Picture Perfect [Jincentric]

Day 0

Today it hits him hard.
He can't recall of a time in which it had hit him harder than it's hitting him now. 

Seokjin stares at the white washed ceiling that seems a dark, muted shade of grey this late in the night. He had given up on willing it to go away after a while, now only being able to let himself be engulfed by the overwhelming feeling of being misplaced as he blinks blankly.

He lets it do it's thing at full blast. 

It started off as a gnaw at his chest, heavy and dense, and eventually, so much of him has been eaten away that he feels empty. And no, he doesn't feel 'nothing at all'. He'd rather he didn't, but he does.

He feels empty.

He never understood why people refuse to acknowledge that 'emptiness' is actually a feeling. In all the books he's ever read, every one shrugs it off. They make emptiness seem like a period of time you don't feel anything at all, as if you just can't bring yourself to care about anything .

But Jin disagrees. 

Oh, lord, he disagrees.

When you're empty, you don't feel nothing.

When you're empty, you feel tired of continuing.

 When you're empty, it feels like there's a hole in your chest that instead of taking away weight, only makes every step heavier, every intake of air denser and even breathing seems like a chore. You feel hollow, you feel done. The things that usually invoke laughter don't​ even register a smile on your face. And the smallest of thoughts sends you a breath away from crying.

And when you're empty- You think a lot. About how everything feels useless. How you feel useless. How living feels useless. 

You think of all the mistakes and all the negativity holds you captive in a cage that only fades but never really disappears. You'd know because you've been trapped in it since yesterday, the week before, or the previous year. 

You try to think of the things that bring you up, only to think about all the things that tug you down.  And you think, maybe it's okay if you're gone. 

And that's how he feels. 

Empty.

Jin doesn't like being labeled as 'depressed', or 'suicidal'- He really doesn't. The stigma of these words are too much for him to bear. He doesn't want to come off as weak, defected, or fragile. He's never told anyone about days like these when he feels like he should just disappear- Much less has he ever sought any sort of professional help. He could honestly care less about doing so. It isn't as if it would help, any way.  

And god forbid, if someone knows, they'll start treating him different, become more reserved around him, as if he were glass that can break with one wrong touch or a simple misstep- As if a wrong word could cause him to slit his wrist and die or something.

It's stupid. Trust him, he knows. 

So he keeps everything to himself.

But tonight, the urge to leave is stronger. He just wants to go away. Everything seems so dull. 
He would kill (himself) to obtain a 'pause' button so his life wouldn't continue. He doesn't care if that means he doesn't get a chance at a drama, or more lines or whatever. He doesn't care if that means his 'play' button disappears along with him, either. 

But he holds on. As he does every other night. 

The temptation is strong tonight. Oh, how he wishes he could just end it. He's so tired of everything. He's tired of being him. But he'll hold on. 

Not for him.

He'll hold on for them. 

They were his lights. His oasis. An anchor in the chaos of his mind. His hope, he supposes. 

But he can only hold on for so long.

Is there any worth in holding on more? He'd just be delaying the inevitable. One day, everything ends. When they do, he'd no longer have a reason to continue.

So why wait?

What's the point?

Draw the blade across his skin, take the step and fall, swallow the white lumps collected in that bottle he keeps in his second drawer.

Why wait?

Everyone has an escape, right? Their own spaceships, their own planes, their doors to a place far away. Far less vexing. Less evil. Less toxic.

Somewhere far less painful.

For some, it's a loved one, it's a song, it's the laughter of someone else that eases the pain- Makes everything okay again.

For others, it's a knife, a rooftop, or a rope. 

And he's just so, so tired. 

Like a spark, a flicker of light in the storm, a mirage in this desert- 

He decides. 

If, he can so much as capture 30 of the smallest reasons on why he should be alive, maybe then he'll be convinced that there's value in living.

If he can, he'd try harder. 

And if he can, he'd hold on.