bts pt.2 // kim seokjin //

scene 6

Seokjin walked towards the kitchen counter barefooted, not flinching despite the ice cold marble underneath his feet. He looked over at the digital clock that read 4:45 AM.

Sighing, Seokjin went to work, being as quiet as possible. He went to grab sausages from the freezer, placing it lightly on the kitchen top.

Reaching over towards the knives, he stopped midway.

No.

He inhaled as he held the handle of the utensil, staring at it as if it just disvovered what was behind the board.

Go on.

He walked towards the sink, sausage long forgotten on the counter.

I dare you.

He doesn't know what he was doing. But he didn't try to stop the it, to stop the urge.

Stop.

Observing its shiny surface, eyeing the side that defines the entire thing. The sharp edge was supposed to look threatening, yet it doesn't look close to threatening. It looked, appealing.

It's been a week already.

He saw the edge draw closer to his forearm, his sleeve surprisingly rolled up as if it was expecting it already. He saw the scars that were close to fading, maybe not fading at all. The old scars that he hid from his youngers, ever since day one.

You can't give up this early.

He didn't blink an eye when the edge touched the sensitive, dirty skin. He didn't stop, although part of his mind said otherwise, he gave in to the other.

You have a new coping material, right?

He inhaled as he pressed the weapon deeper. Exhaling as he drug it across.

Wasn't it enough?

Seokjin stared at the line that stood out from the fading ones. The familiar red liquid started seeping through the cut, slowly rolling down his forearm.

It wasn't enough.

He gave a shrug. He looked over to the table wherein he placed the stack and his pen. Walking towards the table, he sat on a chair, not bothering to clean the new cut nor roll down his sleeve.

Careless.

He cared less if someone caught him. He didn't give a crap at all. He wrote his heart out on the tiny piece of paper.

He stopped when he saw droplets on the paper, dripping on some of the words he had created.

Sighing, he smiled.

Do your deductions.