"WELCOME home, sweetie!" Felix's mother greeted as they entered the gigantic, luxurious home the family owned. He was greeted by tight hugs from his two sisters, who were clearly happy that he was alive.

"I'm so happy you didn't die." Olivia, his younger sister, sobbed as she hugged his torso. He rubbed her back and smiled, letting out a small chuckle in the process.

"Me too. Now I get to bother you all the time, don't I?"

She nodded weakly, and was quickly joined by her older sister and their mother in a group hug. One filled with relief and love.

"I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I really am."

The mother teared up and kissed her son's forehead.

"Don't worry about it, baby. We're just glad you're okay," she sighed, "so glad."

Olivia then frowned, knowing that her brother had to leave the country soon, because none of the seven members were safe there.

"When are you leaving?" She asked in a disappointed tone.

"Next week..." he whispered, a wave of sadness rushing through him.

"But on the bright side, you get to tell your friends that you're still alive!" His brain cheered, and he could only roll his eyes and nod in hidden enthusiasm.

His heart ached in guilt and regret as the memory of what happened earlier crossed his mind.

Soon enough, he got the chance to be alone in his room, trying to decide what to pack for his little trip to Egypt.

He slowly walked over to the nightstand and reached for the small portrait with the picture of him and his family, which only consisted of him, his sisters, his mother, and their dog, which had died around a year before.

He grabbed the portrait and set it gently in his luggage, feeling already defeated and exhausted.

The trip from the hospital was already tiring, but the medicine he was taking was just a cherry on top of the cake. Because of it, he couldn't stay awake for long. He needed to take a rest every few hours, and occasionally pain would jolt through his back, his buttocks and his legs, so he couldn't stay standing for long either.

He sat down on the bed, sighing heavily while reaching for his phone from the nearby nightstand.

He pressed on the fingerprint sensor on the bottom of the screen and unlocked the phone, revealing the wallpaper that had him tightly back hugging his lover. He faintly smiled at the picture, then pressed on the gallery icon, to reveal hundreds of pictures just like it.

Him kissing her cheek. Her hugging his waist and kissing his forehead. A video of them cuddling and laughing at random topics. A photo of them kissing each other's lips. A photo of her carrying him bridal style, and another one of her carrying him with his legs wrapped around her waist.

He allowed tears to fill his eyes as he continued to scroll through the photos.

Gosh, he missed her. So freaking much.

He let out a small sob and reached for the drawer. Opening it gently, he grasped the sharp object that was hidden between the books inside, and let it out gently.

A sharp, shiny razor.

It belonged to him before he left Korea to become a transfer student in the United States. He was going through a rough time at that point, and harming himself was the only way of punishing himself for his mistakes.

At that moment, however, he realized that, despite everyone calling him an angel, and ray of sunshine, he was still making mistakes.

Terrible, horrible mistakes.

He was still going through a rough time.

A rough time that he couldn't exactly deal with.

And he still needed to punish himself for his mistakes.

Before dragging the razor across his bare skin, he stopped for a minute.

But he already made a promise.

A promise with someone he cared about more than anything.

Would he really break that promise instead of waiting until he got to Egypt to meet up with his friend and girlfriend?

He sighed and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Sharp, familiar pain radiated through his arm.

One cut.

Two cuts.

Three cuts.

Yes. Yes, he would break that promise instead of waiting.

His mistakes, like any human, were uncountable.

It wouldn't matter if they were increased by one, would it?

He flicked the knife to his other arm, then pointed it at the clean, smooth skin.

Four cuts.

Five cuts.

Six cuts.

He let out a choked groan, knowing that there was absolutely no one to stop him from his madness.

He wanted it to stop.

But at the same time, he didn't.

All he wanted was for time to go faster. Or maybe to stop.

Pain rushed through his arm, and he let out a few, strangled sobs in result, trying his best to stay quiet so he wouldn't worry his mother or his sisters.

A flash of hurt crossed his face.

And then, one specific memory crossed his mind.

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