Archive of Our Own ^beta

Seonghwa normally is the first person awake in the mornings. As a morning person by nature and someone who enjoys doting on his members, he wakes up early to make them breakfast before their inevitably busy days. San is usually the next person awake, though depending on how many days Hongjoong spent in the studio that week, he might be next.

Today Seonghwa woke up early out of pure excitement, because today is his birthday, a really important birthday, at that. It’s his 21st, the birthday when he finally is considered an adult, he’ll be able to drink and smoke today, he’ll be able to do everything an adult can do in every country. He practically jumps out of his bed and walks downstairs.

Today he wants to make a good breakfast, something super sweet like the french toast or pancakes he’s been craving recently, today is basically a cheat day for him anyways, after all, he’ll have cake later on.

When San comes downstairs next he expects a happy birthday. Instead, San looks at him and gives him a single, “Hey hyung,” before he goes to sit down on their couch. Seonghwa frowns, but doesn’t pay much attention to it, it is still early in the morning. San might be tired or they might be planning a party or activity for later on in the day and want to make it like a surprise.

Seonghwa continues to cook.

Even once everyone is downstairs they barely spare a glance in his general direction, as if it’s just a normal day. After all, Seonghwa cooks breakfast basically every day. Seonghwa is a bit disheartened by the lack of attention, but it only further cements the idea that they’ll have a surprise party or something later on in the day.

As he plates the food and calls them to eat, he’s so excited he’s practically bouncing on his toes.

"Why are you so hyper today, hyung?" Yeosang asks, sitting down in his seat.

"Today is a special day!" he exclaims.

"What's so special about today?" Wooyoung asks.

"Today is a free day" Hongjoong answers boredly.

Seonghwa’s face falls. No, that’s not what is making today special. Free days are great but they aren’t that special.

“Oh yeah hyung, I’m pretty excited about that too!” Jongho smiles.

Seonghwa sighs and turns around, prodding the few final pieces of french toast he was cooking. His mood is dwindling by the second, he just wants a Happy Birthday, or something, just an acknowledgement. Just some attention would make him happy, even if they’ve planned something for later.

But he gets no more attention during breakfast, rather he gets everyone's dirty dishes piled up in the sink with everyone nonchalantly saying that “Hyung will do them!” as they leave the kitchen.

Seriously? They gave him the dishes? Even if they did not want to acknowledge his birthday, they could’ve at least cleaned their own dishes. Even through his sometimes obsessive cleaning, he doesn’t find the dishes tolerable. He’d rather just leave them filthy in the sink, but that itch inside him forces him to do them. He always gets wet when he cleans the dishes, because spoons always get the water all over his clothes. He does the dishes anyways, because he’s a good hyung. 

At around 11 am he goes upstairs to his room to get dressed and decides that he’ll start a journal entry for the day.

April 3rd, 2020

Today is my 21st birthday! My friends haven’t said happy birthday to me yet, so they must be planning a surprise party for me, but I love surprises so I’m really excited! Though they made me do the dishes, and that wasn’t very nice :(

After the party he will come back to the entry and fill it in with what happens there.

But as the day keeps going his hope for a surprise party continues to dwindle and his mood continues to dampen.

edit: I wrote my first entry at around 11 am. It’s 2 pm now. They still haven’t mentioned a party or even given me a happy birthday, if anything, they’re ignoring me today. They’re leaving the house at random times and have barely even talked to me. I guess the party will be later at night because I’ll be 21?

edit: It's 6 pm now, and it’s getting later and later. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve forgotten. I hope they haven’t…I’d never forget one of their birthdays. We celebrated my birthday last year, but we have been busy, so maybe they really did. I’m hoping they’re just really good actors.  

edit: it's 9 pm right now, and I’m worried they really have forgotten…it’s getting too late. I hope they haven’t forgotten, I wanted today to be a special day :(

He picks up his notebook for the last time (or first time of the day) and writes down his journal entry with tear drops fluttering onto the pages, creating small wet spots over his words. He muffles his crying into his non-dominant hand as he writes on the floor of his and Hongjoong’s shared bathroom.

It's 12:07 am now, it’s officially no longer my birthday. I’m the only person still awake now, the others went to bed around 10. They forgot. My friends forgot about my birthday, and such an important one too, I was supposed to have an extravagant 21st birthday. I was supposed to have a party, and a cake and presents, I waited and waited…but they never came. Maybe this was their way of telling me that I’m not as important to them as they are to me, maybe this was their way of telling me that they don’t care. Maybe we aren’t even actually friends, and they don’t like me, and this is their way of finally showing that. What if we aren’t as close as I thought? I just wanted a special day, I wanted to have a fun party. Now I just want a drink. I can drink now. I wonder if the alcohol would make me forget all of my problems like I heard it does. I just want to try it, I want to forget today. It wasn’t a special day. 

From that point on, things would only get worse.

Three days have passed, yet Seonghwa still hasn’t told them that they forgot his birthday. They don’t even seem to remember in retrospect, moving on quickly and getting swept up in their busy schedules over the past two days.

As they finally collapse in their dorm, tired from vocal lessons and dance practice, Jongho lolls his head in Seonghwa’s general direction. 

“I’m hungry, hyung. Will you make us something for dinner?”

Sounds of agreement flare around the room from the rest of his friends, all too tired to even think about each fixing their own meals. Seonghwa stands up like always, nodding and agreeing to fix them something. He pretends to ignore the way their cheers are a bit more muted than they usually are. 

Entering the kitchen his eyes catch on the small liquor cabinet they have. His friends—actually, just some people who are friends with his friends—Stray Kids brought them some alcohol previously when they were over, it was probably some sort of celebration. It sits unopened in the cabinet. It’s just some simple stuff, some soju, champagne and wine. Of course they’ve not drunk any of it yet, only one bottle of beer was used, but it was because Seonghwa beer battered fish, not that they drank it. They weren’t legal, and all of them refused to drink underaged, so it’s simply been left there. 

But what’s stopping him now? He’s a legal adult now, as of three days ago. It’s in his reach and they have a free schedule for the rest of the night until tomorrow afternoon. He stops and turns around, walking towards the cabinet and biting his tongue as he looks at the case. He doesn’t even really know what the different liquors taste like, just that he’s curious to have one.

After staring for only a few seconds longer, he grabs the bottle of champagne and the cork opener, attempting to pull the cork out quietly but being unfamiliar with it, failing. The cork pops loudly, and the bottle nearly fizzes over, but the others have definitely heard and their heads snap over to look for the source of the noise.

“What food are you making with the champagne?” Wooyoung asks curiously, eager to learn a new recipe he might be able to use.

“I’m not using it for food.” Seonghwa replies, pulling down one of the wine glasses they only ever use to drink soda when they want to feel fancy, and pouring the champagne into it instead.

Jongho watches him with wide eyes. “You aren’t going to drink that, right?”

“Yeah, I am. Why?” Seonghwa says, despite knowing why they’re asking. They still don’t know it’s past his twenty-first birthday? Even when he’s laid the clues right in front of their faces?

“But you’re underage!” Yunho gasps.

“So what, what difference does it make?” Seonghwa replies again, taking a large gulp of the champagne. His eyes widen at the taste, it’s not bad. It’s very strange, tasting almost like bread and apples, but he’s not mad at the flavour.

“Aren’t you supposed to be cooking?” Wooyoung asks, eyeing him somewhat judgmentally.

Seonghwa simply takes another sip, finishing the glass that he’d only filled up a fourth of the way. “Yeah I’m getting ready too,” he says, sitting the glass down and walking to the refrigerator to pull out some ingredients for dinner.

“You’re going to cook us meals drunk?” Hongjoong asks.

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, not looking back as he responds, “I’m not drunk. It doesn’t work that fast, and I’ve had less than one whole glass. I know how to cook, stop being dramatic.”

“I just don’t understand why you’ve decided, when you’ve never taken an interest before and are still underage, that you want to drink. You also decided that the best time to try alcohol for the first time is when you’re in the kitchen surrounded by hazards?” Hongjoong says.

“I decided because I wanted to, and nothing is stopping me.” It’s the truth, nothing is stopping him anymore and he’s getting annoyed with their endless pestering. He is legal now, and of course they don’t know that, because they still either haven’t realised or are ignoring his birthday even after three whole days. 

“You aren’t legal though, the law is literally stopping you.” Yeosang says.

“I’m going to cook dinner, you guys can go back to your show and stop worrying about me, when everything is fine. I’m currently still sober, I know how to cook, and even if I get drunk, it’s not going to be from the fourth of a glass I’ve had right now.” Seonghwa says, turning on the stove to heat up the pork that he found in the fridge.

Reluctantly, the others listen to him and turn back on the TV.

The food does come out fine, the others simply being overdramatic about his inability to make them a proper meal. Seonghwa sips on another glass of champagne while they eat. He’s not in the mood for the food he made, something that sometimes happens occasionally after you’ve made a full meal and that was exacerbated by the draining conversation he had with his friends. He wonders if they know how hurt he is that they can’t seem to remember his birthday.

As he finishes the glass (which makes it around two and a fourth) he starts to pour a bit more (not even a full glass) but Hongjoong interrupts his motion by placing his fork on the table a little too aggressively, stopping the others’ conversation midway.

“I think you should stop drinking now,” he says, his tone sharp. 

“Relax,  Hongjoong,” Seonghwa drags out the first word. “I’ve only had three, and the first one wasn’t even filled halfway.” Nonetheless, he plugs the cork back into the bottle and replaces it in the liquor cabinet.

“Are you drunk, Seonghwa-hyung?” Yunho asks, watching his movements carefully, as if he’s waiting for Seonghwa to trip over his own feet or something of the sort.

“No, I just told you I wasn’t drunk. You guys are being uptight.” Seonghwa says, easily spinning on his heel to face the countertops again.

He’s fully aware how out of character he is right now, being snappy and “drinking underage” but at this point he’s not sure he cares. Maybe if he acts far enough out of character they’ll finally think of something and remember it’s past his birthday.

However, the others don’t say anything, just look on with judgemental eyes as he packages the food into small containers for leftovers and cleans up the kitchen. He can feel their eyes boring holes into his body as he moves around the kitchen, them scanning his movements for any trace of the effects of alcohol.

Should he tell them? Should he turn around and say, “Actually, my 21st birthday was three days ago, and that means I can legally drink,” or should he stay silent until they ultimately remember. Hell, maybe they’ll realise themselves and then give him a birthday party, even if it’s belated. They have to realise once Yeosang’s birthday rolls around on June 15th, because he remembers his members birthdays and that’s the next one up. Once Yeosang’s rolls around they should think back to what they did for his birthday and then realise they didn’t do anything at all.

Right?

It’s not that big of a deal anyways, it’s just a stupid birthday. Realistically, he’s just being dramatic, and it shouldn’t even mean anything to him at all. Why does it matter if they forgot? They’re busy enough with idol life as it is, he’s just making a mountain out of a molehill (though deep down he knows no matter how busy they get, none of them have ever collectively forgotten a birthday since they debuted.)

It's not that big a deal. It's just a stupid birthday anyway, he's being dramatic. Why does it even matter if they forgot, they're busy enough as is. He's making a mountain out of a molehill.

“Does anyone want to switch rooms?” Yeosang asks on their annual room reassignment day.

“Nope! I’m sticking with Yunnie!” San says, latching onto the boy like a koala.

“Same here, I’m sticking with my friend of eight years—” Wooyoung begins to say.

“Hey I room with you too!” Jongho exclaims

“You didn’t even let me finish yet!”

“I’m pretty happy by myself!” Mingi says softly.

“So what I’m hearing is that unless Seonghwa and Hongjoong are having problems, nobody wants to change rooms.” Yeosang summarises. In expectation everyone turns to look at them.

“I’m fine—” Seonghwa starts.

“I want to change rooms.” Hongjoong says at the same time.

San winces.

“Awkward~” Wooyoung sing songs.

"Why do you want to switch rooms, Hongjoong-hyung?" Mingi asks curiously.

Seonghwa wonders too. Hongjoong must have gotten sick of him, he probably doesn’t even actually like him, even as a friend. Maybe the hope that Seonghwa had for Hongjoong possibly reciprocating his feelings and the two of them becoming a couple like Woosan  was dumb. Hongjoong must have heard his hysterical muffled crying at night while he sits on the bathroom floor and realised what a pathetic loser Seonghwa actually was. It would make sense. It would explain why he doesn’t have any friends outside of the group.

“Seonghwa is too controlling,” Hongjoong replies.

“Controlling? What do I do that’s controlling?” Seonghwa asks, though he has a feeling that he knows the answer already.

“You’re always cleaning! Like always , to the point where it’s concerning. You move stuff around, even when the room is already clean, you deep clean more than once a week, and you always try to clean my stuff when it’s not even that messy in the first place. You’ve always been cleaning like this, but recently it’s getting worse.”

Cleanliness is something that has always been non-negotiable for Seonghwa. He needs cleanliness, and he has ever since he was a child. There’s just something about mess that makes his skin crawl and creates an underlying need to fix it. Even slight untidiness can bother him, though he tries to tone it back for everyone because he understands it can become a lot sometimes. He’s explained it to Hongjoong before, so he thought that the younger understood the way he felt about it, but maybe he doesn’t. He never thought that was much to ask for in a roommate, he’s pretty passive about everything else, so he thought he was a good roommate. Is he actually that bad? Is he that much of a clean freak that it genuinely bothered Hongjoong to room with him regardless of anything else? Seonghwa never meant to be controlling or demanding when he asked Hongjoong to clean up his side of the room, it’s just in his nature and he physically cannot function with extreme levels of messiness.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset, it’s just that I like things to be cleaned.”

That’s what he settles on for his response, but it’s not just that. Cleaning is cathartic for him, it makes him feel more in control, even in his darkest moments cleaning is something he’s always felt like he can do right. Not only does it help with the unbearable itch when things are dirty, cleaning helps him feel like things are all okay, even when nothing really feels okay. It’s a momentary respite when he doesn’t feel okay, or when things feel like they’re crumbling down around him and all he can do is watch. That must be why his cleaning has gotten worse recently, because everything truly does feel like it’s falling apart, but this time instead of complacent, he’s only sending everything tumbling faster.

“Does anyone want to room with Seonghwa-hyung?” Yeosang asks.

Seonghwa expects at least one of them to say “sure!”

But the room stays silent, and the pit within his stomach grows deeper.

“Do n-none of you want to room with me? Am I really that bad?” he asks, he can hear the sadness apparent in his tone.

Nobody responds.

“You can come to room with me, Hongjoong-hyung, since I don’t have a roommate. Then Seonghwa-hyung could have a solo room.” Mingi says, dodging Seonghwa’s question.

“Do you guys really think that I’m that bad of a roommate? None of you want to room with me?” he asks, his voice threatening to crack as he hides the trembling in his tone.

No one responds. It hurts worse than if they’d just say the truth and admit to him the way they really feel about him.

Truthfully, he needs Hongjoong to stay. He doesn’t want a solo room, nor does he want Hongjoong to leave him. This has nothing to do with his romantic feelings even, it’s just that he needs company. Just someone, anyone to talk to, and though Hongjoong hasn’t talked to him actively recently, it means he’s not left alone to the mercy of his own thoughts. He can’t control them, and as they get darker and more dangerous, he needs the younger there to keep him from carrying through on some of the things that he thinks of his progressively further fucked up head. So many times he has thought about doing something, and then realises that Hongjoong might potentially hear, so he stops. Hongjoong kept him from doing so much, and he knows that Hongjoong leaving only means that he’ll be falling victim to his own decisions more and more often.

Seonghwa sips a bottle of soju as he sits on the couch in the dorms living room, scrolling on Twitter and appreciating the free time that he has. That is, until Yeosang disrupts the peace, entering the room and clicking his tongue upon realising that Seonghwa is drinking again.

“You drink quite a lot for someone who’s not even of legal age, Seonghwa-ssi” he says.

“I never get drunk though, just a little buzz sometimes. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic, I only drink two times a week at the maximum.” Seonghwa responds, not even taking the time to look up from his phone and see Yeosang’s disappointed face again.

“You’re going to fuck up your voice” Yeosang argues.

Seonghwa sighs. “There are so many singers and idols that smoke, drink and do drugs almost every day, and their vocals don’t suffer from it. I highly doubt that sipping a little soju two times a week is going to cause me severe vocal damage.” 

“You shouldn’t drink anyways.” Yeosang says, walking away without continuing the conversation.

Maybe it’s true that Seonghwa sometimes feels a buzz from the alcohol. But it’s not what happens commonly. Mostly, it’s a gaping empty nothingness, similar to a headspace where he no longer has to deal with the emotional pain of accepting that he no longer has friends. At one point they were friends; he wishes he could go back to before his birthday. They used to call him hyung, they used to tease him and joke with him, but now they don’t. Now they only refer to him with the suffix -ssi. It’s just a neutral term, unlike hyung, an older friend.

Now he’s just Seonghwa. Their bandmate, the person they’re stuck with because of their group.

Seonghwa’s heart holds an empty gaping hole that can’t be filled no matter how hard he tries. He’s not their friend anymore, he’s not anyone’s friend anymore. If he’s not friends with his members then he has no one. He’s not friends with any idols, or extroverted like they are and great at making new friends.

He’s not like Wooyoung, San, Mingi, or Yunho who can just walk up and befriend anyone. Wooyoung is best friends with Yeonjun and Changbin along with San. Hongjoong is close with Chan. The others are friends with various other idols from other groups and he’s not. They’re all close with the members of Stray Kids, TXT, iKon, The Boyz and so many more. Seonghwa isn’t. He’s simply an acquaintance, someone in another K-pop group who they’re in a competition show with. He’s just a friend of a friend. But he’s not even that anymore. Because if he’s not friends with his group members, then he’s no longer a friend of a friend, he’s just a nobody. Irrelevant and forgotten, just like his birthday is. 

It’s so fucking stupid that all of this really did stem from them forgetting about his birthday, and he probably could resolve all of their issues by simply telling them that he’s twenty one now. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly virtually incapable of talking to them anymore and just sitting down to tell them that he feels like they’re drifting away from him and he doesn’t want to lose them.

He’s not above begging them for their company, even if it means that they only hang out with him due to their pity.

Yeosang’s birthday is coming up, June 15th will be his 20th birthday. Seonghwa remembers well and so does everyone else. It fucking stings. Everyone asks Yeosang what he wants for his birthday and they run around looking to buy him presents. They’ve planned out a birthday VLive for him and they planned a party for him with Stray Kids, TXT and Day6…they bought Yeosang a cake. They gave him everything that Seonghwa never got for his birthday.

But Seonghwa has accepted that he’s expected to be a good sport and to buy Yeosang a present. So he does buy Yeosang a present, a nice one at that. He knows Yeosang is going to love the gift, because he knows Yeosang’s personality. Even if the younger doesn’t personally harbour any close feelings towards Seonghwa anymore (oh how he wished Yeosang cared about him as much as he did), he still knows what Yeosang will like. 

Seonghwa truly does want to be happy, he wants to be happy for Yeosang and for everyone else. But he’s not. He’s so fucking tired and he’s so lonely and depressed, for the first time in a while. 

It also doesn’t help that recently Yunho and Mingi have stopped tiptoeing around their feelings and began dating. It’s not even a shocker, just like he said, he knew months ago that Yunho and Mingi liked each other. But with the added knowledge that now there are two couples inside of the group, it only hurts more that none of them even like him platonically anymore.

Yeosang’s birthday goes by without a hitch, the party goes well. Seonghwa sits on a chair closer to a corner as everyone talks and leaves him out of it. Seonghwa’s pretty sure that Felix can see that there’s something deeper and darker running through his mind, something potentially harmful if it continues to fester. But the younger hasn’t bothered to ask, so maybe he doesn’t care, or he doesn’t want to intrude. Part of Seonghwa wishes that he would. Felix has had experience with depression, and he came out of his depression, Felix could tell him how to deal with his feelings.

But Seonghwa can’t reach out, so he stays silent.

Seonghwa knows that Yeosang enjoyed his gift, though he schools his expression almost immediately. Though Seonghwa did know that Yeosang enjoyed it, from the small micro-expressions that Seonghwa saw.

Seonghwa doesn’t eat much more than a few bites of his slice of cake, instead he had to toss out the rest of the cake. He can’t stomach much food as of recently and he’s not sure why. He’s been losing weight pretty rapidly, his stomach often too tied up in knots to eat or he’s not hungry enough.

Seonghwa doesn’t know how to explain the way he feels anymore. It’s not apathy, hell, he’s anything but apathetic. It’s just that he feels every emotion that isn’t happiness. He feels sadness, regret and sometimes anger, but he never gets to feel excitement, happiness, joy or thankfulness. He’s either depressed or going through another negative mood swing at any given point in time and it just makes him feel worse all the time.

Why can’t he just be fucking happy? There’s so many things that he could be happy about, and yet he’s so stupid and ungrateful. He’s alive and famous, with a devoted fanbase and a roof over his head with an ample amount of food. So why the fuck isn’t he happy? Everything always hurts and hurts and hurts, until he can’t think of anything but how much he wishes he could just feel something to make him happy.

Seonghwa is home alone again, like always.

He’s home alone all the time recently. The other members have fun without him, getting into bars and noraebangs with vouchers from their friends (though they still don’t drink) but they don’t invite him as often as they go. He’d only stick out like a sore thumb anyway, he wouldn’t fit in. So truly, there’s no point in him going. 

Deep down, he knows that they don’t even want them there, and it’s not like they’d even talk to him if he showed up. He knows because when he went the last time (upon finally taking an effort to ask for himself if he could go instead of waiting for them to invite him which wouldn’t happen in the first place) they barely even spared a glance in his general direction, instead they got caught up in their own conversations among themselves and with their friends. Seonghwa sat on his phone, trying not to let the tears that so desperately wanted to come out, drip down onto his white mask.They really aren’t his friends anymore, they don’t talk to him even when he’s around them, he’s just like a stranger in his own home.

Tangent aside, he’s home alone again and to take his mind off of the fun that everyone else has decided they’d enjoy more without him, he decides to clean the dorm.

Again.

At the rate he’s been going recently, deep cleaning the house 2-3 times per week, they probably have the cleanest dorms in existence, especially a dorm filled with 8 college aged boys.

He’s already cleaned the kitchen and the living room, using his famous technique (okay, sure, a lint roller, vacuum cleaner, wet wipe and then lint roller to clean the floor is obsessive but he can’t bring himself to care anymore). He tidied up Woosang Jongho room as well as Yunho and San’s room and Mingi and Hongjoong’s room. Now he’s started to clean his own room. 

He sits on the floor of his bathroom with the third or more bucket of the bleach solution that he uses to scrub the tiled floor, still scrubbing away despite the way his arm is sore and his skin is dry. It’s been clean for a while and the bubbles are flying off the sponge with how hard he’s scrubbing it. The door is closed, locking all the fumes inside the bathroom with him, and his nose is still burning from the last several buckets. Despite how dizzy he is and how his head throbs, he stays on the floor and continues to clean.

Not only that, the Ajax he used to clean the shower makes the fumes stronger. He feels like his head is swimming, to the point where he feels like he’s drowning, but he stays on the floor and keeps cleaning.

As he kneels down to scrub the bottom of his tub for the second time (obsessive of course) it makes the blood rush to his head, his vision blacking out for a moment as he nearly collapses.

After reorienting himself once more, a thought races through his mind, one so dangerous that it should’ve caused him more shock than he experienced from it. 

It’d be hilarious if the chemicals finally got to your head and you died in here; one of the members would eventually find your dead body decomposing in your sparkling bathroom, in such an ironic juxtaposition. After all, they always thought you cleaned too much anyways.

He just shakes his head in response. That’s not funny, not even remotely. Why would he ever think that was funny? He’d like to think that they’d at least be horrified if they found him dead. Maybe it’s time for him to leave.

He goes to stand up, leave the bathroom that’s clearly causing issues with his already fucked mind, but when he attempts to stand he falls back down. His knees slam against the floor, and distantly he thinks that it’s not good he can’t feel the pain. His vision blurs again at the impact, and he laughs bitterly, because this really will be the way he dies. He’ll die of chlorine poisoning at 21, obsessively cleaning his already clean bathroom.

In the nick of time, his fight or flight response finally decides to kick in, so he crawls on his hands and knees blearily to the door. His hand grasps the handle of the door and slips off it, falling back onto his lap as he groans again. With the finality of his effort, he reaches up one more time, and twists the handle as hard as he can. The door flies open and he barely gets his head out of the bathroom before his vision blurs, tunnels, and finally blacks out. The last thing he feels is his body collapse to the ground as his arms give way under him. 

He wakes up laying on the floor outside the bathroom, unsure of how much time has passed since he fell unconscious. His head is pounding and his stomach remains twisted in knots, yet growls in protest when he remembers he hasn’t attempted to eat anything since breakfast in the morning. He hasn’t actually had anything to eat since the small snack he had the day prior.

He wishes he could remember when he let his health go to absolute shit, yet he can’t anymore. Every day feels the same.

From downstairs he hears laughter, and deduces that the others must be home already. Didn’t they see him passed out on the floor? Why didn’t they help him? They must’ve known he hasn’t left the house, so shouldn’t they have known he was upstairs when they couldn't find him downstairs?

He needs water desperately, or he’ll probably pass out again and his head is swimming. He can still smell the bleach in the air. 

On forces himself up onto his wobbly legs and almost falls over onto the wall in the process of standing. He has to support himself on it as he walks down the stairs, taking momentary pauses after almost every step.

He’s such a fucking mess.

He finally gets to the last step, breathing as if he’d run a marathon and drags himself into the living room where—

Oh fuck.

The members of Stray Kids are hanging out with them.

It’s so humiliating for him to have them see him like this. His hair is probably a mess, his eyes are probably bloodshot, and he’s stumbling around as though he was drunk. How embarrassing that he’s letting his sunbaes see him moments away from passing out again.

He stumbles and his left side slams into the doorway of the living room, his body slowly starting to give out on him as he slides down the wall, into a sitting position.

By now, every conversation has silenced, all of them staring at him with their eyes wide open, likely beyond confused. But Seonghwa doesn’t have the brain capacity to explain it to them right now, instead all he can manage is a quiet plea. “Can someone…get water?” 

His vision tunnels and swims some more.

Within seconds he can hear the rustling of the couch and then footsteps rushing to their kitchen. The silhouette reminds him of Felix or Wooyoung, but he’s not even sure of that, just waiting for them to return with a cup.

With his shaky hands he attempts to grab the cup from them, but he’s seeing double, and probably not even holding his hands where the cup is. Instead, the person—who seems to be Felix—tilts his head back and pours a small amount into his mouth, which he eagerly gulps down.

Kindly, Felix continues to pour him small sips of the water until finally he can grasp the cup with his own hands and his vision goes back to being single. Now he can clearly see the expressions of everyone in the room, and it becomes abundantly obvious that the members of Stray Kids are more concerned than his own members. 

Part of him laughs, remember when you were close with them ? 

But the look Hongjoong is giving him is the dirtiest, it gets through even his hazy mind, with the expression being clear. It’s disgust.

Hongjoong is disgusted by him. If he heard the thoughts that were rushing through his head while he was in the bathroom he’d be even more disgusted.

Again, the voice in his head rings out, “Remember a time when you thought he would reciprocate your feelings?”

Disgust.

"What happened?" Felix asks, snapping him out of his spiral, his eyes concerned.

Well, at least someone is.

“Nothing, it was the bleach fumes…I passed out. I was gonna pass out again.” he focuses his eyes on Felix’s face. “Thanks.”

Felix cracks a smile at him; Seonghwa wishes he could reciprocate. “It’s no problem, just make sure that you’re careful next time.”

Seonghwa knows he won’t be. At this point, he’ll probably be very reckless, he doesn’t even care much about what happens to him anymore. He’s not concerned about his well-being anymore, like he knows he probably should be.

His body hides all his pain well.

Seonghwa drives his members to the store because they need some food and some personal hygiene items. Plus, the others enjoy leaving the house to go somewhere that isn’t just the company building, and the least he could do is indulge them in something that makes them happy, even if he wants to stay at home.

He’s the best driver and he owns a car, so it’s natural that he drives them. They’ve become accustomed to him driving them everywhere that isn’t a manager driving, and if he doesn’t then they take the bus. They have their own drivers licenses.

He doesn’t even think that he needs anything from the store to begin with, it’s just that if all the members leave then he needs to leave also. He can’t trust himself to stay at home alone anymore, unless he wants something bad to happen (an occurrence that’s happening more regularly as time passes.)

When they arrive at the store, Seonghwa finally remembers the one thing that he thought he could get, which was alcohol. They’ve run out (he’s drunk it all, he’s the only one who drinks) so now he needs to buy some more. It’s not a problem, he has his ID with him to drive, he’ll just pick up some while they’re there.

The members split up with the promise to meet back in aisle seven (Seonghwa remembers that they always used to meet back at aisle eight, but he’s probably drawing conclusions where there aren’t any) 

Seonghwa walks to the liquor aisle and grabs three bottles; some simple soju, an orange blossom flavoured liquor and something flavoured with rosewater. It doesn’t matter what the flavour is to him, if it’s bitter he’ll dump sugar in it, if it tastes bad he’ll pour soda in it. That is, if he can even be bothered too, sometimes he’ll drink it the way he hates it just to spite himself in some cruel joke.

He goes to the checkout to pay for it, showing the cashier his ID and then he heads back to aisle seven where the other members are waiting for him.

“Why do you have those bottles? You can’t even buy them,” Yunho says. Seonghwa’s body almost doesn’t feel his own as his mood and demeanour flip immediately.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! I am so goddamn tired of you all, you’re such assholes! If you want to act like such fucking dicks then you should be able to drive your own asses back home!” he shouts, and in a rare display of physical anger, throws his keys directly at Hongjoong.

They might have hit Hongjoong in the face and that definitely hurts, Seonghwa thinks as he storms out of the shopping centre. It's probably bad that Seonghwa couldn’t care less if it hurt, in fact, a darker part of his mind almost wishes that it did hurt. Maybe then they’ll understand the way he feels. He’s so tired and so angry. He doesn’t even make it out of the doors of the shopping centre before he begins to cry, his tears running down his face and soaking the mask that he’s wearing. It sticks to his face uncomfortably, but he knows he can’t remove it.

After barely making it out of the doors of the shopping complex, he sinks to the ground in a ball, his tears only falling harder as he comes to the slow realisation of what he’d done. All he ever wanted was for his dongsaengs to be nice to him again, but they were never going to start being kind if he screamed at them or threw things at him, in a public place, no less. He probably fucked up his chances of ever being able to rekindle their relationship, all with what he just did. Even though that’s all he ever wanted.

He’s so fucking stupid, he’s such an idiot that he threw his keys at Hongjoong, so now he has to take public transport back to his dorm, all because there’s no way he could ever just walk back into the shopping centre as if nothing had ever happened. Why would he ever throw his own keys in the first place? It’s his car! He should’ve just walked away, then he at least would’ve driven his own car home and have gotten the retribution of making them take the bus instead.

But no, he had to be stupid, and he probably looks ridiculous curled in a ball outside of a shopping complex.

He’s so upset and hurt, curled up crying, until suddenly a wave of extreme apathy rushes over him, and he stops crying and walks to catch a bus. 

What is wrong with him? Why is he acting like this? Why doesn’t he feel anything anymore, switching from such a severe sadness to severe apathy? Is he losing his mind? Is he having a mental breakdown?

He wishes he could reach out to someone, but instead he just sighs as he holds the handrail. It’s probably sad that he holds no strong opinions on the fact that he could be losing his mind.

He gets off the bus and walks home with the apathy still consuming him, noticing once he reaches the dorm that his car still isn’t back in the driveway. The others would’ve beat him home if they came home straight from the store, so they must’ve gone out without him and still haven’t returned. They’re having fun without him, without a member of their group, but it’s probably for the best…he’d only put a damper on their fun.

He remembers the stories of Kpop groups where members didn’t get along, but he never thought that would be his experience. He never thought he would be that member, the one who was hated by his own group.

Seonghwa sets the bottles of alcohol down on their kitchen counter as he drags himself up the stairs to his room, before he is hit with a wave of pure, seering, anger towards his members.

Fuck them, why are they doing this to him? They’re the ones who are destroying him, they’re the ones who are breaking him piece by piece by being so dense and rude at all times. He’s trying his fucking best, and they give not even a fourth of his effort! Is he not worth it to them? Are they perfectly fine to watch him fall apart and give no genuine effort into helping him, not even so much as asking him if he’s okay?

He should probably go back. Maybe he should tell someone, anyone, about the way his emotions make him feel, give in and explain to someone the intense mental breakdowns he experiences each and every night? 

With a piercing, agonised scream, he throws one of the pictures from his wall all the way across the room, the loud shatter of glass lingering in his ears. It doesn’t resonate, and he takes his hand, swiping every item off his desk and basking in the way it hits the floor. The items splinter and break, shattering and no longer functioning. He doesn’t care, he can’t care, instead his rage blinds him as he trashes his room. He destroys nearly everything in it, tugging the sheets halfway off his bed and slamming his pillows into the floor as they catch glass inside them. He couldn’t stand the mess in his average life.

As he finishes his rage, he glances around the room, the damage of what he’s done settling deep in his chest as he collapses to the floor on his knees. What has he done, why would he have done it? In his line of sight is his nightstand, where his miniature figurines were sitting out, the Star Wars ones that he spent hours building. They were pretty, far more than just simple models, and he put so much effort into making them. Even in his intense apathy and sadness, it was the accomplishment that made him feel a small sliver of happiness. He loved all his figurines, but now they’re shattered amongst all his other belongings, laying on the floor and scattered.

He could never discern what pieces went to what model, and he could never rebuild them without the instructions (which he assumed he did not need, because he never planned to unassemble them.)

Why would he ever demolish his room? Why would he ever get so angry so quickly and how is he so sad once more?

Has he always been like this and just never realised it was to this degree? He must not have been, as his members used to say he was gentle like a mother. Not anymore. He can’t remember a single time in his life where he went through mood swings like this, and it’s becoming harder and harder to accept that he’s likely going to be the cause of his own downfall. He’s going through life on pins and needles, and everytime he walks with heavy footsteps he breaks everything apart as if he were a Tasmanian devil. He’s ruining his own relationships in the process. His members likely were never the problem, it’s probably been him all along, making himself out to be the victim as his own deteriorating mental state made him the cause of the wreckage.

He destroys everything; he’s actively self-destructing.

He thought that he’d run out of tears, yet his raw throat produces more sobs that rack his body. He’s such a fuck up, isn’t he? It’s no wonder that Hongjoong doesn’t want to room with him and never returned his feelings, it’s no wonder that his members all hate him. He deserves it, he deserves everything he’s gotten and all the things he’s caused.

His sobs come out so hard that he involuntarily retches violently, his chest throbbing in pain. He sobs so hard that he tires himself out, and he falls asleep still crying, slumped against his halfway unmade bed, stuck in a sea of loneliness.

Hongjoong laughs, the sound teetering on maniacal, as he gets in the driver’s seat of Seonghwa’s car.

“I can’t believe that Seonghwa was so done that he told me to drive his car!” He laughs, pressing start on the ignition.

“Do you think we’ve finally broken him?” Mingi asks, buckling in.

“Oh, he’s definitely broken. He’s been broken since Yeosang’s birthday, and probably before then, but I can’t believe it took him this much time to finally expose it.” San says.

“I wonder if he’s there yet, we all know he’d rather die than seem like he’s not okay.” Yunho ponders.

“I doubt he’s ready to kill himself yet, but he has to be close. Either that or he’s going insane, both options are viable, as long as we don’t have to see him anymore.” Hongjoong replies.

“I just wish he would hurry up and off himself.” Wooyoung groans.

“Oh, don’t we all.” Yeosang laughs in agreement.

"I wonder if there’s some way we could push him further though; speed up the process a bit” Jongho says.

“I don’t think we have to do anything more than what we’re doing right now, though if we amp up our passive-aggressiveness and make our comments more subtly mean, then he’ll eventually give in.”

“Well, I know how we could find out his true feelings, further than the ones that he just lets us see.” San says, a smirk crawling up his face.

When a few of his friends turn to look at him, he responds to himself. “I know where he keeps his diary.”

“Wow! He keeps a fucking diary, as if he was a twelve year old girl!” Yeosang jokes, and the whole car erupts in laughter at their eldest's expense. 

“Yeah, I saw him writing in it while I passed his room one day, he must have not seen me, because he was putting it up and I saw exactly where he hid it. I was going to steal it, but he was leaving his room so I had to rush down the hall instead.”

“Next time we can get him out the house we can read it, it’s probably really interesting.” Jongho says.

“Or maybe it’s not. It’s not like he’s ever leaving the house, and he has no friends, so it’s not like he has anything to talk about in the first place.” Hongjoong adds as he pulls into the dorms’ driveway.

“I wonder if Seonghwa is home already…maybe he got hit by a car on the way home, it would save us some time if he did.” Yunho laughs.

The seven boys enter the house, met by total silence, though that’s not odd. Seonghwa is always either cleaning or laying in his room when he’s at home. 

Yeosang whispers to the others, “I’m going to check his room and see if he’s home. Maybe I’ll find something interesting.” 

As he gets to the last step, he can see Seonghwa’s wide open door and tiptoes his way over, not expecting to find anything but maybe Seonghwa asleep or reading. 

He muffles his gasp with a quick hand to his mouth, knowing how sensitive Seonghwa is to sound when he’s asleep, and nearly almost laughs as his eyes scan the room, his open mouth creeping into a smile. 

Seonghwa is slumped over on the floor, as if he passed out. But that’s not the important part (if you ignore the fact that clean-freak Seonghwa would never sleep on his floor, no matter how hard he cleaned it.) The important part, is the way everything around him is ruined. HIs sheets are undone and the pillows are strewn out along the floor with glass most likely wedged inside of them from all the glass and plastic coating his floor. Yeosang can barely even see what once was on the shelves, almost nothing inside the room is salvageable. It only proves how far along Seonghwa’s fallen, that someone who used to be so calm and collected could destroy his valuable possessions in such an instant.

He opens his camera, taking a picture of the mess to show the others.

Seonghwa is further along than they all thought, great news for their plan, which is clearly working well.

When he gets downstairs and shows the others the photo they all burst into laughter, it no longer matters if they wake Seonghwa up (though this is the first he’s been able to sleep in a while.)

“Oh my fucking god! Is he asleep on his floor? How pathetic!” Wooyoung cackles.

“Look at all his ugly shit on the ground, good riddance to all of it!” Mingi laughs.

Seonghwa wakes up mere moments later, his head still throbbing from his crying session, beyond worn out and unable to cry again as he stares with sadness at all his stuff. Wooyoung’s laughter reaches his ears after travelling up the stairwell, he can hear them all talking downstairs.

Seonghwa only sighs, getting up to retrieve a broom and dragging himself downstairs. He walks past them all and they don’t spare him so much as a glance, as if he doesn’t exist (he wishes he didn’t), all too enthralled in their conversation. They throw around what must be inside jokes, based on their laughter, but he’s too out of the loop to understand anymore. 

In his room he brushes all the glass into the dustpan and empties it in his trashcan, repeating the action several times as it settles in just how much broken glass there is littering his floor. Some of his pillow covers are torn and ripped, so he pulls the covers off and throws them in the trash. He haphazardly pats down the pillows and hisses as a shred of glass digs into his palm and causes it to bleed. Oh well.

He can no longer use his pillows, and he can’t get the glass out. It’s all in his comforter as well, rendering that useless. At least his actual sheets were spared from his destruction.

His room feels empty now, even more empty than when they just moved in, despite the fact that physically it was at that time. But he lives in this room, and now there’s barely a semblance of it. It’s so empty, but at least it’s not as empty as he feels inside of himself.

“What’s up with you recently? You’ve been even more bitchy and naggy than normal these days,” Hongjoong sneers at him.

All Seonghwa had asked was for the members to pick up their trash and food wrappers, instead of leaving it around the dorms. He didn’t think that was bitchy or naggy…

“Am I? I don’t mean to be either, I just don’t feel well,” He replies.

Not feeling well could likely be considered the biggest understatement of the century, he’s been feeling like shit for a half a year now. He feels withdrawn, tired and weak.

“You are! You’re always fucking complaining, I don’t see why you can’t just say something positive for once, while all the rest of us are happy you come to be a buzzkill, complaining about how we’re all fucking pigs when you’re just a clean-freak.”

Seonghwa’s lips part in shock, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m glad that you’re all doing amazing. Is that positive enough for you yet, Joongie?” he replies, his words coated with thick bitterness. 

“For fucks sake, seriously? All I was saying is that you could be more positive, there was no fucking reason that you needed to snap at me like that!”

“Yeah, all you were saying is that I’m a negative, clean-freak, bitch!” Seonghwa responds, gritting his teeth.

“When did I ever call you a negative bitch?”

“It was the first thing you fucking told me!” Seonghwa shouts back, aggravated.

“I did not! I just said that I wanted you to be fucking happy—”

“You’re lying, you fucking bastard! Just say what you actually wanted to say and get it over with!” 

“Fine! What I wanted to say is that you really do act like a negative bitch! All you do is nag us and clean, you never want to go out with us—”

“You never fucking ask me!”

“—and all you do when we’re having fun together is kill the vibe because you’re always bitching about something stupid! Maybe if you acted more positive we would—Ow! What the fuck!” Hongjoong swears, grabbing his head.

Seonghwa hadn’t even registered the fact that he was moving, or the fact that the plastic serving spoon that he was holding is no longer in his hand until Mingi, who was simply watching on the sidelines of the argument, steps in.

“Seonghwa! You can’t just throw things at people because you’re angry at them! You’re acting like a petulant child!”

Seonghwa freezes, still trying to process the fact that he just threw a serving spoon at Hongjoong, with the intention to hurt him. He wanted to hurt somebody. That’s a horrible feeling.

“I-I-I’m leaving!” he blurts, pivoting on his feet and running the opposite directions, rushing to grab his keys and leave the dorm. He can’t be here anymore.

“Oh sure Seonghwa, just run away. You’re such a fucking dick!” he hears someone shout, before the door slams closed behind him. 

Once again, an argument he caused that was all his fucking fault. Why? Why is everything so fucking difficult now?

“Wow, what a great excuse to get him to leave the house!” Jongho praises.

“Yeah at the expense of my fucking skull—damn he threw that spoon hard” Hongjoong groans.

It was Jongho’s idea originally to start an argument that got Seonghwa mad enough that he had to leave the house. Sure, him causing a huge bruise on Hongjoong’s head wasn’t in the original plan, but actually worked out better for them in the long run. Now they had an even better reason to be mean to him AND they can read his diary in peace.

Yunho peers out the kitchen window, “He’s just sitting in his front seat, he’s not even moving and the car isn’t even on…oh fuck, is he seriously crying right now?”

“Should we even be surprised at this point? All he ever does is cry now.” Wooyoung scoffs.

Finally, about a minute later they hear the sound of the car starting, and within seconds Seonghwa’s blue Subaru Ascent is flying out of their driveway and down the road at a speed that is certainly far too fast for the residential area they live in, where the speed limit is only twenty-five.

“Success,” Yunho smiles, closing the curtain and turning back to face the others. Everyone but San is moving to sit on the couch, who must have already ran upstairs to get Seonghwa’s dairy.

When San returns they all sit down on the floor and gather around in a circle. “What do you think he writes in his diary?” Mingi questions.

“Dear Diary, I just love my Joongie so so much, and I wish he would just kiss me and we could be together forever and get married.” Yeosang says, putting on an absurdly high voice as if to mock Seonghwa’s voice.

“Ew! Absolutely not, I would jump off a cliff before I ever kissed him!” Hongjoong sneers.

"What if he’s talking about sexual shit? I really don't want to hear about his sexcapades, not that he's been out a lot recently,” Jongho says.

Yeosang laughs and then begins again “Dear diary! Today I left the house and found some random guy on the street and begged him to fuck me so he took me into a back alley and he railed me so fucking hard—”

“That’s so gross, Yeosang! How the fuck did you come up with that?” Jongho yelps, swatting Yeosang on the arm.

“Come on, it’s funny!” Yeosang laughs. 

San interrupts the conversation by throwing open the first page of the diary, everyone immediately staring at it.

November 22nd, 2019

I'm just starting this journal to write out my feelings and document my life, etc.. I saw somewhere online that writing out your feelings can make you process them better, so writing them out may be a good way to remember the times that I experience with my friends in Ateez. 

San scoffs, flipping the page. How boring.

“Aw, it’s cute that he thought we were friends~” Yunho sing songs.

January 5th, 2020

Today we had a concert! It was so much fun! I love Atiny so much, they’re so lovely and it makes me feel so happy to hear them cheer in excitement, for me, for us. We’re going to make it big one day, I just know it. We deserve it. 

San sighs, flipping through the pages to look for April, for the beginning of their plan.

April 21st, 2020

I don’t know what this feeling is, but it feels like it’s wholly consuming me, as if it’s swallowing me whole. I guess that it’s not a rare feeling, to experience a depression, but is that really what I’m feeling? Is it temporary? Is it supposed to feel like this? I guess that maybe it would make sense, but do I even truly deserve to feel depressed? There’s nothing significant that has happened in my life to cause me to experience one. I haven’t had any traumatic experience, financial problems or relationship issues, I haven’t had a loved one die and I haven’t had any severe accidents. I guess that it feels like my friends are distancing themselves from me, but that shouldn’t be the cause of a depression…and if it is, I guess I’m simply weak hearted. Maybe I’m not even depressed after all, what if I’m just convincing myself that I’m messed up in the head, as if it was some sort of ridiculous pity party.  

"Okay, so it really doesn’t seem like it took him much time to start feeling bad. This was only eighteen days after his birthday.” Mingi considers.

San skips a few pages.

May 3rd, 2020

I think this truly is what depression feels like…it can’t be normal to feel empty at every waking moment or feel like there’s no joy or anything worth happiness in my life. I simply pass through the motions on a day-to-day basis, and I have to pray no one notices me. The rest of the members are distancing themselves from me, maybe it’s something that I’ve done or said. It could be the fact that I’ve been cleaning more often as of late, they’ve been complaining about it frequently. It could be the fact that I’ve started to drink. They are still ignoring the fact that I turned 21 a month ago. It could be something that I’ve done, but I’ve not been able to think of what I could’ve done to upset them. Maybe it’s just me…Oh well. I suppose that I must deserve their annoyance.

May 14th, 2020

I've started self-harming. It feels right.

Hongjoong begins to smirk when he reads that diary entry, it’s a success for their plan. But as he reads the next entry, his smirk turns into a menacing smile, only a day later.

May 15th, 2020

I only cut myself for the first time three or four days ago…already feel as though I can’t stop. It’s hard for me to even describe just how relieving the action of self-harming is. I know it’s so wrong, and I know I should feel more guilty than I do, but I don’t. Cutting feels like a slow release of tension pouring out of my body, just like the blood that leaves with it. There are no words that could truly explain it, relief, pain, compensation? None of them are right, as if the words blend together like the blood which drips down my thighs when I run my razor blade on them. Hongjoong no longer shares a room with me, no one does. There’s no one here to stop me, no person that I have to worry about hearing my pained whimpers as I cut on the shower floor. There’s nothing stopping me, and maybe that’s a bad thing, because now there’s no filter in my mind to tell me that I should stop and put the blade down, or plead for me to think of the repercussions of my actions. It’s dangerous, and I know it might lead down the path of no return, but cutting feels good. From the first time I ran the blade over my upper-thigh, I knew there was a threat of becoming addicted to the pain. It hurts badly, but at the same time it feels so good. Pain has started to feel good , and maybe that’s the scariest part of cutting. Not the action itself, but the way it molds your mind. 

“That was only in May? In May he was already waxing poetic about slitting his thighs? Hell, he really did break quickly, it’s almost disappointing that he lacked so much resolve!” Wooyoung laughs.

May 30th, 2020

I’m beginning to run out of space on the front of my thighs already, that must not be healthy. I should feel bad, apathy truly is dangerous. I’ve been thinking about moving to my arms so everyone would know just how I feel. It could be a cry for help, and maybe our observant Atiny would be able to point it out and bring it to the attention of the company. Maybe one of the members would notice and we could become friends again, even if it’s out of sheer pity for what I’m becoming without them. I just want someone to ask me what’s wrong, I don’t even need them to feel bad for me, or ask what they could do to help, just ask me if I’m okay. Maybe if I spilled the contents of my heart out to them honestly, they’d admit me into a psych ward where I couldn’t cut myself or continue to be such a fucking danger to my own wellbeing. 

Who am I kidding? Why would I move to my arms at all, why would I even attempt a pathetic cry for help and expose myself like that. It doesn’t even matter if it scars, no one is going to see them, besides for a future partner possibly…but who would ever even love me? I’ll just continuously open the cuts on my thighs until the scars can never leave. It shouldn’t matter that for the rest of my life I’ll have memories of the time where I was so horribly fucked up in the head that I needed to inflect pain on myself like a freak.

June 7th, 2020

Yeosangie’s birthday is coming up. It hurts that the others are so ready to celebrate and that they remember it so easily, yet couldn’t remember mine, or didn’t bother to celebrate it. It hurts that they want me to act happy for it, even if I’m far from being happy. I know they want me to bring a present, even though I also am aware they don’t want me to be there. I do want to go to the party, but I also really don’t. There’s going to be dozens of people there and though I was already an introvert before, just the thought of being in a chaotic room with dozens of people makes my stomach churn. There’s a concerning amount of things that make my stomach churn recently, so I can’t eat much anymore. If I’m hungry then I will eat, but sometimes food makes me sick, if not even the thought of eating anything. Yeosang doesn’t want me to be at his party, no one wants me at the party. I don’t have any friends anymore, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that no one likes me much. 

I can see why. I hate myself too.

June 29th, 2020

I almost killed myself while cleaning today. I almost gave myself chlorine poisoning and I just barely made it out of my bathroom without passing out. I woke back up to drag myself downstairs and beg for help, but the members of Stray Kids were over. I embarrassed myself in front of all of them…my sunbaes, hyungs and dongsaengs had to see me stumble down the stairs like a drunk and Felix had to hand give me water because I was too pathetic to do it myself. It’s not surprising, I’m always such an embarrassment. It must be part of the reason why nobody likes me, Hongjoong look absolutely disgusted when I came into the living room, and it’s reasonable. I’m disgusted in myself too, and every single person in that room would have been disgusted in me too, if they knew what I thought while I was in that bathroom. I’m so fucked up, I’m so unbelievably sick in the head that these terrifying thoughts pass through my head and it doesn’t disturb me upon first processing it. Sure, it could’ve been the bleach messing up my thoughts more, but that’d just be an excuse for myself. I wonder sometimes if suicide is greedy. I contemplated it after I exited the bathroom, once Stray Kids left our dorm. I want to die, but it terrifies me to think that I might be greedy for doing so. It does seem selfish, especially as a famous person, to kill yourself. You have thousands, if not millions, of fans that look up to you as a beacon and an inspiration. You’re their way of getting through their dark days, but you can’t get through your own. I just think that Atiny would move on and forget about me quickly if I killed myself, my own members hate me, so it can’t be more than a matter of time until Atiny hate me as well. The only thing I know for certain, is that suicide isn’t funny. I only mention this, because I’m finally going to admit that terrible thought that crossed my head in the bathroom . I thought it would be funny, if when I died of chlorine poisoning, the members found me in a beautiful juxtaposition of my decomposing body in my sparkling clean bathroom. Dead by my own hands.

A shiver rakes through Yunho’s body as he reads that entry. Looking into the mind of a person who’s slowly going mad is terrifying to say the least. How could Seonghwa think of something so disturbing, and write it down as if it were poetry. It’s just fucked up, Seonghwa is fucked up. Part of him can’t help but be proud that he was part of that reason. That he did such a good job ruining Seonghwa. “That’s…what the fuck.” is all his words come out too.

Wooyoung nods in agreement.

“What’s taking him so long if he’s had these thoughts about killing himself, hell, thought it was funny if he died, since June. It’s been months and somehow he’s still alive!” Hongjoong says, his tone flippant and annoyed. Seonghwa is such a hassle.

"His thoughts are so disjointed. It’s as if he’s rambling, but in a way that’s pretty. He seems so disconnected and so dissociated from reality in his writing.” San says.

July 11th, 2020

San’s birthday was yesterday. He turned 20. I left mid-way through the party. I wonder if anyone noticed. There were at least a dozen different snack options at the party, at least 8 different drink options and a large cake. All I managed to have was a small sliver of the cake and a half a soda. Even that made me sick. I abandoned everyone to sprint to the bathroom with the urge to throw up. There was barely anything in my stomach to come up. I just had these painful chest constrictions which made me feel as though I couldn’t breathe, as I cried and dry-heaved nothing over a public toilet, collapsed on the floor. Pathetic. As always. I’m so embarrassingly pathetic these days, all the time. I spend my nights crying and cutting my thighs, reopening the physical and mental wounds that I have. I’m always apathetic throughout the day, and when I’m not I’m so depressed that I barely want to move. Between then, I feel anger. Strong anger, almost like a bitter hatred for everything around me is to blame, even a cute video of a cat could somehow mold it’s way into bitterness while I’m in an angry mood. I just want to feel happy. Is that too much to ask? I want to be able to laugh and joke around with my members like the way I used to, I want to be able to go out to parties without feeling panicked, I want to be able to eat whatever I want without having to fear throwing it up and I want to feel normal again. Why can’t everything be normal? Everyone else around me is still the same, and I’m the mess. I’m the fuck up, I only ruin things, I’m the only person who feels like this. I should just kill myself, take one of those razors that I used to run over my thighs and slice my neck open tomorrow. I want to do it. I should.

"Fuck what made him change his mind? We need to make sure it doesn't happen again" Mingi sighs.

July 12th, 2020

Ignore yesterday's entry. It was stupid and impulsive. I don’t know why I even genuinely thought about slicing my neck open, but I shouldn’t have. I sat down yesterday and scrolled through Twitter, so I saw Atiny’s posts about me. They used to make me feel happy, and I guess I long for that happiness again. It didn’t work, now I feel obligated to stick around for Atiny, because part of me thinks they’d be sad if I killed myself. Atiny seem to like me, but I couldn’t tell you why, I don’t know. I guess that it settled my internal debate from a month ago, about whether suicide is selfish. I’d hurt people if I left, I would hurt people. Maybe I should get a psychiatrist, or a therapist, I heard they help. Yeah. KQ offered all of us one for free if we ever needed it. Feeling like your life is irrelevant and having an urge to commit suicide might be grounds for getting one. 

"Come on! He's so damn selfless and considerate that he’s literally being selfish. Can he please just off himself?” Yeosang  mutters.

July 13th, 2020

Ignore the last entry, it was stupid too. I don't need a therapist, there are so many people who need one more than I do. I’m so pathetic, getting this fucked up all because I’m upset at my friends no longer wishing to be friends with me. It’s not even that big of a deal, I’m being ridiculous and dramatic. There’s no reason for me to see a therapist, I don’t deserve enough to rip away valuable resources from someone who’s struggling with actual trauma that they need to work through. 

"What the hell?" Jongho questions. That’s three different diary entries now, in a row, no less, that Seonghwa has written something down only to completely change his opinion on it the next day. It’s like the rantings of an insane person, ones that you would see in a horror movie with someone who has split personalities as the antagonist. Only, it’s Seonghwa. 

San skips the August entries, moving straight to September 1st.

September 1st, 2020

Dear Diary, I think I’m going insane. I’m almost certain that I need some mental help. I don’t even know what’s happening to me anymore, I used to think it was depression, but I don’t think depression is supposed to feel like this. My emotions are flipping so fast that at any given moment I could change from angry to depressed to apathetic, or more than one at once. By the time I’ve finally processed the emotion I’m experiencing, my body has already moved onto a different one. I feel like I don’t know myself anymore, I feel like I don’t know anything at all anymore. I’ve probably really lost it now. The only thing I’m sure of at this point is that I should start taking antidepressants. Maybe it will help me. I’ll get them over the counter tomorrow. I suppose I won’t be taking anything away from anyone else if I get over-the-counter ones, after all, there should be plenty to go around.

There’s a large time block between the next diary entry and that one. 17 days, to be exact.

September 18th, 2020

I can’t handle this anymore. I can’t do this, any of it. I can’t handle my body, my mind, my life, anything. I have to go see a doctor. I’m not myself anymore, I’m not even a shell of the person I once was, I feel completely new. I’m going insane, I know it, hell, I might already be insane. I can’t keep doing this to myself, I let it go on because I wanted to pretend a little bit, but I can’t keep this up anymore. I feel so angry and depressed and apathetic and I can’t even get a balance on them because they switch so fast. I’m going to lose my mind entirely if I don’t get help immediately, if I don’t reach out for someone, anyone to care. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know. FUCK! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? 

The last two sentences are so aggressive, the graphite in the pencil so condensed it looks black, and the words indented into the next two pages with how hard it was written. Seonghwa must’ve felt either panicked or angry and frantic as he wrote, the handwriting got progressively messier as it went on, until the last bit was almost illegible.

Everyone sits in stunned silence. Not a silence because of them being upset, but just out of sheer shock. It’s strange seeing Seonghwa so out of control like that, so uncomposed. That’s not the same Seonghwa from a year ago. It’s not the same Seonghwa that they see on a daily basis. 

“Wow…he’s really lost it. It’s hard to even tell if he’s genuinely going insane or just really suicidal.” Mingi says, his words still conveying the shock. He knew this would happen, he wanted it to happen, it’s just strange to see it actually happening in front of him. 

“Does it even matter? If he goes insane then we’ll call a shrink. If he kills himself we pretend to be sad and then we move on. Either way, we’ll be able to get rid of him.” Hongjoong replies, his voice devoid of any emotion, except for the slightest hint of glee.

September 20th, 2020

I talked to KQ and took the offer for a psychologist. I hope that she can help me figure out what’s going on. I almost bailed out at the last minute, to be honest, I got really scared. I didn’t want to tell the management that I felt like I needed help with my mental state, and I almost threw up after blurting it out to them. It made me feel sick to my stomach, the looks that they gave me. Between their shock at my admission and their pitying looks as they spouted off bullshit about how it was okay if I needed to take a break, I almost bolted out of the room. Instead, I kept my composure up and remained professional. I told them that I was mostly fine, and wanted to schedule appointments twice a week and that I was okay with continuing my schedule if I have time to fit it in. They just nodded. I wanted to curl up in a ball and die.That’s not new.

September 22nd, 2020

I had my first therapy appointment today. She just started off by finding a baseline, but I can already tell that she’s going to be awful and probably inconsiderate towards my problems. If anything she’s going to make everything worse for me. The first thing she did was hand me a questionnaire, which I filled out honestly (of course after her mentioning about 20 times that it was a safe space and that I should answer honestly) After she looked at it, she spent minutes just scribbling down notes on a clipboard, constantly eyeing me and then the paper that she was looking at. Her eyes would constantly widen, and as I tried to evaluate which part of the questionnaire she was at, I saw her eyes shoot over to my exposed wrists and then back down to the paper. That’s when I realized that she was looking to find where I cut myself, since I said I did it daily. That made something curl in my stomach. What if I had cut my wrists and they were exposed, would she judge how many lines were there? Once I started talking to her, she spent more of her time scribbling away than she did asking me questions or looking at me. I wonder what she was writing in her notebook. Notes about how fucked up I am? Names of prescriptions should could give me, or lists of disorders I could have? I just want to know how to fix whatever is wrong with me, but part of me thinks I can’t even be fixed anymore.

“Hey, maybe KQ is just as sick of Seonghwa as we are, giving him a therapist like that. They might be trying to get rid of him just as much as we are.” Wooyoung laughs.

September 27th, 2020

My therapist, Jangmi, told me that she’s diagnosing me with OCD, clinical depression, Bipolar disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. I got my prescriptions today. I have three of them that I have to take now, mood stabilisers, antipsychotics and Xanax. I’m supposed to take them all, everyday, and if I miss even just one of the three pills it will mess them all up and none of them will work right that day. My medicine is antipsychotic, which I guess means that I am psychotic. She said it will help with the BPD. Bipolar Disorder used to be called manic depression, I suppose that says a lot about me. I’m manic and psychotic. I need mood stabilisers, because I’m such a freak that they’re the only things that will help me to stop my rapidly flip flopping emotions and prevent me from screaming in anger to crying. I can’t stop cutting myself, to the point where it might as well be considered an addiction. I spend hours every few days deep cleaning because not only am I a germaphobe, I’m also experiencing compulsions. I’m so fucked up, I’m so insane . My therapy appointments are on Tuesday and Thursday at 4pm. Jangmi said she might increase them if the medications don’t kick in or my mental state continues to deteriorate. 

"Isn't this the same week that he screamed at us in the middle of the grocery store?” San asks, thinking back to that day. They thought it was out of character for Seonghwa, but maybe it was just him finally exposing the true him, beneath all the glamour.

“Yeah, it was! Oh my god, that explains everything, he couldn’t keep up his charade because he was probably so frustrated about finally figuring out that he has not one, but four disorders.” 

“He has to be falling so deep in his own self hatred that it can’t be too long until he’s finally done and kills himself. Not to mention that the only thing probably still keeping him going is his dozens of medications he’s on to stop himself from falling apart in front of our eyes. He’s always high now.”

October 1st, 2020

It’s only been a few days, but my medication is being changed. I just got on it. Apparently, I’m not supposed to be taking Xanax, because it’s an SNRI and combined with my other meds, can actually make the depression worse instead. I’m actually supposed to be on Lexapro, which is an SSRI. I don’t even know what that means, or what the difference is, but I feel like as a psychiatrist, Jangmi should’ve known that. The only thing I’m getting is that somehow she managed to give me something that could make my depression worse instead of better. I feel like any college level psych major could tell you that information that she mixed up. She also asked me if I drank alcohol frequently. To which I responded, yes. It was on my questionnaire, I drink twice a week. She told me I’m not “allowed to” anymore. It could make my symptoms worse and at high levels can damage my brain, which I understand, and I’m not dependent, so obviously I’ll stop drinking. It’s just I feel like she should’ve told me this when she gave me the first meds, and the way she told me I’m not “allowed to” made me feel like a fucking child whose being scolded. She makes me upset.  

"That would explain why he suddenly stopped drinking again. He can't drink because he's high off his ass on anti-psychotics" Yeosang laughs

October 4th, 2020

I’m supposed to see the effects of the medication begin in about two weeks, but it feels like it’s taking forever. I know it’s not been two weeks, and that I’m being impatient, but I just want to feel better. Right now I’m feeling worse. Of course, all medications come with possible side effects and Jangmi told me about them, but I didn’t expect them to feel this bad. I have almost every side effect that she listed, and those are only making everything feel worse. I have splitting migraines, and it’s like it’s there permanently but I’m not supposed to take aspirin, meaning I can’t do anything about them, because aspirin doesn’t mix with the Lexapro, which will affect every other medication. I have severe nausea, and I was already experiencing this, but now it’s worse. I feel like throwing up almost constantly and I only dry-heave most of the time because I don’t eat enough any more. Whereas I used to have a hard time falling asleep due to being a light sleeper, now I’m an insomniac, and wouldn’t you guess it, I can’t take sleeping pills because they affect my meds. The most embarrassing part of everything is that I’m so sexually frustrated all the time. One of my meds is making me horny, which on its own would be fine. I can masturbate perfectly fine on my own, but more frequently. The issue is that another one of my medications has a side effect of “temporary erectile dysfunction” (which embarrassed me enough when Jangmi just mentioned it, I don’t even know how I’m writing about this) and wouldn’t you know it, I also got that side effect! Yesterday I was horny (med 1) and I went to jack off, and minutes before I was going to cum I went soft  in my hand (med 2) I tried again and it happened again. After, I got hit with such an overwhelming amount of shame and humiliation, not just from being unable to finish but just everything in general, that I began to cry. I cried trying to masturbate…I feel so fucking pathetic.  

Wooyoung throws his whole body back in high pitched laughter and it began to ring out before he even finished reading the entry, and by the end of it everyone was laughing at the expense of Seonghwa. A secret only meant for him, that suddenly seven other people knew about, and would shame him for.

"At this point, it's just hilarious!" Yeosang chuckles deeply.

"He's such a fucking mess" Yunho agrees.

“I can’t believe he’s so useless he can’t even cum anymore.”

October 7th, 2020

Still no luck with the aforementioned issue, but I have more problems. As if I needed any more things to add to the ever growing list. I’m fucking malnourished . I’ve started to eat so little between the new comeback and the nausea and lack of hunger from my medications that I’m losing too much weight at too quick of a pace. Which makes me malnourished, considering the fact that I was already below the target weight and now (because this is a bad thing) they’re scared that I might develop anorexia or bulimia if my medications kick in and make one of my disorders worse. This is the best news I could’ve received today, it’s great, really exactly what I needed to make me feel better! My life is perfect, hell, why doesn’t the universe just give me schizophrenia and another personality disorder while they’re at it!

"I've never heard him that sarcastic before" Hongjoong comments.

October 9th, 2020

It’s been two weeks since I got my meds, and my depression has gotten worse. I feel the worst I’ve felt in months, if not ever, and it’s so fucking terrifying. I had to actively stop myself from slitting my wrists in the midst of my cutting session. I’ve always had thoughts about cutting my wrists and how much easier it would be if I just destroyed those instead, but my rationality has always been able to tell me that if I did then people would notice. Today it didn’t come on. I would’ve done it. I pressed the blade to my wrist and almost moved it. I’ll have to go to Jangmi again, I’m scared.

October 11th, 2020

Tomorrow is Jongho's birthday, and I was so preoccupied with my own stupid problems that I didn’t even realise that it was so soon. I guess I’m doing the same thing to him that he did to me (at least partially) but it still makes me feel horrible that I have to run out and get him something on such short notice. I don’t even have a clue what he would want for his birthday, we’ve barely talked in the past few months and never did the topic of what he would want for his birthday come up. I wonder if he’d think I was a bad friend if I just gave him a hundred dollars. I don’t even know what the others are getting him, or what he’s planning to do for his birthday. I think I heard the managers say something about him doing a YouTube live, but that was a given, considering the fact that all of us do lives on our birthdays. It sounded like I heard Mingi mention dinner, but I can’t even be sure, because all I heard was a snippet of the conversation. Even if they had dinner, would I even want to go? I guess I would, just for semantics, but I wouldn’t be happy there. I don’t know if they’d even talk to me, let alone what I’d eat at any restaurant we went to. Right now, I doubt I’ll even be able to drink anything. I’ve been unable to keep virtually anything down now. Because of what I said in my last entry, Jangmi pulled me off my meds and gave me new ones. I’ll have to start the cycle all over again. I really don’t want to, but I don’t have a choice. The only medication that’s staying the same is the Lexapro, but it doesn’t make a difference, because it’ll be all fucked up until the other two ones start to work. I’m so tired and I’m so fucking miserable. I wish I didn’t exist. The only good news is that the embarrassing side effect of the other meds has gone away. I guess that maybe that’s something to be happy for? I wish I could be happy… 

October 12th, 2020

I feel humiliated. I threw up in the middle of Jongho’s birthday dinner earlier tonight. It was so embarrassing. I don’t even know why I can’t keep any of the food I eat in my fucking stomach anymore. Even when I want to eat, it still comes up, even when I pick a small meal. Tonight I was hungry, I picked something small, I didn’t even eat all of it, and I still threw it up. My head hurts. And, I’m still fucking nauseous, even though there’s not anything left in my system that I could get rid of. I’m sure I sound like I’m bitching right now. If I ever get to a place where I feel better and look back over this diary, I’m sure I’ll think I’m bitching too. But I can’t help it. I’m starting to think that everything is hopeless; nothing’s ever going to get better. They say that it takes time to feel better, but it’s been fucking months of me feeling like shit. Almost seven months of me feeling like this. It’s been weeks that I’ve been trying for meds that will actually help me. I don’t want to do this anymore. I heard that you shouldn’t say you want to die, even if you do…so “I don’t want to die”.  

"Oh yeah! I remember that night! It was so fun, we also made him pay for all our food! It was so nice just getting to order whatever we wanted no matter how expensive it was, because we had it planned all along that he would pay!"

Seonghwa sits down with his seven other members at a restaurant, Jongho’s current favourite, to be specific. It’s his birthday and so he was allowed to pick the place. The booth they’re seated at is a large half-circle, with Seonghwa seated two from the exit on his right. Wooyoung is on that side, Yunho is on the other. 

The waitress hands them their menus and then walks off. Seonghwa opens the menu and stares blankly, unsure of what he could even order to drink. He skims the options and sees that milk tea is an option. He loves boba, and if he knows he can keep anything down, it’ll be a drink. He’ll have something to enjoy at least. When the waitress comes back they each give their drink orders and then she leaves again and they look for meal options. 

What can he eat? He knows this restaurant, he used to come here all the time, before everything ended up like this. Their food is amazing, and his stomach and head both scream with anticipation that won’t live up to what they’re hoping for. 

He wants to eat. He wants to eat something that will make him feel guilty. Fried chicken, noodles, fried dumplings, anything fatty, fried or rich. He wants it all, and they have all of them. He knows it’s why his head is so excited about it, but even if he wants to eat it, he knows he can’t. His stomach will rebel and he won’t be able to. He hates feeling like this, he wants to eat whatever he feels like, especially now that they’re free from their diets, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to have something small and low in calories just so that he can hope his stomach is kind to him.

Because it doesn’t make a difference anymore. It’ll happen all the same, regardless of whether or not he eats a full pizza or half of a grilled chicken breast.

So many of his medications came with side effects of appetite changes or weight fluctuation (usually weight gain) and he hoped that he’d be on the receiving end of some weight gain or an increase in appetite. He didn’t get either, if anything, he’s even less inclined to eat now. Sometimes, he’s repulsed by the thought of eating something and more often than not, mealtime rolls around and he’s not hungry at all. Other times he’s hungry, but at the same time repulsed by actually eating, or he starts to eat and immediately is no longer hungry. He throws everything up regardless of how he feels.

His ridiculous diet makes him disheartened every time he thinks about it, all the restrictions he puts on himself with the hope of finally not vomiting after every meal. He can’t have anything too sweet, sour or spicy, nothing with fatty proteins, rich carbs or mostly fried, and no big plates of food. So really anything he wanted to actually eat, or tastes remotely good, is off the table. 

His self-imposed diet is worse than anything the company has ever given any of them, and the irony makes him want to laugh.

He can hear the others discussing what they want to order, and he listens as they list all the things he wishes he could eat.

He knows they have menus for people with dietary restrictions, and he considers asking for one. But that requires pausing a waiter to ask for one and he doesn’t want to be a bother. Then the others would, of course, ask him why he needed one, and that’s a conversation he’d rather not have. Especially on Jongho’s day. He wouldn’t want to cause a scene, more than he already does by just being himself.

On the back of the menu there’s a small section that has a header of healthy options. They have fresh summer rolls, salads, soups, grilled chicken and lettuce wraps. He cringes viscerally as he stares at them. He doesn’t want grilled meat or salads, this is one of the times where they have no dietary restrictions. He could just eat a salad at home, if he wanted to. But what other option even is there? He’d cause a scene by eating something he knows he shouldn’t eat and getting sick. But of course, he could get sick either way, so maybe he should just order whatever he wants and expect the same consequences that always happen…

He bites back an exhausted sigh and almost throws down the menu in exasperation. It’s probably not even worth eating anything if he can’t have what he wants. But if he didn’t eat, they’d think he was weird, or maybe that he’s starving himself.

He doesn’t decide until the waitress gets back and asks San what he would like to order, so he just chooses something that sounds somewhat okay to eat.

Just a simple side salad with ginger dressing and two fresh summer rolls, is what he gets. He hears someone scoff or snicker across the table, and he stares down at the table instead of looking up to follow the sound.

God, does he hope summer rolls taste good. He’s never had one before, and he‘s absolutely starving.

It’s not like a side salad will fill him up anyways.

After they all finish ordering, Yunho turns to him and asks, “Why did you order something so small? We aren’t on any diets, you could’ve eaten whatever you wanted.” 

Yunho says it with a tone that he can’t determine, though it might be annoyance or bitterness. It’s almost like he’s insulting Seonghwa by punching down on what he chose to eat.

“I’m not very hungry,” he lies instead. Lies roll off of his tongue so easily now that he barely has to think of one before it falls out of his lips. He used to feel bad about lying to people, now it’s all he ever does. It could also be because he teeters on self-preservation, though he knows they don’t believe it anymore.

It’s the same lie he’s been saying for months, maybe by this point if they cared enough they’d think he had an eating disorder. But they don’t.

Nobody pushes him further, though he wishes they would, just so he could have a conversation with them. Instead, they start up conversations among themselves, each chiming in, laughter filling the space. He doesn’t speak. He’s probably not welcome in their conversations anyways, though he wishes he was. It’s not like he’d even have anything to say, he wouldn’t laugh at their jokes, even if someone said something funny. He can’t remember the last time he laughed that wasn’t at his own self-pity, it’s been weeks, possibly months.

Two waitresses arrive, holding large trays of food and a temporary table to set them down on. They hand out the plates of food and Seonghwa can feel himself salivating at the smells and the sight of their delicious food. Steaming plates piled with steamed beef, pork and fried chicken, spicy noodles and crunchy egg rolls. All he wants to do is snatch Wooyoung’s plate away from him and shovel everything into his mouth, though he knows it will come up his digestive tract later. Instead he toys with one of the rings on his finger and tries not to make eye contact with anyone as the waitress sets down his small bowl and plate in front of him. When he looks up to thank her, he can see a look in her eyes akin to pity. He doesn’t want her pity. 

He keeps his gaze level with his plate in front of him, sinks his teeth into his lips and bites back the sudden urge to burst into tears.

Why can't he just be normal?

He stays quiet as he picks the croutons off his salad and dumps the ginger dressing on it, taking a bite. 

It tastes like a salad…there’s not much you can do to make it taste like anything other than vegetables and misery. 

At least the salad tastes better than what his summer rolls look like. There’s some white translucent wapper to hold in all the filling that looks like it will taste like paper. He picks one up and cringes at just the feeling of it in his hands. It’s cold and sticky. He already has a strong feeling he’s not going to like it, but he bites into it anyway and clenches his jaw. It’s so cold, like they made them three days ago and shoved them in a refrigerator, only pulling them out to give him two. They’re chewy and sticky, despite the crunchy vegetables inside, and the texture makes nausea boil up inside of him as he fights to swallow it. He feels disgusted now. Never again…

He goes back to his salad, repressing more tears.

“Seonghwa, do you want an eggroll? I have two of them, I’m definitely not going to eat this one, and you don’t have one.” Wooyoung asks, gesturing at one of the large egg rolls on his plate.

He should tell Wooyoung that he’s his senior, and that Wooyoung should speak formally to him. He doesn’t. He’s surprised enough that Woouong even offered him food in the first place.

“I mean, if you aren’t going to eat it, then sure.” he replies, but it’s so quiet it’s a wonder Wooyoung even hears. His voice rarely picks up louder than soft-spoken now, he doesn’t talk much anymore. For some reason, he now feels scared to even speak to them, walking on eggshells with his words every time he speaks

Wooyung picks the eggroll up with his chopsticks and sets it down on Seonghwa’s plate beside his barely eaten summer roll.

“Thank you, Wooyoung. Do you want one of my summer rolls?” he asks, just to be nice. He knows Wooyoung doesn’t.

“No thanks, I’m…good.” Wooyoung replies, his tone judging, like a mean girl from a stereotypical highschool movie. Wooyoung’s eyes travel his body and flick back and forth between his stomach and his face. 

He goes to reply, maybe to say something as simple as “Okay,” but Wooyoung already has turned away from him to talk to San. 

He picks up the eggroll and takes a bite, his eyes almost fluttering shut at the amazing flavour and the taste of grease. He quickly eats the rest of the eggroll.

He savours the flavour long after he’s finished the roll, sipping on his boba and still thinking about how good it was roughly 20 minutes later. Though he’s still hungry and still craving what the others are eating, it’s just enough to make him feel a little better. That is, until fifteen minutes later his stomach violently churns.

He bites his lip once more, pleading with himself to not do this right now, not at Jongho’s birthday dinner, not when he was so careful. His stomach responds by twisting in the opposite direction, and he can’t stop the disgusting gag that happens. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but the damage is done, with the others staring at him in complete repulsion.

He doesn’t even have time to apologise before his stomach twists, and all he can say is “I’m going to be sick, move.”

Wooyoung and San nearly fall over each other in a scramble to get out of the booth before Seonghwa vomits on the food, them or himself in front of everyone. He stumbles out of the booth after them, still covering his mouth and rushing to the men's bathroom at the maximum speed he can go without looking suspicious.

He barely makes it before retching into the trash can.

They hadn’t even finished dinner yet, and he’d already made a fool of himself. How humiliating. He retches again, food coming up as he leans over and prays there’s no one in the restroom to hear him. 

None of the food he’d eaten had digested or dissolved in the slightest, and it hurts his throat and chest coming back up. His chest constricts and his throat burns from the ginger in the dressing. His legs quiver slightly and his head swims with a sudden headache. He heaves violently, and drops his head further down.

He didn't eat much, he hasn't eaten much, yet that doesn't stop his stomach from trying to get rid of what he did.

He doesn’t even know how long he has to stand like that, tears dripping from his eyes. He knows it’s been a concerning amount of time. First he threw up all of his food, then stinging stomach acid, then just dry heaving. All he wanted was to go sit down with his members, who are probably waiting on him while he’s in here ruining the night.

A few days ago he looked up the symptoms of vomiting frequently like this; throat irritation, damage to your vocal cords, oesophagus tearing, in extreme cases, internal bleeding.

Yet Yeosang is concerned with the small amounts of alcohol that he used to drink. The main threat to his voice is out of his control.

He hasn’t felt this frustrated with himself since when he was unable to…finish. In both cases all he wanted to was scream and cry out, why? Why is everything piling on top of itself, all he’d ever wanted was to be happy. He’s never asked for much and he’s always been happy for what he’s had up until now.

So why was it too much to want to be happy?

Yunho enters the bathroom.

“Are you done yet? You’ve been in here for almost twenty minutes,” he asks, but the question isn’t concerned, just annoyed.

Because he caused a hassle.

“A-AlmOst” he gasps, but his voice cracks.

“Well, we’re ready to leave now.”

“OkAy. Just go get in the car a-and I’ll m-meet you t-here. My ke-eys are in the booth.” he whispers, his voice gravelly and wobbly as tears still pour from his eyes.

“That’s the thing, you’re actually supposed to be paying for the dinner…” Yunho says, trailing off like he felt sorry. If Seonghwa looked up he would’ve seen the smirk on the youngers face.

“Why?” he hiccups. He technically didn’t even eat his dinner.

"We drew straws in order of age and you ended up with the shortest one," he explains, it's a blatant lie, but Seonghwa's too worn out to care.

"I didn't draw a straw though?" Seonghwa gags, a shaky breath leaving him.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have if you were there since you'd end up with the last one"

"Fine, I-I'll be out in a moment" Seonghwa croaks, his throat raw and throbbing.

He sniffles as he hears the whoosh of the bathroom door closing, the telltale sign of Yunho leaving. As he wipes spit from his lips he looks up at his reflection in the mirror, his complexion red and sweaty, his eyes an even brighter colour of red. He looks like he’s on drugs, insanely high, which he technically is, since he’s on three separate medications. But he looks like he’s been smoking marijuana or snorting cocaine.

Any of those drugs would make him feel better than the way he does right now.

He numbly rubs his red eyes and dabs at his face, leaving the bathroom and sitting down beside his members, covering his face with a mask. He picks up the bill, staring at the exorbitant price of the food in front of him. His meal cost 13,043 won. The bill is 286,940 won. Most of their meals cost 39,128 on average. He’s paying the cost for food for all eight of them, when his meal cost under half each of theirs, and he didn’t even actually get to eat it, because he threw up the whole thing. It feels like they’re taking advantage of him by making him pay, even though they know he didn’t get to enjoy his meal. He places his card down, trying not to think about all the money that’s flying out of his bank account, since he didn’t get to enjoy the same good food they did.

They leave the restaurant, and the others seem so happy. It’s unsurprising, they just ate a great meal, they’re all having amusing conversations. None of them had to pay a cent for it. Only him. They all load up into the passengers seats because they all assume that he’ll drive them anywhere they want to go. Even though most of them have licenses. He gets in the drivers seat without any complaints. He doesn’t really want to drive back, his head is pounding and his throat hurts. He does anyways. It’s a thirty minute drive back to the dorm. That’s why they don’t go often. The others are loud. He just wants to close his eyes. 

Almost home, he has the striking realisation that they could not have possibly drawn straws for who to pay. Not only did they not have pre-cut straws, they also did not have any scissors to cut any. It was just so easy to lie, if they drew straws in age order he wouldn’t have picked anyways. It’s not like he can prove that they didn’t, he wasn’t there to watch them draw. Because he was in the bathroom vomiting.

He was sick, and they took advantage of that to make him spend almost three hundred won on their food. 

Oh well, he deserves it. It’s the best he could do for making Jongho’s birthday night worse. 

October 19th, 2020

The meds are kicking in again. I feel like I’ve been waiting for years. Please let these work. She said to wait a week after the symptoms start to see if they feel like they helped.

October 24th, 2020

They aren’t right. Again. I want to kill myself. That would fix it. Jangmi must know by now that she’s giving me the wrong prescriptions. I try to believe the best in people, but this is what, the third or fourth time that they’ve been incorrect. I have a photographic memory, I guess this is the only time it’ll come in handy, because it’s easy for me to recount our conversation from the last session. I told her that my mood stabilisers were working, and she interrupted me to tell me that it was great they were. I cleared my throat and finished. My mood stabilised at depressed and apathetic, rather than happy or at the very least content. She didn’t answer. She just moved on to ask if my antipsychotics were working. I asked her how I was supposed to know. She asked me if I felt insane. I told her I didn’t know. She scoffed. It made my heart clench. Even my therapist can’t be bothered with me. She moved on, she said the issue must’ve been the anti-depressants, and that based on my questionnaire she should’ve started me off with a higher dosage, rather than a lower one. I asked her what she meant by saying “based on my questionnaire”. She told me that my depression is worse than she thought.

I don’t know why she’s surprised. I’ve been telling her about my suicidal ideation and the way I want to kill myself multiple times a week, the fact that I cut myself every. single. day. So why did she not think my depression was that bad??? I said the same thing to her. She told me she was hoping for the best. Hope isn’t what I’m looking for. I’m looking for a solution. Why didn’t you prepare for the worst? I asked. I raised my voice. She told me I should calm down. 

I told her that I was fine, just fucking frustrated because that makes three times that she changed my medication, only prolonging how long I have to feel like absolute shit and that each of them are her fault. She told me that none of this was her fault, and that all she was doing was trying to fix my issues that have nothing to do with her. She gestured around and told me “all of this, is your fault.” 

I burst into tears. I cried hysterically. I asked her why she would say that. She never responded, she rolled her eyes and stood up and left the room. Of course, of course I know that everything is my fault. The least she could do is not say it out loud, directly to my face. Isn’t she supposed to be a psychiatrist? She’s so awful at her job, she should fucking know that she should never tell me—or any patient for that matter—that everything is their fault. If I was having a really bad day, what’s to say that wouldn’t be my final straw? Even if it’s true, which I’m sure it is, she shouldn’t have said that. She came back in the room twenty minutes later to tell me to go and get my new prescription from the pharmacy, that it’s a higher dose, and it shouldn’t affect my other medications too bad. I didn’t respond. She told me that if I wasn’t going to talk to her and just cry instead, then I should just leave and she’ll end the session. I did.

“You’d think the company was in on our plans with the therapist that they gave him. She sounds absolutely horrible.” Mingi said.

“It’s a wonder she even got licensed, but that’s better for us.” Hongjoong agrees.

October 26th, 2020

I guess, since I recounted a therapy appointment in my last journal entry, I could do it again. This one made me angry, but it happened about two weeks ago. I suppose I should be over it by now. I still think about it though. Jangmi asked me if I’d ever considered the possibility that I was overreacting. That was her first mistake. I was having a bad day. I told her that I have. I told her that every single fucking day all I can think about is that I am the cause of every awful thing that happens in my life, that I fear that my overreactions destroyed my own relationships with my members. That everything crumbled and that it’s all my fault. She sighed and exasperatedly rolled her eyes. But I couldn’t stop. “I know I’m overreacting, I’m not fucking dumb Jangmi . I know that I’m overreacting now too. But you of all people, as a therapist, should know that I don’t want to! It’s not my goal, it’s not fun for me to be so fucking emotional all the time. Maybe if you did your job properly and you actually fucking listened to me, then I’d stop having emotional breakdowns all the time.”

She told me that she didn’t mean to insinuate that I was overreacting, rather that she was asking if I’d considered the possibility that I was. She must think I’m stupid or something. I told her that I knew that she meant what she said, and that if she was a good therapist she would have realised that she shouldn’t have asked. We’d just talked about how I constantly believe that everything is my fault, so much so that it sends me into panic attacks, and instead of trying to console me or explain those feelings, she didn’t say anything, only to say I’m overreacting this session. 

She tried to interrupt me. I didn’t stop. “Every time I see you, I try to talk, I try so hard to be open, praying that you’ll finally tell me something useful for once. But you never do, all you do is prescribe me the wrong medications in the wrong dosages and it pisses me off, because you’re so fucking bad at your job.”

She asked me if I wanted to cancel our sessions. I said that I wanted her to understand why I was frustrated with her and for her to please, just say something positive to me for once, instead of saying something else that makes me feel even more awful. She said she wanted me to receive clarity.

I screamed at her that she was doing a shit job of that. She left the room again. I threw one of the four stuffed animals sitting around at one of the walls. I swear I’m not mean. I swear I don’t usually snap at people like that but she’s so…god. I don’t even know what to fucking say. Every session feels like I talk, she just writes on her notepad. Or she tells me something that makes me cry. There’s never anything productive achieved. I don’t even feel bad about screaming at her, or throwing a stuffed animal at her wall. My mind tells me she deserved it. I feel like I should.

October 28th, 2020

Jangmi said she was concerned that I am at high risk for bulimia or other eating disorder developments. She said that the likelihood was already higher because of me being an idol, and my mental health issues. It could lead me to developing one with the hope to become more attractive. She said that she’d noted it in my file a few sessions ago, and now it seems important that she tell me. Now. Now that I told her that I’d done my first binge and purge session. It seems she’s a little too late.

Everybody hears Wooyoung’s breath hitch. “He’s bulimic? I thought—I saw that he was becoming thinner but…bulimia? That’s horrible. He knew the risk of binging and purging, just like we all did and he chose to do it anyway ? Sounds like that’s the only selfish thing he’s done.”

October 29th, 2020

I guess my last entry sounds like I’m bulimic. I’m not. I did a binge and purge session, but it’s only one. I hope I don’t start doing it more frequently. I’m just so fucking tired. Jangmi said I shouldn’t binge or purge at all, and certainly not frequently. But I miss the food I used to eat so much it hurts. I’ve dieted before, I did it during Inception, but that wasn’t for months upon end. My diets didn’t involve me throwing up every single piece of food I put in my mouth. I missed eating all those fatty, fried foods and desserts. So I bought them. I bought far much more food than I’d ever end up eating on a normal basis. I ate until my stomach hurt, everything I wanted and more. It felt great. Guilty but pleased. Well, at least until I spent the next hour and a half bent over the toilet bowl. I just don’t see the point in trying to mitigate the vomiting. I throw up no matter what I eat. Regardless of portion size or whether it’s healthy or not. I could eat a salad or forty chicken nuggets and both of them would come up. I might as well start binging and purging, I’m not eating enough either way.

She told me I shouldn’t think like that. She says that it’s the start of actually developing bulimia. “I know it’s hard for you, you express anger every session about being unable to eat any food, and that anger is valid. It makes sense. The issue with eating unhealthy and thinking about it under the guise of “It’s going to come back up either way” will only lead to more unhealthy eating practices. Starving yourself for the same reason, binging and purging every meal, whether that be on purpose or on accident.” 

It’s the only good advice she’s given me so far. But I can’t find it in myself to care. If I eat healthy I vomit, if I eat unhealthily, I will. If I’m going to be sick no matter what, I want to be sick while gorging myself on foods I enjoy. Is that unhealthy? Maybe. But I am entirely unhealthy anyway. I can see my ribs already and I think about committing suicide constantly. 

October 30th, 2020

I don’t know how, but the members managed to get me to organise Hongjoong’s twenty-first birthday party. I think I let them convince me into doing it out of desperation for them to just leave me alone, or maybe for them to like me more. I just try to be as agreeable as possible, so I don’t frustrate them nor myself by trying to argue. I try to keep our conversations to a minimum, because I can’t help but feel like I infuriate them any time I open my mouth. I guess that’s why I told them I would, but I don’t know why they’d want me to. Hongjoong hates me. None of them particularly like me, their feelings range from general impassiveness, to annoyance, to anger. But Hongjoong is the furthest on the spectrum, at least outwardly; he hates me, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. If I was one of them, I’d be the last person I’d pick to organise the party. 

It’s his twenty-first. Everyone is so happy for him, unlike how they were for me. It hurts, but I’m unsurprised. I’m expected to pick out a venue and send out invitations and get a list of the decorations to purchase. There’s so much for me to do, and not enough time to do any of it. I don’t have any motivation to even get out of bed some days, let alone throw an extravagant party. The guest list has dozens of people, and it reminded me of just how little I talk to anyone. How little anyone cares. Day6, iKon, BTOB, Stray Kids, SF9, The Boyz, TXT, more random idols that Hongjoong or the others are friends with. They didn’t bother asking me if there was anyone I could think of inviting, I guess they know that nobody speaks to me. 

But the most infuriating thing is that I’m purchasing alcohol for all of the guests. For dozens of people, I need to buy the ingredients to make drinks, and in order to cut down on the costs some, they asked me to pretend to be a bartender and make them for the entirety of the party. They knew I didn’t want to, but they mentioned it three or four times, so it was heavily implied, and I didn’t want to seem like I was coming off uncooperative (I’d also zoned out quite heavily midway through) so I agreed to it. It will probably be the worst possible scenario for my anxiety, considering it means that I have to talk to idols that I barely know, I can’t hide in the corner the whole time. Though, the whole point of bartending is that it’s a job, and if I’m not going to be paid, or even slightly reimbursed for all the alcohol and mixers I’m purchasing, then what is the point in doing it?

I thought at first that they wanted me to buy the alcohol and they’d pay me back because I’m the only one who can buy it, since I’m the only one who’s actually of age (which they finally decided to acknowledge, months later, because now they need something from me. No apology, they didn’t even bother mentioning that they didn’t do a single thing for my birthday, only said “you’re the only person who can purchase it”) but they want me to just buy it. I told them that it would get expensive to buy all of that, especially considering how much most idols drink at parties. They said that it would just be my portion of the party costs. But that’s not accounting for my time. I didn’t bother arguing. They’re splitting the cost for the venue, food and most of the decor, though Hongjoong is paying for some of it as well. 

I guarantee you that they’ve each spent less on this party than I have. Less time, less effort. Less than the fucking 1,778,308 won that I’ve spent on alcohol out of my pocket. Fuck them. I should’ve told them I wasn’t buying all the alcohol, I should’ve told them I wasn’t going to play fake bartender for them so they didn’t have to spend more money. I should’ve had a fucking backbone . They don’t care about me, they don’t even want me there. Yet I’m the one spending the most money. I’m the one who won’t be having a good time. They know I’m being a pushover in my efforts to not explode or get angry, and they take advantage of that. It’s infuriating, and the worst thing is that I won’t even do anything about it, because if I actually voiced my concerns, they wouldn’t care.

I’m buying Hongjoong a pack of cheap nail polish. I hope he never uses it. His gift from me is his abuse of my time and money for this party.

That's the last diary entry, written only earlier in the morning.

"It can't be too long until Seonghwa ends up breaking down. Maybe if we hid his medication then we could fast track it?" Mingi suggests.

"If we hide his medicine he'll know something is up, we don’t know where it is, because he’s clearly trying to hide his mental decline from us so we’d have to go into his room and snoop around in it. Knowing how insanely meticulous everything is, there’s no way for us to dig around without him noticing. It’s best to let it happen at it’s own pace.” San says. 

"That’d be a great plan, if his own pace was relatively fast. I hate having him here. I hate him being Ateez and I hate the way that all he does is hold us back. He can’t produce, he can’t write, he can’t rap, he’s not one of the best dancers, and he can barely fucking sing. We could be so much better if he’d leave, and he’s not leaving fast enough. If he’d just die then we could be seven in peace, we’d get rid of the deadweight we’re dragging, and we’d gain sympathy and extra popularity from his ‘tragic death by suicide.’ I wish he’d do it before my party, since obviously he doesn’t want to be there, and I want him there even less.” Hongjoong spits. His tone is bitter and cruel.

"I know we’re all frustrated but there’s not much we can do without drawing his attention or getting our hands dirty besides being crueller to him. The more we push at his buttons, insult him or ignore him, the more we fray his edges. The more we break him down. Obviously Hongjoong-hyung’s party is coming up, and if we work him up enough before then, and continue while we’re there, it’s possible we could get him to break down while we’re there, or even better, we make him snap in front of everyone. It’d be easy enough to paint ourselves as victims to our mean explosive oldest member, and he’d lose any possible sympathy from other idols he has. I mean, just look at him and Felix. They obviously are both still pretty close, and they both know he’s not doing well, but maybe even Felix would stop talking to him, though he’d be the most difficult. It can’t even be that hard to, his medicine is still being modified so he’ll be irritable still, and he might break. Especially after three hours in a hot party, catering to drunk people he barely speaks to.” San plots, proving how smart—and twisted—he is, to come up with a plan like that on the spot.

"Well, what could we get him upset over?" Jongho questions.

"Easy, it doesn’t matter. Start a big fight about nothing, even if it doesn’t matter. Either he’ll fold and not fight or he’ll get angry, but it's our best bet. It could be when the party is starting, in the middle of it, or at the end. He’ll probably get upset, which will make him frustrated and then maybe he’ll cry or yell and we can accuse him of being manipulative or playing the victim.”

"I could do it. Hongjoong-hyung would be great too, but he’lll probably be drunk out of his fucking mind. Plus I'm great at starting drama for no reason." Yeosang smiles.

"Perfect."

"Now hurry up and put Seonghwa’s diary up before he gets home. The last thing we need is him figuring out what's going on." Yunho says, and gestures for San to move.

They all go back to laughing and joking around, and forty minutes later, Seonghwa arrives back at home, entirely unaware of the fact that the people he used to call friends are plotting on his downfall and just read through his private thoughts, planning to destroy his reputation.

And worst of all, unaware that not even in the deepest parts of their minds, did they care. They didn’t feel any guilt that they’d driven him, someone they used to call a friend, into a horrendous spiral of self-hatred and various mental illnesses, nor that they pushed him to the point that he was left desperately clinging to the last threads of the person he once was.

“I’ve gotten everything arranged for the party, food, drinks, decor, venue and the guest list” Seonghwa drawls blandly as he cooks dinner for the members, despite not planning to eat any himself. 

"Cool."

"The only thing left is for you guys to do is buy the decorations. Catering is done, I found the cake, I got the alcohol and the stuff to make drinks, the venue is paid for, the guests are coming besides for Dowoon, Wonpil and Young K because they have promotions for Even of Day."

"Yeah, that's basically what you just said." Jongho says. Seonghwa doesn’t have to look back to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

"I- I was just saying."

"Okay."

"The food is ready," Seonghwa says, placing 7 plates on the table.

"Why don't you ever eat?" Mingi questions him. 

Of course, he knows the truth already, but pressing harder is always good when it comes to Seonghwa.

"I'm not hungry right now. Maybe I'll eat later." he replies.

"You should eat." Jongho says.

"I'm really not hungry right now" Seonghwa insists, and he’s really not hungry. He doesn’t even know how he managed to tolerate cooking right now, when everything from the smell of the food to even looking at it disgusted him to the point that he couldn’t even take a bite of anything to taste it as he cooked, and he’s left hoping that it tastes somewhat decent. He’s repulsed by the idea of taking a small bite of his food, let alone sitting down with them to eat a full plate. 

"Seonghwa, we're just worried about you, you’re so thin recently, and I don’t think I’ve seen you eat for over a week at least, can you please eat something?” Wooyoung begs, quickly picking up on the new plan to upset Seonghwa.

"Guys ...really I don't want to eat anything" Seonghwa says, and he realises his poor wording a little too late.

"Do you not want to eat or are you not hungry? Because at first you said you weren’t hungry and now you don’t want to, we’re just concerned, and now you’re acting defensive.”  

"I'm not being defensive! I'm just not hungry." 

"Seonghwa, you know we’re just concerned for your well-being. You always cook our food but you never eat anything, why don’t you? Do you have an eating disorder?” Hongjoong asks. 

"Guys” It comes out broken, “W-Why are you ganging up on me like this? You’re jumping to conclusions, I’m just not hungry right now! I swear I don’t have an ED!” 

"Well then, just take a bite of food and we won’t be so worried, it shouldn't be an issue"

"Fine! Just shut up!" Seonghwa nearly shouts.

He doesn't know why he folded. He should’ve fought back more. This isn’t going to help him defend himself, because he’s not even sure he can put a bite of food in his mouth and not spit it out instantly.  

He looks down at the food that he cooked. He just needs to take a bite of fish and swallow it.

He breaks off a piece of fried fish and picks it up. There are alarm bells of disgust and repulsion clanging in his head. This fish is revolting. He doesn’t want to eat it, why can’t they just respect his wishes and leave him alone . He could just drink something instead. The protein shake he’s been sipping at for a while hasn’t triggered him yet, so why won’t they just let him drink it?

His eyes flutter shut as he shoves the piece of fish into his mouth quickly, biting down quickly and immediately covering his mouth as he tries to calm the overwhelming urge to gag. 

"Are you going to swallow the food or sit with it in your mouth?" someone says.

But the comment reminds him that there’s food in his mouth and it’s gross and he feels sick, and he actively gags, so loudly it might as well be considered retching as he forces it down his throat.

The gag is loud enough that he's sure the others heard it but he doesn't want them to say anything because for fucks sake he doesn't have an eating disorder...

"There. I ate some fucking food. Now you can shut up and stop being 'concerned'" Seonghwa sneers, storming out of the kitchen because, in reality, he knows that that one bite of fish is going to result in fifteen minutes of throwing up stomach acid and dry heaving in his bathroom.

The others all stare at each other with their chopsticks in hand. Until finally, someone speaks.

"I nearly threw up just watching him. That was gross." Wooyoung says, making a gagging motion with his finger as he stuffs a large bite of fish into his own mouth.

"That was so cruel!" Yeosang grins at them. "Good job" he quickly adds.

Seonghwa tries his hardest to look good for Hongjoong’s party, considering the fact that Hongjoong decided his theme was nightclub (read: stripclub.) But he knows he doesn’t look very attractive. He remembers that he used to have some self-confidence but it’s all been burned in a fire. Now, he just feels ugly at all times. 

This is even worse than the way he felt in high school, worse than the way he felt pre-debut. The remnants of the times where he’d grow his hair out and he’d flick it out to cover his eyes because he didn’t want to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He’d avoid looking into a mirror because he didn’t want to see what he looked like, and he didn’t love himself, nor could he understand why anyone else could love him either. 

He’d been progressing so well. He used to cry over his appearance and he’d finally gotten confident enough in his skin to look in mirrors and actually feel good about the way he looked sometimes. 

He’s not anymore. He’d taken a few steps forward, but now he feels like he’s a hundred steps backward. He has less self-love now than he’s ever had in his life. 

He hates himself. 

Even in his worst moments of doubt, he never once thought that, yet now it’s all he thinks of. He hates everything about himself. His body, for making him go through hell every time he tries to eat, he hates his mind for all his new mental health issues and all the negative thoughts that it constantly throws at him, about how much he’s disliked and worthless. He hates his heart for being the root of his emotions and his desires to have a good relationship with his family, or be friends with people who clearly have no interest in reciprocating. He hates his appearance more than he ever has before, he feels ugly no matter what he wears, and no clothes can make him look attractive anymore. It doesn’t help that almost none of his closet fits anymore, now that he’s lost so much weight from his lack of eating.

He hates his outfit, he hates this party, he hates everything.

He wishes he never agreed to go, he felt regret the moment he looked in his closet for clothes that suited the ‘nightclub’ aesthetic and realised he didn’t have many at all. Especially not much of the kind that he heard Wooyoung describe to Yeosang when he said:

“Come on, it’s ‘nightclub’ but he basically wrote on the invitation that everyone should dress like absolute whores!”

So Seonghwa looked through his closet and tried to find anything that would fit the vibes the others were going for. There wasn’t much left, let alone things that fit. So he made do with the very few pieces he had and pulled something together that he hoped didn’t truly look as bad as he felt it was when he looked in the mirror.

He’d found a pair of fishnets and a skirt that he’d bought on a whim once because he thought it was pretty, but realised it was too small and had no guts to take it back. He also found a pair of garters, and they’re so loose they aren’t doing their job of holding up anything anymore but they look good enough. He also digs through his closet to find a random V-cut bodysuit that cinches like a corset and is half mesh.

He remembers buying that bodysuit online during Inception era, where he was unsatisfied with his body but proud of all his efforts and he bought it to show off his small waist even more.

He wore it once, but felt too self-conscious about how slutty it looked to put it on again. 

Maybe this is a good reason to wear it.

He had a pair of large platform boots that go up pretty high on his calves as well, and he dragged those from the back of the closet to put on, despite knowing he’d probably have sore feet by the end of the night, it was the only pair of shoes that didn’t look ridiculous with the final outfit.

Looking back in the mirror, he hated it. Maybe a few months ago he would’ve felt good, sexy even. Now he just felt disgusted. 

But, he supposes he needs to fix his hair and put on makeup to cover his awful mess of a face, so he walks into his bathroom.

His razor blades are still sitting out. He glances away from them with shame. 

He thought of many different hairstyles but none of them felt right, so he just parted it down the middle and left it down. He coated his face in foundation and slathered concealer everywhere to brighten his face up some and hide his deeply black under eyes. There’s nothing to be done about his sunken cheeks. Eyeshadow on his eyes, a few facial gems and some highlighter and he’s ready to go.

Or, at least his outfit is. Mentally, he’d rather stay home a little longer.

Stepping downstairs he turns the corner and peeks his head out to check out the others. 

He’s glad he didn’t misread the theme too badly, though most of them leant towards the opposite side of the preference spectrum, leaving mostly him, Wooyoung and Yeosang looking far less intimidating than the rest of them. 

Wooyoung has a full face of makeup on with the most low cut top he’s ever seen and shorts that are far too short. Yeosang looks like a very blasphemous angel, wearing a white button up (with only two buttons done), white slacks that are probably a size too small because they hug him perfectly, and a shiny reflective makeup look. Though, San has on a shirt that’s just silver chains and leather pants. Mingi really went for the intimidating dom look coated in latex and wearing a harness over top of his shirt. Jongho is obviously the one who fits the aesthetic the least, but he’d known to expect that with how much he covers up usually, nonetheless, he looks very good and the more pronounced smoky eye than he usually does is a good touch. Yunho, similar to Yeosang, is wearing a button up and slacks, but he clearly didn’t bother to tuck (if the clear bulge in the crotch has anything to say.)

However, Hongjoong is the showstopper. Seonghwa's always known Hongjoong was attractive, maybe he thought Hongjoong was a bit too attractive, considering the large crush he used to have for the man, but no stage outfit Hongjoong’s ever worn has done him this much justice. Hongjoong looks like the pure essence of sex, his outfit consisting of tight black leather, down to the gloves he’s wearing that make his fingers look much longer and thinner than they actually are, his body dripping with chains, sporting a brand new eyebrow slit, eyeliner and his black hair slicked back, a few pieces falling forward deliberately onto his forehead.  

And how was he supposed to compete with all of their amazing outfits? Not when he looked terrible in his.

Seonghwa exits the hallway and steps into their living room, trying not to cower under the weight of their eyes as all seven of them check over and scrutinise his outfit.

"You look like a slut" is the first thing anyone says.

It makes something gross curl in his stomach, hearing them call him that. 

But isn’t that what he wanted? He dressed like that on purpose, with the goal of looking slutty. Why is he upset?

"I've never seen you wear those boots before," Mingi says as he stares at them. Hongjoong laughed, that sadistic one that he does before rapping. It makes him sound like a mean bully, “Yeah, he probably doesn’t wear them because they look stripper heels.”

“They do kinda make it look like he’s going to pole dance for us.” Yunho snorts.

"Is that a bad thing?" Seonghwa prods, the theme was nightclub, basically strippers, is he leaning too far?

Hongjoong shrugs. "You look like a whore, but if the look you were going for was prostitute, then you nailed it."

They laugh. Seonghwa’s face burns in shame. His eyes bore into the floor and his stomach curls.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he’s sure they’re joking but it doesn’t feel funny. He just feels hurt. He looks like he’s going to pole dance for them? Worse, he looks like a whore or a prostitute? He shouldn’t let it get to him, but it does.

He’s unsure of how they even convinced him to do this…especially not bartending, with his own alcohol, being forced to interact with idols he barely knows.

He feels awful standing behind a bar pouring drinks for people, watching as the idols around him get drunk and Hongjoong downs shots. He wishes he could knock back a few too. He’d maybe enjoy the party a little better a little tipsy, but he’s not willing to ruin his medications by messing with the strengths.

He feels a deep pit in his stomach as he watches everyone interact with each other so happily. Nobody’s spoken to him outside of asking him to pour a drink, or joking about why he’s bartending. He laughs back, but it’s empty, and he has no real response. He shouldn’t be upset that the people he barely knows don’t feel like holding a conversation with him. It’s no surprise they’d rather speak to the more energetic or extroverted members of other groups. 

He’s really just here to get them drunk when they ask him too.

At the beginning of the party, Felix sat down in front of him. Seonghwa gave him a very tightlipped smile and asked him what he wanted, while Felix stared back with eyes that held far too much understanding.

“What are you doing?” he asked over the music.

“I’m making drinks, I guess.”

“But why aren’t you out enjoying the party?”

“I don’t know.” Seonghwa swallowed, “I guess at least this way I’m of use.”

“It’s a party, hyung. Why do you need to be of use? Why not just come and interact with the other idols?”

Seonghwa’s heart does a flip when he hears the word hyung fall from Felix’s lips, how long has it been since one of his members said it organically? But he doesn’t have a response for the question so he busies himself cleaning a glass. “I don’t really know many of these people. They probably would just talk to someone else.”

He turns to face Felix again and feels mixed feelings of happiness and hatred at the look of sadness and understanding Felix gives him.

“Plus, we don’t have anyone but me. If I don’t do this then the million won of alcohol and mixers I bought would just sit here.”

“You bought all this alcohol and stuff—”

“Hey Lix-ah! Come say talk to Yeonjun-ah with me!” Chagnbin shouts, drunkenly grabbing Felix and pulling him away while Felix yells at him that they’ll “talk later.”

Later on, four separate idols tell him that he’s “attractive enough to be an idol.” he laughed at the first one. The second, third and fourth just made him more angry and sad. They don’t even know who he is. At the party he arranged, for the leader of his group, they don’t even know who he is.

Later on, Dawon came by so drunk that he could barely walk, asking him for a drink. When he asked which one, the answer he received was just “an alcoholic one” and he was far too wasted to realise that the piña colada Seonghwa gave him was not alcoholic at all. 

There’s a lull in the people coming to get drinks from him, so there’s nothing to take his thoughts off of the way he feels as he looks around the room.

Everyone is enjoying themselves talking with each other and dancing or sitting down sprawled on top of each other, all so comfortable. His own members are living it up, acting as if they’re drunk, though he knows it’s only Hongjoong that is and giggling. He thinks he’s seen them speak to every single person here, out and socialising. He shouldn’t feel anything. He should’t feel bitterness and resentment because it’s not their fault. He’s sad all the time, but that doesn’t matter because they didn’t do that. They’re happy, he’s not, and it’s his fault. It’s his fault that he doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s his own fault that he can’t lounge in a chair and take shots and joke with the idols that he would be closer with, had he not gone numb and empty months ago. 

Across the room he watches as Hongjoong slumps halfway over Yunho’s body, and he knows that Hongjoong probably won’t remember much of the night when he sees the way Hongjoong can barely control half of his limbs.

He should be out there, having fun, Felix is right. But he can’t. Not when he feels absolutely empty standing in a room as crowded as this one, full of other idols with a few similar experiences as him, and it doesn’t change no matter where he is. He doesn’t have any contacts anymore. Nobody who seems to care about him at all, besides maybe Felix. He doesn’t speak to his family, he doesn’t speak to his members, he doesn’t have any other friends, famous or not. He has no one.

And no one would understand. How could they? How could they ever understand that every time he glances in a mirror all he can see is each of his flaws, his sunken cheeks, his ribs, every single growing imperfection. That he’s struggling desperately with his mental health and he’s trying to get help, but that nothing will work? Because he’s so depressed that he wants to kill himself, he hates himself with such a burning passion that his antidepressants don’t work; he’s been on and off of various medication cocktails of three or even four different drugs for months, to no avail. 

How could he explain to any of them that all he feels is anger, self-loathing, hurt and apathy.

“Seonghwa-yah, a shot of vodka~” a member of The Boyz, Seonghwa thinks his name might be Younghoon, slurs, shaking his shoulder.

With that, his spiral is shut off, and he pours a shot of vodka for Younghoon, even though the older man is probably drunk enough he doesn’t need anymore alcohol.

The party is coming to a close. Hongjoong opened all of his presents before he got so drunk he could barely function, and the cake was gone hours ago. It was strawberry. Seonghwa didn’t get a slice, he would’ve thrown it up anyway, had he gotten the time to get a piece or take a bite. The food table is empty and the decorations have mostly been destroyed in drunken chaos. Almost everyone asked him for alcohol, and the others told him that it didn’t matter much if they were underaged, even if they asked him to drink. Just to let them do it either way. Even though they wouldn’t. Most of the party is drunk, besides for the designated drivers of each group who drove themselves, and Seonghwa’s members who refuse to drink.

The bottles behind the counter were full at the beginning of the party, but almost all of them are empty now. He knew there wasn’t much chance of having anything left after, not in a party filled with idols that drink to reduce their stress and could probably drink him under a table. But that means he can’t take anything home, or even have some for himself. 

He wants a drink desperately. He’s so fucking tired. He knows a sip wouldn’t harm him, probably not even getting drunk, but he’s too scared to fuck with his meds. He hasn’t even gotten drunk before, he just simply drank enough to get tipsy, but now more than ever he wants to get drunk. He’s exhausted from the party, his back hurts terribly from standing for so long in his platforms (he should’ve just worn sneakers, aesthetic damned) he’s depressed, he hates more than anything that he was coerced by the others to put over a million won of his own money down the drain, to pour drinks for all of them, to forgo his own slight possibility of having a simple time at home by going to the party at all, pretending Hongjoong ever wanted him there in the first place. All he wants to do is go home and cry, write down how miserable he feels.

Now, more than anything, he just wants to chug a bottle or more of soju and get wasted enough that he can forget how much he hates himself. 

But he can’t. Not without the fear of messing up his meds. 

Fifteen minutes before the party ends, Felix comes back to the bar, and once again, Seonghwa asks him what he wants, though there’s not much left.

Felix smiles at him. “Do you have lemonade?”

It startles Seonghwa so much he smiles. It feels foreign.

“I actually might.”

He does. He pours a glass.

As he’s drinking it, Felix hands him a paper. It has a phone number on it.

“It’s mine. I want to talk to you, maybe meet up sometime.” Felix tells him.

“Why.” he replies, staring at it.

Felix just keeps smiling. “You’re nice. I think we have a lot in common.”

Seonghwa still feels confused, five minutes later, even once Felix leaves again.

Seonghwa trails after his members as three of them attempt to wrangle Hongjoong’s limp, nearly unconscious body, into the back of his car. Jongho holds up one of his sides, while Yunho and San hold the other side and back. 

Once they get to the car, San lets go and Jongho and Yunho pick up Hongjoong to crawl into the three seater back of the car.

San walks around to the other side of the car and gets in the seat behind the driver, while Wooyoung gets in the seat behind the passengers side.  Finally, Yeosang goes to get in the passenger seat, and Seonghwa builds up all his courage to stop Yeosang, and ask him for a favour.

“Hey, Yeosang-ah, can you drive us back home?”

Yeosang glances back at him, “why?”

“I’m just…very tired from tonight, and it’s dark, and I don’t feel like driving.” he replies, holding out the keys to Yeosang.

“But, I’m tired too, Seonghwa.” Yeosang replies, fully turning around to look at him and crossing his arms.

“I know you are, but I drove us here, so can you drive back?”

“But if you drove us here, then that means you can drive back. Plus, it’s your car.” Yeosang says flatly, his tone laced with annoyance.

“Please, Yeosang? I don’t want to drive.”

“What makes you think that I want to drive us?” 

“I’m sure you don’t, Sang. I’m just tired. I drive everyone all the time, I just want you to drive tonight. You have a driver’s license for a reason, just use it once.”

“Seonghwa. I’m not driving.”

“Yeosang, please. It’s not like I’m asking you to move a goddamn mountain, all I want you to do is drive for twenty minutes! I’m tired, my back hurts, my feet hurt, my head hurts, I’m irritated! You’ve been partying and having a good time, and I’ve been basically doing a job that I wasn’t even paid for, and you can’t drive a damn car?”

“Well, I’ve been taking care of Hongjoong-hyung’s drunk self almost all night!”

“Sang, really? Can you stop being so fucking selfish for one minute?”

“What? I’m the one being selfish, you’re the one fighting me about driving your car for you!” Yeosang argues back.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker to the people who are trickling outside and staring at them while they fight, his head slamming with alarm bells to calm down before people think he has anger issues.

“I’m the one who arranged the fucking party, I’m the one who spend over a million won on this party while you guys spent far, far less than I did! While you all have been out eating cake and food, talking with all your friends having a good time while I’ve been standing behind a counter for hours, pouring drinks for other people, when I can’t drink! I put in so much fucking effort for this party that’s not for me and you guys didn’t do anythIng!” his voice cracking towards the end as he holds back tears of frustration and exhaustion. He knows he’s still yelling. He doesn’t want to be. It makes him look bad, but he has a hard time pulling himself together even when it’s not 1 am after hours of work.

“Seriously Seonghwa! You’re going to start crying? Why do you keep doing this, you’re being so fucking manipulative, and you do this every single time we fight! You start an argument because you demand things and you get angry because people don’t want to do them, and then when we call you out on your bullshit you start to cry to make us feel bad! No one was stopping you from partying, or drinking, or doing anything! You agreed to buying alcohol, you agreed to bartending! It’s not our fault that you regret it!” Yeosang yells at him angrily.

“I’m not being manipulative, Yeosang! It’s just the way I am, I’m not even demanding something from you, I asked you to drive! It doesn’t even have to be you, most of you have licenses, it could’ve been any of you!” he yells back. 

Stop it. Stop it please. Stop talking.

“Don’t drag us into your fight!” Wooyoung shouts from inside the car.

“Oh please, be fucking serious! It’s the way you are? Then why are you only emotional every time you start an argument? If you’re so fucking emotional wouldn’t you act like it all the time? Why is it only when you’re arguing that you get like this?”

“Yeosang, I’m not trying to argue with you, I’ll drive us home, just please stop talking” he begs, trying hard to do damage control because he can feel all the eyes staring at him and he’s yelling and he seems like the villain, but he’s not, he’s not.

“Oh, so now you want me to shut up? You started the argument but now you’re acting like a victim!”

“I’m sorry! Please just get in the car, I’ll drive us home instead!” he can feel tears starting to run down his face and he forcefully brushes them off. He can feel all his foundation and concealer coming off on his hands. He wonders if everyone can see his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

“Goddamnit Seonghwa, you’re so unbelievable! You’re just trying to save your own ass because people can finally see the way you act!” Yeosang curses at him, his fists clenched.

Seonghwa can feel the anger bursting inside him, please, please, please not right now. 

“For fucks sake, shut up, Yeosang! I’ll drive us home, and maybe, if I fall asleep and get us in a fucking car crash so we die driving back, I hope you know it’s your own fucking fault!” he nearly screams, storming over to the drivers side and throwing open the door so hard it almost swings back closed, climbing in and slamming the door so hard the car rattles.

Yeosang lets out a stream of colourful curses and closes his door, climbing inside.

The tension feels thick in the car while the radio plays some soft song.

And the other idols stare in shock in confusion as Seonghwa pulls his blue Subaru out of their parking space and drives off.

“What the fuck just happened?”

The mirror haunts him, as he stares in the mirror and breaks down.

With his makeup removed and his clothes off, there’s nothing left to hide in the mirror. Only himself. 

Only his fucked up body, where even relaxed you can see his ribs. Only his pale skin and the sight of red and scabbed cuts all over his thighs.

“Fuck!” he sobs, his voice cracked and broken, as he runs a hand through his hair, and he collapses on the ground.

He clasps a hand over his mouth to try to muffle his loud sobs, he throws his head back and it hits the door so hard he feels a little dizzy. He’s gasping so hard that his body looks like it’s convulsing, as he tries desperately to calm himself down.

Why is he being like this?

He cries loudly, and his sobs are pained and hurt. They speak all the words he’s never been able to say, and he mourns his already dead social life. This is it. No one from that party will ever be friends with him again. His fight with Yeosang ensured that none of them would probably want to even be civil with him anymore, it ruined everything. If before they thought him antisocial, now he’s antisocial, manipulative and mean. They think he starts fights for no reason, that he’s a gaslighter that plays the victim when things are getting bad. They think he’s fake, they think his kindness is nothing but a persona and a lie.

They’re right. It is a lie. But it’s not because he’s a manipulative friend. It’s not the real reason why, and he’s conflicted on whether he wishes they would know or not.

If he let them know the truth, then rather than manipulative, they’d see him as a freak. Obsessive, depressed, bipolar, borderline, insane.

If he let them see beyond the persona he’s been hiding behind for years, then there’d be nothing left but the truth. Nothing left but the him that he sees in the mirror each day. Nothing left but the real Seonghwa, the one that’s pathetic, detestable, disgusting. They’d see every bit of his self-hate, his anger, his sadness, his apathy. They’d look at him and see a horror movie. If the real Seonghwa was on display for the world, then they’d see his sunken cheeks, the black under eyes, his ribs and obscenely thin body but no muscle. They’d see his thighs littered with both fresh and old cuts overlapping with no space left for his skin. They’d watch him having a meltdown as he cut them open again, and they’d look on in shock as he smiled genuinely at the blood that dripped from him. 

They’d watch him run to the bathroom after a meal and watch him retch as he threw up every bite of food he ate. They’d watch his spit run down his chin and into the bowl and his tears because it hurts so bad, and they’d laugh as he flushed the toilet and scrubbed his hands and arms until they felt raw, brushing his teeth three times because it never feels like it’s enough. At night they’d see him toss and turn, eyes bloodshot in the dark as he stays up with insomnia, his mind replaying and overthinking every regret, every mistake, every failure he’s ever had, cursed to never forget with his photographic memory. 

If his body was flipped inside out, they’d see his emotions and the fact he barely has any. That all he feels is emptiness, highlighted with anger and depression, they’d see every time he thought about killing himself, every time he told himself he would and then chickened out and that even if the thought never left his mind, he never could do anything but cut himself as a replacement.

When everyone saw the real Seonghwa, they’d be appalled, horrified, disgusted. Everyone would look at him and point and laugh. They’d yell obscenities from a distance, but they wouldn’t get too close and they’d snicker as he fell apart. The main act in his one man freak show.

Because that’s all the real Seonghwa is.

A wail that borders on hysterical spills from his lips as he shuffles on the floor to his bottom cabinet, throwing open the doors to reach blindly for the razor blades, in the spot he always leaves them, and he bites his lip to refrain from making any more noise. 

He looks at the blade and he feels shame rush over him as he runs it over his wrist for the first time. But even through the shame, it’s not enough to make him stop.

He’s always cut his thighs systematically, carefully making lines that don’t go low enough for them to be noticed, deep enough that they bleed and they’re painful but not so much that they bleed a little too uncontrollably. He doesn’t care anymore. He cuts his wrist and then presses the razor in even harder, craving the pain that comes with the deeper cuts. He wants it to hurt, he wants it to hurt so bad it’s excruciating, because all the pain does is bring him relief; remind him that he can still feel anything that isn’t just sorrow and depression in his empty void of a heart.

As the blood spills down his wrists and onto his forearms, dripping over the sides of his arms and onto his boxers, he notes that they’re bleeding a little more than they probably should. Actually, as he stares harder at the cuts, he realises that they’re bleeding far too much, almost double what comes from his thighs. He wonders if he cut them too deep, and he laughs as he thinks about how careless he was, considering he’s never cut his wrists before.

His vision begins to blur, and he stalls for a bit when he thinks about getting bandages to wrap them up. He’s not even sure where his bandages are, but he’s not sure he cares much. He could sit here and bleed out instead. This could be the end of his pathetic life, a painful way to go out, as he bleeds out from his self-inflicted wounds. 

He grabs the bandages either way.  

You can never go through with it. You want to die but you never do .

Pressing the bandages to his arm is more painful than the cuts themselves, and he begins to cry again—he’d not even realised he stopped while looking for his bandages—as he grits his teeth, wrapping up the wounds. It creates a constant searing burn on both his wrists, worse than his thighs ever have been. The pain no longer feels good, it hurts too much to be relieving like cutting normally is for him.

The final tear drops spill from his eyes, down the sides of his face and onto his pillow as he lays on his back, palms up. It’s almost 6 am, and he’ll have to be up before 11 am tomorrow. He won’t get more than four hours of sleep…if he even falls asleep.

He doesn’t.

In the morning he picks up his phone to see messages (he turned off his notification vibrations and sound, because nobody ever messages him, there’s no reason for them to be on.)

Felix

Hey Seonghwa-hyung!
it’s Felix!
i got your number from bin-hyung, who got it from wooyoung-hyung, im sorry if you feel angry at me for asking for it since i gave you my number already and maybe shouldve waited for you to reach out
but i want you to know that even after the end of the party im still here for you
and i still wanna talk to you
and i dont know when youll read this but if you ever need to reach out to someone…if some feelings are too strong to speak to your members about and you think no one will understand, im here for you.
i understand and ill be here
and if you needed to here this. there is a light and the end of the dark tunnel
i made it through the tunnel and i know you can too
pls talk later!

Seonghwa feels conflicted once again as he reads Felix’s messages. Felix reached out to him. He asked someone else to get his number because he wanted to talk to him, even after him yelling, even after the accusations Yeosang made. He feels seen, just a little bit, but he can’t help but wonder why Felix even bothered. He’s so much closer to everyone else than him, why bother to talk to him instead of them. Why bother to reach out to him at all.

Nobody else does. The few idols he was following on his personal Instagram seemed to have blocked him after last night. So many of them. Every member from Stray Kids except for Jisung, Minho and Felix have, and he was closest to them. If the people he was closest to (even if he wasn’t super close) have blocked him, he doesn’t want to think about what everyone else thinks of him. He wonders how much the rest of his members must have been badmouthing him for this to be the last straw for so many people.

He must deserve it.

I don’t know why you reached out to me Felix
You don’t know me.
You’ve only see the me that everyone else sees.
You’d be embarrassed by the truth.

Felix

hyung. ive spoken to you before. ive seen the way you acted when you used to hang out with all of us
youre kind and nice. i know it’s not some stupid front
when you stopped coming to our hangouts i didnt say anything but id seen how you had been talking less and less while you were there. i can see how youve closed in on yourself and how much sadder you look.
i may not know everything about you, but i know you’re strong, and that’s enough for me to care.

You wouldn't care about me if you knew the real me.
if you knew how I really am.
The real me isn't someone you should care about.
There’s a reason that people don’t care about me.
I don't deserve your care or attention.

everyone deserves care hyung

I don't
I don’t think I will ever be worthy of care again.

Felix

even when you don’t believe it, youre worth it.
i know that feeling of not feeling worthy of love
but you are

I can’t believe you, Felix.
Maybe you should text Wooyoung instead. I’m sure he’d be a better friend.

He’s sure Felix responded to his message, likely to tell him something about how he wants to talk with him and not Wooyoung, but he doesn’t bother to check and he doesn’t turn on the vibration notification.

He cooks with only half his attention, even though there’s nothing to hold the rest of it. He keeps staring at the white wrapped around his wrists. His cuts are bandaged but they might open up and bleed through again.

He’ll just lie. Or maybe he won’t have to, they barely speak to him either way. Why would they care if he was bandaged?

Out the corner of his eye he sees Wooyoung and San come down the stairs holding hands. It’s sickeningly sweet, but it’s cute.

They don’t really speak to him, instead they sit down at the table immediately and talk to each other while they wait for him to serve them like their personal chef.

It’s only once Seonghwa sets two plates of breakfast in front of him that they address his existence. He hates that he’s used to it.

“What’s wrong with your arms?” San questions, staring blatantly at him.

“I burned my wrists.”

“Both of them?” Wooyoung snorts.

“Yes.”

“In the same place?”

“Mhm.”

They don’t bother to question him further, though he barely tried to lie. He knows they think he’s lying.

He just continues to make breakfast for the members who keep trickling down the stairs, with no greetings to him.

Hongjoong is the final person to make it downstairs, squinting and looking like he’s been through the ringer, as he runs into their table. 

“I feel like I got ran over by a truck,” he moans, pressing his cheek against the table.

“I’m not surprised,” Mingi laughs. “You were so drunk last night I doubt you remember anything that happened at all.”

“Ugh~ I don’t remember shit. Only random flashes of the night, fuck my head hurts so bad !” Hongjoong continues to bemoan, his eyes closed against the light.

Seonghwa continues to cook, eggs popping on the stove in front of him. He could go get Hongjoong acetaminophen. 

But he doesn’t particularly want to get Hongjoong any medicine for his headache.

It’s what he would’ve done had it been a few months ago…a few months ago he probably would’ve already had the pills sitting out for when Hongjoong came out of his room.

He resists the urge to sigh and he tries to be nice because he knows they’re probably angry at him for last night, as he abandons the eggs he’s cooking to grab their bottle of Tylenol and pours a glass of water.

He tells Hongjoong to take two and then he walks back to the stove to flip his eggs.

Hongjoong doesn’t thank him. He shouldn’t’ve hoped for one, and he hates that he did.

Seonghwa wakes up in the morning, a few days later, and when he sits up he realises that he doesn’t hate himself today.

He actually feels really fucking fantastic, borderline phenomenal.

It feels great.

He gets up and makes up his bed quickly, looking around his room.

He never bothered to remodel it or buy any new knick-knacks for it, or even had the energy to make some more lego figures to sit out.

It’s so empty, it’s so boring. Plain. It doesn’t even look like the room is being occupied, and it desperately needs some redecorating. He could do it today, since he feels good. 

Yes, today he will redecorate. Though he needs to get ready.

When he opens his closet he looks through all of his clothes to find his older black styles from when he actually cared about what he looked like, from before he gave up on his fashion sense.

While he’s flipping through all of his clothes he lands on a black and white spray painted windbreaker, a white top and a pair of black ripped jeans. 

In his bathroom he applies his foundation and a lot of eyeliner. When he’s done, he pulls back and looks at himself in the mirror.

Fuck, he’s hot.

He looks good, he looks like an idol, like the best visual of their group. He wonders how the others feel when he’s dressed up for stages, how inferior they must look when he’s truly looking his best. 

Beside his toothbrush is a pill organiser, enough for a month, organised by day, each with three little pills inside. Each section is labelled meticulously.

He doesn’t even pay them attention. Instead he ran a hand through his hair and walked out his bathroom. 

He doesn’t need meds. 

He’s fine.

He feels better than he’s ever felt in his life, why would he take medications, when he obviously doesn’t need them. 

He puts on a pair of doc martins and he goes downstairs where three of the members are sitting at the kitchen table, just like every other day.

Waiting for Seonghwa to cook for them like their servant.

“Why are you dressed up?” Wooyoung asks, and he does a once-over of Seonghwa’s outfit. He sounds judgy, he sounds like he’s making fun of him for even taking the effort to get ready in the morning.

“I got dressed because I’m going out. You know I have a life by myself, it’s not my fault you only go out in groups.” he replies, he walks past them to grab his keys and wallet. 

Yunho’s mouth drops open in shock.

“But…what about our breakfast?” San asks.

“Yeah, what about it? Make it yourself, I don’t get paid to feed you every day, you guys aren’t toddlers and I am not your mother.” he says, flinging open the door to the dorm and leaving.

He spins his key around on his fingers and he gets in his car, sipping on a protein shake as he drives to a homeplus to purchase some room decor. 

He needs to redecorate his hideous excuse of a bedroom.

“I wanted a homemade breakfast, not just cereal!” San whines, prodding at the frosted flakes that he poured for breakfast.

“Well, Seonghwa didn’t make any, and unless one of us wants to risk the chance of setting the dorm on fire, eat something premade and shut up.” Yeosang replies.

“Ugh! I can’t believe he didn’t make us anything!” Mingi complains.

“It’s just breakfast.” Yunho sighs,”But what gives him the audacity to pretend he’s better than us?”

“I just can’t believe he got his depressed self up to get dressed and leave the house by himself, he doesn’t even have any friends to meet with.” San huffs, eating a poptart cold.

“I’m more concerned that he’s getting better, we’re going backward and that all his damn medications have finally started working to pull him together.” Jongho says.

“I highly doubt that one day his us going backwards. I mean we know he’s bipolar and borderline. All he writes about in his little diary is about how depressed and miserable he is, today's good mood is likely to be a good mood and more prone to be a manic episode that’s making him insanely delusional.” Hongjoong grins.

“A…manic…episode?”

"Mhm. I did some research on his disorders to see if there was more things we could do to upset him and I read about it. Manic episodes make you extremely spontaneous, seemingly extremely happy, give you an extremely inflated sense of self. That’s probably why he entered the kitchen and called you toddlers and told you to fix your own food. I mean, when has he ever said something mean like that to any of you?” Hongjoong asks.

“I don’t know, it still seems bad for our goal.” Jongho says hesitantly.

“Nah. Afterward you usually hit lows where you feel absolutely awful, and he’ll definitely feel a lot of shame for talking to you like that. Even when he is manic, he’ll just end up being a reckless, delusional, frantic, mess.”

“Well obviously the delusional part is true, since he thinks he actually has a life at all.” San scowls, angrily eating his cereal.

He bought a plant and a hanging, cream coloured, knit, hanging holder for it. He bought a new bed sheet set that’s grey patterned and a few new decorative pillows to go with it since his others had glass in them. He also purchased some silver wall decals, a few candles, fairy lights and a fake glass jellyfish figurine to replace his old ones that he had sitting out. 

To be honest, he’s not entirely pleased with what he purchased, but it’ll be better than what he had.

It’ll look better than what the others bedrooms look like too, since he’s better at design than them too.

He brings in his bags in three trips and then goes to his room to decorate. He’s uninterrupted.

He spends his whole afternoon decorating meticulously, even moving his bed and half his furniture before he decides that since he’s the superior cook out of all of them, and he doesn’t want them to suffer without his excellent cooking for too long, he should cook them some dinner.

So he does, he makes them dinner and as he’s leaving all the dishes for them to clean (he may have made them dinner but that doesn’t mean he’ll clean it up, they’re the ones eating it anyway) he notices the liquor cabinet out of the corner of his eyes.

He turns back around, and he looks at the door before grabbing some soju. It’s been too long since the last time he’s drank anything, and since he doesn’t need his meds, there’s nothing stopping him from getting as drunk as he wants tonight.

He walks past the others with three bottles of soju in his hands and he heads upstairs to his room.

After opening the first bottle, he takes a swig and quickly drinks the rest of it, popping open the next one and doing the same. The final one he drinks a little slower but he finishes it all either way, and by the time it’s all hit him, he’s properly wasted and he collapses on his bed, satisfied.

He feels so fucking great.

The next day goes by in a vague blur. He doesn’t remember much of anything that happened, though he knows what he was like. He burnt two of his fingers trying to make food the day prior, though he hasn’t burnt himself in months cooking, much less twice in one day. He remembers rushing around, being busy all day but he knows nothing he started he finished, that he never got anything done despite feeling like he needed to do everything at once. He’d begin a task and then midway through think of something else to do, never finishing the one he started previously.

This morning, at two am, he woke up in tears. It’s something that’s never happened before, and he feels terrible.

Crying in his sleep?

He doesn’t even remember what he might’ve been dreaming about to wake up, much less wake up crying. He can’t even tell if the dream was terribly sad or if he was just hurt. When he sat up straight, the clock beside his bed read 2 am. He hadn’t fallen asleep until close to one, and he groans as he buries his face in his pillow.

It’ll be at least an hour before he gets even close to sleepy, and it’s unlikely he’ll fall asleep at all now that it’s early in the morning.

He closes his eyes and presses them into the pillow, and after what could be a few minutes or maybe a few hours, he feels his thoughts begin to darken, turning evil and hateful. Memories that make him sick. 

Don’t you remember when you almost ruined your whole team's score and performance when you fell on your ass doing the dance that you choreographed, and they were so angry that some of them wanted to throw you out?

You remember hearing a judge tell the camera, tell the world , that you only got through your KQ audition, not for your rapping or your dancing skills, but because he was scared of what you’d do if you didn’t get in and of your makeup? It makes sense that you only got in through intimidation though, because you’re not even a rapper, or a main dancer.

Then during Pirate King recording being the only member who couldn’t complete their lines properly? Being told over and over to re-record for almost an hour, until Eden sighed and told you to go sit back down without completing them because he was so frustrated with you, and then crying on camera pathetically, because you knew you didn’t deserve to debut.

Your family hates you too. They hate you for being yourself, because you don’t deserve their love. They told you not to act the way you did in their house, and you didn’t listen to them. You should’ve stopped when your father backhanded you twice for getting caught kissing your best friend. You should’ve stopped when your mother begged for you to not fall into temptation; when she dragged you to church to confess your sins.

But, you didn’t. You kept going, and you knew better. You knew you were wrong when you bought those sex toys, and you knew you deserved it when your father beat you when he found them, you knew you deserved the guilt you felt when your mother cried about you giving into temptation and not being celibate.

You refused to change, and you deserved what you got when they heard noises in your room at three am and caught you in bed with another boy. They didn’t wait for you to even get your underwear back on before beating you black and blue and when they screamed at you for not waiting for marriage, being gay and ruining the family name you knew they were right. You cried in shame but you still wanted to be with boys. You cried late into the night replaying the beating with throbbing bruises, hearing your father call you slurs and your mother say she wished you weren’t born, but it was all your fault.

When they stopped speaking to you and ignored your existence you cried and you spiralled, but you kept it all to yourself because you knew how frowned upon mental health discussion was in your community, and now it seems you’ve forgotten how awful and disgusted you felt with yourself,  how depressed you were, because you promised yourself you’d never spiral like that again, and yet it’s been only a few years and you’re barely making it through each day, constantly considering death, worse than you ever have been.

Each time you consider death and decide that you’re too scared to go through with it you should remind yourself of that. Remind yourself that you’re a waste of space. That you’re pathetic, a failure, you can’t do anything right. Everytime you think about wanting a friend, you should remind yourself that you don’t even deserve to be given the time of day, much less a friend. You should remind yourself that anyone who thinks you’re a good role model or admires you is an idiot, that you’re not a talented dancer nor a talented singer. You don’t deserve to be an idol. You don’t deserve a fanbase and you wouldn’t get one if you weren’t relying on the rest of your group's talent for your own, since you’re useless. Every time you want to kill yourself, you should try, because everyone’s eager to get rid of you. Nobody wants you in this world, no fans, no family, no friends. Nobody will ever want you, Seonghwa.

Those are the main moments burned into Seonghwa’s brain, just randomly bursting into the forefront of his mind, filling him with shame. He cries into his pillow until it feels wet on his eyelids and then he cries into his sheets until he can feel it on his cheeks, his mind replaying those moments and repeating them, blending in with the berating comments until they’re overlapping, so loud in his head. Screaming, screaming, screaming , in the silence of the night and it’s so much, he just wants it to stop, his head is throbbing. He barely hears the words anymore, just loud noise and it’s all too much as his breathing picks up and he begins gasping for air, erratic and sputtered because he can’t breathe , not when it’s all so loud in his head.

He gasps for air until his chest feels like it’s going to explode, and then finally the noise quiets. It doesn’t go away. It never does. But he finally can hear his fan and he feels like he can breathe, and he sits up in bed, fully awake to see the time read 4:15 am. He’d been spiralling for over two hours, trapped in his own mind and body, unable to escape.

He wants to feel free again, not bogged down by self-hatred, and he wants to think about when everything was normal and when he could find joy in the things that made him happy like performing, Atiny, Legos, Ateez, or even just food.

But he knows he won’t. He feels nothing. No joy over any of his old hobbies. He has no excitement or will to go practice his dance, or record vocals. He finds no happiness or need to pick out his own clothes and find outfits that express himself. He can’t even find joy or happiness in the fact that he’s still alive, and that’s something he always used to have, even in his darkest moments.

He’s so angry with himself. He should feel happy. His medications should work. He should be feeling good, and why can’t he just feel fine? Why can he never just feel content? 

After realising that he won’t fall back asleep (he doesn’t think he wants to anymore, anyways) he drags himself out of bed and makes it up. He trudges to his dresser and pulls out the first graphic tee-shirt and pair of sweatpants he can find, pulls his softest hoodie over top of it and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

He reaches for his toothpaste and catches a glimpse of his medication organiser. His eyes zero in on the Sunday and Monday boxes, still each holding three pills in them.

He’s always so good about taking his medications, even after months of believing they don’t work. Only to miss two days in a row. It really is his fault he’s feeling awful. He tries to remember anything from the day prior and blanks on it, but he can only assume he forgot in all of his franticness. The day before he remembers feeling fantastic, and he remembers decorating his room and…not taking them because he thought he didn’t need them.

He drank that night too. He actually got drunk. Just to ruin them further.

He thought he was fine and didn’t need his meds, he didn’t go to therapy (which had been moved to every Monday, Wednesday and Friday since Jangmi said he wasn’t getting better), thought he was better than everyone else, told his members that they acted like toddlers…

He thought he was feeling better, he thought that was a rare good mood, a sign of his mental health maybe looking up a little. But instead it was mania, a feeling he’s never even experienced until now. He’s not getting better, arguably he’s getting worse, experiencing sides of his disorders he’s managed to avoid until now. 

He sighs as he takes his meds from Tuesday's box and stares at the ones he missed. He brushes his teeth afterward. It’s 4:30 by the time he completes both tasks.

The schedule for the day is daunting even to just look at. Vocal practices and recording for a new track from 9 am to 2 pm and then a five hour long dance practice, and then their physical check-ins, which will be at least another two hours if nothing’s wrong with any of them. That means they won’t be finished until at least nine o’clock, and won’t be home until at least 10 o’clock.

He has a hard time even getting out of bed and putting on his clothes in the morning. He can barely survive a full schedule.

He gets a bit of slack from the company because they know about his therapy and his mental health, that’s why they always end up confirming whatever his physical check-up ends up being, even if he’s lost another four pounds in a week. He wishes they would do a little more. The thinner he gets the more difficult it is to get through a day, and the more breaks he has to take while dancing, which frustrates his members more.; the more sluggish he is while he is dancing, even though he’s trying his best. 

The more and more the days pass, the less he wishes he chose to be an idol. He used to enjoy it, the performing, the fans, even the long days. But now he’s not sure he does, instead he just feels stuck. He has a seven year contract that won’t be up for renewal until 2024, and that is the earliest he’ll be able to leave the only job he’s ever known. Unless a scandal comes out—but he doesn’t think there’s any that he could have, unless there are classmates that expose him as gay—then he’ll be in Ateez for at least another four years.

He wants to love what he does. He wants to love his decision, he was fortunate to even get the chance to debut when he knows he didn’t deserve and so many don’t get to. He asked for this, he chose long days and hard work and fame and success. He chose to be put into the public eye, and now people will know anything that he ever does, wrong or not. If he hadn’t become an idol no one would know who he was, there would be no reason to force himself through days that he doesn’t want to do, the same days he once found exhilarating.

He’s so tired of them now, just like everything else. He’s tired of the camera’s constantly on him, and being forced to dance and sing even when he feels like he’s about to collapse, he’s tired of trying to push himself through each day without having a breakdown, and starving himself so he doesn’t vomit, and taking meds that don’t work for the bipolar depression, borderline personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder and depression that he wishes he didn’t have, and he’s tired of being surrounded by people who hate him almost as much as he hates himself.

But more than anything, he’s tired of living at all.

He forces himself through his vocal practice and his dances through dry will and fear of what would happen if he didn’t. But things are going downhill even further. 

Months of vomiting up almost everything he eats has damaged his vocal chords. The months of acid grating against them has slowly worn them down and given them out, but it’s been going slowly and there’s been no way for him to tell, at least not until now. Because they’ve planned a tour (he almost cried hearing the words world tour come out their manager's mouth, because he can barely manage two weeks of promotions) and on the set-list they’ve placed Utopia.

Utopia, the song he used to be so proud of for his high note, the one that he worked with a vocal trainer to be able to hit, and then had no issue doing anymore. The only thing he thought was special for him in the group.

But he can’t sing it anymore. His high note, one of the main parts of the song, the focal part of the chorus. 

He can’t do it. Failure, failure, failure.

His voice gives out before he’s even close to it, not just cracking but disappearing entirely. He thought he needed to warm up, but he did it over and over, and over again and it never came out. It never got any better.

It’s gone, and it’s probably never going to come back. Vocal training can’t fix fucked up vocal chords. 

The members are angry. He’s going to ruin the song. They keep demanding he do it again but it never gets better and their frustrations stress him out more because he’s upset too.

He’s trying his fucking best.

“I'm sorry, I swear it’s not for a lack of trying, I just can’t do it anymore!” he said, his voice dripping with emotion as he tries not to cower under their glares. This might be the eighth time he’s tried it, or maybe the tenth.

“Why can’t you do it now, you could do it fine less than a year ago!” Yunho huffed.

“I’m not a machine and I just can’t do it anymore, I could sit here for another hour but I can’t do it! Jongho could sing it instead, you could play a backing track instead, I’m sorry!”

“The whole damn point is that you’re supposed to sing it live, fans are paying to watch us sing live, not to listen to our backing tracks. So. keep. practising.” Hongjoong demands.

“It’s not going to work! I physically cannot do it. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You just aren’t trying hard enough!” Hongjoong shouted back.

“I’m trying my fucking best! Do you think it makes me happy or proud that I can’t do something I worked so fucking hard for? Do you think I want to feel like I’m letting everyone down? It’s just gone!”

“Goddamnit Seonghwa, you can’t do a single fucking thing right!” Hongjoong yelled, throwing his hands up in the air.

“I need a fucking break.” he cursed, slamming the door to the studio shut as he stormed off.

Seonghwa was left sipping water, trying to ignore the daggers the others were glaring at him from across the room.

Even when Hongjoong’s angry, he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, he just says the things he does more aggressively. That means that he thinks Seonghwa useless, incapable of doing anything right. The failure of the team. He closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists to stop from crying again.

When Hongjoong gets back, he tells them to move on to Hala Hala instead.

“At least you can’t fuck that one up too, Seonghwa.” he spits.

Seonghwa thinks about that moment from earlier in the day as he cries on the floor of the shower again, just like always. He turned the water all the way to hot and the pressure all the way up. It turns his skin red and it burns, but he doesn’t turn it back down. At least it makes him feel something. At least his shower is clean.

Every day gets worse and worse. Every moment gets more difficult to get through, and he’s not sure how many more bad days he can take before he gives up. 

His health, both mental and physical, is rapidly deteriorating before his very eyes, and there’s no way for him to stop it.

He’s dangling off the edge of a very sharp cliff, clinging with one hand onto a rope that’s so frayed, there’s only a single thread left.

As the cliff grates against that final thread, Seonghwa knows there’s not long before it breaks too, and he succumbs to the fall of death.

Felix messages him a few days later and asks him if he wants to come over to the Stray Kids dorm to hang out.

He types no.

He backspaces.

Will anyone else be there?

Felix

no. i was thinking about just hanging out in my room
well. i mean theyre gonna be home. but i wanted us to hang out one on one

You’re going to get bored.
I’m not entertaining, and I’m bad at keeping conversations.

Felix

i wont get bored!
and we dont have to talk the entire time!
we can like…watch a movie or play some games or smth

I don’t know, we haven’t really spoken.
If you hang out with me for more than an hour, you might not like me anymore.

Felix

you dont have to say yes hyung
i just think it would be fun
and we both have a free day
so our schedules align im not sure when that will happen again

I’ll come over. You still live in the same dorm, right?

Felix

YES!
thx hyung!
do u need the address 

Why did he ask that? He knew the answer was yes, and now it seems as though he does actually know the address.

Which he doesn’t. The others do. He’s not sure he’s been over to their dorm more than once.

He probably seems pathetic, not knowing their dorm address when they all do.

I do.
Sorry.

Felix

No!
dont apologise, here u go, xxx N. 3rd St.
im just glad that ur coming over

Seonghwa tried to look semi-presentable to head over to Stray Kids’ dorm, but at this point, he was unsure that it even mattered. They made up their minds about him. They hate him, just like everyone else does. He pulls on a pair of baggy jeans and a black shirt. That was good enough, he thought as he put on a singular earring. 

There’s nothing much he can do to look any better, regardless.

He walks past the rest of his members in the living room. They’ve been even ruder since they found out that he could no longer hit his note, he feels like he’s bringing the group down.

He knows he’s bringing the group down. Every time he thinks about Felix, all he can do is wonder why the younger is willing to drag his reputation through the mud to try to be the closest to the most fucked up, useless, hated, member of Ateez.

“Where are you going?” Wooyoung asks.

He feels the need to shy away. “I’m supposed to meet someone…”

“Who?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because we should know, especially if you’re going out with someone who you’re looking to date.”

“I’m going out with a friend, who’s another guy, who’s not gay and has a dating ban. Trust me, it’ll be fine.” He replies, and then he leaves.

If they’re going to be rude to him, he doesn’t need to answer what they ask him. 

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s because I gave you all the information you needed. I’m going out to meet my friend, not to go on a date, I’m not even meeting a woman. So it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Fucking fine, whatever, go.” Hongjoong huffs, and he does.

Driving over to the Stray Kids dorm, he feels his anxiety piling up. He feels like he can’t even breathe.

He stands outside the door for three minutes before he knocks on it. 

Felix answers it with a smile. “Hyung, I’m glad you could make it!” he says. 

“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me. I’m surprised you wanted me over.”

“You’re more fun than you think.”

Seonghwa fidgets with his keys. “Well, come in.”

He feels insanely awkward as he trails behind Felix into his bedroom. The room is nice, posters on the walls with a nice TV and a gaming setup

“The members kept pressuring me about where I was going.”

“They did?”

“Yeah…I kinda— I fucked up more and they really hate me. They’re just…they’re sick of me. I don’t blame them.”

Felix smiles sadly. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

“It’s not your fault.” Seonghwa laughed hollowly. “It’s not like you did it.”

“But you don’t deserve to be hated. You don’t deserve any of this.”

“It’s hard to think that.”

Felix and he talked for hours, Felix guiding the conversation because Seonghwa couldn’t.

Seonghwa left feeling a little lighter, a little happier after meaningfully engaging in conversation after months of isolation, whether self-inflicted or not.

Only to return back to the dorm to members who made jokes about him going out for so long when he had no friends to go out with and laughing at him for having done nothing at all.

And Seonghwa is right back down again, the numbness that briefly unfurled from around him encroaching and swallowing him whole once more.

November 29th, 2020

Wooyoung's birthday passed, as did Thanksgiving. There was a joint celebration, since they took place on the same day this year and they had it at the Stray Kids dorm because it is bigger, despite them having the same amount of members. I didn’t go. I felt bad about it but I really couldn’t bring myself to sit in a room with a dozen people who hate me viscerally, since three more of the Stray Kids members have blocked me on their personal accounts. It would’ve been odd to be the only one not eating during a celebration which surrounds the food I would be skipping, and they wouldn’t want me there to disturb the friendly dynamics anyway. I know they talk bad about me to each other, only Felix, Minho and Jisung aren’t mad at me. I would just create tension and stick out like a sore thumb when nobody tried to speak to me. It was just better to sit at home and drink a protein shake at home while crying, just like every other day, because there’s nothing special about the birthday of someone who hates me or a holiday surrounding family and friends I don't have and food I can’t eat.

Felix was concerned enough to message me, saying that he’d wished I had come but that he respected my decision not to and that he hoped I was doing alright at home, quickly following it up by reminding me that he was there if I needed someone to talk to. It only helped the guilt to fester because I made Felix worry about me. 

Wooyoung was so angry with me for not coming. It’s a funny juxtaposition considering he and Felix are so close, the distinct differences in their reactions whenever it involves me. Wooyoung yelled at me that I was so selfish to not show up for not just his birthday but also Thanksgiving, that the entire point of the holiday was to celebrate your blessings, to be thankful and happy for all the good things in your life.

All I wanted to do was laugh at him, that I couldn’t feel happy any day, that this one wasn’t just the exception. But he told me I was disgusting and ungrateful and that I didn’t deserve to be an idol, since I couldn’t even appreciate it when so many others would’ve killed to be in my position. Maybe he’s right. I don’t know. 

But I went back to my room and I didn’t even cry, I just sat in silence as a simple thought consumed me. 

That I hit my breaking point. That was my last straw.

There is nothing left in me, no fight, no drive, no desire, no passion. I can’t do this anymore, just like I’ve written in this journal over and over. I said it so many times, so many empty promises to end it all that I’ve chickened out only minutes lantern but this time it’s the truth.

I don’t have a single ounce of hope left, and I’m defeated and tired. Maybe if I were stronger I could keep going, but I don’t have it in me to do so. I wish I were different, I wish so many things had turned out differently, I wish I could go back in time and change what I’ve said, what I’ve done, what I’ve left undone, but it is too late.

Maybe it was destiny, to not make it past Christmas, or past twenty-one. Maybe if I’d gone to Thanksgiving I wouldn’t have finally determined this is the best course of action. Maybe if Jangmi hadn’t cancelled all of our sessions over the holidays for her vacation I would’ve reached out. Maybe if I could’ve gone I would’ve told her that I was going to kill myself and let her send me away to a mental hospital. But there is no option for me to.

I can’t tell her, not that I’m positive I would’ve now that I’m at this point. I am at peace, right now. I am ready for the end now, I am ready for death, I am ready for the relief of my burdens and of my misery. If there is an afterlife, a heaven and hell that I never believed in until now, perhaps by some chance I will make it into heaven. The ultimate irony would be killing myself to relieve the pain and instead ending up in the depths of a fire filled hell for all of eternity to be tormented further. 

It would be just my luck, though, wouldn’t it?

I hope the people closest to me, despite hating me, feel better when I’m gone. At least I can say I have done something to better their lives when I relieve them of my presence. 

December 4th, 2020

It is surreal, to say that I am writing in this journal for the last time. I started this journal to document my journey in Ateez, but it never really was that. Now it’s just a place to see my descent into madness, to document my personal thoughts as we approach the last day of my life. 

I am not even sad to say goodbye anymore. I am ready. Any atiny who somehow view me as an important part of the group will move on, there are seven to take my place and they will have no problem doing so. Everyone will move on from me. 

My name means to become a star. Did I ever even make it to stardom? Have I fulfilled what I was born to be or did I fail in that regard, just as I failed at everything else? Perhaps I will become a star after I die, a literal one shimmering up in the sky at night.

The end feels bittersweet, saying goodbye to everything I have ever known to fully embrace what I do not. I fear death but all the same I do not, the idea of ending it all far surpassing my fear regardless. Putting an end to the pain, mentally and physically, means more to me than the only way I can do it, though I wish it didn’t have to be this permanent.

Regardless, I am prepared for the end, and on the off chance that someone has found my journal and is reading this, tell Felix he didn’t fail, that he is the only one in the past few months to make me feel like something. 

Goodbye, for the last time.

Park Seonghwa

Seonghwa had posted multiple pictures from his camera roll every day for the past five days, giving Atiny some final unreleased content he never shared because he didn’t think he was at his best. But today they do not get just pictures. 

Today they get a video, the final moments of him, raw, unfiltered, uncut.

Park Seonghwa, in all his brokenness.

“It is weird, to start this video, when I never thought I would make it. I thought of so many things to say in the apst few days, but none of them have felt right. I’m not even sure if anything I could say could help. I guess I should begin by saying that you should always tell someone if you’re depressed. Clinical or not, suicidal or not, call a hotline, tell a friend, tell a family member. I don’t want any Atiny to give up or give in to the tendrils of mental illness that consume them. You all are stronger than you know, stronger than me, I guess. If you’re struggling, you will get through it, even though I cannot say the same. I am sorry that I’m leaving you alone.”

“I’m sorry I am abandoning you, but this is it for me. I can’t keep going. There are so many things that I kept concealed and hidden away from everyone, that weighed on me to the point of shattering my existence to nothingness. For closure for everyone, I’m pushing them off my chest, so you understand. In the past year I have been diagnosed with major depression, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder and OCD.”

“It is not idol life that led me to this point, it’s not idol life that was the issue, there are just so many things that I have going wrong and I can’t keep going. I tried, I tried for months with a therapist and medications but none of them have worked. It feels like no matter what I have done it is out of my control, that I am beyond help, and I could’ve told more people. But I didn’t—I never have—wanted to be a bother. I don’t want you all to miss me too much when I’m gone, I can’t help but believe I’m nto worth the effort to do so. But, I don’t want to be an example, either.”

“I want you all to reach out, and to know that even if you’re not an Atiny—because I know some non-Atiny will watch this—you deserve care and attention and help. I love you all, even if you feel like no one cares about you or your problems, I did, and I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry to leave you. Saranghae, Atiny. Annyeong.”

He uploads the video on Ateez’ official page.

He picks up the rope that he bought in secret and he stands on a chair to hang it from his ceiling fan, repeating the motions of tying a Slipknot which he learned.

He stares at the hole where his head will be going, holding it in his hand, when he glances down to see his phone buzzing rapidly. 

Felix

Hyung
Hyung
Please tell me you're alright
Don't do this
I know you can get through this
Please
Please don't go
You can get through this
I made it out, you can too!
Please say something
Seonghwa!
PLEASE!

I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough, Felix.
Speaking with you was one of the few moments I felt like things might be okay.
You did everything you could.

His phone starts to ring, but he declines it and turns on his do not disturb. He steps back onto his chair and puts his head through the loop.

His final goodbye is breathless, with no one to hear it, no one to stop him anymore, and he exhales shakily.

“It is better, this way.”

He kicks the chair from up under him, his footing slipping and dangling in the air, swinging and swinging with both the movement of removing the chair and his body’s protest as he runs out of air.

Swinging and swinging, until they still.

Felix runs, shoving Minho’s door open with so much panic and force that it breaks the doorknob, tears blurring his eyes as he tries to call Seonghwa for what feels like the dozenth time.

"He's not picking up, hyung! He won't pick up, what do I do? He's gonna do it and we're too far away and he won't pick up the phone!" Felix cries hysterically.

"Who's gonna do what?" Minho asks, confused.

"Seonghwa! He's gonna kill himself, he posted a video and everything and I can't get him on the phone, what do I do?"

"He's— He’s gonna do what? Shit, call Wooyoung! You have his number!” Minho says, the same panic settling in his stomach as he realises the gravity of the situation. He pulls out his own phone to call Hongjoong.

With shaky hands, Felix finds Wooyoung’s name in his contacts and hits the call button.

"Felix!" Wooyoung exclaims excitedly.

"Please tell me you guys are in the dorms!" Felix cries desperately.

"No, everyone's out right now? Why are you crying, Yong?”

"Go home, please! Seonghwa's going commit suicide and he won't pick up the phone and I can't stop him and I don't know what to do!"

Wooyoung holds back his internal excitement, feigning concerned panic.

"Oh my God—I’m hanging up, I’m calling the police, Felix.” Wooyoung says, acting like he’s in horror and hanging up the moment he finishes saying Felix’s name.

But once the line is dead, he looks up to see the eyes of his other six members looking at him in curiosity, excluding Hongjoong, who’s driving.

“Guys,” he smiles. “We did it.”

They don’t even need to know what “it” is, they all know what Wooyoung is talking about. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for, and the car explodes in momentary excitement.

“Yunho, you’re the best actor, call the police and pretend you’re upset.” Hongjoong says, the same plan that they made months ago.

They arrive back at the dorms at the same time the ambulance does.

They rush upstairs in tandem to Seonghwa’s bedroom, throwing open the door only to be met with the sight of their bandmate hanging from his own ceiling fan, the body of Seonghwa. His eyes are closed, his body hanging limp, with pale skin and blued lips, serenity overtaking his features.

This is it, it is final. Seonghwa is dead. 

By pure shock, pure human instinct, it draws tears from their eyes. It’s unclear how much of the tears are from reaction and how much are from happiness, if anything within them is crying because they realised there are only seven of them.

The emergency responders begin CPR, but it is hopeless, and then they try shocking him back to life, but not even that is enough, now that it’s been upwards of twenty minutes since he died. 

But once the emergency responders are gone, with Seonghwa’s dead body in tow, they break out into joyous cheers again.

“Seven makes one team!” the shout, completely unaffected by the fact that the hyung who’d cared about them all the way up to the point of death, despite what they’d done to him, was dead. 

Park Seonghwa, rising star in the Kpop industry as part of the internationally popular fourth generation boygroup Ateez has been reported dead as of 2:45pm, yesterday, December 4th, 2020 at age 21. The official cause of death is suicide by hanging. Before his untimely passing he posted a video to the official Ateez account revealing personal issues and internal struggles that he suffered with in silence, sharing to the public that he suffered with multiple different mental illnesses, leading him to take his life. The young star battled with OCD, BPD, bipolar and depression, all the way up until his death. Today we acknowledge the tragic passing of a young star, gone far too soon. The other members of Ateez ask for privacy as they deal with his loss. May he rest in peace.