Lee Felix: Blade

Tw: Mentions Self Harm, Anorexia & Suicide

A/N: This Fanfic is sort of based off of A "Perfect" Life by Fl02023 but you can still read it without reading her fanfic (even though I highly recommend it because it's really good).

~ Lee Felix ~

It's been a year. A year since everything had happened. A year since they started seeing me differently. A year since they found out about my guilty pleasure. But they stopped walking on eggshells around me lately. And my scars had started to fade.

I still wore long sleeves though. I didn't like looking at the ones that refused to fade.

I was doing better—still taking it day by day, but today I felt okay. Good, even. I wanted to do something for everyone, so I figured I'd cook. Stir-fry, simple enough. I started pulling everything out, laying the vegetables on the counter. But when I reached for the knife drawer, I froze. It didn't open.

It still was locked. Of course it was. How could I forget?

And I was the only one without a key.

For a second, I thought about just scrapping the whole thing, walking away from the kitchen altogether. I didn't want to ask them to unlock it. I didn't want the memories to resurface.

When they found me. When they saw the blood that dripped from my fresh cuts. When they heard me beg to die. When I was nothing but a hollow shell.

I didn't want them to think I was trying to pull what I did when I got back from the hospital. When I begged Seungmin to unlock the drawer for me so I could feel anything but the pain in my head. When all so wanted was a blade dragging across my skin.

Would they trust me? Would they think twice about it? It has been so long since I last cut. Sure, the thought of cutting has always been in the back of my mind, but I distract myself with other things.

I haven't been allowed to hold a sharp object other than a safety razor and safety scissors since everything. I wasn't allowed to buy anything using cash, because if I used a card, they could track my purchases.

Make sure I didn't buy any blades.

Maybe they would understand that I just want to cook for them. Nothing more.

I took a breath and walked out of the kitchen, spotting Minho in the living room with Jisung. He was scrolling through his phone, not really paying attention. I felt my heart pick up a little, but I pushed it down. This was just part of it now, asking for things that used to be second nature.

"Um... Minho?" I ask, fidgeting with my hands, not really making eye-contact with him. "I... um... I just wanted to cook but the um... the knife drawer is locked."

Minho glanced up from his phone, eyes narrowing a little as if he was trying to figure out where this was going. I hated this part—feeling like I had to convince them that I was okay now. Because to be honest I'm still convincing myself just a little.

He didn't say anything right away, just stared at me for a second, his gaze shifting to my hands, which were fidgeting more than I realized. I forced myself to stop, shoving them into my pockets, trying to look more confident than I felt.

"What are you trying to make?" He asks, his voice a little cautious.

"J-just stir fry. Nothing big."

He set his phone down, letting out a small sigh. He wasn't making it obvious, but I could tell he was thinking it over, probably weighing whether or not to trust me with the drawer. It sucked. Even a year later, they still hesitated. But I couldn't blame them. I was ruthless back then.

Finally, he stood up. "Okay." We walked to the kitchen together.

The whole way there, I could feel this heavy tension in the air. I wasn't nervous about using the knife—I'd always been ready to use one again. It was how they'd react that had me on edge.

When we reached the drawer, Minho unlocked it without a word, but he didn't hand me a knife. Instead, he gave me this look, like a silent "Are you okay?" I met his eyes, trying to show him I was fine, really.

"Yeah... thanks Minho." I said, giving him a genuine and soft smile. But then I stared at the drawer. Maybe they could finally trust me. But could I trust myself? I told myself all I wanted to do was cook. So why am I hesitating looking at the knives now?

I grabbed a knife.

He stepped back, but I could feel him still watching for a moment longer before he finally moved to the doorway, leaning against the frame. I didn't say anything about it. It was just the way things were now.

Minho was still standing there, leaning against the doorway. I don't know why I expected him to go back to the living room. I guess he couldn't bring himself to leave me unattended. He was watching... just in case.

"You doing okay?" Minho's voice broke the silence, gentle but still cautious.

I paused, glancing over at him. "Yeah, I'm good." I gave him another small smile, this one a little less genuine than the last. "I just... it feels weird, you know? Holding a knife again."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You're doing great, Yongbok."

After a while, Minho moved away from the doorway, heading back to the living room. Leaving me alone with the blade. Alone with my thoughts.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the blade in my hand. It was so simple—just a tool. But in my hand, it felt different. It wasn't just for cooking anymore, not when I was thinking about it like this.

What would it feel like again? I hadn't thought about it in a while—really thought about it. But now, with the knife right there, it was hard to push the thought away. My scars had healed over, but that pull... it was still there, deep down, in a place I didn't like to admit existed.

I hated that part of me.

Especially since I would be stuck with it. Forever. Thoughts lingering in the back of my mind. These type of things last forever.

I held the knife tighter, trying to remind myself why I was here. This wasn't about hurting myself. I was just cooking. That's all this was supposed to be. But my mind kept drifting back—what would it feel like to have the blade press against my skin again.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to push the urge away. It wasn't real. It was just a thought. I didn't need it. Not anymore. I'm okay now.

Funny though. How the same time I use a knife again, I'm actually cooking. Doing something with food. Especially when I was anorexic as well.

Suicidal and Anorexic.

At first, it felt like a game I could win. When I purged, there was this twisted relief, like a heavy weight lifting off my chest. I could feel the anxiety melt away, if only for a moment. Every time I did it, I convinced myself I was taking control—of my body, my life. I could eat whatever I wanted, knowing I could just get rid of it. I felt powerful, like I was the master of my own fate. But that sense of control was a lie, and deep down, I knew it.

As the weeks turned into months, the relief faded. Purging lost its charm; it became just another burden. I began to dread the process—the guilt that clawed at me afterward was suffocating. I wasn't just battling my body anymore; I was at war with my mind. The pressure to stay thin felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

But now I eat just fine. Occasionally skipping a meal or two but I get what I need to stay healthy.

The sound of footsteps pulled me out of it, and my eyes snapped open just as Chan walked into the kitchen. He looked over at me, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw the knife in my hand.

"Felix... how did you get a knife?"

My heart jumped in my chest, panic rushing through me as I quickly put the knife down on the counter, stepping away from it. Chan didn't miss the way I moved. His eyes softened a little, but I could still see the concern there, the same look they all gave me when things got too close to the edge.

"I... Minho unlocked the drawer for me. I just wanted to cook." My voice was smaller than I intended, and I hated how it made me sound like I wasn't okay.

Chan didn't say anything at first, just walked over to me, his eyes still looking between me and the knife on the counter. He wasn't saying it out loud, but I knew what he was thinking. Was I okay? Did he trust me with this?

"I'm fine, Chan," I added quickly, my voice a little stronger this time. I forced a smile, even though I didn't feel it. "I just... I just wanted to do something for you guys."

He stood there for a moment, staring at me, before he let out a quiet sigh and nodded. "Alright. But... maybe I'll help out in here, too. Just in case you need an extra hand."

It wasn't really a suggestion. He was going to stay whether I liked it or not, but honestly, I didn't mind. The silence had felt too heavy, and his presence made it a little easier to breathe.

"Okay," I said softly, and we both turned our attention back to the cooking.

I wasn't alone with the knife anymore. That helped.

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