WILTED | SEOKSOO FF

PART 07

My beloved readers, my lifelines, my pillars of strength—how do I even begin to express my gratitude? As I lay on the edge of despair, grappling with the clutches of illness, your heartfelt messages were the light piercing through my darkest hours. Each word you wrote was like a beacon, pulling me back from the brink of a dramatic fade-to-black moment. Your patience, your unwavering support—it has left me humbled and deeply moved.

I return to you now, not just as a writer, but as someone eternally grateful for your kindness. The next chapter will be my tribute to you—overflowing with drama, twists, and enough feels to make us all weep together. Thank you for waiting for me, for believing in me. I could never ask for better readers. You are my heroes!

The dawn seeped through the thin curtains, pale and unfeeling, casting weak light into the suffocating room. It felt indifferent to the turmoil inside, a ghostly witness to Jisoo's unraveling. He sat crumpled on the cold bathroom floor, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. His fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something solid in a world that felt like it was slipping away.

Bruises marked his pale skin, their discoloration a muted echo of the violence that had ravaged his spirit. But the wounds inside him burned deeper—raw and festering, invisible yet impossible to ignore. His chest ached with every shallow breath, his heart like a fragile bird beating against the cage of his ribs.

He couldn’t escape it. The memories clawed at his mind, replaying every moment in merciless clarity. Seokmin’s voice, laced with mockery and cruelty, reverberated in his skull like a taunt he couldn’t silence. The phantom weight of Seokmin’s touch made Jisoo feel sick, as if his skin had been permanently stained.

He wanted it to stop. God, he needed it to stop to stop to stop.

His trembling gaze drifted to the razor blade perched on the edge of the sink, gleaming faintly in the morning light. It was small, almost inconsequential, yet it held the power to end everything. The thought settled over him like a dark cloud, insidious and strangely comforting.

Why am I still here?

The question echoed in the hollow chambers of his mind.

What’s the point?

What’s left of me, anyway?

I’m just... nothing.

Just a thing for him to break.

The tears started again, slow at first, then faster, until they blurred his vision. His hand, trembling like a leaf in a storm, reached for the blade. The cold steel kissed his fingertips, its sharp edge a promise of escape. For a fleeting moment, he felt a bitter kind of peace. This—this he could control.

But as the blade pressed against his skin, something faint flickered inside him.

A fragile, almost desperate whisper:

What about them?

What about the people who care?

The ones who’d miss you?

Jeonghan? Seungcheol?

Jihoon? Soonyoung?

And maybe Seokmin... Who will break so bad that no one can imagine.

Images surfaced in his mind, unbidden yet relentless. A summer afternoon, golden and warm, filled with the sound of his friends’ laughter. The way the sun felt on his skin, how it made the world seem alive. The dreams he’d carried once—dreams that seemed like they belonged to another lifetime.