Ever since middle school, Donghyuk was always praised as the best. He was the kid other parents wanted, the kid that all the others envied. He was always deemed the best.

But when he joined the team, he was pushed to the last. Words of so called encouragement betrayed him, 'its ok you'll do better next time.' 'You just need to practice more.' 'You just need to improve your vocals.' 'It's ok the others can cover for you.'

And so he sang until his throat burned and danced until his legs felt like they were on fire, the flames his bones, burning them to ash. The others would praise him with empty words for his efforts, saying how he was improving by the tenfold; but it wasn't good enough for him.

He would come back to the dorm every night, crash onto his bed in exhaustion, his entire body aching, his bones getting weaker day by day, but regardless of what happened the day before, he would always wake up the next day and train until his legs gave in.

But on some nights, he would find himself in front of the mirror in the bathroom at 3AM and nitpick all the things he couldn't do. And then his hand would reach for the small bottle with his messy handwriting he hid inside the small hole on the wall behind the sink and watch as the white pills vanish between his lips.

Maybe that was the only thing he would be good in compared to the others.

Making things disappear.

When Jinhwan found out one terrible August night, he was furious at Donghyuk, his words stung and he was absolutely outraged but then suddenly, he started crying. Donghyuk didn't mean to hurt him, he really didn't. He didn't mean for Jinhwan to find him bawling his eyes out on the bathroom floor, the cuts on his arm still fresh and bloody. 

But he couldn't say anything, as he was choking on his own tears.

The next morning he told Jinhwan he would stop cutting, and that he had nothing to worry about. Jinhwan gave subtle smile telling him that it was all gonna be okay. But Donghyuk knew, he knew it was never going to be okay and that Jinhwan was never going to understand the pain Donghyuk felt, whether it be physical or mental,

Jinhwan was never going to understand the amount of pressure he felt, whether it be from the mentors or even the fans.

No one understood the pain Donghyuk felt.

No one.

But Donghyuk was used to the pain; he could feel the cuts beneath his shorts he always wore whenever they practiced, the sweat running down his thighs, leaving small stinging burns behind, burns that he soon found comfort in.

But he was getting better— in terms of position in the team—the others didn't see him as last place anymore (there is no last place Hanbin said) but the thought of failing them kept him up at night, his mind running around in circles, trying to find something to hold him, anchor him down; the thought of failing scared him to no end, being less than perfect was not an option.

And so he sang louder, danced harder, until his entire body ached and he could hear the pills calling out for him.

And then the imaginary anchor was gone, and he would find himself in front of the mirror again, slipping in 2, 5, 9 pills between his lips, and then he could feel himself slip into the numbness.

And then he remembered being scared again, but he was numb, too numb, too numb to know what was wrong and what was right, too numb to remember the promise he made to Jinhwan, too numb to stop the tears; by the time his mind caught up with his tired body, the air would have the heavy taste of iron, the blade bloody red again and dozens of ripped horizons would've been engraved onto his already scarred body.

And then he would feel nothing.

Always nothing.