Lovely Boxer - LeeKnow

31.1: War is over?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Run away from home again
I'm carving these notes into bloody arms
Alone with my soul impaled
Run away from your loving arms
Why am I so afraid?
I don't care, I'm not coming home
Why am I crying if this is what I wanted all along?

-notes from a wrist-d4vd-

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

⚠️-attempted suicide.

Neither Hana nor Minho slept that night, though for entirely different reasons.

For Minho, the hours stretched into a dark expanse of disbelief and regret. Hana's revelation—a confession so raw and unexpected—had shattered the image he'd always held of her. He had seen her as a light, someone who masked the world's darkness with her smile. But now, her struggles stood exposed, leaving him wondering how long this burden had weighed on her.

For Hana, the night was a cacophony of shattered plans and unresolved emotions. Everything had unraveled far beyond her carefully orchestrated blueprint. She wasn't supposed to still be here, in this place, in this terrible place. 

The script she'd written for herself had not included an encounter with Minho, let alone a confrontation that sliced open old wounds. The truth she had desperately tried to bury—her silent, suffocating despair—had slipped out in a moment of vulnerability. 

She had never intended for Minho to see her like this, to witness the cracks in her façade.
The torment of not being able to leave, of being ensnared in this painful dialogue, gnawed at her, making her insomniac.

She thought,
"There must be a reason I'm still here—a reason I'm still warm, not cold." 

Yet thoughts of finally leaving, of finding an end, seemed louder. And so, the entire night slipped by as she poured her soul into a final letter. It was a painful testament to her chaotic state of mind, a desperate attempt to bring sense to the turmoil within her. 

None of it was for her parents; trying to explain her pain to them felt impossible, as if no words could convey its depths.

Her hands trembled as she wrote, the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing down on her shoulders. These letters were not confessions but rather feeble attempts to communicate something profound yet elusive. They were full of apologies and farewells, but they remained incomplete, a reflection of her fractured state of mind.

Once she finished, she placed her phone unlocked on the table, covering it with the letter. 

Then she shed the clothes she'd worn yesterday, the ones chosen to appear "presentable" to her parents—as if that had mattered.

She slipped into normal clothes, a plain black track pant and a black hooded jacket over plain white-tee.

She changed into something simpler: black track pants and a plain white tee beneath a dark hoodie. She took a small blade and her sleeping pills, stuffing them into her pockets with a trembling hand. After grabbing her keys and slipping into her shoes, she avoided looking at the cats, ignored the door to Minho's room. She knew that if she looked—if she gave herself a moment to reconsider—they might make her stay.