It starts slowly.
The small pinches, the tiny pokes. 
The reflections and the photographs that suddenly seem...somewhat off, you may say.  Something's different, something's wrong. Something's slipping out of your tight hold.
One day, you'll realise it's you. 
And then it'll hurt. Yes, it'll hurt.

--

The lights are bright, cameras flashing and shouts everywhere.
The whole place is chaos, noise and running and the stressful atmosphere, everyone in the room is mindful of the deadlines and tight schedules they are working with, every minute counts. I watch, sitting in a chair, frowning a little. I'm not a big fan of mess, and I'm surrounded by it.  

"Boys?" One of the coordinator noonas is walking towards us, holding a garment bag. "If you are all done with makeup you can go change now. Quick, we only have until 8p.m. tonight." She s the bag at us. "The clothes are wrapped and labelled, hurry, go change!" 

The changing room smells strongly of powder and hairspray. I'm used to it by now, but getting used to something doesn't mean you like it, you simply put up with it. In an attempt to get out as soon as possible, I wriggle into the shirt and jeans, and slip out. 

In front of the mirror, I scrutinize myself. Something seems off. 
Is it hair? Eyes? Shoes? I can't tell. I turn to Jonghyun hyung.

"Hyung, is my hair messed up?" 

"No, why?"

"Something seems off and I don't know what it is."

I look at myself again. Is it the shirt? Red isn't my favorite colour. It's too rough, too loud.
Turning and twisting, trying to see every inch of myself in the mirror, I decide that the colour is acceptable. Then, what is it, is it the cut?

"Hyung, does the shirt make me look big?"

Jonghyun hyung looks up, he grins. "May not be the shirt, Kibum. Maybe it's you."

What? "I think it's the shirt." 
Right?

"Trust me, Key, I'm pretty sure it isn't." 
He grins again and walks out the door. "Come on, the photographers are waiting."

I linger just a little longer, look at my reflection again. I'm pretty sure Jonghyun was joking. Wasn't he?
A tiny seed of doubt plants itself in my mind.
What if he wasn't?
--
In a way, I'm glad when the shoot has ended and I've changed back into civilian clothing.  Those clothes made me feel exposed, somewhat , and awkward. I'm not too sure why. I've never felt this way before. 
Taking photos in that outfit had been terrible. I'd tried to hide behind my members uncomfortably, but hadn't succeeded. 
Was it because I was so big?

Was I too fat?

When had I become this way? 

More importantly, what to do now that I have become fat?

a/n: First chapter :). Not too much, more as a kind of introduction.