He’s dying, he’s sure of it, drifting in and out of blessed darkness (Changmin where are you?), senses dulled and thoughts numbed to the point of half-delirium. Wispy fingers of pain, red hot and searing, trail his back; reach to his front in roaming tendrils every so often and no, please, make it stop and let me die because I can’t keep living
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But you write very well bb <3
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This really was a splendid piece of writing.
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