Jongdae’s breath came in short stuttered gasps, loud in the small dim space under his study desk where he…hid from the world. The wall was cool against his bare arm, goose bumps rising on his skin in patches where it brushed against the rough surface as he tried to manoeuver his body so that his neck was in a better position. The air seemed a bit thin and it was a struggle to inflate his lungs, almost as if they had shrunk to make way for the tender heaviness creeping beneath his ribs. Yes, that was definitely the reason – it certainly didn’t have anything to do with the fact that his knees were pressed to his chest in order for him to squeeze under the low wooden top, he swore. It was a legitimate and potent emotional response to the feelings of despair and loneliness that engulfed his chest, like scavengers on a small, vulnerable dying animal –

A few metres away, Jongin cleared his throat. The sound held a particular growing irritation Jongdae pretended he couldn’t hear. Banging his head against the underside of the table, he grumbled. Perhaps it was less comfortable than it was worth to have an emotional breakdown if his brother was just going to ignore him and continue doing his homework.

“How could you?” he whined, squirming out and flopping onto the floor, laying his head on the soft side of Jongin’s knee where he sat, back straight and cross-legged, in the middle of their shared bedroom. Pages of black and white print-outs were laid out in a neat half circle around him, mixed in with loose leaf lined paper covered in his unevenly slanted handwriting. Well, Jongdae thought as a muffled crackling sound came from where he wiggled his , it used to be neat.

Above them, the ceiling fan turned lazily over the cracked cream wall paint and a daddy longlegs spider wove a modest new home in the corner. Gross. But Jongdae supposed that even the little creature, considered a mere household pest to many, was being accepted and welcomed here more than he could ever hope to be in the brutal rulings of the court of sibling politics –

“Ugh, get off me!” Jongdae found himself pushed to the side once again, forehead falling away from where he had begun to nuzzle into Jongin’s thigh and onto the harsh, unforgiving – well, actually their carpet was kind of plush and fluffy. Their entire family really liked it. “Piss off, hyung.” But Jongin didn’t really like him. (sadface).

Again, those negative feelings began building up. Jongdae was but a glass message bottle floating in the cold, stormy sea of their moss green carpet, alone but with a story to tell, and he was being neglected by the only safe island there. Fate was a cruel mistress, and he had been dealt a hand without the warmth of even a smile of companionship.