Chapter Text
Felix could still remember that first time—the darkness had come out of nowhere, creeping into his mind like a fog, heavy and suffocating. He’d been twelve, sitting in the corner of his room, starting at the wall as if it had answers, feeling the weight of his own body like it wasn’t even his anymore. He stopped talking as much, stopped wanting to leave his bed. His parents noticed first, of course. His mom had come into his room the second week he had been feeling like this, her voice gentle but filled with worry.
“Felix, honey… time to get up. You need to go to school today.”
He didn’t move. He heard her steps cross the room, her presence hovering beside his bed.
“Honey?”
It took everything in him to open his eyes. His mother’s face, usually so bright and comforting, was etched with concern. His body felt too heavy, like someone had tied weights to his limbs. He wanted to respond, wanted to tell her he was okay, but he couldn’t. His lips stayed sealed, and all he could manage was a quiet groan.
His sisters, too, noticed something was. They tiptoed around him, whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear. Olivia had brought him breakfast that morning, leaving it by his bedside and gently shaking him.
“Felix… you haven’t eaten.”
Again, nothing. He couldn’t even lift his head to look at her. He heard her sigh, felt the bed dip as she sat beside him, the coolness of her hand brushing against his forehead.
“You’re a bit warm… I’m going to tell mom.”
Felix wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that wasn’t it. He wasn’t sick—not in the way they thought, anyway. But his body didn’t cooperate, and he just lay there, staring blankly ahead. It wasn’t the kind of tired sleep could fix. He was tired of everything. His mind felt like a void, pulling him deeper and deeper, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t claw his way out of it.
Days passed, each one blending into the other. His parents grew more concerned, talking quietly in the kitchen, phone calls to doctors, voices full of fear. He could hear his mother crying sometimes, though she tired to hide it.
“What’s wrong with him? Why won’t he get up?”
No one had answers. Felix didn’t either. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted one.
The days dragged on like that, a blur of darkness that smothered him until, one morning, something shifted. He woke up, and the weight that had pinned him down was gone. The fog had lifted, leaving him feeling… light.
Too light.
–
The first time the mania hit, it was like a switch flipped. Felix remembered standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself, feeling like a stranger in his own skin—but a powerful one. He couldn’t stop moving, pacing around his room, his heart racing with excitement, though he didn’t know why. Everything was suddenly electric, every sensation heightened, every sound sharper, more vivid. He felt like he could do anything, be anyone. The world was his, and he was invincible.
That day, Felix didn’t go to school. He had no time for it—his mind was buzzing with a thousand ideas, a thousand thoughts. He needed to move, to do something. He couldn’t sit still.
He left home through the window in his room without telling anyone. His feet carried him through the streets, faster and faster, until he found himself at the beach, surrounded by kids much older than him. They were loud, carefree, and wild—just like how he felt inside. .And so, he joined them, laughing, shouting, feeling like he was floating on top of the world.
The parties began soon after. He was only twelve, but that didn’t matter. Not to him, not in that moment. For nearly a week, he partied with kids who barely knew his name, drinking, dancing, staying awake for days on end, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He didn’t sleep, didn’t need food—didn’t need anything except that feeling. It was euphoric, like he was flying.
No one knew where he was, and Felix didn’t care. His phone buzzed with messages from his family, but he ignored them. He was too far gone, too high on the rush of it all to care about consequences. They didn’t seem real, not then.
But the crash came, as it always did.
He remembered waking up in some stranger's apartment, his body aching in ways he couldn’t understand. The lightness, the euphoria—it was gone, replaced with a deep-set exhaustion. His head pounded, and his throat was dry, and for the first time in days, he felt something like regret.
He made his way back home, stumbling through the door, his legs weak beneath him. His parents were frantic, their faces pale with fear. His mother pulled him into a tight hug, tears in her eyes, while his father scolded him in the background, torn between anger and relief. But Felix could barely hear them, the overwhelming need for sleep all-encompassing.
–
High school hadn’t been any easier. There were stretches where he felt almost normal, but they never lasted long. The ups and downs became more extreme. He missed weeks of school during the lows, too exhausted to care, too buried in the fog of his mind to even try. And the highs… they were dangerous. He’d have bursts of energy that could carry him for days, not sleeping, barely eating, until the inevitable crash. He got into fights at school, stupid things, mostly—his impulsivity always getting the better of him. More than once, he’d been suspended, his parents pulling their hair out, not knowing how to help him.
He had been in the middle of one of his worst manic episodes, the kind that left him feeling invincible and terrified all at once. It started small—an itch at the back of his mind, whispers that someone was watching him. Then, it had spiraled. He’d convinced himself that people were coming to break into the house, that they were out to get him.
He could still see the baseball bat in his hands, feel the weight of it as he swung it wildly through the air, screaming at shadows that weren’t there. His heart had been pounding so hard in his chest, and every creak of the house felt like confirmation that someone was outside, waiting. His parents had tried to calm him down, but he couldn’t hear them—couldn’t see them. In his mind they were part of it, part of the threat.
“Felix, stop! Please!” His mother had cried, her voice breaking. His dad had tried to approach, but Felix swung the bat, panic bubbling over, until he was screaming at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, just yelling at the imaginary figures to leave him alone.
It was then that his parents called 999.
The paramedics had come, their voices calm and reassuring, but Felix hadn’t trusted them either. It had taken hours for him to come down from that frenzy, and by the time he did, he was in the hospital, strapped to a bed with no idea how he got there.
He had spent the next few days in the psych ward, surrounded by doctors who explained what had happened to him. They told him he had bipolar type 1, that these extreme highs and lows would be part of his life forever. He’d listened in shock as they explained how the manic episodes could make him delusional, how without medication, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“You’ll need to be on medication for the rest of your life,” one of the doctors had said gently. “But with it, the episodes won’t be as frequent, or may not exist at all. You’ll have more control.”
Felix had felt like his whole world was collapsing, but at the same time, it was a relief—finally having a name for what had been happening to him all these years. But still, the idea of being tied to medication, of never being fully free, had left him feeling trapped in a different way.
And then, when the survival show came… he had been terrified. Terrified that something would happen, that the pressure would tip him over the edge into another episode. And then it did—he had pushed himself too hard. The aftermath of being eliminated had been brutal, a depressive episode so deep he’d thought he might never come back out of it. But when JYP brought him back, it came with terms. Strict ones.
He could stay, but only if he could control it—control himself. JYP had made it clear: he couldn’t let his condition affect the band. They couldn’t risk it. So, they’d put him on lithium. Felix had been hesitant, knowing other people who were on it, people who had become numb, unable to feel anything. He didn’t want that. But he hadn’t a choice. He had to do it for the band, for the boys, for the dream.
Now, years had passed since debut, and the lithium had kept him steady. No more creasing into the darkness. No more manic highs that sent him spiraling. It had been… manageable. But at what cost? He hadn’t had a real, deep emotion in what felt like forever. He missed the highs, even if he knew they were dangerous. He missed feeling something—anything.
A voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. “Felix? Can I speak with you for a moment?” One of the managers stood in the doorway, looking serious. He nodded, standing slowly, pushing all those thoughts back down, burying them under the surface as he always did.
“Yeah… sure.” he followed the manager, wondering what it could be this time. – Felix sat in the room, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach as the door clicked shut behind his manager.
Across from him sat one of the group’s personal doctors, someone Felix was familiar with but never liked seeing outside of checkups. Beside the doctor sat JYP himself, his expression neutral but unreadable. The atmosphere was tense, and Felix could feel his nerves prickling. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice betraying his unease.
The doctor cleared his throat, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “Felix, we’ve brought you in today to discuss a change in your medication. You’ll be going off lithium.”
Felix blinked, his breath catching in his throat. “Wait… what? I’m going off of it?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why? It’s kept me level. I haven’t had an episode in years because of it.”
The doctor nodded, his tone steady and calm. “You’re absolutely right. Lithium has been the right medication for you, and its done a great job of keeping things under control.” He paused for a moment, and Felix could feel the weight of the next sentence coming. “But there’s a global shortage right now. It’s affecting a lot of patients.”
Felix’s heart sank. He nodded slowly, letting the words sink in, but his mind was already racing. “So, what does that mean for me?”
The doctor continued, “We’re going to put you on a different medication. It’s one that’s known to help with your disorder as well. But we have to start you on the lowest possible dose.”
Felix shook his head, already feeling the panic rising. “That’s a bad idea,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You know it is. Starting me on a low dose is setting up the perfect environment for an episode. I’ve been stable for years because of the lithium. You can’t just take me off of it and hope for the best.”
The doctor sighed, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “I understand your concerns, Felix. But we have to start low to see how your body reacts to the new medication. There’s always a chance of an adverse reaction when starting a new medication, and we don’t want to put you in bodily harm by giving you too high a dose right away.”
Felix clenched his fists under the table, frustration bubbling up inside him. “And what if something does go wrong? What if I have an episode?” JYP, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke.
“That’s why we’re going to have the staff and your managers keeping a close eye on you, Felix. You’re not alone in this. But you need to tell us immediately if something feels off. No hiding it, no pushing through. We can’t take any risks here.”
Felix nodded, though he wasn’t convinced. His instincts were screaming that this was a terrible idea, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. “I still think it’s a bad idea,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.
The doctor looked at him sympathetically. “I understand. But for now, this is our only option.” With that, the doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of pills, sliding it across the table toward Felix.
Felix sighed, his eyes lingering on the bottle as if it held all the answers. His fingers brushed the cool plastic, his mind already dreading the change. He didn’t want to go back to the ups and downs, the chaos that had ruled his life before the lithium. But he couldn’t fight this. He sighed again, picking up the bottle and examining it before slipping it into his pocket.
JYP stood up, his voice soft but firm. “Go home, Felix. Rest. We’ll be checking in on you.”
–
Felix pushed open the door to his apartment, the weight of the small pill bottle in his pocket feeling heavier than it had any right to. As soon as he stepped inside, he checked his phone. The group chat was buzzing with messages—everyone was at Chan’s dorm.
Felix sighed, knowing he’d have to face the others soon. He quickly walked to his room, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and opening the drawer where he kept his medication. There were only five pills of his lithium left. Five more days of being… normal. After that, he wasn’t sure what he’d be anymore.
He stared at the five pills for a long moment, his heart heavy with dread. It felt like he was staring at a countdown—five days before everything could come crashing down, before he could be back to those highs and lows like he had been in childhood. Felix let out a long sigh, carefully tucking the new medication behind the lithium, as if hiding it would somehow delay what was coming.
With another deep breath, he grabbed his sweater and headed out the door, making his way to Chan’s. As soon as he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of his band hit him, the boys all greeting him with smiles and waves. He gave them a small smile in return, but Changbin frowned slightly as he looked at him.
“You alright, Yongbok? You look a little upset.” Felix quickly shook his head, forcing the tension out of his voice.
“Nah, I’m just tired. Long day.” Changbin seemed to hesitate, but then nodded, letting it go.
“Come sit next to hyung,” he said, patting the spot on the couch beside him. Felix obliged, grateful for the familiar comfort. As soon as he sat down, Changbin threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Felix let out a sigh, leaning into the warmth, letting the tension in his body ease as he rested his head against Changbin’s shoulder.
The rhythmic sounds of the boys chatting around him faded into the background as his eyes grew heavy. Before he knew it, he was being gently shaken awake. He blinked, disoriented, his surroundings swimming back into focus.
Changbin laughed softly beside him. “Man, you fell asleep right after you sat down,” Changbin teased, his voice filled with fond amusement. Felix hummed in response, still half asleep, blinking drowsily as the room swayed a little Changbin chuckled.
“You wanna just stay with me tonight?” Felix nodded slowly, barely processing the words. Before he knew it, Changbin had scooped him up effortlessly, carrying him to his room. Felix’s body felt like it weighed a ton, but there was a comfort in it, a safety in being carried by someone he trusted so deeply.
Changbin laid him down on the bed, and before he even turned off the lights, Felix was already falling back asleep, the warmth of the moment wrapping around him like a blanket.
–
Felix woke up to the oppressive weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep; this was deeper. Bone-deep. His heart sank the moment his eyes opened, and he knew instantly what this was. He could feel it creeping in—the familiar, unwelcome guest that had haunted him for years. A depressive episode.
He didn’t want to get out of bed. The thought of moving, of facing the day, seemed impossible. As the realization set in, tears filled his eyes. No, not again. He couldn’t go through this again. He had been stable for so long, the lithium had kept him grounded, and now… now this. He bit his lip, his chest tightening with the overwhelming sense of dread. He didn’t want to slip back into that darkness. He couldn’t. The sound of knocking interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “Felix?”
Seungmin’s voice came through the door. “We’ve gotta leave soon.”
Felix didn’t move. He couldn’t even muster the energy to respond. His body felt like lead, his mind sinking further into a fog he knew all too well.
“Felix?” Seungmin called again, this time with a little more urgency. Still, Felix didn’t move. His mind was too heavy, too consumed by the sinking feeling pulling him deeper. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Seungmin stepped inside. He looked around, confused for a second, before his eyes landed on Felix, still lying in bed.
“Felix?” Seungmin’s tone shifted instantly, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Felix swallowed hard, his throat dry, but managed to mumble, “I don’t feel well.”
Seungmin hesitated, frowning as he approached the bed. “Do you want me to get Chan?”
“No,” Felix said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… just get a manager.”
Seungmin looked uncertain, but he nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Felix was left alone again, and without Seungmin’s presence, the thoughts came rushing back, darker this time. He felt like he was falling, sinking further into a place he didn’t want to go, but there was no stopping it. He closed his eyes, the tears from earlier still burning in the corners, but he didn’t let them fall. He couldn’t break down now. Not yet.
Suddenly, a sharp snap in front of his face startled him. His eyes fluttered open, and he found Chan kneeling beside his bed, worry etched deep into his features.
“Felix?” Chan’s voice was soft but laced with concern. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” Felix blinked, his mind struggling to catch up.
“I… I don’t feel well,” he lied, barely able to look Chan in the eye. Chan’s frown deepened. He reached out, placing a hand on Felix’s forehead, clearly checking for a fever. When he didn’t find one, his brow furrowed further.
“You’re not hot,” Chan muttered, clearly puzzled. “One of the doctors is on their way to check you over, alright? We’ll figure this out.” Felix nodded weakly, his eyes already closing again. He was too tired to keep up the conversation.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he was woken up again, this time by the sound of the doctor’s voice. He blinked groggily, finding the doctor sitting beside him, a knowing, sympathetic look on his face.
“Felix,” the doctor said softly, his tone gentle. “Is this… an episode?” Felix didn’t have the energy to speak. He just nodded, tears threatening to break through again. The doctor sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
“I see… We can only give you two days. There’s no way we can extend it beyond that.” Felix barely reacted. He just nodded again, feeling too exhausted to argue, too drained to care. The doctor studied him for a moment, his expression concerned. “This was bound to happen,” he murmured, almost to himself. He glanced at Felix again and stood up.
“I’ll talk to the boys and inform the managers. You focus on resting, okay?” Felix gave a small nod, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him even more. Just before the doctor left, he paused at the door, looking back at Felix.
“Stay strong, Felix,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. Felix didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
All he could do was lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the darkness to fully settle in. – The next two days were a blur of emptiness for Felix. He spent almost all his time lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in a fog that seemed impossible to escape. The edges of the world felt blurry, distant, as if he were underwater, watching everything through a veil. His body ached with exhaustion—not from anything physical, but from the sheer weight of existing.
Even breathing felt like a chore, like something that required more effort than it should. Getting up was out of the question. He could barely make it to the bathroom, shuffling slowly before collapsing back into bed, his limbs heavy with an invisible force. He didn’t care about anything—not about the time passing, not about his schedule, not about what the boys might think. It all felt so far away, unimportant. He was sinking deeper into the same darkness that had consumed him years ago, and all he could do was let it happen. It wasn’t that Felix didn’t notice the signs. He had been here before, felt the creeping numbness, the bone-deep exhaustion that settled in his bones, making every movement feel like a monumental effort. But even recognizing it didn’t help. There was no fighting it, no pushing through. It was like being trapped in quicksand—the more he tried to pull himself out, the deeper he sank.
At one point, Han came in, his usual bubbly energy dampened by concern. He sat on the edge of Felix’s bed, his eyes filled with worry.
“Felix… come on, you need to drink something,” Han said softly, holding out a bottle of water.
Felix barely registered his presence. His eyes were open, but they were unfocused, staring past Han at the wall. He could hear the words, could feel the concern in his friend’s voice, but it was like he was hearing it from a great distance. He didn’t have the energy to respond. “Lix…” Han’s voice cracked a little. He leaned in, gently lifting Felix’s head, pressing the bottle to his lips.
“Please, just a few sips. You’ll feel better.” Felix let the cold water slip into his mouth, but it barely made a difference. It didn’t quench the thirst he wasn’t aware of, didn’t bring any comfort. Han held the bottle up for him, carefully helping him take a few small sips before setting it down on the bedside table.
“Good job, Felix,” Han whispered, his hand lingering on Felix’s shoulder, squeezing gently before he left the room. But even the warmth of that gesture didn’t cut through the icy numbness that had settled inside him.
Later that day, Minho came in, his expression harder to read, but his concern was obvious. He brought food, something that smelled warm and comforting, but the scent alone was enough to make Felix’s stomach turn. Minho set the plate down beside the water bottle, sitting quietly at the foot of the bed, waiting.
“You should eat something, Felix,” Minho said, his voice steady but gentle. “Even a little.” But Felix didn’t even look at the food. His body felt too heavy, and his mind too clouded to care. The thought of chewing, of swallowing, made him nauseous. He could barely bring himself to sit up, let alone eat. The plate remained untouched, and Minho didn’t push further. Instead, he sat there for a while, silent, as if his presence alone could help.
But after a long, still moment, Minho sighed and left, leaving the food behind. Felix felt nothing. Not hunger, not thirst, not even the pang of guilt he might’ve felt before. Everything was muted, like someone had turned down the volume on his emotions, leaving him with nothing but an empty, aching void. His mind started spiraling, pulling him down deeper into the dark thoughts that always came with episodes like this.
Why am I like this?
I can’t do this again. I can’t go through this again.
What’s the point?
These thoughts circled endlessly in his mind, dragging him down into a pit he couldn’t escape. The more he thought about it, the more hopeless it felt. The lithium had kept this at bay for so long, and now, without it, he was right back to where he started. He could see the old memories flashing in his mind—his teenage years, missing school, fighting, spiraling, and eventually crashing into the same dark place over and over again. And now it was happening all over again.
By the third day, Felix felt like he was barely existing. The fog had settled so thickly around him that it was hard to tell where he ended and the emptiness began. His body had become a heavy, unmovable object in the bed, and he stared blankly at the ceiling, not even aware of how long he’d been in that same position.
He was startled out of his haze by a voice. A familiar one. His manager stood over him, his expression a mixture of frustration and worry.
“Felix, you need to get up today,” the manager said, his tone firm.
Felix didn’t respond. He just stared blankly at him, his eyes unfocused. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. Whether he stayed in bed or got up didn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. What difference did it make?
The manager sighed, clearly not getting the reaction he wanted. He moved quickly, yanking the blankets off Felix with a sharp motion. The sudden rush of cold air made Felix’s skin prickle, but even that barely registered in his foggy mind.
“You have to get up,” the manager repeated, his voice more insistent now. He grabbed a set of clothes and tossed them onto the bed. “Either you dress yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”
Felix let out a deep, exhausted sigh. He wanted to just lie there, to close his eyes and ignore everything. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to get up, to move, to face anything beyond this bed. But the manager’s presence loomed over him, waiting, and Felix knew he couldn’t just lie there forever. Not with him watching.
With shaking arms, Felix pushed himself up. Every movement felt like a monumental effort, his limbs heavy and sluggish. His muscles ached, not from physical strain, but from the sheer mental effort it took to make them move. He didn’t want to dress himself. He didn’t want to do anything. But under the watchful eyes of the manager, he slowly pulled on the clothes, one piece at a time, each movement feeling like it took an eternity.
Once dressed, Felix was led to the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, hollow and tired. His eyes were dull, lifeless, and his skin had a pallor that made him look sickly. He barely recognized himself. The manager handed him a toothbrush, and Felix slowly, mechanically, brushed his teeth. The motions were robotic, like he was on autopilot, just going through the motions because he had to.
After brushing his hair, Felix was finally led out of his room. The hallway felt long and distant, like he was walking through a dream. He barely noticed his surroundings, his mind still stuck in the fog. When they finally reached the living room, Felix saw the rest of the boys waiting for him. They were all there, their faces filled with worry, concern, and a kind of helplessness that Felix could almost feel radiating from them.
But Felix couldn’t respond to their concern. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at them for too long. He felt disconnected, like he was watching them from the other side of a glass wall, unable to reach them or feel anything. He was there, physically, but mentally and emotionally, he was still trapped in the dark, unreachable. And as he stood there, surrounded by his band, Felix couldn’t help but feel more alone than ever.
–
Felix sat in the meeting room, the voices around him fading into a dull hum as his mind drifted further away. He was physically present, his body occupying the chair, but mentally, he was miles away. The weight of the depressive episode still clung to him, thick and heavy, making it impossible to focus on anything happening around him. The managers were talking, discussing schedules, plans for the next few weeks—important things he should have been paying attention to. But their voices felt distant, like background noise in a dream he wasn’t fully part of.
His gaze had drifted to the table in front of him, eyes glazed over, when a soft nudge to his side snapped him back. Hyunjin, who was sitting next to him, gave him a worried look.
“Felix,” he whispered, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “Are you okay?”
Felix blinked, his heart skipping for a moment as he returned to the room. He glanced at Hyunjin and forced a nod, not trusting his voice to sound convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Hyunjin didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. He gave Felix’s arm a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the meeting, though Felix could feel his gaze flickering toward him every few minutes.
Felix tried to pull himself together, to focus on whatever the managers were saying, but it was like trying to push through a thick fog. His thoughts kept slipping away from him, dragged back into the dark recesses of his mind. He didn’t even know how long the meeting lasted. Time had no meaning when he was like this—just a series of moments that blurred together.
When the meeting finally ended, and they had some time before heading into the recording studio, Felix excused himself, muttering something about needing the bathroom. No one questioned him as he slipped away, his heart pounding with a mix of frustration and dread. He needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t afford to mess up the recording session.
Once in the bathroom, Felix locked the door behind him, pressing his back against it as he slid down to the floor. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight. He felt like he was floating, detached from his own body, watching himself from the outside. The dissociation had settled in, making everything feel surreal, like he was trapped in a fog he couldn’t escape from.
He bit his lip hard, trying to ground himself, but it didn’t work. The dissociation wouldn’t let go. His mind kept spinning, thoughts slipping in and out of focus, and all he could think about was how much he needed to pull himself together for the recording. He couldn’t let the boys down. Not now. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the fog.
His thoughts wandered back to high school, to the old techniques he used back then to get out of his head when it got like this. They weren’t healthy, he knew that. His therapists would be disappointed, would tell him there were better ways, safer ways to cope. But right now, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for a healthy solution to kick in. He needed something that worked.
Now.
Felix’s hands moved on their own, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He tugged hard, the sharp pain cutting through the fog in his mind, grounding him in the moment. The pain was real, tangible, something he could focus on. He tugged harder, the burning sensation in his scalp spreading, pulling him out of the dissociation, at least a little.
He didn’t stop until his scalp was aching, a few strands of hair coming loose between his fingers. Only then did he let go, taking in a deep, shaky breath. The pain had worked, for now. It wasn’t ideal, but it had brought him back to himself, at least enough to function.
Slowly, Felix pushed himself up off the floor, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He turned to the sink, splashing cold water on his face, the coolness shocking his system. He looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection tired, worn out, but at least he was there again.
With one last deep breath, he dried his face, squared his shoulders, and headed for the recording studio. He had to keep it together, at least for a little while longer.
–
Felix trudged into the recording studio, his limbs heavy, the haze in his mind lingering no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. The usual energy that buzzed around the room felt far away from him, as though he was separated from everyone by an invisible wall. He sat down, trying to focus, trying to push himself into the present moment, but it was like sinking into quicksand. No matter how much effort he put in, the fog wouldn’t clear.
Time passed without him noticing. His head leaned back against the cool wall, and before he knew it, his eyes fluttered shut. His mind drifted, and the world faded into nothingness.
A soft touch to his forehead pulled him from the darkness. Felix blinked, struggling to clear the haze from his vision, only to find Changbin standing over him, his face etched with concern.
“Felix, are you okay?” Changbin asked, his voice low and careful, like he didn’t want to startle him.
Felix forced his eyes open fully, but his body felt sluggish, his mind even more so. He nodded, offering a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from disuse. He quickly looked away, not wanting Changbin to press further. “Is it my turn?”
Changbin didn’t seem convinced, his hand lingering on Felix’s forehead for a second longer, as if checking for a fever. He sighed softly, his worry palpable. “Yeah, it’s your turn.”
Felix dragged himself up from the chair, his muscles aching with the effort. He pinched the skin on his arm a few times, hoping the sting would help ground him, but it barely made a dent in the fog clouding his mind. As he walked into the recording booth, he took a deep breath, telling himself that he had to get through this. He couldn’t fall apart here.
The music began, and Felix opened his mouth to sing. But nothing felt right. The words were wrong, the melody slipping away from him as if he’d never sung it before. He stopped halfway through, shaking his head as frustration burned in his chest.
“Again,” he muttered to no one in particular.
The track rewound, and Felix tried again. But the second attempt was even worse. His timing was off, his voice faltered, and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the fog in his brain.
From the control room, Chan’s voice crackled through the intercom, soft but laced with concern. “Felix, are you alright? Do you need to take a break?”
The question, though gentle, grated against Felix’s already frayed nerves. He didn’t want to stop—he couldn’t. Stopping would mean admitting that he wasn’t okay, that he was spiraling, and he couldn’t afford that.
“No,” Felix said quickly, his tone sharper than he intended. “I’m fine. Let me try again.”
There was a pause. Felix could almost feel Chan hesitating on the other side of the glass, but after a moment, the music started up again. Felix closed his eyes, focusing all his energy on pushing through the fog, but it was like his mind had short-circuited. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it right. His voice cracked, the notes slipping away from him, and with every mistake, the frustration mounted.
“Felix,” Chan’s voice came through again, softer this time, more worried. “It’s okay. Maybe you should take a break.”
Felix’s jaw clenched. His chest tightened as the irritation flared inside him, and he could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep messing up in front of everyone. The more he tried, the worse it got, and now the tears were threatening to spill. His heart pounded in his chest, the emotions swelling inside him like a tidal wave, ready to crash.
“I’m fine,” Felix muttered, but his voice broke on the words. His vision blurred with tears, and before anyone could see, he quickly excused himself, slipping out of the booth and out of the studio altogether.
As soon as he was out of sight, the tears started flowing freely, hot and unrelenting. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he marched down the hallway, his chest heaving with sobs he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt like he was drowning, like all the emotions he’d been pushing down were finally breaking through, and there was no stopping them.
By the time he reached the managers, his entire body was trembling. His vision was clouded by tears, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“I can’t do this,” Felix sobbed, his voice raw and broken. “I’m not strong enough.”
One of the managers immediately sprang into action, instructing someone to get the doctor. The others tried to soothe him, their voices calm, but it only made things worse. The more they tried to calm him down, the angrier he became.
“You don’t understand!” Felix’s voice rose, his sobs turning into panicked cries. “None of you know what the fuck I’m going through! You don’t know what this is like! I can’t do this anymore!”
The managers exchanged glances, their eyes full of sympathy, but Felix didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want their understanding. He wanted this feeling to stop. He wanted the fog to clear, the weight to lift, but no one could give him that.
Without waiting for another word, Felix stormed out of the building, his vision blurred with tears. The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, but even that did little to calm him down. He felt like he was suffocating, like the walls were closing in, and all he could do was run.
He didn’t stop until he reached his dorm, his legs shaking beneath him. The door slammed behind him as he stumbled into his room, collapsing onto the bed. His chest still heaved with sobs, but there was nothing left to do but let it all out, his body curled into itself, feeling utterly defeated. The weight of the episode pressed down on him harder than ever, and for the first time in a long time, Felix wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through.
–
Changbin sat in the recording studio, his eyes drifting toward the door every few seconds, waiting for Felix to come back. He wasn’t the only one who noticed something was wrong—everyone had. The room was quieter than usual, the usual light banter and laughter replaced by nervous glances and low murmurs. Felix had been acting strange for days now, maybe even weeks. Changbin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he listened to the boys talking amongst themselves.
“I’m really worried about him,” Hyunjin said, his brow furrowed. “He’s been so spaced out lately. It’s like he’s not even here half the time.”
Minho nodded, his voice hushed but concerned. “Yeah, and he won’t eat. Every time we try to get him to have something, he just pushes it away. He’s barely drinking water, too.”
Changbin could feel the frustration building in his chest as he listened. Felix had been pulling away from them, isolating himself, and none of them knew why. It wasn’t just the fact that he wasn’t eating or talking—it was the way he seemed to be slipping further and further away, even when he was right there in the room with them.
“He couldn’t even get through recording,” Seungmin added softly, shaking his head. “That’s not like him at all. Felix loves being in the studio.”
Changbin sighed, his hands tightening into fists on his lap. “I wish he’d just tell us what’s going on,” he muttered, the frustration leaking into his voice. “We’re his family. He doesn’t have to hide stuff from us.”
The others nodded in agreement, but there was a shared helplessness in the room. None of them knew what to do, and Felix wasn’t giving them anything to go on.
Just as the conversation drifted into silence, the door opened, and the doctor walked in. The boys immediately straightened, tension flooding the room. Changbin’s heart dropped at the sight of him—doctors only came in when something was seriously wrong.
“What’s going on?” Chan asked, his voice tight, as the boys exchanged nervous glances.
The doctor sighed, clearly uncomfortable. “We sent Felix home.”
A collective wave of unease swept through the room.
Jeongin was the first to speak, his voice small but anxious. “Why did you send him home? What’s going on with Felix?”
The doctor hesitated for a moment before sighing again. “I need to apologize to all of you. We weren’t completely truthful about what’s been going on with Felix.”
Changbin’s heart sank even further. “Lying? What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward, his chest tightening with dread.
The doctor looked around at the boys, his expression full of regret. “Felix contracted mononucleosis. Mono. That’s why he’s been acting differently—why he’s been so tired and off. It’s been affecting his ability to function normally.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. The word mono hung in the air like a cloud, and Changbin’s mind immediately went to how exhausted Felix had been, how he hadn’t been himself for days. It all made sense now, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made the situation even more alarming.
Chan, sitting beside Changbin, tensed up, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should’ve told us,” he said, his voice filled with barely restrained anger. “You shouldn’t have let him come in today.”
The doctor bowed his head, apologetic. “I understand. We didn’t want to make him push himself, but we also wanted to respect Felix’s privacy. He asked us not to tell anyone until he was ready.”
Changbin could see the flicker of frustration on Chan’s face, but before Chan could say more, the manager stepped in, raising his hands to calm the room. “We didn’t want to break Felix’s trust, but we understand how serious this is now. We’ve decided to send you all home for the day. Go home, take care of Felix, and we’ll regroup later.”
Another beat of silence followed as the manager left the room, leaving the boys to process the information. Changbin glanced around at the others, the concern in their eyes mirroring his own. They had never been sent home specifically to take care of another member before, and it made everything feel more serious, more immediate.
For a moment, no one moved, the gravity of Felix’s illness sinking in. Changbin’s thoughts raced—how long had Felix been pushing himself like this? How long had he been hiding how sick he really was? And why hadn’t they seen it sooner?
Chan was the first to move. He stood up, his expression set with determination. “Grab your things,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the silence. “We’re going home. We need to take care of Felix.”
The others followed suit, gathering their bags and jackets, all of them quiet and tense. As they walked out to the car, Changbin’s mind kept replaying the image of Felix—spaced out, exhausted, struggling.
–
Felix lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His mind felt like a storm he couldn’t escape, the dark spiral pulling him deeper and deeper. The boys weren’t home yet, but he knew they’d be worried when they found out he had left the studio early.
His chest felt tight, and with a sharp breath, he sat up, pushing the blankets off of him. He needed to get out, clear his head, do something to stop the whirlwind of thoughts. His room felt too small, too constricting. He remembered a bridge not far from the dorms, a place where the world seemed quieter. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and walked out of the dorm, not even bothering to put on warm clothes.
The cold air hit him like a shock, but it didn’t bother him. The sharp wind that cut across his skin barely registered as he walked in a daze, his thoughts swirling darker and darker with every step. He barely noticed where he was going, lost in the depths of his own mind, each step automatic as he replayed every doubt, every insecurity, every heavy feeling he had been holding inside.
By the time he reached the bridge, his body was numb, but not from the cold. Felix stepped up to the edge, peeking over the barrier, his heart stuttering in his chest when he saw the drop below. The shallow creek ran beneath him, maybe 15 feet down. The sudden jolt of fear that gripped him was strangely comforting, a reminder that he could still feel something besides the overwhelming darkness that had swallowed him whole.
Without thinking, Felix climbed over the barrier, his feet landing on the other side, where there was nothing between him and the fall. He stood there, gripping the railing behind him with one hand, staring down at the drop. If he fell, it would probably kill him, he thought, his mind swirling with the weight of that possibility. There was shame in the relief that bloomed in his chest at the thought, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I’m so tired.
I don’t want to go through this again.
I’m not useful to anyone like this.
He closed his eyes, feeling the wind on his face, and slowly let go of the railing, his toes teetering on the edge. The world seemed to still for a moment, and Felix felt a strange calm settle over him.
But then, a voice broke through the silence. “Felix!”
His eyes flew open, heart pounding as he gripped the railing again in a panic. He was a bit scared—he hadn’t had thoughts like that in years. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around his chest, pulling him back from the edge. Felix blinked, dazed, and realized it was Chan holding him firmly against the railing, his voice urgent but steady.
“What were you doing?” Chan’s voice cracked slightly, the worry evident in his tone.
Felix’s breath hitched, still too disoriented to form a coherent answer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words automatic. He felt Chan’s grip tighten around him as Jeongin reached over the barrier to help pull Felix back over to safety.
Once Felix was back on the right side of the railing, Minho crouched down next to him, his voice soft but steady. “What were you doing, Felix?”
Felix sat with his back against the railing, his heart still racing, Jeongin’s arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest. He sighed heavily, leaning into Jeongin’s warmth as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I… I just needed some air,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of their worried gazes on him. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hyunjin said gently as he knelt beside him, his voice full of warmth. He quickly slipped off his sweater and draped it over Felix’s shoulders, the familiar scent and warmth wrapping around him like a blanket. “But we were worried, okay? You should’ve told us.”
Felix didn’t know what to say. The darkness had felt so overwhelming that he hadn’t even thought to reach out. Hyunjin fussed over him, lightly scolding him for going out without warm clothes, his tone reminding Felix of his mom’s gentle care during his episodes. The warmth of the sweater, and the affection in Hyunjin’s voice, settled something deep inside Felix.
Chan, still standing close by, glanced down at him with a mixture of concern and relief. “Let’s head back,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Before Felix could even think about walking himself, Chan knelt down, motioning for Felix to get on his back.
Felix hesitated for a moment, feeling a flicker of embarrassment, but he was too exhausted to argue. Without a word, he climbed onto Chan’s back, and Chan stood up, carrying him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Felix rested his head against Chan’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing as they made their way back to the dorm, the cold night air no longer biting against his skin.
–
Chan had rushed back to the dorms, his heart pounding as he made his way to Felix’s room, hoping to find him already there, resting. But when he pushed open the door, the room was empty. A chill ran down his spine.
“Felix?” Chan called out, his voice tight with worry. No response.
The rest of the boys followed behind him, looking equally concerned. “Did anyone see him come in?” Chan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Everyone shook their heads.
“He’s not answering my texts either,” Seungmin said, holding up his phone. His brow was furrowed with worry. “He didn’t even read them.”
Chan felt his chest tighten. Something was wrong. Felix wouldn’t just disappear like this, not when they had all just been sent home to take care of him. The doctor said it was mono, but Chan wasn’t convinced. Felix hadn’t shown any of the usual symptoms—just fatigue. There was something else going on, something deeper, but he couldn’t figure out what.
Then, it hit him. “Wait, I have his location,” Chan blurted, pulling out his phone. His fingers shook slightly as he opened the app, his heart racing faster when Felix’s location popped up on the screen.
“The bridge,” Chan muttered, eyes narrowing as he recognized the area. His pulse spiked, a wave of dread washing over him. “He’s at the bridge.”
Without wasting a second, Chan took off, the others quickly following him. His mind raced with every step, dark thoughts creeping in. He’d known Felix was struggling, but this? What if something worse was happening, something none of them had seen?
As they neared the bridge, Chan squinted against the fading light. His breath caught in his throat as he spotted a figure on the edge, dangerously close to the drop. Felix was leaning over the railing, his body swaying slightly, as if he wasn’t even aware of the danger he was in.
Chan’s heart stopped. The world seemed to slow down around him.
“Felix!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. He dropped his phone, all rational thought slipping away as his legs moved on their own, pushing him into a full sprint.
Felix didn’t respond at first, his body teetering precariously on the edge. But as Chan’s voice echoed across the bridge, Felix’s head snapped up, his hand instinctively grabbing the railing behind him just as Chan reached him.
Chan’s heart raced as he grabbed Felix, his strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him back from the edge. His mind raced with horrifying images of Felix slipping and falling. He couldn’t bear the thought. Not Felix. Not like this.
Felix blinked, his eyes wide and dazed, as though he wasn’t sure where he was. His confusion only deepened the pit of fear in Chan’s stomach. He could see the exhaustion in Felix’s eyes, the dark circles that told him how long this had been going on, how much Felix had been hiding from them.
“What were you doing?” Chan asked, his voice a mixture of relief and fear as he tightened his hold on Felix, making sure he was securely back on the other side of the railing. But Felix didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant, as if he was still trying to process what had just happened.
“I’m sorry,” Felix mumbled softly, his voice barely audible.
Chan’s heart broke at the sound. Felix wasn’t supposed to be like this—so lost, so confused. Something else was wrong, something far beyond the exhaustion the doctor had brushed off as mono. And whatever it was, it was eating Felix alive.
Jeongin and the others caught up to them, and together, they helped Felix back to his feet. Felix leaned heavily against Chan, still dazed and unsteady, but safe for now. The group surrounded him as they made their way back home, everyone casting worried glances at Felix, who seemed to drift in and out of awareness.
On the walk back, Felix’s head drooped against Chan’s shoulder, his breathing evening out as he fell asleep on Chan’s back. The weight of Felix’s body was nothing compared to the weight of the worry pressing down on Chan’s chest. His mind kept replaying the scene at the bridge, the way Felix had been so close to falling, so close to slipping away.
As they neared the dorm, Chan glanced over at the others. They were all quiet, the usual lightness gone from their expressions. The air was thick with concern, each of them processing what had just happened in their own way.
Chan’s voice came out in a whisper, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. “Something else is wrong.”
The others nodded in silent agreement, their expressions dark with shared worry. Whatever was going on with Felix, it was deeper than what they’d been told. And Chan knew they couldn’t wait any longer to figure out what it was. They had to help him—before it was too late.
–
Felix sat in the small office, his body curled tightly into itself, as if making himself as small as possible would help him disappear. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and his head rested against the top of his knees. He stared out the window, the world outside blurred and gray, mirroring the haze that filled his mind.
The psychologist was speaking, her voice soft and measured, asking questions meant to guide him, to get him to open up, but the words didn’t register. They floated around him, distant, like a sound traveling through water. He could hear her, but he wasn’t really listening. He couldn’t. His mind was too fogged over, his thoughts too tangled.
Felix hadn’t even wanted to be here. He didn’t see the point. How could talking about it fix anything? He wasn’t sure what she expected from him, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. There were no answers. There was no clarity.
The psychologist’s voice faded into the background, like an old radio broadcast he could barely make out. Felix blinked slowly, his eyes heavy and tired, and his focus drifted. He felt like he was floating, disconnected from his body, from the world, from everything.
He didn’t know what compelled him to speak, but before he even realized it, the words slipped from his mouth, raw and unguarded.
“I almost jumped from the bridge the other day.”
The words felt heavy, hanging in the air between them, and for a moment, the silence that followed was deafening. The psychologist had stopped talking, and though Felix couldn’t bring himself to look at her, he could feel the shift in the room. He could feel her staring at him, waiting. But he kept his gaze fixed out the window, his breath shallow as he tried to make sense of what he’d just admitted.
The silence stretched, but the heaviness in Felix’s chest didn’t lift. If anything, it deepened. His thoughts circled back, replaying the same dark loop that had been with him for days, for weeks.
“I’m tired,” Felix murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. He didn’t even know if she could hear him, but he kept talking, needing to say it out loud even if it felt pointless. “I’m just… tired. I’m not good enough. I’m not useful to anyone like this.”
He swallowed hard, the words spilling out faster now, his thoughts racing faster than he could control them. “I’m supposed to be strong, right? But I’m not. I’m not strong enough for the band, for anyone. I feel like I’m just dragging everyone down. What’s the point if I’m like this? I don’t know how to… how to do this anymore.”
His voice cracked on the last few words, and Felix felt his chest tighten with the weight of everything he had been holding in. His gaze remained fixed on the gray world outside, the cold emptiness of it matching the hollowness he felt inside.
“I feel like I’d be better off dead,” he whispered, barely audible, but the admission felt like a knife twisting inside him.
The room stayed quiet. The psychologist didn’t rush to speak, didn’t try to fill the silence with words of comfort or reassurance. Instead, she let him sit with it. Felix appreciated that, in some small, distant way. The usual comforting phrases would have felt hollow, meaningless.
Minutes passed in silence, and eventually, Felix shifted his gaze toward her. She was watching him closely, her expression one of deep sympathy, but it wasn’t pity. There was a calm understanding in her eyes, as if she knew that nothing she could say right now would change how Felix felt.
“When your body is fully weaned off the lithium,” she began softly, her tone gentle but firm, “we can start you on a higher dose of the new mood stabilizer. You just have to hold on until then.”
Felix scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter as it left his throat. “Hold on,” he repeated, his voice dripping with exhaustion. He’d been holding on for so long already, clinging to the fragile threads of stability. What good were words like that when everything around him felt like it was falling apart?
He slowly uncurled himself from the chair, standing up with movements that felt mechanical, like his body was moving on autopilot. His limbs were heavy, his mind even heavier. There was no relief in the psychologist’s words, no comfort in the idea of waiting. He was drowning now, not later.
“Thanks,” Felix muttered, though the word felt empty as it left his lips. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be polite. He just wanted to leave.
Without waiting for a response, Felix walked out of the room, his steps slow and unsteady as he made his way down the hallway. He didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt worse—raw, exposed, like the admission had left him more vulnerable than before.
The familiar pressure settled back onto his chest as he headed toward the dance practice room. The boys were there, waiting for him. They had to be worried, especially after what happened at the bridge. But what could he say to them? How could he face them when all he wanted was to disappear, to be anywhere but here?
He took a deep breath as he neared the practice room, bracing himself. He could put on the mask again, at least for now.
He had to.