He shouldn't have to defend himself. That's how he is. Let's respect that. <3

He could feel them creep all over the room. Swirl against the walls, the corners of the ceiling. In every joint, in every crease. Every little blind spot of his eyes.

They would appear at random. Always when he thought he had finally escaped them. But then their black foggy form would fill in the place, hide in the shadow zones, in the folds of the blinds, of his discarded clothes, of his sheets.

Sometimes, they would come so close he would feel their freezing-cold breathings against his nape, his collarbones, his cheeks, his nose, his toes. They would wake him from his exhausted dreamless sleep. The type that barely rests oneself.

He would wake on a jumpstart, searching his breath, his heart racing faster than when he dances all day. Cold sweat would cover his body and then, only then would he finally realise that searching to fall asleep would never work.

Oh, he would still try though. Hell, he will try. Because tomorrow his schedule holds three interview, one press conference and a fanmeet and he has to be on top of his shape.

But the shadows, the monsters are back. He can feel them behind his tightly shut eyes creep up his legs; sit on his guts, on his legs. Some even risk their way around his throat. They're velvety, but made of barbwire. Barely a brush against his moist skin; every time he moves, it squeezes tighter around his limbs. He can barely breathe; he's blinded by his own sweat. His blankets feel like a coffin, or maybe like mummy silk slowly but surely trapping him inside his own box of flesh.

He's alone in the dark; blind, deaf, mute. He can't scream. His words catch in his paralysed throat. He panics even more. The only sound he can hear is his own blood beating at his temples, faster and louder every minute.

But the thing is that he's not alone here. There's Hongbin on his right, fast asleep on his belly, shirt riding up in a way that can only be uncomfortable. There's Jaewhan on his left, spread out so widely his feet reaches out across Taekwoon's on his other side.

He can't see them, he can't hear them. The monsters are too scary, too well hidden in the corners, too ready to dive and strangle him, too heavy on his chest, too loud. Too real.

Thousands of whispering voices, hundreds of languages. All talking about him. Their whispers blend, amplify. They're talking all at the same time and it becomes impossible to discarnate the words correctly. He can't hear them right, but he can feel every word.

All the critics, the condescending remarks, the disregarding comments, the attempts at controlling his life.

Why is HE the leader?

His dance moves are correct, but could be more powerful, don't you think?

You call that singing?!

What's up with that hair colour, it's disgusting!

Isn't he too short compared to the others?

That's not even funny, what a pity!

How is he so dark!?

Stop. It has to stop. He covers his ears with his hands. The voices still slip through his fingers, no filters. It's crude and sharp. He has to stop listening to them. But they're so LOUD. Their claws and teeth play with his insides like hyenas with rotting meat.

But he's not dead.

Not yet.

And he won't let them bring him down because he worked too hard to let them.

No, he won't.

The first full intake of air feels like a handful of nails in his trachea.

So does the second.

Slowly, it becomes more regular. He's able to push back the foggy shadows sitting on his chest, push back the voices. From afar, he can hear Wonsik snoring in the other room. That, that is way more familiar. Comforting, even. A lighthouse for a lost sailor. So he focuses on it.

The snoring becomes louder as the whispers finally vanish into thin air. It's suddenly a little brighter too, since the shadows are not covering every inch of the room anymore.

When his heartbeat is almost totally back to normal, he does leave the room. Why stay there when he knows they could be back any moment? They do are hidden in every shadow zone.

He reaches the large window in the living room. The one their managers use to clear their minds, when sun sets. Funny how such a simple view can bring peace of mind when nothing else can. Unconsciously though, he watches from the corner of his eyes for sings of the shadows. They have never followed him that far from the bedroom, but we never know.

He knows he won't be able to sleep again that night. And maybe the next one too. He sighs and decides to busy himself.

There's this choreography he's been working on for a while. Now would be the perfect moment to write it down. With a bunch of lined sheets of paper and his favourite pen, he starts.

But it's hard to focus when you've slept barely one hour in the last twenty-four and knowing that there are monsters under your bed.

He tries, he really does. But his writing looks worse than a kindergartener's and his eyes are scratchy and his jaw hurt from yawning so much and his legs still hurt from being cramped so long and he only wants to roll into a ball and cry.

So he does hide his face in his knees. But the tears won't come. He feels empty, useless, worthless, undeserving of all he's got.

Someone leaves the room and heads for the bathroom. He doesn't even look up to see who it is, but the person does see him on his way back.

"Hyung, are you alright!?"

It's Hyuk and his voice cracks with sleepiness and panic. He doesn't answer. There's no need to.

Hyuk reaches the kitchen, fumbles with water, tools and such. He hands him a cup of boiling chamomile. Then he forces him to sit on the couch and toys with his hair. It's common occurrence, sadly.

Eventually, Hyuk's hand stills, his head falls on the side. He's asleep before he can even realise it. He smiles tenderly. Youth.

He cuddles in an attempt to fall asleep he knows will be vain. It's the only time he knows Hyuk will not playfully push him away. But he doesn't care right now. Human warmth is what he needs and he has it right there and he doesn't care about anything anymore.

In the morning, he'll cook them breakfast because he'll have time. They'll all notice. They all know, but in the end they won't say anything because there's nothing they can do about it.

Hakyeon is an insomniac. He'll sleep 3-4 hours on good nights, not at all for days on bad ones. He tries everything. From sleeping pills to special tea mixes, but it's not working. The voices haunting him are too loud.

Maybe it'll drive him crazy. Maybe he'll drive himself to a burnout.

But he's willing to give it a try if it means doing what he likes best. If it means fully living his dream of being an idol.

For himself, for the guys. For Starlights. 

Because his smile is precious. Let's fight for it.