The higher you get, the lower you sink. 

Incapable of forgetting what had actually happened last night, I avoided any possible eye contact with the man who had just entered the room seconds ago, looking as stoic and emotionless as I could possibly be. When I trudged back home numbly with his firm arms around my bare shoulders last night, I remembered looking into a mirror thinking I looked terrible before I somehow fell into deep slumber.

Well, I suppose it's inevitable, considering the fact that I had bawled my eyes out that night; having poured my heart out to that one person who crouched down beside me and held me as he listened intently. I wanted him to speak, to sugar coat the situation so I could allow myself to believe a lie - a lie that everyone says too often - everything is going to be alright. But in truth, it isn't. Nothing's that easy. 

Lies makes everything better, doesn't it? 

He never spoke, but I could see sadness and pity swimming in his eyes evidently. I could feel him sympathising me. Or was it something else that was reflected from his dark eyes? I didn't really know. It was an overwhelming thought, but perhaps he knows how I feel, perhaps he feels the same heart wrenching feeling when your heart gets torned apart and you feel as though there's no oxygen; you can't breathe. Perhaps he's gone through a similar situation with a different person. 

I remembered, that very night, how he slowly melted my heart and cradled me in his arms and gave me the comfort I seek for that no one else could. My insecurities had vanished at that moment, like I never had them in the first place, but they came digging into me deeper than ever after I was left alone again. I couldn't stop them no matter how hard I tried, and it makes me feel so bad about myself. 

I didn't know what they were, what these thoughts were, and I knew I never had these things in my mind before, telling me how despicable I look and how I was no better than anyone else. 

Despicable. How despicable and helpless you are.

I binged, I threw up, I repeated. I probably lost some weight, but it doesn't satisfy my mind. I see the number on the bathroom scale going down every few days, but it doesn't satisfy me either. Another half of me though - the rational side of me, pleads for me to get help immediately. But as if something else had dominated me, I refused to listen. I refused to admit that I needed help even though I know I am helpless. 

This is only the beginning.

My inner demons just won't let me do so.

So here I am, shifting my weight between my toes and my heels as I stared at the ground beside Ms.Song, who is currently asking Minho about a piano piece that he was supposed to prepare for today. Although I was staring at the ground all the while they were discussing, I could feel his gaze burning through my head, tempting me to meet his alluring gaze. 

Finally after what seemed like hours(although it was only a few minutes), Ms. Song called my name and I was forced to look up, just in time to see her gesture for me to come over. I didn't realise I might have appeared rude to have avoided eye contact while I stood at a distance away from them, but then again, my mind was preoccupied. My mind was flooded with embarrassment and jumbled thoughts. 

I took small steps towards them and locked eyes with him for a brief moment. It was very brief, but in that second I half-expected him to have pity in his eyes, or perhaps even a mocking gaze, anything that showed that he had some sort of regconition of last night, but there was none. None at all.

His expression was so empty to the point that I even begin to question myself. Was yesterday surreal? Was it just a dream? It couldn't be, because I remembered sobbing really hard. I remembered his touch, it felt too real. I knew it so well myself, but his expression tells me that nothing happened.

We're still nothing more than strangers. 

"So, as always, we are going to be having an annual concert in December this year," Ms. Song begins, glancing at both of us before she proceeds, "and I have decided on the dance that the senior dancers would take part, that is, if they want to, because you will have to audition for the roles. Both main and minor." 

This did perked my interest, and I couldn't wait to find out what the dance is going to be. 

"Here comes the exciting part, the dance we are going to perform for that coming night will be," she paused with a little smile on her face, "Paquita." 

I was astonished in a pleasant way. I adored Paquita, and I loved the story line of it. I have watched it countless amount of times yet it never gets boring to me. 

"T-that's awesome," I managed to say, "can we start practising now?" Ms. Song chuckled in return and nodded her head, "yes, to prepare you for the auditions." 

In my heart a newfound passion started burning inside and I could not help but to grin so widely at both Minho and Ms. Song. 

After about five hours or so, Ms. Song decided to call it a day while Minho left shortly after. Sweat trickled down the side of my head as I took a seat while chucking a whole bottle of water down my throat. Usually, meals would be prepared for the students who haven't prepared for themselves, so there was no doubt that every training coach would bring in boxes of healthy greens with rice and meat, and occasionally even hot french fries, which everybody cherished because we were only allowed minimal unhealthy food. 

Today, just like any other day, I excused myself and carried my box containing my meal before heading up the stairs towards the rooftop. I reached my destination in no time and expected to be left alone, but unfortunately that was not the case today. To my astonishment, there was a man dressed in a white button down with its sleeves rolled up and paired with a black, formal dress pants. It was oddly familiar, before I suddenly realised it was him. 

Almost instantaneously, I backed off a few steps, feeling apprehensive and wanted to retreat back down the stairs, but then I asked myself, why not? It wasn't as if he was a dangerous human being, he was just there, enjoying the warm breeze coming from the West, so why shouldn't I join in and enjoy myself too? After all, he was a silent man and it's just what I needed - peace. 

So I made my way silently towards the middle, and quietly sat down on the ground with my legs crossed, around 2 metres away from him so as to keep a comfortable distance between us. Another breeze blew by and I closed my eyes, taking it all in as I take a deep breath before I opened the styrofoam box on my lap. I gulped. These were healthy food, there was no denying to that, but I just... couldn't bring myself to take the spoon in my hand.

It frustrates me, not being able to do that, but yet in the midst of that I thought about my body and my mother's comments and I started gripping the spoon really hard. That was how hard it was for me. 

Not. Perfect. Enough. 

Despicable. 

You're disgusting. 

I'm disgusting. 

I have gone too far, I knew it, but at the same time I'm struggling so, so hard to admit this to myself. I'm stuck in this unpleasant reverie of mine, controlled by something within me. 

"Do you come here often?" His deep, yet soft spoken voice interrupted my reverie. I glanced down at my untouched food before meeting his eyes. I never did paid much attention to his looks, but now that I am looking at him closer, there was no question that he was extremely good looking. His dark orbs complimented his ashy brown short hair and his slightly tanned skin reflected a manly aura to me. 

"I do," I said, "almost everyday." Whilst saying this I pushed the broccolis around my box, unable to bring myself to eat them. 

"A fine summer day, isn't it?" He then asked, supposedly rhetorically as he leaned back against his extended arms behind him, "are you feeling better?" This one was obviously directed to me, and so I answered. 

"I'm... Fine," I said. I haven't been thinking much about Jinki since last night, but the heartache had significantly reduced, and I am one step closer to getting over him. A moment of silence passed and it suddenly occurred to me that I had confessed literally everything about Jinki to him, to this guy that I barely knew. 

"I'm glad to hear that," he whispered, "and uh, you dance very well. I honestly am impressed." Upon hearing that I could feel warmth seeping through my cheeks and I looked away, a bit flustered with the sudden compliment, although it was said with much awkwardness. I came to conclude that he, Minho, is not a guy who expresses well, like me. 

I had a hunch he was about to say something else, but the moment he glanced at his wristwatch he stood up, an empty meal box in his right hand. I looked up in time to see him trying to smile genuinely at me, and I couldn't help but to chuckle at his awkwardness. He was probably the most straightforward yet awkward person I've ever met. 

"See you next time," he said, back already facing me as he slowly disappeared down the stairs. 

Looking back upon the city right in front of me, his attempt to smile replayed in my head over and over again, and his cologne seemed to linger around for a little too long.

Momentarily, a tingly feeling grew inside of me, bringing colour to my cheeks. I bit my bottom lip. 

It felt so right, yet so wrong.