Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nothing fazed his unblinking eyes attached to the ceiling. For how long had he been staring? Felix couldn’t say; time had escaped his grasp a few minutes or maybe hours ago.

Finding himself lost deep in thought had become a common occurrence as of recent. It’s not that he didn’t keep track of the time, hell, it wasn’t rare for Felix to zone out whilst staring down a clock on a wall. He just simply wasn’t looking at the clock to tell the time. A more accurate description would be some kind of countdown. To when? Well, he was still waiting to find that out exactly.

Felix’ eyes glued themselves to the hour hand first, the slowest of the three. If someone says they can see it move, unless it’s a Big-Ben-sized clock and said person happens to be a pigeon, they’re lying. Logically he’s aware all three hands are always in constant motion, solely created to spend life playing out the set patterns crafted within the crevices of each rotating gear. Illogically, however, the immovable hour hand served as a blaring reminder to Felix of his current depressive state. Stuck in the same position for what feels like an eternity, yet everyone around him kept moving forward like it was nothing. Before realizing it, those closest surrounding him had flourished and propelled forward, leaving Yongbok stranded and lonesome behind.

He diverts his gaze to the Minute hand, infamously known for showcasing exactly how much time he’s wasting. Felix knows his idol schedule by heart and no matter how depressed he feels he will never miss out on those duties and tasks. Each day he’d push himself that little bit further, oftentimes leaving his bones and body an exhausted mess come 11pm. In the months after a comeback, once commitments begin to slow down and personal time gaps his weekly schedules, depression sets in. Unfortunately for him, each gap in time typically led to him wasting away, glued to his bed frame until the minutes before due responsibility. Felix hated this feeling the most because there was nothing he could do; it’s impossible to will oneself to move without intention to act. Instead he’d lose himself in the quiet and slow shifting of the minute hand, counting each moment withering further and further away.

***

Tip-toeing along the deafly silent corridor, Yongbok reaches for the bathroom door, delicately creaking it open. He’s done this many times before.

From here on, muscle memory activates, turning the knob closed and locking the handle in one swift move. Under the sink rests 4 draws and a cabinet, one for each member and a shared storage space. He pulls out the draw second to the floor and reaches to the back for a small hidden box. Inside the container a plethora of sharp objects offer themselves as a form of release. He immediately takes grasp of a brand new stainless steel blade, the singular kind. Without much thought nor reaction, he guides the edge to his left forearm and dives upon his skin.

Slicing himself open produces a stark white stripe, beaded with vermillion many seconds later. The act itself is virtually painless, so he repeats.

Then it’s painful until it’s not. Adrenaline hits sharp, rushing from his arm to his spine and creeping to his head. A sudden flood of warmth and sheer cold combines like a euphoric hurricane of wrath in his mind, resulting in the familiar bittersweet taste of torrential relief and shame. Self harm is akin to popsicles on a hot summers day, or a cozy book by the fire on a stormy afternoon. The act brings a sense of quiet peace and enjoyment no matter the situation. It was never meant to be his form of comfort yet here he stood, time after time, with no substantial end in sight.

The blade will always beckon.

Vivid cherry trails drip off his slender figure and pool spots along the harsh icy tile. If a voice were to speak he simply wouldn’t hear; engrossed in the moment, filled with blind and ignorant bliss.

Crisp silver glints in the dim bathroom light. Felix lashes yet again. Deeper and stronger, he breaks through another layer. Instead of being greeted with white, Felix catches sight of a pale orange-yellow starkly contrasted against the scarlet-dripping cuts.

He stops and stares for no more than 3 seconds, processing the direction his session is turning to. Hitting the fat layer was quite technically grounds for professional stitches, however Yongbok strictly avoids such commotion. Imagine if he had to go to the emergency room only to end up under suicide watch both there and at home; he couldn’t do that to his members. Hiding his suffering quietly in the shadows was far wiser than the latter, in no way would he be prepared for the unavoidable confrontations from his beloved friends and family. For this reason he typically mapped out and prepared exactly where he’d cut, so as to avoid striking anything important that butterfly bandaids couldn’t fix.

And so, he carries on cutting under the harsh bathroom light. Running parallel to the previous gash he opens another just as deep, but it falls wider.
Felix stands over the sink entranced within his state. Part of him is aware of what he’s doing but he doesn’t want to stop; His arm is still aching, still itching for further release. With a certain lack of control, his right arm traces the blade through his flesh over and over quite a couple times more. Any form of pain he was supposed to be feeling had long since departed.

That’s the real magic behind self harm. After a while it won’t even hurt.

Addiction, of course, presents itself sooner or later. Addiction to the chemical release, addiction to the action, addiction to the rush, addiction to the blood and the blade; it’s one of the hardest to beat. Scissors, knives, blades, forks, ropes, pins, paper, glass, plastic, metal; Suddenly everything has the potential to become a weapon of self-destruction, and it will.

Post-numbness was uniquely stubborn, like breaking in a new leather boot. At first a suffocating fit, morphing over time to perfectly house each individual arch and shape of one’s foot. Numbness feels tight, it strangles any other emotion, refusing them all the opportunity to surface, to be felt. Much like how time wears the leather, as does numbness wear the body. Soon it begins to feel akin to the comfort in a warm hug, like a weighted blanket draped to protect against the chill inside. It was a reliable constant.

Dispersing his inner thoughts, Yongbok’s stomach lets out an ache and a low growl.

Ugh.

Just as fast as it came, he ignores it. His attention fixates on the blood splattered mess in the sink and down his arm, then to an illuminated phone lockscreen. In bright white it reads 3:14. Usually he’s in bed about 30 minutes prior to now but that task happens to be postponed at the moment. Instead he starts moving on autopilot, still not fully present in his body yet. Within a blink he’s holding a bloody forearm under warm running water, tinting the stream red. He packs up the blade and resets the position of the box inside his draw with only his right hand, then moves onto washing out the stains in the sink and on his arm. 40 or so seconds later and he was reaching toward a first-aid kit meticulously self-prepared for this destructive habit of his. Yongbok doesn’t care for applying pressure to the wounds and bandages them just enough to stop any bleeding through his clothes. Next he bends down to clear up the first-aid kit, disposes of the blood streaked cleaning wipes, and stashes some toilet paper over the bin to hide the evidence. Measures like that last one stand to protect the other members more so than him. A variety of quick-paced select skills like these came naturally once he began to self harm late at night. Truly it was more of an art form, creating chaos and leaving the room in the exact crisp state he entered in after mere minutes.

Yet again the door unlocks and opens as swiftly as it was closed, in one short movement. Just as before, Felix tiptoes down the dark hallway and toward the shining blue crack of his bedroom door. Hopping in to bed with nothing but a blank mind, sleep washes over him like a tidal wave and wipes him out.

This will all be future Felix’ problem.

Chapter Text

Waking up with the sensation of blood seeping through your sleeve is never a pleasant way to start the day. What made it worse was trying to keep a straight face about it in front of Minho first thing in the morning.

“Yongbok-ah, wake up,” he touches his shoulder lightly then tucks a strand of hair behind Felix’ ear, “breakfast is ready. Get some before Seungmin and Innie eat it all.”

He stirs and rises up, careful not to put pressure on his wounded arm as the happenings from last night flood back into his mind. The shift of position sends sharp pains up his forearms and down the tips of his fingers. It takes everything to mask his expression, all that surpasses is a flinch, then Lee Know speaks again.

”I hope you slept well. We only have practice from 11-4 today so our schedule is pretty relaxed,” he states.

Felix nods in reply as Minho leaves the room and reaches to his nightstand for the familiar shape of a phone.

7:05 glares back at him.

Could be worse. Could be better.

Albeit reluctantly, legs swoop over the side of his bed and he rises on two feet. Two stumbling feet, that is, because a lack of iron intake frequently causes him vague misbalance. Stopping by his dresser he grabs a clean black shirt, a hoodie, track pants, boxers, and a pair of socks, then makes a beeline for the bathroom. Within moments he dashes inside, closes the door, and pulls up his sleeve to inspect the soaked bandage.

Splotches of half-red-half-brown decorate the pristine white covering. Gently unravelling the tightly woven fabric, he reveals the garishly angry-looking cuts underneath. It’s not a particularly pretty sight but some fucked up corner of his brain marvels at his handiwork. He’s proud of it.

Mentally slapping himself out of a haze, Felix disposes of the used cloth and wipes down his arm with a moist towelette fetched from the first-aid kit. For a second he debates wrapping it back up but ultimately decides to leave them alone until practice. Quick and careful, he ditches the hoodie and switches into a change of clothes. Taking an extra minute to sort his hair and brush his teeth, he then hastily strides back through the hallway to drop clothes in his laundry hamper.

The others were standing around the kitchen munching on whatever Minho had whipped up as Felix entered. Jeongin gives a small nod in acknowledgment and returns to his plate, as does Seungmin. Lee Know turns to greet him as the floorboard creaks underneath his feet.

“I’ve got chicken and egg rice on the stove, get it while it’s hot,” he states with a gentle smile, pointing toward the rice pot.

“Thanks,” Felix starts, “but I think I’ll stick to a few strips of chicken right now.”

”Okay,” he responds, dishing up 5 pieces of chicken onto a plate and handing it over. Felix extends his arm and takes grasp of the cool dish. “Did you sleep well?”

Stroking the back of his neck, he gives a slightly delayed response, “I slept fine. Did you?”

”Well enough. As long as you have enough energy for practice, that’s all that matters.” With that he turns back to the stove and Felix gravitates toward the other two.

It’s a quiet breakfast, featuring only small echoes of clanging cutlery and nature’s morning ambience as it ruffles outside. It’s peaceful and serene. Before he gets too comfortable, his eyes dart down to a barely touched plate of chicken. Internally, his stomach flips at the sight of it; he just stares.

The thought of consuming anything right now seems overwhelming, like a sensory hell. Biting into it, chewing on the texture, swallowing it - the mere idea of those actions sends bile up his throat and a pit into his stomach. But, whether he likes it or not, he does need at least an ounce of energy for practice. Picking up a slice with chopsticks, he inspects it. Fortunately it’s not dripping in oil, one of the many reasons he’s ever grateful for Lee Know’s cooking. Sure, they all have to watch their idol image, Felix just tends to take it a step further than the other members. Chan once voiced small concern over his behaviours around food and mealtimes, but he shrugged it off as picky eating and digestive issues, and that was that. No one had brought it up since, and they all soon came to realize he must just have a fast metabolism and small appetite. Besides, he’s always been small, and that was a fact.

Hesitantly, he takes a bite, pushing his thoughts in an attempt to ignore the horrendous sensation filling his mouth. It’s moist and tender but holds a dry aftertaste. After all, it is plain chicken. Going in for a second bite, he braces himself and sucks it up as best he can. Then he takes another, and another, scarfing down 3 pieces before he reaches a mental limit. There’s something so horrible lurking in his body, itching at the insides lining his throat.

Stop. That’s enough.

It’s so fucking disgusting. He’s so fucking disgusting.

As reality clears around him like a leveling mist, he finds himself the only one still eating. Shifting his weight from the wall he stood leaning against, he wanders back through the kitchen to dispose of his food and clean up the dish. At the very least he had some energy for practice.

***

Hours blur by and Felix spends the time reading under a blanket on the couch. A paperback compilation of poetry recommended by Hyunjin, it became a comfort book of his. Recently there was nothing his mind craved more than some good old-fashioned escapism, of which this book did the job perfectly. That was until Seungmin came strolling into the room, breaking his trance.

“The car’s waiting outside, we’re leaving in two minutes,” he voices in a monotone register. “Get your shoes on.”

”Okay,” he responds, closing the book in his palms and rising from the warm blanket, leaving it strewn on the couch.

Fiddling with his shoe laces by the door, Jeongin and Minho make their appearances before they all dash to the elevator. As per usual, the lift to the garage is comfortably quiet.

One after another, each of the four members pile into the open car door. Felix steps in first, sitting in the backseat with Jeongin to the right. In front of him sits Seungmin, and Lee Know hops in last as the electric door glides shut. Tinted windows ensure privacy of the members throughout the short ride, but Felix still stares out anyway. Subtle rumbling of the engine comes to a halt and makes all four members aware of their arrival. Stepping out in the reverse sequence of which they entered, the doors of JYP greet them with a blinding glassy sun glare.

Cool ventilated air spits at their face the moment they enter the all-too-familiar practice room. Shiny wooden floorboards scuffed with years of practice and bright red ceilings greet them like an old friend. Inside already sits Bangchan and Changbin, chatting together whilst stretching out sore muscles. Hyunjin’s head rests in Jisung’s lap, the former stroking his hands through his hair in a relaxed, soothing manner. Upon entrance, the other half send smiles and light greetings toward their arrival. Piping up in a louder tone, Chan relays today’s schedule.

“Now we’re all here, let’s spend a few minutes warming up and then Lee Know,” he shifts his body and voice to direct it at the younger, “you can start running us through practice.”

Minho gives a nod in response and wanders over to disturb Hyunjin and Han whilst Seungmin and Jeongin situate next to Chan and Changbin.

Felix sits down and begins a stretching routine, meticulously ensuring all his limbs and muscles are warm enough to dance thoroughly. About five minutes go by until Lee Know calls the members to the floor.

“Let’s do a couple run throughs of Boxer and YAYAYA, then we’ll take a 10 minute break and discuss from there. Okay?” Everyone peering into the mirror nods and makes sounds of agreement across the room.

Seconds later the speakers kickstart, blasting Boxer with surround sound. It startles Felix but he snaps out of it and gathers in formation.

Minutes turn into hours as the music repeatedly echoes, reverberating against the walls of his headspace. After a few run-throughs he’s worn and exhausted but he’d be damned to let that stop him pushing for his all. Like the gods answering a prayer, YAYAYA fades out and he’s brought back to the present moment. He hunches over himself, attempting to catch his breath, left behind a couple rehearsals ago. The members appear to take note of his exacerbated state and Hyunjin trots over.

“Hey, Yongbok,” he opens, “you doing okay? You’re out of breath.”

He pauses and turns to answer, “Yeah, I’m fine. Probably just lack of hydration wearing me out.”

”Ah, I was just about to run to the vending machine. Wanna come with?”

”Sure.” Hyunjin offers out his hand for Felix to grab, which he does, and they walk out the door and down the corridor.

Reaching the vending machine, the elder turns back onto Felix, releasing their entwined hands. “What do you want?”

Yongbox glances through the glass and observes the stacked options displayed in the illuminated box. None of the choices appeal to him, but he has to get something. Honestly, he was unable to think very clearly at the moment. Spotting a canned iced coffee, he voices his pick.

“Iced coffee, please,” and Hyunjin slots in the code. He watches as the gears grind and the can dispenses to the dropbox. Picking up the cold can, he thanks the other. “Thanks.”

Attempting small talk whilst punching in his own code, the elder speaks again, “Did you have enough breakfast?”

Such a simple question, yet it sends a shot of mild panic down his insides. “Yeah, Lee Know fed us this morning.”

“Yum, what did you have?”

Panic.

“He made us all chicken and egg rice, it was good.”

”Sounds pretty good. I didn’t have much time to grab anything yet, I was up painting last night so I overslept my alarms. Chan said he wanted to let me catch up on sleep anyway.”

Oh.

Felix lets out a small smile from the corners of his lips, “He really is a great leader, isn’t he?”

”Yeah, always taking care of us. Sometimes I think he needs to take better care of himself. We got really lucky, didn’t we?” he smiles and bends down to collect the fallen drink.

Yongbok nods as they clasp open palms once again and make their way back to the practice room.

Back in the studio, Changbin greets them at the door, then they sit on the floor as the members chat away. Felix cracks open the tab and sips on his coffee, relishing in the cool sensation dripping down his throat. He needs this energy to get through the next few hours.

Chapter Text

Dance practice went on as expected, for the most part. What Yongbok didn’t expect, however, was to wind up puking his guts out during a dash to the bathroom. In hindsight, downing an iced coffee on a stomach filled with three measly chicken strips and dancing to hell was not his wisest decision.

Felix jumped right into practice after the small break, not giving much thought to how the aggressive choreography might affect his admittedly weaker state. All it takes is 4 run-throughs, a coffee hit, and Han accidentally whacking his abdomen for the shift to take place. Immediately he hunches over and clutches onto an aching torso, barely opening his mouth to release a winded breath.

“Yongbok-!” Jisung instinctively cries. “Shit, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!” Shock and concern spreads on his face in an instant, excreting through his hurried words.

Now faintly huffing, he takes a second to find his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m fine-” The members all pause at the commotion and bile crawls up his esophagus as realization of what’s about to happen hits. “Sorry, I gotta-” and he reflexively dashes out the door, hand covering his mouth in case he doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time.

God, was he grateful for being a fast runner.

Pushing the door open and clambering over the nearest toilet, he retches. It’s not a pretty sight, let alone a pretty feeling.

Acidic sensations flood out his gaping mouth and bubble inside his body. Slender fingers cling onto the cool sides of a toilet rim as his head bobs in repetitive action. Lips crack and spot with irritated red splotches. Felix physically feels the reactive ejections disrupting his aching organs. Each piece of chicken, every last drop of the coffee; it all comes out in an instant.

Once his body begins to slow and relax again, Felix blinks open glassy eyes, small tears trickling down the sides of his temple and also off his slick nose tip. A small gust of re-gained stamina releases and he wills himself to fold onto tucked-under legs. As he relaxes, ignoring the blaring internal discomfort, he catches wind of the moisture lining his hoodie sleeve. The thought dawns on him.

Fuck, anytime but now.

Abrupt knocking comes at the cracked-open stall door. Without tearing his eyes away from the messy bowl below him, he attempts to wipe away tracks of saliva and vomit coating his chin and lets out a muffled sniff.

”Felix, you okay in there?” spoken in English, it’s Chan. “Can I come in?”

Sitting on the floor with drained energy, all he musters is a mumbled “Okay.”

The door creaks wider and soft feet shuffle closely behind. Neither of the two boys speak as Chan crouches down to his level. Eager not to disturb the uneasy younger, he reaches his hand out before pausing mid-air.

“Can I touch you?” he kindly asks, to which Felix nods but still deters eye contact. Strong arms extend once more, one on his left shoulder and the other rubbing delicate circles on his back, up his spine. It’s soothing.

“Jisung said it’s completely his mistake, he stumbled on the footwork and tried to regain balance, accidentally whacking you in the process.” Pausing to gauge a reaction, he continues after none. “I told everyone to stay back whilst I check on you. They’re waiting back in the studio.”

Yongbok replies, eyes falling closed from the serene motions on his back. “It’s okay, I forgive him. It’s not like he could control it, it was an accident.”

Through quiet white noise, Chan pipes up again. “Clearly he couldn’t have picked a worse spot to strike you in, your body took it pretty rough,” he finishes, nodding toward the toilet bowl.

“Nah, it’s just a bit of vomit, I’ll be fine.”

”Maybe, but we should really get you home. We don’t know if your reflexes will act up again. Plus, no one wants to clean that mess up,” he peacefully jokes.

Yongbok’s lips etch into a minor smile at the response and he meets his eye. “I’m okay to keep going, I think it’s all out of my system now.”

”Nice try, but no. You should head back and rest.”

Sighing in subtle defeat, the younger is too un-bothered to retaliate much.

“Could you help me stand up please? I can feel my legs getting pins and needles.”

”Yeah, yeah, of course,” Chan shifts his arms to guide him into a standing position.

”Thanks. I should be fine now.”

He sways on the spot for a split second before flushing the toilet with a torn- off sheet of toilet paper in his right hand. Both boys gravitate toward the sink to wash their hands before exiting from the bathroom and making their way down the hall. Jeongin’s head pokes out just as they arrive at the door, of which he holds open.

“You’re back! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, it was my fault, are you okay??” Han immediately stumbles out, turning from the group discussion and flocking over.

“Don’t worry, he’s alright. I asked Minho to call the driver to take him home,” Chan states calmly, locking eyes with Minho to confirm. He nods.

”Really, I’m fine, Hannie. Besides, it’s probably my fault for not drinking enough water,” Felix answers, “unsettled stomach is all.”

“Hopefully it blows over by morning,” Changbin adds and delivers him a bottle of water with a loosened seal.

”Thank you,” he voices, tilting his head and taking a small sip to his lips.

Hyunjin and Seungmin see him to the ground floor, escorting Felix to the awaiting vehicle.

“Remember to text us when you get home,” Hyunjin says.

“Please,” Seungmin utters.

“I will.”

”Drive safe and we’ll see you later Yongbok-ie,” Hyunjin mentions, helping him into the car. The driver presses a button and the door glides shut.

***

Back at the apartment, Felix sets down the bottle clasped in his palm for a moment and toes off his shoes. Metal clangs against metal as keys are tossed on a side table. Typically he would’ve headed straight to his bedroom but the dry cracking sensation on his forearm prompts otherwise. Stalking down the dim-lit corridor, Yongbok shifts open yet another bathroom door.

Hands hecticly search for a familiar box labeled First-Aid. After a mild struggle to unbuckle the clasp he whips open a swatch of gauze and a fresh roll of self-adhesive bandage. Tugging up his sleeve and detaching it from the crusted blood, he works swiftly and diligently, but not before pausing to gander at the wounds.

Deeper gashes seep spots of scarlet and yellow-tinged translucent liquid, meanwhile the shallower of the bunch simply sit dry and placid. Most people tend to clean the mess and go about their way, but this was one of the best parts to Felix. Experiencing the fruits of your labour is rather rewarding. Sickeningly, the stark red marks stained upon his skin are, to be quite frank, very pretty. Perhaps it’s the contrast against his paled forearm, or the striking crimson glaring up at him. Nothing beats the beauty in the macabre.

Wrapping the bandage tightly wound the positioned gauze pad, Yongbok decides to remove his hoodie and pack up the remaining supplies. He brushes his teeth before closing up the drawer. Heels turn and he makes an exit, bundling up the discarded clothing and walking to his room. Upon entry, he tosses the hoodie on the quilted duvet and strips the cotton lining his legs. Instinctively he gathers beneath the covers pulled back and slips into an all-engulfing embrace.

Chapter Text

An inch of restful sleep is all Yongbok needs. Unfortunately, only 2 hours after he lays down his head, multiple footsteps sputter from the entryway and shuffle across creaking wooden floorboards. Attentively listening to the commotion in a groggy haze, he deciphers the exact number of people present in the flat. There’s 5 people. It’s not uncommon for one or more of the other kids to ride back to a separate dorm after practice. Plus, their schedule is basically wide-open today. Catching the mumbles as best he could through the plastered walls, Felix recognises the voices belong to Minho, Chan, Hyunjin, Han, and Jeongin.

Elbows shift of his own accord and pin his body up against the soft, warm bedsheets. If he thinks hard enough it’s almost as if he’s transported back to an old childhood bedroom. Anime posters hastily hung and scattered the painted walls, shiny taekwondo medals stacked against each other draped off bag hooks. Bookshelves filled up to the brim spew paperback copies on the verge of falling from their overflowing nooks. Glass panes crack open just a smidge to allow a faint warm breeze to filter through his senses. Eucalyptus leaves glimmer in the golden afternoon rays, rustling with every breeze and casting dim shadows that dance in refraction. Their subtle scent fills the air and he takes a deep breath. Like a customized jigsaw puzzle, all the elements he garnered over the years bring mass consolation to his achy, nostalgic heart. He wants to stay.

The comfort is too nice to let go, but diligent feet tap against the floor in the direction of his bedroom. Stopping quietly once they do, a barely audible spoken-whisper seeps through tiny cracks in the door.

“Felix, are you asleep?” the maknae asks, unmoving, awaiting a response.

Moving off his elbows and locating the crumpled hoodie thrown by his side, Felix swiftly pulls it over his head and tugs on the sleeves. “Not anymore; you can come in, Innie.”

He watches as the doorknob twists down and latches open, the solid block nestled in the walls’ crevice shines a bright white gleam of light casted on the floor. In walks Jeongin as he nestles on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling any better? Did you get some rest?”

”I got some.”

”Did you finish drinking the water?”

”Yeah, the bottle’s on the entry table outside,” hums Felix.

Using his arms to support the action, IN shifts his weight back on his feet and turns toward the blonde. His face stays suitably stoic, “Seungmin and Changbin went to go fetch some food for us all; Dwaekki was talking about burgers earlier, so most likely that.”

Eyelids flutter at the mention of food and uneasy pains swirl within his stomach. “I’m not really that hungry,” he quickly voices.

“We figured that’d be the case so we asked for a lemonade and some fries. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t feel well, though,” calmly states Jeongin.

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” Felix shoots him a falsified grin. He doesn’t intend to touch the food; maybe just the lemonade.

“Of course,” he replies. “I don’t know if you heard, but we all came back together. I think Jisung-ie and Chan want to check up on you soon, so come out whenever you’re ready.” With that, IN steps out the room and shuts the door gently behind.

Craning over to find his phone and slipping it into the oversized hoodie pocket, Felix drops his legs to the side, rises out of bed, and heads for the living room.

Bangchan sits cross-legged on a square cushion, his headphones and laptop already placed on the table beside him. Upon entering the packed communal area, Chan lifts his head and wordlessly beckons Felix closer, avidly patting down at the empty seat slotted to his left. He strides over the card game Han and Hyunjin had displayed against the floor which earns him an upward glimpse from Jisung.

“You’re awake! Are you feeling any better? Do you need a heat pack? Can I get you anything?” he frantically spits out.

A faint chuckle releases from his mouth at the sudden burst and Felix responds, “It’s okay, Hannie, don’t even worry about it anymore. I got some sleep when I got back so I think my body’s more settled now.”

He sighs in relief, “Oh thank god, okay, that’s good,” and simply refocuses on the cards in front of him.

Yongbok brushes limbs with Lee Know, who appears to be playing some kind of mobile game on his phone, and he raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment of the younger’s presence. IN stays quiet and unwavering in the corner, relentlessly flicking through TV channels and searching for what they often like to call a ‘background drama.’ Plopping down in the empty space on the couch, Felix huddles himself into outstretched arms. The pressure of his arms criss-crossed against his chest sent reminders of the bulky bandage wrapped around his tender forearm. He’s hiding it as best he can for now but the anxiety of a slip-up creeps in like branches stemming from deep inside the pit of his abdomen. However, the welcome comfort and warmth in Bangchan’s hugs is soft enough to drown in, so he relishes in the nuzzling relaxation.

Minutes pass entwined in their embrace, until the leader speaks lovingly. “You’re so small but so warm; It’s almost as though you’re a baby koala clinging onto it’s mother,” Chan teases.

Small? Sure he’s a bit petite, but not anything like baby-koala-small. Aren’t koalas a little fat? He had a long way to go before reaching that point, he thinks, and balls himself up, pulling closer to Chan.

***

Just as Felix decides to sit himself up Changbin and Seungmin wander in, each grasping two stacked bags of warm packaged food. Every member pauses from their activity and shuffles to sit around the long coffee table nestled in front of the couch. It’s quite cramped, all pushed against each other, but they manage to make it work and the hyungs cater out the separate orders.

Minho raises the smallest container and places it directly in front of Felix, then reaches into another bag and hands him an ice-cold lemonade. He casts his gaze to the styrofoam box laid in front of him and stares without thought.

“We ordered you some hot chips, Yongbok-ie, but you don’t have to eat them if you don’t feel up for it.”

An internal debate wagers through his body at the proposal. Should he eat them? Could he eat them? Most importantly, would he stomach them? The questions linger at the forefront of his mouth, salivating at the scent and thought of vague nourishment.

No. He won’t.

Not yet.

Felix reaches for the cool lemonade instead and sips at the straw. “I think I’ll stick with the drink right now; Thank you, hyung.”

Lee Know nods and opens the box of food sitting in front of him.

As members dive into the orders laid along the table, Yongbok watches, still sipping on his straw. Witnessing their blissful indulgence is almost as good as indulging himself.

Chatter picks up as they reach the end of their dishes, the lemonade in his hands almost completely consumed. Quiet hums of ambience from the TV fade into mush as his brain begins to wander. Before he gets trapped deep in thought, however, a certain ferret taps lightly along his shoulder, taking him back to reality.

“Lix? You’re staring.”

”Oh,” he shocks, “I wasn’t intending to, I’m sorry.”

This reaction earns a cheeky grin from the elder. He quiets his register to a near whisper, so as not to let the others hear. “Want to join me for some fresh air?”

Not expecting the sudden question, Felix quickly utters out, “Sure.”

“Let me go fetch something, I’ll meet you by the door.”

Both members rise off their folded legs and Hyunjin rummages through his bag resting against the wall. As he does, Yongbok notices the kids have re-dispersed across the lounge area, chatting away and playing cards. Once again he navigates toward his bedroom to throw on a pair of socks, then closes the door and promptly heads to the entryway to lace up his shoes. Hyunjin appears at his side once more, now holding a water bottle and an opaque black seal-tight jar.

“Come with me, let’s go to the rooftop.”

***

As they reach the top floor in the elevator, the two boys climb a flight of stairs and push open the heavyweight industrial door. Greeted with a harsh blow of air to the face, tender footsteps ponder out unto the familiar dim-lit concrete.

There was no sound but the faint breeze whistle and the busy streetcars below.

Felix is a night-owl, through and through. On the nights he struggles to sleep because of whirring thoughts, he will often creep out for a glimpse of shining stars. Something about the way they glisten and twinkle, set ablaze in the galaxies, — it had always brought him deep solace. In admiring the lights he almost forgot about the boy who traveled up with him. His brain and body finally catches wind of the situation and setting, and he delights in the revelation. Twisting on the balls of his soles, he fixates on Hyunjin.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” he sings.

Hyunjin busies with the twisted jar seal, uncapping the glass container and reaching fingers in, pulling out a small bag of cylindric-like paper rolls. “Trainwreck,” he smirks.

“Ahh,” Felix enchants, “that’s my favourite.”

“I found one of the idols in the smoking area last Music Bank and we got to chatting,” he starts. “She pulled out a stash and started talking it up. I asked for the name, praised it, and then she gave me an ounce. Turns out her sister’s a Stay, and I just so happen to be her bias,” he pauses and switches to a mildly smug tone. “Lucky me, wouldn’t you say?”

”But I thought you’ve never tried it before?” he questions, but the sly ferret maintains a prideful expression.

The conversation goes quiet for no more than a hushed moment. Just as before, realization slaps Felix in the face.

“Oh my god, you remembered?!”

“Of course I remembered; I have a pretty decent memory, y’know.”

Yongbok scrambles to switch his previous tone. “No, no, no. You know that’s not what I meant, Hyunjin-ah,” he falters in sentence as his smile opens further.

“I know, I know,” replies the older, “just teasing you.”

Hyunjin reaches to his pocket and pulls out an aged-looking zippo, handing Felix one of his prior prerolls in the process. Stuffing the plastic back in the uncapped jar and placing it on the solid concrete, he turns back to Yongbok, lighter in hand. The obnoxious trilling of a motorcycle engine swerves along the road, yelling through the streets like a threat of disturbance.

“Wow, maybe they’re the ones who need this shit,” jokes Hyunjin. “Some people need to learn how to relax some more. Was all that noise really necessary?”

Taking the joint with his index and thumb, Felix raises the vice between slightly parted lips. Leaning closer toward the elder he communicates with a glance and cups a hand around the tip. Soft-glared pupils connect in contact as Hyunjin meets his hand in a domed shape, protecting the small fire starter from catching on the breeze. Initially, they stay in position until the subtle blaze begins to crawl along the thin paper and wisps of light grey paint trails from the tip. A strong inhale in; Felix holds it tight in his lungs and swallows the sensation before blowing a shot of smoke onto the other’s face. Immediately it dissipates away, hardly reaching the tip of his nose.

Without breaking eye contact, Hyunjin speaks up, “Smells pretty good, but what’s the taste? Is it packed full enough?”

Drawing the herb away for a moment, the Aussie respectfully reviews the first inhale. “Trainwreck always has a spice to it but for some reason this one tastes sweeter?” his brows furrow as he closely inspects it in still hands. “Are these grape flavoured papers?” guesses Felix as he returns for another deepened inhale.

Hyunjin’s expression contorts as a pleasant giggle falls out his mouth. “I can’t believe you actually got that right,” he says.

“Please, if this were Purple Haze you’d be all over it,” retorts the blonde. “And you did a good job of packing it, too,” he tags, passing the illuminated joint between close touching fingers that brushed against his own.

“How much do you wanna bet?” Hyunjin fills his airways with the smokey substance and exhales slowly, exhausting through his nose. “Maybe I’ll switch up strains after tonight,” and a smile slips to Felix’ face.

“Maybe you will; we’ll see about that.”

Both boys continue the natural ‘puff, puff, pass’ rhythm they sync into as the minutes tick by. Neither voice many thoughts, instead the silent ambiance is complimented simply by each other’s presence. That, and the weed would have them giggly and chatty soon enough anyway.

Most people tend to imply that someone will “just know” once they’re high, but a lot more goes into it than just ‘knowing.’ Recognising the come-up symptoms and the ever-morphing internal sensations is something Felix only began to grasp once he started using more frequently. During his first few sessions, those around him never bothered to ‘hand-hold’ or set his expectations; he dove into the haze completely blind. As with everything in life, eventually his brain familiarized those smaller things and the overwhelming anxiety, which paired with the drug, began to settle. The said ‘come-up’ became a source of comfort instead.

Chills. First leaking out the tips of his fingers, then, working their way to the palm, forearm, shoulders, and breastplate. Soft fabric coats itself around his lower half, a preventative measure Yongbok always tries to take before a smoke session. Warm clothing is a must, as the mere act of smoking marijuana can significantly drop body temperature. Neither boys carried any blankets with them, but Yongbok’s bedroom holds the potential to be a heated cocoon of itself. Nights like these typically end snuggled deep in bed with a sleepy Hyunjin warming the opposing side.

Stomach flips. There was nothing he hated more about the process than the warping twists that rumbled along the lining of his stomach. If he had eaten recently it wasn’t as bad, but if he hadn’t? Well, everything certainly hit harder. When he started smoking this was the hardest symptom to differentiate from anxiety because the sensation was almost exactly the same. A couple times Felix had talked himself into believing the build-up was ‘just anxiety’ and that ‘it’s just not hitting yet.’ Every stoner makes the mistake sooner or later; opting to inhale/ingest/digest more substance than initial plans, only to end up greened out of their fucking mind.

Blurry eyes and vision distortion. Red-eye aside, the glassy eye effect begins far sooner. Yongbok usually uses this one as THE sign for a pending high. Obviously it differs depending on the individual, however Felix wouldn’t really feel an ounce of high until the very moment his eyes act up. Vaguely, perception begins to shift and he situates his hyper-present body a few steps further from the forefront of his senses. Almost as though he’s controlling a character through a first-person video game more so than him actually being present in his body.

Every strain will have a slightly differing affect on the body and the user. Sativa can often be creative, alert, and chatty, whereas Indica tended to be more heavy, relaxing, and sleep-inducing. Hybrids are a healthy balance and typically the best of both worlds, but they differ in effect depending on the dominant strain and terpenes. Trainwreck, a sativa strain, is a favourite because it truly lives up to its namesake: the undeniably intense effects hit like a fucking freight train. Don’t be fooled into believing this is any average sativa; expect to be slapped with vibrant euphoria. Put some ice on the wound and strap in for the ride.

A gust of exhilaration and serotonin pumps through his veins, dispelling an influx of floaty fluidity and engulfing him within its gracious caress. If previous sessions with the strain had taught him anything, they had ~2 minutes max. until the full effects hit. Yongbok looks to take another inhale and spots the preroll in the olders grasp. Slowly, he prepares to disturb the silence; for if Felix was feeling it, Hyunjin surely was too.

“Are you getting there?”

Hyunjin stares at the empty space in front of him, mouth lightly agape and over an inch of a joint deluminating in the clasp of his left hand. “Yeah, it’s definitely in my system.”

“Still wanna finish up this round?” asks Felix.

He cracks a cheeky grin, “Oh, you know I do.”

Chapter Text

Felix and Hyunjin come up to the rooftop and indulge in the occasional smoke sesh at least two or three times a month. During comebacks they were often too busy and can’t afford to crash the following morning so they’d stay away and claim ‘tolerance breaks’ instead. Besides, the longer it was since their last get-together, the more both boys looked forward to it. Dating as far back as predebut, the habitual shared tradition rapidly became deeply cherished between the two. As far as they were aware, none of the other members had quite caught on yet.

Except, there was that one time in which Minho had caught them blasted in the kitchen, mid-munchies mania. Yongbok was whisking up a quick batch of his classic brownies, per Hyunjin’s pleading request, and the clumsy clanging metal bowls and pans had disturbed Lee know so much that he trekked to the kitchen in cat slippers with the sole intention to scold their disruptions. Upon entering the scene displayed in front of him, words faltered off his tongue and he eventually trilled off forgivably.

“Yongbok-ah, I know you enjoy late-night baking and I have absolutely no issue with that, but it’s currently 1:17am and I’d really like to get some sleep before the sun rises.” Observing Hyunjin cheerily sitting atop a kitchen counter and attempting to suppress a giggle, he glided plush slippers further across the floorboards and closer to the illumination. Two chuckling boys shared half-lidded glassy-eyed glances which shone a glint against the harsh overhead light. Minho opted not to ask questions. “I’m not sure exactly what midnight shenanigans you’re up to but please try to keep more quiet. The acoustics in here rattle throughout the apartment and I don’t want Minnie or Innie waking up.”

Apologetically, the blonde composed an attempt to explain his defence, “You’re right, I’m sorry Hyung; I’ll try to keep more quiet from now on. I don’t intend to be so clumsy but I understand how frustrating the noise is at this hour. If it helps, I’ll set aside a small batch of brownies just for you; They’ll be waiting with your name by morning, I promise.”

Satisfied and unwilling to converse much longer with their clearly obnoxious and delirious states, Lee Know accepted the offer and bid them both a cautious goodnight. Turning on his heel as the eldest disappeared down the dark corridor, Yongbok continued whispering exchanges with Hyunjin as he gave his best effort to quiet the metallic clanging.

Presently they were sat atop the rooftop with limbs entwined to protect from the ebbing cold chills billowing on the gentle breeze. Smoky ash falters off a dying stub passed between cold finger grips. A cooling gust licks bubbling faces and winds fly-always in each and every direction.

“Lixie-ya,” hums Hyunjin, mouth agape with vivacious conversational energy.

”Hmm?” voices the boy, distracting his gaze from the vibrantly enchoed city lights.

”My head feels really light now,” he trails off in sentence and holds a look at the blonde in front of him. “But my body, I mean like, woah, this is a new high for me, I’m sure.”

”It’s enjoyable, right? Like you don’t hate it?” questions Felix, ready to step up and tend to a bad high at his immediate beck and call. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d’ve guided someone through a rough experience whilst he, himself, was simultaneously under the same influence.

Shaking his head, albeit a tad aggressively to emphasize his response, the elder chimes up, “Yes! I mean no, I don’t hate it at all, trust me! It’s different but a good kind of different. Intense like the body high of Indica, yet way floatier and funnier. It makes sense it’s advertised as a social and party strain;” he breaths away from his statement for a paused while. “I’m gonna get so fun and fucked on this, like shit it’s really—.” As though uttering it into existence, Hyunjin stops his laugh short and unfocuses his rapidly widening eyes.

Yongbok attempts a quick response but falters for a second too long; it robs him of his speech. Both boys are submerged deep within the clutches of a heavily layered awareness; swimming amongst weightless tides and floating from each body movement to the next. Joyful banter rolls off their tongues and laughter becomes effortlessly contagious. The depth of which the effects reach cheekily threatens their peace, yet never breaches the surface of disturbing their conjoined harmony nor sense of safety.

Time ceases to exist once Felix peers past towering skyscrapers and upon the infinite abyssal noir. Decorated with glowing flames, illustrations dance along the tips of each star, connecting one another in a gorgeous display of ancient depictions. The idea that lunar designs were older than the earth and even the galaxy itself weighed heavily on his frail shoulder blades. How many had once painted miraculously in the sky, only to be so insignificantly famed that not a soul or documentation survived to showcase it? Distant doodles he’s peering at, the ones that charm along his retina, are they just as insightful as those forgotten? But stars burn rapidly and die out each second. Peering up at the glistening orbs displayed in the galactical garden above him; most of the stars had already long died out, delayed reflections twinkle ethereal memories as one grand adieu.

Nothing truly lasts forever; only fools believe in legacy.

“Hyunjin,” voices the distantly distracted blonde. “Ever wonder how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of time?”

He turns to Yongbok’s dimly lit face and softly responds, “No, because I know we’re insignificant. We can’t ask time to stop but we can enjoy watching it pass. That’s exactly what we’re doing right now.”

Turning to the weighted technology in his hoodie pocket, Felix displays his phone face-up on a stretch of pavement to the left of their close-limbed figures.

10:02pm reads the illuminated screen.

“It’s getting too cold for me, can we go back to my room now? I’m in the mood for some Ghibli.”

Dizzy and disoriented, they untwine and rise up, clasping each other’s arms for extra balance and support. The younger bends over to pick up the near-empty water bottle. Hyunjin collects the glass jar and reminds Felix to dispose of the butt of the joint as they dawdle back toward the staircase.

***

The door pushes open with two discombobulated boys who struggle not to trip over the shoes lining the entry cove. Laying a pair of boots and sneakers inline alongside the rest, Yongbok wanders into the living room to observe which members left.

He finds Chan on his laptop with headphones assuming his prior position and Minho quietly watching TV with Han snuggled on his right.

“Hey you two,” pipes Bangchan, shifting his headphones off and hanging them around his neck. “Binnie went back to our dorm and Seungmin’s hanging out in Ayen’s room. We put your chips in the fridge if you want them later, Lix.”

Nodding his head in a grasping manner, he faces back to Hyunjin and proposes, “Wanna head to my room and set it up? Just use my PC; do you remember the password? I’ll be there shortly, just filling up on water,” and waves the plastic back and forth showcasing the low line of liquid.

”Okay. Yeah, I’ve got it,” returns the older and tracks off.

Uncapping the bottle and waltzing into the kitchen he tilts the lever by the sink and water flows out the spout. Frail shaky fingers reseal the cap and he swiftly walks past the lounging members, until he’s abruptly stopped by a tugging on his hoodie. It’s Han.

“Yongbok-ah,” followed by a pause of unbreaking eye contact. Anxiety bubbles in his abdomen as thoughts jump around his mind. Had they finally been caught? “You should get some more rest tonight.”

Relief.

“I will. Thank you, Jisung-ie.” Fabric slips out the grasp of tight fingers and he heads off.

“Maybe it’s just me, but did you guys also get a whiff of that?” Han curiously asks the older two.

“Definitely,” states Minho, creeping a smile. “But I’m pretty sure it’s normal for those two. I once caught them clattering around in the kitchen making brownies.”

Chris cracks a delightful chuckle. “How rude of them to not offer any to their beloved members.”

And with that, they each return to their interests.

Upon entering his bedroom, Felix finds a ferret nested amongst a pile of blankets and pillows with Ocean Waves pulled up on the glowing PC screen. A bluetooth connected mouse and pad are placed on his wheeled gaming chair which had been rolled within reach of his bed. The atmosphere was cozy and comfortable; LED hexagons faded through the colour wheel and fairy lights strung above his head had been flicked on. A humidifier whirs citrus-scented mist, filling the air with vanilla orange blossom. Placing the filled bottle alongside the mouse, Yongbok lurches into the plush bed and huddles up to the warmth emanating off Hyunjin.

“Ready to press play?”

The blonde nods in reply and reaches to click the screen.

***

A half-hour rolls by, elongated by their conjoined and delayed sense of time, until a quiet rumble resounds from Yongbok’s stomach.

“Munchies time?” offers Hyunjin, pausing the film.

Debating in his mind, Felix remembers the fries sat untouched in the fridge and gives into temptation, knowing he’ll regret it sober.

Climbing out of the blanket pile, both boys dart out the door and patter to the kitchen. Minho and Jisung are now laid along the couch watching Single’s Inferno as they pass by.

Tugging on the cool metal handles of the cold storage chamber, eyes spot a small square container labeled ‘Yongbok-ie’ written in Sharpie. Hyunjin appears directly behind him, chin resting on his left shoulder as he pears into the communal fridge.

“Is there anything sugary? My sweet tooth is aching to be satisfied,” he mumbles by the other’s ear. Humming in response, Felix ponders over the items displayed on the glass shelves and sets his sights on a pudding pack and peach jelly drink.

“Will a pudding cup and Mogu Mogu suffice? I think there’s some lollies in the upper right cabinet, too. Oh, and I have some buenos tucked away in the freezer if you open the top drawer.”

The older’s face lights up and he does as instructed, grabbing a bowl to fill with goodies. Yongbok also fiddles with a ceramic bowl and empties the contents from their earlier meal into the deep curvature. Popping the microwave open, he places it inside the cove and punches in 1:30. Electronic heatwaves rumble to a start as he flips attention back to Hyunjin’s activities.

“Do you want some too?” he asks, observing the blonde peering over.

“Oh, no, I’m alright, thanks. I’ll just stick to the chips for now.” Sugary cravings flooded his senses but he maintained strict composure, at least ‘strict’ given the state they’re encompassed in.

A curious Jisung lifts the weight of his upper body on slightly bent arms and peaks his head above the couch. “Late-night munching?”

It stops both boys in their tracks. Guilt reaps through Felix as he attempts to push aside the casual comment.

“Yeah. Want anything?” retorts Hyunjin faster than the other can react.

Giggling in vague rout, Jisung retreats. “Nah, Lino and I had some ice cream not too long ago.” He switches the subject. “What’re you two up to anyway?”

Yet again, the question is rapidly answered by Hyunjin, which Felix is grateful for. “We’re watching Ocean Waves in Bokkie’s room.”

”Ah, that’s a great one, I totally forgot about it!” He tilts to face Minho and continues, “We need to watch that one together, it’s been a few years since I saw it last.”

Lee Know hums a simple “Sure,” and both return to their positions and span their attention back on the illuminated screen.

Beeps echo as Yongbok pulls himself out of a distracting train of thought and tugs open the door, revealing the heated bowl of chips.

“Let’s go,” says Hyunjin, grabbing his bowl and drink then motioning to the blonde tentatively following behind.

As they reach the slightly ajar door, they elbow it open and trot toward the edge of the bed. Felix unfolds a small camping-style table which leant against his wall and sturdies it, placing their dishes atop the flat surface. Small bodies shuffle underneath warmed blankets and next to each other as they position themselves to click play on the film.

Hyunjin immediately begins to peck at the goodie bowl displayed in front of him, meanwhile Yongbok hesitates with a singular fry in his clutch.

It’s just fried potato. It’s fine, I’m fine. This won’t kill me.

Except it might as well be the end of him once he wakes up tomorrow morning. A tale as old as time; the sheer amount of occasions this exact thought process has swirled around his head had been lost in counting many years ago.

Just a few.

He bit into the warmed crispy stick and it felt like a desperate explosion on his tongue. Tastebuds dance in delight and salivary glands pump rapidly with intent. Holy fuck, it was delicious.

So he eats and he eats, one fry after the next, barely allowing himself time to breathe. Five minutes pass and the bowl in front of him sits near-empty. In a moment of recognition and clarity, the dire desperation dies out for a short moment, but it was long enough for Felix to realise what he’d done.

What a lame-ass pig, can’t even control himself around a couple hot chips.

Starch and carbs weigh heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach lining. Peering over at Hyunjin’s bowl, the line of candy had depleted, but nowhere near as significantly as his. Suddenly a grim shame overtakes his body and pours out in shadowy figures dancing to the sides of his peripheral vision. It’s much too overwhelming and the encroaching paranoia begins to make an appearance. He feels a chill pass straight to the bone and burts upright, disturbing the fallen silence of the film.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

”Sure, do you want me to pause it?” questions Hyunjin.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll be back shortly,” he states, and quickly dashes out the door with reeling thoughts weighing on his mind, leaving a confused boy behind.

Entering the bathroom and shutting the door, he flicks on the light and frantically shuffles through a pulled-out drawer for a razor blade. He scrunches up the sleeve of his hoodie and unravels the pale bandage, tossing it aside on the countertop. Scabbing wounds bore holes in his retinas and temptation clamours along his excruciatingly dry esophagus. Skin itches for release as he hastily grasps the shining metal.

There’s no hesitation as silver meets with gaping epidermis. Once, twice, thrice, and repeat.

Littering lines of white and yellow momentarily begin to ferociously drip scarlet fluid. It trails down his forearm and tracks down the sinkhole, splattering vivid crimson in the otherwise pristine bowl. He feels no pain, no agony.

Mesmerised by the undeniably hypnotising liquid spewing from his arm, he fails to notice quiet knocks on the door.

“I need to use the bathroom so whoever’s in there, hurry up please!” voices Jeongin.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

In a shuffling panic, Felix quickly pushes his arm underneath a flush of cold water and prepares to re-wrap the construed bandage. There was no time to prepare any gauze or bandaids in his hurry so he rushes the process and hoped to God for a miracle. The blade weighed in shaky palms is swiftly tossed back into the open drawer and he rolls it shut. Tugging down the black hoodie sleeve, Yongbok inhales. Just as rapidly as he had entered, he anxiously pulls forth the door and meets face-to-face with the waiting maknae.

“Finally,” he states, pushing past his shoulder and abruptly closing the door.

Stranded in the darkened hallway, Felix stalls in place. Paranoia inches up his spine and creates waves which follow the subtle movement of every muscle.

Something is watching him, draining his sanity.

Shaking off raised goosebumps, hurried feet glide against creaky floorboards and stroll back to the colourful glow seeping from the underside of his bedroom door. Upon opening, the other boy sits upright and glances at the mild commotion.

“Back already?”

”Ayen was waiting for me to finish so I had to be quick.”

He laughs. “Quite the impatient guy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” agrees Felix, but unease slips through his voice. Jumping back atop the comforting bed he reaches for a gulp of water.

Hyunjin catches note of the change in atmosphere and concern graces his next words. “Are you okay?”

With worry already blasting throughout his body, this only shoots further anxiety inside his limbs. Stuttering out a hurried response, Yongbok misses the loose hoodie sleeve shifting down his stinging forearm as he raises the bottle to parched lips. “Of course; let’s press play.”

Frozen beside him, the air goes stiffly silent.

“Felix.”

”Hmm?”

”What’s that?”

He chokes on a stream of water as the cool air brushes against the gap of his exposed wrist. Adrenaline pumps faster than blood and he hesitates.

Well, fuck. Think fast, think fast.

“Oh, I slipped and hit the shower rack the other day,” he composes. “It sliced me on the way down.”

Nodding slowly, Hyunjin appears somewhat unconvinced.

“It’s nothing serious. I asked a member of staff to look at it and she wrapped it up for me. Avoiding infection and all that,” concludes Yongbok in feigned confidence, hoping it’s enough to satisfy any further questions.

Like the heavens answering a desperate plea, Hyunjin accepts the explanation and switches the subject.

“Wow, your body really seems to be going through it right now,” claims the un-accusing older. “Shall we resume?”

”Please; we’re about to reach the best part.”

The gentle conversation is quickly forgotten as both boys continue the film.

Paranoia hidden in shadows clings onto Felix as the film concludes. They pull up a soft and ambient Spotify playlist then switch the LEDs to a deep, oceanic blue. Over the following hours, hushed conversations eventually slow and warmed bodies slip underneath quilted covers. Hyunjin maneauvers his body closer to the other as whispered ‘goodnight’s float through the citrus air. Heavy eyelids weigh themselves closed and Yongbok increases his efforts to ignore the invisible watchful eyes and falls deep into a rare restful slumber.

Chapter Text

Getting more than 5 hours of sleep has been quite the rarity for Yongbok lately. Procrastinating rest isn’t exactly his intention, it just keeps happening. From the very moment his head hits a pillow; that’s when his brain starts racing. Thoughts range from what he might eat tomorrow, dance choreographies relentlessly replaying in increasingly vivid detail, which Genshin character he wants to build next and how; all the way to the fragility and inevitability of life and death in a modern society. Would humans even live for much longer? We’re killing the Earth at a rapid rate. How much longer does he have left?

To push aside these lines of thinking, there’s only a few quick-solve remedies. Playing numerous video games on his PC is often Felix’ go-to; each night he’d sit in the colourful leather chair and play for 2 hours minimum. When hands and eyes are occupied with tasks of their own, internal contemplation hardly has the time nor chance to surface. Better yet, gaming with Jeongin and Seungmin at the nearby PC café was the most ideal distraction, however it closes doors around midnight. As 1AM strikes, a bordening mind requires other tactics.

Bluetooth headphones sit permanently housed within short reach on his bedside table. Sleek and black in colour with muffs big enough to engulf the entirety of his ears. Purchased abroad on tour whilst out shopping with Bangchan, Felix vaguely mentioned his need for new headphones in an electronics store. Originally, both Aussies ventured out to obtain another hard drive and USB for the leader’s laptop, but upon Yongbok’s comment, Chan had walked him around the shop and stopped in front of an audio devices display.

“Get this one,” he voiced, arm pointing toward a brand he couldn’t pronounce. “Their newest headphone has 8D and spatial audio. Unless you were referencing gaming headphones?”

Felix shakes his head and picks up a demo product, gently placing the comforting cushioning around his ears. Pressing down on the cool silver ‘play’ button produced an all-encompassing instrumental melody filled with endless depth and perception. Musical chords strung all around his being and crept inward, amusing his soul. Soft eyes widened in amazement as chills spread along his spine and outstretched arms. This, this feeling, was exactly what he’d been hoping to find.

The blonde pondered through a couple colour variations before deciding on a matte black. Picking up the shiny box and cradling it above his hip, both boys trekked diligent feet directly to the check-out line.

Most nights, once the body begins to truly exhaust and wind down, Yongbok reaches for the familiar grasp of those headphones. Set to automatically connect to his phone the moment the power button flickers on, rhythmically tapping fingers direct to the playlists that live in darkened corners. Obscured from an open view, Felix locates his desired mood and presses shuffle, turning the volume up to maximum capacity. Tingling sensations lap through his loosened limbs and send ethereal waves that float in resounding cathedral pews around his head. In moments, he is transported. Music is indeed a very powerful tool, and very few material items held the ability to physically drown out the uninvited musings of his unconscious creation.

Vices have an astounding, never-miss talent for such avoidant tendencies. Sure, there are positive ways to deal with harsh and heavy emotions, but where’s the fun in that?

Overwhelmed? Just ground the body and mind with pain. Watching trails of blood seep out from self-inflicted wounds is yet to fail in bringing him a sense of clarity and calming quietness. Anxious and hecticly stressed? Step outside for a smoke of green. Weed chemically stimulates areas of the brain that, in turn, fuel an increase of dopamine production. Lack of control and low self-esteem? Don’t eat. The sense of achievement after successfully fasting is not only validating, but intensely euphoric and addictive. After all, those scrambled thoughts will find another way to creep in sooner or later; better to defend against them ahead of time.

Rolling over in a cocoon of dream-likeness, twitching fingertips meet soft cotton draping over human form. Hyunjin. Peering about to observe their body positions, Felix attempts to keep the boy undisturbed with slow and slight movement. His right arm had flung over the waist of the older boy in his waking moment, meanwhile his left lay situated up on the pillows. Harsh recollection dawns upon his rested state as he recognises the lack of hoodie warmth emanating off the last half of his left sleeve. A quick glance confirms his suspicions, the netted fabric dotted with small red splotches. Rising up with his torso, Yongbok lightly twitches finger muscles and gradually wakes up the pins and needles numbing his hand. Careful not to wake the other, he swiftly removes the contact against Hyunjin’s pillow and tugs down a scrunched-up black sleeve. Shifting away from the heated comfort sent a shivering flash of cold air, penetrating through the layers of fabric lining his body.

Gentle tip-toes creak along the corridor and wander into the kitchen. It’s empty, filled only with a mid-day glow leaking out from uncovered glass panes. Paneling and tiling chill the soles of bare feet as silence echoes abound his hollow chest.

There’s a gaping hole drilled deep into his stomach whose presence, over time, became quite the comfort. Empty wars would wage bloodthirsty battles and scream war cries whilst drenched in the pit of his body, practically howling and clamouring at the seams for attention. The longer he puts it off — the longer he ignores the uproar, the quieter it becomes.

Some may claim it represents a sick sort of punishment for previous wrongdoings or embarrassment, whilst others may claim it’s all in the name of beauty. Look better, feel better, be healthier, be more productive, be a better person. What exactly defines that meaning of ‘better?’ Is it making the right choices at a grocery store or on a restaurant’s menu? Perhaps it’s opting for a jog or quick-paced walk instead of the creamy delight pint sitting on the bottom of the freezer drawer. Meeting daily vitamin and mineral goals, surely. Catching up with friends over a cuppa or brunch at least once a week; spending at least an hour every day indulging in intellectually stimulating activities such as sudokus, logic problems, or reading classic literature. Perfecting the secret formula behind a work-life balance only to discover it never truly existed. Doom-Scrolls through social media apps claim to be ‘tailored to personal and individual algorithms’ yet, even after an influx of electronically-pulsed dopamine, all he feels is empty.

Emotional emptiness causes a horrifying onslaught of thoughts parading around the base idea of being lost. Whether in life, in school, in careers, in social situations, in expectations: there blossoms loss. In a physical sense, emptiness is merely one of many attachments to that. If someone realises they’ve lost their phone, the first thing they’ll want to do is try to find it. Perhaps it was lost just recently and the frenzy causes them find it within minutes. There’s also a chance that the phone was lost hours or even days ago, to which panic and anger rises much faster until the phone is located. However, the phone owner wasn’t upset before noticing, whether on their own or from someone else, that they had lost the phone. After this thought and only after, that’s when their frustration begins to bubble, because ignorance is bliss.

Finding the phone returns the sense of being ‘back in control’ of said rising emotions. All of a sudden the rage doesn’t feel so natural; and with a clearing mind comes clearing revelations. Apologies are voiced to cover the disturbance in behaviour and personal reaction, given the circumstance or environment.

Control— a validifying and grounding accomplishment achieved by oneself.

So, when shaky hands reach for the cool metallic of the refrigerator door, Felix can only bring himself to stare. Gazing upon the tupperware containers stuffed with leftovers and numerous homemade dishes is everything but enticing. His stomach churns and twists in a less-than-pleasant demeanour. Nothing is worth his own selfish indulgence, even the sight of food itself brings distasteful energy. Closing the frigid box he slowly moves toward the non-perishable cabinets chock-full with nothing but emptifull satisfaction. They say the less you think about food the less you eat, but this was never the case for the solemn blonde.

Calories printed in bold lettering scream on the surface of plastic and resealable packaging. Bellowing his name, his touch, his taste, his absorption. During past times, when he eats ‘normally,’ pulling out a bag of flavoured crisps and consuming the entirety of its contents happened all too easily. Food exists as is not only necessary to survive and function, but also to be enjoyed. If in one moment a packet of crackers or tray of biscuits is full and in the next reach it runs dry, what did that behaviour say about him? Who could decide on a snack simply because they ‘felt like it’ or had a specific craving only to demolish its contents in such a short span of time, left with no sense of decadent enjoyment? Shameful, really; not much else to be said. Lackful nourishment results in numerous negative side-effects such as headaches, body pains, low energy, exhaustion; but control feels oh so comforting, like the silken touch of velvet in a broken crucible. At the very least, his hunger cues slacked off long ago. Despite desperate pleas in the form of silenced whispers at the back of his skull, Yongbok delicately shuts the handled pantry storage.

None of this holds much merit, anyway. Why should it matter? Why should he care?

Food never brings sustainable comfort.

Footsteps wind back down the dreary corridor and enter upon a waking boy, blinking and shifting upon the soft commotion of an opening door.

“How did you sleep?” meeks out from dry, cracked lips.

Taking a moment to collect and compose a sentence, Hyunjin responds with a soft nod, “Amazingly, your bed is always so warm.”

”That’s only because you’re in it.”

”I’d disagree— sunshine radiates enveloping heat. And you?”

Contemplation fills quiet seconds. ”Deeply.”

In truth, Felix loved physical touch. Mellow hugs underneath soft woollen blankets on a rainy afternoon, or cozy movie marathons snuggled up on the couch. Warm comfort is what he’s known for; it’s even escaped personal reach and become a famous part of his brand. On various occasions, when any of the members had a particularly rough or difficult day, they’d seek out the Sunshine boy to ease their troubles. Never had he denied any invitation, for he knew how much a simple embrace could soothe another’s soul. Despite this fact, he yearns for more than the simple things.

Closeness, in itself, is rather complex. Physically, the definition stands clear and abundant. Emotionally, however, it tends to take a differing stance. To be emotionally close to someone meant a strong, deeply-rooted bond made up of trust, faith, loyalty, and pure love. One in which he could express any thought, any worry, any fantasy and desire, and be met on a non-judgemental equal ground. Sure, his members are more than happy to hear his woes and complaints; yet, something inside of him actively protects these deeper levels of information. Perhaps it’s fear of exposure and humiliation, or unresolved trust issues from prior life experience and situations. Either way, for whatever the reasoning may be, Yongbok can’t seem to open up. And if he did, what would he say?

Nothingness consumes his every waking moment.

Hyunjin begins to stretch aching muscles and rise off the mattress. “I’ll help you make the bed,” he gently states.

With a nod of agreement from Felix, both boys maneuver themselves to opposing corners of the frame and lift the sheets. Fickle fingers pull silken cotton over itself and tuck small lengths of fabric between the wooden construct. The duvet is pulled taught against the underlying fabric and straightened to suitable perfection. Hyunjin fluffs and rearranges the four pillows, whilst the younger folds up blankets and positions them along the foot of the bed. Plush stuffed animals and huggable belongings are delicately and meticulously stacked, resting just in front of the display of pillows. With complacent sighs, the boys once again start up.

“I’m going to go brush my teeth and get changed,” voices the elder. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

”Yes, I just got back from the kitchen.” The lie trickles out smoothly.

“Okay,” responds Hyunjin as he grasps a set of clothes he had previously laid out, then he turns and heads for the door.

Felix observes the table display left out from last night and moves to clean it up. His bowl was left with a couple dry fries, whereas Hyunjin’s had nothing but a few small granules of sugar. Stacking both dishes together, he temporarily places them on his PC desk and collapses the body of the table. Lifting it up he leans the object back in it’s original position against the wall. Eyes narrow on an empty plastic bottle and he tosses it to the bin. Nimble feet backtrack for the bowls and arms reach to touch the cool ceramic. Standing up, he scans over the room one last time before making his way back toward the kitchen.

Upon reaching the sink, a casually dressed ferret waltzes not far behind.

“Any plans for today?” he questions, sounding more awake this time.

Tilting the dishes in the sink under hot water and detergent, hands reach for a sponge. ”Don’t we have practice later?”

”We have two hours practice from 5-7 tonight, but the teacher said you’re free to skip if you don’t feel up for it.”

He ponders the offer and replies, “No, no, I want to come.”

”I’ve got some studio time with 3RACHA booked in the next hour,” he reaches for a container of steamed greens in the fridge, “so I’ll be heading off after this.”

Stopping the flow of water and stacking two bowls on the drying rack, Felix turns around and grabs a cloth to wipe off his hands. “Okay. I’ve got some tasks to do around here but I plan to head to the building a little earlier to get in some personal practice.”

Hyunjin finishes chewing on some broccoli and warns, “Remember to drink enough water today, we don’t want a repeat of yesterday,” earning a short chuckle from the blonde.

”Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll pack two bottles this time.”

”And,” Hyunjin adds, “Don’t forget to refill them as soon as you run out.”

Sending a small acknowledging salute his way, Yongbok hums in return, and the older continues eating.

***

Hollow and alone: that’s how he spends most of his downtime. Sprawled on the edge of his bed, blaring headphones encompass soft ears. It’s a tactic he enacted to distract from his thoughts but today his consciousness was louder than the music. Screaming lyrics won’t do much in this case, either.

He’s stuck.

Caught in an endless loop of self-deprecation fuelled with fiery hatred and raging anger. There’s no easy outlet for his strong emotions and, in turn, each and every one of them is subsequently shut away and bottled up, thrown to the back of his mind.

It numbs him.

Felix wants to feel, he wants to release all those cramped thoughts. Writing them out can only do so much, there’s so many things he longs to express. Deep End resulted through one of many occasions; he felt it would be therapeutic to release such a personal and emotionally-driven song. Stays each poured out their individual love and adoration for this act, solidifying and affirming his decision. Many of which voiced a response of relatability weaved within the heartfelt lyrics. He had hoped for a strong wave of relief; yet, there was still an undeniably empty weight left behind, burdening his frail shoulders.

Instead of writing this one out, Yongbok decides to sit with it in silence. It’s not that he wants to feel this way, hell, sometimes it feels like a fate worse than death. If anything, the blonde yearns to heal. Fragile mindscapes are dangerous places to waste into. First it’s a hiccup, one that can be ignored. Then it’s a trip, leaving him scraped at the knee. Finally comes the tumbling fall, of which decaying branches tear through clothes unforgivably on the way down. If only he had paid attention to the initial hiccup, perhaps he wouldn’t be falling at all.

Curling in on himself, he revels in darkened webs of the very abyss he toppled into. Orbs of light flash in front of his eyes, but each time slender fingers reach out they abruptly flicker away from grasp. A brutal reminder of his own faulted intrusion; a reminder that Felix doesn’t belong.

Chapter Text

Few things ache less than the realisation that Felix was, and is, completely and utterly helpless. It seems as though nothing is slowing his progression toward the ominous chasmic depths he’s spiralling through.

No soundtrack drowned out the melody of melancholy.

Unfurling tired limbs from a pained position, cold hands branch out for the weighted technology tossed near his left. Flipping it over, an unwelcome brightness reads 1:22pm. A small grunt releases behind chapped lips and he brings a weak hand up to brush away the hair clung to his face. Hiding away in a still bedroom seems so endearing, but he barely musters enough strength to rise up anyway.

A shower. Yes, that’ll help.

Shuffled patters agonisingly stride toward the familiar bathroom unit; a phone gently cradled in loose grip. Locking the heavy door behind him, Yongbok solemnly sighs before stripping cotton off skin. He’s shivering.

Disconnected eyes wander to the stained bandage wrapping around an angular arm. Unraveling it with a certain level of solitude, mesh tugs against tender skin and re-opens a couple wounds. Blood doesn’t drip nor trail, it stays pooling perfectly in place. Averting his gaze to the illuminated mirror positioned above the sink, he glares at the reflection meeting his own.

Lost in time and space, ever-looming critiques run rampant through his cranium. Bundles of fat cling closely—too closely,— oozing out from an otherwise dainty frame. Glued on imperfections, shaky hands eagerly grasp, grab, mould, and pinch at each and every flab. With increasing hastiness, every self-proclaimed flaw and ‘problem area’ is viewed and abused. An accidental routine plays out, self-consciousness discernibly hidden somewhere far away from this moment.

Suddenly and all at once, silent suffocation shoots jagged-edged daggers inward.

The skin which hugs his body is too tight, and every ounce of fat on his body weighs heavier by the second. Distress and frustration boil like a screaming kettle in the heat of a tempered argument. Pressure nips at desperate thighs, tugging what he could grasp further apart, forceful desperation fuelling exasperated cries of will, want, and need. Grabby fingers scratch and claw along pronounced ribs and a bare torso, tormenting any remaining peace. Unfulfilled desire selfishly cracks through the metaphorical crystal glass and leaves a subtly bashed fragment in its wake.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Why isn’t it enough already?

Violent vibration murrs dwindled sentience back to reality and gives the blonde precipitous whiplash. Lifting the phone to his range of vision, a message from their manager pans across the screen, reminding the group of their two-hour practice this evening. Placing the electronic back atop the solid countertop, Felix turns away from his grueling reflection and tilts on the metallic shower knob.

Striking a hand out to test the rapidly warming temperature, he steps into the glass cubicle and relishes in the sensation of scathing water dripping down greasy hair and sore loins.

***

The shower only slightly aids his exhausted state, but he feels clean and refreshed at the very least. After tossing laundered clothes on his body suitable for dancing, relaxed hands crane noir headphones around his neck and take soft hold of his compilation poetry book. Flicking down the listed playlists, he finds one prepared for reading, presses play, and maneuvers said headphones to encapsulate his ears. Treading to the lounge area, Yongbok settles on a couch cushion, places a pillow in his lap for propping comfort, and flips to a bookmarked page.

It takes 30 pages before he decides to check the time, now growing eager and restless to head over to JYP for some early solo practice.

2:39pm.

Bringing up the messaging app, he sends a text to the manager, politely requesting a ride to the building. Closing the covers of the book perched upon his lap, Felix swiftly drops it on his nightstand and waltzes back toward the kitchen. Refrigerator doors reveal a shelf of cold water bottles and timid fingers take hold of two, recalling the promise he made to Hyunjin earlier today. Stuffing one in a spacious hoodie pocket and palming the other, he bends down to lace up thoroughly worn-in trainers. With music continuing to echo around his muted headspace, a phone alerts and he journeys to the elevator shaft.

Not bothering once to remove the audio gear clutching like a headband atop his skull, the peaceful drive almost lulls him to oblivion. Tires come to a waning halt and electric doors elegantly slide open as the aussie climbs up and out a leather seat. Grounding his balance on the harsh concrete floor, Yongbok strides along familiar structures of the JYP building before reaching his destination.

Meek fingers simultaneously clasp the knob and elbow the heavy door leading inward to the lonesome practice room. Feet briskly shuffle against the shined and scuffed floorboards once secured inside; a hand snakes its way to the bulky hoodie pocket and fishes out a cool bottle. After placing the bottles on a built-in counter and deserting his headphones alongside them, Felix wastes no time in sprawling, stretching out and warming mildly softened muscles.

Connecting to the speaker system, it’s not long before blaring music radiates the walls.

Stark beats begin to flow through rhythmically-ingrained muscle memory, and his mind subsequently goes quiet. Fully focused-in on the sharp movements of the choreography and body swaying, compiled with technical footwork of course. When he dances, it’s as though the rest of the happening world could fade away for a moment, leaving Yongbok with a rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and (sometimes) achievement. He loves being a passionate dancer, it’s the reason he’s one third of Danceracha; it was somewhat akin to a high, just without the outward usage of drugs. Passion is a distraction, and he needs that more than anything right now.

On stage, Stays would often mention how captivating his performance skills and presence was; it made him feel special, like his role is one treasured and highly cherished by those around. As much of a high he receives from others’ praise, it would only amplify the hate that much further. Fame has a pretty price to pay, be it one’s sanity, insecurities, stability, or senses. Unfortunately for Felix, it appears to be robbing him of all the above. But, he’s an idol, and idols are trained to take all those beatings and batterings, no matter how harsh they may hail.

So, long after he exhausts the first water bottle and a half, Yongbok keeps dancing with fervid degree. In the industry it’s of utmost importance to push yourself past all those boundaries and further past the point of lassitude. The more frequently he reminds himself that the only barrier is his mindset, the more he ignores his body’s blatant warning signs. Continuously falling down and making mistakes? Push through, don’t waver, don’t get frustrated. As an ankle tilts the wrong direction and sends him tripping to the hardened floorboards, Felix has to remind himself. Stay calm. Be soft on yourself, but not too gentle; remember, patience yields focus.

Sat on the floor with a tailbone aching from sudden impact and long arms stretched out to balance his weight distribution, it’s then when other members begin to trickle through the solid door opposing his position. Han strides toward Felix’s phone to pause the blasted audio with Changbin and Hyunjin in his wake.

“Yongbok-ah, having a dance party without us?” jokes the jubilant chipmunk.

Changbin cracks a chuckle and rapidly tags, “Doesn’t look like there’s much ‘dance’ at this particular party,” referencing the blonde’s current seated posture.

In the background, a slithering ferret ponders toward the empty-and-a-half water bottles placed diligently on the counter.

“Lixie-ya, you remembered the water!” he beamed, earning a small grin in response from the boy on the floor. “I do recall telling you to fill them back up though, which it appears you’re yet to do,” he accuses.

“Haven’t had the chance yet,” he exasperates, casually casting an untrained gaze down upon the scuffed paneling situated between splayed legs.

”Are you alright? You seem kinda exhausted. Did you hurt yourself?” queries Jisung.

”Is that why you’re on the floor?” chimes Seungmin, entering the room with Jeongin and Minho in tow.

”Who’s on the floor now?” declares Lee Know, ensuring the doorway behind him is eloquently shut.

“Yongbok,” simply states the maknae.

”Maybe he’s just getting a head start on stretching?” Seungmin ponders as everyone’s watchful gaze lands on Felix, inherently awaiting a response.

He stares for spacey seconds before clearing muddled thoughts and processing the sudden interaction centred around himself.

“If you must know,” he emphasises, “I took a small tumble, yes.” The initial explanation immediately shoots looks of concern to his direction, so he waves slim fingers to halt their responses and abruptly continues, “However, I dare say my ass cushioned my fall, so I’m totally okay.”

“More like lack-thereof,” playfully mumbles Minho, hiding a subtle chuckle.

Fate is on Felix’ side today as the subject matter appears to be dropped rather swiftly after that. Jisung wanders toward his frame and outstretches a friendly hand to help him back to his feet, of which Yongbok gratefully accepts the offer.

“What are you all doing standing around? Shouldn’t you already be warming up by now?” booms Bangchan with a playful smile, declaring his presence and seamlessly sending the members scrambling to the task at hand.

Hyunjin palms Felix his water bottles and instructs him to snag a refill before practice officially starts. He does just as such, exiting the room and directing himself to the nearest fountain station down the hallway.

Twisted caps fall to tightly enclosed hands as he slots the first empty bottle under the awaiting spout. Once correctly positioned, flimsy fingers apply pressure to the blue button printed with a singular droplet. Carefully he tracks the waterline inside the bottle and releases the button a centimeter from the top. Removing it and re-capping the freshly filled bottle, Yongbok places its base on the floor beside him and turns to repeat the process for the half-full bottle. After both are successfully refilled with liquid, assuredly twisted shut, and held close to his torso by a bent arm, he retraces his path and bounds for the practice room.

The group motions for the blonde to join their huddle in the center of the room, so he places the bottles back atop the counter and swifts over and situates on the outer circle, meekly peeking from right behind Jeongin and Jisung’s shoulder blades.

“Today we’ll be doing personalised practices,” starts Bangchan. “We only have two hours this evening and I’m positive you all have much to do once the session ends. So-!” he exclaims with a loud clap, gesturing prayer hands toward Lee Know for further direction and explanation.

“Yes, you’ll each be working on perfecting your own moves today; Please feel free to correct and critique each other as always or ask for help from someone if you find yourself struggling with any particular move or technicality,” concludes a confident Minho, swooping brown eyes to meet the gaze of each member in certain comprehension and understanding.

Chan pipes up once more, “Okay, that’s the plan,” and awaits some kind of response. “That means now guys; go, go!” He exclaims as the kids scamper out, earning seeping laughter from his previously stoic expression.

Four members even space themselves closer to the mirror and the remaining four fill out the back, ensuring everyone can clearly observe their movements in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Felix is nestled between and behind Hyunjin and Seungmin, with Changbin to his immediate left and Minho on the right. Some members input their wireless earbuds, others sing the tunes out loud. Yongbok simply decides to voice eight-counts to track the choreography instead. He’d grab his headphones, but they’d most likely fall off rather quickly, and the last thing he needs is damaged headphones.

Diligently focusing on the correct steps and functions of his movement, the Aussie once again blurs the world around him and hones-in on the task at hand. Powerful steps and stomps, immensely calculated body control, distinct and expressive facial angles, sharply eclectic arm swings. However, each wrongful misstep and mistake only shoots increasingly angered backlash toward himself; he’d meet his reflection dead-on with a glare of shameful disappointment and re-attempt the prior sequence. 70 or so minutes into the allotted practice window, Minho lightly pokes a finger to his upper arm, asking for attention.

Holding a metallic bottle embezzled in cat stickers, he speaks in a neutral tone. “Hey, you need a drink. Your bottles over there have barely been touched since we began,” he reminds.

Shocking Felix from clouded concentration, the blonde peers in the direction of the untouched bottles on the countertop. “Oh, you’re right. Thanks for the reminder, Hyung.”

“No problem. We just don’t want you feeling sick again; it’s important to stay hydrated with all the calories you’re burning,” Lee Know comments from behind Yongbok in a lighthearted and genuine manner.

Yeah, the calories he’s burning.

The bowl of reheated chips from last night, the glass of iced lemonade which definitely wasn’t sugar-free. The pinchable bits of fat between his thighs and the dips of flab on his upper arms. The pouch on his lower torso that stuck out from under his ribs, ruining the visuals of an otherwise flat stomach. The drop in his gut each time someone utters the words ‘calories’ and ‘starving.’

Time was escaping his passionately preoccupied mind. Felix spaces out whilst drinking water, with a hand occasionally lifting the bottle to his lips for a small sip or two. Chan flits over, taking note of the odd behaviour, and stands directly in the younger’s line of sight. As expected, disruption from the boy’s distracted gaze is enough to bring him back to the present.

“Chan. What’re you doing here?”

“You looked like you were somewhere far away so I came over to bring you back,” the leader casually states.

“Oh. Thank you, then,” hums Felix, but his expression remains apathetic at best.

“Are you doing alright lately, mate?” Chris softly voices in English.

This question immediately grounds Yongbok completely. His head slightly jerks as his left hand snakes up to cradle the nape of his neck before responding. “Yeah, I’m fine; why’d you ask?” Eye contact wavers as brows vaguely furrow and eyelids flutter a twinge.

“Everyone’s just noticed how spaced-out you’ve been recently,” the elder laces with mild concern. “You haven’t been talking as much as you used to and it doesn’t appear that you’re getting much sleep. The bags under your eyes are getting darker and you were sick yesterday.” Chan pauses, scanning the blonde’s face for expression, and concludes, “We’re just worried about you, that’s all.”

Yongbok takes a second to process the Leader’s words and compose an appropriate response. It would do no good to have all the members incessantly worried about his well-being, especially since nothing was truly wrong.

“Oh, I guess I hadn’t noticed. You’re right about my sleeping patterns, I’ve been up late gaming most nights. I just get so caught up in the game I forget to check the time haha,” he feigns a short giggle. “I suppose, because of that, I’ve been too tired to chat much recently. But I’ve been trying to drink a lot more water today to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s events, which I believe is working!” Felix exclaims, flashing a toothy grin.

Bangchan quietly stills in front, crossing hands over a sturdy chest and nibbling on the bottom of his lip. Unbreaking eye contact causes Felix to suddenly feel very vulnerable and small, as though his gaze was attempting to blast down fortified walls which he had positioned himself behind. Undressing and unraveling the layers which wound him up, trying to pluck each one off like a silken flower petal. Insecurities crawl up Yongbok’s spine as reflex defenses fortify the protective barrier between him and the man currently conversing with him. It appears the elder sighs in muffled defeat as their exchange continues.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let up now. Just remember Felix,”

“Yes?” he tilts his head.

“We’re all here for you, whenever you need us— day, night, or sometime in-between. I’m always here for you, too. Don’t forget any of that.” With a warm smile and love in his eyes, Chan reaches a hand to brush against Felix’ shoulder in a reassuring sense and turns back to the studio floor.

***

“Great job in practice today everyone,” Minho declares, concluding their rehearsal. A few members utter words of encouragement amongst each other and small bouts of ‘fighting!’ spurt around the room.

Although he takes a short break to wave the kids goodbye, Yongbok merely takes a couple desperate gulps of water from a bottle and re-aligns himself with the mirror.

“Plan to keep going?” a voice shoots from the exit.

Felix turns to find Han propping the door open with an outstretched foot and half his body weight. “Yeah, I kept messing up this one part so I really want to refine my movements.”

Worry stitches the quokka’s brow for a passing moment, but rapidly fades before Yongbok has the chance to read the expression. “Alright, well Changbin, Chan, and I will be in the studio for another while. Take it easy, yeah?”

Nodding in acknowledgment, the blonde replies with a thumbs up and a joyful “Will do!”

Jisung shifts out and away, carefully twisting the doorknob closed from the outside as muffled mumbles with Changbin grow further distant down the corridor. Silence now resounds alongside the walls of the practice room, and the feeling Bangchan had triggered earlier starts to rain down on him once more; Of vulnerability, of smallness.

The conversational exchange rewinds and replays, looping the cross-hatched steel tracks underneath his train of thought. An offer of tranquility and repose, beckoning forth his name. Willfully, it was ignored, because Yongbok doesn’t have the need to confide in anyone yet. In fact, the mere idea seems so…unnecessary. Burdening others simply for the pleasurable release of one’s own troubles or concerns? It’s just cruel and selfish; villainous, even. He could destroy himself a million times over and some poor fool would be left trailing in his wake, cleaning up the mess and each individual disruption or disturbance. Forgiving every terrible act and decision he faults at, and for what? What could anybody possibly be getting out of that?

Part of him, however, desperately aches for some form of comfort. Felix doesn’t wish for anyone to miraculously ‘make things better,’ but more so for someone to actually see him. Despite this, the thought of being perceived felt so largely and excruciatingly terrifying. At his deepest core, he is nothing but a minuscule crack in a castle made of glass; hardly anything there for anyone to see. Either forgotten, hidden away, or claimed a misfortunate stain; existing as a problem so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, unworthy of much attention in the first place.

So, no. Yongbok will not be unloading upon any of his members; no one deserves that.

Felix soon jumps right back into where he left off before the dismissal. Locking up with tired eyes boring holes in the mirror, he pushes through with a morsel of energy and endorphins avidly pumping throughout his system. Determination at the forefront of his brain, every move is backed behind sharp intention and utmost purpose.

***

“Okay, time to wrap-up for the day, I reckon,” voices Bangchan, sighing with relief and relaxing from an upright posture into the back of the couch.

Han extends his arms in a wide motion, opening his mouth to release a dramatically loud yawn. “Yeah, I agree.”

Checking the watch on his wrist, Changbin chimes from his seat on the couch, “Woah, it’s already 9:52pm! We should totally grab some dinner on the way home; someone ask Hyunjin if he wants anything,” he suggests.

“Already on it,” replies Chan, eyes glued to his phone and thumbs typing at lightning speed.

Rising from an upholstered chair, Jisung chirps, ”I’m gonna go check and make sure Yongbok-ah isn’t still dancing, you know how he gets about practicing after-hours.”

”Sounds good, we’ll pack up in here and meet you down there,” says Chan, already winding up random loose chords in his hands.

Changbin nods and Han wanders out the enclosed room, pocketing his phone as he does.

Echoed steps carelessly ponder the corridor leading to the practice studio. No music appears to be playing through the speaker system as he approaches, implying the thought that the younger Aussie had already hitched a ride back to his respective dorm. Peering through the rectangular glass panel showed no immediate sign of life, but the lights are on, so Han pushes open the weighted door.

Splayed upon the gleaming hardwood floor lays the collapsed form of Felix.

Chapter Text

A shrill screech rings around the room.

“Yongbok!!”

Kicking into immediate action, Jisung’s limbs take total control and direct in a reflex of their own. Rushing over and kneeling by the floor, shaky hands raise the blonde’s head to gently rest atop his lap. Firmly jostling the frail boy’s shoulders, he remains unstirred.

“Yongbok-ah! Please, please, please wake up now,” Han hurriedly slurs, lightly slapping across the hollowed checks below in an effort to alert the younger. “Lixie-yah; c’mon! This isn’t funny anymore, haha,” he weekly crows. “See, no one’s laughing!”

At a loss for words and immeasurable panic rising higher by the second, Jisung metaphorically slaps himself and reaches for the phone tucked within his pocket. Sliding it open and dialling Chan’s digits, he waits for a response.

“C’mon Chan, pick up, pick up!” Worried glances strike between the collapsed boy in his lap and his concern-ridden face in the mirror. Han doesn’t stop his attempts to jostle the Aussie awake, trying to remain composed and calm as he does.

“Hannie? Wh-”

He interjects, “Practice room, NOW!” and hangs up, tossing the mobile on the floor somewhere beside him. The tech makes a loud thud and causes a shuddered wince, but he ignores it for now and returns full attention back to his lap.

Roughly 20 seconds later, Bangchan and Changbin frantically bolt through the entryway. The leader’s face is contorted, riddled with apropos vexation and disquietude, whereas Changbin’s hair is ruffled in distress from the airflow of their prompt arrival.

“Oh, fuck!” swears Chan, shaking his head from side to side and rapidly aligning himself near Jisung on the floor.

“No shit,” retorts Changbin, repeating the swift motions of his elder, positioning to the right of the fainted Sunshine.

The dire time and urgency of the situation displayed ahead of the men kickstarts a hurried tangle of teamwork.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Pesters the Leader, a sheer state of panic undoubtedly flooding his bloodstream. “I knew this shit would happen, god, I should’ve done something- ”

Han impedes, “No, no, no, none of that right now, please,” he asserts with a strong tone. Chan glances up from the body between the trio and slows his relentless waking tactics for a moment to meet the man’s eye. “We all need to keep our composure, alright? Yongbok was unconscious when I came in and I don’t know how long he’s been out. For all we know, he could’ve severely injured his head.”

Changbin looks up to the anxious duo and proposes, “Should we take his hoodie off? He was dancing a lot, so maybe he overheated?”

Small nods and gestures of approval exchange between the three boys. Jisung stays seated with the blonde resting against his thighs whilst the other two quickly figure out their chosen method.

“Okay, Han, can you lean him into somewhat of a seating position?” queries Chan. “Binnie and I will join in supporting either side and take it off.”

The Quokka sternly nods and begins to raise Felix off his warmed lap. At a certain angle, a sturdy hand nestles between the blonde’s shoulder blades, leaving the other supporting the base of his spine. Han’s arms, he realises, are violently shaking. Not from the weight of the feather-light member now sat in front of him, but from sheer looming dread and anxiety of the current predicament.

With the blonde boy’s hands held up and stretched to the ceiling, Changbin and Chris bend down to lift the base of dark grey seams. Jisung adjusts his grip on a boney spine to prevent the boy’s shirt lifting off with the hoodie. After a minute struggle to get his heavy dropping head out of the neck hole, Yongbok’s protective layer is tossed to the ground by Chan as he returns to aid in lowering the boy back down. Once Han delicately rests his head atop his thighs, the Leader turns back to the crumpled hoodie and diligently folds it with precision and care.

A stifled noise leaks from the muscular middle, directing two sets of eyes instantly toward the audible peep. Question darts within their eyes, impatiently waiting for an answer.

“Uh,” Changbin starts timidly. “I don’t mean to be invasive or anything, but what happened to his arm?”

Confused, both members follow his gaze to the boy’s exposed left arm, limp and languid beside him. Felix’ forearm is littered with harsh crimson gashes, heavily contrasting and simultaneously complimenting his fragile state. The cuts are grave, deep, and undeniably intentional; a pristine product of unobliterated violence. Silence falls heavy, like a weighted blanket had dropped from above and left the four members enclosed underneath its bittersweet pressure. A new kind of frozen stillness befalls the previously hectic group; no one wants to speak up.

However, as most Leaders will, Chan tries.

“That’s…” he trails off as his sentence structure completely dwindled the moment he made the decision to talk.

Dripping with the most gut-wrenching softened tone, Jisung asks, “Is that— uh,” he appears to be battling an internal conflict with the thought. “Y’know… what I think it is?”

Neither of the conscious members answer, but the studio’s air darkens along with their facial expressions.

“They look,” Changbin pauses and sighs, scratching the nape of his neck for unfound comfort, “relatively new. Most of them haven’t even properly scabbed over yet.”

“Yeah,” hums Bangchan, lost deep in thought. “We should uh, probably get those checked out later. Right now, we need to focus on waking him up.”

“Right,” chimed Binnie.

“Sure,” utters Han.

As if willed into existence, Felix slowly starts to flutter bleary eyes. Each producer rapidly crouches to face him with worry showcased all over their body language.

He blinks, but all that surrounds is fuzzy figures and all-too-bright LED lights blinding him. Placid placed limbs feel heavy, disproportionate, and achy; a high-pitched tune seers a headache-inducing melody from one side of his cranium to the other. Eyelids scrunch up tightly in a useless attempt to halt the incessant ringing but the action produces minimal relief. When he opens them again, slowly and with lots of blinking this time, the mysterious blurry figures from before remain. Below his sternly laid body is the wooden panelling most prominently familiar with the dance practice room. His head, however, isn’t resting on the harsh floor, but the soft cushioning of someone else’s lap. Surely enough, a muddled brain finally begins to piece together what must’ve happened.

Well, shit. Exactly what he needs right now; fainting in front of others.

Discomfort bubbles along the surface of his skin as jittering eyes dash at the faces triangulating his steadying vision. To the left kneels the elder Aussie, obviously trying to maintain a solid composure and neutral expression. On the right sits Changbin, firm muscles holding himself up as he mellowly leans over Yongbok’s form; uncertainty pooling from his gaze. Dangling directly above his natural line of sight is a warm-hearted Jisung, hair glistening and glowing like an energy halo in the horrid overhead lighting. His eyes are the most solemn of the three.

“Are you awake?” spurs Chan in English.

”I think so?” Felix questions, doubling down when the elder just stares. “Yes. I am awake.”

“Who are you?” he continues, and the blonde notes the importance in his tone.

“Lee Felix Yongbok.”

“Okay,” he releases a short but content breath. “Where are you right now?”

“The practice room, in the JYP building.”

“Good, now what just happened?”

“I was practicing on my own and I stopped to take a sip of water. I remember drinking it and putting it back down, but I must’ve fainted on the way back to the floor.” Felix clearly recalls.

“Alright,” huffs the leader, lifting his arm up to the boy’s field of view. “Can you follow my finger?”

Yongbok easily glues sight on the tip of his finger and successfully follows the invisible swirly squiggles. The elder finishes the air doodles by marking a giant X through the air.

“Great job, Lix,” grins Bangchan, noticeably relaxing tense shoulders. “Do you have a headache? Feeling dizzy or nauseous at all?”

At this point Felix takes note of his earlier symptoms, but the headache had essentially diminished and the ringing must’ve evened itself out amidst the conversation. “No, not currently, at least.”

“Okay, we’ll keep an eye on that and check in again later,” gently notes Chris, slapping two palms to a clap on his knees and rising to a solid stance. “Here, we can help you get up, if you want.”

Changbin stands up next with a hand on his hip; firm posture then slouches downward with an outstretched right arm, offering a stable and reliable touch of balance for Yongbok. Lifting his golden head with Han’s helpful hands, the younger instinctively extends out his own hand in acceptance, but not without noticing the almost bare skin staring back at him.

Every drop of blood circulating in his system runs frigid as the subtle cool airflow brushes against his exposed forearms.

Scared to look and confirm his suspicions (and everything that came with that idea), the blonde frantically begins scanning the studio for his grey hoodie. Neatly folded and placed on wooden slats to the side of Bangchan’s person, there it lays. Gleamingly eager eyes lock onto the fabric as he takes a determined step in its direction.

The action ends there, though, as Jisung’s grip darts out to halt his black t-shirt. “Hold up, not so fast Bokkie.”

It’s enough of a statement to freeze the Sunshine in his tracks, but perhaps the exhaustion is starting to creep in and he has no remaining will to power past. Instead, the boy turns his face back to meet Han’s.

Han’s sorrowful and apologetic gaze flitted from Felix’ face, to his mouth, and, eventually, to his left arm. Something about the subtle heartache and hurt waltzing across the older boy’s expression struck an immense chord of shame-driven guilt and harsh abashment within the younger. It’s mortifying, really, because everyone falls silent and he’s still staring, boring holes into his limb and simultaneously lighting it under the brightest spotlight a stage could possibly offer.

Embarrassment torments over Yongbok, rapidly shrouding his vision with distant buzz and uneasy distress shooting up and down a bruised spine. Before his emotional state furthers, Bangchan pipes up.

“Jisung-ie, please, not right now,” he delicately warns. “We can finish this conversation at home, okay?” Chan redirects, nodding at Felix as he does.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting pretty hungry,” Changbin chimes, smoothy leading away from the touchy subject. “Did we get a response from Hyunjin yet?”

“As predicted; he wants drive-through. Something about being busy painting or whatever,” replies the Leader, voicing a much lighter tone. “Lix, you cool with that?”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t mind,” meeks the blonde, still vaguely distant. “Am I coming home with you all?”

”It’s probably best, considering you were collapsed on the floor a few minutes ago,” jokes Han, earning a varying chuckle from each of the members.

“Feel free to head back to your flat anytime; we won’t force you to stay with us or anything,” Chris definitively hums.

Felix replies with a rather apathetic “Mhm,” and lifts the folded hoodie off the ground, holding the grey fabric square tight to his chest.

Eager for food, the four help carry some extra belongings and dash outside the door, flicking the overhead lights as they do. Trekking to the elevator, Chan presses a flat hand against the cotton blend hoodie, which Yongbok had began to fiddle with.

“I’d rather you leave it off for now, is that okay?” whispers the elder at a volume only the two could hear. The younger flashes a confused glance before Bangchan continues, “I just want to help you avoid irritation and infection, that’s all. Although, I’m positive you understand most of that by the looks of it,” he smirks, but it’s filtered with kindness.

Yongbok stares, the corner of his lips threatening to tilt upward just a mere smidge.

“You did a lot of dancing today— you must’ve been sweating buckets under that thing. Plus, getting tiny grey microfibres stuck in half-open wounds? Either I can clean you up, or you step right in the shower.”

Metallic elevator doors ping open as the four kids gather in, minds set on food.

***

The drive to the dorm was so quiet that Felix didn’t recall dozing off for the duration. He awoke, for the second time that evening, and found himself positioned on their couch cushions. Seating upright, the young Aussie took a gander around the setting and found him to be the only one in sight. Muffled television noises and distant conversations echoed down the corridor and behind closed doors. Disregarding the quiet ruckus, nimble soles dash past some bedrooms and into the bathroom. Bangchan must’ve heard him though, because he suddenly appears behind Yongbok in his reflection, startling the blonde.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m here to show you the first-aid kit, actually,” he mildly beams.

Hesitantly nodding with unspoken understanding, the younger shifts away from the sink and cabinets and keeps a watchful gaze on his Leader. Chris rummages through a double-door cabinet and soon produces a white medical aid box.

“This should have all the correct supplies inside,” his hands plant the container atop the slab counter, next to the sink bowl. “Want any help, or are you just wanting a shower?”

“Shower, please. I can wrap it myself afterward, so don’t worry about that,” voices Felix, shying away from eye contact during the exchange.

“Of course, whatever makes you feel the most comfortable,” Chan warmly encourages, sending him a loving smile. “I trust you know where the spare towels are, so I’ll leave you alone now. One last thing: leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll collect and switch them out for fresher ones,” he concludes, signaling a small temple salute as he wanders back toward his sanctuary.

***

A tiny knock hits against one of the many doors lining the hallway, patiently awaiting a physical or verbal response. Small adjustments and fiddlings creak from behind the barrier and shuffled footsteps patter closer. Clasping the handle down and open, a damp Felix is met with a dishevelled Hyunjin, paint faintly spotted on his body and, consequently, vividly abstract smock. His eyes brighten at the sight and his arm swings the entry wider.

“Yongbok-ah! I thought you’d come visit me,” as he ushers the blonde inward and re-closes the door.

Afraid to make direct eye contact, he fiddles with the edge of freshly-wrapped bandages against his left arm. “I wanted to say thank you for, uh,” he pinches at the shirt and sweatpants draped on his warmed body, “letting me borrow some of your clothes after my shower.”

At this, the Ferret jingles, “Of course. You know I don’t mind, especially if it’s you.” Felix lifts up his focus and greets the smiling boy. “Borrow my clothes whenever you like; as long as they’re washed when I get them back.”

“Thank you, really. I mean it,” he repeats, responding with a small but genuine smile.

“Your arm,” Hyunjin starts, glancing at the hands fidgeting along the fabricated seams. “Is it feeling any better?”

Oh.

He doesn’t know. Chan didn’t tell him yet?

No, of course he wouldn’t. Chris is level-headed, he’d most definitely choose to talk things over with Felix before mentioning anything to the other members. But as for Changbin and Jisung? Well, there’s no telling how they’re processing it right now. Either way, those three would’ve shared a separate private discussion since they all got back to the dorms centred around his habit, surely.

The lack of response from the distracted Angel leads Hyunjin to speak again. “Bangchan told me you fainted whilst solo practicing when he came to request some clothing from me earlier.”

The blonde breaks eye contact again. “Yeah, I did.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself. One moment I was drinking water and the next I was waking up on the floor in Han’s lap,” he calmly explains.

Inching ever so slightly closer, the older responds quieter, “Were you hurt?”

“Nah,” Yongbok scratches the base of his neck. “Chan tested me as soon as I opened my eyes, but there’s no signs of a concussion or anything.”

“And your body?” he wistfully asks.

“I’m okay. Bruising from the fall might appear in the morning but nothing alarming.”

Derailing from the topic, Hyunjin turns his back to the boy and wanders toward the propped-up wooden stand. “You can sit on my bed if you’d like; I’ve just been painting all day.”

Graciously accepting the offer, Felix strides to the well-kept bedding and plops himself on the edge, quietly observing the atmosphere settling over the room. Minutes run past and not another exchange is worded between the two boys. The flicks of a wet brush lining and tracing over bound canvas fill the silence with pleasurable ambience. Messy acrylic and oil pigments scatter the wheeled cart beside Hyunjin, levelled with four separate compartments from the ground up, each holding organised art supplies. Fairy lights strung against a pale plastered wall glow a warm and inviting white, dazzling and distracting the Aussie’s gaze. A soft vanilla musk floats through the air, eliciting a sense of tranquility with each breath.

Breaking the serenity, Yongbok sparks an idea and speaks up. “Hey, may I ask you something?”

Not turning away from his focus, Hyunjin toys with his brush and palette, replying, “Only if I can ask you something in return.”

Seems like a fair trade. “Deal.”

“Alright; Shoot.”

“Can I have a joint?”

Hyunjin finally twirls around to connect with the angel’s awaiting eyes. The poor blonde looks so nervous sitting on his bed, unconsciously picking at the tiny fuzz on his pants.

“What kind of request is that?” he toys with an answer.

Mild panic shoots through Felix’ expression as he begins to apologise. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean— it’s totally okay if it’s a no, I just-”

“Relax, Yongbok-ah, I’m just messing with you,” Hyunjin interrupts, settling the misunderstanding with a smile. “You’re more than welcome to ask, idiot. Gimme a moment and I’ll grab it for you.”

Cleaning what’s left on his brush stroke, the elder halts his hobby and dives into the backpack perched against the base of his bed frame. Unzipping the bag with a cool jerk, pronounced hands rummage and fish out the black jar from last night. Unscrewing the top and balancing the lid on his bent knee, Hyunjin pulls out the plastic bag and unties the small looped knot at the top.

“Here you go,” he states, passing two prerolls into the palms of the other.

“This is two,” notes Felix, questioning the action.

“A wonderful observation,” jokes the older, twisting up the plastic and closing the jar. “It’d be simply cruel of me to gift you only one, don’t you think? Besides, it’s your favourite; I really don’t mind.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Hyunjin-ah.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grins and sits beside Yongbok on the quilted covers, legs dangling off the side. “Now, my turn to ask.”

Closing slim fingers around the items in his palm, Yongbok focuses his attention on the boy in front of him.

“What’s going on?”

Always with the simple questions; why do they seem the hardest to answer? Are they too vague, is that the problem? No, maybe it’s harder to perceive exactly what kind of answer the asker is expecting. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing or mess anything up, so he asks for further clarification.

“What do you mean?”

“Felix, you know what I mean; everyone’s noticed it,” Hyunjin responds, undertaking a more serious tone.

Without much thinking, the blonde retorts, “No, I really don’t.” Fight or flight and defensiveness slowly begin to wage an impending battle on his mind and body. His manner grows more stern as he continues, “First Bangchan, now you—! I don’t get it, what is up with everyone lately?”

Crap, that isn’t how he would’ve liked to respond, but it’s too late now. Guilt mixes with fear, creeping up his gently seated spine.

“I didn’t mean it like that; please, can we just talk?” pleads Hyunjin.

Standing up from the firm mattress below his tailbone, Yongbok opens his mouth yet again. “Y’know, I’m really getting sick of talking as of recent. What is there to say? I’m fine.” He emphasises the last statement for impact.

“I don’t understand why it’s such a difficult question to answer;” voices the boy on the bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset-” he retreats.

“I’m not upset, I’m—” Felix heavily sighs, shifting his weight from one hip to the other anxiously and attempting to ease his stress. “I’m just really tired, okay? I should probably head back to my dorm now, anyway; it’s getting late.”

The Ferret looks down upon the jar nestled in his lap in solemn conversational defeat. “Yeah, okay.”

Yongbok gathers himself and walks to the door, twisting the handle open.

“Get home safely,” Hyunjin near-whispers from behind the blonde.

“I will,” he declares, and swiftly leaves the room, bee-lining for his phone and keys left atop the coffee table by the couch. Shuffling his feet into laced shoes by the doorstep cove, he ushers himself out the front door within seconds.

***

God, that was so fucking pathetic.

Strolling alongside the pavement leading to the apartment building, Felix’ brain was running a million miles a minute, like a hamster on a wheel about to spin off its hinges. Fortunately, the joints pocketed from earlier weighed heavy on his mind as a form of nearby relief. If there was a time he desperately needed one, it would be about now. Stopping in a vaguely shaded alleyway next to a convenience store on the corner of the street, he pulls one out only to notice his lack of ignition source.

Once more heavily sighing, he steps out of the alley and moves toward the automatic doors of the shop. Gliding open with ease, he enters and scans shelving for the lighter stand. Instead, glistening eyes lock on a bottle of Absolut Raspberri. Nearing the display, he thoughtlessly nicks the neck of the bottle and ponders over viewing the surrounding products. Slender hands pluck a green grape JINRO and he marches in the direction of the register.

Fortunately, the cardboard lighter cartridge sits atop the counter. Reaching for a dark blue BIC, he tosses it alongside the other items for the staff to scan. No words are exchanged between the two bodies other than asking if he wants a carry bag or a receipt. Felix nods for the former, then grasps the handles on the weighed-down plastic as glass melodically clinks and chimes against each other. Striding out the exit of the storefront, he moves forward on the path until stumbling upon yet another alleyway.

Turning the corner and leaning his body against the firm brick wall, Yongbok slides the earlier preroll out from his pocket and burns away the tip. Perched between nipped lips, he deeply inhales the sweetened smoke. It fogs his mind with cloudy clarity and peaceful nature. Immediately, the vice crawls through his lungs and secretes as a relief.

Smoking alone wasn’t an act he frequently participated in, but given the events of the day and the tension built up in mangled limbs and aching muscles, he figures he deserves a free pass on this occasion. Marijuana is quite literally medically prescribed as a stress-reliever, so nothing he’s doing is morally wrong or problematic. Is it really such an issue to indulge in times like this? No; if anything, smoking tonight is a reward he’s gifting himself.

Huffing and puffing out grey clouds which float and dissipate in the air, another intention dully ignites itself. Felix suitably reaches for the JINRO bottle from the white plastic braceleted off his left wrist. The cap twists off with minimal effort, breaking the tin metal seal and wafting the strong sweetened scent to his nostrils. Raising the lipped green glass bottle to his mouth, he takes a confident swig.

Swirling down his throat and slightly burning in sensation on the way down, he relishes in the refreshing aftertaste teasing his tastebuds. Again, he gulps down another before pausing to take a pull from the joint resting between his index and middle fingers. This ritual routine repeats until the bottle is downed and the weed falters in flamed glow. As opposed to relighting the paper roll, he opts to tap the ash and safely pocket it for later.

The soju plummeted in his empty stomach hadn’t affected his cognitive or motor abilities yet, though Yongbok knows it wouldn’t take much longer. Trainwreck, on the other hand, is most certainly taking affect on his increasingly warped perception. Riddled in the alley without a jacket and only a street lamp for company, he decides to flit down the pathway and progress the journey home.

Stopping by the dorm only to dispose of the plastic bag and JINRO bottle, Felix snags a jacket off its hook and heads for the rooftop staircase.

***

He might as well be going out of his fucking mind. Hell, it certainly feels like he already is.

Striding onto the stained steel concrete, Yongbok tilts his head for a gander at the night sky. Perhaps his perception is a tad fucked about in this moment, but the moon’s captivating and luminescent shine trickles down upon his stance, and it feels like he’s the only being in the universe. The comforting glow reflecting on each surface around him, dimly lighting every nook and cranny in its eternal reach. Mesmerisingly enchanting, really.

Almost tripping by the tip of his shoes on a stray pebble, Felix falters as he sits on the hard surface. A pink-labelled glass bottle lays enclosed within tightly crossed calves, unopened, but its presence one the Aussie remains very much aware of. Burning from the back of his esophagus had long since died out, but the churning in an unsettled stomach almost sent fiery acid back up his throat. As the soju steadily penetrates through an impatient bloodstream, nimble hands locate the half-smoked joint in his pocket. Currently, he could care less about the state of himself; dishevelled and rapidly unfolding on the edge of the rooftop.

Yongbok is angry. Not at his members, they’re all so incredible and he understands they just want to love and support him any way possible. If he shed so much as a single tear, seven men would come running with arms wide open at the first sound of a sniffle or sob. He’s so insanely grateful and charmed to be surrounded by astounding individuals every day.

No; he’s mad at himself. Mad for not reaching out and accepting help; mad for not thinking whatever he’s going through is ‘bad enough’ to warrant that genre of concern. Yet, he so desperately craves that altitude of worry. At least three members are assuredly aware he frequently cuts himself now. Catching sight of the garish self-inflicted injuries after he fainted; they’re not stupid, it’s obvious they’re recent. Never really consuming more than a toddler-size portioned meal and denying numerous invitations for food-based outings. Overused excuses littered along the lines of ‘my stomach hurts,’ ‘I need to shower,’ ‘I ate a really big meal earlier today.’ If they knew, if Chan knew, why aren’t they stopping him? How much louder does he need to be; what will it take?

Do they simply not care?

As long as Felix keeps showing up for schedules and attempts not to slip and falter his demeanour for more than a hushed moment; Stray Kids doesn’t seem to give much of a shit. He’s suffocating in real-time; bleeding it out for all to bare and no one cares enough to witness. Understandable, actually; who would want to step in and stop him? It’s not exactly a simple task at this rate. Yongbok is far beyond human reach by now. And if anyone did dare offer a hand, he’d bite it right off; much like the occurrence of his reaction back in Hyunjin’s bedroom.

He doesn’t want help anymore. He doesn’t need it.

Waving around the lighter and watching the flame dance on the breeze, the lonesome blonde ignites the remaining preroll dangling between pressed lips. Silent hums of electrical whirring and passerby vehicles occupy ambience on a frantic mind. The world stops spinning each deep, slow inhale, and tilts further off its axis every exhale.

One thing Yongbok knew for sure: Tonight is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Stumbling atop the stone surface, Felix absentmindedly dances and foolishly thrashes about slurred choreography. Misstepped footwork and sloppy body control typically infuriates him to no avail, yet tonight the moon’s luminosity soberly forgave every mistake in his place. Even the haunting shadows explicitly tracking each swift movement of his muscles wouldn’t dare reach under the silver glow. For once, he’s worried or upset by neither botheration— instead, he’s complacent.

Perhaps the weed is fully in effect by now, or perhaps the Absolut calling his name off its honey-dipped splendour had levelled his radiating frequencies. Either or, Yongbok eagerly listens to abounding echoes reminiscing from somewhere buried within. Echoes actively attempting to communicate some vaguely important message to him, like a warning, or a lesson of sorts. But his head voice remains too loud, too thunderous.

Reaching for the glass bottle neck haphazardly and firmly grasping hold of it, the blonde breaks through the seal and doesn’t think twice about guzzling its contents.

The distinctly berry taste hardly masks the bitter and harsh scalding sensation. Scorching down his irritated esophagus, burning the inner linings of a delicate digestive tract and dripping sour solace in its wake. Marijuana intermixes with raging tastebuds, shooting up a pained expression. It doesn’t taste good, but it tastes like a release.

Release?

What an improbable concept.

He scoffs at the measly idea. He’s had enough of stupid daydreams.

Swinging the vodka to cracked and parched lips, another significant liquid depletion takes place. And washed alongside with it, his ransom thoughts.

Shimmering stars twinkling above distract his essence. Shedding his insulated outer layer to further embrace the moment in its entirety, Felix ponders falling. For how long? he’s not quite sure, but wandering feet mindlessly edge nearer to a death-drop below. A strong wind gush stands to be the deciding factor between Felix and the plummeting ground.

Despite this, he makes no move to falter any stance.

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you took a couple steps backward.”

Surprised yet unalarmed by the soft vocals behind him, the Aussie simply turns his cheek over his right shoulder, making contact with the mysterious figure.

“Minho,” he states.

“Yongbok,” the shadowy Hyung replies.

Placing the bottle on a concrete slab and twirling a blazing joint with an icy touch, the blonde reaches his arm in direct line of the boy. “Care for a hit?”

The Elder hangs his head and passes a heavy sigh, dejectedly waltzing toward the intoxicated younger. “You’re a wreck,” he comments, noting the half-drunk Absolut positioned by his calf.

Felix hands his vice to the Cat once within reach. “What’s new?”

This exchange between the two feels different than usual— more mature, unassuming, genuine, and unaccusatory.

Without missing a beat, Lee Know stoically retorts, “Those bandages, it seems.” Pausing for a deep pull, silence settles for a second or two. “But maybe I’m just a bad observer.”

Serene eyes glaze over flashy sky-scrapers and distant police lights, accompanied by far-resounding sirens. “Jisung?”

Taking another hit before passing the paper back to its rightful owner, Minho explains, “He called me earlier tonight.”

“And?”

“He was crying. Sobbing, actually. Started sputtering unintelligible nonsense; it took a while to calm him down enough to talk.” With Yongbok now slightly shifting unevenly on his feet, the elder continues. “Seeing your arm, knowing you did it to yourself and he couldn’t’ve done anything to have helped you— by the sounds of it, he was destroyed.”

“None of it is his fault; I take full responsibility for my own actions,” voices the Aussie in an apathetic matter-of-fact tone. “I inflicted them on myself and only myself; it has nothing to do with any of you.” He returns for another few stately pulls.

“Then why does he feel that way?” Lee Know questions.

At this, Felix shuts up. In truth, he has no idea why Han feels that way. Stray Kids is one big tight-knit family; they know every little detail about each other. Every up and down, every dip and curve, every bump and scratch. Yet, even with this knowledge, the blonde had somehow managed to slip under their radar. On purpose? Perhaps. Point being, that radar had finally picked up a signal and latched on—hard. None of them would be letting go anytime soon.

“Why didn’t you come to me? Or Chan, for that matter? Anyone, really,” Minho exasperates, subtly breaking apart stitches at their seams.

Palming the joint back to the elder, Yongbok impatiently paces along the concrete and stares at his scuffed shoes. “Because I know I can handle it.”

“But you can’t. You’re-” he halts his speech, struggling to get the words out, shrouded in desperation. “You’re cutting yourself, plain and simple. People who can handle things don’t do that.”

“Well, I do,” he emphasises. It’s a pathetic excuse, let alone explanation, but it’s all he can muster for the conversation.

Smoke floats up like foggy clouds in the direction of Felix. Lee know undertakes a smaller, much calmer manner. “Why do you do it? I mean ripping apart flesh with steel, it’s not painless.”

“Exactly, that’s the whole point. I’m willingly causing myself harm.”

Confused, the elder pecks again. “So you enjoy it? Like some kind of twisted masochism?”

Chiming with a suppressed chuckle, Yongbok bites. “Pretty much. Amongst other things, it mainly aids me by providing comfort and control. Then there’s the numbness, for which the act can either cause or heal, depending on the specific situation,” he falters confidence whilst stating the next. “It also helps with distracting ‘other’ thoughts.”

“Sounds an awful lot like an addiction to me.”

The Aussie hums, anxiously reaching for his nape. “Yeah, it is.”

Minho only stares. An unreadable expression, given the moon’s fainting light and shadows cast upon his distinguished features. “This stump is a bust,” he states, flicking the leftover ashy filter. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed. We have practice in the morning.”

***

Waking up in the morning made yesterday feel like a distant fever dream. The world around him now rests foggy and off-kilter. Detached and blurry, Felix lifts up on pointed elbows digging into the plush mattress below. Blinking repeatedly in a mildly frustrating effort to rid the off-putting visual trickery, bleary eyes notably meek small sounds.

Water. He’s dehydrated.

Reaching forth to the half-litre bottle resting at the foot of his nightstand, the blonde uncaps a plastic lid and downs the clear liquid until he needs to break for air. A couple drips leak past overflowing lips and trickle down the side of a veiny neck. The water is in no way cold, but it’s refreshing nonetheless, and his body thanks him for it. As plastic is re-capped and left back on the floor, a knock rings outside the door.

“Come in,” he groans.

A sleek silver handle pushes down, and in creeps a sly fox. “I’m here to wake you, Minho-Hyung sent me.”

“I just woke up, thank you,” replies Yongbok, soft gaze unfocused on the boy stood at the doorway. “What time is it?”

Pulling a phone from his left pocket and sneaking a peek, the Maknae responds, “9:24.”

Damn, did those substances give him a solid knock-out for once? A rarity, indeed— something even worth celebrating.

“Bangchan wants us to come to practice at 10 today,” he casually continues.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know,” cracks Felix, performing a genuine smile of gratitude (or, at least, what he could muster of one).

Turning as the conversation concludes, Jeongin backs out slowly and shoots the Aussie a simple “No problem.”

Left sitting atop his bed underneath warmed blankets, Yongbok builds himself up to stride for the shower, grasping a bunch of laundered clothes in his right palm. A heavy wave of blackout and dizzy unbalance crashes over him in his stance, causing the boy to feel the physical aftermath of idiocratic intoxication. Once reaching the closed bathroom unit, weary eyes set upon a deforming reflection once more.

Balling cotton fabric in his fist, the blonde can hardly stand the confrontation of the figure before him. God, he’s become so ghastly.

White bandage wrapped around a decaying limb; all colour in a once lively complexion drained pale. Bones poking through flesh, practically begging for skin to snap and give way. Grotesque discolouration flouncing upon a dry splotchy face; permanent dark circles housing below his sight. Brittle and damaged hair follicles messily resting atop his skull, lacklustre and dim. All the light which used to radiate now hardly a subtle glow.

Felix looks and feels like absolute shit.

Still, tearing away from the glare in the mirror, hasty hands unfiddle the fabric lining his left forearm and mindlessly roll it up for later usage. Undaring to glance upon the selfishly healing wounds, the blonde strips what clothing he’s left and enters the glass cubicle.

Shaky balance steadies itself within the stream of scorch and steam. Stinging as it runs down the aches and pains of his mauled body, Yongbok goes about his usual routine, albeit slower, but preoccupied by running thoughts.

He’s causing so much hurt. On himself, on his members, on his family, undoubtedly on his company and image, too. There’s no point in sugarcoating it: Felix is unhelpable. All he yearns for is to accept help, feel better, yet that’s exactly what he fears. It keeps him up at night, wondering what butterfly effect he’s accidentally set in motion. If he gives up now, what would that mean? What would that do?

Currently, hardly any souls have reached out. Should he expect them to? He’s so dead-set on hiding these emotions, these feelings; is his heart upset? Bangchan’s pestering for him to open up just a bit; the guilt and shame which washed over his faint frame, the crack in Jisung’s voice; Lee Know on the rooftop last night. God fucking dammit, he doesn’t want that.

Thinking back to the previous night, the blonde was so close to the opportunity of a simple death. Almost as though the idea itself is teasing him with enticement, luring him out like a white van with the promise of candy. Comforting— undeniably so. Other than the older member intervening, what really stopped him? He didn’t take that step, but what if he did?

It’s all his fault. He did this to himself, and everyone around him is having to pick up the shattered glass with their bare hands. They’re all splintering now because of him.

Such a burden.

However, if Felix dies, the last thing he wants is for those he loves to spiral over every miniscule missed sign and cry for help. Breaking down over his ‘depressing end;’ at that point, it’d be a useless practice. That’s not at all what he wishes in the slightest; it’s more similar to his reflection in the glistening mirror from earlier. Yes, Felix looks absolutely horrible, his current living experiences are certainly not pretty or pleasant by any means. In death, however, that’s the opposite of his ideal memory; it’s not who he really is. Death is serene and peaceful, so he’d hope to be remembered along the lines of such. The Sunshine Blonde who yearns for physical contact and warmth; the playful charismatic personality with a soothing accented deep voice. A reliable and safe person, someone trustworthy and loyal in emotions to everyone. Truly, that’s what he will always be.

Once finishing each task, the worn boy has no remaining energy to bother with brushing left behind water droplets off his surface. A clean towel hanging from the rack is taken and used. Pristine-white bandages bore holes into his being as he attempts to ignore Chris’ expecting aftercare. Deciding against unreliable self judgement, Yongbok begrudgingly wraps himself up and shuffles on the scattered pile of clothing.

After fixing himself up to look presentable in the vile mirror, the young Aussie patters toward the kitchen. Standing in the kitchen crafting by the stovetop as per usual is Minho, with Seungmin peering over the elder’s left shoulder blade. As the blonde creeps across the floorboards, the Fox sat on the couch speaks of his entrance first.

“Felix, are you hungry?”

No, he really isn’t. Sick and uneasy in the stomach, a little, but not hungry. All he wants is an ice-cold glass of water, so he moves for the cabinet and fridge. “No, not particularly,” he comments.

“But you should still eat something,” instructs Lee Know, voiced lightheartedly but laced with underlying seriousness. Neither Seungmin or Innie appear to note the Hyung’s undertone, however; it was a subtle message purely meant to be caught by his own ears.

Pouring cool water into a quickly frosting cup, Yongbok stays quiet and unemotive. Bringing the refreshing crystal glass up to his lips, Seungmin lifts a resting chin off the elder’s form and turns his gaze to match the Aussie.

Questioning the blonde, he casually voices, “What do you feel like?”

“Cold water,” he responds, taking another sip.

“Real food, though.”

Felix shrugs.

Without expressing much, the Puppy sets into motion. Bringing out a knife, a wooden cutting board, and a small bowl from the cabinet. Reaching for a honey crisp apple out of the displayed fruit bowl, conscious hands slice up the red fruit into bite-sized cubes. He signals for the Blonde to shift away from the refrigerator, to which the latter’s body curiously complies. Picking out a tub of fat-free low-sugar greek yogurt, he takes off the top and transfers white solid to an awaiting ceramic dish with a metal spoon. Next, Seungmin lifts and tilts the cubed apple into the bowl as well, then rests it atop the counter. The yogurt lid is re-sealed and restored back on the fridge shelf, then the younger locates some cinnamon powder and lightly shakes a dusting over the prepared dish. Finishing it off, he sticks the metallic spoon into the side of the yogurt.

Picking up the bowl and palming it into Felix’ unoccupied grasp, the boy directly states, “Eat.”

All eyes are stuck on Yongbok, waiting to gauge some kind of response from the Blonde. Stumped at the generous act of unsuspecting service, he blinks. “You didn’t have to do that, really,” voices a mildly apologetic tone.

“You heard Minnie; eat up,” Adds Minho, gently smiling and returning to his business at the stove.

“Right,” stumbles the Aussie, gazing at the food in his grasp. “Thank you, Seungmin.”

“No problem, I don’t mind,” he replies, lifting and dropping his shoulders nonchalantly as he does.

Apples are sweet, and they pair well with the shaken cinnamon and tartness of the greek yogurt. He’s not hungry in the slightest, however the first mouthful eases built-up tension a tad, even if he’d never willingly admit it. The meal itself is light and easy on his stomach, but it’s filling and satiating nonetheless. Felix isn’t much fixated on the calories or potential nutritional values; instead, he’s stuck on the act and atmosphere itself. Soft crackling echoing from a searing pan in front of Lee Know, IN relaxing in the lounge scrolling through his phone, Seungmin busying himself with minor clean-up tasks whilst sipping on a juice. Midday sun rises further up and weaves between and behind crawling clouds, emanating a warm glow in the gentle rustling breeze.

It’s quiet. It’s nice.

***

All four housemates pull up to practice shortly after. Gathered inside the studio and sitting on the floor in various positions are all four remaining members. Clicking the weighted soundproof door behind his form, Bangchan walks up to him and starts a mellow conversation.

“Lix! Hey, how’d you sleep?”

Put off by the elder’s cheeriness, he hesitates for a questioning moment and responds with a simple, “Good.”

“I’m glad. Listen, about yesterday..” he trails, expression shifting to a more serious one. “A few of the members suggested an open discussion with you today. I wish I could’ve given you more time to prepare, but they brought it up with me only this morning and requested we utilise today’s practice session. I thought it might be a decent idea, so I complied. If you don’t want to participate or are uncomfortable, that's completely okay. You’re free to leave at any point, no questions asked.”

Honestly, he tuned out half of what the man was saying. Mild dissociation kicks in at his words, as does a protective numbing sensation. At a loss for stumbling words, the young Aussie can only bring himself to nod and mumble, “Okay.”

Yongbok gravitates toward the rest and places himself by Hyunjin. The air between the two is stiff at first, but loosens up once the blonde sends him a gentle smile.

“Sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t’ve been so rude.”

Grinning back at the younger, the Ferret replies, “It’s okay, don’t even worry about it. I know you must’ve been under a lot of stress from what happened at practice.”

The short exchange ends there, and Felix moves his gaze to scan over the others, all sat down sparsely in a messy circle. To his immediate left rests Seungmin, huddled close against the Maknae. Next to Hyunjin is Changbin, legs vaguely straddled in front of him, then Bangchan with crossed limbs. Beside the affectionate duo seats Minho and Han in close proximity, the elder’s shoulder bumped up against the other. The latter’s gaze glues to shoelaces on his sneakers, anxiously fiddling by constantly tying and untying white fabric. Part of the blonde is relieved to have not met his eye, but deadly guilt threatens to rip through the surface of itching skin at the sight.

Chan pipes up once everyone appears settled. “Right, so!” the Leader claps his hands and rubs off the tension on his knees. “Today’s schedule is going to be different. No one will be dancing,” he announces.

A few kids contort confused expressions, but no one interrupts.

“I decided to change it up today as there’s something we should discuss. I’m sure a number of us have picked up on certain things recently, and there are some pressing concerns that need to be addressed.” Knowing glances flit around the room, piecing together each leak of information from Chan’s lips. “This is an open discussion held in a safe, secure environment. Accusations or offensive tones will not be tolerated, least of all by me. I’m positive you’ve all clued into what this is regarding now, so by all means, this is an opportunity.”

Felix cowers in on himself, gathering together limbs and tugging his weary body tight against a pounding chest; denying any and all forms of contact or recognition. Waiting in silence like this is torturous; knowing what’s to come and not having any ability to change the outcome. All he can do is sit and wait in agony with a spotlight highlighting every shaky rise and fall of a cavernous chest.

Changbin is the first to speak.

“Yongbokie, we were really scared the other day,” his usually loud and confident voice falls soft and unsure, treading unknown territory. “I was scared,” he corrects, then pauses. “You didn’t look too good, and it took quite an effort to wake you back to consciousness. Thankfully your head was okay, but in the moments before you woke I was terrified. You just fainted in the practice room, yet that wasn’t even your main concern. We were all concerned, though; I need you to know that.”

Peaking a single eye out from his head, lying against arms tightly crossed around bunched knees, the Blonde musters a small detached response. “There was nothing to be too concerned about, though. I’m very thankful that you three were there to help me, but even if you weren’t, I would’ve been able to handle it alright. I appreciate you, though, so thanks.”

At this, Chan interjects. “What do you mean you ‘would’ve been able to handle it alright’? Felix, you passed out while practicing,” the Leader emphasises.

Shrugging tight-knit shoulders under a hoodie, Yongbok mumbles under his breath.

“Sorry, I can’t really hear you clearly, could you say it a little louder please?” Chris calmly requests.

“I said it wasn’t the first time,” he retorts regretfully, spoken in a louder volume whilst inwardly attempting to calm building nerves.

Taken aback by the sudden confession, Bangchan’s eyes widen along with each surrounding member. “You mean it’s happened more than once?” There’s a sense of desperate urgency laced in his tone, yet the elder’s exterior remains calm and collected. “How many times? How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you say anything?” Recognising the hastiness of his questioning, Chan quickly levels himself and apologises. “Sorry, you don’t actually have to answer any of those.”

Taking the loose excuse, Felix sternly explains, “Yes, it’s happened more than twice, but not that often. Like I said earlier, I’ve handled them, I know what to do when it happens. So, can we move on please?”

Bangchan solemnly nods, taking the slight tone from the younger with justifiable understanding. Looking toward Changbin for a nod of approval to carry on, the Leader sparks the discussion once more. “Alright, anyone want to talk about something?”

“If I may…?” questions Seungmin from Jeongin’s hold.

“The floor is yours, Minnie,” Chris segues.

“You don’t eat. Like, at all.” Straightforward and directly to-the-point; the younger’s blunt delivery serves rather well in situations like this, and Yongbok is almost grateful for it. “Maybe the other’s haven’t noticed as much but I can’t recall the last time I saw you actually sit down and finish a meal. That’s why I made you breakfast today; I knew there was no chance you’d grab something for yourself.”

Dammit. Conversations regarding food habits or his eating behaviours are the absolute worst. He’s running out of perfect excuses; given the current context, lying would dig him into an even bigger hole. Thus, the blonde will settle for telling the smallest part of truth in order to avoid total intervention.

“You’re right, I haven’t been eating much recently. I’ve been dieting.”

“For what reason? You’re tiny already,” exhausts the Puppy.

Taking a slightly hitched breath, Yongbok states, “For the same reason I always do: I hate my face fat.”

Seungmin’s brows furrow a touch. “I don’t think you have any face fat left to lose, your cheeks are hollowed inward. You should stop dieting now.”

At this, Felix’ brain comes to a halt, rapidly attempting to dissect a decent and reasonable response. How could he explain it without garnering increased suspicion from his members? “Yeah, maybe; we’ll see.”

“No, we won’t. You need to stop, it’s not healthy to continue,” the younger boy voices, asserting his tone.

He can’t. That’s the real problem; it’s never been ‘just a diet.’ Starving day-in and day-out— it’s a comfort, a security blanket protecting him from nobody but himself. Even if he could make it stop, he still wouldn’t. Food might consume and control him, but by doing this and creating behaviours around each laid table, he controls the food.

“Yongbok-ah?” quietly questions Jeongin, bringing the blonde somewhat back to the moment. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” he distantly hums, hunched with his chin placed on a resting knee. Reminding himself of the current setup, the young Aussie mentally jolts back to reality. “Sorry, can we move on?” he asks, looking up at Chan.

“Yeah,” the Leader hesitates. “Sure thing.”

“May I go?” queries the Ferret on his right.

Bangchan motions a muscular hand out in a manner which implies ‘go ahead.’

“Last night, I asked what was going on. You mentioned you were sick of talking to us and proceeded to get vaguely upset. I apologise for setting you off, I definitely could’ve approached that better.” His tone turns sweeter, lighter. “I really wish you wouldn’t stop talking, though. I miss our late-night ramblings and your early morning chatter, even through the phone. Something changed, that’s obvious enough. Why won’t you talk like that anymore?”

Oh boy. For some reason, despite the inherently innocent natured question, the weight it holds could drag Felix into the depths of the Mariana Trench. Like a cannonball chained to his ankle; he’s getting dangerously close to walking the plank.

“I guess lately I just don’t have much to say.” He picks at a loose thread on the seam of his pants.

“I don’t really believe that,” Hyunjin states. “However, the last thing I want to do is push you for an answer right now.”

“Thanks,” replies Yongbok, remaining half-distracted, “I appreciate it.”

“Speaking of yesterday,” anxiously starts Han from across the circle, gaze still glued on white shoelaces. “I’m sorry about the way I reacted. Not only was it kind of a shock, but I guess it really impacted me. I wasn’t sure about bringing it up, but…they’re just so—” Jisung pauses for a few seconds, struggling to string together coherent thoughts and proper words to describe his feeling. “—so there.”

The atmosphere falls dimmer and far more serious as Han speaks. No one dares to interrupt, for no one knows exactly what to say. Pressing bandages wrapped around his forearm suddenly feel more presently tight and Felix is brutally reminded that this is all very much real.

“I guess I just want to know why. You’re such an incredible person, you’re the sunshine of Stray Kids. I love you more than you’ll ever comprehend, and you know I’ll be waiting right here whenever you may need me.” Toned desperation leaks through. “So please, Yongbok, reach out to me —to us. Say something.”

Processing Jisung’s words, they’re full of rampant emotion; he’s completely unmasked. Hidden underneath genuine sincerity rests even more pure heart and caring intentions. Shrivelled in on himself, any and all words escape the blonde’s grasp. Instead, Felix stays silent in his fetal position, merciless and beaten by Han’s bittersweet touch.

IN pipes up in monotone and breaks some garnered tension, but unfortunately not for long. “If we’re referencing what I think we’re referencing, I have something to add. I saw bloody gauze tucked away in the bathroom bin two days ago.” All eyes excluding Yongbok and Jisung’s snap to the Maknae. “At first, I didn’t think much, but then my discarded toothbrush weighed down the scrunched tissues and toilet paper on top. There was so much of it; drying red stains and bloodied brown covered almost the entire surface of cloth, hardly any white remained. It was unmistakable. I didn’t say anything because I overheard Hyunjin mention some kind of ‘shower injury’ you had later on, so I just suspected it must’ve been that.”

Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

The members might have backed off about the food thing, but it doesn’t appear they’ll be leaving this specific topic alone anytime soon. Of course they won’t, and Yongbok thoroughly understands why. However, understanding isn’t the same as acceptance, especially regarding this rather insistent discussion.

What an unfair and unjust burden.

Lee Know rubs comforting hands over the Quokka’s tense form beside him. Continuing to do as such, dipped eyes bore deeply at the young Aussie’s slouched form. “You stood awfully close to the rooftop edge last night. At one point your foot was no more than a misbalanced step away.”

Felix’s mouth instinctively snaps open. “I was clearly balanced; Did you seriously think I’d jump?”

“Yes, is that wrong of me to assume? You had half a bottle of vodka by your side and a joint in your hand.”

“A joint of which you smoked too, mind you. Don’t play victim.” His voice drips with venom, it seeps out his lips and begins to emanate off a rising frustration.

“Victim?” Minho scoffs at the word. “Of what, exactly? Sure, I’m not afraid to say I’ll consume weed from time to time; hell, most of us do! The difference between you and me is I don’t use vices and substances in an effort to aid my own self-destruction. Given the situation, I’d argue you’re the victim here,” the elder concludes, upholding a structured manner.

This stupid discussion, ‘open conversation’ or whatever Chan labeled it, is rapidly becoming unbearable for the blonde. Dry skin starts to itch—hard, and Yongbok perilously yearns to scratch it. Maybe then, all this worthless chatter will fade. An irritating ringing alerts every sense, echoing louder and louder, breaking inner eardrums like screaming through a megaphone. Someone, perhaps Chris, is speaking in the distance, yet all the Leader’s words fail to be recognised.

He can’t handle a second longer.

“We see you’re hurting, please Yongbok-ah, it’s hurting us too—”

It doesn’t work like that.

“—don’t you understand we just want to help you? Please, just let us!”

So desperate it’s almost sad.

“Don’t go yet, please? I know it’s gotten heated but we can fix-”

Why bother making promises you can’t keep?

“We apologise; I know it was out of line—”

Seriously? Like that’s gonna solve anything.

“—not helpless, I swear there’s a way-”

Too late for that now.

“It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. I’m sorry.”

It’s all too much, so he leaves.

Trudging out the JYP door, Felix laments under a heavy downpour. Ironic how the sky manages to match his inner turmoil so effortlessly. He’ll walk home slowly today.

Chapter Text

“Shouldn’t we go after him?” worries Seungmin.

Bangchan heavily sighs. “No, it’s best if we let him catch a breath for now. He needs a bit of space after all that,” he warmly instructs.

“Do you think he’ll be safe?” peeps Jisung, and all the members flash with concern and uncertainty.

Pressing his lips tightly, Chris speaks once more, aiming to comfort the uneasy situation. “We have to hold hope that he will, but it’s no lie Felix is dangerously unstable right now. We should wait a while before dispatching back to the flat.”

***

Drenched and pent-full with emotions too difficult to discern or describe, Yongbok’s soles thud against the wooden floorboards. Discarding wet shoes in the entryway and almost sliding in sopping socks, his body moves with its own determined intentions.

In the kitchen, cabinets are hastily opened and closed; shaky hands erratically searching for the bottle of alcohol stashed away by Minho. Something, anything, just to take the edge off. Struck by luck from the gods, there in the freezer, beside pints of ice cream and sorbet, lays a glorious glass container of vodka. Rummaging random packets of frozen vegetables aside, weak arms reach for the Absolut. Without wasting any time, fickle fingers flick off the cap as he gulps a healthy dosing. Liquid runs cool and sharp down his throat, the harsh temperature taking away a bit of the cruel heat. As to why Lee Know placed the bottle in the freezer? He had no clue, but he could make an educated guess. Felix doesn’t exactly open the frozen compartment too often, so it’s one of a few somewhat logical locations to hide such ‘contraband.’

There’s constant screaming tearing at the walls of an all-too-hollow cranium, begging for release from all this pent-up tension and pressure. Strain and anxiety is horrible to one’s health; it’s certainly not a good look. Alcohol, on the other hand, poisons the liver, thus destroying a decaying person even further. The difference between Felix and others, however, is he’d like to destroy himself before anything else gets the chance to.

Moving away from the kitchen with the bottleneck in clutch, an on-edge Aussie bee-lines for his bedroom. Slamming the door open so hard the handle bangs on the backing wall, leaving a dark grey scuffed dent, Yongbok gravitates to the drawer attached to his PC desk. Placing the bottle up to the side of his stashed keyboard, skeletal hands rummage for a small spiral notebook and black ballpoint pen.

I love all of you.

From the bottom of my heart I have to thank you all so much, truly; I know you just wanted to help, but I’m afraid I don’t want it. All the time we’ve spent together is so incredibly valuable to me, right up until this very end. You’re all the reason I made it so far.

When I look in the mirror I can’t even recognise myself anymore. I’m no more than a ghost at this point, my actual sense of self lost somewhere along the way. I tried so hard to hide everything, keep it hidden and stuffed in the back of my mind, but I suppose it got to be too much and spiralled out of control. I might have taekwondo medals backing me up but I’ve grown so tired of fighting.

I’m not sorry. I want this.

I don’t want you to remember my issues, just remember me.

Please never forget how much I love you.

Forever Faithfully Yours,
Sunshine.

He pens a signature below his sign-off and lifts to locate the perfume contained beside the black headphones resting on his bedside. Applying a gentle spritz to the finished letter and airing it out, the blonde walks back into the kitchen and places the thin sheet on the countertop centre.

Slinking back to his room and consuming more vodka once he arrives, the Aussie locates the remaining preroll. Finding his blue lighter from the pocket of last night’s hoodie, Felix cracks a window and blazes the tip. He’d never smoked inside before, let alone in the shared apartment, but he figures it’s alright because he’s gonna die soon anyway. What’s a little weed gonna do?

He’s no Kurt Cobain; it’d be difficult to go out with a bang. Obviously there’s the rooftop, but he’d be a deformed and mangled mess in death. No passerby deserves to have the trajectory of their life flipped upside down by an idol corpse. Drinking? No, that’d involve leaving to buy copious amounts of alcohol from the convenience store. What if he was recognised or photographed? It’s a scandal in the making— not that he’d be around to care much by then. Drowning would send a message about Deep End for sure, which would be unjustifiably cruel to Stay, so that’s out of the equation. Hanging isn’t too shabby of an idea, but that’d also require an outside venture for rope. Not to mention it’s rather hauntingly grim, too. He cracks a smile.

Blade it is.

How funny.

Waltzing to the bathroom in a haze,—no, a trance— Yongbok floats through the doorway and ignores his mirrored reflection. He doesn’t need to see the unrecognisable mess of himself he’s created these past few days. In fact, the blonde never has to look at himself ever again. The mere thought makes him giddy.

Stripping off baggy pants, he feebly unzips a grey jumper housed on his shoulders, discarding both clothing items somewhere on the floor. Pulling out a small container of sharp objects, the decisive Aussie plucks a brand-new pristine stainless steel blade. If he was going to do this, he’d have a little fun first.

***

Back at the dance practice studio, thick layered tension only builds.

“We should head back now, right? I can’t help but feel he’s a ticking time bomb,” urges Han. Instead of toying with his shoelaces, the Quokka’s been anxiously pacing back and fourth for the past 15 minutes. It’s not a comforting act to witness for the rest of the members, however Minho would feel poorly about attempting to stop him.

“I agree with Jisung; we’ve waited at least 25 minutes by now. C’mon Chan, we’re worried about him,” presses Hyunjin, lying flat-out against the floor with an arm resting on his forehead and the other flat on a rising and falling stomach.

Glancing at the kids in various positions around the studio, Chris places a stern arm on his hips and massages between temples with his right hand. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t seem like we’re further intruding. Felix looked rough when he stormed out, and I don’t want to ignite that flame and push him over the edge.”

“The longer we wait, the more likely he’ll push himself off the edge,” asserts Seungmin. Everyone looks at him with mixed expressions, most of them darkened. “What? Am I wrong? You heard Minho; Yongbok was practically about to jump less than 24 hours ago.”

The weight of his statement pounded down upon the dismal men. Abruptly, the air was filtered with a higher sense of urgency as the repercussions of their heavy conversation sunk in.

“Okay. I’ll call the van,” Bangchan deflates.

Each member quickly palms their small belongings and exits the practice room, pacing rapisly toward the company elevator. No words or sentiments are exchanged amongst the mobbed group, and occupied silence befalls the lift.

After seating themselves inside the awaiting van in the garage, Chan instructs the driver to direct straight to the apartment building, urging her to take the quickest route and avoid stoplights despite the short drive anyway.

Shuffling over one another in a hurry after the 3-minute ride, Stray Kids gather and rush through pounding rain into the concrete building. Fortunately, a few residents are leaving the lift as they arrive, to which each member stuffs into as said people exit. Punching the correct level button, uncomfortable silence continues to fill the space.

“He’s probably fine, right?” softly asks Jeongin, wavering in his voice.

“Yeah, this is all just an overreaction on our behalf and everything will be okay; I’m sure of it,” replies Changbin, but the pit in his gut strongly disagrees. No one in the elevator appears to truly believe the heartbreakingly hopeful statement.

Silver doors glide open and nervous footsteps slow as they approach an awaiting door. Lee Know reaches out with a black key to unlock the residence, then halts a short second to take a breath before pushing it wide open.

At first glance, nobody’s there.

“Yongbok-ah?!” he yells from the entrycove as everyone removes their footwear. He listens closely alongside the members, but no response hollers back.

“Yongbok!” he tries again, earning the same result.

“I’ll go check his room,” suggests Jeongin. “He’s most likely blasting music through headphones or playing on his PC,” he mentions, decidedly striding down the hallway.

Jisung scrunches his nose and comments, “He must’ve been smoking, it reeks in here.”

“Uh, guys?” meeks the Ferret.

“What’s up, Hyunjin?” Changbin voices, moving to his side.

Hovering over the kitchen counter, all colour drains from the artist’s face. Unsteady hands pick up a sheet of paper resting on the surface and drag it up for display. His solemn eyes make direct contact with Bangchan, and it says everything he needs to know.

The Leader immediately steps forward and grasps the white written sheet, prying it away from everyone’s visual. He refuses to look at it, and neither should anyone else.

“He’s not in his room, do you-” Jeongin returns and stops short at the group.

It’s never been so quiet before.

Until there’s a distant hiccup.

Chan strides through the hallway trailed by the rest following closely behind, paper in his fist and full of determination and fear. The bathroom light is on, a subtle glow leaking out from the cracks.

He hesitantly knocks. “Felix?”

***

With a burning-green flame loosely hanging and inhaling from cracking lips, the blonde clutches tight onto metal between silken fingertips.

Starting with simple cuts on the inner side of a thinly muscled calf, Felix is finally starting to scratch that itch. He barely feels anything other than the rapid slicing impact— even then, it doesn’t hurt. Adrenaline pumps faster and heavier than ever before, intermixing with the substances; his body must know what’s to come.

Blood rises and drips out of carved white, leaving cool tiles to stain and blemish. A bathtub or the shower cubicle would be undoubtedly less messy, yet the Aussie’s honed-in state refused supple limbs the action. So, he flitted attention to the opposing calf, digging in the blade and slicing either side yet again.

There’s no rhyme nor reason to his specific injurious patterns; Yongbok will swiftly observe at the area, strategise a plan or desired outcome, and go ham on it. Pertaining to this instance, the messier the better; he’s almost completely out of control. He yearns to seep darkened crimson so horrific it stains his last visible memory because in his controversial mind, there is no prettier way to go.

Besides, death is bliss and suicide is the shortcut.

Next, a delirious blonde with legs covered in red gravitates a slender grip to fresh flesh on his right forearm. Unlike Minho, Felix isn’t ambidextrous, but such a minor issue does little to stop his intentions. If he focuses enough energy and strength to combine with fervid willpower, the task should be a piece of cake.

Silver descends to greet pale skin, forcefully tearing to create wide gashes harsh enough for staples and stitches. A multitude of passion and relief begin to rampage about his veins; In fact, he might’ve just hit one. Weird how he feels even less pain from the act, given the sheer volume of iron-heavy fluid pooling out the specified wound. It’s fun, yes, but a small bout of doubt crosses his hecticly enticed mind. Pushing it aside, he has final business to get down to.

Ignoring the broken vein incessantly making his shirt so much wetter and messier than it needs to be, Yongbok passes the blade once more and switches it to a staining right hand.

This is it.

The end.

Maybe if they had noticed the signs earlier, he wouldn’t be sitting at this moment. Yongbok tried, he really did; he never meant to fall so far apart. Ultimately, however, all those efforts are for naught; it doesn’t even matter. He wasted all that time, all that lacking energy. Felix simply doesn’t care anymore; It’s for the best.

And, as such, the molten silver blade lines parallel above a ghastly damaged forearm. Sideways for attention, vertical for results; that methodology remains forever engrained. Putting it to good use, angled metal sinks deep into supple skin, effortlessly severing through multiple layers and patches of raised scarring. Gliding like a figure skater on ice, he’s about to mark a perfect triple axel. Blood rushes out, even spurting in some places, but Felix isn’t too sure as his perception really starts to fuck up. Potentially a protective method caused by his own body on adrenaline, or by the substances in his system. The Aussie recalls hearing a rumour stating that when someone jumps to their death, they don’t feel any impact because the body immediately goes into shock, fainting on the way down. Supposedly the only true painless way to die.

One isn’t enough; Yongbok feels his stiff body continuing to hold on. It just won’t do.

Yet, he’s somehow lacking the core brute strength to do much more. Rain and thunder heavily pelts against glass window panes, pricking sore ears for no more than a subtle moment. Whilst he sits wallowing in justifiable misery and suffering, cross-faded like he’s never been before and on the verge of blacking out, the now clear-headed blonde ignites himself with two questions.

What is he doing? Is this right?

No, of course it’s right. By killing himself he’s finally killing all the stupid pain. Better yet, he has no real reason to stay. Stray Kids will continue without him just as how 9 became 8. The grieving process is going to be incredibly rough and difficult for the members at first, especially for Bangchan; however, he’s so thankful this life was at least kind-hearted enough to gift him a little bit of love. They’ll understand, they’ll get over him eventually. They will move on.

Hovering sharpened steel above the crease of a blood-dripping elbow, cold fingers nimbly lash out pure pressure once more. It’s the only gash to alert long-departed pain receptors, much to his dismay. Deep rose fluid fights back and torn skin exposes far more than Felix has ever seen before. Similar to the Earth’s many layers, each severed section remained definitively separated against the next; rather fascinating to marvel at. Within the distraction, the aching Aussie’s chaotic brain is finally solaced and quiet; so hushed that he’s made aware of his own breathing and struggling heartbeat. In this, the blonde fails to note when moist tears began to fall off a dry face and into a bloody lap.

Inhaling with every slight breath, the previously full joint runs near dead and dusted, having left crumbs of light ash scattered all over. Taking the stump beside the blade and pressing the remaining warmth into his upper right thigh, a pink circle sears onto scarred flesh. It feels grounding, so he tilts back an aching head and flutters soft eyes nearly closed. Flooded with intensely strong and genuine emotion, an unfamiliar sensation, wet tracks dare to stream off his stuffy nose tip as sobbing lips let out a choked hiccup.

Multiple distant footsteps close in outside, casting shadows on the tile from underneath the door.

Ah, they’re home. No problem, this should all finish itself soon enough.

A knock.

“Felix?”

Bangchan.

Part of Yongbok wants to respond, to stop anyone from coming in and laying a gaze on this awful mess. Opening his mouth, the boy attempts an effort, but nothing comes out. Instead of consoling, it scares him. Right now is the part he’s supposed to be already dead for— he’s not supposed to see anyone’s faces when they find his ravaged body, especially the younger duo. That’s far worse punishment than anything Felix would do himself; it’s not in the slightest the final memory he’d been mercilessly wishing and hoping upon.

“C’mon, Felix! Please, say something!”

Everything is wrong. Why is it all going wrong?

“I’m coming in-!” and the door swings open.

If only he was a dash faster to act; if only he had sliced everywhere just that much deeper. But vignette fog crowds blurred peripherals, rapidly encroaching on to encapsulate unsteady vision.

“Fuck, Felix—!”

Chan rushes and folds to his side in an instant, ignoring splattered and leaking red puddles, leaving the blonde hardly time to flinch or react.

“There’s so much blood everywhere, I-”

Immediately, his white graphic shirt stains a vivid cherry, and the stain won’t stop spreading through the tightly woven fibers. Minho and Changbin hurry to the Leader’s desperate aid, handing him the discarded clothing items on the floor and trying to lift the boy into an easily treatable position.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit— What have you done to yourself?!”

A strained voice crack. It hurts to hear.

“Someone please tell me an ambulance is already on its way, these clothes won’t hold much!”

Immense pressure weighs down against numbing forearms, and heaviness finds itself against slim thighs too. The sensation is comforting rather than suffocating, enough for Yongbok to really falter loose eyelids. Some distorting figure repeatedly taps his cheeks. How rude.

“I know you want to rest right now, but you need to stay awake, Lix.”

He hums quietly and defeatedly. Four mostly unmoving outlines stand hanging by the doorway, one of them presumably on the emergency line.

Mustering the last morsel of his remnants of strength, Felix croaks.

“Stop helping. Please.”

Chapter Text

Hospitals are a cold and dark place:

Endless beeping monitors tracking each individual function of what one’s body is supposed to be doing, emergency calls for ‘code blue’ over the intercom and pagers, disturbing only those with insider information. Pristine white marble tiles and extravagant wallpapers plastered with intentions of crafting an atmosphere filled with ease and comfort. That is, unless, one is on their deathbed: in which case, vividly depicted hues throw salt at the wound. Or it would, if only his wounds weren’t hidden under million-layer bandages and heavy stitching.

Felix hates it.

He hates it so much he pretends to be asleep an hour after waking so as not to face a certain member asleep on a lounge by the wheeled bed. As luck would have it, Bangchan only remains unbothered until he gets up to deal with business in the en-suite. Peering around, it appears they’re the only two in the room.

A private hospital room, courtesy of fame.

Silver door knobs are exceptionally icy to the touch and even more so to gently twist. It doesn’t matter how delicate his weakened grip is, Bangchan rose with a fluttering eye and wordless mouth. Stuck in solid tracks and cold fluffy socks, Yongbok simply points past a creaking door to the toilet, hoping to show sincerity through a stable-ish gaze locked with his Hyung. Rewarded with a breathless sigh and a minuscule nod, woollen-encased toes slide across tiling and into the cubicle. In the act, bandaged arms ache with gentle contorting of slim muscle and skin; if the blonde focuses hard enough he can feel an occasional stitch knot catching against soft cotton gauze.

There’s a small circular mirror no bigger than his hand drilled to the wall with a swing arm. Magnified, each pore and vein protrudes like a graceless guest upon Felix’ ghostly face. It’s too much to glare, so frail fingers twist the grotesque reflection awry. Hideous, even if he were fortunate enough to be blind. What does Stay even see?

Suicidal failure is much more than infuriating, yet he’s not upset.

In place of where solemn sorries and justifiable regret typically bestow and harbour unto the body sits a never-ending shadow, always spying. A full-time job, he thinks. How exhausting must it be to withstand a rollercoaster whirlwind of emotives day-in, day-out — but not today, nor now; Not in this hospital room, not in this sunlight.

Nothing, that’s what he feels.

Isn’t he supposed to feel bad, though? Is he that insensitive? That selfish?

Maybe. Probably. Yes.

In an effort to exit, Yongbok stumbles out an unlocking door, almost slipping from the woollen-to-ceramic frictionless grip. On strong feet poses Bangchan in the midst of a full-body stretch in the lone open space. Both Aussies lock eyes.

“Warrior two,” croaks a lacklustre blonde.

A beat, then a slow blink. A million words swarm through dry, desolate air like glowing embers cascading from the dimming hearth of an arsonist’s playground.

“Come over,” Chris motions with a free finger, shifting into a neutral position.

“Mm,” reluctantly creaks out from dehydrated lips, but slow will gravitates across the suite.

There’s cold stickers, needles, and clear tubes hanging off Felix’ body, making it difficult to move without feeling each and everyone of them pinching against tenderfully agitated skin. On a bony hand sticks out a cannula, currently disconnected from any medical source. How long had he been asleep? Actually, does that even matter?

Sunshine pours out the massive window behind Chan, clear glass panes seamlessly covering half the wall with latches on the bottom sill. It’s city-scenic, unlike the view from his bedroom window, typically showcasing a few simplistic grey buildings and natural light streams. Here, half of Seoul was waiting just outside those panels. So many people living life unpaused, completely full-throttle; hustling and bustling amongst cleverly timed crosswalks, attempting not to rush into one another or lose track of faithless belongings.

Cornered and nestled against the wall and plush couch situates a built-in wooden desk. Dark stained grains of elm disperse and intertwine like a preserved tale of timeless wisdom. How old must it be? What has it seen, what stories must it keep? Atop one solidly structured slab lies a myriad of floral bouquets and standing cards, each decorated with well-written messages too far and too eloquent to decipher.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Chan. Or any of you.” It’s an honest start.

“Sshh,” Chris slightly hangs his head and hushes, bringing a representative finger to plump lips for the motion. “That’s okay, It’s okay.”

“But—” he tries.

“No, I won’t listen to nonsense, Felix,” sturdy tone as ever, the Leader remains gentle with his delivery.

“We all love you so fucking much. You scared the absolute shit out of us, out of me, we thought we might never see you again,” he takes a steep hollow breath, upholding a strained composure. “It was terrifying, from start to end, I won’t lie. You deserve the truth from us all and we deserve the same from you — but that was the problem. We tried to reach out, only to be passed off. I understand now, given hindsight, we went about it the wrong way; It was all too sudden — I see this now. There’s no grudge held nor hatred in the air, our top priority is you. It’s always been you. So, I’m going to ask you: Yongbok, are you okay?”

Maybe if he was a science fanatic the blonde could simply calculate the pure density hanging in the air right now; Observations might conclude that the mass feels heavy and volume feels larger. Swirling, gathering, gushing, combining into a thundercloud obscuring unwavering vision. Every fibre of his consciousness is screaming for the truth, ruining itself for a chance of revelling amongst hopefully listless daydreams.

Open-lipped, then closed again. Nothing is right anymore, it never will be. Who can’t even kill themselves correctly? Shameful is it, this harbourous distain infiltrating regenerative platelets.

“I,” Felix breathes, another attempt at steadying himself. “No, I don’t think I am okay.”

It’s a sentence pushed out mostly in a strangled tone, as though heart and head are unevenly bound competitors; a race in which no prize leads to self-judgmental fulfilment.

“Let’s stop this, then, change it together — as a whole. Not a half, not a quarter, everyone as one; better yet, let’s aim for eight,” Bangchan stands pulling shortened words like plucking tiny daisies from cracked slate pavement. Depth and disparity leaks like citrus acidity coating his teeth, but that could just be misconstrued overthinking.

Yongbok opts not to respond right now. If he did, surely the words would come out messy among any promise, incapable of pure adamant sincerity.

“How long have you been here?” he spouts instead, lightly casting a gaze to the oh-so-interesting flooring. There’s even further bandaging wound around frail calves and an additionally subtle presence of square adhesives upon his upper thigh. Notability draws a mind’s eye after shifting weighted posture from one bruised hip to the next.

Peering at a black watch face, “About 40 hours, give or take,” Chris announces. His words continue before a chance to interject appears, evident of the need to vomit before a pitiful tongue robs him of the sorrowful privilege. “Changbin and Hyunjin trailed the ambulance with me, Minho drove the other members in tow directly behind us.”

A hearty inhale breaks in between.

“That drive was… a lot.” Bangchan attempts to mask an expression of whiplash recollection twitching tired facial muscles and begins to occupy his eyes with nothing in particular.

“Lino’s been a rock for us all, but more so with Hannie. I can’t even begin to imagine how much hurt Minho’s been shielding away, he keeps excusing himself to leave the room only to come back with puffy eyes,” he explains, mindlessly fiddling with a loose seam along black pants. “I’m unsure which details you’re able to recall but he was right next to you in the bathroom.”

Felix doesn’t think he wants to know that.

“Jisung won’t stop moving. Whether it’s thrumming fingers, pacing, tapping feet, shaking limp wrists, endlessly bouncing his legs — it just doesn’t stop. Then again, I can’t exactly expect him to soothe down given the situation,” he admits, running smooth palms in a prayer shape briefly covering his nose and mouth. “They were both still here until a couple hours ago, now they’re cleaning themselves up and presumably resting.”

At least they’ve got each other to take care of; that’s a warm comfort.

“Binnie didn’t want to let go of you, he was practically begging for every small touch beside paramedics at the apartment. Once we raced into the ER I had to physically restrain him from running after your stretcher, even the receptionist displayed concern over his distressed state and helped me redirect him to the water jugs.” Like a pin poke through an inflatable mattress, Chan’s breath begins to passively weep, deflating a minuscule more with every abounding consonant. “I think he’s been passing time in his head.”

Translation: Changbin is kicking himself.

“Hyunjin-ah refused to leave your side yesterday, we had to tear him off a chair so he’d get some rest at home this morning. He’s been so distraught and dissociated, he mindlessly started ripping up empty sketchbook papers until the scraps were more like crumbs. It didn’t appear to be a conscious act, his fingers just kept tearing at everything until he accidentally tore a fingernail. Even then, blood didn’t falter his fidgeting until Jeongin snatched his hand to ask for a bandaid.” The Leader halts rambling for a moment and decides to reveal more, connecting a glistening gaze. “Your letter, the one on the countertop…” he trickles off an implication.

And Yongbok heavily implies.

Sputtering after beats of leaden silence, Chris launches once more, mouth tripping upon live wires with no self-heed for back-lashing aftershocks. A battlefield is always delicate territory despite enemy range.

“Seungminnie hasn’t spoken yet, as far as I’m aware. That guy can really uphold himself, but this…?” So little conveys so much. “He didn’t stay too long at first, I don’t think he could; without a doubt, he definitely wanted to. Most of his visitation last night and this morning has been curled up in a ball, hardly blinking, but his stare is so sincere.” Both Aussies hint a downward smile, one less than another.

“Ayen,” Felix inhales by mention, “is trying to keep afloat. One second his plastered grin is fixed, only to falter in effort the next. It’s visibly exhausting his energy further, but I think he’s trying for you and for us,” Chan reflects a circular motion with waving arms as an all-inclusive depiction. “It’s likely because he’s hardly stopped crying, I can practically sense how frustrated he is about it. Tears are so stubborn sometimes, don’t you think?” Lighthearted hopelessness reeks off his tongue, ending with a softly plastered smile of his own.

The blonde can’t even attempt slight contortion in response, it only seems cruel. In place of lacklustre expressions displays uneven footing, shifting posture, and uneasy blinking. Atmospheric weight lulls atop his forehead and dips past a low stomach. What is there to say?

“I want to see them,” Yongbok decisively states, twiddling fingertips by sterile bandage seams. “Everyone, if I can.”

Bangchan breaks a true grin reaching for his phone, “Sure.”

***

Golden hour drapes its honey-filtered hues over a family-size table setting. Upon specialty request, three nurses shuffled in and out the private suite, organising a makeshift dining area. A frosty pitcher, multiple silver salad bowls, platters of endless protein, and numerous side dishes spread evenly on white cloth. Eight filled glasses stand in front of pristine ceramic plates paired aside elegant black chopsticks, eight chairs patterned and split by either table half. Dainty crystal vases at each end of the intimate display support a small bunch of yellow tulips, stems trimmed in order to leave mealtime conversation without obstruction.

Felix flits an untethered gaze from miniscule threads of cotton sheets to a gentle knock waiting behind a closed door. Soft and unassuming, anxious but knowing; the weight of bruises littering frigid knuckles he can no longer call his own. Right now is real.

Scuttling up from admiring out a window, Chan acts first to greet bodies filing in from behind the door. Almost immediately, each face meets with a timidly seated blonde and locks on, plastering him weak and exposed. Much like predators connecting unto disadvantaged prey at the watering hole, if only lions gave time to mournfully pity their catch pre-slaughter. Poor giselle, what draws a rapacious crowd faster than intrinsic desperation?

Everyone knows how it ends because it’s always the same.

But they can’t hurt him any more than he tries to hurt himself.

“Anyone hungry?” suggests Chris, shaking attention off and away from the man crumpled in bed.

Taking the awkwardly direct hint, every member turns to face the charming feast laid exquisitely atop the sun-dipped rectangular table and gravitates around the head. Within the simple commotion, Yongbok slides up and out of cool sheets with a breath leaving heavy from where it hung inside a decaying rib cage. Pattering in fuzzy hospital slippers, gently the young Aussie makes way toward a standing group of 7. Raising his head with a pulse thrumming in both ears, a previously knowing mouth flatlines instead. Greeting beloved family should never feel this way, every word dissolving just that little bit further away the harder he tries to speak.

Fortunately, the Leader skips over that part, “Sit down wherever you want, Lix.” Soft spoken like woven silk, dusting aside pressure-heavy clouds floating just behind the blonde’s glass eyes.

Felix taps patient fingertips along black fabric backing, signaling his choice to each member as they frolicked a claim themselves. To his left sits an extremely close Changbin brimming with large shoulders pressing against his bones, grounding him. On the right, a hesitant Jisung repeatedly shaking his thigh, flanked by an unsurprising Minho firmly soothing said anxieties. Across the bunny sits a pitifully exhausted Jeongin tightly clasping palms with Seungmin, whom is yet to crack a sound. Directly in his line of sight seats Bangchan, expressions comfortable enough to ease and smooth over any tense atmosphere. Last in place is Hyunjin, biting the insides of flush cheeks and fiddling with peeling edges off a small bandaid. They’re all tattered looking and that shoots straight at his heart, redirecting pulses from a reverberating headspace down to a cavernous echo chamber, clearing up space for thought.

Dislodging an imaginary frog in his throat, Yongbok opts to speak. “Thank you, everyone,” all eyes flicker on a nervous spotlight, “for coming, that is,” he tags.

“Did you think we wouldn’t come?” questions Seungmin. Vocally, he falters.

No one dares utter a disturbance, the weary accusation landing like a game of russian roulette where everyone else is collateral damage.

“I needed you to come,” Felix peers at a bright tulip, “I’m grateful you did.”

“We’d sail oceans and pilot uncharted skies for you, Yongbok-ie,” Binnie blatantly admits, rubbing circles and patterns against frail upper arms, accompanied by a table-wide hum of agreement. Buff fingers wrap around the younger’s limb completely, practically feeling up their massive size difference. Felix is finally tiny, now more than ever before. The best part? He knows it, he feels it.

Minho pipes from his seat, “Should we eat?” and small murmurs nod at the suggestion.

All the clattering and clanging of cutlery paired with shifting of dishes around the table momentarily distract his brain from forming a coherently disordered thought, save from simple alarms of ‘don’t eat that.’ White ceramic previously nestled below him soon displays a rainbow of nutrients and then some, with Changbin still tentatively placing down extra cuts of meat. Idle chatter breaks out in low volumes between members, the act feeling purposeful and weighted as a method aiming to ease.

It’s terrifying.

How much oil had those vegetables been stir-fried in? Which kind of oil? And the meat, is it a lean cut? What about the noodles, how many carbs does one serving contain? Would an estimation be accurate enough? Were they boiled in plain water or a seasoned broth? Had they absorbed extra calories? Is there extra dressing on the salad? Is added sugar an ingredient in any of the condiments? There’s white rice, he should’ve asked for shredded cauliflower instead. Are those portions normal? Food is taking up too much space on his plate, it looks blatantly wrong and downright greedy. God, such a gluttonous visual, almost sending bile up his esophagus.

But the smells, what a total mindfuck. Emptied churning ripples and wrenches inside his torso at each pending whiff, begging to be quenched, begging to be satiated. Every salivary gland waters with longing desire, flooding so suddenly and fast his weak facial muscles almost slip and drool. Internal embarrassment shamefully clings itself on top of a resting Adam's apple, suppressing selfish wills. Which outcome can he handle right now?

Soft, smooth, loving — someone’s hand fell on his.

Caressing each divet and trailing maps on every tiny bone is Jisung. Felix’ glance wanders up honey splendour skin and finds concentrated eyes, unflinching from his movements and deliberately focused downward at their intertwining hands. A massaging palm shoots sparklers of warmth up his tensely rigid contrasting forearm, melting and sparking away stubborn impurities with the supple sensation. Modest understanding whirling and an unspoken conversation amidst levelling air, the blonde finds a private moment, allowing him to breathe.

For just this once, just this occasion, he’s going to eat and be okay.

Maybe he’ll even laugh a little, too.

***

“Uno!”

Jestering groans erupt from Seungmin as the humourously irked puppy irritably draws a card.

“I was about to say that, no fair,” he whines, earning a few muffled and satisfied chuckles among the seated ring.

Yongbok empties his hand with a wild card, “Blue, and I win.”

Tossing his pile on the floor, Changbin playfully announces, “How am I supposed to win with a pickup 12? That’s criminal!”

“At least you weren’t stuck with all greens this round,” retorts Jeongin, patting pitifully on Binnie’s broad shoulder and revealing his own painfully consistent hand.

“I am so glad I teamed up with you,” Hyunjin states, currently nestled in the crook of Felix’ neck, firm arms wound comfortingly tight around the Aussie’s fragile waist from behind.

Chris is slouching his back against a couch, Jisung is sitting sideways on Minho’s lap. Everyone is here. Moreover, even if just for now, everyone is content.