Shallow breathing filled the room as the digits on the clock showed 3am. Jiyong stared at the red lights as if he was in some sort of trance. And maybe to distract himself from the soft breath that was constantly brushing against his neck and made his toes curl. He squints his eyes shut when they start to hurt from looking at the dimly lit bedside table a little too long and lets out a little sigh. It’s nothing new to him, to lay awake until unholy hours; it’s what insomnia does to you. But it’s even worse when you lay awake with a body draped against yours that should give you comfort but in this moment, does quite the opposite.

Jiyong’s hand slowly reaches for his phone that rests just a few inches next to him and unlocks it. His fingers hover over his home screen before he finally clicks on the little bird on blue ground. He never was much of a twitter user, he only has it because it was cool and new back then and he linked his instagram to it. He doesn’t quite get the concept either but sometimes he can’t help put sneak a peek, to see what people write about him. And just like he expected, his mentions are filled with pictures and questions but he ignores them all. He only follows 8 accounts so he skims through his feed before quickly leaving the app again.

Instead he opens the app that became a little addiction over the years and switches from his public to his private account. He’s aware of the fact that people share what he likes there; he’s not stupid after all. He could block the people that spread those information sure, but a little part in him wants the world to know what he likes. A little glimpse of what calms his mind – or stirs his thoughts even more. Jiyong knows too damn well that once he gets into the world of words of truth, pain and hurt, he won’t get out of there that easily again. A small movement at his back makes him flinch a little and push his phone against his chest - but the movement stops before it even really started.

Jiyong slowly pulls his phone up towards his face again and turns the brightness down a little more, just in case and for his poor eyes who still burn a little from the saltiness that starts to dry in the corners. His thumb starts to move in little pushes then, his eyes skimming over pictures of animals, diverse pieces of furniture and the occasional accounts he followed. His lips quirk up in a grimace as his thumb stops at a chair that could’ve been from the middle ages, all metal and thorns.

Seunghyun would probably start ranting about it now, about the individual beauty of it even though it wasn’t all that pretty in Jiyong’s eyes. But his hyung made him weirdly aware of this special piece of furniture ever since Jiyong himself got more into arts as well. He closes his eyes for a few moments when his heart clenches painfully at the thought of his hyung. Instagram is supposed to distract him, not let him dive further into the heartache he felt whenever his thoughts drifted to the older man who occupied his mind almost all the time. Before he knows it he double taps the picture and opens up the search bar. He was able to put Seunghyun off his mind for merely 15 minutes but now the damage is done and there’s no turning back. It’s like his mind, his heart, is asking for even more hurt as he scrolls through posts of the darker, depressing side of the app.

Sometimes Jiyong wonders why he can’t just mask his feelings like certain other people. Why he has to wear his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, for everyone to judge, for everyone to interfere, to tell him what’s best for him. As if they would know what’s best for him nowadays. Military changed him and Jiyong doesn’t even try to deny it. It was exhausting, nerve wrecking and he knows he pushed himself too much, to prove to the world that he isn’t just the pretty singer and star who expects a special treatment. It was supposed to steel him, make him hide his emotions better and maybe he can fool the public if he tries hard enough but he doesn’t want to anymore. He’s tired of hiding, tired of fearing to be judged when he gets backstabbed by some rumour or disgusting article anyway. What’s the point of trying to be perfect?

A poem stares right back at him and he doesn’t think twice when he double taps to leave his like on it because it speaks to him louder than he thought it would.

Perfect.

That’s what he always wanted to be. Perfect - for his parents, for his sister, for his friends and bandmates, for the president, for his fans and for the media, for oh so many people but most importantly, for Seunghyun. For Seunghyun who once told him that in his eyes, Jiyong already is perfect and he doesn’t have to change. But how can Jiyong just accept that when he sees so many flaws in himself that he hates, when he went through scandals and hardships that prove that he is far from being perfect? Jiyong never stopp