Hello dear reader. Chanyeol is annoying is he not? Still, I will tolerate him. He brings stories to me and for that I cannot fault him. Oh dear....did you hear that crash? He is trying to ruin my kitchen. Trying, but he won't do it. The House is magic if I've ever seen it. It cannot be torn apart, burnt down, or harmed in anyway. It just comes back, holding its treasures inside. I, on the other hand, have lived for thousands of years and am very much killable. Don't interupt me Chanyeol! It is rude. I can be wounded. I can bleed. When this House as no longer has use for me, I will die. Only time will tell if it that ever happens. I have been here since the beginning of my life. Perhaps since the beginning of the ever turning Edge and House. Maybe I'll live here eternally. Who can tell? Dear reader, look at the window over there. Through it you can see the Edge in all of its power and danger. Just inside of it though, is a small silver necklace hanging from the top of it. It is a bird. It flew to me while I gazed over the Edge. It speaks of two people who were very, very human. 

    Suho was perfect. 

    People laugh, but they don't understand. He was perfect. Everything about him was calculated to be so. From the tips of his blonde, blonde hair to his carefully manicured tonails, Suho was perfect. His mother had taught him since the day he was born that perfection came with hard work. It came with hair appointments to spa treatments to posture corrections. His stylist ensured his clothes were always clean, pressed, and styled to perfection. Not what was trending, no. Suho set the trends. He wore only the best and it showed. Suho’s makeup artist followed him around daily, primping and touching up his face. Any and every blemish was covered for the cameras. 

     It was like he was doll to dress and direct.

     Perfection comes at a price.

     Suho had to pay that price. Suho wasn't what his mother called "normal". No, he was supermodel, the model of the year....for the sixth consecutive year. He was in demand from Tokyo to London and everything fashion related in between. It had been a pain to get there, to reach the top. Suho had sacrificed much for it. He'd practically destroyed his childhood for it. He had given up school, friends, family, love. So much sacrifice, so much pain. So many moments of triumph and failure leading up to this very moment.

    A moment where Suho felt anything but perfect.

    I am so sick of being sick….

    Suho retched again, his stomach trying to force out whatever it could. Nothing came out this time. Not surprising. It felt like he had thrown up everything he had ever eaten. Eyes squeezed shut and full of tears, he gripped the edge of the toilet weakly. God it feels like I've throw up my organs...Suho's hands dropped from their place. He leaned his forehead against the cool porcelin in a desperate attempt to remined him there was something out there beside him miserably vomiting in the studio's bathroom. 

      Just make this go away...

      Groaning, Suho pulled away from the rim. Leaning back on his heels, he stared at the white ceiling. Why of all days was this happening? It wasn't like he was at home, or had the rare day off. Today he was busy. Suho was minutes away from going to prepare for a photo shoot. Not any photo shoot, but the cover shoot for Style, THE biggest magazine. Suho needed to be getting ready, doing hair, make -up and wardrobe. 

       Instead he had locked himself into tiny bathroom to throw up his organs. 

       this, he thought darkly.  of all it...mother's going to be furious. 

      Suho wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve. He rubbed hard, trying to scrub the taste of bile from his lips. Yes, throwing up was an all too common event in the world of high fashion. How often had he disdainfully watched a model vomit from nerves seconds before rushing onto the walk way? Far too many times. But this didn’t happen to him. Not to Suho. He was perfect. Perfect people did not race to the bathroom and heave. 

        Except he did. 

         The door flew open. Suho remembered too late he had forgotten to lock it. He jerked away from the bowl, losing his balance and nearly smashing his face against it. Face burning, he flushed the toilent. Scrambling to his feet, he tried to ignore the nauseas feeling gripping his stomach. He turned around with as passive of a face as he could muster. 

        Suho really thought he could hold it together. He was a top model, he could fake his way out of anything. He could have held it together if it had been his mother. His manager, some random model or staff member. 

       Anyone but Kris. 

      "I'm a bothering you?" he said lazily, leaning against the door in a relaxed manner. His eyebrow was raised in the only hint of expression on his perfect, porcelain face. Suho felt the bile raising again and he couldn't keep it down. Face burning in embarressment, he shoved his way past the other model. 

      "Don't you know how to knock?" he asked bitterly. 

      Kris didn't deign it worth an answer. Suho clenched his hands to stop them from trembling. He heard the door shut behind him. Click went the lock. in a deep, calming breath, Suho walked down the hall. He hated Kris. Hated how perfect the new model was. How effortlessly beautiful the man was, how he made people love his cold face seemingly made of glass. 

        He jerked open the door to his dressing room. His mother sat in the corner, texting someone. His manager didn't saw a word about his disleveled appearance. The man simply directed him to the stylist and let her do her job. Suho closed his eyes, digging his fingernails into his sleeves. 

        Why did he have to be the one to see that?

       "Something wrong?" his mother asked, finally speaking up. Her red, red mouth was set in a thin, tight grimance. Maybe she smelled the vomit. Suho shook his head. The stylist sighed. He threw her an apologetic look. 

      "No mother," he said quietly. "Everything's fine."

      I can still be perfect. 

      I just need to work harder. 

     He said it to comfort himself, but all he saw was Kris's face peering at him in his mind. 

        Suho was a calculated sucess. His mother had poured her soul into crafting the perfect model. Maybe she'd even taken Suho's soul as well. From the moment he was born everything was devoted to helping him raise to the top. Lessons, beauty treatments, make-up, manicures, manner lessons. No expense had been spared. His family was wealthy, they could afford it all without batting an eyelash. 

        Looking back, he realized how lonely he really was. He had been working since he was four. There was no time for friends, family, anything. Everything was designed to lift him to the top of the dazzling world of fashion. When he accidently slipped down the stairs after a twelve hour photo shoot, he'd broken his nose. At the time he had been horrified, not really knowing that almost every eleven year old boy had broken something at some point in their happy, normal lives. 

     But he wasn't normal and a crooked nose spelled disaster. 

     He had his first and last plastic surgery when he was twelve. It hurt so freaking much. Suho couldn't stand the aching, hellish pain. It didn't limit to his nose. No, the burning sensation spread across his entire face. Setting it aflame and forcing him to cry out for it to end. 

      After that he determined to be good enough to never have to do anything like that again. If it meant starving, painful beauty treatments or radical sleeping positions, Suho would do it. 

      He was meant to be perfect in all ways. 

      So how did someone like Kris just be....born perfect? 

     It was mind boggling. How the hell did someone just be yanked off the street and transformed into a hit model overnight? Suho couldn't understand it. How on earth was Kris just born that way? From the way he walked to the his piercing, uncaring gaze Kris captived that camera. People in the fashion business and out of it loved him. They demanded him. Kris was practically Cinderella. One day he was shopping, given an agents card, and then the next his face was plastered over everything. 

     He did in days what took Suho years. 

     Suho stared at himself in the mirror. 

     Why did he have to be the one to find me yesterday?

      "Suho darling are you in there?" his mother called through the door. "You have work tomorrow, you need to sleep. Your face is worthless if it's got saggy bags on it. Go to bed."

       He sighed, but called out. "Yes mother." It wasn't worth arguing with her. Any and all arguments lead to both of them in tears and his mother the ultimate victor. Hell I can't even argue right. He thought. Suho opened the bathroom door and walked to his bedroom. Letting a long, tired sigh he laid down on his bed and closed his eyes. 

      All he wanted was to be what Kris was. Perfect. Effortlessly perfect. Suho clenched his fist so tightly it hurt. How do you do it Kris? 

        "Alright then," the photographer called out, lowering the lens of his camera. "Let's get Suho in wardrobe change and makeup and let's get Kris in here."

      Suho stiffened at the mention of his rival's name. He had known that he would be working with Kris. That they were going to be competing viciously for the cover  shot of Style. Somehow hearing his name said out loud made it seem all the more real though. Suho wanted to scowl, but he was working and that was unproffessional. Instead he smiled, nodded, and walked off the set and into the waiting arms of the stylists. 

      "Hey, how are you?" a deep voice asked. Suho raised his gaze to meet the piercing stare of Kris. The other model towered over him, their chests so close they almost touched. Suho wanted to back away. That would be backing down though and he refused to do it. The model's face was blank, eyes half closed as if Suho wasn't even worth his full attention. The idea made him want to shake in rage. Instead he nodded curtly in reply. 

       "Hello Kris," he said firmly. He took a step away, "I believe they're waiting for you."

       He nodded, so infuriatingly calm. "I believe so." 

       Kris swept away. Suho was left feeling like Kris had somehow won again and he had no idea how. 

       "Suho," his mother said, slipping up beside him. She pressed into his side, a clawed hand digging into his arm. "You got this don't you?" her voice was almost fearful, but Suho knew better. The spike in her tone wasn't fear, it was a threat. "The cover is important," she went on. "It's Style, this could be the most important step of your career."

      She glanced over at the set. Kris stood underneath the bright lights, his shirt half ed and his hair perfectly tousled. The photographer called out his admiration of it, his camera clicking furiously to capture the perfection that was Kris. 

       Suho swallowed. "Yes," he whispered. "I've got this."

     A lie and they both knew it. 

        Suho throw up again. This time it was at the second shoot. He had just finished his first round of photos and was walking off to get a new outfit while it was Kris's turn. Suho had been ready to change when his mother came in. He didn't know why but seeing her face triggered something. He felt the bile raising and ran for it. 

       Why is this happening? He thought, retching up the little food he had eaten. Suho hadn't been eating a whole that week. Whatever food his mother and manager deemed okay for him to eat Suho couldn't seem to stomach. He was losing weight quickly. A joy for his mother who liked it when he was thin but a nightmare for the stylists who spent most of their time taking his clothes in. Suho's face was leaner, his body thinner. He could count his ribs now and feel the bone in his wrists. He pulled away from the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. He looked haggard. His face pinched and pale. Bags under his eyes. 

      All of this for a ing cover. 

      The door sung open. Suho didn't bother turning around. If they knew what was good for them, they'd leave. He just hoped it wasn't his mother. He didn't think he could take her sarcastic comments right now. Suho's emotions were running raw. They were open wounds that couldn't take anymore picking. He shuddered. He was one snarky remark from snapping and telling her to off forever. 

       "Hey pretty boy," a soft voice said. 

       Suho turned to see Kris standing in the doorway. His usually stoic face looked.....almost sad. The tall model closed the door behind him with a soft click. Suho watched him warily. 

        "What are you doing?" he asked. "You should be busy."

        Kris shrugged. "I heard you ran in here," he said. "I thought maybe you were throwing up again."

         Suho gestured towards the sink. "Excellent deduction Sherlock," he said bitterly. "Yes, I'm throwing up. What's it to you?"

         Something flashed in Kris's eyes. Something dark and stormy. He let go of the door handle to stride forward. He was large and looming. His face looked furious, his fists clenched. Out of self preservation, Suho flinched away. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the punch. 

         It never came. 

         Suho's hands were pulled away from his face. He found himself staring into Kris's eyes as the man pressed close to him. Suddenly their bodies were pressed up against each other with Kris's leg shoved aggressively between Suho's legs. Kris leaned down until his forhead rested on Suho's. His eyes looked wild. A bright flash of something bursting in them. Suddenly Kris wasn't emotionless. He was alive and he was brilliant. In that moment Suho understood why everyone fell over themselves when Kris came into view. That kind of life was beauty. Suho felt small in the prescence of it. He was never alive that way. He was a perfect little doll. Lifeless and useless. Kris would win the cover of Style. He'd win everything. It wasn't even a game because Suho could never compete. 

       Suho realized he was crying when Kris brushed his tears away with his long fingers. 

        "Don't cry," Kris said quietly. "And stop throwing up, stop beating yourself up. Just-just stop it." He took Suho's hand in his, gripping it tightly. Suho was silent. His throat felt dry like someone had shoved sand down it. He couldn't say a word. Kris sighed and closed his eyes. 

        "I'm pulling out of the shoot," he finally said. "I've told Style I'm not avaible anymore. Personal reasons, I said." he smiled wearily. "They didn't ask another question. Apparently when you're the next "it model", you make your own damn rules."

       Kris's gaze flicked downward to stare at Suho's trembling hand. He lifted it up and kissed the back of it gently. "Kris...." Suho whispered. "Why?"

      He shook his head, biting his lip harshly. "Suho," he said. "I'm doing it because I'm sick of watching this 'rivalry'  tear you to shreds. You're not eating, you're hiding in bathrooms to throw up, you can't walk straight, you're obviously not sleeping." he laughed. "And not to be rude, but your mother is an utter ."

        Suho didn't argue with it. His mother was a . "But why do you care?" he asked. "Why do you care at all?" his shock was turning into anger and Suho didn't know why. Maybe it was because Kris was picking at his wounds with the precision of a surgeon. "Nobody in this business gives a damn because we're all in the same boat. We've got to be perfect or at least fake it. Kris you're it, the one everyone loves and the one everyone wants. I'm old news, second best," Suho's voice was biting, harsh enough to make Kris flinch. "And I'll always be that way now. No matter what my mother does I'm done. Washed up."

        Kris was shaking his head, eyes closed. "No," he said. "No that's not true." He reached into his jean's pocket to pull out a small piece of paper. He shoved it into Suho's hand. 

         Trembling, Suho looked at it. He blinked. "It's me...." he whispered, his dry lips. "From like forever ago." 

        He nodded. "From when you were seventeen," he clarified. "Look at it. Do you see how happy you were?"

         Suho looked again. He was young, smiling at the camera. If he remembered correctly, this was a low budget shoot for some random charity. A low key affair his mother hadn't bothered to show up for. She thought it was publicity, not worth wasting her time on supervising. It was his first time working without her. Blankly he stared at his past self. That Suho did look happy, healthy. 

        "Look at your eyes Suho," Kris siad gently. "Do you see the spark in them?"

      Slowly, Suho traced the curve of his jaw. He touched the eyes, looking at them in wonder. He'd had the life in them. The spark that drove people crazy around Kris. He wondered when he'd lost it. 

        "I was nineteen when I first saw you," Kris said. "I was sitting in the subway going to work. I looked up and saw this picture hanging on the wall. 'Save the Whales' it said. I stared at it so long I still ing remember the organization's phone number." A small smile appeared in the corner of his mouth. "And I stared and I stared and do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking 'wow, look at him. Look at him."

        Kris leaned forward, brushing his lips across Suho's cheek. Suho clung to his arms, ,unable to keep himself up. His mind was spinning and if he didn't cling to something he was going to fall over. Kris, perfect Kris, stared at him? Suho couldn't belive it. He shook in Kris's arms, his stomach threatening to heave again. This was a prank. A horrible prank. Any moment now the cameras were going to appear and Suho was going to be humilated. 

       Kris whispered into his ear. "And I thought, 'if I ever, ever get the chance to meet that boy, I'm going to kiss him.'" He ran his thumb over Suho's lips, gaze riveted on them. Kris smiled before pressing his lips against them. It was nice, gentle. The barest brushing of lips befre Kris pulled away, leaving Suho wanting more. 

     "But I finally got to meet that smiling boy," Kris said quietly. "And I found out his life was hell." He quickly kissed Suho again. "All I want is for him to smile because he's happy, not because it's for a ing camera."

       "Yeah?" Suho asked, still not sure that cameras weren't going to spring out on him. "Well...what do you think would make me smile like that again?"

       Kris laughed. It was a loud, pleasant sound that made Suho want to laugh too. He didn't thought. He still felt so tired. Kris pressed closer, pushing Suho against the sink. 

        "You smiled when I kissed you," he said. "so maybe that'd be a good place to start."

        Without realizing it, Suho smiled again. He opened his mouth to say something. A loud, insistent knocking on the door cut him off. 

         "Suho?" his mother's shrill voice echoed. "Suho are you in there? You'll never believe it, Kris dropped out of the shoot! You're going to be on the cover of Style. Isn't this amazing? It'll open so many doors for you, you-"

       Suho shook his head and pushed his mother's voice out of his head. Hesitently, he placed his hand on the back of Kris's neck, pulling their faces closer together. "Kissing," he whispered. "Would be a great place to start."