A seventeen year old Taemin was tossing and turning in his bed. It was well after midnight, the weather outside pouring down his windows, trees blowing when caught in the path of the howling wind. The sheets were tangled in his legs, one of his pillows kicked over the bed, his hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks with sweat.

"No, no, no. You can't. 'm too old now. You promised."

His words were muffled as he flopped over, clutching a pillow to his chest.

"'m starting college soon. 'm almost eighteen. Can't do this."

His words became desperate whines and cries, drowned out by the cries of the wind.

His parents were standing in front of him. Appa was dissapointed, but he didn't know why. Umma was crying. Why is umma crying? Did I do something wrong? What did I do? I'm sorry.

"You aren't even my real son." No appa, don't say that. You promised. You said I'd be your baby forever. You promised.

"Get out of my house! I don't want you here anymore! Go on, get!" Don't make me leave. I don't know what I did wrong! Appa, please, just tell me what I did wrong.

"You're such a disgrace!" He turned to umma, who was still crying.

"You're a creepy little disgrace! How dare you call me umma! You don't deserve a parent as good as me!" Why was everything turning red? Why are umma and appa getting huge, stretchedd out, distorted?

What's going on? Where was he?

"Appa!" He called out, but