The moment he was diagnosed with schizophrenia was a moment Shiro would never forget. Not because of his grandmother's tears or the look of pain that flashed across his grandfather's face, but because of the hands on him. He knew subconsciously that they weren't there. Despite the repeated attempts of soothing himself, Shiro kept itching at his thighs. He felt like small, maggot-like aliens were crawling in his skin. Burrowing through the muscles and laying their eggs in his bones.

His grandfather held his wrist tightly, squeezing it to try and stop the 15 year old from creating blood filled craters in his thighs. Shiro bit his lip and tried to listen as the doctor explained what could be done. All these medications to treat his condition, to make it more manageable.

Shiro wasn't sure if there was a doctor in the room he didn't know about, or if the voice was from his mind.

They're eating at you. They're gonna burst through your skin. Get them out, get them out!

If he had been told at 15 that he would be in therapy and having daily freak outs over the claws in the walls- he wouldn't have been surprised. After all, they had been there from the tender age of 13 and he had still not gotten used to the constant fear, the anxiety, and the crushing emotions that came with his condition.

Shiro took the bus home from the therapy session. He got off at the right stop, and tried to ignore his trembling body. He squinted in an effort not to tear his thighs apart, slicing pieces of himself off to try and find what was in his body. He shuddered as the all-to-familiar feeling of the bugs, which he came to call them demons, swirled under his skin.

He reached for the door handle of his small house and tried to regain his breath. Every noise was too loud, and his mind was screaming. Something in the back of his mind was screeching like a banshee.

When he opened the door, the scent of coffee greeted him. The coffee aroma filled the air, the smell of the stale drink was used to ground him. He had left his cup on the table in the morning, right after his daily check over his body.

He found nothing. He let out a shaky breath, circling his thumb over the ring of his mug.

He had found nothing in him, or on him. Just like he found nothing in Adam's bathroom drawer. The demons must have disappeared momentarily. The demons were similar to Adam, Shiro mused.

Both disappeared from him.

But only one is coming back the voice in his head hissed at him. This voice was different from the screaming. It was calm and sinister. Shiro briefly considered giving the voices names, but decided against it. Them having names would make them more real than they already were.

If they were real, Shiro decided, they'd already have my body torn apart by their larva.

He chuckled at the thought. His small laugh filling the deafening silence of his home. He turned to the living room, the open floor plan had it to where the couch laid in the back of the counter.

He had left the heater on. The small metal contraption shaking with effort, spewing warm air out.

Shiro picked up his mug, the itching was back. Except this time it wasn't in his thighs. Shiro had to stop himself from bursting into tears, the itching had moved.

They're coming for your brain the voice sneered.

Shiro dropped his mug. It spilled on the grey carpet, chipping and shattering as it came into contact. His carpet was thin, barely softening any impact that would come to his mug if it had just been dropped on the concrete below.

He stated at the mug. It was cracked on one side now, the handle was a few inches away from the rest of the cup. His right hand shook as he stared at the remains. He made no move to get it, merely stepping over it to sit in the couch. When he was sitting, he looked at his thighs.

Something under his skin moved.

Shiro couldn't remember when he stopped crying and started screaming.