[trigger warning]

everything hurts.

the world has faded away into a blur of noise and colour and things that he's too weak to bother paying attention to. the tears well up in every corner of his eyes and yet refuse to fall, clouding his vision almost mockingly like a constant reminder of his fragility. his throat is rough, dry, and he swallows thickly, trying to drown away these accursed emotions that rise up higher and higher, like a wave threatening to crash over his head and suffocate him in its grasp. 

everything is hollow.

everything means nothing.

his hand reaches out; his fingers claw around desperately, and settle only once they come into contact with skin. he feels thick liquid leak onto his palm, and his body trembles just a bit harder at the familiar sensation of fresh blood.

his vision blurs a little more, and from some fogged, hazy part of his mind, he's aware that it's not just his tears.

before he succumbs, he clutches at his skin just a little tighter, and realises that he's subconsciously gripping the black ink etched onto his wrist.

a small smile crosses his face. he barely has the energy to curve his lips upwards.

soon, i will be okay.

his fingers trace the mark.

lovingly.

longingly.

sorrowfully.

he stares at the fresh red marks on his wrist, and he feels a plethora of emotions he doesn't know how to describe bubbling inside of him all at once. he doesn't know when it happened - some odd time before dawn came. he awoke at seven in the morning to see red.

across both wrists. across the black ink that he had painstakingly injected into his skin.

the evening is approaching. so far, no new marks have appeared.

you're worth it.

ing hell...

he feels useless.

the frustration wells up thick as he stares at his wrists, knowing that out there somewhere there's a man hurting so deeply - and yet knowing that he can't do anything to help it.

the regret hangs off him like a crushing weight, pressing against his lungs and rendering him incapable of inhaling fresh air fully. 

i'm sorry that this is all i can do.

i'm sorry that i'm continuing to live my life while you're suffering like this.

at eight in the evening, after dinner, kim heechul absentmindedly traces his wrist with a finger.

it's almost as if the moment were frozen in time; the world stills for a moment, and all he can hear is his heart pulsing in his ears, louder and faster with every solitary beat, and then he can feel panic and anxiety and horror and sorrow and hope crashing upon him all at once, sharper than the tip of blades and stronger than the hardest ore and more overwhelming than being pushed a thousand metres below the surface of the sea.

he doesn't notice that his entire body is trembling until he raises his hands and sees the way they're shaking. he doesn't realise how hard he's crying until the tears begin to slide down his cheeks cold and harsh. he isn't aware of how much it hurts until his heartstrings rip in his chest and it feels like his heart is suspended in some form of static illusion; stone cold, stiller than frozen water in his chest, and yet pumping out the blood that roars in his ears.

his wrists are beautiful.

the words glare back up at him.

you're worth it.

they're pure, freed of the ugly red scars that criss-crossed it.

he can't move.

he doesn't know how to react.

he can't possibly react.

he runs his hands over his wrists, almost desperately, and he is sickeningly aware that this isn't some form of ghastly hallucination.

he allows himself to crumble.

soulmates are bull.

because how cruel must fate be, to designate someone as the person that you are meant to fall in love with - before ripping them away from you, so abruptly and so silently? how cruel must fate be, to allow him, to cause him to fall in love with some stranger he doesn't even know, and then take that stranger away from him before they even got the chance to see each others' faces?

he never thought it would hurt this much.

he never thought it could hurt this much.

bull, his mind cries over and over, as if trying to tug him away from the harsh reality. bull. soulmates are bull.

but he has a soulmate.

a real person.

he had a soulmate.

all the missed opportunities, things that will forever haunt him.

he can imagine all the things they told him he'd be able to do with his soulmate.

go for coffee dates on weekends. stroll along the streets without anything to actually do. small talk here and there, basking in the comfortability of one another.

all he wanted to do was see his soulmate's face, really.

all he wanted to do was meet park jungsoo.

talk to him properly.

know who his soulmate was.

but now, he's gone.