Archive of Our Own

Seungmin woke before his alarm, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before forcing himself upright. His body felt heavy in the way it always did during tight schedules, as if his muscles were slightly delayed in responding to him.

He checked the time on his phone and saw he had twenty minutes before the van left. He went through his usual routine of getting ready, brushing his teeth, fixing his hair enough so it looked less like a birds nest, and pulling on the outfit set aside for practice. His stomach tightened unpleasantly when he remembered he hadn't eaten dinner the night before, but the nausea that came with stress washed over him quickly, and he pushed the thought aside.

He would grab something later. Or maybe he wouldn't... He felt too sick this morning to even think of food.

The dorm was quiet as he slipped on his shoes and headed out the door. Once he was in the van with the others, he rested his head against the window and let the conversation around him fade into background noise. They had a long day ahead. Choreography runthroughs, individual photo shots, and two interviews scheduled back to back. Seungmin breathed slowly and tried not to focus on how tired he already felt.

Practice started with warm ups, and Seungmin forced himself to keep pace with the others. His limbs felt looser after a few minutes, but there was a faint trembling in his legs that he ignored. Luckily nobody noticed, everyone was focused on the new choreography. As they rehearsed the chorus again and again, sweat gathered under his collar, and his head felt too warm, but he stayed sharp enough to keep up. That at least was familiar. Performing well even when he felt drained.
They took a ten minute break between songs. Seungmin sat down on the floor, checking messages from the managers. There was a reminder about the photoshooting order and a note that stylists wanted to adjust his outfit before. His stomach twisted again, and he reached into his bag for his water bottle. Drinking helped the nausea a little, and water did not count as anything. It was safe.

When the break ended, they moved into the next part of choreography, and Seungmin pushed through the stiffness developing in his shoulders and arms. He knew he should eat something before the shooting, but the thought made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to feel weighed down infront of a camera. He could grab something afterward. He would feel hungrier then, probably. Or maybe not...

After practice, they were ushered into the styling area. Seungmin sat in a chair while a stylist fixed his hair and another adjusted the outfit. She tapped his stomach lightly with the back of her hand to smooth the fabric, and her eyes lit up.

"Wow. You've gotten so much leaner lately," she said with a smile. "The lines on your abs show really clearly now. You drop two sizes and suddenly the fit looks perfect on you. The photograph is going to love this."
Seungmin froze for a moment before managing a small nod.

She meant well. He knew she did. But the words hit him in a way they weren't supposed to. Leaner. Two sizes down. Perfect for the camera. His mind twisted them until they no longer sounded like compliments. Something in him whispered that this meant he looked better now only because there had been something wrong with him before. If he gained even a little back, would the outfit look wrong again? Would the camera pick up flaws? Would people notice?

He swallowed and kept still as they finished dressing him. The makeup stylist stepped back and told him he looked better, but the praise did nothing to settle the unease building in his chest. Instead it settled as pressure, if he changed even a little, the image would break. He could not let that happen. Not during comeback season. Not when there were cameras in every corner of the set.

The director called him over for his solo shot. Seungmin walked onto the small platform surrounded by lights, and the sudden brightness made his eyes sting. He lifted his chin and waited for directions.
The director shouted a few poses at Seungmin, which the man immediately did, posing for the camera like he had been trained all these years.

Between takes, he wiped sweat from his neck and caught sight of himself in a monitor. The sharpness of his jaw surprised him. The lighting emphasized it even more. He should have felt proud or relieved, but the insecurity only deepened. If this was what people liked looking at, then he had to maintain it. Going back would feel like failing.

Hours passed with more shootings, either as group or alone, more styling adjustments, and finally splitting off for interviews. During the interview break, the company staff handed out boxed lunches. Seungmin accepted his with a smile but placed it beside him unopened. The smell made his stomach turn, not because it was unpleasant, but because the thought of having anything in his stomach was enough to make him feel nauseous. He told himself he would eat after the interview. Or after the day was over. It didn't matter when. There was always a later.

The others ate around him, laughing and chatting, but Seungmin stayed quiet, drinking more water and pretending he was simply tired. That excuse was believable enough; everyone was tired during promotional periods.

When the lunch break ended, they returned to the interview room. Seungmin kept his posture straight and answered questions smoothly, hiding the growing lightness in his head. He had gotten used to this feeling. Most days, it passed. If not, he was good at masking it. He had learned that people worried when he didn't pretend well enough.

As the interview wrapped up, the staff shuffled them to the studio for one last photo session before they could head back to the dorm. Seungmin followed the group, telling himself he could rest soon. The day had been normal busy, tiring and repetitive. There was nothing unusual or dramatic. This was just how work looked right now.

And as long as he kept everything under control, everything would stay fine. At least that's what he repeated to himself as the dizziness pressed lightly against the edges of his vision and he took another long drink of water, pretending the empty feeling in his stomach meant strength instead of warning.

The next weeks blended together in a way Seungmin had expected but still found exhausting. Preparing a full album meant everything was doubled: longer practices, more vocal rehearsals, more meetings about concept changes, more filming pre-schedules. Since every track had its own choreography and visual style, the group spent most days swapping outfits, practicing a different style of dance, or recording interviews with barely enough breaks to breathe.

Seungmin tried to keep up without letting anyone see how strained he felt. The others were just as busy... busier, actually. Chan, Changbin and Jisung barely slept; Minho was constantly reviewing choreography videos on his phone; Felix and Hyunjin were recording late into the night and Jeongin had more vocal lessons than ever. No one else complained. No one else forgot meals as often as he did.

Some days, he forced himself to eat because he knew the members would worry if he didn't. He would sit with them at the dorm table, chewing slowly even when his stomach protested. Everything felt bad when he ate on days like that, heavy in his throat, heavy in his chest, heavy in the pit of his stomach where the guilt lived.

Other days, the nausea came before he even tried. One moment he was getting ready for practice, the next he was standing in the kitchen realizing he had completely forgotten breakfast again. The knot in his throat would form so fast he couldn't breathe around it. Then he convinced himself he didn't have time anyway. Or he would say he was too stressed. Or he would tell himself he would eat later.

"Later" became a familiar lie, one he didn't mean to tell but repeated anyway.

The weight began to fall off him quickly. At first, it was subtle-his clothes hung a bit differently, his cheeks looked slightly narrower on camera. Then managers started commenting.

"You're fitting the concept perfectly," one said while adjusting his jacket before a photoshoot. "You've slimmed down a lot. It suits this era."
The words landed felt like a smack in the face to Seungmin as mind twisted them instantly.
Slimmer looks better on you.
You looked worse before.
You can't go back.
You were a fat pig.

The stylist who had noticed his abs before kept praising him whenever she pulled clothes over him. "Your legs are so slim," she said one afternoon as she clipped a microphone to his collar. "This styling was made for your type of frame."
Her voice sounded kind, but the thoughts in Seungmin's head weren't.
You only look good because you're small now.
If you gain anything back, you'll ruin this.
Don't mess it up.
Stop eating and stay thin!

Those thoughts had started as faint whispers, easy to ignore when he was distracted, but impossible to erase completely. Now they were becoming clearer, like a quiet, constant hum in the back of his mind.

During choreography practice, Seungmin sometimes felt lightheaded when they restarted a routine for the tenth time, but adrenaline covered most of it. When they took breaks, he drank water until the uncomfortable emptiness settled into something he could tolerate. Water filled space. Water kept him going. Water didn't count.

One afternoon, after recording three different teaser shots, Seungmin sat in a quiet corner backstage while the staff rearranged equipment. He placed his lunchbox beside him and told himself he would open it. He even lifted the lid halfway, but the smell of food nearly made him throw up. He closed the container again and pretended he needed to review script notes.
The members passed him occasionally, each busy with something. Chan stopped once, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay? You've seemed tired lately."

Seungmin nodded with a practiced smile. "Just the schedule."

"That's all of us," Chan replied with a soft laugh, already moving toward the stage when a staff member called him over.
Seungmin watched him go and felt the familiar mix of guilt and relief. He hated lying. But telling the truth wasn't an option, not when he didn't even know what the truth would sound like. I keep forgetting to eat and I don't know why. I feel sick when I try. Compliments make me nervous. I feel better when I'm empty. None of it made sense even in his own head.

When they filmed another MV later that day, the director complimented his sharp profile on camera. The small voice inside him grew a little louder at that.

See? This is the version of you people actually like. Don't ruin it.

By the time they returned to the dorm that night, Seungmin's body felt hollow. He took a shower to ground himself, leaning against the wall for a moment when the water made the room spin slightly. He steadied himself with slow breaths and told himself he just needed sleep.

Food could wait until tomorrow. Everything would feel easier tomorrow.

He lay in bed, muscles aching from practice, stomach tight and empty. The small voice whispered again.
You did well today. Don't mess it up tomorrow.
Seungmin closed his eyes, telling himself he wasn't listening. But the truth was that part of him already believed every word.

The next week passed in the same pattern. Practice, vocal recording, choreo adjustments, more practice, then meetings about directing concepts for the album trailer.
Seungmin tried to keep up with everything, and technically he did, but his body felt like it was always walking two steps behind his schedule.
He forced himself to eat on some days, mainly because Chan or Minho placed a bowl of joghurt or sandwich in his hands and watched him until he took a few bites. He hated being watched, so he always complied and claimed he would finish the rest later.

He didn't.

He knew the members were far busier than he was. They had more parts to polish, more pressure from their individual responsibilities and the fact that they complained far less only stacked another invisible weight on his shoulders. On the days when he forgot to eat entirely, he beat himself up for it, not because he thought skipping food was a problem, but because it was reckless and made him feel weak. Weakness was unacceptable. Weakness meant falling behind.

Every time he looked in the mirror lately, he could see new angles on his face. His cheeks a bit flatter and even his nose looked different. His clothes were all too big now.
But he was satisfied, just like the voice in his thoughts.

If they can handle the schedule without slipping, why can't you?
They're all doing fine. Why aren't you?
At least you look better now. You needed this.

He always shut it down before it could grow, reminding himself that he was tired and that tiredness made thoughts strange, nothing more. Still, the words lingered.

When the company told him he had to attend a luxury fashion event with Jisung, he almost felt relieved. Events meant comfortable chairs, and no choreography counts ringing in his ears. He wasn't thrilled about going, but a calmer environment sounded like a break his body desperately needed.

He and Jisung flew out early in the morning. The hotel they stayed at was modern and clean. Their schedules were clear for the afternoon, so they slept for a few hours, and by the time they arrived at the event, Seungmin felt the most stable he had felt in days.

The event hall was softly lit and filled with fashion influencers, actors, models, and other idols. The music was low enough that conversation could happen. Stylists fussed over him at the last minute, straightening his blazer and smoothing the sleeves. One of them smiled at him brightly.

"You're glowing today," she said. "This outfit fits you perfectly now. You've dropped a size again, haven't you? It really shows on your waistline. You look so refined."

Another nodded enthusiastically. "Your figure photographs amazingly right now."

Seungmin smiled automatically, but inside he was nearly crying. Compliments always were backhanded in some way. He could never quite believe them. Something about their tone made him feel exposed, like they could see through his clothes, see every part of him that wasn't good enough yet.

Of course they praise you now, the quiet voice murmured. You didn't look like this before. They wouldn't have said anything if you still looked bloated on camera. Don't pretend you don't know that.

He swallowed and focused on his breathing until the photographers gestured for him and Jisung to step forward.
The event itself was pleasant. People were friendly, the brand's staff treated them kindly, and the energy in the room stayed light. Seungmin found himself able to nibble at the hors d'oeuvres that passed by on trays. They tasted better than he expected. His chest didn't feel tight the way it usually did when he tried to eat while stressed. He even finished an entire mini pastry without forcing himself to, something he hadn't done in weeks.

By the time they returned to the hotel, he felt very normal.
Jisung followed him into his room without even asking. "If I go to mine, I'll fall asleep instantly," he said while dropping onto the bed face-first. "Let me stay until we eat?"

"Sure," Seungmin said, already reaching for the room service menu.

They picked out dishes together, simple things they both knew they liked. When the food arrived, Jisung watched him carefully, then asked, "Did management put you on another diet without telling me?"

Seungmin blinked. "What? No."

"You're thinner," Jisung said bluntly. "Significantly thinner. You're usually the one reminding me to eat properly, and suddenly it's like you're skipping meals to win a competition."

He tried to laugh it off. "It's just the schedule. When I'm stressed, eating makes me nauseous."

Jisung's expression softened immediately. "Ah... okay. That makes sense. But you still need to eat. Even a little. You know that, right?"

"I do," Seungmin said, and the lie slid out so naturally he almost believed it. "I manage at least one proper meal a day. Some days more."

In truth, he couldn't remember when he last ate a full meal. The memory had to be at least a week old. But Jisung looked relieved, so Seungmin smiled and pushed himself to take a few bites while they talked about the event, the next music video, and the new choreography they would tackle next week. It wasn't easy, but he managed to eat enough that Jisung stopped looking worried.

Eventually, Jisung headed to the shower, humming a song that Seungmin recognized from their new album. Seungmin lay back on the bed, full in a way he wasn't used to anymore, and unlocked his phone.

Posts from the event filled his feed instantly.

"Seungmin looks unreal tonight."
"He's really glowing lately."
"His weight loss suits him so well, he looks so elegant."
"Is he the visual now? Because wow."
"I didn't notice him much before but now he's stunning."
"He should keep this look, it elevates him so much."
"He's my bias, now that he is looking better!"

His fingers felt numb around the phone. He scrolled faster.

"Wow, he lost weight FAST."
"He looks so much better skinnier."
"Finally a body proportion that matches his face."
"He's perfect like this. Don't gain it back."
"And he can go a little slimmer and still look amazing."

The room tilted slightly. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.
They didn't call you beautiful before.
They didn't look at you before.
This is the version of you they like.
You are their bias now because they don't need to feel emberassed to be judged for liking a pig anymore.
You should've fixed yourself sooner.
You look better like this. You know you do.

His stomach, painfully full moments ago, now felt like an overinflated balloon. His skin crawled at the idea that this appearance was purely accidental, an unintended outcome of stress and forgetfulness. It made him feel like a fraud. Like his beauty only existed because he messed up enough times to lose weight without meaning to.

If losing a little made people say this...
How much better could he look if he tried?

The thought didn't scare him the way it should have. It landed too easily, like a puzzle piece that had been waiting for its place.
When Jisung came out of the shower, his hair damp and a sleepy smile on his lips, he crawled into bed beside Seungmin without hesitation and curled against him. It was comforting, warm, familiar, nearly silencing the voice in his head.
But the emphasis was on nearly. The more Seungmin tried to fall asleep and shut the voice out the louder it became.

You still have more to lose.
You could look perfect if you tried.
Never stop!

He closed his eyes, and the thoughts sank deeper, settling into him like they finally belonged.

When they returned home the next afternoon, Seungmin lay in his bed with the curtains half-closed, staring at the ceiling as the notifications on his phone kept popping up. He tried to set it aside, but every thirty seconds he found his hand reaching for it again. The comments on the event photos felt like a drug he had never tasted before.

Every comment calling him "beautiful," "mature," "refined," "visual," or "elegant" lit up a part of his brain that had been starved for reassurance. He hadn't even realized how desperately he wanted to be seen until strangers started saying the exact words he had always convinced himself he'd never hear.

He scrolled through the comments again and again until the sentences blurred, then sat up and pulled his planner out of his backpack. Their comeback preparations meant every day was tightly packed, but there were still small pockets of time-forty minutes here, an hour there, that he could shape into something useful, like another workout.
He began planning.
Wake up early to run before practice.
Avoid eating breakfast. (Say your stomach hurts during lunch-they'll believe that easily.)
Eat a protein bar at dinner on filming days so they won't insist you eat something more.
Drink coffee whenever you're hungry. Drink water when your stomach growls.

He knew exactly how to make it look normal. He had been put on diets before, with no sugar, minimal carbs, and a calorie list that looked more like a punishment. He had always hated it back then. Now he copied the structure from memory and adjusted it downward.

He told himself he wasn't starving. He just needed discipline.

Eating one meal every two days felt like the right balance. Enough to avoid fainting in front of the members, not enough to undo his progress. Except dinner would be the most difficult one with too many eyes watching and too many chances for someone to notice. So maybe the meal shouldn't be dinner. Maybe it should be a late lunch on the second day when they were usually scattered across schedules.
He rewrote the plan again, this time more neatly.
The voice hummed approvingly.

Good.
If you plan well, no one will notice.
You can't slip.
If you slip, they'll feed you.
They'll force you to recover!

He flipped the page and started writing small reminders.
No sugar.
No bread.
No noodles.
No rice unless it's a practice day.
No sauces with sugar.
No snacks unless it's fruit, and only a few bites.

His stomach tightened slightly at the thought, but it felt more like excitement than dread. He could already imagine stepping onto the comeback stage looking better than ever, glowing under the lights, finally matching the image that people suddenly seemed so eager to praise.
He knew it was dangerous. Their schedule was too brutal for something like this. Dancers passed out when they forgot water, not food. But the thought of looking perfect, overrode the warning bells.

He wasn't doing this forever. Just enough to reach the version of himself he saw in the event pictures. The one the comments adored. The one people looked at twice before smiling.
He locked his phone, tossed it aside, and went to shower. The hot water made him feel faint after a few minutes, but he told himself he was imagining it.

Over the next week, the plan started to slip into his routine like it had always been there.
On day one, he skipped breakfast easily. He jogged while the others were still waking up. At lunch, he told Chan he felt nauseous, which wasn't even a lie, his stomach hurt from the coffee he'd had on an empty stomach. When the stylists commented on how defined his waist looked in the new stage outfit, the voice in his head nearly buzzed.
See?
It's working.

On day two, he ate half a salad between schedules, enough to keep his hands from shaking. He forced himself to chew slowly, feeling every swallowed bute settle uncomfortably in his stoma.

After practice he showered alone in the staff bathroom instead of the dorms, he didn't want anyone noticing how easily the standing made him dizzy.

On day three, he let himself have a few bites of chicken during a shoot because the manager watching over them had a habit of pointing out when someone skipped too many meals.
He compensated later by staying at the gym for an extra hour, running until his lungs burned.

The adrenaline didn't fade. If anything, it intensified each day, like he was chasing something invisible and had finally figured out the direction he needed to run.

Comments kept coming in on the event photos, and every time he saw a new one, the voice got louder.

The mirror wasn't his enemy anymore; it became a measurement tool he checked obsessively for progress. He didn't see the hollowing starting in his cheeks or the way his collarbones looked too defined. All he saw was improvement.

Maybe the members noticed the weight loss, maybe they didn't. Regardless, none of them said anything yet, and that felt like proof that his planning worked.
He wasn't sloppy or obvious.
He was becoming beautiful.

Finally.

And the voice praised him every step he took.

---

Three full weeks had passed since the fashion event, and the difference in Seungmin's daily life felt almost invisible from the outside. The days were still filled with practices, MV shoots, choreography revisions and styling meetings. They had wrapped filming for every music video today, polished every choreography until even the smallest movements were burned into muscle memory, and stretched themselves past exhaustion more times than anyone could count.

All that was left now were small adjustments, just a few more vocal lines to re-record so the album would sound as clean as possible.

Seungmin had three lines left for today. One for the title track and two for the B-sides. On paper, it wasn't much. In reality, he already knew he didn't have the energy for even one.

He hadn't eaten yesterday. He had taken a few bites of an apple this morning because their manager insisted, but the fruit had only made his stomach feel tight and sour. Even now, standing in the hallway outside the studio, he kept swallowing against the nausea that was threatening to crawl up his throat.

The first B-side was easy enough. The line didn't demand too much power, just a gentle tone and clean pitch. He managed it in two takes, even though the headphones felt too heavy on his ears and the booth felt too warm.

When Changbin told him it sounded good, he forced a small smile and nodded, pretending he wasn't already trembling.
The second B-side was harder. It was a high line with sharp phrasing, and his breath control was nowhere near where it should have been. He missed the beginning, cracked on the high note, and came in late more times than he wanted to admit.

Every mistake made him feel embarrassed and the voice in his head, which had been quiet for the first few minutes, began stirring again.
You're slipping.
Be careful.
If you mess this up, everyone will know something's wrong.

He told himself to breathe, but the air in the booth felt heavy and stale. He clenched his jaw, focused, and forced himself to sing again. And again. And again.

By the time he finally landed a clean take, his hands were shaking so badly he had to hide them behind his back.

Changbin gave him a thumbs up and a soft grin, and Chan told him "Nice job," but the praise sounded distant, as if it was meant for someone who actually deserved it. Seungmin swallowed, nodded, and stepped out of the booth for a moment to breathe.

The nausea still clung to him, his stomach hurt and his head felt too light.
He should have eaten something real.
He knew that.
But the voice reminded him to not give up.

He sat on the studio sofa for a moment, pressing a hand against his ribs to ease the ache, but the short break wasn't enough. Chan told him to take his time before starting the title track, yet Seungmin insisted he was fine.

He had to be fine.

The title track line was delicate but extremely exposed. It was the kind of part where every slight flaw was noticeable. His first take was breathy. The second sounded strained. The third had too much vibrato. Chan reassured him it still sounded pretty, but Seungmin couldn't agree. All he could hear were imperfections.

Each take made him more frustrated. The pressure that had settled in his stomach earlier now felt like a hard knot twisting tighter every time he opened his mouth.

The booth suddenly felt smaller. The air felt heavier. His vision blurred at the edges, and he had to hold the mic stand to stay steady.
He tried again.
The first note cracked.
He stopped singing immediately, chest hurting.

Chan's voice came through the headset. "Seungmin-ah? It's okay. Come out for a second."
But Seungmin shook his head and tried again, desperate to fix it before they heard how shaky he sounded. He inhaled too quickly, and the sudden rush of air made his stomach churn violently.
He didn't even have time to warn them.

A wave of acid burned up his throat. Panic shot through him as he ripped off the headphones and stumbled backward, making it just far enough to grab the small trash bin at the corner of the booth before vomiting.

It was messy and mostly liquid and stomach acid, and the force of it made his throat feel like it was being scraped raw.

His eyes watered and his knees almost buckled. He coughed and gagged until nothing was left, yet the nausea kept pulsing through him.

The door swung open almost immediately. Chan rushed in, pulling Seungmin's hair out of his face and rubbed his back gently, murmuring something soft. Seungmin couldn't make out the words over the ringing in his ears.

Changbin appeared a moment later with a bottle of water and a blanket.

Seungmin tried to apologize, to explain, but all that came out was a small, hoarse gasp. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, humiliated. Chan took over, gently cleaning his face with tissues and guiding him out of the booth.

They settled him on the small sofa in the studio. Changbin draped the blanket over his shoulders, and Chan knelt in front of him, holding the bottle of water out.

"You're okay," Chan said quietly, steadying his hand when Seungmin tried to take the bottle and almost dropped it. "Just sip. Don't push yourself."

Seungmin shook his head weakly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice raw. "I should've done better. I messed up the whole thing."

Chan's expression softened, which made the guilt feel even bigger.

"You didn't mess anything up," he said. "The line is fine. You're just tired. Rest."
But Seungmin couldn't accept that when all he could think about was how pathetic he looked curled up under a blanket, barely able to hold a water bottle.

"It's my fault," he said quietly, eyes dropping. "I'm sorry for not being perfect."

His vision blurred again, this time not from nausea, but exhaustion. Chan reached for him, but Seungmin's head had already slumped against the pillow.

Within seconds, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders.

When Seungmin finally woke up, the room looked darker than before. The sun had already set, leaving only the soft orange glow of the studio lamps and the blue light from the computer screens. His body felt heavy, almost too heavy to move, and his throat burned with an ache that had settled deep.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. Then he noticed the familiar walls, the foam panels, the faint humming of equipment. He shifted slightly, and the blanket slid down his shoulder.

Someone had stayed with him.

When he turned his head, he saw Chan leaning back in the office chair, elbows on his knees, staring at him with worry. He looked tired too-eyes slightly red, hair messier than usual, as if he had been running his hands through it while waiting.

"You're awake," Chan said softly, sitting up straighter.
Seungmin swallowed, wincing at the sting in his throat. "What time is it?"

"A little past nine. You slept for almost three hours."
Three hours. His chest tightened with embarrassment. He had taken up the studio, delayed work, forced Chan to babysit him, and looked weak on top of everything else.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't mean to-"

"Stop." Chan immediately interrupted. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Seungmin lowered his eyes, picking at the corner of the blanket to avoid the intensity of Chan's gaze.

"I scared you," he said quietly.

"You worried me," Chan corrected. "But not because you messed up a line or whatever you think this is about." He paused, measuring his words in that careful way he always did when he was trying not to push too hard. "You've lost a lot of weight really quickly. And you're stressing yourself too much. Anyone would be worried."

Seungmin forced a small, weak smile. "It's nothing bad. Really. I've just been stressed and the schedule got heavy. You know how I get when everything piles up. My stomach gets stupid." He tried to laugh, but the sound came out too thin. "Today was just... everything catching up with me."

Chan studied him for a long moment. He wasn't convinced but he wasn't the type to accuse without proof. Instead, he leaned a little closer and lowered his voice.

"Seungmin, be honest with me. Was today a one-time thing, or has it been happening often?"

Seungmin hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but even that felt dangerous. He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the blanket.

"It doesn't happen that much. Only when I get overwhelmed. Today was just a lot. I'll be fine."
Chan exhaled, not quite believing him but accepting the words because there was nothing else he could do without crossing a line.

"We're about to start promotions," he reminded gently. "Twelve songs, between performances, interviews, stages, and live events. They're pushing this comeback harder than any we've had before." He paused again, voice softening. "If your stomach gets this bad when you're stressed, you need to let me know before it gets worse."

Seungmin nodded, though the promise already sat hollow in his chest.

Chan continued, "I'm serious. If something feels wrong, anything, you come to me. You don't push through it alone. You don't hide it. And you definitely don't wait until it gets so bad you can't stand upright in the booth."
The words should have reassured him. They should have made him feel safe. Instead, they made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

He couldn't come to Chan.
He couldn't come to any of them.
Not with something like this.
If he admitted anything, his perfect image would collapse. His discipline, his professionalism, his clean, flawless idol façade would crumble the second he confessed that he was struggling with something as pathetic as eating or stress or weight.

So he smiled.
It was a small smile, but it was good enough that Chan relaxed a little.

"I promise," Seungmin said quietly. "If it gets bad, I'll tell you."
Chan nodded. He reached out and squeezed Seungmin's shoulder.
"Good," he murmured. "You scared me today. Don't do that again."
Seungmin's chest tightened with guilt. He let Chan help him sit up, accepted the water he was offered, and pretended the trembling in his hands was from sleep rather than weakness.

Chan kept talking, careful not to overwhelm him, but Seungmin only half listened.

He would never go to Chan.
He would never admit anything.
He would never let them see him slip.
Not when he finally looked almost beautiful.
Not when people finally noticed him because of it.
Not when he was this close to reaching the perfection he always thought he should have.
He promised Chan he'd speak up, but in his mind, he already knew the truth.
He would rather break himself than break the façade.

When Seungmin finally gets home that evening, the apartment feels too quiet. The silence presses down on him the second he shuts the door behind himself. For a moment he stands there staring at the dark hallway as though waiting for something in him to settle.

It doesn't.

Instead, a surge of hot, humiliating anger rises in his chest so quickly it makes him dizzy. He hates himself for what happened in the studio. He hates that Chan saw him like he was fragile or needed help. He hates that he let himself break, even for a second. And above all, he hates the small part of him that liked being taken care of, because it proves just how weak he still is.

He throws his bag onto the couch harder than necessary and storms into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror stops him cold.
He looks thinner. It's obvious. His jawline is sharp; his cheeks are smaller; his collarbones cut through the neck of his shirt. Even his waist looks different beneath the black fabric.

And a horrible, poisonous thought slides right into his mind:
Not enough.
He grips the sides of the sink until his knuckles turn white. His breathing comes fast and uneven. He tries to force logic into himself, he's been working so hard, eating so little, pushing every boundary he has. He should be proud.

But today he vomited in front of Chan. Today he wasn't perfect. Today he messed up.

A week from now, the album will drop. They'll perform on release day in front of fans, cameras, high-definition screens that capture every angle. People will comment on how he looks. They always do. And he knows exactly what they liked last time: the weight loss, the "mature visuals," the "sharp features," the "idol face finally showing."

He wants that praise again. He craves it more than he wants food. More than he wants rest. More than he wants anything else.
If he wants to keep being beautiful and if he wants to be worthy he has to keep going.

He presses his palms over his eyes, shaking his head as if he could shake away the fear, the shame, the memory of Chan wiping his face with a soft cloth and telling him to rest. It was kindness he didn't deserve. He shouldn't have needed it.

"I'm not pushing hard enough," he whispers into the empty bathroom. "I can do more. I need to do more."
He straightens up, swallowing the knot in his throat, and walks back into the main room. His hands tremble slightly as he searches through his bedside drawers until he finds the half-forgotten container of multivitamins and electrolyte tablets he used during the last tour.

They aren't enough to sustain him, but they'll keep him from fainting too often. He'll take more than the recommended dose. Enough to trick his body into functioning.

He sets them on the desk before noticing his old diet pills he promised himself he'd never use again. The ones that make his heart race and kill his appetite completely. He hesitates only for a second. Then he places them beside the vitamins.

After that he grabs two energy drinks from the fridge and sets them out with the pills as though planning a ritual. Coffee for mornings. Energy drinks for practice. Water whenever he can. No more sugar. No more carbs. Nothing that could make him gain weight.

If he eats anything at all, it'll be minimal. One meal every two days, maybe every three or four if he can handle it. He'll lie to the members. He's done it before; he can do it again. They're busy. They won't have time to watch him closely.
And if he feels faint, or nauseous, or like he's going to collapse?
He'll push through it.

Because perfection isn't easy. Beauty isn't easy. And he refuses to disappoint anyone during comeback week. He arranges the pills, the vitamins, the drinks into a neat little row on the desk, like tools.

"This will work," he murmurs, almost breathless with the intensity of it. "It has to work. I'll be perfect. I'll look perfect."
The voice in his mind celebrates in approval.

By the time he finally showers and slides into bed, his heart is beating too fast and his stomach feels hollow in a way that's almost euphoric. He scrolls through the photos from the event again, reading the comments praising his beauty, his weight loss, his transformation.
He falls asleep to the sound of his own thoughts telling him he is finally on the right path.
And he doesn't notice how cold his fingers are, or how shallow his breathing has become, or how deeply he is sinking into something he may not be able to climb back out of.

Comeback day arrives way too fast. The venue where they have to perform is buzzing with energy from the moment the sun rises, and everyone is moving with that tense, giddy excitement that only a comeback day can bring. Makeup bags are being unpacked, outfits double-checked, vocal warmups echoing faintly through the hallways.
And Seungmin feels it too. A flutter in his stomach as well as a trembling anticipation.
Not for the performance itself, but for the comments, the fancams, the screenshots that will circulate on Twitter within minutes.
For the eyes that will finally see how much weight he's lost.

More than ten kilograms in under a month. Now he is only forty-nine kilos. The number rings in his mind like a proof that his suffering has been worth it. He pulls on his stage outfit-a fitted black shirt and slim trousers. The way the fabric hangs looser than before makes him feel almost dizzy with satisfaction.
He looks beautiful.
He looks nearly perfect.

Yet despite the excitement, the last few days have carved cracks into him he is desperately trying to ignore. He fainted in the shower two days ago. Just blacked out for maybe thirty seconds, the water hitting his skin while he knelt there trying to remember how to breathe. Yesterday he fainted in his room, too. He stood up too quickly and the world tilted until he collapsed silently onto the carpet. Both times, he was lucky. No one saw and no one heard.

But the fainting wasn't even a bad thing, the irritability that hits him out of nowhere or the slow responses are a problem. The way his head feels cotton-stuffed and distant. How even a simple joke from Jeongin feels like someone scraping metal against his nerves. He knows he's snappy. He knows the others can tell there's something off. But any time guilt tries to surface, he crushes it.

He takes another handful of his vitamin pills that morning, washing them down with half an energy drink. His hands tremble slightly as he screws the cap back on. His stomach twists in protest, but he ignores it. It's easier every day to ignore the pain.

There's no time to be weak, anyway. They got news three days ago that they'd been invited to perform at the MAMA awards and normally Seungmin would have been thrilled, maybe even emotional. Performing at MAMA is huge, a chance to show the world how hard they've worked.

But when Chan announced it this time, Seungmin only felt dread sink through him. More practice, more long nights, more eyes on him.

3RACHA finished the performance file last night, a monstrous, fifteen-minute remix of the new album with a lot of opportunities for a cruel dance break. The others were excited and already brainstorming concepts and dance ideas.
Seungmin just nodded along while his heart pounded painfully in his chest.
But today-today isn't about MAMA. Today is about their comeback stage.

He sits in the makeup chair, staring at himself under the bright vanity lights. He's pale. A little too pale. His eyes look slightly sunken. But Makeup will hide that and lighting will hide that.

He forces himself to breathe slowly.
Everything will be fine.
It has to be.

The staff chat around him, stylists moving fast, hair and makeup tagging team members in and out. His members are laughing, teasing and buzzing with adrenaline. He smiles when he's supposed to, nods when he needs to, and keeps his hands hidden so no one notices the subtle shaking in his fingers.

As they begin warming up their vocals, he hits every note almost too perfectly as he's afraid of giving Chan any reason to ask questions. He laughs at Changbin's jokes even though the sound feels flat. He stretches with the dancers, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in his joints.
By the time they are backstage waiting to go on, his heart is hammering too fast, his vision flickering at the edges, but the adrenaline keeps him upright.

The fans are out there and they will see him today.
They will see how hard he worked and how much he's changed.
They will see someone finally worth looking at.

The performance begins, the bass trembling under Seungmin's feet as they take their places on stage. He feels the familiar rush of adrenaline sweep through him. His heart is beating too fast, but once the music starts, his body moves on autopilot, his muscle memory already kicking in.

He throws himself into the choreography with more force than he probably should, but the crowd's reactions push him forward. When the camera passes him during his verse, he sees the glow of lightsticks bouncing wildly. People are screaming his name noticibly louder than usual.

He sings cleanly, even though his lungs burn. He dances with precision, even though his legs feel slightly unsteady. He forces himself to look confident.
And when the ending fairy moment comes, the crowd erupts.
The noise hits him like a wave. Cheers, screams, people shouting "Kim Seungmin!" with so much force that he almost forgets to breathe. The camera zooms in, catching his face perfectly: the sharp jawline, the defined cheekbones, the slimmer figure. He holds the pose, ignoring the trembling in his fingers, and the screams only grow louder.

For the first time in weeks, something like pride blooms in his chest.

When they walk offstage, the members are laughing, slapping each other's backs, energized from the performance. Seungmin smiles along with them, but the moment he has a second to himself, he pulls out his phone.
At first, it's normal clips from the show, a few fancams but not even minutes later he sees more videos with his hashtag.

He's trending.
Not just in their fandom, but on twitter and other social media platforms.

He clicks one trending tag about him and scrolls. Some comments are full of worry:
"Seungmin looks way too thin, I'm concerned."
"Has he talked about dieting?? He's never mentioned it before."
"This feels off... this weight loss isn't healthy."

Some comments are from fans who support him but are anxious, arguing in threads about whether he looks healthy.
But the ones that pull him in are the compliments. People from other fandoms flooding his fancams:
"Who is he?? He's gorgeous."
"He looks so elegant now that he lost weight."
"His visuals are insane. I think I found a new bias now."
"Why did no one tell me he was this pretty??"

He scrolls faster, heart pounding.

"Now we can all agree Straykids doesn't have a visual hole anymore."
"He suits the slimmer look so well."
"I didn't realize how handsome he could be."

Each compliment feels like gasoline poured onto an already burning fire inside him. He can hear the voice in his head whispering:
See? They didn't notice you before, they only see you now.
If you stop now, they'll forget you again.
You have to keep going.
You have to stay perfect.

In the van, the others are chatting about their next schedule. He barely hears them. He keeps scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, consuming every word written about him. It feels better than any drug could make him feel.
He locks his phone and stares out the window, trying to keep his breathing even.
If this is what happens after losing ten kilos...
If this is how loudly people cheer...
If this is how strangers suddenly decide he's worth looking at...
Then he needs to keep going.
At least until MAMA.

They'll practice constantly until then anyway. Everyone will be busy. No one will notice if he eats barely anything. No one saw him faint before, and no one will see it again.
Right before their break, he can regain a little strength. He can eat again if he needs to. He can relax once everything is over.
But until then-
He can't lose momentum.
He can't lose attention.
He can't lose this version of himself.

He glances at his reflection in the van window.
His face is thinner.
His eyes seemed bigger.
His jawline is more visible.
People finally see him.
He will keep going.
He has to.

-

The days blurred together in a haze of fluorescent lights, screaming fans, and schedules so tight that time seemed to stretch and snap all at once. Seungmin moved through them almost like a ghost, present but not fully there. He went to the fan meetings, smiled when cameras clicked, answered questions with the same carefully polite tone he always used, but the energy behind his words was hollow.

He had been living on little more than the supplements he kept in his bag, water, and energy drinks. The pills he swallowed each morning and evening gave him just enough stability to keep going, but they also made his heart pound, sometimes wildly, and left him jittery when he tried to move too quickly. His legs had started feeling weak. Sometimes while standing in line for a fan sign, he'd catch himself gripping the edge of the table just to keep from swaying. When the fans cheered and waved gifts, he smiled and nodded, but inside his stomach churned, and his vision would momentarily blur.

The members noticed. The subtle tremor in his hands, the paleness that seemed almost permanent now, the slightly slower reactions when someone joked or teased. Every day someone asked, at least once, if he was okay. And every day, the same irritation bubbled inside Seungmin.

"I'm fine," he said more annoyed than he intended when Felix lightly bumped into him in the rehearsal room. Felix flinched but didn't push. He knew Seungmin was on edge.

"I'm fine," he repeated when Jeongin hovered by the mirror during a stretching break, clearly trying to catch his eye to see if he needed help. He snapped a little when Minho asked if he wanted some water. Even Chan, the one person he usually trusted with his temper, got a flat look when he suggested a short break. The more they asked, the more Seungmin hated them for caring, for seeing what he didn't want to admit.

He had always been perfectionistic, but now it was worse. Any sign of weakness made him feel exposed. Every concerned word from a member felt like a mirror showing him how fragile he had become. And the truth was one thing he would never admit, not even to Chan.

They had been practicing the MAMA stage now for nearly two weeks. Their choreographers had sent the choreography files, they and dancheracha had put together the full performance quickly, relying on their own experience and Danceracha's guidance. The moves weren't excessively complicated, but the pattern was long and physically demanding. Singing live while maintaining energy and presence would push anyone to the edge, and Seungmin was acutely aware of it.

He pushed himself anyway. Every day he tried to stretch a little further, make the gestures bigger, and hit every note with precision. The choreography demanded stamina and sustained positions while holding vocal lines made his heart race faster than the pills could stabilize. His legs ached constantly, and sometimes his knees felt hollow when he landed from a small jump. Every time he stumbled slightly or felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, the voice in his head murmured, cold and insistent:
Push through it. Don't let anyone see weakness. Don't ruin this. Don't stop. They only notice now. Don't let them forget you.

Every night, his reflection in the mirror confirmed the results. Every comment online, every fan post replayed in his mind. It drove him forward, even when his brain was screaming at him to stop. He continued, because perfection demanded it and because admitting he couldn't handle it would shatter the fragile sense of control he still clung to.

The days leading up to the award ceremony blurred into a series of long, exhausting loops. Seungmin's body ached constantly, though he rarely allowed himself to notice. He had long since stopped counting meals in a normal sense; instead, he forced himself to eat only when he could no longer ignore the dizziness, which was never more than a single, small portion every four or five days.
Even then, the act of eating was a battle. The food tasted wrong, textures felt too weird, and swallowing became a mechanical process that made his throat sting. Afterward, his stomach twisted, and nausea came, so he sometimes bolted to the bathroom or sank to the floor in his room just to steady himself.
The supplements, pills, and energy drinks were now constant companions. Each morning he swallowed a mix of vitamins and nutrients to push off complete collapse, and each schedule was accompanied by a small caffeine boost to mask his fatigue and keep him upright. His heart often raced uncontrollably, but he told himself it was just excitement.

In the brief moments when he was alone in his room the facade slipped and his body gave out. His chest would tighten with a pressure that felt like fire, his knees would buckle when he tried to stand, and his vision would swim with spots of white and black. Some days he collapsed into the bathroom floor, letting the nausea and exhaustion take him fully, not caring about the hours ticking past while the others were busy elsewhere. He would lie there, body shaking from both weakness, promising himself silently that after the mama awards he would eat properly and rest.

-

The morning began like any other on the surface, but as soon as Seungmin had tried to move, his body had protested every movement. He hadn't eaten in over three days again, or had it been more? The only things keeping him upright had been a large energy drink earlier and the black coffee he now sipped in small gulps, hoping to keep his energy just enough to survive the day. The caffeine burned his stomach, but he ignored it, telling himself that the pain was insignificant compared to the performance that awaited.

Chan, who had been watching him more closely than usual, noticed subtle tremor in Seungmin's hands, the way he shifted constantly in the chair as well as the tension etched into his shoulders. Chan tried to ask him carefully. "Seungmin... are you sure you're okay? You don't look like yourself."

Seungmin's bit his lower lip. His eyes flicked up in annoyance. "I said I'm fine, Chan. Stop worrying. I'll come to you if there's anything, alright?" His voice was firmer than intended. Chan's lips pressed into a thin lime and he held back, biting down the words he wanted to say. There was no point pushing him now. He could only hope Seungmin meant what he said.

He stared down at the cup of coffee in his hands, feeling it shake with the tremors of his fingers, and forced himself to swallow the rest of it.

By the time they were backstage, the typical chaos surrounded them. Staff hustled past, lighting and camera crews moved in and out, and the other groups warmed up in nearby corridors. The other members of Stray Kids were energetic, joking, and hyped, but each time they glanced at Seungmin, the concern was clear in their eyes. They knew it was pointless to ask him if he was doing. All it would do was irritate him.

Seungmin's hands shook slightly as he adjusted his jacket and looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall. He could feel his pulse racing and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, though each inhale came with a sharp ache. His stomach twisted violently but he pushed down the nausea.

The members noticed the slight tremble in his fingers and the faint pallor on his face. Felix leaned closer: "You okay, Minnie?"

Seungmin's gaze snapped up and he shook his head. "I said I'm fine. Just... don't make me explain."

Felix stepped back quickly, hands raised slightly in surrender. Minho exhaled silently, letting the tension ease without speaking. Chan's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, simply nodding once. He could see every warning sign, shaky limbs, rapid heartbeat, pale skin, strained posture, but he also knew that pressing Seungmin now would only make it worse. So he stayed silent, standing just behind him, ready if something went wrong.

Seungmin shifted on the balls of his feet, feeling the caffeine and energy drinks surge through him, making his heart beat faster.
When the announcer called their group to the stage, Seungmin forced his legs to move with precision, though his knees quivered beneath him. The other members flanked him naturally, moving through the backstage corridor with easy confidence, while Seungmin's heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears.

By the time they reached the stage entrance, he was visibly shaking. His hands trembled enough for the bright stage lights to catch it, but he clenched them into fists and forced himself to straighten. The cheering from the audience rolled in before he even stepped onto the stage. Cameras flashed. Spotlights swiveled. The roar of the crowd hit him in waves, and his pulse jumped higher, pushing adrenaline through his weak body.

He could feel the eyes of the audience all trained on him, and despite the trembling in his legs and the hollowness in his stomach, he held his head high. He would not give them weakness. He would not give them anything but perfection.

As he stepped onto the platform, he forced a smile, even as his chest throbbed and sweat prickled his hairline. The other members exchanged brief, concerned glances, but chose not to comment. They trusted him to manage the façade for now, knowing that any interference would only make him more defensive. They danced, they sang, they performed, and Seungmin forced every movement to be precise, every note clean, every step like he had practiced, ignoring the sharp pain twisting in his chest and the weak tremor in his legs.

The first song flew by without incident. Seungmin's movements were precise, his notes clear, and for a brief moment, the adrenaline and the cheers from the crowd masked the hollowness gnawing at him. Every step felt slightly heavier than it should, but he managed it, forcing himself to appear as vibrant and sharp as he had rehearsed.
Bt the second song, the fatigue that had been building over weeks began to make itself known in small, almost imperceptible ways. His legs trembled more and his breath was getting shorter.

The transition to the third song demanded more. Faster transitions and long high notes. His breaths came shorter, and his focus wavered slightly as his vision blurred at the edges. He forced himself to hit every note perfectly, to move through every step with the same force he had during rehearsals.
By the third song, the warning signs became undeniable. His heartbeats felt uneven and erratic, stabbing at his chest with every beat. He felt dizzy, the bright lights of the stage swimming around him as shadows flickered at the edges of his vision. He tried to focus on the choreography, but the spinning in his head made every movement feel delayed, sluggish, and imperfect.

During a brief pause in the song, a few seconds where the other members had a minor break, Jeongin immediately leaned toward him, eyes wide with concern. "Seungmin, are you okay?" he mouthed.

Seungmin shook his head slightly, though not with intention to communicate, more out of stubborn refusal. He wanted to push through. He wanted to survive this moment, to keep the performance intact. "I'm fine," he mouthed back.

Jeongin glanced at him again, panic beginning to flicker in his eyes, but he had to step back to continue his own part. Every glance he sent Seungmin's way was full of worry, but he had no choice but to keep performing. Seungmin's shaking arms, his pale face, and the quick, uneven breaths were impossible to ignore, yet they had to continue.

By the time the last part of the remixed song came, Seungmin felt like he was about to faint.
Jeongin tried to monitor him as best he could, keeping glances aimed at Seungmin while still executing his own movements. He could see that even during the intense chore Seungmin was more pale than ever and how out of breath he was. Chan, watching from the side, clenched his fists, knowing exactly that he should've forced Seungmin to stay backstage.

Seungmin forced every ounce of remaining energy into completing each line, each jump, each spin, ignoring the fire in his chest, the trembling in his legs, and the nausea clawing at his stomach. He told himself that once the performance was over, he could finally eat and allow himself a moment of relief.

The high note leaves Seungmin's throat like it's tearing something inside him open. It rings beautifully through the venue, powerful enough to make the crowd scream, but the moment it ends, his chest seizes so sharply he almost loses his breath altogether.
The choreography demands they run to the front of the stage right after, just like they did years ago, but the moment Seungmin pushes off his right foot, everything inside him lurches.

A single, brutal heartbeat punches against his ribs-
then another-
then nothing.

The absence is immediate and terrifying.

A silence inside his body.
A sudden emptiness where his heartbeat should be.

His vision jumps violently before smoothing into a strange, washed-out brightness. The lights onstage look too white, lights bleeding into each other. The cheering blurs into one loud, distant wave, like he's underwater. He tries to inhale, but his chest doesn't respond. His legs feel like they are made of air, weightless and unreachable.

He takes another step forward on instinct but his body is no longer listening.
His thoughts come slow, almost gentle.

Oh. I... can't move.
Something's wrong.
It's... quiet.

The stage tilts, or maybe he does.

He feels the cold rush of air against his skin, and for one brief moment, he wonders if he missed a step. If maybe he can catch himself. If maybe he can force his legs to keep going.

But the white light floods his vision entirely.
And then everything disappears underneath him.

Just a sudden collapse, straight backward through the perfectly timed formation of dancers.
Gasps ripple behind him. One dancer lunges, barely managing to slide a hand under the back of Seungmin's head before it hits the ground. Another immediately stumbles out of formation, kneeling beside him. Their faces twist in horror, but they try to maintain enough composure not to break the illusion of the performance.

The choreography continues.
The members at the front do not see anything.
The dancers behind Seungmin try to support him, but when they touch him his body is limp and his chest does not rise.

His eyes are half open, unfocused, staring through the blinding lights above.

One dancer mouths something urgently toward the side of the stage, panic visible in his expression.

It isn't until Chan does a turn alongside Hyunjin, his eyes sweeping across the backline, that he freezes as he sees Seungmin on the ground, surrounded by a few dancers breaking formation to shield him.

Chan's face drains of all color. Even from the front, he can tell that this isn't Seugnmin's usual fainting as he mostly twitches a little...

He doesn't think.
The moment he registers that the body on the ground is Seungmin, he runs, not caring if the camera is filming and that the staff will scold him later.

"SEUNGMIN!" His voice cracks so loudly it cuts through the music. The dancers next to Seungmin pull back immediately when Chan drops to his knees, almost sliding on the stage floor. His hands are shaking so hard that he fumbles when he reaches for Seungmin's neck, searching desperately for any sign of life.
There is nothing. Not the faintest pulse against his finger.

Chan's breath catches, his chest caving in with a terrified sob he doesn't even feel himself make. He move instinctly, grabbing Seungmin under his shoulders and dragging him fully away from the dancers, laying him flat on the cold stage floor. His hands don't stop trembling, but he forces them to move anyway, interlocking them and pressing down on Seungmin's chest with a strength he didn't know he had.

"One, two, three, four-" he counts under his breath, almost confusing on the numbers as he pushes hard and fast, the way he was taught years ago in mandatory training, whilst he prayed he would never have to use it.

The rest of members finally noticed something was wrong when they heard Chan scream. Changbin gets to them first, his face drained of all color as he sees Seungmin's unmoving body. He doesn't even hesitate before stepping in front of Chan and Seungmin, spreading his arms out wide to block the audience from seeing what's happening. Hyunjin joins him a second later, then Jeongin, forming a shaky human shield.

Minho is already sprinting toward the camera crew, shouting something that doesn't even sound like words, just pure panic and desperation. He shoves one of the camera operators aside, pointing them away from the scene with more force than he intended, but he doesn't have the capacity to care. Not when Seungmin is lying on the ground getting resuscitated by Chan.

Felix is trembling so violently one of the dancers has to grab him, holding him tightly as he spirals, his breath coming out in sharp, broken gasps. He can't stop staring. He can't move. He can't breathe. Another dancer gently pulls him closer, shielding his view, whispering something to keep him from fainting.

But Chan doesn't see any of that.
All he sees is Seungmin's face. Pale and not moving.

"Come on, baby... please..." Chan whispers, voice cracking as he pushes his hands down again and again, tears beginning to drip from his chin onto Seungmin's shirt. "You have to breathe, you have to, please, Seungmin, please breathe-"

He stops compressions only long enough to tilt Seungmin's head back, pinching his nose before pressing his mouth to Seungmin's, blowing air into his lungs.
It doesn't matter who sees or if this will go viral, only saving Seungmin matters.

Chan pulls back, watching desperately for movement. There is none, not even the smallest twitch. So he goes back to compressions, pushing again and again, his breath breaking apart in panicked sobs, but he refuses to stop.

"One, two, three-don't do this-five, six-Seungmin, please-nine-breathe, breathe, breathe-"
His voice cracks on every other word.
Tears blur his eyes until he can barely see what he's doing, but he keeps going, refusing to accept the stillness beneath his hands.

Hyunjin keeps glancing over his shoulder, face crumpling each time he sees that Seungmin hasn't moved. Jeongin's hands are shaking uncontrollably as he holds his arms out wide, trying to keep the crowd from seeing Seungmin's still body. Jisung keeps shouting at staff to call emergency medical crews.
Everything is falling apart around them.

And Chan keeps breathing into Seungmin's mouth like it's the only thing that can bring his friend back.
It's the only thing he can do.

"Come back," he begs, leaning over Seungmin again. "Please come back, Minnie... please don't leave us, don't leave me..."
But Seungmin's chest doesn't rise.
His pulse doesn't return.
His body stays painfully still beneath Chan's frantic hands.

The stage is chaos by the time staff finally manage to push past the security barricade. Fans are screaming, confused and crying. Some are filming before other fans yank their phones down in panic. The members and dancers are still forming a loose barricade around Chan and Seungmin, shielding whatever they can with their bodies. Felix is still trembling so violently that one of the dancers carries him away from the scene as he keeps spiraling.

Then the staff finally reach them. For or five people rushing in with large black cloths, lifting them around the group so that the center of the stage disappears behind fabric walls. Another staff member is carrying a defibrillator, and he almost trips trying to get through the narrow opening because Chan is kneeling too close to Seungmin, still pumping his chest, tears streaming, not hearing anything except the one thought hammering through his skull: don't die don't die don't die-

"Chan-we have to take over-Chan, move-" someone says, but he doesn't react. His hands keep pushing, pushing, pushing, and when he leans down for another breath, the staffer physically tries to pull him back.

"Let go of me!" Chan screams. "He's not breathing-he's not-don't touch him-don't-"

"Chan!" Changbin grabs his shoulder from behind and practically tears him away from Seungmin's body. Chan fights him, tries to yank free, but Changbin holds him in place, arms locked around him. "Let them try! Chan, let them Chan, look at him please-"
He can't look. He can't breathe. He's choking on sobs that don't fully come out, throat too tight, chest too crushed.

The staff member kneels, opens the defibrillator pads, and quickly exposes Seungmin's chest. The sight knocks the breath out of everyone, the unnatural way his head lolls to one side, how pale his skin looks and the way you can count every single rib. He looks... gone.

The staffer presses the pads to Seungmin's chest and shouts, "CLEAR!"
The shock hits his body in a violent jerk. Chan screams again, tries to crawl forward, but Changbin and Minho hold him back.
Another shock.
Another.

"CLEAR!"
They check again. No pulse.
Chan's legs give out, and he collapses against the stage floor, still held in place by Changbin's arms. He's shaking so hard he can barely recognize his own hands.

The staffer starts compressions again. "Come on-come on-come on-"
Time becomes a blur of seconds that feel like hours.
Then finally Seungmin's chest rises. A weak, shallow inhale. Another. The staffer's fingers press into his neck, searching for a pulse.
"I've got something. Weak pulse!"

Chan's head snaps up. He doesn't even think. He immediately shoves Changbin off with a strength from pure adrenaline and scrambles forward, hands shaking violently as he touches Seungmin's face which cold, damp, but moving.

"Seungmin-Seungmin-" He cries out. "Please-please-stay with me-"
There's no reaction. Seungmin is barely conscious, more instinct than awareness keeping his lungs moving.
But he's alive.

Chan doesn't wait for permission. The moment the staff puts the defibrillator on the side he slides his arms under Seungmin and lifts him off the ground, pulling him tight against his chest. Staff shout after him, telling him to slow down, but Chan ignores all of them. He holds Seungmin like he's terrified he'll slip away again if he loosens his grip for even a second.

He runs, legs moving instinctly, shoving past bodies, equipment, literally barreling into people who don't move in time. Someone calls his name, someone else tries to guide him, but Chan can't see anything except the limp body in his arms and the memory of that moment when he felt no heartbeat.

The others run behind him, shouting, crying, stumbling as they try to keep up.

Chan doesn't stop. Not until he's off the stage, out of the lights, into the corridor backstage, racing toward whatever room or stretcher or medic will take Seungmin from his arms and bring him to the hospital.

He doesn't care who he hits. He doesn't care about the show. He doesn't care about people filming them. He just cares about the faint pulse under his fingertips.

Backstage is a maze of bodies the moment Chan bursts through the door with Seungmin clutched against his chest. Managers swarm him from every angle, some shouting questions, some reaching out to touch Seungmin, some just panicking because they don't understand what's going on.
A few become obstacles, stepping directly into Chan's path without even realizing they're stopping him from getting help. He dodges and shoves past them, breath shaking, his eyes locked on the way Seungmin's head lolls lifelessly against his shoulder.

Finally, two staff members break through the chaos, one talking rapidly on the phone with emergency services, the other pushing people aside so Chan can move. "Ambulance is already on its way," the one with the phone calls out breathlessly. "They said five minutes, maybe less."

Chan nods automatically, not really a sign of understanding.

"We need to get you outside," another staff member says, guiding him toward the nearest exit. "They'll pick him up from there."
Chan follows, but it feels like wading through water. His ears are still ringing from the stage. Every second they move feels too slow. He keeps leaning down to check Seungmin's breathing, terrified he'll miss a moment where it stops again.

They finally reach the loading dock at the back of the venue, cold evening air rushing over them. It should be calming, but he barely notices him. He stands in the middle of the concrete ramp with Seungmin in his arms, rocking him slightly without realizing it, like his body is trying to soothe a small child.

"Where are the others?" Chan finally asks. He twists around, scanning the doorway, expecting to see at least Minho but no one comes through. "Where are my friends? Why aren't they here?"

A staff member hesitates. It's small pause, but it's enough to make Chan's skin prickle.

"Well... a manager told them to stay inside. The show isn't officially over, and the event staff said there are awards still-"
Chan stares at him.
For a second he doesn't even breathe.

"Theystopped them?" His voice is shaking in disbelief. "You kept them from coming? One of our friends just DIED in front of them, he was DEAD and you're worried about AWARDS?"
The staff member flinches, face turning pale.

Chan steps forward, clutching Seungmin tighter, jaw clenched so hard that the muscles tremble. "Go get Minho," he snaps, the anger slicing cleanly through every word. "Right now. I don't care how, just get him."
The staff member nods rapidly and bolts toward the door.

Chan stands there, breathing hard, fury simmering under the terror, holding Seungmin as if someone might try to take him away again.

Barely a minute passes before the staff member returns, guiding Minho out through the back entrance with a hand pressed to his shoulder as if afraid he might collapse if he moved on his own. Minho's chest rises and falls too quickly, his eyes wide and wet, and he looks like he's holding himself together with sheer force of will. The moment he sees Seungmin limp in Chan's arms, something inside him cracks, but he swallows hard and keeps moving.

Chan steps toward him immediately. "Minho-" his voice breaks once, but he steadies it. "Listen. I need you to do something. Make sure everyone stays backstage, no matter what the managers say. No one goes back out there unless they absolutely have to."

Minho nods almost before the sentence is finished. "Okay. Yeah. I can do that."

"If staff push," Chan adds, "push back. Only two people should go up there if they need to accept an award. Just two. They say the words, grab the trophy, and go straight home or to the hospital. Nothing more."

Minho nods again, firmer this time. "I'll keep them safe. I promise."
He steps closer and reaches out with trembling fingers, curling them gently around Seungmin's lifeless hand. His breath catches when he feels how cold the skin is and how honey the hand feels in his. "Chan... he-he's really-?"

"He's alive," Chan says immediately, refusing to let Minho spiral. "His pulse is weak but it's there. They shocked him and kept doing compressions. He's breathing. The ambulance is almost here."
Minho's shoulders finally sag. He nods and squeezes Seungmin's hand, grounding himself before letting go. "Okay. Good. Good... I'll take care of the others. They're all a mess and they shouldn't deal with the managers right now. I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Chan whispers, genuinely shaken with gratitude.
Minho steps closer and pulls Chan into a tight side hug, careful not to disturb Seungmin's position in his arms. "Make sure he gets there safe. Don't let anyone take him from you until the paramedics do. And stay with him as much as they allow. I'll keep everything else under control."
Chan nods against his shoulder.

"And Chan?" Minho adds softly, voice cracking. "You did everything right. It isn't your fault!"
Before Chan can respond, Minho leans forward and presses a kiss to Chan's forehead. It startles Chan enough that he almost drops Seungmin.

Minho pulls back just as the wail of sirens pierces the air. The ambulance rounds the corner at a speed that makes the tires screech, bright lights flashing across the concrete walls.

Minho squeezes Chan's arm once more. "Go," he breathes. "I'll handle the rest."
Then he turns and runs back inside, bracing himself for whatever chaos waits beyond the door, while Chan steps forward into the ambulance lights with Seungmin still cradled against him.

The paramedics are out of the ambulance before the vehicle even fully stops, one pulling open the back doors while the other gestures urgently for Chan to come forward. Chan climbs inside with Seungmin still in his arms, and the moment his knees hit the metal floor, they help him ease Seungmin onto the stretcher. Cold hands move fast but careful, adjusting straps, lifting his head, checking his airway.

"You can ride with us," one of them says without hesitation, already pulling a monitor closer. "Sit right here."
Chan doesn't let go of Seungmin's wrist even when the paramedic starts attaching sensors to his chest. The machine beeps to life and the paramedic takes his vitals, muttering numbers to the colleague who's preparing an oxygen mask.

"Tell us what happened," the second paramedic says while opening a chart on a tablet. "Everything you remember."

Chan swallows and forces himself to speak clearly. "We were performing. The choreography was really intense, and on one of the hardest ending he suddenly collapsed. The dancers caught him so he didn't hit his head, but he was just... unresponsive." His voice wavers when he remembers the moment he saw Seungmin in the arms of the dancer. "I checked his pulse and there was nothing. I started CPR right away. Then a staff member brought a defibrillator and we were able to get him back."

The paramedic nods quickly as he enters the information. "Good. That's very good. How long was he without a pulse?"

"I'm not sure," Chan admits, breathing unevenly. "Maybe a minute? Maybe more. Everything felt like hours."

"That's okay," the paramedic says, glancing at Seungmin's vitals. "You saved his life."

Chan doesn't feel relief. He still feels like he failed.

"Do you know any reason this might have happened?" the paramedic continues carefully. "Any history? Any symptoms earlier?"

Chan hesitates, because saying it out loud makes it real in a way he's been terrified to face. But he forces himself to speak. "He's lost a lot of weight the last few weeks. Really fast. He was already thin before, but at a healthy weight. He kept saying he was fine but he never looked fine and was always irritated. And he's been drinking so many energy drinks and so much coffee these last weeks I lost count."

The paramedic nods. "Okay. Thank you for telling us. Based on what you're describing, combined with what we're seeing right now it's very likely that Seungmin is suffering from a severe eating disorder. We won't diagnose anything officially until the hospital evaluates him, but his vitals and collapse line up with multiple clear warning signs."

Chan closes his eyes for a moment. Hearing it feels like he is being run over by a train. "I don't care what the diagnosis is," he says quietly, looking down at Seungmin's still face. "As long as he gets help and gets better."

"That's exactly what's going to happen," the paramedic assures him. "He's in critical condition right now, but he's alive, and as soon as we reach the hospital they'll stabilize him and run the tests he needs. You got him here in time."
Chan nods, his hand still gripping Seungmin's wrist like a lifeline.

The ambulance flies around another curve, sirens echoing through the street, and Chan keeps his eyes on Seungmin the entire time, counting each shallow rise of his chest like it's the only thing tethering him to the world.

When they reach the hospital entrance the doors swing open before the ambulance even comes to a full stop, and suddenly Seungmin is being pulled away from Chan's hands by a wave of nurses and a doctor who speak in quick, clipped sentences as they roll him through the hall. Chan follows them at first, trying to keep up, but the moment they turn into a treatment room someone steps into his path and firmly holds him back so they can get Seungmin into a private room and stabilise him.

He watches from the doorway as monitors beep to life around him, clear plastic tubing being connected to ports he doesn't even recognize, a doctor calling for more fluids, another adjusting the oxygen mask, and all Chan can do is stand there and feel his pulse hammering in his throat while his body screams to go inside, to stay close, to not let Seungmin out of his sight again after almost losing him.

A nurse with kind eyes steps up beside him and touches his arm lightly. "You need to give them a moment to stabilize him," she says, guiding him backward a few steps. "They need space to work, and you need a few minutes to calm yourself."

"I don't want to leave him," Chan says quietly, not even trying to hide the panic that's still simmering under his skin.

"I know," she replies, still gentle but firm. "But he's with the best team here. I promise you, he's safe right now. You can't help him if you collapse too. Go down to the cafeteria, get something to drink and eat, sit for a few minutes. I'll come get you the second the doctor is finished and he's settled in his room."

Chan hesitates, but she looks like someone who keeps every promise she makes, and he finally nods, letting her lead him down the hall even though every step feels wrong. He hates being separated from Seungmin again.
The nurse points him toward the cafeteria and repeats that she'll call him immediately, and then she disappears back into the hallway with quick steps.

Chan buys a bottled protein drink without really seeing the options, sits down at an empty table near the back, and forces his shaking hands to open it. The hospital lights feel too bright, the room too loud, and he keeps staring at the entrance like Seungmin might suddenly appear, even though he knows that's impossible.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later and he fumbles to grab it, shoulders tensing until he sees Minho's name. The message is short enough with enough spelling mistakesthat Chan knows Minho wrote it fast, probably with trembling hands.

'We're almost done. Only two big awards left. I already told the staff if they try to keep us afterward I'll drag everyone out myself. They're letting us go straight to the hospital. Everyone is holding it together. We'll be there soon. Everyone is going to be okay.'

Chan exhales shakily, some tight knot in his chest finally loosening a little. Minho has always known how to grab control of a situation and refuse to let anyone push them around, and Chan feels grateful for the second oldest. The others are safe and soon on their way.

He finishes his drink slowly, hands less shaky now but his mind still moving too fast, replaying flashes of the performance, the moment he felt his neck and no pulse, the lifeless weight of Seungmin in his arms. He doesn't know how many minutes pass before he hears someone calling his name.

The nurse from earlier is by his table, smiling at him with the same warm expression she had before. "He's in his room now," she says. "You can come see him."
Chan is already on his feet, following her out the door without a single word.

When Chan walks into the room his breath stops in his chest, because the sight in front of him is worse than anything he had prepared himself for. Seungmin is lying in the to big hospital bed, pale and frighteningly still, his chest rising only because the oxygen mask taped over his face forces the air into him. Thin wires and cords run across his skin, disappearing into machines that beep in steady intervals, and for a moment Chan can't move because all he sees is how small and fragile Seungmin looks, how unlike the strong and stubborn boy who always pushed through everything as if nothing could ever touch him.

A doctor stands at the side of the bed, waiting patiently, and when Chan finally steps closer he gestures to the chair next to the bed. "Please, sit," he says quietly. "This is going to be a lot to hear."

Chan sits because his legs won't hold him otherwise. His hands shake in his lap, eyes never leaving Seungmin's face.

The doctor pulls a small stool closer. "We've done an initial assessment," he begins, voice calm but heavy, "and I need you to understand that none of this means he won't get better. But we also can't soften the reality of what we're seeing."
Chan nods, throat too tight to speak.

"In the short time he's been here," the doctor continues, "we've been able to identify severe malnutrition. He is dangerously underweight, over 15 kg. This took weeks, possibly months of restricting his food intake."
Chan closes his eyes, and a thin, broken sound leaves him before he can stop it.

The doctor doesn't pause, because the truth needs to be said. "From everything we can gather based on his blood pressure, body temperature, muscle response, and the state of his heart when he arrived... it appears he has been pushing himself far beyond his physical limit every single day. Tonight was intense, yes, but it wasn't the sole cause. It was the final trigger."
Chan's jaw trembles, tears already slipping from the corners of his eyes.

"His heart stopped," the doctor says gently, "because his system simply couldn't sustain the level of exertion he was forcing out of it anymore. The excessive caffeine and energy drinks significantly worsened the situation. They raised his heart rate and blood pressure to dangerous levels, especially for someone severely malnourished and dehydrated. If luck isn't on his side he could suffer from a weakened heart muscle as well as little to no stamina for a long time as well as more things as malnourishment often goes back to important organs."
Chan lets out a sob he tries to swallow, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He feels sick and powerless. And he feels like he failed to protect him.

"We've taken blood," the doctor continues softly, "and we've prioritized his case with the lab. First thing in the morning he'll undergo more detailed scans to make sure there's no longterm damage to his heart or brain. Thankfully, because you began CPR immediately, the chances of severe neurological damage are low."

Chan looks up, his vision blurry. "I- I didn't even think, I just-"

"You acted faster than most people ever would." The doctor said firmly. "If you had waited even one minute longer, the defibrillator wouldn't have been enough. His brain would have begun losing oxygen quickly, and the chance of significant nerve loss would have increased by each second."

Chan freezes, breath catching in his throat.
"Seungmin is alive," the doctor says calmly, "because of you. Not because of us."
Chan breaks completely then, the guilt and relief and fear crashing into him all at once, his shoulders shaking as he cries into his hands.
The doctor gives him a moment before continuing.

"The hardest part will not be stabilizing his heart," he says gently. "The hardest part will be helping him rebuild his relationship with food. Depending on how his body reacts, he may not be able to tolerate eating normally at first. If he rejects food or can't keep it down, we will need to begin tube feeding. Many patients with eating disorders struggle with that, but it is necessary for survival."
Chan sobs harder, because he can already imagine how much Seungmin will hate that, how ashamed he'll feel and that he'll try to fight it and hide from everyone.

"He didn't tell anyone," Chan whispers. "He- he hates being seen as anything less than perfect, he hates looking vulnerable, he hates being treated fragile. He bottles everything up because he thinks he's not allowed to bother anyone."

"And that," the doctor says softly, "is exactly why none of this is your fault. You cannot blame yourself for something he hid so deeply that even trained professionals would have missed it without this death."

Chan wipes his face. "I should've seen it," he insists weakly. "I should've known when he grew so irritable and I barely saw him eat."

"You saw it in time to save his life," the doctor answers. "That matters more than anything else."
The doctor stands slowly. "He'll sleep for a while. You can stay with him. And when he wakes up... he'll need you and your friends."
Chan nods through the tears, because no matter how hard the road ahead will be, he's not leaving Seungmin.

The hour crawled by slowly. Chan didn't move from his chair. He sat slumped forward, elbows on the edge of the bed, fingers wrapped gently around Seungmin's limp hand. His thumb traced the back of it over and over slowly, like he was trying to coax life into it.

Before he finally tried to rest, he forced himself to take care of the small things he knew Seungmin would hate waking up to. With trembling hands he wet a cloth from the sink and carefully wiped away the smeared makeup, the streaks of sweat down his temples, the dried residue of tears that must've fallen during the exertion of the performance. He cleaned Seungmin's arms too, brushing softly over skin that felt far too thin. Every pass of the cloth made Chan swallow harder.

Then he sat again. Leaned his head on the mattress by Seungmin's hip and his eyes flutter shut. He drifted in and out of sleep for some time.
He kept waking at every change in machine rhythm, every flicker of light in the hallway, every shift of Seungmin's chest under the monitors-even though the rise and fall was shallow.

Two hours after midnight, footsteps came quickly down the hallway, too many to be staff.
Finally the door opened. The moment the members saw Seungmin hooked to the monitors, so pale and impossibly small in the narrow hospital bed, they fell silent.
Felix's face crumpled instantly. His hands shot up to cover his mouth, but the sound that escaped him still reached chan. Jeongin froze, eyes going wide and then both of them backed out of the room, unable to handle even a second longer. The door closed softly behind them.

The rest came in slowly.
Minho reached Chan first. He just wrapped an arm around Chan's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Chan collapsed into him immediately, shoulders shaking as exhaustion finally hit under the relief of not being alone anymore. A choked sob tore out before he could stop it.

"Hyung..." Minho whispered. "You did so well. You saved him. You did everything you could."

Chan shook his head hard, breath catching. "I should've seen it-I should've-I was with him every day, Minho, I should've noticed-"

Minho cut him off gently but firmly. "None of us saw it. None of us. Don't do that to yourself. Everyone of us saw him everyday."

Jisung sat down on the other side of the bed, rubbing his face. "I... I talked to Seungmin about this weeks ago. He brushed it off. He said he was fine. He lied so easily, I didn't even-" His voice broke. "He'd already been losing weight then. If he was hiding it from us that well... we weren't going to see it."

Hyunjin didn't speak at all. He stood at the foot of the bed, one hand wrapped tightly around Seungmin's ankle under the blanket, knuckles white. His lip trembled, eyes locked on Seungmin's chest as if any skipped breath might kill him a second time. Changbin stood beside him, one hand hovering near the bed, wanting to touch but terrified to disturb even a hair.

No one filled the silence. No one knew how.

Chan leaned deeper into the hug, clinging because he had nothing else to hold him upright anymore. Minho tightened his arm around him, rubbing small circles into his shoulder. "You kept him alive," he murmured into Chan's hair. "He's here because of you. Remember that."

But Chan couldn't stop seeing it, the way his head had fallen back, the way his skin had turned ghastly white as Chan did compressions with shaking hands. The way his heart hadn't beat under Chan's palms.
That image was carved into him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Minho's shoulder. His voice barely came out. "I can't stop seeing him like that. I can't stop hearing the alarms. I-Minho, I thought I lost him."

Minho shushed him quietly, running a soothing hand down Chan's back. "He's alive," he whispered. "He's alive because of you. We're not losing him. Not now."

After holding Chan until his breathing steadied, he squeezed Chan's shoulder and said softly, "Come on. You need to change. We brought something for you."
Chan blinked up at him, exhausted, confused. "Change?"

"You're still in that stage outfit," Minho murmured. "I know you'll be here all night. You're not staying in thing."
Chan wanted to protest, not wanting to leave Seungmin's side for even a second but Minho didn't give him the chance. He stood up and tugged gently at Chan's elbow, and nudged him toward the small bathroom inside the hospital room.

Chan resisted at the doorway, panic rising like a wave. "Minho-don't make me go alone-"

"I'm not leaving you," Minho said immediately, stepping in behind him and closing the door. "I'm right here."
Chan's throat tightened.
In the bag were a neatly folded pile of clothes, a soft hoodie, sweatpants, a longsleeved shirt. All borrowed, clearly, most likely from the dancers or staff.

"Backup dancer owed me," Minho muttered, trying for humor. "I told him it was an emergency."

Chan managed a weak laugh. "I'm not surprised. You scare half the staff when you glare."

Minho snorted, but it faded quickly. He stepped close again, helping Chan unzip the stiff stage jacket when Chan's fingers fumbled. "Arms up," he said gently.
Chan did. He let Minho peel away the glittering, sweat-stiff fabric. Let him help him out of the tight pants and hand over the soft ones. Let him pull the hoodie over Chan's head like Chan was the one who needed caretaking now.
Maybe he did.

When they stepped out again, the atmosphere felt a little less tense.
Felix and Jeongin had returned, both curled together on the small couch beneath the window. Their faces were blotchy and red, eyes swollen, shoulders shaking even as they tried to breathe steadily. They looked up when Chan walked in.
The devastation on their faces said everything.

Chan didn't think, just walked over and sank down between them. Felix immediately wrapped his arms around Chan's waist and buried his face against him. Jeongin pressed against Chan's other side, gripping the sleeve of his borrowed hoodie tightly like he was holding onto something that kept him from slipping underwater.
It broke Chan's heart all over again.

They all cried.

Felix's sobs shook his whole body and Jeongin's tears were silent, soaking into Chan's shoulder. Chan hugged them both, one arm around each, holding them close like he could protect them from the memories they carried and from the reminder that they'd both survived the very thing that almost killed Seungmin tonight.

For a moment, the grief only got worse, Felix choking out a small, broken sound, Jeongin's breaths hitching uncontrollably but as the minutes passed, the shaking eased and the grip on Chan's clothes loosened.

Felix sniffled hard, wiping at his face. "You saved him," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Hyung... you acted so fast. If you hadn't..." He shook his head. "Thank you. Thank you for not hesitating."

Chan shook his head, tears returning. "I just-I couldn't lose him. I couldn't-"
He didn't get to finish. The emotions built too quickly, drowning him, and Minho must've seen it from besides Jisung because he stepped forward and gently touched Chan's arm.

"Come here."
Chan let himself be pulled away, though his legs felt weak. Minho guided him toward the chair Chan had sat on hours earlier. When Chan finally met his eyes, Minho looked... wrecked. Completely stripped down. Not the strong one or the stable one, just exhausted and holding himself together by threads.

"You're such a stable person, Minho," Chan whispered shakily. "Always the one keeping everyone together. I don't know how you do it."

Minho exhaled, long and shaky. "I'm really not."

Chan frowned weakly. "Minho-"

"I broke down backstage," Minho confessed quietly. "Right after I came back from you and Seungmin. Right after seeing him dead on the floor and so lifeless in your arms." He swallowed. "As well in the middle of those stupid award speeches I had to do."
Chan's breath caught.

"I got it alone," Minho continued, eyes dropping to the floor. "Because I didn't want to force any of the others out. Especially not Felix or Jeongin. But, fuck, hyung... it was one of the hardest things I've ever done." His voice wavered. "We finally got the award we've dreamed of for years. Years. And the price-" His jaw clenched. "The price was too high."

"Minho..." Chan whispered.

"I didn't even finish the first speech," Minho admitted, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I ran off stage. Completely lost it. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. I just kept seeing Seungmin not moving." His voice cracked. "And then during the second speech I was crying the whole time infront of everyone and could barely say a single word and ran down again to throw up."

Chan's heart ached. "Minho... you didn't have to do that. You didn't have to stand up there alone."

"I didn't want to," Minho whispered. "Every idol kept coming up to me after, asking how Seungmin was. And I-" he shook his head sharply, voice rising, "I didn't know, hyung. I didn't even know myself. I was seconds away from exploding."
Chan stood up forward without thinking and wrapped his arms around Minho's shoulders. Minho froze for just a second before pulling Chan close, burying his forehead against Chan's collarbone.

"Thank you," Chan whispered into his hair. "For being so strong when you had every right to walk out of that venue. For taking those awards even when you were breaking. For doing everything alone."
Minho's breath hitched, hands fisting in the back of Chan's hoodie as he held on.

"I wasn't strong," Minho murmured. "I was desperate."

"You were strong," Chan insisted softly. "More than you know."
They stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other up.

The hospital room quieted after that. The nurse returned around 4 a.m. to check Seungmin's vitals. When she saw the members curled silently around the room, none speaking above a whisper, she sighed gently.
"You boys can stay," she said, hands on her hips. "Just for tonight. You're not technically allowed more than one guest overnight, but... I think he needs all of you and you've been haven't been loud."
The gratitude on their faces was almost painful to look at.

"Thank you," Chan whispered, the relief in his voice making the nurse smile sadly.

"Just keep it quiet," she reminded them. "And if anything changes, press the call button immediately."

"We will," Minho promised.
Most of the boys settled quickly; exhaustion finally caught up to them after the longest, scariest night of their lives. Felix and Jisung curled up on the small couch, Jeongin squeezed between them, Hyunjin sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, Changbin beside him with an arm slung loosely across Hyunjin's shoulders.

Chan, of course, didn't lie down. He slipped right back into the chair beside Seungmin's bed, his hand searching instinctively for Seungmin's, wrapping around it. His eyes barely blinked, the fear so deeply lodged inside him that rest felt impossible.
He watched the machines. The slow rise of Seungmin's chest. The weak but steady beep of the heart monitor. He was so, so afraid.

5 a.m. came quickly. Changbin woke with a stiff neck and a groan, rubbing his face. The first thing he saw was Chan still sitting in that dammed chair, eyes hollow with exhaustion as he held seungmin's hand.

It hurt something deep inside him.
"Hyung," Changbin whispered as he slowly stood, careful not to wake the others. He walked over, laying a gentle hand on Chan's shoulder. "You should sleep. Just a little."

Chan shook his head instantly. "No. No, I can't. What if something happens and I'm not-"

"Chan," Changbin murmured, voice firm but soft, "I'll watch him. I promise."

Chan's lip trembled slightly. "I can't-"

"You have to," Changbin insisted quietly. "You're shaking. You won't be able to help him tomorrow if you collapse."
Chan looked down. His hands really were trembling.

"Go," Changbin whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "Just take a nap. I'll wake you if anything changes."
It took a long moment, but Chan finally nodded in defeat. He slid down to the floor beside Hyunjin, placing his head in the younger's lap.
He fell asleep instantly, to exhausted to form another thought.

And that's when the nightmare began. He was back on the stage. Seungmin in his arms. Cold and unmoving.
But this time, the defibrillator didn't work.
This time, the paramedics shook their heads.
This time, the funeral came like a blur of black clothes and rain where everyone blamed him. The members' faces twisted with hurt. The fans cried. A manager whispered venom about how irresponsible he was. Even Seungmin's mother refused to look at him even if she despised Seungmin.
"You're a bad leader," someone yelled. "You pushed him too hard!"
"You didn't notice he was sick!"
"You let him die!"
He stood alone beside the coffin, unable to breathe, unable to scream-

"Hyung." Someone screamed "Hyung, wake up. Please."
Chan jolted awake, gasping, sweat running cold down his spine. His eyes darted around wildly until he saw Jeongin kneeling next to him and looking at him with worry.
Hyunjin reached out and wiped a tear from Chan's cheek with his thumb.
"You were crying," the youngest said softly.

Chan covered his face with both hands, shaking. "I-I was dreaming and he-God, he didn't wake up, and everyone hated me-"
Hyunjin immediately leaned down and wiped more tears away whilst Jeongin held his hands. "Hyung, no one hates you. No one. And Seungmin is alive. You saved him."

Chan clutched at Jeongin's hoodie like he needed something solid to hold onto. "It felt so real."

"I know," Jeongin whispered. "I know. I've had nightmares like that too."

Chan lifted his head, eyes puffy. "What... what do you mean?"
Jeongin hesitated for a moment. Then he took a shaking breath.

"When I had my eating disorder," he began quietly, staring at the floor, "I had nightmares like that every night. That I'd die. That nobody would care. That people would think I was weak or disgusting."

Chan's breath caught. "Jeongin..."

"I didn't tell anyone." Jeongin's voice cracked. "Not for months. I was so scared people would think I was failing. That I wasn't good enough to be here. So I kept eating less and less. Drinking more water so I wouldn't feel hungry. I thought... I thought I could control it."
Chan's eyes softened painfully.

"It got bad," Jeongin whispered. "Really bad. And the only reason anyone found out was because Hyunjin walked in on me in the bathroom." His voice wavered. "I was crying and gagging myself... and he grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go. He held me while I sobbed and hit him. He told me I needed help. That he wasn't letting me ruin my body just because I was scared of being imperfect and people putting their insecurities on me."
Chan's tears returned silently.

"Hyunjin saved my life that day," Jeongin said, wiping his eyes quickly and avoiding Hyunjin's and Chan's gaze. "And seeing Seungmin go through the same thing hurts, hyung. It hurts so much. Because I know exactly how terrified he must've been. How ashamed and alone."
Chan reached forward and cupped Jeongin's face gently. "You're so brave for telling me this."

Jeongin shook his head. "I just... I wish he didn't go through it alone. I wish he told someone."

"He will," Chan whispered. "When he wakes up... he won't have to hide anymore."
Jeongin leaned into Chan's hand slightly, tired and emotionally drained.

"Hyung?" he asked softly.

"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you had that nightmare while I was watching you..." Jeongin whispered. "Because now you don't have to carry it alone."
Chan pulled him down, hugging him tightly, and Jeongin melted into the embrace, small and trembling but safe.

Morning came slowly.
The room brightened with pale winter sunlight, but no one felt awake. Exhaustion clung to all of them, though no one complained. Nurses drifted in and out throughout the morning, checking vitals, adjusting the IV line, whispering updates in careful tones. Every time someone touched Seungmin's arm or lifted the blankets, Chan tensed, terrified something might go wrong.

"He's stable," they repeated gently each time. "We'll let you know if anything changes."
Chan nodded, but fear clung stubbornly to him.
Around noon, the doctor from last night returnedwith new files under his arm. The moment he walked into the room, everyone sat up straighter. Jisung rubbed at swollen eyes. Felix squeezed Jeongin's hand. Minho moved closer to the bed instinctively.

The doctor offered a tired but kind smile.
"I have updates for you," he said quietly. "Some good news."

Chan's heart nearly gave out from relief at those two words alone.
The doctor flipped open the file. "First the not so good ones, Seungmin is very weak. Extremely. His nutrient levels were... dangerously low and I honestly can't grasp how he managed to continue this for such a long time with intense training. But we've been supplementing his IV drip, and it's helping stabilize him."
Felix let out a shaky breath, holding his own stomach.

"His blood results came back not long ago," the doctor continued. "There were no drugs. No traces of dangerous diet pills or stimulants, just some of the usual diet pills we have seen but nothing we can't work with. That significantly lowers the risk of his body rejecting food when we reintroduce it.
We can also rule out the chance of him having any permanent damage on his lung or kidneys from the current blood result. Perhaps some kidney stress but with good nutrition this can be balanced again. His blood also seems fine for now.
We will have to check for any heart or brain issues to give him the best opportunity to recover."

"Is he... waking up soon?" Chan whispered.

The doctor nodded. "He is not in a coma. His body is simply beyond exhausted. But his brain activity shows responsiveness. And based on his vitals, we expect him to wake sometime today. When he does, he will be confused, disoriented, and extremely tired. But he should be conscious."

Chan choked on a breath, hand flying to his mouth. Tears pricked instantly at his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered-small, honest, breaking.

The doctor placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You saved his life. Don't forget that." He said before leaving the group that stayed silent.

That silence was shattered ten minutes later when the door creaked open again.

It was one of their managers, a woman who usually carried herself with professionalism of someone juggling chaos daily. But today she looked nervous, wringing her hands as she stepped inside.

"We didn't want to intrude last night," she said carefully, eyes darting to Seungmin, "but I needed to check how he's doing. What... what did the doctors say about his recovery?"

"What do you mean?" Chan asked. Did it look like Seungmin was doing fine in any way? He still hadn't woken up and this woman stands up empty handed, not even a card from the company and wants to know what the doctors said.

"Well... the company would like to know how long it will take for Seungmin to recover..."

"You want to know about recovery?" he interrupted her. "He hasn't even woken up. And you're already talking like this is something to manage?"
The others froze. Chan rarely raised his voice like this.

The manager held up her hands defensively. "No-no, Chan-ssi, that's not what I meant. I'm not reporting anything to fans. I just-"

"And why would you even bring that up right now?" Chan demanded, voice shaking with anger. "He died. He was dead on stage infront of millions of people, do you understand that? And you're worrying about what fans might think? About what you need to tell the company so they can put out some half-assed statement that Seungmin will recover within a month and perform like an acrobat in a circus?"

"That's not-"

"Get out," Chan spat out, teeth clenched so hard he could barely speak. "I swear, if you're only here because he survived and it's good PR-"

"Chan." Minho interrupted. He stood up too, stepping between Chan and the manager. "We don't need this right now."

The manager swallowed nervously. "I-it wasn't my intention-"

"No." Minho's words dripped ice. "Listen carefully. I don't want the fans to know anything what is going on! Not that he is a hospital or whatever. We are NOT having some psycho stalker break in here because you told the wrong person."
She paled visibly.
"And you will NOT," Minho continued, voice rising, "talk about his condition outside this room. Not to staff or to fans. Not to ANYONE. It's sensitive and private. And it's none of the public's damn business how close we were to losing him."
The room was dead silent except for the beeping machines.

Minho stepped closer. "He died in front of millions of people. Hundreds recorded it and uploaded it. We can't take that back. But what happens now? This this recovery and traumastays HIS story. Not something people gossip about on Twitter and something you can sell."

The manager nodded quickly, hands trembling. "Of course. I understand. I won't say a word. And I'll make sure no one else does."

"Good," Minho said. "Now get out and protect the perimeter. That's your job right now. Once Seungmin is stable he can decide what he wants fans to know and only then do we talk about it."
She bowed shakily, backing out of the room with a final apologetic glance.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Chan sagged against the wall, shaking. Minho immediately pulled him closer and brought him over to the couch.

"She would've only cared if he died," Chan whispered brokenly. "I know it. It would've been perfect for the press."

Minho shook his head, tightening his grip. "No, Chan. Right now you're scared, angry and tired. Don't give her more power than she has."

"But-"

"You're protecting him," Minho said softly. "Like you always do. And you're right. She was insensitive, but it's handled now"

Chan looked up, eyes shimmering. "I just-I can't let anything happen to him. Not after last night."

"We won't," Minho promised. "From now on, we're all watching him."
Chan nodded, leaning heavily into his shoulder.

The members kept themselves wrapped around each other in loose, exhausted piles through the day. No one had slept properly. Felix eventually ended up between Jeongin and Minho on the narrow couch, clinging without shame. At some point in the early afternoon, he quietly opened up about his own battle against anorexia. He rarely talked about it but he still admitted it started during a particularly rough era of the group, how he lived off energy drinks and one meal a day, how the pressure to be "the tiny one" suffocated him. His stomach twisted watching Seungmin now, knowing exactly how easily the spiral starts.
He knew the sudden attention on Seungmin's slight weight loss went viral. They all had seen the clips, comments, and the stupid compilations praising Seungmin's "new look." He knew how much that kind of praise could hurt.

By late afternoon, the room felt almost peaceful in its exhaustion. Some slept, some dozed, some stared blankly at the wall. Chan had barely moved from Seungmin's side. Every time someone suggested he lie down, he just shook his head.

"Not until he wakes up," he whispered.
A little before six Seungmin stirred a little bit. It was faint at first, a twitch of his fingers, the shift of his breathing. Chan sat upright instantly, gripping the armrest, holding his breath. Minho gently nudged the others awake.
After another long few minutes, Seungmin blinked one eye open, then squeezed it shut again with a tiny, pained whimper of exhaustion. His face was pale, fragile.

"Hey... hey, Min... it's okay," Chan whispered, already brushing his hair back. The softness of his voice made the others freeze and stay absolutely silent. They knew Chan needed to talk to Seungmin first.

An hour later, Seungmin blinked again, this time both eyes. He looked drunk on sleep, disoriented and unfocused. His lips parted; he tried to move his hand but winced, confused by the IV. A shaky breath rattled out of him.

"Seungmin?" Chan murmured, his eyes already glassy with relief. "Can you hear me?"
Seungmin frowned faintly, eyes darting around the room in confused panic. He didn't recognize where he was. He looked at the ceiling, the monitors, the IV stand and his breaths sped up immediately.
It was like someone had dumped a bucket of icecold water over him. He tried to pull his arm away from Chan, immediately feeling ashamed to be in this place.

Before he could spiral, Chan leaned forward, cupping his face gently, making Seungmin look at him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe. You're in the hospital, but you're safe. We're all here, okay? You're not alone."
Seungmin blinked up at him again, terrified, trying to speak, but only a rough exhale came out. He swallowed hard, lifting his hand weakly to grab Chan's sleeve like a child reaching for safety.
Chan held it instantly.

"Don't try to move too much. You're okay. You're gonna be okay."
The door opened quietly behind them. Jeongin had slipped out earlier to get a nurse. She arrived quickly but didn't speak yet, sensing the intimate moment.
Seungmin's brows furrowed again, his breathing starting to quicken into panic as he realized he didn't understand why he was in a hospital.
"Hyu...?" His voice cracked painfully. The oxygen mask was still in his way but Chan didn't dare to take it off.

"What.. what?..." Seugnmin coughed out. He remembered being on stage as the last thing and now he is in the hospital with IV drips in his arm and othe machines beeping.

Chan froze. He had hoped a nurse or doctor could break the news, but Seungmin was looking right at him, begging for an answer he didn't even know he needed. Chan swallowed, perhaps it was better that he immediately told Seungmin the truth and not waiting for a doctor.

"Min... listen to me," he whispered. "You're safe. Everything's okay now, alright? But something... something bad happened last night."
Seungmin stared emptily, fear growing.

Chan swallowed. "I don't want you to panic, but I don't want to lie to you, either. And I'm... I'm so sorry you're hearing it like this, but... you collapsed on stage."
Seungmin blinked. Confusion. Fear. His chest rose and fell faster.
Chan squeezed his hand, trying to calm him.

"You collapsed because your body was... too weak. You weren't getting enough nutrients. You pushed too hard for too long." He bit his lip, feeling guilt swallow him. "And your heart... it stopped for a bit."
That was the sentence he had dreaded saying.

Seungmin's face went paperwhite. His fingers loosened around Chan's sleeve. He pointed to his heart as if he couldn't believe what Chan was saying.

Chan nodded, voice breaking. "You went into cardiac arrest. But the paramedics revived you. You came back, Min. You're here. You're alive."
Seungmin's breath stuttered, panic flooding his whole face.

"I- I don't- I don't..." His voice cracked as he tried to sit up, but his body was too weak and the motion pulled at the IV. He gasped, tears forming from fear.

Chan immediately held his shoulders. "Hey, hey. Don't move, Min, don't. You're too weak, please. Just breathe, okay? I'm here. We're all here."
The nurse stepped in, gently taking. Off the oxygen mask after checking the monitors. "Seungmin-ssi, you're safe. Your body is recovering well. You're not in danger anymore. Please take slow breaths for me."

But Seungmin's eyes were still locked on Chan, horrified and not understanding why his own body betrayed him. Chan slipped his hand into Seungmin's.

"You're okay," he whispered again. "I promise. We're right here."

The nurse slipped out and returned moments later with the doctor, the same one who had explained most of things to Chan last night and this morning.

"Seungmin-ssi, I'm just going to check your vitals again, alright? You're safe. You're doing well so far."
Seungmin didn't answer, still trying to process what Chan had just told him. Chan stayed at his side as the doctor quickly examined him, checked his pupils, adjusted the monitors, listened to his heart, took his blood pressure.
After a few minutes, the doctor straightened with a relieved expression.

"He's stable," he announced quietly to the members. "Very weak, but stable. His heart rhythm is already normalising. The elecrtorlytes are helping. It will take time, but at the moment there are no signs of further complications."
Everyone exhaled at once.

But Seungmin didn't look relieved. He just looked. ashamed.
He lay there staring at the blanket pulled up to his waist, his breath shaky, his face drawn and exhausted. None of them spoke. They all waited, giving him space to understand.

It was Seungmin who broke the silence first.
"I'm... I'm sorry."

Chan tensed immediately. "Min-"

"I ruined everything." His voice cracked, and his lip trembled. "The performance. Your speeches. The awards... You all should've been celebrating and instead you were in a hospital because of me."

Jeongin immediately shook his head, sitting upright in a panic. "No, Seungmin, it wasn't-"

"I lied," Seungmin whispered over him, tears dripping sideways into his pillow. "I lied to all of you. Every time you asked if I ate. Every time you looked worried. I told you I was fine. I told you I was just tired. And I-I wasn't. I wasn't okay and I didn't try hard enough to stop it."

Felix leaned forward, eyes already red. "Min... please don't-"

"I knew," Seungmin cried, fists shaking weakly. "I knew what starving yourself does. I saw it happen to you-" His eyes flicked to Felix, then Jeongin. "I knew, and I still kept going. I still... I still let myself get like this. I hate myself for it. I hate that I put you through this. I hate that I made you watch me-"
His breath hitched violently.
"That I-" His voice failed. "That I made you see me die."

A whimper escaped Chan, barely audible.
Changbin acted first, scooting closer and placing one hand very gently on Seungmin's blanket covered leg.

"Min," Changbin said firmly, "stop. Please. You don't need to apologize for being sick. You don't need to apologize for struggling."

But Seungmin shook his head desperately. "I ruined everything-"

And Minho, who had been silent this entire time, finally snapped.
"STOP."

The word was loud enough to make everyone freeze.
Minho stood abruptly, his bloodshot eyes finding Seungmin's.

"Stop apologizing for ruining the performance," he hissed. "Stop apologizing for ruining our night. Stop apologizing for anything that doesn't fucking matter." Seungmin looked up at him, startled, eyes wide.
"You were ruining yourself, Seungmin." He pressed a fist to his mouth for a second before dropping it, breathing hard. "You fucking DIED. Do you understand that? You died on that dammed stage. If Chan hadn't gotten to you immediately-" Minho pointed at Chan, whose shoulders shook as he cried silently. "If he had hesitated for even thirty seconds.." His voice broke. "You wouldn't be here. Or you'd be brain damaged. Or worse."

Seungmin flinched, tears spilling faster. Minho dragged a hand through his hair. "You're apologizing for ruining a fucking performance when we almost lost you? When Chan had to..." He swallowed hard. "When I saw Chan crying on top of you doing everything he could to revive you, Seungmin. We don't care about the performance. We don't care about the damn awards and speeches. We care about YOU."

Seungmin's eyes were huge and glassy, his breath trembling in and out. He just stared at Minho, stunned, because Minho was never loud. Seeing him break hurt more than any words.

After a long moment, Seungmin slowly turned his head back toward Chan. He grabbed Chan's hand and pulled it closer.

"Hyung..." he whispered. "I... I didn't know. I didn't know you were the one who-"
Chan leaned in and took his hand instantly, squeezing gently.

"You shouldn't have had to," Chan whispered, eyes overflowing.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin sobbed, voice tiny. "I'm sorry you had to do that. I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I'm sorry you had to... to bring me back. I'm sorry I put you through that, hyung."
Chan shook his head fiercely, leaning forward until their foreheads nearly touched.

"No. Don't apologize for that. Don't you dare," he whispered. "I would do it again. A thousand times. I don't care how terrifying it was. I don't care what I had to see. You're alive and that's all I want."

Seungmin cried harder, shoulders weakly trembling. He tried to steady his breathing, wiping at his face, but his hands were so unsteady they barely moved.

"I want to get better," he whispered. "I want to. I swear I do. I just... I don't know how. I don't know if I can. I don't know where to start."
Chan squeezed his hand tighter, voice raw and soft.

"We'll help you," he promised. "You don't have to do it alone."
Minho exhaled shakily. Felix wiped his face. Jeongin sniffed. Changbin rubbed his shoulder.
And Seungmin cried in Chan's arms the first time in months because the truth was finally out and they were still at his side.

Not even five minutes passed after Seungmin's breakdown before a nurse knocked softly and stepped inside.
"Seungmin-ssi, we need to take you for a scan now. It is needed to exclude any permanent damage on your organs and so we can be able to see which medication to give you for a full recovery. It won't take more than twenty minutes."

Chan's heart dropped again, but he nodded and moved out of the way as she began to put the wires different monitors off of
Seungmin before unlocking the brakes of the hospital bed. Seungmin looked terrified, still clutching Chan's fingers and Chan bent down, brushing a thumb across the younger's knuckles.

"I'll be right here when you come back," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
Seungmin gave the slightest nod as the nurse started pushing him out with the help of another nurse.
The door closed behind them, and the silence felt too loud.

A few minutes passed before the remaining members were ushered out by another nurse. Visiting hours had technically ended, and last night's exception wouldn't be repeated. They argued for a moment, but eventually relented, each came forward to hug Chan tightly before leaving.

"We'll come back first thing in the morning, hyung," Jeongin whispered against his shoulder.
"Call if anything happens," Minho added, his eyes still red. He squeezed Chan's arm once before turning away. "And please take a quick shower."

And then Chan was alone in the quiet room, staring at the empty space, the mess of wires, the indented pillow where Seungmin's head had just been before going to the bathroom to take a short shower.

Just as he came out of the bathroom the door opened and nurse wheeled Seungmin inside. Chan instantly saw how drained Seugnmin looked. His eyes fluttered open at the movement, and he blinked slowly, finding Chan's face and relaxing the tiniest bit.
The nurse stayed behind after adjusting the bed back into place and hooking Seungmin to the different monitors and IV's.

"Everything went well," she said softly, glancing between the two. "The scan didn't show any immediate damage on the first glance. That's a very good sign."
Chan inhaled shakily, nodding.

"Tomorrow or the day after we'll do more thorough checks of heart, stomach, blood sugar responses, neurological evaluations. Right now, he's too weak for anything more but we have do everything as soon as possible. I hope you can understand this."
Seungmin blinked, overwhelmed and barely keeping up whilst Chan nodded.

"We're going to start reintroducing food tonight," the nurse continued, gentle but firm. "The goal is to help his body tolerate nutrition again and prevent refeeding complications. Liquids and nothing extremely solid for now. We'll monitor everything closely."
Chan nodded again, determined.

"I'll help him," he immediately said as he noticed Seungmin's scared expression. "Whatever he needs."

The nurse smiled softly. "He'll need support. Especially mental. Eating again can be very frightening for someone coming out of this situation."
Seungmin's eyes dropped immediately.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a bland meal, consisting of soup and a very small portion of porridge that was unseasoned to not upset his stomach.

The moment the tray was placed on the rolling table, Seungmin's entire body tensed. He stared at the food as if it were a threat. His face crumpled, and all he wanted to do was shove it to the ground and hide it under the blanket.

"I can't," he whispered before the tears spilled again. "Chan... I can't. I don't want to do this in front of you. I look pathetic."
Chan moved instantly, pulling the chair closer so he sat as close to Seungmin as possible and reached for his hand.

"You're not pathetic," he said softly. "You're sick and you survived a deathly illness. And you're doing something incredibly hard right now so it is absolutely fine to not look perfect."
Seungmin shook his head, wiping at his face with weak, clumsy movements.

"I hate this," he whispered. "I hate that I need help to eat like a child. I hate that you have to watch me. I hate that-" His voice broke. "I hate myself for not wanting to eat even after this..."
Chan but his lip but still looked at Seungmin with as much confidence he could put together.

"I don't see you as weak," he murmured. "I don't see you as a burden. I don't think any less of you. This is what healing looks like. It's painful and humiliating and messy. But it's not weakness. You don't think Lix and Iyen are weak, or?"
Seungmin sobbed, shoulders trembling as he shook his head.

Chan waited, knowing it would be pointless to rush Seungmin. After a few minutes, when Seungmin's crying softened into exhausted sniffling, Chan reached for the small bowl broth.

"Just this," he said quietly. "Just start here. It's not much? And you always liked broth, it's your favourite part of a meal. We don't have to touch the porridge yet if it would be too much on your stomach."
Seungmin stared at the bowl. Then at Chan. His hands trembled violently as he lifted the spoon with a bit of broth on it.
He brought it to his lips.
His jaw clenched.
His throat bobbed.
And he froze.

Chan placed a comforting hand against his back, rubbing slow circles.
"It's okay," he whispered. "Take your time. You don't have to finish this within a few minutes."

Seungmin's breaths were uneven. Fear, shame, nausea all battling inside him, but after almost a full minute, he pushed the spoon into his mouth.

His lips pressed together hard.
His eyes welled up again. At one point he gagged, hand flying up to cover his mouth, but Chan held him instantly.

"Breathe, Min. Just breathe. You're okay. You're doing so well."
It took everything in Seungmin not to spit it out. His eyes squeezed shut, tears running down his cheeks again.
But he swallowed.
Chan felt tears spring up again, a quiet, emotional laugh escaping him at the same time.

"You did it," Chan whispered, brushing Seungmin's hair gently. "You really did it."
Seungmin covered his face with both hands, sobbing again.

"I hate this," he whispered again. "But... I want to try. I don't want to die. I don't want to scare you again."
Chan rested his forehead against Seungmin's shoulder, voice breaking.

"Good," he whispered. "Then we'll do this together. One bite at a time. As slow as you need."
Seungmin nodded weakly, still crying, but the hand that wasn't covering his face reached for Chan's sleeve... and held it tightly.
For now, that was enough.
It took an eternity for Seungmin to finish few spoons of broth as every spoon was a mental battle.

Chan stayed beside him the whole time, rubbing his back when he froze, handing him tissues when he cried, steadying his hands when they trembled too much to lift a spoon on their own. Sometimes Seungmin leaned against him with his head bowed, simply breathing and trying not to gag. Sometimes he just cried quietly, overwhelmed and exhausted.

Nearly half an hour later, the bowl was empty and Chan called it a victory.
"You did amazing," Chan whispered, brushing away a tear from Seungmin's cheek.

Seungmin shook his head weakly. "I... I barely ate anything."

"You had more than you wanted to. More than you thought you could." Chan kissed his forehead softly. "That's impressive, Min."
Seungmin's eyes softened, but he was drained, his body slumping tiredly against Chan's side.

"Do you think you can do more for now?" Chan asked. "There is some porridge left."
Seungmin hesitated, glancing at the tray. "I think its too much for now."
Chan nodded. "It's fine, I'll bring it to the nurse for now."
He slipped out of the room and returned a minute later with a small bottle.

Before Chan even had time to explain the bottle, Seungmin was glaring at the bottle like it held poison.

"It'll make me gain weight..." he whispered, voice cracking. "These... these drinks always do."
Chan exhaled quietly, sat back down, and took Seungmin's hand.

"Min," he said softly. "Look at me."
Seungmin lifted his eyes slowly.
"You're thinking about comments of fans and other people, aren't you?" Chan murmured. "About people who told you you looked perfect when you were starving yourself." Seungmin didn't need to answer. His expression said enough. "And now you're afraid that if you gain weight again, they'll call you ugly."
Seungmin's breath hitched. Chan spoke out exactly what he hadn't wanted to admit. Chan cupped his cheek gently

"You're not ugly," he said firmly. "You're not 'less beautiful' no matter how your body changes. And you know what? Changbin isn't just skin and bones either. I don't see you calling him ugly."
Seungmin blinked, startled by the comparison.

"That's... different," he whispered. "He has muscles. That's what people like."

Chan tilted his head. "Then why didn't you ever try gaining muscle yourself? And maintaining weight in a healthier, safer way? Why hurt yourself instead?"
Seungmin's lips trembled. He swallowed.

"I... I always stayed on the smaller side," he admitted. "If I suddenly bulked up, fans would hate it. They'd say I ruined my proportions or changed too much."

"Fans," Chan repeated quietly. "Those same people who don't know you. Who don't know your body. Who sit behind anonymous profiles because they're bored, jealous and miserable."
Seungmin looked down.
"You should be able to do whatever you want with your body," Chan said gently. "Gain muscle. Gain weight. Stay soft. Literally anything as long as it's healthy and makes you happy. No faceless stranger should be allowed to decide something so personal."

Seungmin took a shaking breath.
"Min," Chan whispered, lifting the bottle slightly. "Just try a sip. You don't have to finish it. Just try it for yourself and fro your health."
Seungmin stared at it for a long moment. Something in Chan's voice, or maybe the memory of almost dying made him reach out.
His hands trembled violently and Chan steadied the bottle with him, letting Seungmin decide the pace.
Very slowly, Seungmin brought it to his lips and took a small sip.

His eyes squeezed shut, his breath stuttering but he didn't spit it out. He swallowe, took a and then another sip.
Chan rubbed circles into his back the whole time.

"Good... that's really good," he whispered.
Seungmin managed a few more small sips before he lowered the bottle, exhausted and shaky.

"That's enough," Chan murmured. "You're doing so well."
He set the supplement aside and let Seungmin collapse against him, body going limp with exhaustion. Tears soaked into Chan's shirt.

"Shh," Chan murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "You did so well Seungmin. Hyung is so proud of your for trying it on your own. You decided to eat a little and this is good."
Seungmin nodded against him, eyes already fluttering shut.

"You pushed yourself so hard today," Chan said softly. "You're exhausted. Sleep, okay? Your body needs it." Seungmin curled closer, fingers weakly gripping Chan's shirt.

"Will you stay?" he whispered.
Chan held him tightly.

"I'm not leaving," Chan promised. "Never again."
Seungmin finally let himself sleep while Chan stayed awake most of the night, brushing his fingers through his hair and keeping watch over the boy he had almost lost.

-

Minho was the first one to push the door open. The early sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Chan was slumped in the chair beside Seungmin's bed, neck bent at a painful angle, one hand lying loosely on the sheets where he must've held on until exhaustion took him out.

Minho exhaled annoyedly. "He's gonna snap his spine like that..." he muttered before nudging Changbin with his elbow. "Help me. Before he wakes up as a fossil."
The two of them lifted Chan carefully. He didn't stir, only mumbled something incoherent as they carried him to the small couch in the corner. But the second Changbin gently moved Chan's hand off the mattress, the loss of warmth made Seungmin's fingers twitch, his breathing hitch and his eyes flew open.

A wave of panic surged through him, his chest rising too fast.
"Hey, hey, Seungminie," Hyunjin whispered quickly, stepping into his line of sight with both hands raised. "It's us. You're okay. Chan's just on the couch because of his neck." He tipped his head to the side.

Seungmin turned, spotting Chan curled up on the small sofa, wrapped haphazardly in a blanket they must've brought to the hospital from home. His shoulders sagged at the sight, panic dissolving immediately.

Felix was already shuffling closer, careful of the monitors and IV lines. "Can I...?" he asked quietly.
Seungmin nodded, and Felix tucked himself gently against his side, forehead resting against Seungmin's shoulder whilst Hyunjin sat at the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling? Be honest."

Seungmin licked his lips. "Tired... but... I think I remember most of last night." He bit his lip at the memory of Chan helping him eat some plain broth. "Chan helped me eat a bit. The broth took forever and there was some porridge but it was too much. I also got a supplement drink."

A soft smile tugged at Jeongin's lips. "That's huge progress, hyung. Seriously."

"Yeah," Felix added, squeezing his arm gently. "We're really proud of you."
Seungmin's cheeks warmed, a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

Hyunjin glanced at the little rolling tray by the wall. "The nurse brought breakfast a while ago. Did you try anything yet?"
Seungmin shook his head. "I... woke up shortly when she brought it but I couldn't eat it alone and I wanted Hyung to sleep some more."

"Okay." Jeongin said, sitting down next to Hyunjin. "Do you want to try with us? Or should we wake Chan?"
Seungmin's eyes went to the couch again. Chan was still deeply asleep, lips slightly parted, completely dead to the world after everything that happened in the past 30 hours.

"...I can try with you," Seungmin whispered, not wanting to force chan out of sleep just because he was being a baby. "You and Lix... you know how this is. It's okay."

Jeongin nodded once. "Alright. Let's do this slowly."
He wheeled the tray over. Breakfast was similar to the night before, plain broth and porridge but with a few crackers at the side. It all looked harmless, but Seungmin's stomach still rolled just seeing it.

He took a breath and pointed for the broth first.

"Good choice," Jeongin murmured as he helped adjust the bed so Seungmin could sit more comfortably. "It's still warm."
The first spoonful trembled in Seungmin's hand, but he got it down. Then another. Slowly, carefully. Jeongin and Felix kept praising every few minutes, never over the top, just to reassure Seungmin enough.

"That's it. You're doing amazing."
"Take your time."
"Your pace is perfect."
By the time the bowl was empty, Seungmin was breathing hard, as if he'd run laps instead of eaten.

Felix brushed his hair off his forehead. "I'm really proud of you, Min."

Seungmin swallowed. "Thanks..."
He tried the porridge but had to stop after two small spoons, grimacing. "It... feels weird. Makes me want to throw up."

"That's okay," Jeongin said instantly. "Don't force it. We can try it later or a cracker."
The cracker also didn't sit right with Seungmin so they decided to stop for now to not overwhelm Seungmin anymore. The room had stayed busy around him, Hyunjin and Minho quietly bickering about a movie they watched whilst Minho was petting Chan's head that rested on his lap . Changbin and Jisung were scrolling through their phones and whispering commentary. They made sure Seungmin didn't feel judged in any way.

After a few minutes of cuddling he glanced toward Jeongin and Felix. "Um... did the company say anything?"
Felix sat back a little. "Yeah. They put out a statement this morning. Super vague. Just that you're alive and receiving care. Nothing about hospitals or any medical information."

Hyunjin added, "The clip's everywhere, though. Even news outlets are making a huge thing out of it. But fans are being really supportive. Like, really supportive. They are very concerned and stormed the company last night to protest and are sending lots of threats to out management to take better care of us."

"Friends asked too," Jeongin said. "But we didn't tell anyone anything. Not until you're better and you're okay with it."

Seungmin's throat tightened. "You didn't have to wait."

"Of course we did," Felix said softly. "It's your story and get to decide who hears how much and when."
Seungmin blinked hard, eyes stinging.

"I... thank you," he whispered, voice thin but sincere.

Felix leaned against him again. "We're here for you, Minnie. Even if you think it's unnecessary"
Seungmin's gaze drifted once more to Chan asleep on the couch. He felt grateful for having such good friends. They took care of each other better than his own family would ever do.
Maybe family didn't need to be related by blood or labels. They all loved each other dearly and Seungmin couldn't be more grateful for fate letting him find such incredible people.

After a few hours, Chan eventually woke up around lunchtime, rubbing at his neck with a wince as he sat up on the couch. The second his eyes landed on Seungmin, he was already pushing himself to his feet.

"You're awake," he murmured. Seungmin smiled a little. "I should be the one saying that."
Chan's worry lessened a little. He moved to the bedside, brushed his thumb across Seungmin's cheek, and whispered, "Good morning, Min."
It was embarrassingly comforting for the younger.
But the calm didn't last. A nurse knocked quietly before entering with a clipboard tucked to her chest.

"Hello," she said kindly. "Seungmin-ssii, I'd like to see ask if it would be okay to do some of the check-ups I mentioned yesterday. Just some measurements, vitals and a neurological exam. Nothing painful, but it will take some time." Her eyes flicked to the group. "One of you may accompany him, of course."
Seungmin's stomach dropped instantly. He didn't realize how tense he'd gotten until Chan's fingers brushed his arm.

"I'll stay," Chan said before anyone else could speak. "If that's okay."
Seungmin gave a tiny nod and the rest of the group immediately agreed too and went out of the room.
The nurse wheeled in a portable scale and measuring tools.

"We'll start with body measurements," she explained gently. "We won't tell you the numbers unless you ask."

Seungmin nearly flinched. "I don't want to know."

Chan stepped closer, placing his hands on Seungmin's shoulders. "You won't hear a thing," he promised. "I've got you." He helped Seungmin stand up. The younger was very shaky on his legs, something you'd expect from the state his body was still in.

The nurse began noting things down: height, waist circumference, muscle and fat estimates, bone visibility markers. Seungmin kept his eyes fixed on Chan the whole time. Chan kept talking softly, about completely random things, the members' terrible sleep hair, Felix almost tripping over Hyunjin's shoe during in practice, the manager threatening to burn Minho's hoodie if he didn't stop leaving it on the floor.

Every time the nurse shifted or the tape pressed against his skin, Seungmin jolted a little. His breathing sped up when she weighed him.

Chan cupped his face. "Look at me. Just me. You're okay."
Seungmin didn't know what number appeared on the machine. He only knew the nurse wrote it down quickly and didn't announce it, exactly as promised.

Next came the blood sugar check, oxygen saturation and heart rate variations. Finally, a neurological evaluation to make sure his brain hadn't taken damage while he was without a heartbeat.
She gave him a few coordination tasks, reflex checks, memory questions. It was draining, made worse by the pressure of trying to not fail at something else.
Chan stayed beside him the whole time, standing right at the other side of him.

When the nurse finally smiled and said, "Everything looks fine so far," Seungmin sagged in relief. "I will report the results and a doctor will evaluate them and will consult you."
The moment she left the room, Seungmin slumped sideways and practically melted into Chan's lap, arms sliding around his waist with quiet desperation.

Chan froze for half a second because of how hard Seungmin was clinging, then wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close.

"You did so well," Chan whispered into his hair. "I know it was exhausting and I know you hate every part of this but you did it well."
Seungmin didn't answer. He didn't have the strength. His face was buried in Chan's stomach, warm tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. His whole body trembled with exhaustion, humiliation and relief.

Chan stroked his hair slowly. "We'll rest for a bit. You can stay right here. You don't have to move until you want to."
Seungmin let out a small, broken sound and pushed himself even closer. He didn't care how he looked. Not after everything. Not in front of Chan.

"Just... hold me," he whispered, barely audible. Chan smiled and wrapped his arms around Seungmin's thin waist and held him as close as he possibly could.
It felt good to finally be able to hold Seungmin in his arms, even if the younger felt like a skeleton, but Chan didn't care. Seungmin was opening up and Chan had no problem being there every day until Seungmin would be doing better.

-

The next two days blurred into a routinethat Seungmin very much despised.
Breakfast.
Lunch.
Dinner.
Three times a day, every day, even if he cried through half of it, and he couldn't handle more than a few bites of porridge after the broth most times. For someone who had spent months eating once every three days, mostly less, the regularity felt impossible. But Chan stayed with him through all of it.

He practically lived in the hospital room now.
The other members brought food, clothes, blankets, phone chargers, and whatever they thought would make it easier for Chan to stay. Jeongin showed up with a bag full of snacks Chan liked. Felix brought fresh clothes and a hoodies. Minho dropped off a small stack of books and told Chan to "just read to him if he gets anxious." Hyunjin delivered a pillow and scolded him for trying to sleep on the uncomfortable chair.

But Chan didn't care where he slept. He only cared that Seungmin kept breathing.

Every meal was a battle. Seungmin pushed through most of them, crying quietly with his head down as he forced himself to take tiny bites. Sometimes he got nauseous halfway through and had to stop. Sometimes he froze for long times, staring at nothing while Chan stroked his arm or talked softly until he came back. And a few rare times Seungmin was unable to keep the food down if it was too much for him mentally. He would stress himself until he threw the meal up but this problem had decreased quicker than expected.
But at least he ate.
He ate because he had people who didn't let him disappear.

On the evening of the third day, the doctor returned with a stack of papers that made Chan sit up straighter.

"Seungmin," he said as he closed the door behind him, "I've gone through all your tests, as well as scans and blood results."
Seungmin's hands twisted into the blanket, bracing himself for confirmation that his body was too far gone, that his future was gone with it.
But instead the doctor smiled.

"There is no heart damage. No neurological damage. No organ failure. You collapsed because your body didn't have any fuel left not because of fatal organ failure."
Seungmin let out a shaky breath he had been holding since the moment he hit the stage floor whilst Chan's eyes closed in relief.

"We were able to diagnose with tenporary kidney stress. It isn't chronic and developed most likely under stress and malnutrition so this will go away in a few weeks depending on how well you adapt to a better diet.
Another pint is that you are dangerously underweight," the doctor continued gently. "Your eating disorder was also diagnosed and the team will do the best to help you during your recovery. This being said, you will be able to make full recovery without permanent issues."

For a moment, Seungmin didn't react. His mind couldn't catch up.
Then his eyes filled, and he lifted trembling hands to his face. "So I... I didn't ruin everything?"

"No," the doctor said certainly. "You didn't ruin anything. And will be able to fully recover."
Chan let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob and leaned forward to wrap an arm around Seungmin's shoulders. Seungmin melted into him instantly, pressing his face into Chan's chest as relief shook through him.
The doctor continued. "In the next week we will monitor your blood levels, nutrition, hydration, and weight. If your body responds well to the meals and supplements, and if you gain enough weight to not be dangerous underweight, you will be cleared for early release."

Seungmin sniffed hard, lifting his head. "Early release?"

"Yes," the doctor said. "Many Patients that suffer from anorexia actually recover better if they don't complete the full healing journey in the hospital. Hospitals are a different environment and always having the same routine helps the patient for the time they have the routine. Familiar environments help stabilize them emotionally as long as they weren't traumatising. You get control of what to cook but most likely not have a routine like you have in the hospital and will run into problems that you won't run into when you recover at the hosptial."

Seungmin's breath stuttered in his chest. "So I... I could go home soon?"

"If everything stays stable and you show signs of not wanting to fall back into old habits, yes."
That was when Seungmin finally let his tears drop. His shoulders shook, hands covering his face as Chan pulled him into a tight hug.

"You hear that?" Chan whispered against his hair. "You're coming home if everything goes well. You're going to heal. You haven't lost anything, Minnie."
Seungmin clutched at his shirt, voice small and cracking.
"I thought I destroyed my future... and the group's... I thought I ruined everything for you."

"Hey," Chan murmured, cupping his cheeks and making him look up. "You didn't ruin anything and even if you did I couldn't care less. We almost lost you."

After the doctor left the room with the good news the rest of the groups trickles in, Hyunjin and Jisung a bit later with some food they found in the nearest convenience store.
Chan tells them about the news whilst Seungmin does his best to eat the broth on his own, determined to get out of that uncomfortable room with the beeping sounds that will definetily give him a headache sooner or later.

It takes less time for Seungmin to finish the broth this time and he even manages to eat four of the crackers alongside a few spoons of the porridge, already a lot more than the last days.

Felix proudly praises Seungmin everytime he eats a cracke and wants to try the porridge. Seugnmin loves how the older cares for him and even feels a little guilty for some minutes but he knows Felix will wave it off if he dares to apologise.

The others are scattered around the room, Jeongin curled against the windowsill with his phone, Jisung doodling in the notebook the nurses gave him, Minho quietly scrolling for anything that might distract Seungmin later.

There's a soft knock on the door and before any of them can answer, the door opens and a different manager steps inside. None of them recognize him immediately, but they all feel the tension.

He forces a polite smile. "Hello. I'm here on behalf of management. I was told to check in." His voice is flat, almost bored. His eyes flick over Seungmin who lays curled up against Chan's chest whilst also holding Felix's hand, as if taking inventory more than showing concern.
Seungmin stiffens, fingers curling in Chan's sweatshirt. A second earlier he'd been half-asleep. Now he's wide awake.
Chan's hand strokes his arm once, grounding him.

"Yes?" Hyunjin says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair to watch the manager with unimpressed eyes. "Check in how?"

The manager sighs as though this is tedious for him. "Well... I'm supposed to ask how he's doing." His tone makes it clear he doesn't actually want the answer. "So. How is he?"

Seungmin stares at his blanket. Chan answers for him. "Recovering, exhausted and overwhelmed. That's how he's doing.But at least he is alive."
The manager nods as if he expected a generic update and not a pointed reminder that Seungmin died in front of thousands.

Minho's jaw tightens. He sees right through the act. "You're obviously not here just to pretend you care. So stop wasting our time. What does management want?"

The man's polite expression cracks. Annoyance flashes across it. "Fine. I'll skip the small talk since you clearly don't appreciate it."
"No one appreciates fake concern," Jisung mutters without looking up from his notebook.

The manager clears his throat. "Management wants to release an official public statement. Something to calm fans down and reduce the... chaos."

Seungmin lifts his head. "Chaos?"
The man shrugs. "Protest trucks have been nonstop. Fans keep breaking in the company and are sending petitions, demanding the company let all of you rest. They're texting staff, emailing executives, clogging the phones. The board wants-"

"Flowers," Chan interrupts, voice icy. "Or a card. Or any kind of human response. Something to show they give a damn about him."

"Yeah," Hyunjin adds sharply. "Before you talk about statements, maybe talk about basic fucking decency."
The manager blinks, startled at the sudden wall of hostility. But the worst part is that not once does he deny it. He doesn't apologize or look embarrassed. He only continues with a weary breath, as though they are the burdens in this situation.
"We can send something if it's that important, but-"

Minho barks a laugh, humorless. "If it's important? He died onstage. And you're acting like we're requesting balloons for a kindergarten party."

The manager ignores him. "Look, the company wants to clarify that Seungmin is still alive. They think remaining silent will make the situation worse."

Jisung snaps his notebook shut. "They don't get to decide that."

"Yes, well-"

"No." Jisung interrupts him loudly. "Seungmin doesn't owe anyone anything. Not fans, not reporters, and definitely not management. When anything about his health gets released, it'll be because he chose it."

The manager's jaw clenches. "This isn't optional. Fans are panicking. Something needs to be said."

"And you think rushing him into the spotlight again is going to help?" Felix asks, incredulous. "He's barely managing to eat broth without having a panic attack. Is that what you want to tell fans? As much as I love them they do not need to know every single thing."

Jeongin leans forward. "Besides, the fans are panicking because they care. And because the company refuses to. That's not on us."
The manager looks like he wants to argue again, but Chan stands up slowly, shifting Seungmin so he's leanings against Felix.
Chan rarely looks genuinely angry, especially the silent angry where he looks like he is about to explode louder than a volcano within the next minute.

"You'll tell management something from us," Chan says. "Since they're clearly not coming themselves."
The room goes quiet. Even Seungmin looks up at him.
Chan continues. "The group needs a break, possibly for months and without a camera being forced in our faces. Everyone is burnt out. The album and shows have been too much. And now this happened. It's our last straw and it's about time to give us a break after working for years with maybe 3 months break in total."

The manager frowns. "Think about your future! You can't just decide that without discussing-"

"I just did." Chan steps closer in a threatening way. "You'll pass it on."

"And what exactly am I supposed to tell them? That you're refusing to-"

"That you can take your insensitive ass out of this room," Chan snaps. "And everything else I told a few seconds ago, I hope I don't need to repeat myself."
The shock on the manager's face is almost satisfying.

He opens his mouth to argue, but one look at seven furious boys tells him he won't win. He straightens his jacket, collects the folder he barely opened, and walks toward the door with stiff shoulders.
Before he leaves, he glances at Seungmin again, maybe expecting gratitude or guilt.
He gets neither.

Seungmin is pressed into Chan's side again, looking exhausted but relieved that his friends are fighting for him like this.
The moment the door clicks shut, the tension in the room breaks like air rushing out of a crushed bottle.

Jisung runs a hand through his messy hair. "I hate him."

"Get in line," Minho mutters.

Felix turns to Seungmin gently. "Hey. You okay?" Seungmin nods once, voice soft. "Thank you... for protecting me."

Chan's hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. "You don't have to thank us for that. Ever." Jeongin exhales shakily. "Whatever happens next... we'll decide it together. Not them."

It's quiet for a bit until Hyunjin breaks the quiet. "He wasn't wrong about one thing."
Everyone turns. Hyunjin continues, "We do have to think about the future. Not the company's idea of it. Ours and how we want to live."

Jeongin shifts from his place by the windowsill and sits on the edge of the bed across from Hyunjin. "Yeah. We should talk about it properly."
Minho uncrosses his arms. "Let's start with the obvious. Do we still want to continue as a group?"

There isn't even a second of doubt.
"Yes," Hyunjin says instantly. "Absolutely," Felix replies.
"Of course," Jisung adds. Minho nods. "Same."

Chan glances down at Seungmin, giving him the space to answer without pressure. "Seungmin?"

Seungmin takes a slow breath. His hands tremble a little, though he seems unaware of it. "I want to continue," he says quietly. "More than anything. Performing means everything to me. But I also know I... I can't go right back to the way things were."
He swallows hard, forcing the words out before they dissolve inside him again.
"I love what we do. I love being on stage with you, I love the music, I love the fans. But if I push myself the way I used to, I'm not sure I'll make it next time. And I don't want that. I don't want any of us to end up like this again."

Felix reaches over the blankets and squeezes his hand. "You're not alone in that. We've all been pushing too hard."

Changbin, who had been unusually silent, sits forward. "I think... whatever happens, it needs to start with a break. Just like Hyung said. We need a break for long and this without having cameras shoved into our faces the second we visit our parents."
Everyone agrees wordlessly.

Hyunjin fiddles with the ring on his finger, thinking deeply before speaking. "If we get a few months, I want to travel. I've dreamed about it since I was a kid. We've been to so many countries, but never actually seen them. Always rehearsals, concerts, interviews, planes, hotels and more rehearsals." He sighs gently. "There's so much beauty out there and I've never had time to appreciate any of it. I want to go, even if it's alone. I think it would help me breathe again."

Felix nods eagerly. "I want to go too. And visit my family properly and spend some time with them and not having to film them or myself. Just... be Felix for a while."

Jisung raises his hand half-heartedly. "I want to go solo for a bit. At least try it. There's so much I want to write, stuff that doesn't fit the group's concept. I want to experiment without someone hovering over me telling me it's too weird, too sad or too experimental." He looks at them sheepishly. "I still want the group. Just... I want to find myself a little again."

Changbin nods slowly. "Same. I've had ideas for years that I never pursued because they didn't match our image. I want to see what my music sounds like without restrictions."

Minho takes in a deep breath. "I want to enlist."
The room goes still whilst Minho continues calmly, as if he prepared the speech a few days ago. "I've been preparing for it for a while now. I made plans for after, too. I think it's the right time. We're not getting younger, and delaying it is just delaying life." He shrugs lightly. "And with Seungmin needing time to recover and the group taking a break it feels like the best opportunity."
All eyes shift to Jeongin, who looks determined.

"I want to enlist too," he says. "Some of my friends are going early next year. I was hoping to go with them. And if we take a break, this would be the perfect time."

Felix chews at his lip. "Will you be okay? You'll both be gone for a while."

"We'll be okay," Minho assures him. "And we won't be swallowed by earth."
Jeongin smiles gently. "And we'll still video call. We're not disappearing."

Chan is quiet for a moment, absorbing all their dreams, all their exhaustion, all the weight they've been carrying alone. Then he speaks with the kind of softness that always makes them listen.

"I think I want to go home," Chan says. "Just visit Australia for a bit. Be with my family. Touch grass. Sit on a beach. Maybe remember who I used to be before everything passed by so fast."
The group nods, because if anyone deserves a breath of fresh air, it's Chan.

Seungmin looks up again, voice steady but soft. "Then we should ask for a break, no matter how much management hates it."

"They will," Minho mutters.

"But they'll live," Jisung adds.

Felix nudges Seungmin gently. "And what about you? What do you want during the break?"

Seungmin thinks for a moment. "Therapy. Time to get healthy. Time where I'm not watched or filmed or pushed. I need that before I ruin myself again."He bites his lip before continuing. "And when I'm discharged, I want to release a statement. Enough so fans know I'm getting help and that I'll be back when I'm ready."
The others look uncertain.

Hyunjin asks, "You're sure? You don't need to. It would be enough if our hiatus is announced."

"I know," Seungmin replies. "But disappearing for months will scare them even more. They love us and are willing to burn the company down. They deserve at least that much."

Chan tucks a stray hair behind his ear. "If that's what you want, we'll support it."

Seungmin nods, leaning closer. "I just want this to be handled on my terms."

Jisung claps his hands softly, the sound barely louder than a sigh. "Then it's settled. We talk to management all together. We request a break. A long one. And when Seungmin is discharged, he decides what gets shared and how much."

—

The days blend together in the boring way hospital days tend to. Each one feels the same on the surface, but sometimes everything is changing,
The others come every day without consulting management and violating every safety measurement. Most of times all of them at once, crowding the room with the familiar chaos of their presence. Other times they arrive in pairs depending on their schedules, or rather, their schedules before they started ignoring every attempt the company made to drag them back to work.

Hyunjin brings flowers two days in a row, not caring that Seugnmin was never fond of flowers. Felix comes with handmade cards from their closest friends, each one filled with short notes of love and relief that Seungmin is still here. Jisung brings stuffed letters and gift from fans that had been sent to the building. Minho and Jeongin show up with better food for Chan, making sure he doesn't forget to take care of himself.

Someone from company calls at least four times a day. The members reject every call until Chan finally snaps and sends a email to the head manager:
If you want to speak to us, schedule a meeting. Do not show up unannounced, especially during breakfast, lunch or dinner or I will personally escort you out.

On the eight day, Seungmin's exhaustion shifts into something better but worse at the same time. His body is slowly adjusting to three meals a day, plus supplement drinks, yet his mind hates it.
He hates how full he gets. He hates how sluggish his stomach feels. He hates the idea of "gaining weight" even though he understands he needs it. The internal war between logic and panic eats every nerve in him.

By afternoon, he's grumpy and withdrawn, glaring at the supplement drink sitting on the bedside table as if it personally offended him.
Chan watches him for a moment from the chair beside the bed. "You keep staring at it like it might explode."

"I hope it does." Seungmin hisses, still glaring at the drink. "I hate this thing."

"I know," Chan says simply.

"I hate being weak."

"You're not."

"I hate that I have to gain weight."

"Your body needs it."

"I hate that I can't do anything but lie here."

"That one," Chan says with a soft smile, "I can understand."
Seungmin shoots him a half-hearted glare, then flops back against the pillows, arms crossed like a child denied dessert. "This is humiliating."
Chan moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "It's not humiliating. It's recovery."

"It feels the same."

"You're allowed to hate it," Chan says gently. "You're allowed to be angry. But you're not allowed to give up. Not after everything you've survived."

Seungmin swallows hard, eyes stinging, though he tries to blink it away. "I'm just... tired. I don't feel like myself. I was such an active person and now I am only allowed to go to the toilet at most."

"You won't feel like yourself right away," Chan says. "Healing isn't comfortable. It's slow and annoying and frustrating. But you're doing it. And you know that by not being active you most likely would be able to go home a bit earlier."

Seungmin glances at the supplement drink again, face twisting. "I don't want it."

Chan holds out his hand, palm up. "Then give me your hand."
Seungmin hesitates, but only for a second before placing his hand in Chan's. Chan's thumb traces slow circles across his knuckles. The oldest has to bite back a remark that he can feel Ssungmin's fingers being less bony, yet he is unsure if Seugnmin would see it as a compliment or a personal attack that will make him spiral.

"You're doing this for your future," Chan murmurs. "For the music you want to make. For the stages you want to step on again. And when you finally leave this hospital, you'll get to walk around the dorm, lie on the couch, go outside..." He leans in conspiratorially. "And you can stop pouting every time they hand you one of these things."

Seungmin snorts despite himself. "I don't pout."

"You absolutely pout," Chan says, smiling into his hair. "It's kind of cute, actually."
Seungmin tries not to react to that, but the corner of his mouth tilts upward anyway.

Chan squeezes his hand once. "Just drink it. You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."
Seungmin takes a long breath, picks up the bottle with his free hand, and brings it to his lips. The taste makes his stomach twist and his throat tighten, but Chan doesn't let go of his hand.
He drinks slowly, stopping several times to breathe through the panic and the self-hatred that tries to claw up his throat. Each time he pauses, Chan rubs soothing circles against his wrist, murmuring quiet praise to support the younger.

"You're doing well."
"Just a little more."
"You're stronger than you feel right now."
It's the only thing that keeps Seungmin going.

When he finally finishes, his hands shake from the effort. He feels too full and too small at the same time, a contradiction that makes his eyes burn.

Chan carefully sets the empty bottle aside. "See? You did it."
Seungmin leans into him, letting Chan wrap an arm around his waist and hold him. "I hate this," he whispers again.

"I know," Chan replies, tucking him into his chest. "But I'm proud of you."

—

The next morning, the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the beeping machines Seungmin was still hooked to, but at least it had reduced to one important.
Seungmin was propped up against the pillows, dark circles collecting under his eyes despite sleeping more than he had in weeks.

A knock sounded before the door slid open gently.
One of the lead managers stepped inside. Not the loud, insensitive ones they'd dealt with earlier, but a much older and calmer one who had been with them since debut. He held a bouquet of soft-toned flowers, a paper bag with Seungmin's favorite honey-cookies, and a small card tucked into the wrapping.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said quietly, voice lowered as if afraid to startle anyone.

Chan stood instinctively, protective but polite. "No... it's fine. Come in."

The manager's eyes softened when they settled on Seungmin. "These are for you. From all of us at the office. We... wanted you to know we're thinking of you, even if some of the staff didn't make it sound like they did."

Seungmin blinked slowly, clearly surprised, but he managed a faint, tired smile. "Thank you."
The manager didn't push further, didn't ask him to speak more than he wanted to. Instead, he sat down in the visitor's chair and placed the gifts on the bedside table.

"I know you've had some difficult visits a few days ago," he started, choosing his words carefully. "I won't repeat any of that. I'm just here to listen and to understand what you want going forward."
Chan exchanged a look with Seungmin. Finally, someone who wasn't treating him like a burden or a business problem.

"So," the manager continued, folding his hands, "you mentioned wanting to pause group activities?"

Chan exhaled, relieved. "Yeah. For an indefinite amount of time. We're not rushing anything. Seungmin's health comes first."
"And yours too," Seungmin added quietly. "We were pushed way too far. This isn't something to bounce back from in a month."

To their surprise, the manager nodded without hesitation. "I agree with you. What happened... shouldn't have happened. And it's not something any of you should take lightly. I'm sorry it took this long for someone to say that to you."
The room stilled.
Seungmin swallowed hard, looking down at his hands.

The manager glanced gently toward him. "How are you feeling today, Seungmin?"

"Exhausted," Seungmin admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Every day is a lot. But I'm trying."

"And that's more than enough," the manager said with a smile. But then he hesitated. "The only thing I need clarity on is your role moving forward. The others seem to have plans, but I don't want you to feel overlooked."
Chan opened his mouth to explain but Seungmin beat him to it.

"We talked about it already," he said softly. "I'm going to stay with Chan for a while. Until I get better." He paused, rubbing at tired eyes. "I also want to travel later. With Felix, Hyunjin and whoever wants too. Just to see something different for once."

"That sounds good," the manager agreed. "Healthy, even."
He let out a slow breath before addressing the bigger issue.

"I'm not here to pressure you to work. The company only asks for one thing: a statement. It would calm things down. Fans havemanaged to storm the building multiple times. Some employees have been followed home because people are desperate for information. And the fans are definetily not letting the issue go down, especially the media keeps pushing it."

None of them were surprised. The chaos outside didn't compare to the chaos they'd been living inside their own heads.
Seungmin nodded. "We've talked about it. I'll release a proper statement once I'm out of the hospital. That way it's safer. And by then, we'll have decided everything about the future."

"And you need a therapist in Australia," Chan murmured beside him. "So your doctor here can even consider letting you leave."

The manager bowed his head. "Whatever you need, we'll help where we can."
By the end of the meeting, all three of them were happy to seemingly have come to some sort of decision the company would have to accept.
The manager gave them one last reassuring look before he left.

Once the door closed, Seungmin sagged back into the pillows, trembling faintly from the emotional toll. Another day of crying, explaining and remembering.
Chan immediately moved to his side. "You okay?"

Seungmin shook his head and let out a quiet, broken sound. Tears gathered again so easily now.
"I'm just... so tired," he whispered.

Chan sighed and took Seungmin's hand. "You don't have to be strong today. Or tomorrow. We've got you."

-

Two weeks moved slowly, each day a small repeat of the last, and by the time the next round of checkups came, Seungmin looked like someone who had been fighting exhaustion for far too long. His blood had been taken the day before, and now the doctor was going through the final physical evaluations. Chan stayed at his side throughout everything, close enough to support him if he wobbled but giving him space when the doctor needed to work, while the others waited elsewhere because they all agreed Seungmin deserved privacy after everything he had shared and everything he had survived.

The doctor measured his waist and hips again, checked the steady rise of his chest, listened to his heart both while he sat and while he stood, and then asked him to walk slowly along the small stretch of floor in the examination room. Seungmin tried to follow the instructions without showing how tired he was getting, but after only a few quiet steps he felt the familiar exhaustion building in his legs, the breath already thinning in his lungs, and when the doctor had him turn back and sit down, he practically melted into the chair with a frustrated sigh he didn't bother hiding.

"It's alright," the doctor said in a gentle tone, writing notes on the chart before checking the blood pressure cuff on Seungmin's arm again. "Your numbers are significantly better. Your weight has stabilized. Your bloodwork is much better than it's been since you arrived. You're still weak, but medically speaking, there's nothing keeping you from being discharged in the next few days as long as you continue to rest and eat."
Seungmin nodded but didn't look relieved. His fingers dug into the hem of his shirt as though holding onto something helped him keep from unraveling. The doctor hesitated before continuing.

"And just to be absolutely clear," he said, glancing between them, "no exercise. No physical strain of any sort. Your muscles need gradual recovery, not pressure. And as for flying, absolutely not right now. A normal flight is too much for your body. Even a medical flight would be too exhausting at the moment. You can barely walk down the floor without being exhausted."

Chan shifted slightly, almost as if bracing himself. "Right. I asked before because we were checking if his file could be transferred to a therapist in Australia. I wanted to know how long it might take."

The doctor gave a small, understanding nod. "The transfer is fine. The timing is what needs patience. If he keeps recovering steadily, we can reevaluate after a few more weeks, but right now his body wouldn't tolerate the altitude changes or the length of the trip, even with assistance."

Seungmin exhaled sharply through his nose, something close to a scoff but soaked in disappointment. "So I'm stuck here longer," he muttered, jaw tightening as he stared at the floor. "Everyone's waiting for me, and I'm just slowing everything down again."

Chan immediately stepped closer, one hand resting lightly on Seungmin's shoulder so it didn't feel like pressure. "You're not slowing anything down," he said firmly, though his voice stayed soft. "No one wants you rushing just because we want a break. That's not how any of this works."

Seungmin didn't look convinced, and his eyes had that glassy, unfocused heaviness he got whenever his thoughts spiraled into guilt he didn't know how to verbalize. Chan crouched slightly so Seungmin couldn't avoid meeting his eyes.
"You can take as long as you need. We're not going anywhere without you," he said, steady and sure. "And you don't owe us speed. You owe yourself recovery."

Seungmin swallowed, his throat moving with effort as he blinked slowly, trying not to get overwhelmed again after two weeks of crying at almost everything. "I just... want to leave this place," he whispered. "I want to go home. I want everyone to rest. I hate that I'm the reason they haven't yet. They shouldn't be stuck here just because I-"

"You didn't choose any of this and you're certainly not forcing anyone to stay with you," Chan cut in before he could keep spiraling. "So none of us feel stuck. We're here because we want to be, not because we're trapped." He squeezed Seungmin's shoulder a little more firmly. "Don't let your head turn this into something it's not. You always do that, and then you stop talking and it gets harder to pull you out again."

That made Seungmin go quiet, because he knew Chan was right but didn't know how to argue gently with the truth. He let out a breath that trembled a little at the end and leaned back as the doctor finished the final notes on the chart.v
"We'll repeat a few checks tomorrow morning," the doctor said. "If everything looks the same or better, we'll start preparing your discharge papers. Until then, rest. Don't force anything."

Chan nodded for both of them because Seungmin just stared at his hands, trying to absorb the mix of relief and disappointment without letting it drown him. When the doctor left the room, Seungmin slumped back against the pillows. Chan stayed beside him, one hand resting warm and reassuring against Seungmin's arm as he knew how much this affected Seungmin.
The younger had always wanted to be perfect and now it seemed like he was the one slowing everything down...

The doctor kept his word.
Two days later, after another round of taking his vitals, another blood draw, another slow walk across the room with Chan hovering just close enough to catch him if he stumbled, Seungmin was finally discharged. The papers were signed with clear instructions written across them, strict eating schedule, strict rest, strict limits on movement and the doctor emphasized each point with a tone that left no room for bending the rules just because Seungmin wanted to be useful again.

"You'll come back every two days," the doctor said, handing the final sheet to Chan because Seungmin looked too overwhelmed to hold anything. "We need to make sure your weight continues to rise and that your bloodwork stays stable. I don't want any surprises, and I don't want relapses. Not after all the progress you've made."
Seungmin nodded, gripping the strap of his bag tighter as if holding onto something physical would keep the fear and embarrassment from spilling out.
"And your friends must sit with you through every meal. All meals. No exceptions. You are not to eat alone for at least the next two weeks, and they're required to stay with you for thirty minutes after each meal. That gives us the best chance of avoiding any dangerous behaviors or unintentional slips."
Seungmin's ears went pink at that. He hated the implication, the staring and the helplessness, but he didn't argue.

Chan nodded seriously. "We'll make sure he's never on his own. We talked about it. Everyone knows what to do."

"And therapy will start immediately," the doctor added, looking between them. "You've chosen the therapist in Australia, correct?"

"Yes," Seungmin said quietly, voice steadier now that he could finally speak for himself. "There's no point in switching therapist once I am able to travel. I'm going to Australia anyway, so I'll just start with the one I'll be staying with."

The doctor accepted that answer with a small nod. "Good. Online sessions begin this week. And you're still not cleared for flights, absolutely none for at least another month. Your body needs time to adjust to regular meals, time to rest, time to rebuild strength. After that we'll reassess."
Seungmin's shoulders dropped a little at the reminder, gaze falling toward the floor. He wanted so badly to be done with the hospital, done with restrictions, done with being watched like he might collapse at any second. Every delay felt like another reminder of how far he had fallen.

Chan gently nudged his arm. "Hey. You're out. That's what matters today." Seungmin looked up at him sadly. "And," Chan added, "the doctor said one month. If everything goes well, if you rest eat, snr you listen to instructions, you'll be cleared. And if that happens..." He let the sentence trail just long enough to make Seungmin look at him fully. "Then we can go to Australia. You could spend New Year with my family."
Seungmin blinked, the idea hitting him harder than he expected. New Year's with Chan's family. Not his own. Not the cold, awkward silence he always associated with holidays growing up.

"You really think I'll be ready by then...?" he asked, voice almost cautious, like part of him didn't dare believe in something like this.
"I think," Chan said, squeezing his hand gently, "that if you keep doing what you've been doing, even when it's hard, even when you hate it, s month is realistic. You just have to take care of yourself, not for the band, not for me, but for you."
Seungmin swallowed around the pressure rising in his throat, the kind that had made him cry almost daily these past weeks, and nodded.
They walked out of the hospital together. Slowly, because Seungmin's legs still tired quickly. Chan decided to carry him the few meters from the entrance to the car so Seungmin wouldn't be too tired for the surprise.

They reached Chan's and Jeongin's dorm just before sunset, Seungmin leaning on Chan more out of instinct than necessity, though both of them knew his legs would give out quickly if he pushed himself. The moment the door opened, the unmistakable smell of grilled meat drifted out, and Seungmin froze in the doorway, blinking as if he wasn't sure he was smelling it right.
The living room had been rearranged to make space for all eight of them and small portable grill stood on the balcony. Soft lights were strung overhead, nothing fancy, just the little fairy lights Felix always insisted made a place feel more like home. There were bowls of soup, rice, vegetables, and grilled meats laid out on the table. Someone had even set out a blanket and cushions so they wouldn't have to sit on anything uncomfortable.

Felix grinned first, stepping forward with the kind of excitement he had been holding in for days. "Surprise. We thought you should come home to something good."

Hyunjin elbowed him lightly and added, "And before you panic, it's fine if you don't eat this much but we promise to not have poisoned anything. Minho supervised us like we were toddlers with knives."
Minho, arms crossed but eyes suspiciously soft, muttered, "Because you are toddlers with knives. But I made sure everything's light enough for you to handle, so don't u dare to say it's too seasoned."
The teasing was familiar, the tone affectionate, but something inside Seungmin cracked at the sight of all of it. The lights, the food, the care behind every detail and before he could stop himself, his hand flew up to his face, not quite fast enough to hide the way his eyes filled with tears.

Chan squeezed his shoulder. "You okay?"

"No," Seungmin whispered, a shaky laugh slipping out as tears spilled over, "but also yes? I don't know. I just... I didn't expect this."

Jisung carefully hugged him from the side. "You're home. And we wanted you to feel that. That's all."
They guided him to sit on the blanket, Chan settling at his side, their legs brushing just enough to ground him. The others arranged themselves in a loose circle around the food, chatting and joking as if none of them spent the last weeks terrified of losing him.

Minho pressed a bowl of soup into his hands, smelling faintly of garlic and the broth Seungmin always asked for when he was sick. "Start slow. You liked this way before any of... this happened," Minho said softly, clearly choosing his words so Seungmin wouldn't feel scolded.

The moment the first spoonful touched his tongue, something inside him loosened. It wasn't just that it tasted good, it tasted right and familiar. His chest tightened painfully in longing for the normalcy he had pushed away for so long.
He took another spoonful, forcing himself past the little voice whispering at the back of his mind, the one that insisted he stop, and tried to persuade him that he didn't deserve any of this.

Eventually Minho set a few pieces of meat on Seungmin's plate. "It used to be your favourite cut, Minnie."
Seungmin stared at it like it was something something he wasn't sure he was allowed to want. But after a long moment he picked a piece up and took a bite, eyes closing when the flavor hit him. Simple, lightly salted, perfectly cooked just the way Minho knew he liked it.

"Oh my god," he whispered, half laughing, half crying, "I didn't realize how much I missed your cooking."

Minho scoffed, though his ears turned red. "Of course you did. I'm amazing."
Laughter bubbled up around him and the conversations around the table got how they always got when they had barbecue together. Hyunjin told a story about his disastrous attempt to fix the bathroom shelf when Chan the one who'd usually fix everything was at the hospital. Felix kept showing everyone pictures of their friends who had sent gifts. Jisung complained dramatically about the number qof phone calls he had dodged from managers. Jeongin chimed in with quiet, witty comments that made everyone snort.

And through all of it, Seungmin found himself relaxing, not forgetting the food in front of him, but perhaps a bit of the fear that came with it when he had seen food.
Sometimes Chan fed him without making a show of it, just offering a piece of meat or a spoonful of soup with a soft look that made Seungmin's chest warm. Sometimes Felix distracted him with some random anecdote until he realized most his soup was gone.
Bit by bit, the dishes cleared. At one point Seungmin leaned back on the cushions, mostly full with food but it felt more barable than usual.

He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, embarrassed but unable to stop the emotion tightening his throat. "I don't deserve you guys," he whispered.

Chan slid his hand into Seungmin's and squeezed firmly. "Too late. You're stuck with us."

Hyunjin nodded, his expression soft but serious. "You're family. That's not something you just get thrown at you. It's just... who we are."
"And we're not going anywhere," Felix added, leaning his head against Seungmin's shoulder for a moment.
Seungmin swallowed hard, unable to say anything else without crying again, but he didn't need words. Not when all of them already understood.

After the barbecue, Seungmin instinctively reached for one of the plates, already half out of his seat before anyone could stop him.
"Nope," Minho said immediately, pointing toward the couch without even turning around from the sink. "Sit."

"I can help," Seungmin protested weakly, even though the dizziness that followed the simple movement betrayed him.
Felix appeared at his side before Chan could even react, steering him away from the table. "You helped enough by eating," he said. "Now you're going to sit down and let us do the boring part."
Seungmin let himself be guided to the couch, sinking into it with a quiet sigh once Felix sat down beside him. Felix noticed immediately how exhausted Seungmin looked and shifted closer, shoulder brushing against Seungmin's.

"You did really well," Felix said softly.
Seungmin nodded, staring at his hands for a moment before glancing toward the kitchen, where Chan was quietly arguing with Changbin about who was going to wash the dishes. "I still feel bad," he admitted. "I hate just sitting around."

"I know," Felix replied, gentle but firm. "But this is part of healing too."
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of voices, until Felix leaned back against the couch and smiled faintly.

"So," he said, tone shifting into something warmer, lighter. "You're going to Australia with Hyung."

Seungmin's head lifted immediately. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Chan wanted to take me there because you know.. my parents, but I've never really imagined myself there."

Felix's eyes softenedx. "You'd like it," he said. "There's the obvious stuff, like Sydney Harbour and the Opera House. It's touristy, but it's beautiful, especially at sunset. Bondi Beach is always crowded, but if you go early in the morning it's actually peaceful."
Seungmin hummed thoughtfully, already picturing it. "Chan mentioned beaches."

"There are better ones," Felix said with a small grin. "Less people, more nature. You should go up to the Blue Mountains with him. The air feels different there, like you can actually breathe properly. And if you're feeling stronger one day, there are coastal walks where you can just... walk for hours and not see anyone."

That made Seungmin smile, something soft and genuine settling in his chest. "That sounds nice," he said. "I think I'd like that. Just walking, without schedules."

"You'd also love the food markets," Felix added, nudging him lightly. "Fresh fruit everywhere. And there's this place near my parents' house that sells the best grilled chicken. I'll take you when you're ready."

"When," Seungmin echoed quietly, the word sticking with him in a way that felt hopeful rather than distant.
He hesitated before asking, voice dropping. "Did you... talk to the management more?"

Felix's expression shifted immediately, a sharp edge creeping in beneath the calm. "Unfortunately, yeah," he said, letting out a slow breath. "Some of them are supportive, or at least pretending to be. Others are acting like we're committing career suicide."

Seungmin frowned. "Because of the break?"

"Because we're human," Felix replied bluntly. "I overheard staff saying we're wasting momentum, that we're selfish for wanting time off, that doing solo things or traveling makes us look ungrateful. One guy actually said we're ruining everything we built."

Guilt flared immediately in Seungmin's chest. "I'm sorry," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "If I hadn't—"
Felix turned fully toward him, eyes sharp but not angry, stopping him mid-thought. "No," he said firmly. "You're not doing this. You're not taking responsibility for other people being cruel."

Seungmin swallowed, shoulders tensing. "But it's because of me that—"
"It's because the system is broken," Felix interrupted gently. "And because you were pushed past your limit. You're allowed to be a person, Seungmin. You're allowed to get sick. You're allowed to heal, even if people behind desks don't like the timing."
Seungmin stared at him, breathing uneven, the familiar urge to shrink back fighting against the warmth of being defended so openly.
"You don't need to force your shit together," Felix continued, voice softer now. "Not for fans, not for staff, not for anyone. Healing isn't convenient, and that doesn't make it wrong."

Something loosened in Seungmin's chest then. He nodded slowly, blinking back tears.
"I think..." he started, hesitating. "I think I want to put out a statement."

Felix tilted his head. "Yeah?"
"I don't want details," Seungmin clarified quickly. "Just... that I'm alive, that I'm getting help, that we're taking time. I want people to know I'm not disappearing because I don't care."

Felix smiled, proud and gentle. "That sounds fair."
"I already started writing it," Seungmin admitted. "I think... I think I want to send it to the management tomorrow."

Felix bumped his shoulder lightly against Seungmin's. "I think that's a good idea. And whatever happens after that, you won't be dealing with it alone."

-

The dorm was quiet in a way that felt unfamiliar rather than peaceful.
Seungmin stood in the hallway for a moment, fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie, before he quietly made his way toward Chan's room. He had tried staying in Jeongin's room like they agreed, had tried lying in bed and convincing himself that he was fine being alone, but the silence kept pressing in on him. Every time he closed his eyes, memories crept too close, too many nights spent spiraling, too many pills hidden away, too many moments where no one had known how bad it really was.

He pushed the door open gently and Chan was sitting at his desk, headphones around his neck, one hand on the mouse and the other resting against the keyboard. A soft instrumental loop played from the speakers, something unfinished, the typical sound Chan always tended to producing late at night. He glanced over his shoulder when he noticed movement and immediately straightened when he saw Seungmin.

"Hey," Chan said quietly. "Couldn't sleep?"
Seungmin shook his head, throat tight. He crossed the room without another word and climbed into Chan's lap, arms wrapping around him with desperate immediacy. Chan barely had time to register what was happening before he was holding Seungmin back, one arm around his waist, the other coming up to cradle his shoulders.

"It's okay," Chan murmured. "I've got you."
Seungmin buried his face into Chan's neck, breathing him in, letting the familiar presence ground him. Chan shifted slightly to give him more space, turning his chair so Seungmin could sit comfortably, adjusting instinctively until Seungmin's shaking eased just a little.
They stayed like that for a while. Chan went back to working, one hand moving the mouse slowly while the other stayed firmly around Seungmin, thumb brushing small circles into his side. Seungmin watched the screen over his shoulder, listening to the track change bit by bit, watching as Chan layered sounds with careful focus. It was comforting, seeing him do something he loved without pressure or expectation.

After some time, Seungmin shifted slightly. "Chan?"
"Yeah?" Chan answered immediately, pausing the track.

"I... I wrote the statement," Seungmin said softly. "It's longer than I planned."
Chan tilted his head to look at him. "That's okay," he said gently. "Do you want me to read it?"

Seungmin nodded and pulled his phone out with slightly unsteady hands, opening the document before handing it to Chan. He stayed where he was, curled against him, watching Chan's face as he began to read.

To STAY,
I've rewritten this more times than I can count, and even now I'm not sure where to start. I think the most important thing is to say this first: I'm alive, I'm safe, and I'm getting help.
I know many of you were scared. I know some of you were confused, angry, or hurt by what you saw. I'm deeply sorry that you had to witness something so frightening, and I'm sorry that I couldn't reassure you sooner. The reason there was no official statement right away is not because the company didn't care, it was because I asked them to wait. After what happened, I needed time, and I wanted to speak to you myself once I was stable enough to do so.
What happened on stage was not planned, and it wasn't something I ever imagined would occur in front of so many people. Knowing that millions of you saw that moment is something I'm still trying to process. Because of that, I felt it was important that these words come directly from me.
For a long time, I struggled with an eating disorder. It didn't begin suddenly, and it didn't feel serious at first. I told myself it was control, discipline, or something temporary that I could stop whenever I wanted. Over time, it became something I hid very well, even from the people closest to me. I lied when I was asked if I was okay. I avoided questions. I convinced myself that asking for help meant I was weak or failing.
I want to be very clear about this: there is no single person to blame for what happened. Not my members, not my friends, not the company, and not you. This was something that grew inside my own head, and I made the decision to keep it to myself. That choice put my health and my life at risk, and I am facing the consequences of that now.
I am currently in recovery, both physically and mentally. It is not easy, and it is not quick. Some days are harder than others, but I am surrounded by people who care deeply about me and who are helping me take this step by step. I will also be starting professional therapy to make sure I don't have to carry this alone anymore.
Because of this, Stray Kids will be going on hiatus for an uncertain amount of time. This decision was made together. All of us have been pushed very hard for a long time, and we need space to rest, recover, and breathe. More details will be shared by the company later, but I want you to know that this is not the end. We all want to continue, and we will return when we are healthy enough to do so.
I understand that some of you may feel worried or impatient. I ask for your understanding and your patience just a little longer. The support you've shown us over the years has meant more to me than I can express, and I hope that one day I can stand in front of you again, healthier and stronger, and thank you properly.
Please take care of yourselves as well. If you are struggling, I hope you can find the courage to reach out to someone before things become overwhelming. You deserve help and kindness, just as much as anyone else.
Thank you for waiting for me.
— Seungmin

Chan didn't speak right away when he finished reading. He set the phone down gently on the desk and wrapped both arms around Seungmin, holding him close.
"It's honest," Chan said quietly after a moment. "As long as you really want lit oublished like this everything is perfect."
Seungmin let out a shaky breath, the tension he'd been carrying loosening just a little. "I was scared it was too much."

"It's not," Chan replied. "You're allowed to take up space. You're allowed to say all of this."
Seungmin nodded, pressing his forehead against Chan's shoulder. The loneliness that had driven him there earlier finally eased, replaced by something steadier.

"I want it out," Seungmin murmured after a moment. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and still have it hanging over me."
"I know," Chan hummed. "Whatever you need."
Nervously Seungmin tapped on the contact of one of the managers that surely would still be awake at this ungodly time, sending the long statement to him in hopes of being able to release it as soon as possible.

While they waited, Seungmin talked. Slowly at first, then with more certainty as the words found their way out of his chest. He talked about healing, about how terrifying and exhausting it was to relearn something as basic as eating, and how badly he wanted to get better without rushing himself into another breaking point. He talked about Australia, about how Felix had made it sound so big and open and different, and how part of him longed for a place where no one expected anything from him.

"I want to walk somewhere without thinking about how I look doing it," he admitted. "I want to eat and not hear that voice telling me to stop."
Chan listened to every word. He told Seungmin about the beaches he grew up near, about quiet spots away from tourists, about early mornings where the world felt slower. He told him that he'd love to show him all of it, that it had been years since he'd truly been home without schedules or deadlines chasing him.

"I was thinking about releasing a few songs while we're on break," Chan added carefully. "Nothing big. No promotions. Just... music. For the people who want to listen. And I want it to be something I decide, not the company."

Seungmin smiled faintly at that, fingers curling into Chan's shirt. "You should. You deserve that. All of you do."

About half an hour passed before Chan felt Seungmin tense slightly. He glanced at the phone as it buzzed.
The manager's reply was short.
You can post it from your own account. We'll support it.

Seungmin stared at the message for a long second, breath catching.
"Okay," he whispered, trying to calm himself down. "Okay."

Chan shifted so Seungmin was fully supported against him, one arm under his thighs, the other steady at his back. "I'm right here."
Seungmin opened his account. His finger hovered over the post button for a moment, heart pounding so loudly he was sure Chan could hear it. Then he pressed it.

The screen refreshed after a few seconds.
Notifications flooded in instantly.
Comments multiplied faster than he could read them. Messages of relief, love, fear, encouragement, promises to wait, people thanking him for surviving, others confessing their own struggles. It was overwhelming in a way that made his chest ache, emotions stacking too fast to sort through. His eyes blurred almost immediately.
Then his thumb twitched, scrolling just enough for a very unnecessary sentence to flash by.

Chan's hand was there in an instant, gently but firmly taking the phone from him and locking the screen. "That's enough," he said softly. "You don't need to read any of it right now."
Seungmin didn't argue. The moment the phone was gone, the dam broke. He buried his face into Chan's chest and cried, deep, exhausted sobs shaking through him as everything he'd been holding back finally spilled out. Fear, relief, grief for how close he'd come to losing everything, gratitude for still being here.

Chan held him through all of it, rocking him slightly, murmuring reassurances that didn't need words. That he was safe. That he was loved. That none of this had been for nothing.
Eventually, Seungmin's breathing slowed. His grip loosened. The weight of exhaustion pulled him under, tears drying against Chan's shirt as he drifted into sleep right there in Chan's arms.
Chan stayed still, one hand resting over Seungmin's back, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.
For tonight, that was enough.