Byunghun's sharp breaths break the silence of the room as he wakes; raw panic ripping at him in sharp spikes, hands in the blanket folds.

Gasping, he does his best to force the harsh breaths back down his throat, steady his pounding heart. His eyes focus on the dark, grotesque shadows around him as they recede back from the confused remainders of his dream into a solid stillness.

The tiny blue light of the smoke detector blinks down at him from the ceiling.

Sweat is sticking uncomfortably to his back so he sits up, thick blankets sliding off him; cringes at the bare, exposed feeling as his fear trickles back into fatigue.

 

Niel is sound asleep in the other bed, grey shadows curling around his still form. His soft hair and slack expression make him look entirely untouchable. The sight sends a brief pang through his chest and Byunghun almost wishes the other were awake with him before immediately rescinding the thought.

 

The thought of trying to sleep again is repellent, so instead he blinks absently at the wintery, unwelcoming blue fingers of daylight filtering in at the windows edge. It emits a sense of quiet wrong; as though no one should be awake to witness it.

The buzz of the air system hums lowly in the quiet room. Consciousness settles down around him as a too-familiar cloud of dread, draping heavily around his shoulders and seeping into his bones; adrenaline fizzling out as weariness bleeds back into his limbs.

 

Mechanically, he forces himself into action. Slides out of bed, trudges along the rough carpet. Rubs at his sore eyes; pressing away the images that threaten at the edges of his vision, slipping around him. Closes the door behind him as softly as he can manage, a cold sense of isolation rushing in as it shuts behind him.

Stumbling onto the chilly linoleum of the vacant kitchen, he does his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside him, heats some water, and begins another day.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

"Why do you read that trash, anyway?"

The words are out before he can stop them. He steps on the wave of guilt that follows and stays silent.

Everything about the room seems too soft, and the lamplight too warm, and the casual, comfortable way that Niel is sprawled on the bed grits like sand under his teeth.

Niel flattens his book on his chest to peer at him, cocking an eyebrow, and Byunghun turns away to dig through his drawer; to hide the blush that spreads over his cheeks from his outburst, pout twisting petulantly at his lips.

"Something wrong?"

 

Byunghun grinds his teeth. Sweat pricks over the palms of his hands, and he rifles mindlessly through the clothes, colours blending together. He's too tired to remember what he is looking for.

"No." It comes out as a bite. His words seem disconnected, and misery curls in his stomach, shoulders drooping. The drawer slams more than slides closed.

 

He can feel Niel's mind turning; eyes inquisitive, mouth turning down. He darts into the bathroom to escape his questions.

 

Under the cold spray of the shower, his mind rushes along with the thudding pulse of the water.  He watches absently as tiny drops of water join together on the shower wall and slip down. The whites and silvers of the bathroom blur together as he lets his eyes unfocus; the drumming of water echoing in his ears as he loses track of time.

 

He blinks, unsure of how long he's been standing there. The light is muted and disorienting.

He wonders idly if Niel is still in their room.

His breath hitches at the memory of his concerned face. Gags at the idea of telling him; at such a weak and cowardly desire.

 

He stops the water, leans his dripping head against the wall, breathes deep to try to compose himself. His eyes flick to his reflection in the mirror. He looks sick, and pathetic.

 

He drops his gaze back down to trace the shiny lines of water that cling to his hands, drop to the floor in small spots.

The floor seems like its beckoning him, promising a hard, cool welcome for his body. But he resists, summoning what's left of his will to step away. He’s great at that.

 

He towels off until his skin is hot and dry; tries to erase the build-up that clogs his thinking, wake up all the parts of his brain.

But concentrating is like trying to hold water, and it slips through his fingers.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

The choreography is second nature by now, but it’s so hard to follow. 

He tries to hide his tiredness, but he's sweating by the time they finish the first run through. Everything around him is too loud, too harsh, too fast. His limbs are heavy and slow, his brain one step behind it all. The studio lights stab circles into his vision.

He can't remember what his rap sounded like when he did it, whether it had any life. 

He's sure it shows, sure his lagging is obvious, but can't quite shake himself out of his stupor to mask it.

 

He can't even remember the last time he got a night of sleep that wasn't broken by bad dreams. Nothing he does stops them.

 

He tries not to blink too much, or too long, or confusing images begin to flash behind his eyes, mixing unpleasantly, nauseatingly with the repetitive songs. The other members seem to be existing in a world outside his; laughing, shouting, full of energy and careful coordination.

 

But it's his job to hide it, and he is a professional, so.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

The car is stuffy, crowded.

He wants so badly to escape it; the stale sunlight, the members' shouting from the other seats, jostling, cajoling, the music reverberating in the small space.

Instead, he opts for stuffing his earbuds in, feeling bitter, and helpless, and very alone.

Resting his forehead against the cool glass of the car window, he watches the white strips of the road blur into a solid line. 

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

Another night and he can't sleep, despite the aching weariness in his body, the irritating heaviness of his eyelids. He can't call it insomnia. He’s just afraid.

 

He's jumpy, paranoid, whether it’s from the dreams or sleep deprivation, he doesn't know. It isn't healthy, to stay up, but right now it’s the preferable option.

 

He opens the door to the balcony, leans against the wall; lets the cold wind wash over him, bite through his clothing. Byunghun stares at the familiar framework of the city’s dirty buildings, lights winking back in small points of red and yellow. The night sky behind them seems horrifically blank and daunting.

He yawns, wide, and accidentally in a deep breath of the smelly air; gags on it. He tucks his stiff hands into his sleeves; wraps them around his knees and sits back against the sliding door.

 

 He chooses counting window lights as frustrating enough of a task to keep him from slipping into a doze; timing it to the beat of his heart.

Sullenness rises in his chest, sluggish and uncomfortable. He has the sudden urge to shout out at the city, at its sleepy vacancy, to garner some sort of response; but instead he concentrates on his task.

 

Daylight is beginning to fuse back into the sky, so he allows himself to relax by degrees. For an hour, he slips in and out of mercifully empty unconsciousness until Niel's gentle hand on his shoulder startles him awake.

He's frozen to the bone and so stiff he can barely stand, but wearily counts it as a victory.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

Another day scrapes by; Byunghun is surprised he can hold up his head.

He is totally shelled out; grasping at numbness to gather energy.

 

 

Bright shouts pick through the dorm's air: he's just lost the game for the third time.

His brain throbs; slow and impatient.

The jubilant noise of the other boys and the grind of crumbs in the cushions and the heavy plastic in his slow hands rub at the frayed ends of his nerves. He lets out a strangled yell and roughly shoves the controller into Ricky's lap.

They take his reaction in stride, but Niel peers at him, inquiring. It's pissing him off.

 

He shrugs. "Just tired." Is that his mouth slurring the words, or his ears?

He rubs at his eyes absently. His head is pounding. All he wants is to sleep peacefully, but the thought of giving in sends tiny spikes of fear down his spine.

Niel grabs at his hands, warm and soft; eyes wide, alight with humor.

"You can sleep with me, hyung," he croons, eyelashes batting, a smile creeping in at the edges of his earnest look.

 

A tiny, pathetic part of him wishes he could. To feel a percentage safer; less alone.

Beside him, Changjo is smirking, and annoyance burns away his patience. Scowling, he stands, pulling roughly out of Niel's grip.

The walls plunge temporarily, as if he has a fever, but he strides out of the room, knowing they'll just write it off as his short temper.

A chill settles over his body as the darkness of the hallway swallows him, cutting him off from the others. Is he swaying?

 

He trips and stumbles, helplessness squeezing at his chest as he clings to the wall. Dragging his feet, he crosses to his room.

He leaves the light on, tries to fight off the inevitable. He doesn’t know what else there is to do. Attempts to focus on a game on his phone, bright lights dotting out behind his thumbs.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

He doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up.

Hot sweat is gathered at his temples; the room bright and empty. His eyes water as he blinks around, trying to make sense of the vivid terror drowning him.

He feels wrecked.

His throat burns from panting, his lungs ache and he can't take another moment of it; of not functioning.

 

He fists a hand in his hair, but he's crying before he can stop it. Fear thrums behind his eyelids, red and pulsating. He squeezes his eyes closed tighter, wraps an arm around his middle; face crumpling as hot tears slip out. He shudders with the force of his sobs, lost control.

 

He registers numbly when Niel opens the door to their room, deliberating awkwardly in the doorway.

Byunghun drops his head. Blinks at his hands, bleary through tears. There's a spike of panic, of shame, that shoots through him, grasping for threads of excuses, of denial. But he can't pass it off now, and really, he's done caring.

The door closes softly, and there's a hesitant "Byunghun-hyung?"

 

He winces.

Idly, he wonders what time it is. His shoulders tremble; and he still is crying, tears wet and itchy and hot on his face. He must look like a pitiful mess.

The mattress dips beside him, a tentative arm wrapping behind his back. Byunghun hastily wipes at his face, but tears continue to defiantly leak out, mouth refusing to uncrumple.

"Are you...hurt? Sick?"

He shakes his head, gathering his will that’s not there. Takes a shaky breath. Picks at the ends of his sleeves.

 

Niel doesn't say anything, but sighs quietly, hand rubbing over Byunghun's back; moving in confused shapes, more heavy than comforting. It makes Byunghun feel small.

After a few minutes of silence, Byunghun glances at the other. Niel looks tired and pale, worried. A flood of guilt overwhelms him; for making him look that way, as if he didn't already have enough to worry about. His problems are nothing.

He swallows. Stutters, "S-sorry." Coughs. "Sorry, Niel-ah." He tries to tacks on what he hopes is a convincing smile and not the watery grimace it feels like. Judging by Niel's face, it isn't working too well. Sighing inwardly, he scratches at his arm, stares down at his lap.

He feels dumb and hot and dirty and sweaty and so, so tired.

 

He sniffs, and Niel tugs him in closer, and then he feels lightly less miserable, tucked into the warmth of the other.

Niel gently takes his hand, fingers locking lightly with his.

"Do you want to- talk-?"

He shakes his head again. 

"Byunghun-hyung!" Niel's voice comes out too loud in the silent room, and he jostles Byunghun until a sheepish laugh breaks out of him.

His expression is fond now, and Byunghun relaxes. His nightmares seem farther every minute he spends with Niel. He wipes at his face with the bunched up sleeves at his palms, and mutters his thanks.

 

Niel smooths the hair off his forehead, and Byunghun closes his eyes at the feeling, accepting the tenderness with guarded belief, too tired to protest something so nice.

 

The wave of exhaustion is suddenly crushing him, swirling around him.

He flops back on the bed, dragging Niel next to him, who yelps quietly.

He actually smiles. He's falling quickly, and for the first time in a while, he feels completely safe.

His eyes close; the room dissipating into swirls of emptiness.

He barely registers as Niel reaches to click off the lamp, the light changing to a muted dark.

The warmth and weight of Niel settles next to him and Byunghun might actually nuzzle his arm. Niel smells sweet, familiar and

he's floating now.

There's a soft brush at his temple and he is spinning away, higher and lighter.

 

 

 

&

 

 

 

The nightmares still come every so often; but now Niel is there when he wakes up.

 

Trying to stay awake is a habit that's hard to break.

The steady rhythm of the car is lulling him to sleep, and his eyes won't stay open, but there's only a small trembling there, indiscernible to anyone but Niel.

Byunghun stares resolutely forward, tense.

 

But Niel's arm loops through his with a knowing look thrown his way; derailing his system.

Closing his eyes, he clutches Niel's arm tightly to him. Maybe the others will tease, but it doesn't matter.

Slowly, with the engine rolling under them, the sunlight and trees and the flash of silver buildings out the window begin to blur together.

Byunghun melts slowly into his touch, breathing him in. Comfortable, his eyes flutter, and he notes faintly that Niel is humming.

 

His head drops onto Niel's shoulder; he sinks into his warmth as the stiff coldness and discomfort bleed away, and a content smile flickers over his face.