Pain.
It's a part life, inevitable, unavoidable, no matter how great someone's life is everybody feels it.
Whether it's the pain of grazed knees or a broken heart. The pain of losing someone you love, or more tragic, the pain of never having them in the first place.
Some people even say pain is necessary, that it helps us grow, helps us to appreciate its absence that little bit more.
He's never been one to admit when he's in pain, physical or otherwise, but he much prefers the physical because that's controllable. Take a couple of pills, sleep it off, easy right. Simple.
Emotional pain is much trickier, because to heal it, first you have to admit to it, and that's always been a problem for him.
People don't need to know about his shitty childhood, or the scars he still carries from it.
They don't need to know about the crushing loneliness, that creeps up on him when he isn't looking.
They don't need to hear about his utter longing to belong somewhere, to be needed and valued and dare he say it... to be loved.
They don't need to know, so he doesn't tell them. He keeps it all bottled up the way he always has, and sometimes he can fool himself into believing that that's okay.
Sometimes he can't.
Sometimes he wants to scream at them, to let loose of all the things he's kept guarded for so long. Because why shouldn't they know? Why should he suffer in silence? Why shouldn't he display how damaged he is for the entire world to see?
He can answer his own questions. He knows why.
It's because he's scared, not that he would admit that to anyone but himself, but he is. Terrified, actually.
Terrified that they won't care anyway, that they'll just leave him too it.
Terrified that they'll see the broken parts of him and turn away.
Terrified that they won't accept the man, that's been lurking behind the bravado.
His thoughts confuse him, because he wants so desperately for someone to really look at him, for someone to see the pain he's been hiding for so long, but at the same time, he's scared to death that they will and that they'll pity the poor boy that was never really loved, not when it counted, Not when it mattered. Definitely not, when it might have made a difference.
So he carries on covering it up, smiling when their words sting, laughing when he feels tears creeping up on him, talking about nothing to fill the silences before he can remember just how alone he is.
That's the worst type of pain he thinks.
The pain of being alone among friends.
The pain of being a stranger to the people he sees every day.
The pain of putting on a show, the world so easily believes.
The pain, of not being able to look in the mirror, for fear of the hollow eyes that will stare back out.
The pain of knowing that it's always going to be this way, that he can't change it, even if he wants to and he so desperately wants to.
Like he said, everyone feels pain, some worse than others, some physical, some not. Some share it with the world and some hide it.
He's no different, so he'll wake up tomorrow, push it all away, smile and pretend that nothing can touch him. He'll continue to pretend he's as strong as he's made them believe.
The show must go on.