Han Sanghyuk was born clumsy. He always managed to injure himself in the most unthinkable manner. He never cried, he thought that crying was pointless, and cuts will heal over time anyways.

But sometimes he hated his clumsiness, how he keeps getting his index finger injured, how he always pulls a muscle from rushing through warming up. Every time he fell, every time he bled, he saw how his hyungs all rushed over, their faces with worry printed clearly all over.

He felt bad.

He felt guilty.

Guilty of being the reason why everyone was worried.

He hated his clumsiness, he hated it so much- He hated other parts of himself too. He hated how he couldn’t learn the dance in just one try like the leader. He hated how he couldn’t hit the keys during lives like the vocals, even with that one measly line of his. He hated how he couldn’t contribute to his group musically like the rapper. He hated how he wasn’t even half as good-looking as the visual.

Maybe people would like him more if he was more like his hyungs.

Those thoughts ran through his head as he crouched in a corner of the shared bathroom, knees tucked close, a razor blade held shakily in his hand.

Thoughts soon manifested into into silent demons and he believed their malicious whisperings, believed that he was useless, that he was holding back the group, that Vixx would be better off without him. It was just him, his tears and the razor blaze in the quiet dorm then.

His mind was hazy, he couldn’t think straight from all the crying he had done. All he could focus on how the razor blade shone under the florescent light, wondered how the sharp surface would feel along his skin. He didn’t cared that he's hurting himself, cuts will heal over time anyways.

The muffled sobbings soon softened down, his judgement going haywire as the razor blade approaching his other arm at a suffocatingly slow speed. 

Just one cut, one cut. Let me forget about the world for now-

The door creaked open, making the youth drop the weapon in shock. He shrinked away, afraid of who was behind the door. 

On the other hand, Hongbin just wanted to relieve himself in the middle of the night, only to be met with a terrible sight. The bubbly and cheerful maknae was nowhere to be seen, the guy in front of him was a wreck, his hair a mess and visible tear stains on his shirt, his whole body visibly shaking. He gaped at the scene, realisation punching him in the face as he spotted the hastily discarded blade not far off. 

He took cautious steps towards the broken kid, fearing that a wrong move would send the other running like a hunted animal. Once he got close, he carefully picked up the fortunately-unused  blade and tossed it to a far corner with slight detest. 

He slowly settled down at the spot beside the teen, who was still shielding himself from him, from the cruel world. His heart ached at the sight, he never thought that the carefree kid, the one that the hyungs always crooned at, was so broken. And there’s nothing he could do about it.

Hongbin was never good with words, he hardly spoke during interviews. He wasn’t eloquent, he never knew how to get his thoughts through properly. He was smart enough to stay quiet and instead opted to wrap his arms loosely around Hyuk, patting his back reassuringly like how a mother would.

His heart broke further as the boy responded to his embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his waist as he felt a growing wetness on his shoulder. Tears welled up his in eyes but he refused to let them fall, he was the hyung after all, he had to stay strong for his young dongsaeng, too young and vulnerable for the harsh world.