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It's just the depression talking.
Felix always told himself that. Then he would smile in the mirror in a hundred different ways before deciding that it was good enough, shutting off the lights and closing the door behind him like he had been taught. He would greet his friends through the day and work hard at what he did, but those dark thoughts clung to him like a heavy blanket, and not the comfortable kind. It felt like the kind when you were sick and sweaty, in a haze and hardly awake and you had that one damn blanket that was twisted around you and clung in the most unpleasant ways and in all of the wrong places. It was that kind of discomfort he felt through the day, but Felix was used to it. He was used to being so emotionally tired and he knew that all of the sleep in the world would not take that kind of tired away.
Felix slept anyway.
There were days where he could not get out of bed, it felt like. The heavy lead that weighed his veins made it feel impossible, the cotton stuffing in his skull drowning his brain and rational thoughts. Those were the days where Chan sat in the bed beside him in solidarity, typing on his laptop and not making a sound if Felix suddenly held his hand or grabbed his shirt, or even just stuck his leg out to find the elder's and rest it atop. Those were the days that Minho alternated bringing him snacks and drinks, and Jisung would message him cute cat gifs from across the room. The days where Changbin would press his back against the bed and lay against the arm that Felix left hanging off the side of the bed. The days where Seungmin would play his favorite music on his phone or put on his favorite movie. Where Jeongin would talk about anything and nothing at all and prod Felix for answers just to keep him even somewhat alert. Where Hyunjin expressed everything that made Felix his friend even if he didn't want to hear it simply because he needed to.
Of course, there was the third type of day, and the fourth type, and the fifth. Felix had many types of days. Some were good, others bad, and even more neutral. He was okay with that. He understood that something was just not right and it was okay to be justnotright. He got that there was a chemical imbalance here and a little triggering comments there that did it to him. The worst days in his opinion, though, were the days where he outright did it to himself. Felix had the terrible habit of having a good day and ruining it with his own thoughts.
He would look in the mirror and smile the same way he did every morning. That was his routine- Wake up, and smile in the mirror before you leave the house. If you're not leaving the apartment, find time before the afternoon to stow away and smile. Look at the sparkle in your eyes. See the way the corners of your lips pull up and notice the freckles that adorned your face. Look at your smile and say it was beautiful, even if you had to smile a thousand times to find one you liked. But on the days where things were going well and he smiled and he found something wrong, it made him upset with himself. He would look in the mirror and notice the extra weight in his face. It's just the medication, he reminded himself every time, It's supposed to do that.
"Not gaining weight isn't natural," Chan reminded him soothingly, once, when he expressed these feelings, "It's better that you finally are. You shouldn't be fitting into clothes you bought five years ago."
That's what he always reminded himself, too. But when Felix would zip that jacket and feel it press tightly across his chest, or hear his parents make an offhanded comment in the few times they saw each other about how much better he looked with that weight, he shuddered and felt worthless. He liked the way he looked before. There was nothing wrong with it.
When Felix remembered his weight gain and how he looked, it put him in a bad place. He would no longer feel hungry. Too nauseous to eat in the morning, hardly able to choke down a small lunch, and an avoidance of dinner with a simple I don't feel well, I'm not hungry.
It would last a few days to a few weeks, but then he reminded himself again.
It's just the depression talking.
And your depression does not define you.
And then Felix would get out of bed and try again. He would naturally laugh and smile this time, even when his skull was stuffed with cotton and that blanket suffocated him and he felt his anxiety act up. The anxiety could be worse than the depression, but he was used to dealing with that one much more. He was used to the pounding heart, the swollen-feeling, heated eyes, and claws that pierced his chest and his throat, the irritability or the silence depending on the day. But Felix knew how to work with that anxiety, and greet it as an old friend rather than a newer enemy. He would accept it, breathe through it, or if he had to, confess to his friends, "I'm feeling really anxious right now, can we not for a minute?" and get everything he asked for and more.
His friends were his purpose. Chan, who understood the blanket metaphor and was always there. Minho, with his jokes and gentle pushes in the right direction. Changbin, with his willingness to deal with the clingy physical affection and the motives behind it. Hyunjin, who would protect him no matter how bad things got with Felix. Jisung, who would always wake up at four a.m. if it meant a better day for Felix even if it meant a worse day for himself. Seungmin, with his smile of sunshine and bright laughter. Jeongin, with his own admissions to such dark thoughts but offering introspective ways out of the hole, which Felix would have never expected. His friends were his team. They made living even in that state possible.
So yeah, it was just the depression talking when in that particularly bad summer he hardly left his bed for three weeks. It was hot outside but Felix could not feel it and instead burrowed under the covers, his lips parted and eyes wide as he stared at the wall. It did not matter what movie Seungmin put on the TV. His glazed eyes would wander over every hour or so to glance across the screen before he switched the side he was laying on, or covered his face more with the softest blanket on the bed. Then his gaze would return to the brown painted wall. It did not matter how much he lay his head on Chan's chest, trying to listen to the strong heartbeat and remind himself that he, too, was alive in that same way. The warmth did not reach him. It did not matter what brand of coffee Minho procured for him when he was silently tugged out of the bed into the kitchen once a day, or what food he prepared. It tasted good whenever Chan helped, but Felix could only stomach the smallest bit and he did not notice the difference. It did not matter what cheerful and funny gifs Jisung would send through their chat. If he had enough energy to hold his phone in front of him, Felix did not react to them besides the automatic quirk of a smile.
That was always a hollow victory for Jisung.
And it did not matter what questions Jeongin brought to the table, for Felix's response would be a heavy sigh and a one-sentence answer. It did not matter what praises and pleas Hyunjin presented to him. They fell on deaf, stuffed-up ears. It even did not matter when Changbin left his normal place on the floor, instead pushing Felix closer to Chan and sliding in front of the younger's chest, laying Felix's arm over his own waist and stroking his wrist. Felix could not find the will to say he cared.
His days blended into one, as his companions filtered in and out of his room. He only left to use the restroom- Rarely, at that- And for whichever meal Chan decided he needed to partake in. If he was not staring at walls, Felix was sleeping. Time isn't real, he remembered, It's just a construct of human making. So this isn't as bad as they're making it out to be. His friends did not often vocalize their concern for his condition, but when they reached the two-week mark, not one could deny it had never been that bad before.
"I think it's his medication dose," Chan admitted, "They have him taking so much, I think it's working too much. He has a blood test next week. We'll know then."
"It doesn't matter!" Jisung wrapped an arm around Hyunjin, whose voice trembled as he spoke, "It doesn't matter, hyung. Look at him. I think he lost all the weight he gained. He looks so dead. It's been bad, but it's never been this bad! We can't help."
"We're going to do what we can."
After the three long and painful weeks, Felix had opened his eyes and noticed something different. It was like the veil had lifted just slightly- He could still see the darkened lace edges but the picture in front of him was clearer. For the first time in weeks, he carefully extracted himself from the sleeping Changbin's embrace and slipped out of the bedroom. He padded to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, turning on the sink and allowing the cool water to run over them. Felix ran his damp hands over his hair.
He smiled at himself in the mirror.
Chan found him sitting in the kitchen later that morning, one hand wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate and the other scrolling through all of those cat gifs Jisung had sent him, laughing and 'aww'ing at each one. Chan's subsequent sigh of relief had Felix offering him a guilty smile and open arms. The eldest took the hug without another thought, brushing his fingers lightly through the boy's hair. It was a warm comfort that Felix had been missing in all twenty-one of those days, even if his friends had tried their best. Felix knew he was still justnotright. He knew that he did not need to feel guilty at the looks of wonder Jeongin gave him through the whole day, at Hyunjin's clinginess and Changbin's constant thereness. At Chan's empathetic words and Minho's worry hidden behind bright words. Seungmin's smile that lacked most of it's sunshine. Jisung's subdued reactions to his jokes. Felix would probably never be justright. Neither would Chan or Jeongin, or any of them if they really cared to look into the most intimate parts of each other's souls. If Felix happened to cry that night for the first time in months, no one was going to say it.
It did not make the heavy feeling in his heart go away. It did not eliminate the lead in his veins. It did not unstuff the cotton in his head or tug that awful blanket from his shoulders. But it did open up his lungs and it allowed him to breathe. To confess to his feelings and to beg his friends, "Please just end me."
There was a joking spin on it. The serious undertone did not go ignored. They rejected his request and countered it with why they needed him around.
They gave him reasons to live for himself.
It's just the depression talking.
Felix knew it was true. He was not afraid of that monster. Soon enough, it too would become an old friend as anxiety had. But until that moment, he had seven friends who would battle furiously by his side.
They would not leave him behind.