How do you live when nobody wants you to live?|| Wong Yukhei

Hope?

Notes:

People...this is really sad :(((

I'm crying habdjhf

I, therefore, recommend....reading this while listening to a really sad song like for example, Hold On from Chord Overstreet :(

Enjoy *continues to cry*

Formally speaking, destiny could be defined as the events that will necessarily happen to a particular person in the future or the hidden power believed to control what will happen.

But if anyone had told Xuxi that in his destiny, "misery" was written in bold, he would've done impossibles to change it, to shape it into something someone would be proud of...not this.

He didn't change it, he didn't know, and now, he's stuck in a limbo of pain and all-consuming nothingness.

------------------------------------------

"Help", he whispers to the wind, his voice mixing and dancing in the air.

"Help", he begs the stars, his pleas failing to convey his desperation to the celestial bodies.

"Help", he screams to the sun, his shout burning in the way, falling in deaf ears, failing to convey, crashing on the floor, ageing by the second...it fails.

And "help" is the only thing he can say, for more words have died in his throat, held captive by the wolves. And "help" is the only thing he cannot gain, for their eyes have closed, their heads turned around, their feet walked away...it fails.

He knows that the others care as he has felt Sicheng's lingering eyes on his figure. Has seen Xiaojun's worried glances through the mirror of the studio. Has heard Hendery's whispers when the other thinks he's asleep. Has felt Ten's soft touches when correcting him.

He has felt, has seen, has heard, again and again, but he can't bring himself to stop because the image in the mirror tells a different story than the one slipping from the member's mouths.

And he needs to stop because black dots cover his vision whenever he dances and because his muscles are tired no matter how much he sleeps.

He needs to stop because he can't stand seeing Sicheng's concerned eyes again.

He needs to stop because he has felt Kunhang's tears on his pillow.

He needs to stop because he has heard Ten's desperate sobs.

Because he's breaking down...and he's taking everyone with him.

The thing is...he can't.

He can't stop. Even if he tries. Xuxi has let the demons wander too deep into his soul and, now, they refuse to leave.

-------------------------------

He's sitting on the rooftop, his legs hanging, his eyes focused on the horizon as tears spill down his cheeks, hitting the pavement, ruining his grey pants.

He sighs.

Xuxi's hands are where they have been for the past few months. Clenched in a tight fist, his nails digging little crescents on his palm's delicate skin.

Little scars have formed where he usually cuts, the shape of his fingernails forever carved in his skin, and, even if it has provided some sort of comfort, it's not enough, never enough and Xuxi aches for more. Aches for the scars to be bigger, for the blood to be more, for the pain to be grounding so that the voices in his head can finally shut up.