"Are you real?"

A phrase embedded in his vocabulary, always at the tip of his tongue as a shield against unwanted prying. These words usually come out caustic, but this time, they take on a different tone - slow and slurred togehter. His eyes, barely cracked open, tries to muster as much focus as he can. A world hazy around its edges.

God, she is beautiful, with hair swirling like the night and dressed white as snow. Dark smoke smears around her eyes.

What's the color?

She's standing before him, towering over his drunken body sprawled against the wall.

"Are you okay?"

Her words barely come out above a whisper. Did he scare her? He didn't want her to keep sounding like that. Afraid of him - of the monster he tries to deny he is.

The drunkard pushes himself up. He shoots up too fast and stars dance on the fringes of his vision as he stumbles onto her. She staggers, barely able to stand on her own as she grabs his arms.

"Are you okay? Be careful. Don't move too suddenly."

She takes his arm and slings it around her shoulder, her other hand wrapped tightly around his waist. "Here, we need to get you out of here."

"Why?"

"Trust me. Careful, watch your step."

His dark brown eyes are cloudy with intoxication, blurriness racing across his sight. But he finds his human support's eyes, childlike and wide-eyed framed with thick lashes. Dream-like. Too good to be true. When she glances at him, he finds her gaze piercing, piercing straight to the beating, clumpy mess inside his chest. In that small pocket of seconds, he finds an infinity in her gaze. He finds his focus, but everything seems to fade into blurriness except for her. 

The pair moves out of the dingy alleyway, stepping on charred cigarette butts and small puddles of watery liquor. A customary, dull ache rattles the bars of his head, shaking and shaking, trying to get out with each stride they take until he doubles over in pain. The cries of the girl falls deaf on his ears as he drops the bottle he's been clutching onto this whole time. The sound of its shattering only makes it worse as he holds his head in hands.

The last thing he remembers is smoke mingling with the sky and the stars shining too brightly.

"For God's sake, this is getting out of control! You have to stop doing this. You are destroying yourself and all of the hard work we have done for you and your career!"

The shouts clatter around the confines of his brain, reaching and shaking every crevice and corner. His eyes quint from everything just being too much: too bright, too cold, too loud. "Yah," he says. "can you talk quieter please?

The man behind the orderly desk fumes, his face turning an impressive shade of red and a spark igniting in his eyes. He grits his teeth, his anger spilling over.

"Did you know how we found you? You were pissed drunk, completely ing wasted on a park bench, in PUBLIC. You were covered in your own blood from some glass shards lying around." He jumps onto his feet. "We had to take you to the hospital. We had to hide you from the media. Do you know what nightmare it would have been come if they saw you?!"

Luhan finally takes a good look at the hand he's been running through his hair with, covered in gauze and wrapped so tightly he can barely lift a finger. He waves his hand around. He didn't even notice it all. What an annoyance. He settles back into the armchair lazily.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME RIGHT NOW?!"

He looks up to see the man back in his chair, massaging his forehead, his anger settling in his senses. The wrinkles around his mouth and his eyes seem to grow deeper. Luhan's still taken aback that the man standing before him is only a few years older than he is. But the times have aged him, the times have hurt him. He doesn't make eye contact with Luhan as he sits back into the chair, papers strewn everywhere from tabloids tearing EXO to shreds to the floods of upcoming schedules and appearances to be done.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" his voice comes out exasperated, strained. "You come in here, I yell at you, you sit there ing hungover and quiet, and we keep going in circles over and over. We get nowhere. Your image is barely recovering from the last time your drunken adventure was on the top news."

Luhan sighs. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

"The other news at the time, such as the exposing of the government spying on us through our phones, was ignored."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You punched a paparazzi."

"Don't act like he didn't deserve it."

"We're doing our best to keep you clean from the media storm. The rest of the managers and I are up to our ears trying to keep you clean. The careers of the other ten EXO members are becoming more and more vulnerable every single time you up. Your actions hurt them too. Keep this up and we can't protect you anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"You know, but you don't understand. That's not enough for me or the company. You'll be asked to leave EXO."

This grabs Luhan's muddled attention. "What? Manager Youngjun -"

He rubs his temples again and looks Luhan square in the eye. "Upper management has been planning your resignation for quite some time now. They've been going through the process of terminating your contract. We convinced them to keep them away with promises that you'll get better, that we'll be watching over you. Last night's incident may be too much."

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

"You're hurting everyone with your recklessness," Manager Youngjun continues. "Your selfishness makes you ignorant. How do you think the other members are feeling?" Do you even remember them?"

"Yeah, I do. I understand."

Manager Youngjun purses his lips. "Stop saying that. The only thing that we want you to understand is something you don't. Move the hell on. Your selfish will not bring him back."

Something's triggered. Luhan's eyes widen as he finds himself on his feet, glaring down the manager as he finally stirs up some emotions for the first time since he stepped into the office. His uninjured hand balls up in a fist. 

"Shut up," Luhan says, his voice hardening and anger burning through his body. "Don't use him against me. Don't you dare."

Youngjun doesn't back down, facing the volatile mess that has been regressed before him. "Don't you dare speak to me that way. Let it go. Stop wasting your life for a corpse."

Next thing he knows, Luhan storms out of the room, making sure the hinges of the door rattle in his wake, stomping furiously down the hallway. How dare he, how ing dare he say that to him. The raw emotions shudder throughout his body, messing with his head, gritting his teeth, masking the hangover. Manager Youngjun knows he's not supposed to bring him up, especially to Luhan. How ing dare he. Who does he think he is? 

As soon as Luhan turns the corner, he doubles over, his guts threatening to release the contents of his alcohol-infested stomach. He quickly finds the nearest restroom and miraculously manages to keep the appearance of last night's events contained within the porcelain sink. It isn't until he flips on the faucet, the meager rush of water attempting to wash away the sudden filth, that he looks in the mirror reflexively. Luhan wishes he didn't. A ragged excuse for a human being locks eyes with him, dressed in the same suit and tie from last night's incident - it has seen better days - and his dyed honey-colored hair in disarray. But it is the look on his face that takes him aback: dark circles hanging and drooping from his eyes smudged with black eyeliner, his cheeks appearing hollow and gaunt. Luhan tilts his head slightly as he touches the bruises flowering across his pallid cheeks and jaw lightly, probably from a recent scuffle. A small cut curves along his bottom lip.

He looks ing awful. He smiles a little. The visual of EXO, his .

A few moments later, Luhan, his hands trembling and wiping his battered mouth, rolls up his dress sleeves, his jacket discarded behind the faucet. He splashes cold water on his face, massaging his face, and breathes deeply to discourage anything from coming up his throat. He gasps for air, his ribs a little sore from trying to keep him alive, but the putrid stench almost triggers another wave. God, when will this end?

Luhan looks up at the mirror again. This walking bag of loose bones really belongs to him? He stares deeply, concentrated, his face an inch from the glass. Suddenly his face disappears, replaced by another face gripped with unspeakable sadness, a face too close to his heart.

"Hyung." Luhan can hear the image's husky voice faintly. Jarred by fear, he staggers backwards, but he can't tear away, gripping the edge of the sink for support. This isn't real. He takes deep breaths. The boy in the mirror is dead. Forever. He saw it happen. Hallucinations, tricks of the mind. He's losing his mind.

"Hyung." The word numbs his ears. "Luhan ... hyung." His fingers begin to shake as he reaches towards the glassy surface. His eyes fixed on the face with almond-shaped eyes that once sparkled so mischievously and thin lips that carried a smile, always unforgettable.

But the face in the mirror vanishes as quickly as it arrives, Luhan's marred reflection staring back at him, a face he wishes away. He barely registers the tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice caught in his throat and unwilling to say anything that's really there. His long fingers are still glued to the mirror, slowly curling as he bows his head in shame. He falls at the seams, composure erased, the loose strings keeping him together snapping. The past washes over him mercilessly and carries him away over and over again. His mind is on autopilot as he says the same things over and over again, wrecked with sobbing. Luhan tries to maintain something, anything, but left an empty shell.

"Sehun ... oh ... Sehun ... I'm so sorry ... please forgive me ... please forgive me ..."