𝐒𝐊𝐙 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

YOU DIDN'T NEED SAVING : CHANSUNG

Requested by anonymous lovely sunshine! >_< there's so much feelings eeek : D tw : brief mentions of knife +descriptions of self harm + blood because love is cannibalism
^__^ dis is set back in predebut skz times for context nd also, some parts are an exaggeration like uhh!! irl, im sure the members didn't (っ '-' c) at sungs dat much :D as they love him lots!! rmb! dis is all fiction ☹️👊 happie reading lovelies <3

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

There is such reserved sweetness in a boy who wants to take over the world, for he was filled with so much unkempt rage behind his empty silhouette, nothing but a carving of skin. There is just a tiny speckle of light that frees itself from the crevices of his chest, nothing short of a minuscule atom. He wants to burn, he wants to be that angry shade of red you see across white washed walls from arterial slashes. He wants thorns to grow on his fingertips so that way it'll hurt everyone who touches him and it'll tear him apart too, slowly but surely. He wants to be feared for he didn't know how he wanted to be love, how he wanted to be held. Jisung was afraid of what they would do to him if they found out that his insides were pink and glittery- that he was just small, so small, weak, so weak, covered in bruises, too fragile, too young, too shy, too little and too much for everything. It was as if this world was made for him but he was never made for this world. For it was better to be angry than to be scared, wasn't it?

You were hurt and so you hurt back. Wasn't that normal?

For he has loved before and he has laid before a thousand others, like a stupid lamb to a slaughterhouse. He's taken a crowbar to eviscerate every single undying piece of hurt and pick up the fragmented pieces with forceps. Hurt that he's gulped, hurt that he's forced down his throat and hurled over the porcelain of the toilet sink. So how does a butterfly flutter its wings gently against his windpipe? How does a tiny sparrow whisper quietly next to his earlobe and perches? It doesn't combust to ashes on Jisung's fiery skin, unlike a matchstick to flame. He carries the temper most teenagers keep buried at the bottom pits of their guts and stomach the vesicular lava. His fire doesn't choose, it just destroys. And yet, the sparrow warbles its wallows like strings of prose threaded through a thin ribbon thread. It tells him that it's okay, it's okay to be soft, soft like the belly of a fish, to be repulsively soft like spilled guts of a canary on a spread bed of roses.

" Channie ' yungie.. . " He's crying again and his words are slurred like a foggy mirror  when you wipe your hands over it. If only he wasn't soft like this, soft like cotton candy to a droplet of rain. But somehow, Chan only kisses his tears away, holds him so perfectly he wants Chan to pry his fingers into his bones and strip his flesh away so that his heart would only best for the older. For Chan holds him like a lullaby and tells him that he is safe. He's only ever felt the weight of living in the lightness of a dying body.

" It's okay, 'S okay, you're okay—" Jisung can't remember the last time he was hugged like this, can't remember the last time he let himself be hugged like this. For he has convinced himself that he had become undeserving of love. His tears prick where he is the most tender, everything hurts even when he thinks he can no longer feel anything. He has his head rested against a firm chest, the older male's large hands petting his nest of brown hair. His brain is pure static and the night air of the starless sky is dark and still and yet, Jisung has never seen light so bright. He swears he sees speckles of yellow, fuzzy dots that rearrange themselves to form a core akin to that of a white daisy flower at dawn. Chan has chosen to fix his heart, or lack-thereof. Chan holds him like he's as fragile as a dandelion, fearing that he'll be blown away by the wind at any second. Chan holds him so close he can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat hammering against his chest like a feral animal begging to be let loose, to be set free. Chan doesn't mind that Jisung's chest is hollow, he still holds him like there's so much goodness in him even if he feels vile, so vile for drawing fresh blood when he bites his tongue too hard and yet his words still hurt like the edges of a serrated knife.