I made it out of the supply room.
Barely.
The moment the door closed behind me, I headed straight for the nearest bathroom.
I didn't run.
I wanted to.
But years of practice had taught me how to fall apart quietly.
By the time I locked myself inside a stall, my chest felt tight.
Too tight.
I sat down on the closed toilet lid and pressed my hands over my face.
For a long moment, I just sat there.
Breathing.
Trying to calm down.
Trying to convince myself that none of this mattered.
But the truth was, it did.
Because this wasn't just about the supply room.
It wasn't just about the missing files.
Or the whispers.
Or the shoulder check.
It was about every moment before this.
Every classroom.
Every lunch period.
Every empty seat.
Every reminder that I didn't belong.
I leaned my head against the stall door.
"Why does this keep happening?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
The bathroom was empty.
No one answered.
"I left school."
My voice sounded strange.
Small.
"I grew up."
I laughed bitterly.
"I got a degree. Got a job. Tried my best."
The lump in my throat became harder to swallow.
"So why does it still feel exactly the same?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Eventually, I stood.
Splashed water on my face.
Looked at my reflection.
The mirror showed the same thing it always had.
An ordinary guy.
Nothing about me looked broken.
Nothing about me showed the exhaustion underneath.
No one would ever guess what was happening just by looking.
Maybe that was why people got away with it.
I took a deep breath.
Then returned to work.
Because quitting wasn't an option.
Not yet.
---
The rest of the afternoon was a disaster.
Every few hours, something else went wrong.
I was sent to the wrong meeting room.
Someone erased notes from the shared system.
A schedule update somehow vanished.
A message I'd personally delivered was suddenly "never received."
And every single problem landed on my desk.
Every mistake.
Every misunderstanding.
Every inconvenience.
Mine.
By the end of the day, I felt hollow.
Not tired.
Not angry.
Just empty.
Like someone had spent hours scooping pieces out of me one at a time.
When the clock finally signaled the end of my shift, relief washed over me.
I packed my bag slowly.
Then headed for the exit.
---
As I passed the practice room, music drifted into the hallway.
Loud.
Energetic.
Alive.
Without meaning to, I stopped.
The room's glass wall offered a perfect view inside.
Rider was rehearsing.
The members moved through the choreography effortlessly.
Every step synchronized.
Every movement precise.
Years of training visible in every second.
At the center stood Charlie.
Confident.
Focused.
Completely at ease.
Watching him felt strangely familiar.
For years, I'd stood on the outside looking in.
Watching through screens.
Watching from crowds.
Watching from a distance.
And somehow, even now, that hadn't changed.
I was still outside the glass.
Still looking in.
Still wishing I belonged somewhere the way they seemed to belong to each other.
A sharp ache settled in my chest.
I looked away.
Because that feeling wasn't new.
And I was tired of carrying it.
---
"You okay?"
I jumped.
The voice came from directly behind me.
I turned so quickly I nearly dropped my bag.
Charlie stood there.
Close enough that I could clearly see the sweat from rehearsal still clinging to his forehead.
For a second, my brain stopped working.
Then reality caught up.
Charlie.
Talking to me.
Again.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Fantastic.
Very professional.
Finally, I managed a weak nod.
"I'm fine."
The lie sounded terrible.
Charlie didn't call me out on it.
Instead, he glanced down the hallway.
Instinctively, I followed his gaze.
At the far end of the corridor stood two staff members.
The same ones who'd spent most of the day whispering whenever I passed.
The moment they noticed us looking, they quickly turned away.
Charlie's expression hardened slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Then he looked back at me.
"They shouldn't be treating you like that."
The words caught me off guard.
I blinked.
"What?"
"I've seen it."
His voice remained quiet.
Calm.
"They think you're the enemy."
I stared at him.
For the first time all day, someone was acknowledging what was happening.
Not dismissing it.
Not ignoring it.
Acknowledging it.
Charlie leaned against the wall beside me.
"But you're not."
Something inside my chest tightened.
Not painfully.
Differently.
Like a knot slowly beginning to loosen.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Music continued behind the glass.
The members kept rehearsing.
The world kept moving.
Yet somehow, the hallway felt strangely still.
Safe, even.
---
"I'm just tired."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Honest.
Simple.
True.
Charlie studied me for a moment.
Long enough that I almost looked away.
Then he nodded.
"I know."
Two words.
That was all.
Two simple words.
Yet somehow, they hit harder than everything else that had happened that day.
Because all day people had looked through me.
Ignored me.
Blamed me.
Dismissed me.
And now someone was looking directly at me.
Actually seeing me.
The feeling was almost overwhelming.
Before either of us could say anything else, the practice room door opened.
One of the members stuck his head out.
"Charlie!"
He pointed inside.
"We need you."
Charlie sighed dramatically.
"Duty calls."
Despite everything, I laughed.
A real laugh.
The first one I'd managed all day.
The sound seemed to surprise both of us.
Charlie smiled.
Then pushed away from the wall.
As he turned toward the practice room, he paused.
Just for a second.
"Don't let them get to you."
Then he disappeared back inside.
The door closed behind him.
The music started again.
And I stood alone in the hallway.
Staring at the spot where he'd been standing moments earlier.
My chest still felt heavy.
The day still hurt.
Nothing had magically improved.
Yet somehow, those two words lingered in my mind.
I know.
And somehow, they hurt more than everything else that had happened that day.