forgiven you, why do they want to see you?" "Logic." Timor sighed immediately afterward and added briefly, "Okay, I'll go." "Great. Then let's go." Brunei smiled. Timor got out of bed. He walked over to the closet and opened it. His gaze fell on a yellow sweatshirt with white stripes at the bottom. He took it. "Oh," Brunei also stood up in surprise. "I forgot that it existin'. But I think it'd suit you." he smiled. Timor looked at Brunei, then at the sweatshirt, then placed it on the bed. "Y-You can go," Timor said, knowing that removing his jacket could reveal suicidal intent. "Wait for me by the door." "Okay?" Brunei looked at Timor uncertainly. Brunei left, and Timor took off his burgundy sweater and folded it on the bed. Then he took his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. He liked it, of course! But he couldn't enjoy it because of his thoughts. Timor didn't change anything else, keeping his black pants and gray socks. He left the room and headed toward the bathroom to comb his hair. Having done this, he approached the front door. Brunei looked at him with a certain agitation, as if guessing something. Timor tried to deflect any suspicion with all his appearance, even though he didn't know how to do it properly. Still, he left the apartment with Brunei and walked with him to the elevator. The usual, banal journey to a familiar house, where very good people live, but Timor felt the whole way that he was going to prison, and not to visit. When he was already in front of the door, and Brunei rang the doorbell, the 'ground' disappeared under the feet and Timor almost fell to his knees. Indonesia opened the door with a slightly sad face, as if he didn’t have any hope for anything good, but upon seeing Timor, he immediately 'flooded with color': his gaze became more lively, and his posture straighter. Indonesia smiled and gave Timor a quick hug, saying, "You've finally come!" "I told you so, Tim. He really wanted to see you," Brunei said. Timor didn't know what to say. He hugged Indonesia back, and when Indonesia slowly pulled away and let him in, he thought: «He wanted to see me. But why didn't he come then? He didn't want to? He was afraid of me? It's not seen… he needs me…» Timor became sad, but then became angry. «oh, who needs me?! It's obvious that everyone's afraid of me! I just need to disappear and they'll breathe a sigh of relief!» Timor ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He carefully washed his hands, avoiding any water on his wounds, and then looked at his reflection. He swung his left hand, his gaze almost wild, his fist clenched. He was about to strike, but was stopped by another thought that this wasn't his apartment. He sighed and then looked around. There were scissors lying on the washing machine, but this didn't faze Timor, who instead picked them up and held them to his right eye. He wanted to simply pierce, tear out, and throw away the eye that had caused so much trouble. But even then he stopped, realizing that would only make things worse, even though he wanted to die. It was still early. He put the scissors away and walked out of the bathroom, unlocking the door. He went into the kitchen. In the kitchen were Singapore and Malaysia. "Oh, he showed up." Malaysia rested his head on his right hand. "I thought you'd run away from us." «What? They wanted to do somethin' to me? Kill me?!» "Don't be so afraid, Timor. He means that your abrupt departure felt like you abandoned us," Singapore said calmly, picking up a mug of coffee. "I see." Timor lowered his head. "You wouldn't believe how much I've been waiting for you to come back," Indonesia said, hugging Timor from behind. "I thought you were afraid to see us, so I just waited. I'm sorry if I made you think I abandoned you." "It's fine." Timor's sadness deepened. "Timor, I think something's wrong with you," said Singapore. "Wow, you're Sherlock!" Timor looked at Singapore with irritation. "Turn off the smart person mode." Singapore remained silent, remaining calm, but it was clear from his eyes that he was a little shocked. "He's right, actually, Tim. You look kind of sad," Malaysia said. "I understand it's 'cause of what you did, but you don't have to be sad." "Mal," Indonesia sighed. "you don't know his mentality... even I don't fully understand it." "That's okay," Singapore said. "We have time to change," said the Philippines, who had entered the kitchen. Indonesia and Timor turned around, while Malaysia and Singapore simply looked to the Philippines. "Time heals," the sunny one closed his eyes. "Tim can recover, especially if Indo is by his side." "Yes, he understands him better than anyone else," Malaysia said, looking to the right. «No... no... why are they so kind? Are they really afraid to say outright that they're trying not to provoke me?» Timor thought, looking to the left and turning his head slightly in the same direction. "We have a lot to talk about, Tim," Indonesia said, turning to Timor with a gentle smile on his face. "Maybe… not today?" Timor said quietly. "Then you can stay the night and we'll talk tomorrow." Indonesia's smile widened. Timor merely nodded. For him, this was his last day.

***

Timor wasn't sleeping, he was just pretending to. He made sure Indonesia was fast asleep. The bicolor one was there all day, trying to lift his brother's spirits, even though he saw that nothing was working. Timor was surprised by this, but he could no longer show his emotions in any way. He quietly climbed out of the red sleeping bag that Indonesia had taken out especially for the night and that had long served as Timor's sleeping place. Timor left the room, trying to act quietly. Timor walked confidently into the kitchen, thinking of nothing but suicide. He walked in and went to the slab, took a knife and sat on the floor, leaning against the closed oven, then rolled up both sleeves. Indonesia woke up at that moment. He sat up with a sleepy look, trying to figure out what'd woken him up. He looked to the side and saw that the sleeping bag was empty – Timor was gone. The red-white one didn't attach any importance to this at the time, although he was a little worried. He got out of bed and stood in front of the window, then pulled back the curtains, allowing a very faint light to enter the room. The sky had brightened a little, it wasn’t as dark, but the room was still not as light as it had been in the morning. Indonesia stood in front of the window, hands behind his back, for a few seconds, then felt a dry mouth. He had to leave the room. Indonesia quietly opened the door, thinking not only about water, but also about Timor. The younger one still hadn't returned. Indonesia headed toward the kitchen. He turned right, took a few steps and was about to open the door, but he smelled a faint smell of blood. A shock immediately went through him, and his heart began to beat a little faster. In the poor light, he saw that the door was slightly open, and quietly opened the door wider, stepping inside the kitchen. He looked to the left, toward the slab. He saw Timor, a knife in his hands, and bloody cuts from his wrist to almost the crook of his arm. Indonesia couldn't believe what he saw. Timor didn't notice how Indonesia ended up in the kitchen and was about to get another cut on his right hand, but as soon as he touched his hand with the blade of the knife, Indonesia loudly shouted his name, causing him to drop the knife in fright. Timor looked up at Indonesia, who was already standing directly above him. Indonesia sat down in front of his younger brother and began examining his battered hands. Timor trembled in fear. "Tim... Tim, why...?! Why are you doin' this?! Have you forgotten what I told you?" Indonesia didn't know what to say and kept shouting, but he definitely said that last part confidently and deliberately. He meant what he said about needing Timor and not wanting to lose him. "You're... you're worried about me? Don't you secretly hate me?" Timor asked, barely holding back tears. "What? You thought I hated you?!" "W-Well... w-what I did is unforgivable. I-I almost k-killed you, Phil, and Mal. They c-couldn't forgive me for th-that! I'm insane!" "Tim, no! I forgave you 'cause it's not your fault you wanted to torture. I know who you are, Tim!" Indonesia could barely hold back his tears. It was painful to see someone I loved slowly trying to die. "You're my brother, you're a kind person. You were able to change back, which means to me you're no longer a criminal." "Indo, I... I..." Timor was almost speechless. Suddenly, he felt pain in his hands due to the paresis. "Mh! Ow! Hands!" Timor looked down at his bloodied hands, starting to tremble. "Let's go to my room. I'll help you." Indonesia helped Timor up. He grabbed Timor's wrist, but Timor screamed and pulled his hand away. Automatically he grabbed the sore spot, but it became even more painful, causing him to scream again. Indonesia was confused. He looked down at his brother's hands, then gently took his palm and led him to his room. He turned on the light as he stepped inside. "Sit on the bed, I'll be back!" Indonesia left the room, and Timor walked over to the bed and sat down. He looked at the floor. There were small drops of blood on it, dripping from his hands. Timor lowered his gaze with a quiet sigh, barely holding back tears. Indonesia returned to the room with a first aid kit in hand. He sat down next to Timor. He opened the kit, pulled out bandages, and began wrapping them around Timor's arms. From the very first seconds, Timor quietly groaned in pain, turning away. "It's okay, it's okay. Wait for a little while," Indonesia said solicitously. Indonesia finished with one hand and began the other. Timor tried to hold back his sobs and groans. His body was shaking, but he tried to control himself. When Indonesia finished, Timor looked at him with tears of pain in his eyes. Indonesia hugged him and stroked his head. "You're holding up well. Well done." The red-white one smiled tenderly. "Thank you… thank you for help." Timor closed his eyes. "You're welcome. Just don't try to kill yourself again." Timor nodded. Indonesia had pushed him away, but not for long. He got out of bed and turned on the nightlight, which stood on the desk next to the bed. The orange light flickered on, and when Indonesia turned off the room's light, it grew even brighter. Indonesia sat back down on the bed next to Timor, then hugged him. Timor pressed himself against him, not daring to say anything. Indonesia grabbed a blanket and covered himself and his brother for extra warmth. Timor closed his eyes and began to think about how to fall asleep while thinking about what had happened. He attempted assassination, which was a crime, he attempted suicide, which was a terrible decision. What would he do next? Timor began to cry quietly. "Shhhh..." Indonesia ran his right hand over Timor's head. "I understand that you're in a big pain, but just know that I'll always be here. Think about that, not about what you did. It's in the past for me personally." Timor couldn't believe that the victim of his sadism had forgiven him, tried to support him emotionally, and even talked him out of suicide. But why? It was too early for Timor to know the answer to that question. Suddenly, Timor's silence and reflection were interrupted by Indonesia's voice. And it wasn’t just a monologue, it was a lullaby, as evidenced by the quiet, gentle, and musical intonation of Indonesia’s voice: "Fear not, little one, I'm always with you. Don't blame yourself, brother, all's behind. You have a chance to change tonight. Just fear not, all will be behind. I forgive, you're not a foe. Your mistake deeply is gone, and you stayed in the light. Say «no» to the fright." Timor felt lighter and even wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes and quickly began to drift off to sleep. Indonesia didn't let go of him, didn't change his position, didn't move abruptly, showing him he didn't want to lose him. Relieved, both brothers fell asleep in the light of the nightlight.