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Hongbin doesn't remember if he's running to something or from something. He's not sure if it really matters anymore.
It's not like he can see where he's going, anyways. Everything looks the same here; thick fog obscuring all but a few meters in front of his face, dim light of dusk painting everything the same dull navy.
The ground is waterlogged, his shoes soaked through – it must have stormed earlier. It's only drizzling now, cold on Hongbin's bare skin.
He keeps running.
He knows that he's been running a long time because he aches all over. His chest burns, embers smoldering deep in his lungs and spreading upwards with every breath out. His legs are getting weak, shaky like his knees might buckle any second.
They don't get the chance. His ankle snags against something, and he's on the ground before he even registers what's happening.
There's a muted splash when he hits the flooded grass – more of a squish, really – but the impact is still rough enough to knock the wind out of him. His jaw slams against the ground hard and his tongue is caught between his teeth.
The taste of iron seeps through his mouth. He tries to spit it out and he smells it now, mingling with the wet earth.
It rains harder, raindrops biting when they hit him.
Hongbin curls his fingers and tries to push himself up, but the ground shifts, pressing back up against his palms before splitting open as two hands emerge directly beneath his own.
The hands wrap around his, and he feels two more grab his ankles before they all start pulling downwards.
He's sinking. His own hands are submerged now, fingers grazing the roots of the grass. He tries to yank himself back up but he's so exhausted from all the running – what was he even running for?
More hands shoot up, tugging fervently at his shirt. His face is pulled against the ground, and he tastes blood again.
He has the sense of mind to squeeze his eyes shut and take a hurried breath before he can't anymore.
As soon as he's below the surface, the hands let go, and it sends him into a free fall. His stomach lurches; his lungs start to sting from holding his breath.
His hands hit polished hardwood.
He gasps for air as his eyes fly open – and then squint back shut, the fluorescent lighting of the practice room too much for them all at once. He blinks them open slowly this time.
A drop of something rolls down his nose and splashes against the floor. Sweat, or maybe tears. At least it isn't blood this time.
He looks up at himself in the mirror. On his hands and knees, face flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. Hakyeon is crouched next to him, a hand rubbing gently between his shoulder blades.
Hongbin isn't sure where the other members are. He's not feeling particularly confident he knows where he is right now.
His head spins, so he collapses and rolls onto his back, hands covering his face so he doesn't have to see Hakyeon's.
"We can stop for tonight," Hakyeon says softly, either concerned or disappointed. Hongbin can't tell.
"No," Hongbin says in case it's the latter. "I can go a little longer."
Hakyeon is unconvinced. His hand is on Hongbin's, prying it off his face to intertwine their fingers. "You need to get some rest."
"No," Hongbin insists. Hakyeon better accept it this time, because Hongbin doesn't know how many more "no"s he has left in him before he starts running again. Or stops running. He doesn't know which he's doing right now. It seems there's a lot of things he can't tell the difference between when he's this dizzy; it all swirls together into the same ugly color.
"Hongbin," Hakyeon replies decisively, so that's that – they're done for the night.
Hakyeon lets go of Hongbin's hand to get ready to head back to the dorm and Hongbin splays both arms out limply, staring up at the ceiling.
He moves his arms for a second like he's making a snow angel, or maybe playing in the mud. He feels himself start to sink again and nips that thought in the bud, stilling his arms and focusing on the sound of Hakyeon packing his bag.
Hakyeon comes back into his field of vision wearing a coat now. He peers down at Hongbin, and a fond smile tugs at his lips. "To think you wanted to practice more. You can't even get up."
"I can get up," Hongbin replies and makes no effort to do so. "And I really do need more practice."
Hakyeon tilts his head to the side, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "You're doing just fine; you don't need any more practice than we all do."
That isn't true and never has been, but Hongbin appreciates the sentiment. He makes a little affirmative noise instead of arguing or lying.
"Come on," Hakyeon says, soft but firm, and bends over to grab him and haul him to his feet.
Hongbin scrambles to get up under his own power; the last thing he needs right now is to be literal dead weight, too.
Hakyeon puts a hand at the small of his back once he's up, gently pushing him towards getting his things so they can leave. Hongbin doesn't really need the encouragement – this room is suddenly starting to feel claustrophobic, his throat tight, and he'd love nothing more than to get outside as quickly as possible.
He pulls his coat on and wonders if Hakyeon would catch him if he started running once he did get outside. If Hakyeon ever regrets catching him the first time.
Hakyeon takes his hand again as soon as it pops through the sleeve. Hongbin supposes that'll work as an answer for now.