You could sense the many pairs of eyes on you as you tugged up your long sleeve, revealing dozens of cuts and scars made by the little, sharp thing hidden in your bathroom. Several people gasped, but other than that, the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. You didn’t dare look up, even though so many people stared at you, wide-eyed.



“What did you do to yourself?” a quiet voice asked, while a soft hand tilted your chin up to face them. Your eyes met a startling pair of violet eyes, looking into yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to. Tears welled up, but being as strong-willed as you were, you refused to let them slip out.



“Nothing, Matthew.”



“This obviously isn't nothing,” another voice added. Alfred came into your view. His hands were shaking almost as hard as you were, but you could sense that it was more out of worry that anger. His cerulean eyes burned with a passion that you hadn’t seen ever before, and just like Canada's, they burned into yours.



“Definitely not, Sunflower.”


“How could you say that it’s nothing?”


“It’s important, (f/n).”


“Yeah…”


“Why would you even want to do this in the first place?”


“You’re important.”


“(F/n)…”


“(F/n)…”


“(F/n).”


“(F/n)?”


You were overwhelmed by the surge of emotion and collapsed into desperate sobbing. Tears flew from your eyes like rivers. You could feel yourself being surrounded by all the people that had bothered to show up for this little ‘intervention’. Many pairs of arms wrapped themselves around you and sweet nothings were whispered all around you.



“We love you.”


“You’re important.”


“You’re beautiful.”


“You’re not alone anymore.”


“We’ll be there for you.”


“Never give up.”


“You’re needed.”


“We care for you.”


“We want you here with us.”


“Don’t give up.”


“We’ll be there for you.”



It seemed like you couldn’t cry anymore. You had sat there, crying for what seemed like hours, surrounded by all the people that claimed that you were family, that they loved you, that you were loved. Your frantic gasps for breath between your cries were calmed and soothed by the supporting hands at your back, your tear-streaked face dried by the comfort of another, your cuts lovingly wrapped by the hands of a friend that promised to be there, no matter what.




Slowly, you stood up, shaking slightly as you put all of your weight on your feet for the first time in almost an hour. Warm hands kept you standing as someone lead you to the old, battered couch in the living room. You plopped down, immediately trying to wrap your arms around yourself. However, before that could happen, strong yet gentle hands stopped you.
“I have an idea,” Prussia muttered, running off to the kitchen.



He came back a few minutes later, carrying dozens of markers and pens with him. The colors ranged from blue to red, from yellow to brown, from purple to orange. Prussia handed one to all the people present and stood in front of you when he had finished. “Hold out your arm.”




You did as he said, and a few seconds of him drawing something unseen on your arm, Prussia released his grip on your wrist and gestured to your arm. Upon it, a single, blue butterfly was drawn.




“I heard of this thing. It’s called The Butterfly Project. When you feel like you want to cut again, you are supposed to draw a butterfly on your arm. It represents a person that cares about you and wants you to get better.




“You are not allowed to wash it off, you hear me? It has to go away naturally. No exceptions. And you are not allowed to cut. You come to any of us if you ever have the urge. If you cut while the butterfly is still on you, you killed it.”



“Killed it?”



“Not really killed it, Italy. It’s not alive.”



“Oh.”



“So, anyway, we’re all going to draw one for you on your arm. I made sure to get different colors so you can tell which person made each one.”



First to come up was Canada with a bright purple marker. “Same color as my eyes, huh?”



Next, America, with a vibrant red marker. “Just like the stripes on my flag!”



Germany came up with an orange marker. “You can remember that it’s mine because of my flag, right?”



France, with a pink marker. “Love. That’s all you need to know about pink.”



Italy and Romano were next with a green marker for the both of them. “Our flag. Remember that.” “Yeah! And it’s like basil on top of pasta!”



Russia smiled as he pulled out a yellow marker. “The same color as a sunflower.”



China drew on your arm with a dark red. “Red is the color for good luck, aru.”



Japan carried a grey marker with him. “Grey is calm, right? Think of me when you see grey.”



England drew a bright green butterfly near your hand. “It’s just like my eyes. And like flying mint bunny.”



“Yeah, okay, England.”



“Hey!”



Everyone stood in front of you, still holding their colored markers. Everyone smiled, some sadly, some reassuringly, some happily. “Now, remember that you’ll never be alone with us around.”



“Nope.”


“You can’t ditch us!”


“Try as you might, we won’t leave.”


“We’re going to help you through this.”


“We’ll be there for you.”


“Never gonna give you up~!”


"Oh god, don't sing, America."


"Wow, England. Just wow."


"Shut it, you two."


"Yeah!"


“We’ll stand by you side.”




“Always.”