Toilet.

Where’s the toilet?

I need th – too late.

Jimin had collapsed in front of the wastebin in the bathroom. He had nearly made it to the toilet. He missed the bin but somehow in his struggle managed to haul himself up to the sink.

And finish puking his guts out.

It wasn’t getting better. It was getting worse. Jimin breathed in the smell of his own vomit and scrunched his nose in disgust. He swallowed and tasted that all-too familiar sickly taste, making him gag again.

He was on his knees at the moment leaning in front of the sink in the bathroom of the dance studio.

He had stayed late. Again.

But it was ok. He was working on the new dance and he just felt a little queasy.

Or so he kept telling himself.

Y/n…

She couldn’t find out. She was helping him. She had made him a bit better. His eating disorder and depression had been cleared and he was healthy and, for once, happy again.

Until recently.

But she needs me.

He saw how well she had been doing. They were best friends. They were more than best friends. He wanted to be more than that though.

No.

Jimin looked at his reflection and sunk to the floor being unable to even recognize himself, moving away from his barf on the floor.

He had told no one how he felt, not even her. How could he? That would ruin their friendship and, right now, that was the last thing either of them needed.

I love her.

I need her.

The thought of her knowing that he was getting worse made him feel even sicker. But what else could he do? He couldn’t bear to suffer in silence again.

Jimin stumbled up and back through to the dance studio looking for his phone. He found it under his hoodie and began to fumble with the keypad.

He knew her number off by heart; he dialled it so frequently.

He put it to his ear and listened to the dialling tone, waiting for an answer.

Please answer.

I need you.

Please.

No answer.

Maybe he really was alone. He exited the keypad and wondered if he should just drop a message instead. That would seem less serious.

It wasn’t serious.

And then he saw his background.

It was a photo of him and her.

It reminded him of her. Of them. Of what a good couple they would be.

He couldn’t worry her.

He refused. She had enough on her mind.

If you love her, let her be.

Okay? Okay.

He went back to the bathroom, his phone still in hand, her memory still fresh in his mind. Like always.

He glanced into the toilet. He knew of a way to deal with his pain. The same way as before.

But he didn’t want to.

Oh yes you do.

No.

Yes.

And then before he knew what he was doing, he was on the floor, screaming, rocking back and forth. He grasped his ears as if that would shut the voices out.

But they were always there. The voices.

They would never leave.

Yes.