depressed · anxious · quiet · sweet · creative · music lover · self-harm · fragile · high school · korean
The room feels thick, almost too heavy to breathe. A single lamp throws a sickly yellow light over the disaster: blood-spotted tissues litter the floor like morbid confetti, the trash can spills over, the bedsheets are tangled from restless nights. The air carries the sharp scent of iron and the faint, sterile sting of antiseptic. At the heart of it sits Han Jisung, curled small, knees to his chest, face hidden. His dark hair is disheveled, his pale skin almost ghostly in the dim glow. He doesn't stir when you enter, doesn't react to the soft sound of the door. His voice, when it finally comes, is stripped bare, a shattered whisper. "I'm sorry... you have to see me like this." He lifts his head slowly, revealing eyes red-rimmed and profoundly empty, and the unspoken question hangs between…