Chapter Text
Su-bong.
Or, Thanos, as most people used to call him.
A man trapped in his own mind, drowning in thoughts that wouldn’t let him come up for air.
He’d convinced himself he was nothing.
Worthless.
Just the shadow of someone who used to matter.
Once, he had a name. A voice. A stage.
Once, he stood above it all.
But that version of him?
Gone.
Buried beneath regret, rot, and the weight of everything he’d burned to the ground.
The money ran out.
The drugs dried up.
The confidence faded.
The silence in his mind grew louder.
Until it became unbearable.
And he cracked.
He tried to end it.
Of course, nothing ever went the way he wanted.
He doesn’t remember everything. Just pieces.
The cold bite of the razor.
Blood… so much of it… spilling down his arms, soaking the bathroom tiles.
The sting.
The dizziness.
His own breathing, ragged, broken, desperate.
And then.
Nothing.
-
When Su-bong opened his eyes, there was no relief.
No peace.
Just blinding white.
The sterile beep of a heart monitor.
The weight of failure crushing his chest.
He was alive.
Still here.
…God fucking damn it.
Doctors hovered behind clipboards.
Nurses offered gentle lies and hollow smiles.
No one asked him why.
They never do.
They stitched him up like a broken doll.
Then send him back into the same life he’d tried to escape…
But… not this time.
No cab ride home.
Just flashing ambulance lights and silence thick enough to choke on.
Where they took him…
It wasn’t stained with blood or cigarette smoke.
It was clean.
Too clean.
White walls. White floors.
Sterile like a morgue.
And the doors locked behind him.
No way out.
-
The psych ward wasn’t what he expected.
No padded rooms.
No screaming lunatics.
No movie clichés.
Just dull corridors that smelled like bleach and sadness.
Silence so heavy it made his teeth ache.
A nurse led him through the halls.
Soft voice, like she was guiding a frightened animal.
She recited the rules in a practiced rhythm.
No shoelaces.
No razors.
No curtains.
No privacy.
No escape.
Su-bong didn’t say a word.
Didn’t ask where he was going.
Didn’t care.
He just stood there in a plain white uniform that reeked of disinfectant.
Fuuuuuuuck.
This wasn’t a second chance.
It was just another cage.
-
He sat on the bed, staring at the walls.
The past week felt like a hallucination.
He’d thought the ward would be some hellhole.
A padded room for the hopeless.
And honestly?
He wasn’t far off.
Days bled into each other.
He stopped keeping track.
Didn’t ask what day it was.
Wake up.
Take your pills.
Sit in the common room.
Stare at the clock.
Go to bed.
Repeat.
The nurses were fine. Too nice, almost.
He hated that.
They weren't the problem.
It was the room.
The strangers.
The forced companionship.
He didn’t belong here.
He wasn’t crazy.
That word ‘crazy’ it didn’t apply to him.
He didn’t hear voices.
Didn’t see things.
Didn’t scream or twitch or rock in the corner.
He was just tired.
Tired of trying.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of being alive.
The only reason they had him here was because of what he did.
Because he tried.
But he hadn’t asked for help.
If he’d wanted help, he would’ve said something.
He didn’t want help.
He just wanted to disappear.
Why was that so fucking hard?
Why did strangers who knew nothing about him get to decide he should stay?
Get to save him without asking?
He wasn’t going to thank them.
They didn’t save him.
They ruined it.
Now he was stuck.
Trapped in a place that made him feel even more useless.
A washed-up rapper.
A failure.
A coward.
Someone who couldn’t even be kind to the people who used to love him.
Su-bong leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
He didn’t want to get better.
He just wanted to die.