Behind every mask, there was a face, and behind that was a story waiting to be uncovered. The truth was everyone was wearing a mask, but what they did not know was that it was impossible to remove the masks without removing some of their skin.

Every morning, without fail, Jongin wakes up to his manager’s incessant and loud knocks on the door of his studio apartment.

It’s the same routine – black coffee, bitter and too acidic for his empty stomach, a quick shower, his damp hair tousled, travelling in the company’s car with black tinted windows, and his manager’s monotonous voice as he updates his agenda for the day.

“You’re scheduled for a photoshoot with Vogue,” Kyungsoo keeps on talking, something about “the latest Spring collection”, and Jongin is hearing the rest of his schedules like pointless interviews, pointless runways, more pointless shoots, pointless, pointless, pointless.

He is no longer listening.

Kim Jongin has always known how to please. It is what puts his life so much at ease, pretending to be someone else whom everyone likes him to be, it comes so naturally to him. The way he perfectly strides down his runway (no one knows that he rehearses his walks in the dark), the way there is not an ounce of fat on him (because he starves himself every single day), the way he chooses ballet over hip hop for his late mother, the way he acts docile in his new family, the way he–

Everything is so dumb and boring – everything is empty, superficial, soulless, but this is all he is made up of and he could never bring himself to admit it because the pathetic existence of Kim Jongin has never mattered before, and Jongin wouldn’t be Jongin without being ed up and a hypocrite. He thinks he’s almost like the last-minute addition that a painting can do without. He never belongs anywhere, and if he is to be erased, it would be okay, because his presence means nothing to anyone anyway.

“We are here,” the timbre in Kyungsoo’s voice brings him back to life, as the car comes to a halt outside the building. His eyes are dark with tension, when he stares out of the tinted window at the mass of reporters that have congregated around the entrance of the photoshoot set.

There’s a tight feeling in Jongin’s chest, so he closes his eyes and breathes in slowly, while he could only wait for the impending doom that’s possibly just a few seconds away.

“Don’t answer any of the questions,” Kyungsoo murmurs, before opening the door, “It will be alright.”   

He nods ominously, an ill feeling settling down in the pit of his stomach, but he tells himself that he needs to trust Kyungsoo, trust his words, trust that it will be alright because he’s the manager. There’s no one else he could have trusted more.

However, the moment he steps out and opens his eyes, the sound explodes right in his ears and he feels lightheaded like he’s been holding his breath under water for too long. The crowd of reporters is forming around him, with their cameras shoving right into his face, and the avalanche of questions are literally burying him now.

“Why were you with Jessica that day?”

“Step back, everyone, we need to go,” Kyungsoo intervenes brusquely and pushes back the crowd as he tries to Jongin inside.

“Are you the cause of Jessica’s disappearance?”

“Jongin, it’s alright, just keep on walking,” he swiftly leads him to the entrance and continues to mutter under his breath, “It will be over soon.”

He looks at him straight in the eyes as his manager wrenches the door open for him.  

(Kyungsoo, you ing liar.)

The last question that he gets before they finally enter through the glass-panelled door makes him sick to his stomach. His blood drains with a sickening chill, as a revolting grin spreads across the reporter’s face.

Please Subscribe to read the full chapter