Kibum stared at the scaffolding being constructed at the back of the stage and tried not to let his apprehension show. He jammed his hands as far as they would go into the pockets of his jeans and swallowed at the tight feeling in his throat. It wasn't all that high, he told himself. Even if he had to stand on the top level, he'd still be less than three metres above the stage. It was no higher than the height of the stage to the stadium floor, and he didn't get nervous about that. As long as he didn't get too close to the edge. 

He blew upwards at the annoying blond fringe the stylists had given him and watched a group of stagehands passing heavy poles up to the top tier. , were they going to build another layer? He prayed they wouldn't be asked to stand on that. Even if Kibum got out of it he'd still get second-hand anxiety from watching the others up there. They were supposed to start the concert from positions up in the scaffolding, with individual spotlights illuminating them as they struck poses or threw a few dance moves. When the director had described it to them, the others had been so enthusiastic about the idea that Kibum hadn't had the heart to spoil it by mentioning his stupid phobia. It had been so long since it had been necessary to challenge it that he wasn’t surprised they’d forgotten.

He watched a stagehand swing himself down between the levels like a gymnast and shuddered. Minho would surely be just as natural on the structure; he was born to hurl his agile body through empty space. No doubt Taemin would stand so recklessly close to the edge that Kibum would nearly have a heart attack just looking at him. Jinki and Jonghyun would stride easily along the suspended boards as if they were no higher than a park bench.

And then there would be Kibum, clinging white-knuckled to the steel poles, a frozen, shivering wreck. It would be just like the time he’d gotten stuck halfway up the climbing wall back in elementary school. His joints had frozen, muscles seized; even his jaw had jammed shut, as if he’d turned into a corpse locked in rigor mortis. The instructor had been forced to climb up and physically prise his seized-up fingers from the holds and carry him back down to the ground. His classmates had laughed at him. Kibum’s a crybaby, they'd sung mockingly. A scaredy-cat, a coward. He would never forget the shame.

The memory of their taunts echoed inside his head and morphed into the voices of the crowd. It would just be murmurs at first, as people wondered what was going on. Then the sound would grow, changing in pitch as they began to mock him. Key’s afraid, they seemed to say. Look how pathetic he is. He’s barely off the ground and he’s turned into a quivering jelly.

“Hyung?”

Taemin’s voice dragged Kibum out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to find the youngest member regarding him, eyes bright and curious under the tousled brown mop of hair he was currently sporting. "Didn’t you hear the stage manager?”

Kibum blinked, trying to remember if he’d heard the instruction somewhere in his subconscious, but apparently that was answer enough for Taemin. He grabbed Kibum's hand and started pulling him towards the back of the stage.

“We’re going to run through the intro. You’re here.” He manuvered Kibum until he was standing on a cross of yellow tape stuck to the dusty stage, correlating to the position he would later take on the fully constructed scaffolding.

He had to pull himself together. He flipped his fringe from his face for the ten thousandth time and started to thank Taemin, but Taemin was already moving to his own place and didn't hear him. Kibum glanced at the others, wondering if any of them had noticed his lapse in concentration. Jinki caught his eye and winked, and Kibum found himself smiling autom