TWENTY-FOUR

“Yifan, you’ve got to eat before you see Woosung,” Junmyeon said, “you can’t be weak in front of him, you can’t promote skipping meals. Just eat a little, okay?”

Yifan shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not hungry.”

“Yifan, please.”

He frowned. “I’ll eat there. They have a café at the hospital, anyway. I want to eat with him.”

Junmyeon raised an eyebrow, “promise you’ll eat?”

“Promise.”

“Pinkie promise?” Sehun broke in.

Yifan glared at him. Sehun shrugged.

“You can’t break a pinkie promise.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He sighed, and stood up. “I’m going to go pack.”

“You packed last night,” Minseok interjected. Yifan glared again.

“Fine. I’m going to check my bags.”

“You did that last night as well.”

“Shut up, Minseok.”

He shoved the chair under the table a lot more forcefully than necessary, and walked out with heavy footsteps. Junmyeon glowered at Minseok, who put his hands up.

“I’m just saying!”

“You’re turning into Sehun,” Junmyeon snapped.

Sehun smirked at Minseok. “Yeah, hyung, you’re finally growing a pair.”

Despite the rude comment, Minseok’s eyes flickered down to the bones exposed on Sehun’s chest, and he breathed out heavily.

Soon. Soon I’ll really be like Sehun.

He pushed away his breakfast. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“No, you’re not!” Yifan screamed from his room. Jongdae laughed uncertainly, and Minseok smiled, brushing it off as a joke.

“I guess I’ll just have to pee on the floor then,” he said sarcastically, turning around and walking out. A few of them chuckled, but Junmyeon looked visibly troubled.

He didn’t step up.

Yifan had his hand on the doorknob; a small suitcase in his other hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder, but he couldn’t find the strength to open the door.

He hung his head, and Junmyeon placed his hand on Yifan’s free shoulder.

“You can do this,” he whispered encouragingly. “Think of Woosung. He needs you. If he’s running out of time, I know he’ll want to spend it with you.”

“How am I meant to look at him?” Yifan croaked. “He’s on the edge of death. He means everything to me, and he’s about to die…I…I can’t do this.”

“You can do this,” Junmyeon repeated, “I know you can.”

Yifan looked at him, desperate for reassurance, craving something to give him motivation.

“Think of how much he needs you right now.”

A long pause, and a hesitant exhale – before Yifan stepped back.

“I can’t. I really can’t. I just…I need a minute. I can’t really…fathom any of this.”

Yixing was watching them from over the sink, cleaning dishes inanimately. Junmyeon frowned, but nodded slowly.

“Okay. Let’s go sit down.”

Junmyeon took the suitcase from Yifan’s arms helpfully and stowed it away beside the door, before leading the latter over to the couch. They didn’t get time to sit down, however – Yifan’s phone had begun ringing before they could.

A look of panic flashed across Yifan’s eyes. “Unknown number.”

“Pick up.”

Sceptical, Yifan pressed ‘answer’, and shakily put the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

A few minutes of static talk on the other line that Junmyeon and Yixing couldn’t hear, and Yifan collapsed to the floor, screaming.

One look at the tears streaming down his face, the ghostly white of his face, the way his knuckles popped out from clenching his fists so hard, and they knew.

The phone slid across the floor. Junmyeon dropped to his knees.

“Yifan!”

“No!” Yifan wailed, “no, no, no!”

Yixing dropped the dishes with an ear-splitting clatter and ran out to assist. The other members, bothered by all the noise, started coming out of their rooms to check what was happening, and the room filled quickly.

Yifan was curled up in a ball; head in his knees, sobbing harder than anyone had ever seen him cry before – probably harder than they’d ever seen anyone cry before. He was shaking all over, welts rising from digging his fingernails into his skin. Junmyeon was hugging his large frame awkwardly and trying his hardest to calm him down, while Yixing his arm comfortingly and whispered kind things into his ear, but it was no use.

“Yifan!” Zitao cried, stomping in frustration. “Yifan, what happened?”

“He’s gone,” Yifan gasped, “it’s all over. It’s too ing late. I was too, ing, late.”

Junmyeon tried to lift the elder’s chin. “W-What do you mean? It’s not, we can go now—”

“He’s dead!” Yifan screamed, switching to frustrated Chinese in his desperation, “he was hanging onto his own life with whatever ing hope he had left that I would be there for him, and I was too ing scared to even see him and now he’s ing dead!”

He screamed again and dragged his nails down his legs so forcefully it drew thin lines of beaded blood, and the whole room was silent.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

Though they didn’t all speak Chinese, every member knew, from the bilingual member’s reactions, what had happened.

Minseok felt a sharp pain through his head, and grabbed Luhan’s shoulder for balance, fearful he would collapse.

He was bulimic for so long, his organs shut down on him…and now he’s dead.

Is this what’s going to happen to me?

Luhan was speechless, but managed to weakly hold onto Minseok with whatever strength he had left. The thought of Woosung dying because of his eating disorder was a bitter taste of reality, and although he knew Woosung’s disorder was a lot more consequential than his, the same thing could very well happen to him.

If he kept eating tiny portions and researching food down each and every calorie, he’d surely end up having failed organs from malnutrition. He didn’t ever think his EDNOS could spiral into intense anorexia, but now that he’d seen what had happened with Woosung, he was suddenly a lot less reassured that he would be okay in his own restricting disorder.

Luhan had often thought about how much he wanted to die. But now, he was just scared.

Kyungsoo had silently let his knees drop and fell onto a nearby chair, because he, out of all people, had no idea what to think. He wasn’t upset. He was barely even scared.

Is this what I want to become?

Stumbling, Yifan pushed himself to his feet, and Zitao stepped forward to balance him out. Yifan pushed the younger away, and opened the front door, bolting out with a slam.

“Yifan!” Yixing cried, standing up and running after him.

Jongin kneeled beside Kyungsoo and put his hands on the elder’s knees.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, and Kyungsoo released a choked laugh at the irony of it. Jongin looked up at him sadly, and ran a hand through the elder’s hair.

When he looked down at his fingers, there were tiny, curly strands hanging from his fingers, and his heart skipped a beat, because he knew only bad health could lead to hair loss.

Yifan returned late with Yixing, slightly disoriented and obviously tipsy from drinking one alcohol glass too many. Yixing was worried, but stabilized him as they walked through the doors. Jongdae was on the couch, half asleep, a drama playing quietly on the television, and watched them with tired eyes.

“Why are you still awake?” Yixing whispered, gently lowering Yifan into a chair and fetching a glass of water for him. Jongdae mumbled in reply, and Yifan looked at him, exhausted and dizzy.

“Jongdae, go to bed,” Yixing insisted.

“You go to bed,” he protested, switching off the drama and stretching with a low groan.

“I have to take care of Yifan.”

Jongdae swung his legs off the couch. “So you’re telling me to sleep alone tonight?”

Yixing glowered at him. “No. You can go sleep in Yifan’s bed. I’m going to stay with him. He’s not stable right now.”

“I’m fine,” Yifan slurred, batting away the straw poking at his lips.

“Are you kidding? He’s going to take my bed?”

“Jongdae,” Yixing snapped, “be a little considerate for once, would you? Do you know what he’s going through right now?”

Jongdae ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t usually fussy, but he hated sleeping in unfamiliar rooms and beds, always finding the foreign environment unsettling. He had been waiting all night for Yixing’s return, unable to fall asleep without the other’s soft breaths on the other side of the room, and to hear that he was being forced out of his room was undoubtedly frustrating.

“Fine. I’ll get my stuff.”

Exasperated, he trudged out of the room, glancing at Yifan’s hollow eyes and sighing.

Yixing caught his arm as he walked out. “Thanks, Jongdae.”

They met eyes. Jongdae shrugged.

“I want to throw up,” Yifan moaned, putting his face in his hands. Yixing looked back at him.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Jongdae left before Yifan could start retching and slipped into the unfamiliar bottom bunk, making sure not to wake Minseok and Luhan while doing so.

Hours later, Yifan was still crying well into the night, and Jongdae stayed up long after, listening to the sobs and whispers from his own room, both from Yifan and Yixing together.

✏ [ a/n ] hello everyone!!! so here's the story's first death lmao how exciting :^) can't believe how cruel i am wtf but i guess this isn't so bad because woosung's just some random oc and now you'll never hear about him again because guess what he's dEAD YAY!!!!!!!!!!! not yay omg what am i saying anyway thanks once more for everyone supporting me in this dumb story i'm sorry for the messy plot and messy chapters ugh whatever as long as i've still got people enjoying this you guys are my life i love you so much and i appreciate every single one of you no matter what okay bye <3

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