Lee Byunghun was scarred beneath that seemingly flawless exterior.

He felt the rough edges of the box with his fingers, every bump here and there a reminder of the darkest parts of his life.

Musically talented and undeniably intelligent, he was the envy of many who watched as he made the strings his best friends, and the pen his most powerful weapon. It seemed that he was also blessed with a mesmerizing face, but no one noticed how his eyes told chilling stories that no one wanted to know.

Then again, it was precisely because no one wanted to know.

Lee Byunghun was scarred, invariably scarred.

Not physically, but there was an indelible scar inside of him that burned and made him scream whenever someone tore it open forcefully.

He was afraid. He was insecure. He was alone.

He hated being in a crowd. Everyone seemed to love him, yet no one truly did. The worst feeling, he had once written down on a corner of his foolscap which he later threw away into that box, that precious box, was to be emotionally alone in a mass of physical beings, physical beings who breathed and felt just like he did, and yet was unable to feel his pain.

What’s the point of living, he stabbed his pen onto his paper, when you feel like an extra object in this universe?

Lee Byunghun didn’t want to cover up that scar anymore.

He tossed his pen into the box, his final deed done.

Tomorrow would be a better day.

He smiled, and sealed up the box with a satisfactory look on his weary face. There would be no regrets.

No.

Lee Byunghun does not regret.