why? // ateez au

his goodbye.

TW: s/h, suicide

Nothing seems worth it anymore. What is the point of living each day, carrying this burden on my shoulders, when it feels as though there is no reason for me to be alive?

San, bless his compassionate heart, constantly tells me, "Yunho would've wanted you to live." But Yunho is gone, forever out of my reach, and since his death, I've found myself trapped in an endless cycle of pain and suffering. The pain is unrelenting, a constant reminder of what I have lost.

I yearn for him with every fiber of my being. The question torments me relentlessly, echoing in the depths of my soul, "Is it worth being here if he isn't?" Yunho was a beacon of light in my life, a source of boundless joy and unwavering support. For six precious years, he never left my side, always ready to lift my spirits. But then, Wooyoung snatched him away from me, turning my world upside down and sending it spiraling into chaos.

Some might say I was overly dependent on Yunho, but he was more than just a companion to me. He was the only person who made me feel seen and accepted in a world that often left me feeling isolated. He was my family, the sole connection I had left. Now, I find myself drowning once again, just as I did years ago before I found Yunho. The familiar feelings of unease, anxiety, and weariness envelop me, except this time, I know I will be navigating this darkness alone.

Sure, San visits me frequently, but as painful as it is to admit, he doesn't offer the same comfort as Yunho did. San comes and goes, whereas Yunho always stayed, unwavering in his commitment to our friendship. I want to escape this unbearable pain, this overwhelming void that engulfs me. I long to be reunited with Yunho, to find comfort in his presence once more.

I want to stay with Yunho. 

The sink bowl bears witness to my pain, staining with the deep hue of red. The burning sensation is all too familiar as I drag the blade across my skin, inching closer and closer to what I believe will be my freedom. Each cut brings a fleeting sense of release, my breaths growing shallow and strained, as if the act itself is an unconscious exhale of the breath I didn't even realize I had been holding.

I watch, through blurry eyes, as the wounds open up, their futile attempts at healing a mere illusion. Opening the cap of the small white bottle, I count the pills in my palm—eight, nine, ten. They sit there, beckoning to me, while my own heartbeat thunders in my chest. Without hesitation or contemplation, I swallow them whole, the bitter taste lingering in my mouth as I gaze at my reflection in the mirror.

It is the last look at myself, the face of someone already dead. My eyes hollowed, my face drained of color, and my body marked by scars—a mere five minutes will make no discernible difference between me being alive and me being dead. Dark spots begin to cloud my vision, and my legs grow weak, giving way beneath me. I am aware of what is happening, knowing exactly what will come next.

But I am far from scared.

As my entire being grows numb and my eyes gently close, a smile emerges on my face. Relief and a sense of profound joy wash over me. I have finally escaped the pain that bound me. I can see Yunho again, and this time, I promise myself,

I will never leave his side.