"Jae, are you okay?" The words filter in through a veil of darkness, warbled and misguided. I open my eyes, the world blurring into focus around me. The studio ceiling is a mass of fluorescent lighting and white paint above me. It fills my sight, consuming everything.

My head pounds.

I am sprawled across the floor, body aching as it fights to regain consciousness. My limbs feel heavy as I push myself upright. I am exhausted and weak, my head spinning. Deep in my stomach, a sickness has taken root, gnawing on the hollow pit food hasn't filled in days.

One look at the concerned faces hovering nearby and I know I've collapsed again. My aching body can testify to that.

I drop my head into my hands. This is the third time this month that my strength has failed, and I've blacked out during practice.

A hand lands on my shoulder, the weight familiar. I glance up into the face of my closest friend, a boy with unnaturally pink hair and dimples to match. However, those dimples are nowhere to be found. His face is set into stern, hard lines, and he lacks his usual easy smile. His dark eyes hold concern.

His disappointment suffocates me.

The other members of our band crowd around him, their eyes dark. Do those eyes hold any understanding or only pity for my weak self-control?

"You collapsed again." My friend's fingers dig into my shoulder, stressing the words he leaves unspoken. The words he knows I won't answer honestly. There's no point in asking when the words would be false. He never asks me if I've eaten, giving me space to recover.

"We want you to be healthy; you know that right? You're always working so hard. It's okay to take a break." He gives my shoulder another pat, his fingers probing, seeking how thin they've become.

The other members of our group share his concerns, their voices rising in perfect, horrific harmony. How can so many warm compliments feel so full of disappointment?

I shake off their concerns and the probing fingers, rising to my feet. I don't need a break; I need to work harder. My bandmates' drive won't hide my failures for much longer. My thin body can only take so much pushing before it collapses again.

I shove past the wall of pity and start our music again. The thumping tunes cherished by K-Pop fans fill the room, quick and energetic.

A wave of dizziness rushes over me. I ignore it, grabbing a drink of water before beginning our dance routine. Our genre of music demands that I get our choreography as synchronized as possible. I will not fail my friends again, even if it takes me all night and a thousand fewer meals to get this right.

***

The memory of my last collapse haunts me as I file into a familiar, white office. The chairs are arranged in a circle, each one filled by a family or band member. My siblings slouch in their chairs, bored of this repeated meeting. Their fingers tap their thighs, desperate to touch their phones again. My parents share a disappointed look, their mouths set into thin lines. My bandmates are just happy to have a break from practice, though they fervently express concern on my behalf.

The scene is all too familiar, one we've repeated countless times over the past few years.

Once more, my family tells me what I'm worth. My fans' words repeat their concerns, trying to boost my self-image. I am handsome; my smile rivals the sun. I am bright, joyful, perfect. Nothing about my body needs to be changed. I am happy and healthy.

All lies of course.

Anything said in this bleak room is a lie. There are no shadows to hid the falsities, only that blinding white of the wallpaper. Their concern is paper thin.

My loved ones bring out their questions and concerns, literal pages of them in my mother's case, all sorted and organized. They've done this before, but this time, with a little organization, they hope they'll make progress.

Why do I need to push myself beyond my limits? It is always more, more, more until I collapse, but why? Can't I see that I am precious, that I will be supported no matter what I look like or how well I perform on stage?

That's why they called this intervention, in this awful white room. They are concerned about my weight again.

"Jaehyeon, we only want to know why? Can't you give us some answers?" My father's brow crinkles, that look of concern he adorns every time we enter this room. If only it stuck around for long after we left this place. It'll fade as quickly as the use of my real name did after debut. 

I stumble over my words, unsure of what to say. Of course, I have no answers for them. Words fail me when I need them the most. How can I ever explain that when I look in the mirror, my flaws stand out in stark relief? Every pimple and old scar is entirely on display? That every time I sing, my vocals are grating and imperfect? Nothing like they need to be.

I must be perfect for everyone, whatever they need. My band members work so hard, staying up all hours of the night practicing choreographies, vocal exercises, but no one ever worries about them. It is always me. They point out the way I look, how I must not be eating properly. They blame each other for my unhealthy habits, claiming that fans shouldn't expect me to look a certain way.

Even I can't find the answers to their questions.

I stare at the blank, white wall, devoid of any decoration, avoiding eye contact as best as I can. If I count every brush stroke, I won't have to focus on this awful meeting.

My sister won't allow me to zone out, however, quickly catching my eye by moving in front of me, her brow arched in irritation. Her fingers still tap away on her thighs, impatient as always.

"Come on, Jae-oppa. Boys don't have these kinds of problems. Just eat something and stop exercising so much. Everyone worries about you." Her expression is scornful as she examines how small my arms have gotten. They're almost smaller than hers, though she's two years younger and five inches shorter. My arms have become too slim to hold the bulky muscles they used to, the ones I'm known for and boosted my popularity.

The rest of my family agrees with her statement, my mother, father, brother. Of course, it's that easy right? Just eat something and stop worrying us. You're a grown man. The spotlight shouldn't affect your thoughts and body image so much.

I scowl, scanning my sister's features and avoiding her words. With her perfect Korean beauty and a hidden, crystalline voice to match, she's the one who should have become an idol. Maybe then our parents wouldn't have to struggle to support us on my meandering salary.

"You can't dance if you keep collapsing afterward, Hyung. Please, just try put on more weight," My brother draws my attention back to the conversation, his voice dispassionate. Though he too is younger than me, he always knows where to strike me most. I resent the spotlight, though music and dance will still draw me towards it. He uses that passion as a drive for recovery.

My brother leans forward, his chin settling in his palm. "You have such a supportive fanbase. Your fans will always treasure you. You know that. So why can't you get healthy for them?"

As their lectures continue, some of them even using fans' posts of concern as a motivator, I want to make their concern stop. Their lives are already hard enough; they shouldn't worry about me and my weight issues.

I flash my dimpled smile at them. "Of course, I'll try harder. Don't worry." I want to add, I won't disappoint you again, but I don't. I stand and leave the room, hurrying away from that horrific white backdrop and the stares that permeate the space.

I won't let you catch me next time.

I head towards the elevator, what will be my escape from everyone's stares and questions. Before I can reach it, however, my pink-haired friend stops me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

Though my band members had remained silent throughout the meeting, their comments routed through my father; I knew they would still make their voices heard afterward. Singers need to be heard, after all.

I wait for his barbed words, my shoulders tense. At my side, my fingers twitch.

We stand in silence. The quiet forms a bubble of time where my thoughts can eat me alive. The man simply stares; in his dark eyes are endless judgments. His stance is not one of confrontation, however.

I have to wonder, are his judgments only what I want to see?

When he finally moves, his arms engulf me, crushing my ribcage as if he can pull me back from my dark thoughts. I'm breathless in seconds. The man's a few inches taller than me, causing him to slouch for his head to settle on my shoulder. It's an uncomfortable position for both of us, but he doesn't let go, even after I return the hug.

We stand that way for a few minutes, two best friends seeking support from the other. No words pass between us, and I can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. It's calm as if the steadiness of his own can calm mine.

My shoulder beneath his chin begins to feel wet. Small sniffles come from him, but still, both of us say nothing. His tears soak my shirt.

When he finally let's go, those tears streak his face. His eyes glow with sadness. It's all for me.

Disappointment snaps over me again, a crushing wave I can't control. I shouldn't have made him cry.

He leans closer to me again, not touching, but close enough that his whispered words are only for me. "You know those moments when you can't find the strength to walk, and you're crawling along, unable to pick yourself up?" He waits for me to nod before he continues, "Remember, that even at your worst, we're always here to hold you up. We're more than your friends, Jae."

He steps back and flicks his pink hair from his forehead. His next words are choked, but there is passion brewing in his eyes now. "One day, you won't be crawling, walking, or even running. You'll be flying, and we'll be beside you, making sure your wings don't fail. Survive till then, my friend."

The elevator dings behind us, and I step inside, letting his words comfort the empty spaces inside me.

Before the doors close, he launches himself inside. His foot thumps against the floor in an uneven rhythm. He acted rashly, and that makes him nervous.

Though he no longer seems calm, his drive is still steady. His eyes are almost too bright to look into. The man's passion is like a firework in the night sky. You appreciate its beauty but never get too close.

I can't stand that passion being for me. All that hope is suffocating. My eyes wander and lock on our reflections in the metal of the elevator. Just two normal boys, one with a healthy build and the other so slight, but not slight enough to be satisfied.

The lights indicating the floors the elevator passes slowly dwindle. I stare at them, wishing them on faster. The silence eats at me, gnawing like hunger in my stomach.

Why does time slow when no words are being said?

Of course, there is nothing I can say to him that will match the same power of his speech. Eloquent words and grand gestures were never my forte.

But there is one thing I can do, for both him and myself, and that is to make a promise.

I turn to him, and our eyes finally meet after several floors of silence and avoidance. With trembling hands, I wrap my pinkie finger around his. We've done this several times in our 7-year friendship, and his hand naturally aligns with mine.

Understanding dawns across his face.

The words that come are simple, and I hope can convey the only thing I can give at the moment. "I can't tell you that it'll get better, Hyung. I just can't. But I can try to be less harsh on myself. I'll try to nurture the light within myself, instead of extinguishing it. I promise, okay?"

Those dark eyes dart to our conjoined fingers as if searching for truth in their twisted shapes. He doesn't answer me but nods as the elevator dings for my floor. His finger squeezes mine before letting go.

We part with an understanding nod and a wink, something I know will bring a smile to his face.

He cracks a lopsided smile as the metal doors slide closed. I hear the faint traces of his laugh, following me down the hall.

My stylish boots click across the floor, heading towards the door and my future. Our promise in hand, my guilt-ridden heart feels a touch lighter. Knowing I have such supportive friends to guide me, despite my troubles, helps me begin the road to climb up from the dust and find my wings.