It feels like not just the corridor, but time itself has stretched out as far as it could go. This very corridor, through which I've run along in fear I was late for dance practice, through which I've skipped along when good news comes along, through which I've walked a thousand times, my arms around my best friends', talking a mile a minute....

It is these memories I am throwing away if I quit now, if I....

I can't even bring myself to think about it.

I stare hard at the ground I step on, forcing myself to swallow that lump lodged in my throat, willing the tears not to fall. Through blurred vision, I notice the cracks in the gray cement I had missed all these years... 

It was as if it were trying to say: "Now you notice, now that you are like us. We were broken all along."

I shake my head. Where do these stupid, depressing, nonsensical thoughts come from? I don't know when, but at some point, I started looking at the ground more than the sky.

It's my father's voice that brings me to earth. I’d like to say it was familiar, comforting even. But that's a lie. It was the voice of a stranger.

"I really don't like the way things in this industry have turned out," he says, "And to think, my boy... a g... ehem,"

I look down. He can't even bring himself to say it...

"Actually," interrupts my instructor, who was walking beside us, "I'm rooting for these goldfish."

His words earn him a judging stare. My father looks....  disgusted.

"Do not even say that," he hissed.

"It’s true. I find them cute." He looks towards my dad, "I thought you, of all people, would like to hear such a -"

"Shut your mouth."

Neither of us expected him to snap, and without meaning to, we stare.

"It’s disgusting," he narrows his eyes at me, and I feel like his look alone could kill me. "And I'm SO thankful no one but I was here to hear you admit to ...that," he directed towards my instructor.

That's right.

He doesn't even consider me a person anymore.
 

*

The experience was strange: riding in the familiar black SM van, with the unfamiliar presence of my father.

I missed my members. I needed their presence at a time like this...

I close my eyes and imagine away my father. In his place, would be Jongin, sitting next to Kyungsoo. Baekhyun would be bouncing around like the energy filled jack in the box he was, and Chanyeol derping and adding to the noise levels Joonmyeon was trying desperately to reduce. Jongdae giggling next to Minseok, Sehun up to no good at the back, and Yixing staring out of the window, looking stoned as always.

And me at the back, always pretending to be asleep.

It was too silent, too silent for my dream to be a reality. I squeeze my eyes tighter, and imagine the comforting presence of duizhang... which has never failed to make me feel better.

But as hard as I try, the thought keeps pricking at my happy dreams. ‘None of that is true. You can't ever go back to that. And you know it.’

It is a lie, a giant lie, and I can do nothing but shut my mouth, nod, and play along.

Why? Because, as everyone has pointed out, it is my fault. I'm the root of this problem.

"It’s because of his injuries," my father says, pain written all over his face. He's a good actor, at least, I have to hand that over to him.

“I hate to see my son strain his body in these performances. He has faced countless sprained wrists and ankles, broken his bones and ribs, and over all that, he is not allowed to rest, but must face his next practice and next concert."

I hide away my face.
I want your words to be sincere, dad. I really, really want you to care…

The pain that contorts his face seems to be more painful than all my onstage-falls and accidents. Can't it be real? Can't you really care?

He lists off all my injuries. He states that he cares more about my health than my fame or happiness. Lies