Hongjoong was set ablaze, a caustic sensation in his throat vexed him excruciatingly. His hands were burning, so were his legs and abdomen. He swallowed thickly, a thin sheet of sweat coated his forehead, his hands were fisted on something he couldn't decipher, and brain was fuzzy.
He was panting, breaths coming out short and brief, chest rising and falling. It was as if someone was trying to cajole him into something sinister. Hongjoong, however, was adamant, he was onerous, not someone easy to be endeavored.
He was perspiring, drops of sweats trailing down his forehead to his neck, concocted with his tears that he realized too late.
An eldritch screech cuts through Hongjoong's throat, making him aghast at the deadly sound he had let out.
He couldn't discern the situation, like a lost child in apprehension, scavenging through the city to find his parents. Hongjoong was no different, his mind was unable to perceive anything that was encircling him.
Spectral, hands dragged down Hongjoong's arms to his unclad abdomen, trailing further down to his thighs and groping them tightly, almost inhumanely. Hongjoong struggled to breath, he could feel himself being asphyxiated, like a mere insect being crushed down.
The grip on his thighs consolidated, obtaining a scream from Hongjoong's dehydrated lips.
It was painful.
The pain was exacerbating, to an extent that Hongjoong had to kick his feet innumerably to gain consciousness. His presence of mind was in shambles.
Hongjoong couldn't breathe anymore.
It was impossible now, his throat closing on its own.
His visceral organs blocking air-
Hongjoong was perishing steadily, gradually and oh so woefully.
His body was numb and cold, but unbearingly hot simultaneously.
No...
He can't die...
His parents-
His career-
His songs-
His friends and his pet-
He...he can't lose them, can he?
Can he restrain the hands on his thigh and neck? Can he?
Or... would he?
Does Hongjoong want to live? This is the question that has been gyrating around his peripheral, unobtrusive but it was as if Hongjoong had caught it and encountered it.
What's his will to live?
The burden of life was cumbersome, weighing down on him.
Hongjoong couldn't bear it anymore.
He can't...
He doesn't want to live.
Not anymore.
Hongjoong stopped struggling, he was not kicking his feet anymore, he wasn't fisting the bedsheets anymore.
He imperturbably let voidness, darkling of eternal night take over him.
His face went pale from the shade of darkest maroon.
His pupils were drunk, and a hue of ivory took over them. His veins were popping out, blue and red. Hongjoong was engulfed by the unending stygian hallways.
No matter how much he ambled, like a dead corpse, he couldn't reach the end.
Hongjoong breathed his last breath, falling limp against the sheet.
He was enveloped by dysphoria, vehemently taken away forever.