--

When the phone rings at 11 p.m., it's pretty much never good news.
My manager found that out the hard way.
At first they said they couldn't find Kibum. Said he was lost, missing from his room, basically just not there. On the way there they said they found him, they said he was in danger. 
Possibly dying.
Dying. 

Manager hyung refuses to tell us how they found him, where they found him. He just bundles us into the hospital building, through the back doors, although our manager heads toward the front. Sometimes I hate all the secrecy. At times like this I just wish I could rush through the front doors, speed toward the front counter and demand to see Key immediately. Let the public know. Let them know that what they receive from the media is wrong, that their perceptions of idols are wrong, we are just humans, aren't we? Susceptible to pain and unhappiness and sickness and that sometimes we need help, too.

I need to know why I didn't notice before, why I just left him there and didn't go back to him, why I didn't force myself into his room when he refused to see any of us. Why? I thought we had been helping him by not being there, giving him some space, but perhaps if we had been present, had ignore his refusals and shoved our way in anyway, this wouldn't be happening right now. 

It takes another hour for us to be allowed in to see him, and I'm enraged at the hospital efficiency because why does it take them an entire freaking hour to get Kibum out of critical condition? And then, I'm angry at myself, because they aren't obliged to help Key. They aren't obliged to save him at all. They don't even know him personally, have no connections with him whatsoever. Yet they found him, they're taking care of him, they're trying their best to make him better. I'm just sitting here. I can do nothing. What gives me the right to complain about the standards of their work, when I'm not doing anything myself? When I caused all this in the first place? 

Key is pale to the point of being ghostly, the soft roses that used to reside on his cheeks withered, gone. They'd disappeared a while ago, replaced by sunken cheeks and powder white skin, but the shade of blankness that his eyes now hold is unlike anything I've ever seen before. They found him in the hospital grounds, the staff say. Unconscious and freezing, covered in vomit with blood stains on his lips. He's huddled up in the blankets, curled into a tiny ball, his orbs fever glazed and exhausted. He looks down, can't meet our gazes. 

Taemin hugs him, hard, and then Minho, Jinki. I can't bring myself to, can't get myself to touch him. He's so fragile, so skinny, like a piece of paper that has been soaked in water, one touch and it'll tear. But he looks so sad. So tired and frightened and just broken, that I hug him, hold him, and all I can feel are sharp, angular bones and skin that's hot to the touch, the the waves of confusion and sadness envelope me like they do him. 

"Kibum...oh, Kibummie, what have you done? What have you done to yourself?"

He remains still save for the slight shake of his head. He doesn't know. 

But he always knew.
He always knew everything. Key was always cautious, careful with his methods. Meticulous. Planning out everything, always organized. Always in control.
He came to the point where he felt he was losing hold over what he had, so he grasped for it. Reached for it, chased it, but it was actually always there. And by running after it, he went too far, and it slipped, further and further out of his grasp.

Kibum thinks he is in control, now. He thinks he knows exactly what is going on. Careful to the point of counting calories in a mouthful of rice, having lists of excuses, of lies. It's terrifying because this boy in front of me, in my arms right now, is not someone I'm familiar with. He isn't someone I know, and I used to know Kibum like the back of my own hand. I think I knew him better than he did himself.

This isn't Kibum, it's not.
Something has changed him, taken over his mind, it's taken my Key away from me.
Where has he gone? 
Bring him back, please.

--

A/n: I have no idea where I'm going with this