Archive of Our Own

Minho was doing better. At least that’s what he liked to believe. He had stopped reaching out for the sharp blades—he threw away sharpeners and anything that could possibly trigger him. He forced himself to step out of bed when all he could think about was to lie down. 

It was getting better. He was relaxing at the subtle skinship. 

He was getting better. 

Until he wasn’t. 

It all began when he had a single bad day. 

Said day had begun with him feeling the usual—disinterested and tired, but enthusiastic for the following interviews and other interactions that he was supposed to like as an idol. It had been at least two months since his confession to the other members. 

The others had begun treating him more decently after that, not babying him, but they’d check up on him here and there. He knew he couldn’t expect them to do it often—they were busy too. But it didn’t sit right with him when he entered the living area in the dorm and saw that all the members had already left. 

It wasn’t anything new. 

But it tugged at his stomach and made him uneasy. 

“Hey, good morning, hyung,” Seungmin walked by him, patting his shoulder gently as he disappeared into the corridor to grab his bag. “Good morning, ‘Min,” Minho sighed, walking fully into the hall. It was quiet, almost too quiet. It made his ears ring as though he had tinnitus. 

“You should get ready,” Seungmin called from their shared room. “Quick.” 

“Yeah,” Minho retracted from the kitchen and back into his room. He quickly pulled out a pair of sweats and a loose tee. Recently, he had been getting more and more comfortable with changing in front of the members, but something just felt wrong today. 

Seeming to assess his trouble, Seungmin glanced in his direction. “Are you okay? Hyung?” 

“I’m fine,” Minho replied, disliking the way his voice wavered in the middle. He let out a breathy laugh and scratched his nape. “I’ll be out quickly. Can you wait for a while?” 

Seungmin nodded, walking out the door and closing it after him, leaving Minho standing with his set of clothes in front of a body mirror that the door had hidden. Minho paid it no mind, quickly changing his shirt and then pausing in the midst of changing his pants. 

The mirror reflected the disgusting streaks that littered his outer and inner thighs. Some dark, some light, some barely visible, and some literal white streaks. Minho tore his gaze away from the mirror and pulled his pants up, inhaling shakily. 

He nibbled on his lower lip as he tied the drawstrings and walked out of the room. He met Seungmin in the living room, the younger man shooting him a piqued look as Minho directly grabbed his phone and slipped it into his pants alongside his earbuds, and headed near the shoerack. 

“You’re not eating breakfast?” Seungmin asked, frowning when he realized Minho hadn’t heard him. The older one, in fact, had heard him perfectly. He didn’t know what he’d have to respond with if Seungmin did press. 

“C’mon,” Minho stood up, leaning back and cracking his back. “I don’t want to be yelled at by hyung.” 

“Who? Chan hyung?” Seungmin scoffed, standing next to Minho and grabbing a pair of sneakers to put on. “Don’t kid. He is the last person to yell.” 

Minho shrugged and looked at his shoes. They looked a little weird. Even his hands. Even him. Everything just felt slightly surreal. It wasn’t an alien sensation, but it made him nauseous. “Should we head out?” Seungmin asked, gesturing for Minho to open the main door. “Got the keys?” 

“Yep,” Minho chimed, slipping out the main door. 

As the two of them walked through the vicinity and to one of the manager’s parked cars, Minho nervously scratched his wrist. He bit his lower lip, closing his eyes for a moment and relaying a small mantra of: It’s okay. You’re fine. You can do it. You’re okay. 

He’d take that back if he knew that it wouldn’t be the case. 

They had decided on a system. Minho could say that he was feeling green or yellow or red. Green being he was good, yellow being things were not going well, and red meaning it’s bad. The first month Minho had been so embarrassed to use the colors until he found himself so exhausted at the littlest things—he had quietly approached Changbin and gently muttered, ‘ yellow ’. 

Changbin had responded by giving him a tight hug in return and promising him that once they went home he’d cuddle with him. And they had, Changbin had muttered all sorts of affirmations to him that he oh so desperately wanted to believe. 

Minho still felt embarrassed to ask for help. He had to go out of his way to approach a member and then have them leave whatever they were doing for his problems. He tried to only turn around with Changbin and Chan, and not bother the younger members, but that just wasn’t working out. 

Chan and Changbin were more than often busy with staying up in the studio, working on tracks and other things. 

That had left Minho with the same ideology again: his problems should be dealt with by himself. He knew it was deconstructing all the boundaries they had made up, but he couldn’t help the guilt that formed in his stomach when he did ask for help. 

What was he even giving in return? He was just taking and taking. And that wasn’t how relationships or friendships should work. On top of that, he was their hyung . He was the figure they had to look up to and not have to look after. 

So, Minho was fine. 

He was fine. He was just a little jittery. He wasn’t doing anything unconventional for now, he was fine. 

…maybe he was a little insecure. He still couldn’t bring himself to wear shorts, with the fear of them riding up and exposing his marred thighs. He hadn’t shown anyone the scars—the horrendous streaks—except for Hyunjin—who had seen the pants ride up when they were cuddling. 

Minho nervously rubbed his outer thighs as he sat in the group circle, listening to their choreographer lay out the basic ideas of the dance they were to do. It was a cute one, with many of the members having solo steps. 

“Minho-ssi, any ideas?” The choreographer asked him. 

Minho blinked away his haze—he was paying attention, just… he wasn’t there physically. He nodded. “We can alternate the dance more to give enough screen time to all the members.” 

“I want you to help me out in switching the dance parts, then, okay?” The choreographer gave him a small smile. The choreographer was a woman this time, as tall as Changbin and beautifully built. She had her hair tied up in a neat ponytail, with only her bangs out of place. 

“Yeah,” he responded, offering her a small smile. 

“Great, I’ll tell your manager to add that to your schedule, it’s fine if you can’t do it, but I bet fans love to see credits go to their main dancer, no?” She asked, meaning it in a joking manner. However, Chan shrugged, “We have three main dancers.” 

Right . 

Sometimes these things hit him hard. 

That despite dance being one of his main strengths, he wasn’t the best at it. Minho rubbed his nape and the choreographer threw them apologetic glances. “Ah, I’m aware. But I meant it in a joking manner, I hope I didn’t offend anyone—because y’know, you refer to Minho-ssi as the ‘dance leader’ and similar titles.” 

Chan didn’t smile, but the other members did, immediately dropping other titles they had given Minho. 

Minho thought he was slipping again, but at the same time, he wasn’t. He was tired, that’s all. Just cramped up, exhausted. 

He missed lunch one day, and almost forgot about dinner with how dazed he was practicing in the studio—well until he heard the door open and Chan looking at him in slight disappointment. “You were supposed to be back by five,” he said. “It’s ten.” 

Minho nodded apologetically. “Sorry, hyung, I just got lost. That’s all. I’ll come back in a while.” 

“No will do,” Chan replied. “You have to come back now, like right now. I’m going back and I know you’ll fall into a daze again if there’s no one to watch you.” 

The younger’s hand twitched in annoyance. But Minho nodded and rushed to the speaker, picking up his connected phone and turning off the huge device. 

Minho didn’t think of himself as an angry person, but something about Chan looking at him with that kind of look pissed him off. He calmed himself with his back turned to the elder and grabbed his duffle bag and other supplies. 

He was a glistening bubble, resting on the ground and letting everyone marvel at him. Marveling at how long he’d survive before he popped. 

Minho closed the door and walked past Chan. 

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t getting bad again. He just wasn’t hungry. And running with that terminology, he spent more time in the studio, tiring himself to the bone to just prove himself that he was tired and spent and that he had to be hungry. 

For some reason, his metabolism stayed low. He forced himself to eat something when some member managed to find him missing, just to watch them smile in satisfaction that he wasn’t starving himself. 

He ate, but he ate with a pinch of salt. More often than not, he found his stomach churning with nausea and ended up leaning over the toilet bowl and emptying his guts. Minho didn’t and couldn’t assess what the hell was wrong. 

Maybe he just had some stomach infection, that’s it, right? That was the reason he couldn’t eat despite how tired he was. 

Minho closed his eyes and lay on his bed, finding it nice the way the fan sent shivers around his body. 

Minho’s major problems began when he accidentally stepped on a pencil sharpener while doing laundry. It was a new one, he could tell by the fact that there was no graphite powder stuck around it. Minho guiltily pocketed it until he was alone in the confinement of his room. 

He used the backside of a hair clip to open the screw, and felt the cool metal on his fingertips. He cried. 

After building so much to be clean, this was what he was doing? Minho shook his head as he threw the blade in his closet and the empty plastic of the sharpener out the window. He ended up hitting his biceps to calm down. 

However, there were only so many days he could let pass without thinking back to the blade. The blade would make this feeling go away. The razor would make him more alert, it’d make him wake up. 

He had been clean for almost over four months when he relapsed, feeling guilt fill his entirety when his understanding of what he had done dawned on him. 

The days that followed were exuberant. He was happy, he could feel it. He danced to his heart’s content, and sang till he, himself could believe that he had done a good job. Walking on eggshells never felt so good.

The end of a razor served so much better than the guilt of burdening. Minho smiled as he heard the youngers ramble about their day, he finally felt hungry, and was even able to sleep. 

All at the expense of the scars that grew on his body. 

At some point, it seemed as though even the razor wasn’t working. He tried so hard. He tried repeatedly… repeatedly drawing deeper and sharper, but the heaviness in his chest persisted. He hated this. 

He hated himself. 

The other members had begun caring less and less about this matter, letting it fade into the background like everything else. Minho didn’t mind, it only meant that he’d have to face less guilt when he drew more streaks, reaching dangerously closer and closer to his mid-abdomen. 

He wanted to be normal. Not some freakshow that did this for attention. He wasn’t doing it for attention, he just wanted something to pull him out of this mindset, something that would jolt him into reality. 

“Hey, Hyung?” 

Minho blinked, glancing at whoever had called him. It was Hyunjin, the younger looking at him in concern. “Yeah?” Minho asked, growing more aware of his surroundings till he realized he had dropped the plastic mug. “Oh, shit.” He stood up quickly, almost falling back down as his vision became a fuzz of blackness.

“Minho!” Hyunjin quickly supported his weight with his side, arm wrapping instinctively around the dancer’s waist. “Hyung. Look at me, what fingers am I holding up?” 

Minho squinted, everything was shaking… he was shaking… There was water on the floor. “Uhm. Four?” He guessed pathetically, earning a sharp exhale from Hyunjin. 

“Sit down, I’ll clean it up,” Hyunjin guided him to sit and Minho winced at how everything spun again. “No… it’s fine. Hyunnie, I can do it, really. Trust me,” he muttered, trying his best to get his vision to stop swaying. 

“Hyung…” Hyunjin crouched down in front of him and pulled his arm down so they both could meet each other's eyes. “It’s okay. It’s just water. We’re in the studio, that’s why I was so alerted. The janitors will clean it up, it’s fine.” 

Minho exhaled shakily, closing his eyes tightly before he opened them. “When was the last time you ate?” Hyunjin inquired, fingers thumbing at Minho’s wrist, tracing the bracelet he had gifted the elder. 

“This morning,” Minho lied easily. 

“Yeah well, your plate was shared by Chan hyung and Changbin hyung, don’t lie to me. If you ate a fruit, it’s six, we all missed lunch,” Hyunjin said in one breath, hold tensing. “You’re… alright, no?” 

Minho bit back the urge to cry right there, he wanted to tell Hyunjin everything. The feeling of how hollow living had suddenly felt—how that, without an escape, he just couldn’t function. He sighed, words betraying his wants. “I’m fine, Hyunjin-ah, just lost track.” 

Hyunjin seemed hesitant, he traced Minho’s knuckles eying the scabs that boxing had brought. “Hyung. Promise you’ll talk to me— us , right?” 

“Of course,” Minho replied, words light and soft and lying. He wanted to. Yet, they’d be so… so utterly disappointed if they found out that he had relapsed yet again. 

“Of course, I’m fine—Hyun,” Minho patted the younger’s head, smiling tenderly, watching as Hyunjin’s expression melted into fondness. Hyunjin was always so responsive to praise, ironically, the one that came from him especially. 

“Okay,” the younger replied, giving him a small smile, and standing up. “I think we should head back to the dorms anyway.” 

“Separate ones? Can…” Minho bit back his anticipation. He was the older one, he couldn’t be desperate. 

“Yesp, that’ll be great,” Hyunjin said, inclining his hand for Minho to take. “I’m honestly so tired of the whole ‘gym bro diet’ lifestyle. Me and Hannie, actually.” 

Minho nodded, standing up and feeling Hyunjin support his weight by wrapping his hand around his waist. “I’ll inform the janitor about this, okay? You should wait in the car.” 

Somehow it got worse from then on. When he woke up with Jisung and Hyunjin holding him from both sides as if he was nothing but a giant stuffed animal that was kept as a segregation between two siblings.

He laid there in a daze of warmth, body too tired to move and mind too fuzzy to comprehend that he was awake. 

Everyone in the dorm was being overly tender with him for an unknown reason. Chan petted his hair whenever he walked past Minho—Changbin tried to back hug him whenever he found Minho unguarded—Jisung doing his usual casual conversations where he’d just keep talking and rub Minho’s hands.

Hyunjin was a bit wary of him, nudging Chan or Changbin whenever he saw his hyung out of it or taking the initiative himself of pushing some more food into Minho’s measly lunch when the elder wasn’t looking. 

Minho was lost in the sense of comfort, honestly. It was just domestic and all he wanted to do was close his eyes in this warmth and never wake up. 

The moment he thought of that was when he was being guided to lift weights by Changbin, almost immediately twisting his wrist at the grimness of the thought, being heavily chided by both Chan and Changbin for not listening to their directions. 

Somehow, when the objective fear of death was lifted, life became easier. It started off as simple as ‘if a car were to hit me, I wouldn’t protest or panic ’. It started off as a secondary thought, just an option that he was ready for anything. 

Things got better when he accepted it. He fell asleep easier, danced lightly, and let his voice easily follow the melody he was to sing. It wasn’t that he wanted to die by being a part of it, he just wished something—maybe intrusive thoughts such as their van getting into a crash and everyone living except him. 

It was bad, he knew it. 

Although, it had popped his bubble of daze and let him see more clearly. 

The first day he dreamt of flowers, seeing them seemingly everywhere, dying in great piles of wilted colors until he was covered by a blanket of them. 

He should've screamed for help but he didn't want to and no one could hear, and no one would come, and the flowers lodged in his throat, slipped into his mouth, made home in his ribcage, grew out of his heart until he was nothing but the soil that they stood in.

Minho woke up sweating with concerned eyes from Seungmin and Jeongin who stood at the threshold, watching him. “Bad dream,” he mumbled. 

“I can see that,” Seungmin replied, pulling Jeongin’s hand as they both sat on either side of Minho. “What did you see, hyung?” 

The oldest in the room inhaled shakily, hands rubbing his face as Jeongin rubbed comforting circles into his shoulder. “Flowers,” he mumbled. 

“Flowers?” Seungmin asked skeptically. 

“Yeah… flowers. I don’t know what it was but I was stuck in this damn meadow and was being suffocated by flowers,” Minho closed his eyes as he muttered. 

“You’re stressed,” Jeongin diagnosed. “And overworked. You started staying in the studios late again, hyung. Don’t think we didn’t notice how heavy your footsteps have gotten.” 

Minho sighed, glancing up at the two of them in a silent plea his dignity wouldn’t let his voice. Seungmin seemed to assess and gave Jeongin a pointed look over Minho’s slouched figure. The both of them hummed softly to themselves before pushing Minho to lay flat on his back, slipping next to him and snuggling close. 

Minho wanted to cry. He didn’t deserve them. They were too lovely. 

He couldn’t fall asleep until he felt Jeongin’s nimble fingers begin playing with the strands of his hair. 

The idea of death by himself came soon fueled by the floral dream. Dying sounded easy and practical. He was taking up space, only taking up Chan’s sleep by being unable to get the recordings right.

Of course, Chan tried not to show his annoyance, but it was written in his body language, how he repeatedly clicked the pen’s end aggressively or he was quick to dismiss Minho after he stepped out of the recording room. 

The idea of death was comforting when he decided to walk back to the dorm rather than take the car. He stood at the bridge over Han river and gazed down at the surging waters that looked more so like his own thoughts. It was so easy, that if he jumped off the bridge, then he’d almost instantly die from the water force ricocheting him against the rocks. 

He stood there for almost an hour, only snapping out of his reverie when an elderly man gently touched his shoulder and asked whether he was alright. He wasn’t. But he nodded ruefully and the man just gave him a pat on the shoulder and pulled him into a small embrace. 

He had reached the dorms at around eleven, expecting to find his members still awake and having dinner or watching a movie. He did find them awake, only in the living room. The members from the other dorms were also there, Jisung and Felix immediately rushing over to him as he took off his shoes. 

“What’re you doing here, Hannie?” Minho asked, not meeting the younger’s eyes. How could he? He knew damn well why they were here as much as he’d like to think otherwise. 

“Where were you?” Felix asked. 

“I was walking,” Minho replied. 

“You do realize you look like the embodiment of death?” Seungmin muttered, exhaling as he noticed Minho’s disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes and leaner than usual figure. 

“Haha,” Minho tried humoring the younger, but to no avail, the atmosphere was far too tense for any jokes. 

“Minho, come inside,” Chan muttered, jaw tense. 

It was colder outside, and his hands felt as though they were being thawed in the warmth. Funnily enough, he was sweaty too. The member's hands felt scalding on his body, igniting something underneath him. 

Hyunjin plopped to his side, offering him a small mix of yogurt, jam, and granola. Minho—not wanting to be even more scrutinized by the others, simply took it and had a small bite. It was automatic and the food tasted like ash, devoid of taste and simply existing for his body to continue living. 

“What is up with you?” Chan snapped. 

An obnoxious part of him wanted to retort but Minho bit his tongue. “Nothing is, I just wanted to walk, that’s all,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Chan asked, as if not believing him at all. 

“Mhm,” Minho hummed as he numbly chewed on a piece of granola. 

“What is your color?” Chan asked, exhaling as he did. 

Minho felt his hands tense and freeze over the bowl, he sighed. He had two choices. 

: Be honest.

: Lie. 

If he was honest, he didn’t want to face the way they’d look down at him again. He closed his eyes and sighed softly. If he lied, he’d have to carry the burden of guilt and there was no way his members would believe him. 

“Yellow,” he whispered under his breath, shame trickling down his neck. 

“Hyung… you should’ve come to us,” Changbin said gently, placing a warm hand to Minho’s knee that sent chills down his spine. “Can you tell us what happened?” 

“Nothing—” he caught himself before the lies slipped past his lips. He was a liar, that’s all he was. 

Hyunjin slipped closer to him, rubbing his shoulder. Chan and Felix sat on the ground across from them and Changbin sat next to him on the couch. Jeongin and Seungmin laid on a bean bag looking at him for an answer. 

“I… I think I’m just tired? I don’t know how else to describe it,” Minho confessed, digging his nails into his palm. “Everything just felt so devoid of life when… I don’t know—when I didn’t have an escape—and I know it’s selfish of me to think that way when you guys explicitly told me I could talk to you, but I couldn’t burden you repeatedly. You guys are busy and my problems really don’t matter that much, I just need a while but I can manage. It’s only taking a little longer this time.” 

“You’re not going to burden us—” 

“I’m supposed to be the hyung , I shouldn’t be the one who you guys have to look down—not look down but like… look after,” Minho placed the bowl on the ground and pressed his face into his hands. 

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sighed. “Your title of hyung shouldn’t matter when you’re with us. We love you regardless of whatever fucked up hierarchy we’ve been born into.” 

“Exactly, look at Felix,” Seungmin said—”and Changbin.” 

“Both of them don’t mind being low in front of us, there’s no idealization that you have to be this unharmable figure. You’re human, and you need people to lean on,” Changbin said, following up with Seungmin. 

“I know,” Minho sighed. He didn’t. He couldn’t. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asked, once again. 

He was fine. Everything was okay. He sighed slowly, digging his nails into his palm as he tried to stabilize himself. “I am. Just a little iffy. That’s all.” 

Hyunjin touched his forearm and Minho relaxed his hand, stopping his nails from doing their damage. He bit his lower lip. “Really, trust me. I’ll be fine, I just need a little while longer. I’m not harming the group’s performance, am I? The albums have been selling as per usual and the staff haven’t brought this up. It’s alright, right?” 

“These are two different things,” Jeongin frowned. “The group’s performance doesn’t matter if the performer isn’t mentally okay.” 

“Innie,” Minho was starting to get frustrated. He was trying desperately too, to not keep relapsing over and over again, but that seemed futile. “I’ll be alright in a while.” 

“When do you suppose that is?” Jisung inquired, lips curling into a frown along with the other members. 

They knew. 

They were disappointed. 

In him . 

He couldn’t even keep a promise to them. 

Minho fiddled with his wrist. “Minho,” Chan began sternly. “I’ll have to check you, if you’re not giving me any answers.” 

That was the last straw, he stood up and walked briskly to exit the room—only to be pulled back by Chan. Minho turned and pushed the elder’s hand away. 

“Why are you acting like this?” Chan asked, voice quiet. “What is wrong? Minho-ya, please, talk to us. I’m worried sick.” 

Minho couldn’t put the intricacy of the complicated feelings into words. He just couldn’t. Everything was so overwhelming that he felt his lungs grapple for air—despite his growing turmoil, he stayed put, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

“I don’t want a damned apology,” Chan muttered, walking forth and leading Minho into the hallway. The younger man knew that the other members could still hear them, but the thought of them not watching him brought him some solace. 

The silence between them echoed and Minho leaned away from Chan, reclining to the wall and swallowing a lump in his throat. 

“So?” 

“I think I’m sick, hyung,” Minho whispered—Chan walked ahead, and gently rubbed Minho’s knuckles, going over the boxing scars as he did. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“Try telling me.” 

Minho exhaled sharply, taking a few moments to articulate what he wanted to say mentally. “It’s like… I feel so unenthusiastic about everything? I don’t know what’s happening—my metabolism has died and I don’t feel the taste of food in my mouth anymore. I—I’m trying not to exaggerate but everything feels so slow and agonizing. I can’t sleep and I can’t stay awake. I feel so… disassociated.” 

Chan nodded, not looking at Minho and prompting him to continue. 

“I don’t want to make my problems seem too big because they’re not worth it but I just feel so sick and nauseous. All the time . It’s as if something is eating me alive and all I want to do is lay down and not wake up,” his voice cracked pitifully at the end. “No matter what I try to do, I can’t pull myself out. I don’t know why I feel this way. I have people that care about me, a place to live, a stable job—I don’t want to feel this way.” 

Minho felt the lump in his throat grow as he stumbled on words further, breaking into strings of apologies, closing his eyes to stop the tears from pricking. “I know you guys are disappointed—but I couldn’t dump my issues onto you. You guys work so hard, and I’m just—I can’t.” 

“Minho-ya,” Chan said gently, prying the other’s hands away that rubbing his face furiously. “Minho-ya. Listen. I think we cannot be help to you. You need to talk to someone qualified, okay? The pain you’re describing is not something that happens just because it happens. I’m not saying there’s an issue or anything, all I’m saying is your mind is in a very vulnerable state at the moment. We might say something and that might be all that is required for you to—-nevermind.” 

Chan wrapped his hands around Minho’s shoulder, who just let his stupor break and crumble and fall apart in Chan’s embrace. “Everything feels so useless, hyung. I’m useless. I can’t do anything.” 

“That’s not true. Baby, that is not true. You are doing so much, when I can’t come back to the dorm, you drive over here and make sure that Hyunjin’s doing okay. You take care of everyone. You dance like a god, and hell, I love everything about you,” Chan whispered, stroking Minho’s back over and over again, gently rocking in his place. 

“I’ll talk to the managers about this, okay?” Chan mumbled, planting a kiss on Minho’s forehead. “Baby. Minho-ya. You fought so well. You need to keep fighting, yeah? We’ll help you the best we can.” 

Minho sniffled, breaking down further into Chan’s arms, hiding his face in the elder’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. 

“You’re alright. Believe me, you’ll be fine. God, I should’ve talked to you about this before, I’m sorry too, baby,” Chan rocked Minho in his arms, closing his eyes as he did. 

Minho only sobbed harder. 

Therapy was… therapy. A nice older man with the smile of his favorite cousin was his doctor, along with a woman who assisted them. It wasn’t comfortable opening up to them anytime, they scared him in a way—like whenever he’d say something, the woman would jot it down and write down what Minho could have also meant. 

He didn’t tell them about the whole issue of self-harm though, he was pretty sure they’d have a manager check him if that were the case. What he did tell them was about the negative thoughts that no matter what seemed to plague his mind. 

With how reserved he had been at the start, the doctors were very skeptical about making a diagnosis—settling on persistent depression for the first week—changing it to unipolar depression once he told them about some of his thoughts. It wasn’t the worst case but it wasn’t a case to be shouldered either. 

The doctors spent almost a week more prying more information out of Minho, calmly and surprisingly showing no signs of annoyance at how slow he was to open up. After the second week he had ended up opening up to them about his family—how he grew up majorly by himself with absent parental figures other than an occasional extended family member. 

By the end of the month, the psychiatrist had given his manager the medications and precautions to be maintained, and Minho was sent back to the dorm with an orange bottle of disgusting-looking pills. 

After Chan found out—not from him, but from the manager, he made sure to be the one that tracked Minho’s intake—causing all the eight members to cram into a single dorm for the next two weeks. 

The first time Minho took the pills he hadn’t felt anything for the first minutes, feeling alright just cuddling on the couch next to Changbin and Seungmin, but then it hit. The numbness, the emptiness, and the hollowness of no emotions. The sensation that made him forget how to swallow. 

He felt nothing. Was in a state of comatose with physical consciousness. “Bin,” he whispered, tugging at the younger’s shirt as he tried to inch closer into Changbin’s warmth. It felt weird. It felt uneasy. Everything felt so futile and useless and he couldn’t think clearly—as if whatever he had presented on a messy chalkboard had been smudged upon. 

“Hyung?” Seungmin asked, rubbing Minho’s waist as an attempt of comfort. It only made him feel worse. An action like this made him jolt but recline into coax, but now it made him feel further empty. 

He wanted to feel sad. But he couldn’t. He wanted to feel something—anything more than this overwhelming numbness. “I can’t feel,” he shook his head, eyes pricking with tears but he couldn’t connect any emotion with it. 

“Min,” Changbin muttered, pulling away a little to look Minho in the eyes. “What’s happening?” 

“Binnie. I can’t feel,” Minho felt the tears trickle down his face, he couldn’t even bring himself to wipe them. Changbin swallowed helplessly, exchanging glances with Seungmin, who got up presumably to call someone. 

Minho felt his chest almost ache with how much his hands were trembling. He didn’t know. He didn’t know . He couldn’t tell what was wrong or what was right. Everything was like a mystery. Like he had opened Pandora’s box and all the sorrows had filled his body. 

He felt someone’s weight dip behind him and a small voice. “Linoring?” Jisung. 

Minho pushed away from Changbin and let himself collapse into Jisung’s arms. Jisung usually made him feel comfortable, did he not? Made him smile and be happy and relaxed. He could feel the tension leaving his body but his mind resisted telling him he was feeling anyway. 

“What are you… no, do you feel numb? Can you tell me how you feel?” Jisung asked, rubbing Minho’s back as the older emotionlessly let tears stream down his face. “Empty. Jisung. I don’t—I can’t feel anything. I don’t want to do this.” 

Jisung inhaled sharply, rubbing comforting circles into Minho’s back as he played with the strands of hair that grew near his nape. “Your heart rate is steady,” Jisung said, removing his hand from Minho’s back to make a gesture or adjust his position. 

“Hey, Min,” he saw Chan crouching down in front of the sofa, a small hand resting on his knee. “We’re all here,” Jisung said. “Do you want to hear what Changbin hyung did in the studio?” 

Minho couldn’t respond, feeling himself sink into the couch further before he noticed Felix sitting next to Chan and Hyunjin slipping to sit behind him—nimble fingers tracing the ridges on his back. 

“...well, he spilled coffee, to begin with—and the room smelt amazing for a while until the smell of totally dainty rotting milk began filling the room. It was disgusting—we had to tell the janitors what had happened…. They laughed at us. Innie tried rapping today…. Minnie was laughing so hard that he spilled his tiny candy.” 

“Yah!” Seungmin said weakly, the small sound of a slap echoing before some of them laughed. Minho wanted to laugh too, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

“The tiny candy ended up going everywhere and the staff scolded him, and Hyunjin because he was laughing at Seungmin…” 

Jisung’s voice faded into the background and Minho simply closed his eyes, sniffling lightly before losing consciousness. 

Everything had its downfalls. Affection too. With the comeback approaching, Minho’s therapy appointments became reserved to monthly from weekly; the members of the second dorm moved back to their own. 

Minho wasn’t glass, but he couldn’t help but crack at how everyone was so busy all the time. He worked hard on their track songs, and worked on improving the choreo. He felt better with the lower dosages, but the higher dosage still sat in his closet, forgotten (by everyone but him). 

Comeback meant crammed schedules and more individual practices, leaving him bone exhausted whenever he came back to the dorms. Comeback itself wasn’t the problem, it was the emotions it brought with it. 

Expectations. Expectations. Expectations . 

Minho couldn’t afford to screw up anything, and he had already ended up snapping at the younger members for not getting the choreo right. It was a shitty thing to do, but he didn’t know how else to deal with it. 

The comeback had wrung out the last straw of life in Minho’s body, making a machine for the crowd, dancing to please and singing to voice. A puppet of the mind, an endless struggle. He ended up missing his monthly appointment because they had a photo shoot with an important figure. 

This time, he tried bringing it up to Chan, only to have the door be opened ajar to reveal Chan with eye bags—when he had been too stunned to speak, Chan just shut the door in his face, leaving his thoughts spiraling once again. 

That was until the day before the comeback, when he couldn’t stop the way his heartbeat was turning erratic at the third fight between Chan and Changbin over something as stupid as the other repeatedly making the same mistake in the same ordeal. Just last week, they had to sort out passive fights with Hyunjin and Felix. 

It kept going on. 

That was the day that Minho realized that whenever he intervened he was always told to step out—or told that it was none of his business. No matter how much he tried to make the others feel better, they felt worse—telling him no thanks and to go about his way.

That was the day the idealization of death came back. 

He had nobody. The members didn’t need him—didn’t need to share the burden he carried. His parents had already looked down upon the choice of becoming an idol, and his cats would be fine. His friends outside the company would be fine too. 

Like last time, he noticed how it made his mood feel so much better. He stopped taking the pills and began stocking them up, transferring a pill from his current bottle to another empty one daily. 

Comeback stages went fine, he danced to perfection and his sudden elated mood seemed to hype the others up too. It was a major success with their albums selling twice as much as last time. 

His happiness was felt by everyone, and everyone seemed to smile back at him too. It was as though a gray film had been lifting off him. Minho closed his eyes on his bed, and crossed his hands behind him to support his head. 

He was going to kill himself . 

He saw Jeongin alone in the dorms, easily walking over to him and slinging a hand on his shoulder. “Hyung?” The younger one sounded surprised as he met Minho’s eyes. 

“Hey there,” Minho ruffled his hair, reminded of how the I.N from a few years back had his hair always unkept. “How are you?”

“We met at practice, hyung,” the younger pouted, making grabby hands for Minho to which the older couldn’t decline. He found himself being pulled into a tight embrace by the younger man, easily falling on the once small chest that now was supported by wide shoulders. He sighed, inhaling Jeongin’s scent. 

“Is there any reason Innie’s awake at two in the night?” Minho asked, nosing his face in the crook of Jeongin’s neck. 

“Bad dream,” Jeongin confessed, running his hand against Minho’s back. Minho could feel himself relax and melt in the hold, humming softly. 

“Want to tell hyung what was in it?” He asked, trying to get the leverage of Jeongin being the one against his chest, only to be held down by Jeongin. 

“It was about you,” Jeongin whispered.

Minho stilled. “About me?” He asked quietly. 

“Mhm. Just stay like this hyung, don’t leave me,” the younger said, pulling Minho impossibly close to his body as the couch would let him. Minho sighed, stroking Jeongin’s hair, tracing how much the younger had grown into being a man. 

He felt faint pricks of Jeongin’s stubble against his thumb and felt the definition of his jaw against his fingers. He was so different from how he used to be, from the meek teenage boy that clung to him and Chan and into his own man. 

However, there were still the same eyes that looked at him with the same fondness. Minho quietly brought his hand to cover the latter’s eyes, and nuzzled his head into Jeongin’s chest. God. He would miss this little guy so much. 

He gave Changbin a pat on his ass to signal for him to make room for Minho to cram onto the bed. The kids had decided to have a movie night at the other dorm, making Minho drive them there. 

“You’re not watching the movie?” Changbin asked, glancing up at Minho as he made space, lifting the blanket up as an invitation that Minho graciously took, sliding in and feeling his head sink into the soft pillow. Changbin propped himself on his side, head supported by his palm. 

“Nah. It’s a melodrama again. Hyunnie and Sung wanted to watch it, the others were roped into it,” Minho said, stretching a little before he turned on the bed to face Changbin. “What about you, Binnie?” 

“Too much screen time. The doctor told me to avoid screens,” Changbin replied. 

“She’s right about that,” Minho agreed, feeling Changbin shift closer and let Minho drape his arm over his waist. 

“Any reason hyung chose me? Specifically?” Changbin teased, admiring Minho’s new hair color in the LED lights. Minho stuck his tongue out before sighing again and humming. 

“I had an idea for lyrics,” he confessed, hand twiddling with the hem of Changbin’s shirt. “I wrote it down, but I want you to open it later… on your birthday, hm?” 

“Oh,” Changbin breathed. “You?” 

“Yes, me,” Minho rolled his eyes. “I can have lyrical thoughts too. I’m not a dancing machine.” 

“But you are,” Changbin pointed. “You during Kingdom was a completely different person.” 

Minho offered a sweet smile. “You’re not wrong.” 

“Anyways, hyung, how have you been recently?” Changbin asked, taking the moment to pull Minho closer to him again, waiting for the elder’s usual snarks about skinship that never came. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Minho said. “Think I found my nirvana.” 

“Woah, woah, you’re using high words.” 

“You’re just jealous I’m more equivocal than you.” 

“Look. .. nevermind. You’re still an ass,” Changbin groaned, looping his hand on Minho’s waist and sighing into his neck. “But… you were saying?” 

“Nothing, I’m doing better.” 

“Mhm, I’m glad. I’m really glad to have you here, Min.” 

“Fuck off, sap,” Minho tried to push Changbin away, but to no avail, the younger was stronger. It made him reminisce how bony and skinny Changbin used to be in the past—how insecure he was about his body. Now, he seemed more comfortable walking around with a marvelous muscle mass. 

“Oh right,” Minho muttered, slipping his hand into the pocket of his sweats and taking out the envelope that had the lyrics. “Here. Don’t open it until your birthday.” 

“Why this early?” 

Because I might not be there by then . 

“Just because. Why is there an issue?” 

“Of course not, Minho-nim,” Changbin took the envelope from him and rested it on his bedside table. “Now, let me annoy you.” 

“Try your luck.” 

“What about you though?” Felix asked as Minho began picking up his duffle bag, pausing by the doorway to stuff his bottle into it.

“What about me?” He teased, zipping the bag shut. “Hyunjin’s coming here in a few minutes. He showed me the choreo, I bet you guys will like it.”

“Where are you going?” Seungmin asked, removing his headphones and glancing at Minho in a confused way.

“I was going to do some work on my own,” Minho didn’t meet either of their confused gazes. “I have... some things I need to do and I think it’ll be easier if I’m alone.”

“What’re you doing?” Felix inquired, voice flat—not how it was pitching back and forth between octaves.

“Personal things,” Minho replied with a smile, gripping his bag tightly. Felix glanced at Seungmin to see the latter man already looking at him. 

There was a heaviness in the air that weighed them down, forcing them out of whatever happy stupor they were in and feeling concerned as they looked at Minho who stood smiling in the doorway. 

“Are you sure you can’t just work here?” Felix asked, quickly striding over, only to step back when Minho flinched away from him. 

“You’ll be fine without me,” Minho said through a smile and it looked so unfathomably tired. “You two are so good at what you do. Perfect, I’m really not that much in comparison. Regardless, I should get going—-

“You… hyung. You don’t really think that, right? We’re all at equal ground,” Seungmin cut him off, his brows furrowed in horror at the genuine shine of distress in Minho’s eyes.

“I should get going,” Minho didn’t answer Seungmin’s question. “Keep me updated on your progress.”

“Hyung-”

“Hello?” Hyunjin poked his head in, his smile fading as he recognized the tension in the room. “Everything good?” 

“Yep,” Minho said, patting the younger’s shoulder as he began walking past him, only to be jerked back when Hyunjin wrapped his fingers around his wrist. 

“Where are you going? Hyung?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Minho tried to pull his hand away from Hyunjin’s grip, but the exhaustion that had permanently laced itself in between Minho’s body didn’t allow him. “C’mon. You guys can work, I have something I need to do.” 

“What is that?” 

Minho opened and shut his mouth, using the last momentum he had to pry his hand away from Hyunjin and briskly walk away. 

“Minho—” 

But he was gone, running out holding his tears back as he made his way toward one of the rooms he was sure was empty. 

“Those earrings are cute,” Seungmin murmured as he sat on the dining table beside Minho. “They suit you a lot, hyung.” 

The earrings were a pretty jade that ended near Minho’s chin. He had worn them often, not in front of the fans, but while meeting his friends in and out of the industry. He liked them a lot, but he wouldn’t be able to wear them for much longer. 

He wordlessly began taking them off and laid the first piece on the table followed by the second. “Hyung?” Seungmin asked, tilting his head in confusion. 

Minho gave Seungmin a small smile. “You can have them,” he said. 

There was an awkward silence before Seungmin bit his lower lip. “They’re your favorite, I can’t take them.” 

“I want you to have them,” Minho retorted, cupping them and pulling Seungmin’s hand towards him and placing the garments in his palm. “I think they suit your eyes.” 

Seungmin’s hands used to be smaller than their current size, just a few centimeters bigger than Minho’s, now they were more than an inch apart. Minho smiled as he picked up the earrings and compared their hand sizes. 

How cute. 

“C’mon, I’ll put the earrings on for you,” he muttered, pushing his chair closer and pulling Seungmin closer to him as he began unscrewing the back of the earrings. 

“Are you sure?” The younger man asked. 

“Of course, Seungminnie will look really pretty,” Minho grinned as Seungmin flushed. 

Jisung lay on his stomach, rambling about another incident that occurred the previous day, and Minho couldn’t help but watch him fondly. The younger’s cheeks were the same as they were years back, eyes beautiful and more comfortable in his own body, unlike the insecure boy he had originally met. 

“Are you listening?” Jisung pouted, switching his position so he was laying flat on Minho’s chest. “C’mon… will you stop staring?” 

“No,” Minho stuck his tongue out. “Sungie’s too pretty to stop.” 

Jisung’s cheeks reddened momentarily before he sat upright. “Don’t say things like that out of nowhere, hyung.”

Minho smiled, pushing the latter’s outgrown fringes out of his eye, and pressed his hand against the mole on his face. He then traced Jisung’s eyebrows and the faintest freckles on his cheek that could only be seen if one were close enough. 

“Hyung?” Jisung asked quietly, glancing up at him, gently wrapping his hand around Minho’s wrist. 

“Hm?” 

“Is anything wrong?” 

“What… no?” Minho replied, not meeting Jisung’s eyes as he spoke. He couldn’t believe his own choice. He was going to go through with what he had planned. 

Jisung watched him in pique. “Is hyungie sure? You don’t seem so good.” 

“I’m sure, Sung. Just came here for some quietness,” he muttered, motioning towards the empty studio. The silence actually made his ears ache with tinnitus, but he didn’t mind that when he focused on Jisung’s breathing. 

“Quiet? I’m quite the opposite,” Jisung pursed his lip. 

“Doesn’t matter, being with you makes me feel quiet,” Minho whispered, pulling his hand away from Jisung’s tiny grip and resuming stroking the younger’s hair. 

“Mhm,” Jisung hummed, closing his eyes in contentment. 

The fans always wanted them to be romantically inclined with each other, but within that journey, the both of them found the coax in each other. 

“I’m exhausted,” Jisung groaned, pushing himself on Minho and sighing contentedly. “Wake me up when Chan hyung calls.” 

“Sure,” Minho smiled, letting Jisung snuggle close to him. He sighed as he felt the former’s hands on his body settle down from their fidgeting. He’d miss Jisung so much, but this was for the younger’s own good. 

“Why is your part barely in the center?” Chan asked, eyes narrowing at the video Minho showed him. 

“I’ve had many chances to be in the center,” he muttered, looking uneasily at his hands. He had an interesting conversation with Hyunjin and Felix too, both of who were as reluctant as the other to listen to Minho’s ‘idea’. 

“That’s not how it works. You’re barely in the picture,” Chan frowned. 

“It’s fine, hyung.” 

“No, it’s not,” Chan argued, pausing the video and glancing at the younger man. “Even for your own parts, you’re not in the center.” 

“I know , I wanted to talk to you about that. I uh, my throat has been going sore recently for unknown reasons, and it’s really difficult to sing,” he lied, trying to look as convincing as possible. 

Chan narrowed his eyes. “Your voice sounds fine to me, Minho.” 

“It’s the initial symptoms,” Minho laughed nervously. “It’s a bit scratchy.” 

There was an awkward silence in the room and Chan squeezed Minho’s hand. It reminded him of how Chan was always by his side near the eliminations no matter what. “Is there any other reason that you aren’t telling me?” 

“What? No,” Minho shrugged it off, shaking his head. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want to be included in the choreo? You’re one of our main dancers, and dancing is your forte, you need to be able to showcase it,” Chan said, eyes glancing back at the phone. 

“I just want the younger members to shine, y’know?— You too,” Minho smiled softly. “Sometimes I think the world is cruel but then I remember that you guys exist. I just want everyone to shine.” 

And I’m not meant to be within those stars, goes unsaid.

“Minho?” Chan’s voice sounded concerned, and Minho glanced at the elder. “Is… Is everything okay?” 

“Mhm,” Minho nodded. “As I said, I really love you guys. I don’t know what I could’ve done if it wasn’t for you.” But you can survive without me, you can easily live without me. I’m just dragging you down.

“Minho,” Chan’s voice was firmer, and he pulled Minho’s chair so the younger man was facing him. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is, hyung. I’m just happy,” Minho knew if he said more he could potentially fuck up his entire plan. 

Chan inhaled sharply and opened his arms as a prompting and Minho stared at it for a moment before getting off the chair and settling down on Chan’s lap, feeling the elder hold him tightly. 

I love you so much, Chan-hyung. You are the person who gave me a chance to debut and live with such incredible people. Thank you.

Minho shuddered and Chan rubbed his back. “Are we okay? Minho-ya?” 

“Mhm, I needed this.” 

Minho almost cried when he realized he had to leave Hyunjin too. 

He swallowed hesitantly as he knocked on the dance room door and opened it. Hyunjin was lying on the floor, sweaty and tired, and he craned his neck to see who had entered. 

“Minho-hyung,” Hyunjin registered and shot upright, sitting straight and turning on the ground, smiling at Minho. 

God, he’d miss that stupid smile. 

Minho nodded and locked the door behind him as he entered the room. “Hello,” he said, walking over to Hyunjin and sitting down. He and the members never lied that whenever Hyunjin was sweaty he smelled nice. It was almost like a musky scent of heavy perfume. 

He noticed their reflection in the mirror and caught Hyunjin’s eyes looking at him from underneath the cap he wore. Minho huffed and turned to face Hyunjin, taking the cap off the younger’s head before he slipped closer to him. 

“Anything up?” Hyunjin asked automatically, head tilting. 

Minho shook his head and eyed the mole near the aegyo, then at the soft eyes and plump lips. He had met Hyunjin with the title of him being ‘Jisung’s enemy’ or some type of crap. And since he wasn’t that close to Hyunjin, he had just shunned him. 

That wasn’t until he had walked into the room and saw Hyunjin dancing to a song, with his skinny body working to its limits with how intricately he was controlling his movements. It was alluring and magnificent and had almost landed a crack in Minho’s conscience. He had watched Hyunjin collapse right after that, and realized that the idiot was dancing while he was sick—and yet so beautiful. 

They soon had learned about their shared hunger to grow . To reach the top, to become the best; Minho hadn’t expected to get so close to this man, but he had. 

Minho met Hyunjin’s eyes before he pushed back on the younger and kissed him. Hyunjin made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but let Minho indulge in his acts, kissing back as though it was second nature. 

The kiss was desperate, lacking passion and aggression. It was a grounding one that was merely there to prove to Minho that he still wanted to stick around. 

They pulled away minutes later and Hyunjin frowned. “That… that wasn’t done in a long time.” 

Minho nodded, sitting between Hyunjin’s legs, facing him. 

“Min-hyung, are you okay?” Hyunjin asked, inclining and intertwining their fingers. Minho nodded instinctively. 

“Can I say something? Hyunnie?” Minho asked, turning around and letting his head rest against Hyunjin’s chest. 

“Sure.” 

“I think you’re the most beautiful star I’ve met,” he confessed. “Like the brightest one. Do you remember the road trip we took to visit Changbin’s native? Chan had stopped the car in some meadow and we had stargazed. You told me so much about stars that day.” 

“Minho…” 

“Let me continue,” Minho chided. “I’m being thoroughly honest. You’re probably the most amazing person I’ve met on top of that. You shine with overwhelming talent that used to scare me. You’re an artist, poet, photographer, singer, rapper, dancer, with an indescribable love for simplicity and extravagance.” 

Hyunjin quietly brushed Minho’s hair to the side and back, heartbeat quickening. 

“I don’t usually know how to say it, but I think I love you. In all aspects, as my friend, colleague, and even romantically if I was given a chance,” Minho closed his eyes as he confessed, body losing all its tension as the words that weighed him were finally lifted. 

“If there was another reality—another life, where we could be together, I would be more than happy to meet there,” he smiled. 

“...minho. Something’s not okay, right? Why do you sound like you’re going to leave us?” Hyunjin’s voice wavered as he held Minho closer. “And I love you too, I just thought we were messing around and my feelings were just futile.” 

“They’re never futile, Hyunjin-ah,” Minho opened his eyes and stroked Hyunjin’s cheek gently, smiling a crinkled-paper-like smile. 

“I’m kissing you again, you idiot,” Hyunjin declared. 

“Fuck you, is that a way to address your elders?” 

“Only to you,” Hyunjin giggled, pressing a more passionate kiss to Minho’s lips and swallowing the retort that left the elder’s mouth. 

Letters. 

Everything was simple. He had it planned out. Minho raked his eyes over the new pack of razors that sat perched at the edge of his closet. He inhaled shakily. 

He had written his reasons in all the letters, he had addressed one to their manager so the older man could use it as an official statement for JYPent. and termination of the contract. He had written one to each member. 

Taking the longest on Hyunjin, Chan, and Jeongin’s letters, ending up crying halfway. He was so useless. 

To much of his disappointment, the members of the other dorm had also decided to spend their time with his dorm. It was the last time he would be able to snuggle this close to his members. Since they decided that the couch was too small, he, Chan, and Changbin dropped a bunch of pillows, blankets, and extra mattresses in front of the TV. 

Minho felt like crying. Sobbing and shaking his head as he felt Hyunjin push his head on his thigh, have his back against Changbin’s chest and head supported by Felix. Chan rested his bicep on his calf, and Seungmin and Jeongin were touching him in some way or another. He loved them so much. 

His dear family. 

Albeit, he didn’t cry. He let himself relax in their hold. 

It didn’t take long before he felt Jisung come to lay on his chest and disturb Hyunjin. It felt as though the world didn’t want him to make the choice he was about to. Although, it was too late for that. 

The movie ended in two hours, but it felt only about a minute for Minho, who snapped out of his reverie when he felt Changbin pat his shoulder. Chan easily picked up Jeongin and Seungmin and let them fall asleep on the couch while he moved himself to take up the smaller mattress while Hyunjin groggily picked up Jisung off Minho.

With everything dismantled, Minho stood up, muttering a small goodnight to Changbin, who seemed like the only one awake. The younger one didn't question it much as Minho slipped into his room. He waited there for what seemed like hours before he carefully slipped out and placed the letters on the kitchen counter. 

When he walked back to his room, he felt himself fall into an automatic walk. He grabbed the disgusting orange bottle of pills. It wasn’t only filled with the first dosage of antidepressants, it was filled with various sleeping pills he was prescribed but never took and a couple of painkillers. He pocketed the razor and slipped out of the room and into the bathroom, grabbing one of the water bottles on the shelf. 

No one would question it. There were two bathrooms, and this was just an extra one. 

It might be hard for his members for the following days, but they’d make it. 

He locked the door behind him and exhaled shakily as he turned the fluorescent light on and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked frail and dimmed of life. 

Minho let himself fall to the ground and stared at the razor and pills. 

He opened the bottle of pills and eyed them with nausea. He hadn’t realized pills had a scent until he brought the bottle closer to himself. Minho unscrewed the water bottle cap and stared aimlessly for a long time before he took two pills and popped them in his mouth, followed by a quick gush of water. 

He repeated the motion, taking two more pills till he had taken almost twelve. He was feeling dizzy and uneasy but he ripped out the razor and didn’t wince as it struck a cut on his thumb. He brought it to his wrist and for the first time in a decade, sliced vertically, feeling himself choke out a silent sob. 

He closed his eyes and slipped. He couldn't tell the time or what was happening or if he even was consuming the pills or dropping them. Blood was flowing out of his arm and staining his pants and shirt, and he couldn’t focus on anything. 

Bang!

The door was banged upon and Minho couldn’t feel anything. 

There were more bangs on the door and loud slaps, as if those on the outside were desperately trying to get in. Minho wanted to tell them to go away, that it was alright, he was okay. But he couldn’t find the voice in him. The sleeping pills took a while to kick in and the overdose of antidepressants was making him unresponsive and sick and shaking. 

“ Minho. Fucking open the door!” 

“Please,... he’s not responding!” 

“Hyungs… do something, please.” 

“Minho!” 

“Minho-yah, Minho… please respond.” 

“Open the door Minho.” 

Minho felt tears fall down his cheeks, filling the salty taste in his mouth. 

There was so much blood, so many pills scattered on the floor and everything was double in his vision. The curtain he claimed to hate but silently liked, the bucket that was there in case the lights went out. 

He fell to the floor, unable to feel the energy to hold himself upright. 

That’s when an even louder bang echoed and he was too tired to register what was happening. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe he was in hell for the choices he made. 

Maybe he was in heaven. But angels didn’t curse, did they?

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

“Jisung, Jisung-ah! Listen to me, call the ambulance, now!” 

“Seungmin, Jeongin, get out of here.”

“Hyunjin, please, calm down—” 

“Is he okay—-”

The gasps echoed in the room and Changbin pushed past them and fell to his knees as he registered the scene. “Chan hyung! Help!” He propped Minho upright and over the toilet bowl, pushing his fingers into the man’s mouth in an attempt to draw a reflex. 

Minho gagged on them, and that was enough to bring Chan to his side, holding Minho while Changbin continued pressing his fingers against Minho’s throat. 

Minho threw up on them, stomach emptying all the content it had consumed, and body convulsing in their hold. He was bleeding out and he was so dizzy. Minho tried to breathe but Changbin desperately pressed his fingers against the latter’s throat, causing him to puke once again.

“Where are the paramedics!?” Someone shouted and there was even louder shuffling that Minho was too out of to make out. He fell limp against Chan and could feel sleep dawn over him. 

“No!” Felix shouted, pinching his hand. “You have to stay awake, hyung! You fucking have to! Stay awake, please!” 

But Minho was slipping, he couldn’t find any resistance in his body. 

“The ambulance is here!” 

“Somebody please calm Hyunjin down—he’s having a panic attack!” 

“Move away, we’re bringing the stretcher here.” 

Minho felt an unknown hand move his jaw, causing him to open his eyes a slit. “Minho-ssi? Minho-ssi? Can you hear us? We need you to stay awake, sir. You cannot fall asleep.” 

Minho felt a mask slip on his face and his arm be touched by something sterile that made him cry out through his reverie in pain at the burning sensation. 

When Minho felt light be filtered through his closed eyes, he shifted the slightest, only to be restrained down. His eyes opened as he tried moving his legs, but to no avail, couldn’t. His entire body felt pangs of pain through it as he tried moving. 

He tried to speak but his entire passageway was dry and all he could murmur was a cracked sound of shit.

It took him a few moments before the scent of a hospital hit him, he stared at the white ceiling and dull white-blue fluorescent lights. He heard a fast-paced beep beep beep and noticed the door being pushed open by a nurse, who quickly rushed to his side. 

“Minho-ssi, can you hear me?” he asked. 

Minho nodded dazedly. 

“Okay, you need to calm down a little, is that okay? Only then can I speak to you.” 

It took a while but Minho managed to calm himself enough that the other man was okay with it. The nurse moved away from him and towards his legs, unstrapping the velcro that was binding both his ankles—Minho felt his wrists be freed next. 

“You’re really lucky to have survived that,” the man muttered when he noticed Minho try to turn the wrist of his left hand but freeze at the sudden ache. “You… you hit an artery.” 

There was an awkward silence in the room and Minho felt more awake as reality began downing itself on him. 

“I’m checking your vitals,” the nurse declared, glancing back when he noticed another nurse enter the room. She handed a few devices and gave Minho a small smile when she saw that he had come to it.

The male nurse gave him a small sympathetic look before he left the room.

“I’m going to check your vitals,” the nurse said as she placed some of the equipment on the other bed before walking over to Minho. 

Minho wanted to nod, to acknowledge her because he knew it was the kind thing to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. She checked his pupils and took his blood pressure and temperature. She might have done some other quick tests, but he stopped paying attention. His eyes stared, unfocused at the weave of his blanket and the heavy bandaging on his left hand. 

“You’ll make a full recovery, according to the doctors,” she said softly, walking over to the water filter and filling water in a small paper cup before handing it to Minho, who sat up with great difficulty. 

His hand shook as he brought the water to his mouth and took a sip, immediately feeling his throat itch. It was so parched that it concerned him. He went down the water quickly and was thankful to the nurse who handed him another cup. 

Once he was sure he could speak, he opened his mouth. “How long?” 

“Four days,” she replied. “Your vitals were far too low when the ambulance brought you here—we didn’t think you’d make it.” 

Minho swallowed another bubbling dryness in his throat. He failed.  

It brought an inkling of shame and embarrassment to cloud his entirety. He failed.  

There were two insulin wires stuck in both his arms and his head felt too light to be real. 

“Your manager and… group leader are waiting outside,” she muttered, quickly putting her hand on his shoulder when he noticed his heart rate spike. “You could have a few minutes to yourself, if that’s what you want.” 

Minho shook his head drearily. 

“Alright,” the nurse whispered as she placed another cup of water beside him and walked out the door to call the two visitors. 

Minho buried his face in his arm. Why was he alive? Why wasn’t he dead? He was supposed to be dead. He had tried too hard and been so careful, what could have possibly gone wrong? Perhaps, he should’ve taken more pills, and drawn harsher cuts, but he threw all those thoughts away. 

What the fuck had he done? 

He had made living a shame by messing with his life. He couldn’t face anyone and no one would trust him. He had ruined his life, career, and everything by failing this. Why did they have to save him? 

The door opened and his vitals spiked again, he peeked up to see their manager and Chan walking over to him, seating themselves on the two visitor stools. 

He tore his gaze away from them. “Hey Min,” Chan muttered, but his voice sounded tired and parched from crying. 

“Hi…” 

“Minho…” their manager began, a soft look on his face. 

Minho closed his eyes tight and couldn’t stop the way his heart rate kept spiking. He croaked, “I’m sorry.” 

“Please don’t apologize,” their manager murmured. 

“Have some water,” Chan said, quickly picking up the cup from the table and bringing it to Minho’s mouth. When Minho downed the water, their manager spoke, “They had to pump your stomach so your throat is going to be sore for a little bit.” 

There was an awkward pause in which the manager looked almost hesitant to deliver the information. “Changbin did his best to get as many of the pills out of your stomach.”

Chan chuckled humorlessly. “He ended up scrapping your throat quite a bit.” 

“And if it wasn’t for Felix who pressured your arm, perhaps you wouldn’t be alive,” their manager added. “They saved you… all of them.” 

Minho felt his breath start to get stuck in his throat. “How…?” He asked. How did they know? What did he miss? Where did he go wrong?

“Hyunjin said that you hadn’t come out of the bathroom for a while, so he woke up and waited for you, pacing around here and there before he entered the kitchen and saw the letters. He ripped open the first one and panicked and woke me and Changbin. Within the commotion all the other members woke up,” Chan explained, eyes drained of their brightness but his voice was warm.

Minho felt his nose begin to clog with the foretelling of a breakdown. 

“And we found you,” Chan whispered. 

“I didn’t want you to find me,” Minho closed his eyes tightly, sniffling. 

“Why didn’t… We should’ve been there for you,” Chan whispered, a small whimper escaping his mouth. 

“I was fine. And it isn’t your fault. You guys… were the best to me,” Minho looked at the ceiling, holding back tears. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” the other two men chided him, their hands touching his uninjured one. Chan and their manager exchanged glances. “Everyone was sleeping in this room for the past few days, hoping that you wouldn’t be alone when you wake up. Me and Chan just sent them out to get something to eat under the vigilance of another staff member.” 

“I’ll give the two of you some time,” their manager stood up. “And tell me if you want the others to come here.” 

Both of them nodded at the older man before Chan stood up. He gave Minho a lopsided smile and Minho found himself crying. “I’m so sorry, hyung,” he sobbed, and although it hurt to speak he couldn’t stop the bubbles of apologies that left his mouth, continuous. It took him a while to realize that even Chan was crying. 

“I should’ve seen the signs, I should’ve done something, too, Minnie. I thought you were doing better when you began smiling more, but I should’ve known this,” the elder sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I should've been more firm with the management about your therapy sessions about giving us more breaks.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Minho cried into Chan’s shoulder, body numbed. 

“I love you so much, Minho-ya. Never forget that. I would give up the world for you, and seeing you bleeding out on the floor was something I don’t think I can ever forget. I thought you were dead . Hyunjinnie loves you so much, he spent all his time here the past week and refused to eat anything until you woke up,” Chan said wetly. “Everyone loves you so much. You’re a part of our puzzle. Without you we’re incomplete. We love you so damn much.” 

Minho sobbed, breath hitching pathetically and tears never stopping. 

“I’ll never do something like this again. I hate this. Please, I’m so sorry. I can’t do anything right, I just,” he couldn’t finish the sentence and Chan just shushed him. 

“The company’s willing to accept you back, and we’re not and will never leave you alone. You're our Minnie. Our Minho hyung, the formidable man that takes care of everyone but not himself. We will take care of you. We love you so much.” 

He had been a bubble, floating in the air and letting the wind carry him anywhere. Now he was a bubble that was stuck to many other ones, smaller and larger, stuck together and never letting go until they popped together. 

They stayed like that until Minho fell asleep in Chan’s arms, exhausted from crying and apologizing, still muttering apologies feverishly as Chan laid him down. 

He didn’t know what he’d be able to do without Minho. He blamed himself for not seeing the signs, but at the same time, he was able to push those thoughts away and convince himself with the following information: Minho was alive. 

When Minho woke up later, he was surrounded by his members, some resting their heads on the corner of his bed and dozing off, the others on a visitor couch that had been crammed in the room, and others on plastic chairs. 

He could feel his eyes prick with emotion again. 

He was alive. 

He had failed. 

But he also had a reason to live. If not for himself, it was for these people. 

Hyunjin’s face was close to his torso and there was a beautiful drawing of red carnations and daffodils on his bandaged arm. He felt another set of tears escape his eyes as he stared at the ceiling. 

He would try to live life. He would live for these people.