Lee Felix: Blade-Part Two

Tw: Self Harm, Anorexia & Mentions of Suicide

Three months later.

~ Bang Chan ~

Felix had been doing well, or at least that's what he wanted us to believe. He smiled more, laughed louder, and seemed lighter on his feet—like some of the weight he had been carrying had started to lift. We all saw it. We all wanted to believe it, that things were really getting better. But for me, I still had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a worry that never seemed to fade.

Maybe that's why I stayed subscribed to his Bubble without him knowing. I felt guilty about it sometimes, invading that private space, but Felix... he didn't always talk to us about the important things. Not anymore. I knew he shared things with his fans that he kept from us, thoughts he was too scared or embarrassed to say out loud to us. And if I could get a glimpse of what was going on in his head through his messages, I thought it might help. Maybe I could catch something before it spiraled too far.

So I kept checking. Not obsessively, but enough to reassure myself that he was really okay.

Today, though, that reassurance disappeared in an instant.

I was in my room, lying on my bed, scrolling through messages from Stays when a notification popped up from Felix's Bubble. Without thinking, I opened it.

"my bones"

"I'll do it until I see it"

My breath caught in my throat, and I sat up immediately, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. No. This couldn't be happening again.

I read the message over and over, hoping I misunderstood, that maybe I was misreading the tone. But no. It was all there, clear as day. The same dangerous thoughts he used to have, creeping back to the surface. I thought we were past this. I thought he was eating regularly, that he was doing better. He looked better. But here he was, talking about starving himself again. And if he could do that to himself again...

what if he decides to self harm again?

Felix had been anorexic before. He'd starved himself so badly that it nearly destroyed him. And at that same time, he was making his thighs and forearms bleed.

I jumped off the bed, not bothering to put my phone down. I needed to see him. Talk to him. Make sure he wasn't already doing something drastic. He had been acting so normal, so why would he suddenly be thinking like this again? What changed? Is it because of the concert soon?

I didn't bother knocking when I reached his door, just pushed it open and stepped inside.

Felix was lying on his bed, his phone in hand, probably reading through fan messages on his Bubble. He looked up at me in surprise, his wide eyes catching mine.

"Chan? What's up?" His voice was casual, like he hadn't just posted something that made my heart drop into my stomach.

I didn't answer him right away. Yelling at him or getting upset wouldn't help. I had to be gentle.

I sat down on the edge of his bed, facing him, trying to keep my voice steady. "Felix, what do you mean by this?"

He sat up a little, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

I held up my phone, the message still on the screen. "This, Felix. You said... Why? Where is this coming from?"

Felix's face paled, and he looked away, guilt written all over his features. He tried to brush it off, letting out a small, shaky laugh. "I... I didn't mean it like that, hyung. It was just... I don't know, I was just talking. You know how I am. Sometimes I say things without really thinking."

But I wasn't buying it. Not this time. I could hear the cracks in his voice, see the way his hands trembled slightly as he gripped his phone. He wasn't just talking. This was serious.

"Felix..." I reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why are you thinking like this again? Is it because of comments?"

He stayed quiet, his eyes glued to the floor. After a moment, he let out a small sigh.

"I don't know, hyung. I just... I don't feel good about myself. I look in the mirror, and I hate what I see. Every time I eat, I feel... I feel disgusting again. If I could just get smaller again, maybe then I'd feel okay."

My heart broke hearing him say that. Felix had always been hard on himself, but hearing him talk like this, about wanting to shrink himself down again, it brought back all the memories of the worst days. When we had to beg him to eat. When he wasn't allowed to use the bathroom after meals.

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Lixie... you don't need to do this to yourself. You're perfect just the way you are. You don't need to change your body to be happy, okay? I know it's hard to believe that sometimes, but you're enough."

Felix still wouldn't look at me, but I could see his eyes glistening, his throat working as he tried to hold back his emotions. "I also think..." he pauses. "I haven't used a scale in a long time, so I don't really know how much I weigh. And it's killing me."

Right. We banned scales in our dorm because of his anorexia too. He became obsessed with the numbers, watching them drop day by day until there was nothing left of him. But here we were again, with him feeling like he needed to see those numbers just to validate how he felt about himself.

"Felix..." I said, my voice quieter now, "the scale's not going to tell you anything you need to know. It's just a number, that's all it is. It's not going to make you happy. It's not going to fix anything."

He sniffled, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I know that, but... I just want control, Chan. It feels like everything's slipping, and this... this is something I can control. My body, my weight... it's something I can manage."

I knew this feeling—when everything around you feels chaotic, and you're just grasping for anything to keep yourself grounded. But Felix was reaching for the wrong thing.

"I get it, Lix," I said, scooting a little closer, keeping my hand on his shoulder. "I understand wanting to have control when everything feels like it's falling apart. But this... this isn't the way, okay?"

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he just sat there, picking at the edge of his blanket, his bottom lip trembling like he was holding back everything he didn't want to say. It took everything in me not to pull him into a hug right then and there. But I knew he needed space.

After a long stretch of silence, Felix finally let out a shaky breath. "Okay." He says, leaning into my arms himself. I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him against my chest.

I didn't want to let go—I knew something was still weighing on him, something that he wasn't saying, but I didn't know how to make him open up. Not without pushing him away.

After a few more minutes of silence, I pulled back slightly, brushing a hand through his hair. "You know you can come to me anytime, right?" I whispered. "It doesn't matter when, or what it's about. I'm always here."

Felix nodded, his eyes still cast down. He didn't say anything, and I knew he wasn't ready to talk more yet. Maybe he needed space. I didn't want to smother him.

"Okay, Lix," I said softly, standing up from the bed. "I'll let you rest for now, but I'm not far. If you need anything, I'm here, alright?"

He nodded again, barely acknowledging my words as I walked to the door. I hesitated for a moment, looking back at him one last time, hoping he'd say something or ask me to stay. But he didn't. So I left, gently closing the door behind me.

~ Lee Felix ~

As soon as I heard the door click shut, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The silence of the room felt suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. Chan had seen through me. Fuck. Why the hell was he even subscribed to my Bubble anyways? Was he really paying to get messages from me when we live together?

He knew. He knew I was slipping again, and now... now it would only get worse.

I hated myself for making him worry. He already had so much on his plate, and now I'd dumped this on him again. Why couldn't I just be normal? Why couldn't I just handle this on my own, like everyone else seemed to?

I sat there for a while, staring at the floor, my hands shaking in my lap. My mind kept going back to the Bubble message I'd sent, to the words I'd carelessly typed out. I hadn't meant for anyone to see them—not Chan, not the others, not even the fans. It was just a fleeting thought, something that felt safe to admit when I wasn't face-to-face with anyone. But now it was out there, and I couldn't take it back.

What would Stay think? That I'm anorexic too?

The thought gnawed at me, already sensing the comments I would get about that specific message.

I felt trapped, cornered by my own mind, and I needed something—anything—to make it stop.

Without thinking, I stood up and headed to the bathroom, my legs carrying me there on autopilot. My mind was already made up, even if my body hadn't caught up yet. I knew what I needed. I needed to feel something else. Something familiar.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and locked it, the soft click echoing in the small space. My heart was racing, but at the same time, I felt detached from everything.

I reached under the sink, my fingers shaking as they fumbled around the back of the cabinet. I knew exactly where I'd hidden it, a small shard of glass that I managed to get ahold of when Jeongin accidentally broke a glass jar around a month ago.

I'd kept just in case, for moments like this—moments when I didn't know how else to cope. I thought I didn't need to anymore. I thought I was better.

I sat down on the cold bathroom floor, my back pressed against the wall, and stared at the shard in my hand. Everything was going downhill. If I hadn't sent that message, Chan wouldn't think I'm anorexic again and I wouldn't be drowning in my own thoughts.

I pressed the blade against my skin, just like I used to, and dragged it across my forearm. The pain hit instantly, sharp and real, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. The noise in my head quieted, replaced by the sting of the cut and the sight of the blood slowly welling up on my skin.

I loved the feeling. The sight. There's a sense of euphoria behind the two.

I dragged it across my skin again and again. And again. I felt more relief than ever. Like I was letting out everything I had been holding in for a year, that I didn't even know was inside me. The shame, the self-hate, the guilt... it was all bleeding out of me, leaving me empty and numb. A good type of numb.

I don't know how long I sat there, watching the blood drip down my arm. The cuts stung, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not the concert, not the fans, not even Chan's worried face.

All that mattered was the silence. Finally, some silence.

It was like I'd emptied myself out, like every terrible thought and feeling had bled out onto the floor. There was nothing left to think about. Nothing left to feel.

It was quiet—just the sound of my breath and the slow drip of blood.

I knew I was never really "better".

But after a while, that peaceful numbness started to wear off, and reality crept back in. I looked at my arm, at the mess I'd made, and suddenly, I went into a state of panic. I relapsed. I fucking relapsed. They'll notice. They will, I know it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I scrambled to my feet, my head spinning as I tried to get my bearings. I needed to clean this up. They couldn't know. They couldn't see me like this again.

I grabbed a towel, pressing it against the cuts to stop the bleeding. It stung like hell, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to keep going. I wiped the blood off the floor, doing my best to clean up the mess I'd made. I didn't even look in the mirror. I couldn't. I knew I wouldn't like what I'd see.

Once the floor was clean, I wrapped my arm in a bandage. It was sloppy, but it would have to do. At least for now.

It felt like I was doing the same familiar routine that I had stopped doing all those months ago.

I was no longer clean. A whole fucking year. Wasted in seconds.

Shakily, I splashed some water on my face.

For now, I'd just have to keep pretending. Keep smiling. Keep acting like I was okay. Because I couldn't let Chan, or anyone else, worry about me. Not again.

I don't want to relive that hell again.

—