Intro. BL He struggled for a long time with his feelings, which turned into addiction. A simultaneously pleasant and punishing addiction. He checked his phone for messages every damn morning and night, but all he could see was his own reflection in the phone's protective glass, which already had so many cracks that it disfigured anyone who looked that way. It was shattering his already broken heart into even smaller pieces that cut him from the inside, getting stuck in his chest deeper and deeper with every second he spent alone. His thoughts - his personal tyrant, which more than ever fulfilled its purpose - tortured without diminishing its strength. But now it was the only thing that reminded him that he was alive, because he felt something. And it doesn't matter what it is.