It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. It should be easy. Lungs expand and replace all that is bad around the system with fresh oxygen to sustain life. The heart does the same, pumping and pumping blood, trashing at my chest every single time. So of course it hurts when my heart suddenly decides it was in my best interest to knock at my ribcage.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to do anything else other than stare at a blank spot, stare at my trembling hands, stare at the way shadows shuddered under my fingers, one by one curling back in my palm and nails digging deep inside my skin. If they could draw blood, I suppose some of the pressure that goddamn organ stressed my body with will disappear. I tried to punch my chest and dictate it to slow the down. Not even when I dance in front of a hundred mirrors, reflecting my every mistake or when a crowd of strangers decides to fix their orbs over my number, not even then does my heart hurt so much, it may explode any minute now.

It doesn’t work.

Hah!

Of course it doesn’t work.

Why punching my chest will make everything better? It just hurts more now. Heck, I can even hear it drumming in my ears.

Make it stop!

Make it ing stop!

I don’t want it!

I only need to hear music, need to hear my steps, need to hear the way I pant and pant every single time I stumble on my feet and mess the choreography. They mocked me so much, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t need to hear their laughter, I don’t need to hear their words, be them constructive criticisms, be them insults, be them positive remarks. I don’t need them. I only have to focus on what’s ahead and what’s ahead alone. I only have to make sure that everything I do is worth it, I need to make sure that I hear what I want to hear and every time I see my face, my expression won’t turn grave. I need to be near perfection, I need to be the best, I need to reach higher grounds before I will be swallowed whole by those that come from behind, those that grab my ankle and try to pull me down in their sea of despair. 

Ah, I’m drowning, I’m really drowning. There’s water on my skin, water on my cheeks, there’s water everywhere. There’s water on my clothes mixed with sweat.

I really am going under and I don’t know how to swim. Even if I try, I can’t do it. It’s too thick, it’s too murky. It’s too dense for me to move around, so I’ll have to allow it to swallow me.

I cried and cried after help several times. Nobody answered me. They stare, smile and walk away, turning their backs and never glancing over their shoulder one last time. They pretend I don't exist, that they are better off without me anyway. I am just an obstacle and that is something I shouldn’t have become. Why do they have to see someone struggling when they are struggling as well? If I say something, it means that I do not pity them and I do not sympathize with their situation. 

But it! Do I always have to dance the way they want me to? What about my heart? What about my heart that stings so damn much right now, I feel like it wants to burst open and murder all of my dreams in an instant.

Goddamnit, stop hurting!

Stop it!

Stop! Stop! Stop!

No matter how many times I hit my chest, it just grows and grows in intensity.

damnit, I’m under water, there are tears everywhere. 

They burn.

Argh, it burns.

Great, now my eyes are going to swell. They’ll add another item to their “how to bully Jongin” list. Like my skin color isn’t enough.

Actually, who the cares about that? So what if it’s darker? That doesn’t change the fact that I can kick their asses if I have to. They’re just jealous that I can do moves they cannot. And every time I do try them, I fall and fall and they laugh and laugh and laugh...

No, I don’t need to hear them!

I don’t need to!

I’m okay, I’m alright, everything’s good. I’ll carry on doing the thing I do because it makes me happy.

I hear the door open. Somebody switches the lights back on.

Ash hair, long hair, God he’s gorgeous. I swear he shouldn’t be kneeling in front of me and ask what happened. I swear he shouldn’t have found me like this, in the corner, eyes at point blank. I swear he shouldn’t have come the moment I've sent him that message because that isn’t the way things are supposed to go. No matter how close we are, he shouldn’t dash in my direction every time I will go crazy and beg for him to come around and save me.

Yet, he does. He has done it again. He has abandoned everything and has run straight to see what's wrong. He has called a couple of times, of course he has, but I haven't answered for I have already started sobbing and the large training room only intensifies the noises if they are not properly controlled. I don't want to be discovered. 

“Why are you here?” I couldn’t recognize my voice. Gruff and lost, it’s somewhere between a drunken man and a tired .

“Are you that stupid?!” he grabs and shakes me shortly before he pulls me in a hug. His arms clutching at my body could relax anybody. For me, it only becomes worse as I explode with more and more hiccups and weep over his chest. “I’m your friend, remember that? If anything’s wrong, I’ll come.”

“You should have stayed,” why is he saying that? I’m sure he will not sacrifice his career for me and I don’t want him to do it. I admit that I am disappointed if he hadn't come, but he never steps over that promise. He is always there when I ask him to.

And I rarely do for I do not want to burden him.

Water, water, I’m drowning... tears that aren’t mine smudge my hair as he pecks my head and doesn’t let go.

“Shut up,” his tone shatters midway, “it hurts me to see you like this, it ing hurts me that you always call me only when it’s too much to bear.”

“Taemin---”

“Shut up!” he cups my face and our foreheads brush before our lips take over. I choke when our tears mix after each kiss. “Be honest with me, you .”

“I...,” it still hurts, just for a different reason, “...I don’t feel so good.”

“Me too,” his thumb wipes some tears along with my dark locks, “whenever you don’t speak up.”

And that was the last day I ever hid something from him.