Jongin says it every so often.

"Bend, don't break."

because I break things all the time, including myself.

As I crouch down to pick the broken pieces that was once a plate, I hear his footsteps nearing me, light and caustious against the white tiles. 

He stands and watches, before finally sighing, and bend down to grab my wrist, lifting me from the ground.

"I'll clean it up."

Jongin crouch down at the same spot I once was and picks up the remainings into the thrashbin next to it. He worked fast, but careful enough not to hurt himself. 

My eyes soften at the scene but seals my lips tight.

I puncture my point finger against the sharp ends of the broken glass I hide in my palms, and watches as the red ooze out.

Jongin doesn't know.

Bend, don't break.