#noqueens

“i’m breaking up with you.”

fists clench at his side, unable to even believe the words leaving his mouth. they hurt more than the bullet wounds, more than the stabs and the cuts. they hurt more than the abuse and torment his father put him through. but, in his mind, it would not hurt more than the pain he was so certain he would eventually put her through.

midnight gaze is cast down to the young woman, his expression steely and cold, trying so damn hard to distance himself as much as possible, anything to make it hurt less. “we... are just different. we’re growing apart. i... think this is best for the both of us.”

lies. lies, lies, and more lies. he will never admit the hurt, he will never admit the pain, and he does not want to tell her that he is poison. he is toxic, he is nothing, even though all of those feelings would disappear when she was around, and god, how his mind would clear like the sun after the rain when she would kiss him or hold him or simply speak around him.

“i’m sorry,”

i am so, so sorry. please, please, hate me so you can move on.

“this is the way it has to be.”

find someone, anyone, more than me. be happy, be successful and don’t be brought down like i did to you.

yawn. what a boring day. perfect enough to skip school if you were one of the worlds greatest hackers. of course, with the student council now constantly on your butt, it was kind of hard to. at least it gave him something to complain about.

           ❝I...really hope that things go well between you and Jumin. I mean it.❞

A knife, a knife, it’s like a KNIFE in his chest succumbing to this half-truth, no matter that it spilled r e c k l e s s l y from his own lips. Seven’s tone is solemn, refusing to waver unlike his hands, which can’t help but tremble with each passing second. He has to muster every last ounce of willpower to refrain from prematurely hanging up. Doing that would but incite suspicion he can’t afford.

Doing that would be SELFISH of him.

❝I can see why Jumin fell for you,❞ Seven continues in spite of himself. The chipper lilt in his voice is barely there, hanging by a wispy thread. He takes his free hand and ( shakily ) combs it through his hair, if to just keep himself sane for the remainder of their call. How he longs to discard his ‘ well-wishes ‘ and instead say, with utmost c o n v i c t i o n, how he really felt—how much she meant to him, how pathetically in love he was with her, how even the faintest sound of her laughter was enough to make his heart sing. Though right now, the insistent pounding in his chest could be likened to not a sickly sweet ballad, but a DEATH MARCH.

Why couldn’t it have been him?

Why couldn’t she remember?

He swallows thickly, managing a hoarse chuckle. ❝I know I joke around a lot, but...❞ His arm falls from his hair, crumpling to his side. It hurt. It hurt so damn much.  ❝...I sincerely think you suit Jumin the best.❞