He needs air, needs to breathe, needs—

Drowning.

It always feels like he's drowning. The push and pull, like waves, undulating thick and rhythmic, back and forth, up and down. Like wandering chin-deep into the ocean, frothy edges spitting and foaming, and under, heavy water pulling and —

Minho is as fluid as liquid itself, slipping from container to container, morphing effortlessly from shape to shape. He is endlessly curious, endlessly talented, endlessly inspiring. Seungyoon writes, plucks notes on his guitar. He likes to create, and in creating, coalesce how he feels. Minho is the reverse— he feels, and whatever he feels, he uses to create. And the way Minho feels! So powerful, so overwhelming, raw and uninhibited and devastating— like waves, big tall crashing waves, knocking Seungyoon back and over and down... drowning.

What do you do, he wonders, when you have to lose control? For Seungyoon it is about working for security, working to be in control. To know that he has back-up plans, and then back-up plans for those. When you have something important to cherish isn't it natural to want to protect it with everything you have? Minho, he works with abandon and works tirelessly — all the while not knowing, navigating the finer points of his craft (whatever it may be at that particular point) by creativity and instinct.

He muses, when the