Time was brought from another dimension after that day, making things painstakingly slow and cold. On interviews, on group photos, Oh Sehun would often change place with Byun Baekhyun, his friend who usually stands at the leftmost, only to avoid facing the feeling of being in the middle with the group’s center of attention.

On the mornings when they had to have breakfast together, Oh Sehun would still look down even when the prayer was over.

On the days when they have interviews, Oh Sehun would look somehow ill to every host, even though he has tried his best to look bright like he usually was.

On the days when Oh Sehun could not argue anymore with their manager about changing places, as he stood in the middle beside Kim Jongin he would look down even more often, his star aura dimming into that other shy boy.

On the times when his random glances met Kim Jongin’s eyes, his heart would freeze and stop, further messing the dimension of time that was already messed.

On the nights when he woke up to his insomnia, he would sit at the corner of his bunkbed, staring blankly into the world outside his shared window. His keen ears would always pick the sounds outside the door, knowing whether it was silent, or whether the TV was on, or was it an impossible monolog from a one-sided conversation on the phone. His sleepless mind would always make fun of his memories, playing whatever makes him cry the most.

On the dorm couch where he would stay up in his insomnia, Kim Jongin would just stare blankly onto whatever his eyes were seeing. People started asking about his melting pinpoint focus. His movements became blunt to those whose eyes were keen, and he was prone to more and more nags by the manager.

On the nights when Kim Jongin would stay up for his insomnia, he would stare blankly into nothing, and suddenly cry of pressure. He should have noticed Oh Sehun. He should have stopped Hwang Chara from going. He should have wrapped Oh Sehun’s frail heart in healing cloth so that it would shallow his abyss of guilt. He would like to softly kiss Oh Sehun, and whisper that everything’s okay, but the images of himself loving and dancing with Hwang Chara further drenched his living wound in saltwater.

On the times when his random glances met Oh Sehun’s eyes, his heart would freeze and stop, screaming out the words that would always choke his throat.

On the nights when the living room’s atmosphere became too suffocating for Kim Jongin, he would go outside the dorm and climb the old iron staircase leading to the rooftop. The cold night air would hug him tight, as he cries, regretting the moments that crushed himself apart.