Jonghyun was starving. Not the ‘oh, I could totally eat’ starving. No, he was the kind of starving that would lead to serious issues if it wasn’t fixed soon. But Jonghyun had no hope that it would be fixed. He had been curled up on the floor in that same small room for he didn’t even know how long. Had it been hours, or had it been days? It was completely black inside the closet, and he had long since accepted that he might die there. As more and more time passed, it became more certain in his head, and he was grateful the last thing he had said to his brothers, his boyfriend, and his appa, was that he loved them.

He was let out to use the bathroom a few times a day, though there was only really one reason for it. Nothing coming in meant nothing coming out, and all he had been given was water. His stomach hurt worse than ever before, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he had gotten so used to having food, or if it had really been that long.

Either way, the pain that had made him whimper at first had grew to such an intensity that he had actually begun screaming at one point, and ever since then he had had what appeared to be a shirt tied over his mouth, and to be sure he couldn’t get it off Sangho had somehow conjured up some zip-ties for his wrists and ankles, effectively removing his ability to move freely. He couldn’t even begin to explain how much he hated the man, and that scared him a little.

Jonghyun had never been one to hate. Fear? Certainly. Dislike? Absolutely. But hate was another four letter word to add to the list of swears in his head, and he didn’t swear. Ever. He squirmed uncomfortably, hoping to find one position that would relieve the pain in his hips and back from sleeping on the hard floor. He whined softly as he rolled onto his stomach, fighting a losing battle with his tears.

Crying was the only thing left that he could really do. Even breathing was getting to be hard. There was only so much air in that small space, and Jonghyun wasn’t sure how long it would take him to run out. He spent a lot of time trying to take the smallest breaths he could, just so he could hold on a little longer. He pressed his face against the floor, trying to get the thin and mostly useless carpet to absorb his tears, but he knew it was useless. He hated the feeling of tears drying on his face, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

He could feel the pressure on his belly, and the water sloshed uncomfortably in his angry stomach. He hated when he threw up the water, because most of the time a lot of acid came with it and burned his mouth. He tried to focus on anything else, but the room was spinning all around him. He let out an involuntary scream as he rolled again.

He hated the sound of his own voice, now. It was weak at best, and even when he screamed...that was all it was. A high pitched wailing coming from the back of his throat. He felt like a girl each time the sound tore itself from him, but didn’t stop it from happening again and again.

Before he had been forced to muffle his voice Sangho would would get right in his face, telling him to stop calling out for the others. They weren’t coming to save him. They didn’t care, so he should stop wasting his breath. Jonghyun had no conscious memory of calling out for them, though, and so he was met with the reality that he was talking in his sleep. Not that he really needed to worry about it, but it was still just another thing for Sangho to about, if he ever caught on.

Jonghyun swung his feet in irritation, slightly surprised when they connected with the wall. He stayed silent, waiting to see if Sangho was going to do anything, but Jonghyun had a suspicion that Sangho had left for one reason or another, so he kicked the wall again. He didn’t know if anyone would hear him and get him out, but if nothing else, it was stress relief that Jonghyun needed desperately.

If he ever did make it out of this place, Jonghyun had made the decision that he was never going to leave his room again. Nothing in the world was worth the anxiety he felt every second of the day, and he had no hope that it would improve when he got out. If he got out.

He had no confidence in the situation. Everything was an ‘if’ or a ‘maybe.’ There was a small amount of hope, but not enough for it to count. He wanted to go home, more than anything, but it was seeming more and more like a dream than a goal. He pounded his feet against the wall again, then took the deepest breath he could and let out a loud, angry shout. It was muffled considerably, and that only angered him more.

He rolled around, kicking anything within reach, but his legs were getting more and more tired the longer he kept it up, and eventually he had to stop. By that point he was crying, not his usual silent tears, but actual sobs. He could only imagine how it would look if someone found him. He was a boy, boys weren’t supposed to cry. And if they did, it wasn’t like this. He didn’t care, though. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

He wanted to go home. He wanted Minho. He wanted Taemin. He wanted Key. He wanted his appa. He even wanted Luna, just because it was someone he knew. Someone who didn’t scare the hell out of him. Someone who had never been anything but kind. He screamed again, kicking the wall one final time before allowing himself to dissolve.

Nothing was going to save him from this. Nothing and no one. Why was he even trying?