--

Things have started making their way in. Horrible, terrifying, scary things. 
They're called thoughts.

My thoughts are turning black.
Not just black, but red, green, purple. They are things that I cannot comprehend.

My brain, it doesn't seem to have enough space, not anymore. I guess, I think too much. Yet, how can you not think, if you have so much to do, so much to handle?

There's a lot of pressure to be the best, in this company. Especially once they've put you up for debut. People, they expect you to look a certain way, behave in a certain way.
I can't conform to those expectations.
--

It's when I'm in practice, one day, that I realise there's only so much the human mind can take.
I'm going through a move for our pre-debut showcase with Taemin, and I'm thinking about just how good, how astonishingly good he is. At the same time, in another part of my mind, I'm running through the lyrics of one of our mini album songs, because the trainers said we could improve on our expression. And in yet another part, I'm thinking about a photo shoot we have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, the producer spoke to us and told us she wanted some specific looks, I'm wondering how on earth I can pull them off.

Then, my train of thought swerves and switches track and my thoughts have reworded themselves and formed themselves into spikes. I'm no longer thinking of how good Taemin is, but how bad I am, in comparison. I don't think of how we could improve the song, but how I could improve myself, how the trainers must have been referring to me when they spoke of the need to do better. My mind no longer processes the fact that we have a photoshoot tomorrow, but instead warps the thought into a torrential rainstorm of emotional anger, worry, terror, because I know there is no way I'll be able to look good in front of the cameras, not with the rest of my members there. It's about me. My thoughts are all about me.

And then the train of thought breaks free from the tracks, coming to an abrupt halt as I realise that my back, my head has hit the polished wood of the studio floor. I've fallen. I didn't notice.

"Hyung? Hyung are you okay?" Taemin is crouched beside me. I know he's speaking, I suppose he's speaking to me, but I don't know what he's saying. The message he's trying to convey through speech doesn't pass through my foggy comprehension. I cannot understand. Instead, I stare at him, then at the music player in the corner, blankly.

"Kibum hyung?" He tries again, I think. Is he trying to get me to speak to him? He should talk to me later, when I can understand, my mind, my brain...it's too busy right now. I have no space to process speech.

"Hyung, please, answer me..." Sounds are starti