Luhan smiles out at the sea of people, voice ringing out over the stadium with the help of the microphone he holds in front of his moving lips, his air supply disappearing time and again until he in another breath in the space of a millisecond to keep singing.

He’s in his right element on the huge stage, his fans singing along loudly to the parts they know, their shouts and hysteric screams reverberating inside of him in a way that makes it impossible to wipe the grin off his face.

His songs aren’t what they used to be, he knows as much, but he sticks to it nonetheless, and for the few hours he spends on stage every week he’s able to ignore the hurtful comments some people leave behind on his music videos and blog. He knows the lyrics aren’t anywhere near as meaningful as they were before, but there’s very little he can do about it.

So he keeps singing now that he has the opportunity, in order to keep his mind off the bad things and let everyone who’s come to see him enjoy the concert. In order to not disappoint anyone. He sings like he’s rehearsed, his tone right on all the way through each song, even though his throat is starting to turn a bit raw.

The roar is deafening when he steps off the stage after saying his final thanks, and he’s escorted out of the arena without so much as stopping to quench his thirst. One of the security personnel sticks him a bottle of water that he gulps down on the way though. A number of people are already outside, phones held up and flashes going off as he climbs into the backseat of the limousine.

He falls on his side on the seat, exhausted and swamped by dark thoughts that returned the very moment he was out of sight of the rest of the world. Now that he’s alone he wants nothing more than to curl up in a fetal position and cry out of desperation, but it’s something he can’t really do.

It doesn’t matter if he’s wearing brand-name sneakers, expensive jewelry and a uniquely designed outfit that looks like it’s worth half of an average person’s yearly salary, because people can tell. He knows this from the few times he’s dared venture onto tumblr and twitter and similar sites. His fans can tell just as well as his manager, even if he wears shades, even if he wears a mask or pushes his cap down as far as he can.

They just know.

The instant he steps out of the flashy vehicle his manager is by his side, readily escorting him back to his luxurious penthouse suite with the help of a pair of security guards. He walks in silence, tuning out his manager’s rapid jumble of words as she goes on about the week’s schedule. He doesn’t want to hear it.

To say that being on his own in the suite is the best part of the day would be a grave understatement. He doesn’t even bother flipping the light switches as he walks through the extravagant living area with its fancy couches and modern fireplace, making a bee-line for the master bedroom whilst squirming out of his disgustingly glimmering t-shirt and tossing it on the end of the king-sized bed sloppily, where it’s soon joined by every other piece of clothing and accessory he’d been wearing the entire night.

He lets the water wash away his tears as he finally drops his façade, his body wracked by sobs as he tries to breathe properly between the choppy exhales and drizzle of water down his face. If he’d have known this is what things would turn into he would never even have considered sharing his songs with the world. He misses the past so much it hurts.

He used to be a very social person, a different social from chatting comfortably and making light-hearted responses at talk shows and during interviews. He used to spend a lot of time with his family and friends, used to enjoy getting to know new people and randomly bumping into acquaintances on the street. He used to be on the phone for hours with Yixing and Yifan, both of them living too far for him to visit either of them with his meager paycheck, and he used to mess around in the arcade with Jongin and Sehun until half his monthly savings were all but gone. He used to spend every remaining minute of every day with Minseok, and every moment just seemed so golden, every second a memory he’d treasure forever.

He’s done weeping like a child by the time he stumbles out of the shower, and barely dries off at all before slipping on a pair of boxers and crawling into bed, tugging the stupidly soft covers all the way to his ears.

Things are different now. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper conversation with his parents or met with them face to face. He can’t remember the last time he heard Yifan’s husky voice laugh at one of his ridiculous jokes or the last time Yixing murmured to him that he was worried he wasn’t eating properly and asked that he’d look after himself better. He can’t remember the last time Kai or Sehun asked him about his schedule, to make sure all three of them could meet up and get wasted and high on endorphins.

But he remembers the last time he talked to Minseok. He can recall the other’s forced smile and glossy eyes as they stood close together in a corner of the gate area at the airport. He would give anything to forget the words of goodbye that Minseok said to him with a quivering voice, because the simplicity of them always brings tears to his eyes again.

I’ll miss you.

Luhan clutches one of the pillows close to his chest, his nails digging into it in a way that has to ruin the fine material of the cover, but he doesn’t care. It’s as though there’s a gaping hole in his chest, pulling his entire being into himself. He wants nothing more than to go back in time and call everything off, even the amazing first years of stardom, when he was still himself. Anything to not have to experience the intense pangs of longing that he has daily, when he just wants to scream at everything and everyone to go away and let him return to a normal life, to not have to hide his emotions as though they’re not there. To not have to retreat to the shower to cry because things didn’t turn out the way he wanted them to.

But he can only close his eyes and pretend that things are different, in some way managing to drift off into an uneasy slumber only to wake in the early hours with a pounding headache.

Luhan has always liked the fansigns, the opportunity to meet the people who have given him everything he has and who go to great lengths to make him happy. He still finds slivers of hope in the sessions of constant autograph writing and pointless small talk, because he enjoys listening to some of the short and probably heavily edited stories his fans tell him. It makes him feel a bit less lonesome.

He flashes the girl in front of him a genuine smile as she waves to make place for the next, but he has to pause for a moment to glance up at the second floor of the mall when he hears a jeer, a snarky comment about how his new album is “so bad compared to the first one that it’s almost sad”.

When he turns his attention back to the teen in front of him after what seems like an eon, she smiles apologetically as though it was she or her friend or something that had called out the harsh words, mumbling a nervous “don’t mind them, we all like what you do, and there’s nothing wrong with experimenting”. He wants to tell her that it’s not as much a failed experiment as it is an extreme and disheartening lack of inspiration, but instead opts for smiling brightly and giving her a wave as she goes. It’s not her fault the other person happened to hit the bull’s-eye.

His manager is in a good mood when they go on, although slightly unfocused compared to how she usually is. He assumes she heard the comment earlier and it’s distracting her a bit, since she definitely doesn’t know about his fandom’s feedback on the CD as well as he himself does. She hates the internet after all.

There’s a scheduled photo shoot and a quick interview after lunch, but when he’s done with that he’s supposedly free for the rest of the day. He doubts he’ll have much energy or drive to actually do anything, but supposes he might change his mind before then. Otherwise he’ll just catch up on lost hours of sleep anyway.

The studio where they do the shoot is plainly decorated with rather neutral colors, and when the photographer lets them know he’s finished the interviewer takes her place on the couch he’d been seated on the last few frames. She smiles eagerly at him, clicking her pen a few times before she starts on the expected questions about his tour and new album, what it’s like and what he likes best about it. He answers with moderate honesty but makes up for his fainter answers with a playful comment or mysterious smile that should have her thinking about the deeper meaning behind his words. The deeper meaning that isn’t really there.

But eventually she starts asking questions that he isn’t really entirely comfortable with. “Some people are speculating that your slight lack of emotion in the songs is due to a break-up, did you know that? How much of it is true? Do you really have a secret muse? Does she have a name? With your busy schedule, how do you find the time to meet up with friends or go see your family?” He doesn’t have time to answer one before she’s blurting out the next, and while he’s annoyed and tired and just wants to glare at her, he chuckles and shakes his head.

“That’s not really true. I’m just exploring new areas of myself and music, but I suppose a lot of people liked my old style… I really want to please everyone, including myself, but that’s not really possible as an artist, is it?” His explanation seems to be enough, since the interviewer shakes her head with a tiny smile and a “no, I guess that’s true”. She concludes the interview a minute or so later, thanking him and his manager for their time and wishing him luck in the future, hoping they’ll have the opportunity to meet again. He isn’t sure he agrees, but shakes her hand and smiles with words of agreement.

It’s not just about my family Luhan… it’s all this attention. I don’t like being in the spotlight like this, open for people to scrutinize and point fingers at. I know this is what you love doing, but it scares me. You’re changing Lu. We’re only inches apart but it feels like you might as well be on the other side of the earth sometimes…

He drops unceremoniously onto one of the pristinely white couches in the lounge of his suite, staring out at the azure sky where groups of white clouds are slowly making their way out of his sight. At one point in time he wouldn’t have hesitated to fish out his phone and call someone, to chat until he had nothing left to say and they’d move on to the most moronic and random subjects imaginable.

He doesn’t though. He doesn’t have the guts. It’s been months since he talked to anyone he deemed a close friend, and he’s certain they feel betrayed, like he’s forgotten about them or doesn’t care anymore… or both. Besides, he doesn’t know what he’d say to them if they answered.

He knew both kids back in Korea would be disappointed in him, either seriously hurt or somewhat understanding, but very reluctant to speak to him after he hasn’t stayed in touch like he used to. Yifan would probably sound like he’s talking through his teeth, frustrated and grumpy and unforgiving, because Yifan has never been one to forgive and forget. Yixing would be the kindest, but he’d be mellow, and he’d ask too many questions that Luhan wouldn’t know how to answer.

He doesn’t call anyone. Instead he makes his slow way onto the tiny balcony, soaks in a bit of the sunlight as he leans against the railing and peers down at the sidewalk below. The people look like ants, scurrying about as though they’re all in a hurry. Maybe they are, hard pressed to get going on another part of their everyday lives. He purses his lips at the thought.

“I’m jealous…” He clenches his jaws as soon as the words have escaped him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is listening to him. He isn’t sure how long he’s been feeling like someone is always watching, but it’s proving to him just how scared he is of everything.

He has to smile, because he isn’t feeling bad about anything. He’s completely fine. Wealthy, popular and at the prime of his life with nothing but the shining future lying in store for him.

…I’m sorry. I hope we can meet again sometime.

“Me too Min… I want to see you…”

He whispers to no one and pretends not to notice the tears, because for once he just wants to let them fall.