“Butterflies cannot see their wings nor their colors, so they will never know how beautiful they are. To me: you are every color. And I find it funny how people like us, Chanyeol, happen to
be the most beautiful of them all, don’t you think? I was once
like you, always wanted to die and find peace in sleep. Death
and I, we got along so well. But you know what happened?
I found a light at the end of the tunnel, because there was a
part of me that begged to stay here. It did not matter how
small that part was, but rather how loud its voice had become. You cannot keep truth quiet.”
Once Kris was finished, Chanyeol pulled his wrist back and glanced down, his throat tightening. Cuts so thin and hardly visible were decorated with wings and designs. It was as if he was the rose, and the butterflies called him home.
“Because, scars and all, I find you still as lovely,” Kris chuckles softly, his left thumb brushing against Chanyeol’s cheek.
This time, Chanyeol does not flee. (x)