Months had passed, and Luhan seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into the claws of his blooming disorder, and his meals became smaller and smaller, at sharply designated times, with exact amounts planned out the day before. He completely eliminated snacks and sporadic meals, and dreaded celebrations when they involved food. He became nervous during mealtimes, eating so as not to make the others suspect anything, but leaving behind large portions and claiming he was full. He even refused his favourite desserts.

Luhan had also secretly downloaded a calorie counting app onto his phone, relieved to have a portable dictionary right at his fingertips, instead of searching it up on his laptop for long minutes before mealtimes. Now, every time he wanted to eat, he could simply calculate the total calories and track them easily on his digital notepad.

He researched that his daily calorie intake should be around two thousand and five hundred calories. He first aimed to cut down to two thousand – an approximate woman’s intake – then, one thousand and two hundred, a child’s intake – and finally, he refused to eat over one thousand calories.

He substituted food for water, and lots of it. It was inconvenient, needing to use the bathroom so often, but it was worth it if it drowned out the growling of his deprived stomach. That didn’t last for long, though; eventually his stomach adapted to the lack of food, and although he clearly needed much more than what he got, he adjusted to it.

However, there were obviously going to be consequences, and his malnutrition took a toll on his body. He woke up one morning in a cold sweat, with a tight throat and a blazing migraine. Every muscle in his body ached, he could hardly speak, and he was so, so angry – angry with himself that he’d managed to fall ill at such an unsuitable time, with debut approaching so soon.

“Luhan, why aren’t you getting up? Come on, we’ve got to head out early today,” Yifan ordered, pulling on his dance clothes hurriedly and stealing worried glances at the unmoving Luhan.

“Luhan?”

“Yifan,” Luhan rasped, “c-can you bring me the thermometer?”

He stopped. “Thermometer? Why? Luhan, you’re not sick, are you?”

“Please, Yifan.”

Beginning to panic, Yifan nodded and ran out of the room, yelling for someone to bring out the thermometer. He heard curious questions being thrown back, and Luhan could see a few members follow Yifan back into the room through his blurred eyesight.

“Luhan, are you okay?” Yixing gasped, snatching the thermometer from Yifan’s fingers and clambering up the ladder. “Are you sick? Can you hear me? Are you going to vomit? Luhan? Luhan!”

He was speaking rapid Mandarin while frantically shoving the metallic object down Luhan’s throat, feeling his forehead and trying to shake him out of his exhausted trance. Luhan groaned, gagging weakly, and tried to push Yixing off him.

“He’s got a fever!” Yixing cried, throwing the thermometer beside him and cupping Luhan’s hot cheeks in his cool palms.

“What did he say?” Baekhyun asked, shaking Yifan’s arm frantically.

“He said he’s got a fever.”

“Should we call the manager?”

“Should we call an ambulance first?”

“It’s just a fever, Jongin, don’t be stupid.”

“Quiet!” Yixing snapped, “Luhan’s running a fever and you’re all yelling!”

Despite that the others weren’t yelling, the room fell silent, and someone whispered, making Yifan scoff.

“He said, shut up,” Yifan translated. Minseok snickered.

“Luhan,” Yixing asked quietly, “your temperature’s really high. I don’t think you should attend your schedules today.”

Luhan opened his mouth to protest, but only found painful croaks escaping his mouth, and he knew he wasn’t well enough to work at all.

“Do you want to stay home?”

He nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head relax against the pillow, breathing heavily. Yixing nodded back, and quickly jumped off the bed, waving everyone out of the room.

“Guys,” Yixing snapped, “he’s staying here. Quick, quick, finish up breakfast, we have early schedules, I’ll call up the staff, don’t forget to bring your bags, and can someone bring Luhan some medication, two tablets, half a glass of water—”

“What’s he saying?” Sehun cried.

The door closed behind them, and Luhan grunted, rolling over onto his side and pulling his blankets up to his chin, shivering. He knew he wasn’t meant to, but he felt so cold, so weak, so tired…

You’re so pathetic, Luhan. You should be practicing.

His stomach felt completely constricted, and he didn’t want to eat at all – which was slightly relieving, as he could finally use his sickness as an excuse not to eat.

I’m so tired.

Letting himself relax, Luhan tried to ignore his quivering limbs, and finally managed to fall asleep again – already deeply immersed in slumber when Jongdae entered quietly with fever pills.