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Yeosang had been feeling off for weeks.
At first, he thought it was just exhaustion. Their schedules had been packed lately—filming, performances, fan meetings. It wasn’t unusual to feel tired. But this was different. The exhaustion didn’t go away, no matter how much he rested.
Every morning, he woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. His limbs felt heavy, as if his body was rejecting the idea of moving. He still got up, still did what he was supposed to do, but everything felt... dull.
Food didn’t taste right. His favorite snacks, the ones he used to sneak in between schedules, felt like chewing on cardboard. He forced himself to eat anyway, because skipping meals would only make him feel worse.
He wasn’t in pain, exactly. It was more like a constant ache that he couldn’t place—an emptiness in his chest, a weight pressing down on his shoulders.
The members started noticing.
“Yeosang, you okay?” San had asked one morning as they sat in the kitchen.
Yeosang nodded, stirring his cereal absentmindedly. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.” San frowned, watching him. “Are you sleeping well?”
“Yeah,” Yeosang lied.
He was sleeping—too much, in fact. The moment he sat still for too long, he felt the pull of sleep dragging him down. But no matter how many hours he got, he never felt rested.
San didn’t push, but Yeosang could tell he didn’t believe him.
It got worse.
During rehearsals, his movements felt sluggish. His muscles refused to cooperate, like his body was wading through water. Hongjoong pulled him aside after practice one day.
“You sure you’re okay?” his leader asked, concern laced in his voice.
Yeosang wiped the sweat from his forehead and forced a small smile. “Just a little out of it.”
Hongjoong hesitated but nodded. “Take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need to rest.”
Yeosang appreciated it, but resting didn’t help. The numbness didn’t go away.
Then came the headaches. A dull, persistent pain settled in his skull, making it hard to focus. He found himself zoning out during conversations, missing parts of what people were saying. When Wooyoung teased him for being spaced out, Yeosang just smiled weakly, too drained to come up with a witty response.
The final straw came during a live broadcast.
They were in the middle of interacting with fans when a wave of dizziness hit him. His vision blurred slightly, and for a second, he thought he might pass out. He clenched his fists, trying to stay grounded.
“Yeosang?” Seonghwa’s voice was gentle but firm.
Yeosang blinked, realizing the members were looking at him. He forced a smile. “Sorry, I spaced out.”
After the broadcast, Seonghwa didn’t let him brush it off.
“You need to see a doctor,” he said, arms crossed.
“It’s nothing serious,” Yeosang tried, but Seonghwa wasn’t having it.
“You’ve been off for weeks. You barely eat, you look exhausted, and now you’re zoning out in the middle of schedules. This isn’t normal, Yeosang.”
Yeosang hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go—it was just that he didn’t know what the doctor could even say. He wasn’t sick in the way that could be fixed with medicine or a day off.
Still, the concern in Seonghwa’s eyes made it hard to argue.
“…Fine.”
And that was how he found himself sitting in a sterile white room, listening to a doctor say something he never expected to hear.
"Because they are the symptoms of depression, Yeosang-ssi."
Depression?
Yeosang stares at the doctor, his mind barely processing the words.
Depression? Him? What would he even be depressed about? He has everything—a career, fans who adore him, a family, members who care about him. He isn't weak. He doesn’t cry easily. He works hard, does his job well. He thought he was just tired.
"It is time for you to be happy too, Yeosang-ssi."
The doctor’s words settle deep in his chest, something foreign and heavy. Happy? Is he not happy? His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His throat feels dry, tight.
"You deserve to be happy and to understand yourself too."
Yeosang blinks, his vision blurring as warmth spills down his cheeks. It takes him a moment to realize—he's crying.
The members don’t notice at first. Yeosang is quiet, but he has always been that way. He still wakes up early, still trains hard, still goes to schedules. The only difference is the tiny white pills tucked away in his drawer.
It’s been a few weeks since the diagnosis. The pills don’t fix everything, but they make things… manageable. He sleeps a little better. His mind doesn’t race as much. The emptiness is still there, but it doesn’t swallow him whole.
But the numbness is strange. Before, the pain was constant, like white noise in the background. Now, it’s muted. He doesn’t cry—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he simply can’t.
Then Wooyoung finds out.
“What’s this medicine?”
Yeosang freezes, his hands stilling as he folds his sweater. He glances at Wooyoung, who is holding up a plastic packet of pills.
“It’s… it’s nothing.”
Wooyoung frowns. “What do you mean nothing? They look serious.” He flips the packet over, scanning the prescription label. “Are you sick?”
Yeosang exhales slowly, reaching out to take it back. “I’m okay. Just give it to—”
Wooyoung moves before Yeosang can, stepping back and clutching the pills tightly. “Since you won’t tell me, I’m going to see for myself.” His voice is firm, but there’s a waver underneath it.
“Wooyoung-ah.”
Wooyoung already has his phone out, searching. His eyes dart across the screen, and then—
He stops.
“Antidepressants?” His voice is barely a whisper.
Yeosang doesn’t respond.
Wooyoung looks at him, the initial shock fading into something softer, something sad. “Is this for real?” He glances at the prescription again, then back at Yeosang. “Why didn’t you tell me…?”
Yeosang swallows. He wants to say I didn’t want to worry you, or I didn’t think it was important, or I don’t even know how to explain it. But instead, he says the truth.
“I didn’t even know I was depressed.” His voice is flat, emotionless. “I got sick. I went to the doctor. I didn’t even expect that I got sick in that way.”
There’s silence.
Then Wooyoung steps forward and pulls Yeosang into a tight embrace. “You have me, you punk.” His voice cracks. “You have us.”
Yeosang lets him cry. He doesn’t cry himself—the antidepressants don’t let him. But he rests his chin against Wooyoung’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
“Please just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Wooyoung murmurs.
Yeosang nods.
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
Yeosang had been keeping to himself more lately. He wasn’t avoiding the members on purpose—he just didn’t have the energy to keep up with them. Socializing felt draining. Even small interactions, like responding to messages in the group chat or reacting to their jokes, felt like too much effort.
So he stayed in his room whenever he could.
He didn’t sleep, not really. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting time pass in slow, meaningless stretches. Sometimes, he put on music, but even his favorite songs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
That was how he ended up in his room for most of the evening, door closed, wrapped in his blanket. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—just floating in that empty, detached state—until he heard hurried footsteps outside his door.
Then, a loud bang.
“Yeosang!”
The door swung open, and Wooyoung burst in, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes darted around the room before landing on Yeosang, who was still lying in bed.
“…What?” Yeosang asked, voice hoarse from disuse.
Wooyoung exhaled sharply, gripping the doorknob as if to steady himself. “What the hell, Yeosang?! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Yeosang blinked. “I was here.”
“For hours,” Wooyoung emphasized, stepping closer. “You weren’t in the living room, you weren’t in the kitchen, you weren’t picking up your phone—I thought you left the dorm or something! I almost called the manager.”
That made Yeosang frown slightly. “You were that worried?”
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Of course I was! You’ve been acting weird for weeks, and then suddenly you’re nowhere to be found? What was I supposed to think?”
Yeosang sat up, rubbing his temples. He hadn't realized how long he’d been in his room. “I just… didn’t feel like going out.”
Wooyoung studied him, the frustration fading into something softer. “You could’ve said something.”
Yeosang glanced down at his hands, feeling oddly guilty. “Sorry.”
A beat of silence passed before Wooyoung sighed and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You scared me, dumbass.”
Yeosang didn’t respond. He wanted to say I didn’t mean to, but he wasn’t sure if that would help.
Wooyoung nudged his knee against Yeosang’s. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
Yeosang nodded, even if he wasn’t sure how to do that.
Wooyoung studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “Alright, well, now that I’ve confirmed you’re not dead, I’m making you eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care,” Wooyoung shot back, standing up. “I’ll be back with food. And you will eat.”
Yeosang sighed but didn’t argue.
As Wooyoung left, grumbling under his breath, Yeosang felt a small flicker of something warm in his chest.
He still felt empty. Still felt numb.
But at least someone cared enough to notice.
Time moves forward, even when Yeosang feels like standing still.
He starts talking more—at least, a little. Not always with words, but through small things. Sitting closer to the members during movie nights. Letting Wooyoung hug him without stiffening. Sending a simple Good night in the group chat.
He still has bad days. Days where the world feels too heavy, where even breathing feels exhausting. But there are also days where it isn’t so bad. Days where San drags him out for late-night snacks, where Seonghwa forces him to rest, where Hongjoong listens without asking for explanations.
Days where he starts to believe—just a little—that maybe he really does deserve to be happy.
One day, he looks at himself in the mirror and says it out loud.
“I deserve to be happy.”
His reflection doesn’t argue.
Yeosang exhales and lets himself believe it.
Even if it’s just for today.
End.