Across the dinner table, Onew sees a tired Taemin (his eyes are a lifeless grey, his smile is frail and intangible); he wonders if the younger had pulled another all-nighter, if he’d eaten from the wrong bowl to power him through the day, or what had inhabited the latter’s mind that could possibly devour so much energy, and leave only detached and aimless emotions. The meal is silent today, but Onew doesn’t pry because there seems to be a loud conversation within Taemin, behind his bland expression.

After the plates are stacked and empty wine-glasses sit in the sink, Taemin relies on the little jewel of light from the lamp.  It flickers at his desk as he desperately fills the page with nothing more than gibberish. It should be his assessment paper, but his mind is elsewhere; his sentences are pathetic and choppy.

When Onew strolls to the room he shares with Taemin, the door is slightly ajar and there is light distending onto the corridor carpet. He hears a deep sigh followed by a soft-sniffing, as if the younger had just cried, and like a miniscule pin prickling him, Onew thinks the worst. This thought warps and bends and causes him to not swing the door open, but instead, he paces to the kitchen for a sip of water, to ease his palpitating pulse. His train of thought runs wild, and before he knows it, a sip turns into an empty glass that is clanked harshly against the metal sink. His breathing - irregular.

No - the word is on repeat like a soundtrack, and Onew knows nothing better than to make steady laps around the kitchen flooring. He feels his face hot, and the room is blending into a distorted mess; he’s dizzy, but he doesn’t stop treading. It’s like a bull is running straight at him and he’s just watching it come, and he doesn’t even take out a palm to show a signal for it to stop.

He thinks of the anti-depressants in the cabinet untouched because Taemin doesn’t believe in drugs, the dark circles being the result of insomniac nights (not because of some paper), and how his silence has eaten up the life of the house, again. He rethinks that maybe Taemin is drowning in a world of white noise.

Onew acknowledges his role as a good friend. He should bring it up, suggest that taking the pills will help, that he doesn’t have to go through it alone, that he’s there if he wants someone to talk to – all those friend-like things to do.

Albeit the good deeds laying in front of him, Onew chooses the cowardly path and he fails to be honest with himself. His friend in behind that door, possibly trapped in an unexplainable misery, but Onew is a few steps too far. He’s useless, feet planted on the floor, frozen, tense and utterly gutless.

He’s fine, he thinks, he’ll be better in the morning, just a little college stress, the excuses come and go like speeding cars on a freeway.

Onew has a way of things. Avoid problems, pretends that he has no ears, no eyes, no tongue when it comes to approaching things with a straight line. He lets things slide, and things become everything – his family, friends, career all sliding through the gaps between his fingers. His willpower is weak, stable as stilts, and couldn’t, just couldn’t bring himself to take five easy steps - no obstacles or lava, push open a small wooden door and say something, anything.

Taemin is depressed, and Onew is cowardly.

It's a game they both lose in.