U-Kiss, Soohyun-focused - A Most Beautiful Ruby Red
Title: A Most Beautiful Ruby Red
Pairing: None, Soohyun-focused
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Slow motion; see me let go." Soohyun is slipping, falling further into the abyss, and he's not sure he wants to fight it anymore.
Warnings: Subtle, subtle hints about contemplating suicide.
A/N: I wrote this around the time Soohyun was tweeting about being tired and depressed. I honestly adore him, and I wish things weren't so hard and he wasn't such a martyr. This was done before the vocal cord nodules thing came out, so that aspect isn't included.
If he had to put a word to it, he'd use warm. He's slipping, he knows he is, he can feel it as each day goes by. But the farther he slips, the deeper he gets and it's so, so warm down there. If he closes his eyes, he thinks just maybe he could get some sleep.
If he were a lesser man, there would be more opportunities for him, he's sure of it. There are easy ways to survive the day, last through the year or-if he so chose-to never pass another day again. He considers it sometimes, asks around about it. There are people who could help him, who understand what it's like and wouldn't stop him. They would stare at him with pitying eyes but never pass any judgment. But anytime he opens his mouth to ask, he sees flashes of tear-stained faces, of all-black suits, feels the hunger and sadness stirring not only in his stomach but in his bones. He can't. Not now. Not again.
He knows the others can tell. The atmosphere has been changing over the past few weeks, stifling with unsaid words and concerned glances. It's not just him, of course, but the position he's in puts him at the center and thus when he starts to crack, the others simply crumble-and everyone notices and he'll take the blame because that is what he has to do. He didn't choose this responsibility, but knew it was up to him regardless. He is trying, every single day he's trying, but it's never enough. He can feel it bearing down on the others and wonders if they blame him too, for not being enough for them.
It's not that he doesn't want this. This is all he's wanted, for as long as he can remember. When he thought he lost everything, he was found again; and he doesn't believe in god or miracles, but this was as close to one as he could find. He just wonders what price he has to pay. How long does he have to struggle, do they all have to struggle, before they accomplish anything? When does it stop feeling like work and start feeling like a dream come true?
The youngest once asked him, "If you had a chance to go back, now that you know how it would turn out, would you take it?" He wanted to say no, to tell him that everything he had now was worth it-would be worth it one day, kid, don't you see? But he couldn't. He looked directly at him and said, "I don't know," and tried to pretend that the look in the other's eyes was disinterest in his lack of response and not the tell-tale sign of him closing himself off, preparing to be hurt.
All the opportunities he gave up, the friends he left behind, all because he thought he could find something better. Was he wrong? The begging and pleading he had ignored, the choked back tears that were barely concealed from him-were those his signs? It's hard to believe that years ago he had been in the same place as his friends, and now they are living his dream right before his eyes and everyday he finds it's a constant battle to ensure his happiness for them overrides the bitterness dwelling within.
He has always been told that he needs to learn to love himself more, does that start now? He knows there's always a place for him, that's what they said anyways, that they'd find somewhere to put him if he came back. But there's no guarantee it'd be any better than it is now. It isn't a risk he thinks he's willing to take-not with his friends, old and new, on the line.
And yet, the substitute doesn't seem to be much better. He settled for what he thought he deserved and maybe that's it, maybe it's him that causes it. The girlfriends that told him, "It'd be better if we didn't see each other anymore", the old friends that turned out happy and successful once he left. Does he owe it to the others, the ones that he is supposed to lead, to step down and let them grow? Or would he be abandoning them when they need him the most?
It's these dilemmas, the hows and the whys and the whens, that keep him tossing and turning throughout the night. He only reaches a few hours of complete sleep, and even that is riddled with nightmares and sleep-talking. The privacy of his apartment allows him to finally shake apart, to come to terms with the shadows lurking overhead; but by morning, he has already plastered over the cracks and settles everything back onto his shoulders as the final accessory before he has to head out for the day.
He realizes one day that the whirlpool he had previously been swept in has finally settled down. It's warm, warm, warm and by the time he figures out he's drowning, he's already too far gone to be saved. It's almost nice, though, the complacency and numbness allowing his tired limbs to finally rest. He's slipping, he knows, sliding and falling and drowning and shattering apart, but rest isn't something he finds easy and he takes what he can get.
His eyes blink open and suddenly everyone is there, reaching for him, pulling and tugging. He knows he could fight them off, he could stay in here forever. Or, alternatively, he could go with them easily, putting himself back where he belongs, the pillar they all need. But he needs the rest, the numbness, and if there's a steady buzz in his ears, he doesn't notice.