Just trying to sleep.

bby pls no ;__;

The black haired male approached the room silently, slowly. His hand ghosted over the handle of the door that he opened calmly, only to close on himself a few seconds later upon entering the room. It was a dull, grey and monotone room, void of any colour or feeling; just how he liked it. He lived in the attic, small and cramped with barely any light in it. Of course, there were other rooms he could've stayed in, but the males father had forced the attic onto him without reason. The room itself barely had anything in, purely due to the fact there wasn't enough space to have a lot of things. He had a mattress at the far back of the room, underneath the small window which was his only source of light most of the time. There was a desk and chair at the far left, near the attics entrance; normally cluttered with things, tonight it only held two items. Lastly, in the middle of his room stood a lone wooden stool, and above it hung a rope tied to a beam on the roof, a rope he'd tied only a few hours earlier, and a little after he'd made himself come to a decision.

The decision he had to make would've seemed to others, hard, complicated, or even confusing and terrifying; to him it was simple. He'd been thinking about this decision for a long time though, very long, and he'd weighed out the pros and cons of the decision he had already made, and came to the conclusion that doing what he was about to do, was the better choice out of the ones he had left so it was a choice he would make; he wouldn't be there to deal with the consequences.

After stopping at the door for only a few seconds and letting his eyes glance slightly around the room, the male entered fully. Seemingly unfazed by the rooms setup, he made his way calmly over to his desk where a pen and paper were lying in wait for him, exactly where he'd left them that same morning. He sat down slowly in the chair, taking off his jacket and hanging it over the back before taking his glasses off and letting them drop carelessly to the floor. With barely anytime in between, he picked up the pen, gripping it loosely and began to write...

This won't be long, it doesn't need to be long. All I need to do is write a few simple words, or sentences, here in chance that someone might find this.. me, find me. There's a small chance I'll be found by someone I care about, a very very small chance considering the person I live with. It doesn't even matter though, not really, because if I'm found, then I'm found, and that's that. My body will be stowed away then buried like everyone elses, and for once, I'm okay with that. 

His face gave away nothing, staying expressionless as he continued on with his writing.

This note I'm writing, it's just that. A note. The only thing it's here to do is explain why I'm doing this and although there is no real point in me doing that, I feel it necessary to still do it, so here. Have my note, my reason.

I'm done, alright? Done. Call me selfish, do it. I'm dead I don't give a damn. And I know that's what I am. I know I'm a selfish asshole, alright. But I am done being a burden on everyone around me. Does nobody notice how everyone I can actually consider friends, everyone that I spend time with around here, get's dragged down in some way and more often than not it is my fault. I don't want to be that guy that does that anymore, I can't be. And I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I don't want to cause another death, no, I've done that too many times and I don't understand why I'm not in prison right now. Why was I not dragged off to a place for mental people when I set fire to my own house at the age of fifteen? Someone answer that for me. I just.. don't want to cause anymore destruction that what I've already done. So the last thing I hurt, destroy, kill, whatever you want to say, will be myself-- and I know that I'm going to hurt people with this, but they'll live. 

He stopped writing for a second, putting the pen down gently and just sitting there. Pondering over what to write next, and wondering if he should start over, again. Running a hand through his hair, he picked the pen up for a second time and continued on, letting himself write away without even thinking now.

Before this ends, I want to apologise to two people. My mum, and my cousin. Neither of you did anything, no, you were two innocent people that got caught up in the things I did. 

Mum, I never wanted to hurt you. You might not believe me and I don't blame you, but for years after your marriage you ignored me, and I just wanted you to see me again, I wanted you to notice me. But I couldn't get that.. so if you weren't going to notice me again I wanted to make sure I'd never have to deal with the pain of being ignored by my own mother. So I'm sorry. And I know you can't read this and you shouldn't accept this apology if in some freakish way you can read this, don't accept it I don't deserve forgiveness from you. 

Eun.. please. I've said apologies to you so much in the past few months. I feel so much guilt for what I've done, did, to you, so much. And your death made me realise what kind of person I was. I hate to say it but I've figured that if it didn't happen I'd still be ruining lives like before, and I wouldn't have come to see who I am today, now. I'm sorry. After this, I won't be going to the same place as you because you're playing with angels, I won't be. I love you Eun, I'm sorry, so fucking sorry.

His hand started shaking slightly as he finished the sentence. His lips were pressed into a thin line now as he bit down slightly on the edge of them, enough to draw the slightest hint of blood. His eyes were slightly glazed over, only slightly, as he repeated his apologies in his head before letting his face go back to how it was before; emotionless. Yet his eyes gave everything away. 

This note got longer than I meant, and my hands starting to freak out a little, is anything that I'm writing even readable anymore? No, probably not. Not that it matters I don't think what I've written makes any sense at all. 

I'm sorry for all the people I've hurt, genuinely I am. And I'm sorry for who I'll hurt with my actions here tonight. 

- Sung Tae

With the last words on the paper being written with a shaky hand, the male dropped the pen and froze. The only part of him to move were his eyes, darting frantically back and forth across all of what he'd just wrote down onto the one piece of paper. Now, with slow and careful movements, he folded the paper up, enough to fit in his hand loosely yet securely.