𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬《 Philippines CountryHumans AU 》

xxxi.

TW // Mentioned Suicide, Descriptions of Gore.

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He heaves, knuckles split, hand bloody, joints aching. How was he even able to bleed inside his mind? How was he able to feel pain? He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know.

He reels his fist, before punching the wall once more. It barely does anything. At least he had some progress. He stares at his bloody fist, somehow still not bashed in. His tired eyes, heterochromatic colors not as bright as it were before, travels to the cracks on the glass.

It's huge.

He'd made such a large wall of glass crack beneath his never-ending punches, yet somehow, it's not broken. How long? How much more was he supposed to do this in order to break free of the confines of his own mind?

He wants to be with someone. To be with someone other than himself. He needs company. He needs touch. He hasn't felt touch in so long. He needs a hug. He wants to be evenloped in warmth and feel safe and loved.

He reels his fist in, tired, and he punches the glass.

Philip doesn't feel the glass in front of him shatter into a million shards, doesn't feel the flying pieces scratch his body. Instead, he falls forward, into the sea of broken glass.

It digs into his skin, and he looks at his broken reflection. Somehow, the glass turned into a mirror. He sees himself, bloody, exhausted, unmoving.

Why was he punching the glass in the first place again?

Oh, that's right. He wants to escape this place.

Even after a thousand years, he's still fighting for his freedom, still wanting to be as free as those clouds that he'd seen as he flies on the plane with Martial.

Ah, Martial...

He misses him.

Philip's hands, calloused and almost disfigured, reaches out, before a huge wave consumes him.

It isn't scary. It's quite warm.

He really misses Martial.

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Philip, somehow, barely manages to squeeze oxygen into his lungs. Was this what breathing feels like? It feels amazing to breathe. But he can barely do that, because something is blocking his nose.

Ew, is that mucus?

Only now does he realize how cold it was. His eyes were closed, why were they closed?

It's cold, it's so cold.

"Doc? DOC?! HE MOVED HIS HAND!!"

Philip winces at the sound, registering a pair of hands letting go of his arm. Who was screaming? He's so sleepy, yet so awake. He's been in that goddamn void for so long, an infinite dream that felt like an eternity of nightmares.

His back hurts. It's so painful. Why hasn't he moves in so long? The smell of sterilizers and rubber gloves enters his nose. He nearly gags.

It stinks. He wants to leave.

But he can't move, can't see; how was he going to leave this hospital?

Hospital.

That's right. He was in a hospital. But why? Why was he in a hospital? Did the Second Philip really die? Was that why it was so quiet?