I woke up to the sound of the heart monitor that was beeping away at my ears. Everything was just so blurry and white; it doesn’t look like the dance studio to me, it was too quiet to be a dance studio. 

“Hey there,” a warm gentle smile shone as the familiar voice was heard, “do you feel uncomfortable?”

“Can’t be any better.” I said with a monotonously voice as I looked at the foreign tubes that were stuck onto my hands.

I turned towards him again and asked, “What am I doing in the hospital?”

“You fainted in the dance studio,” he caressed my head as he spoke, “and your heart stopped beating.”

Stopped beating? How is that possible? I’ve been doing fine all these while.

“Where’s Yongguk and the rest?” asking, looking at my surrounding.

“They went back to the dorm to get some rest. You were out cold for almost a day”

“And why are you still here?”

“Well, um, I just thought maybe you would feel safer when you see someone familiar in this foreign surrounding and I was too worried to leave my best friend here.”

Just then, the doctor in charge of my case, Doctor Yang, came in.

“How are you doing? I’m sure you’re tired and weak due to your health issues.”

“Nah, I think I’m doing just fine.” I said.

“Well, let’s check on you. You know that you almost died from a heart failure don’t you? I suppose your friend here told you about it. As you can see, you’re literally skin and bones, so, to tell you in medical terms, you are suffering from osteoporosis and a disorder called Anorexia nervosa. It is an eating disorder and I will have to transfer you to another hospital which specialises in it.” Doctor Yang explained.

“Eating disorder? Osteoporosis? Are you kidding me? I’m perfectly fine, gosh, Doctor Yang, you’re such a joke.”

He looked at me with a serious face, “It’s not a joke, if you continue this unhealthy diet of yours, and you’ll die. Your bones are already in serious condition this is one of the many effects that has taken place due to your disorder.”

Daehyun looked at me with those convincing look, “Youngjae-ah, I-I think you should go and cure it.”

“What do I have to cure? I don’t see myself having a problem at all, okay? I’m not going to eat all those sickening disgusting fatty food.”

“Anyhow, I will still transfer you over because you are in serious condition.” The doctor said, giving me no rooms to argue back with him.

When I was in the other hospital which I was rehabilitating, my condition gotten worse, I refused to eat the food that was given to me, I refused everything and I was ended up being force-fed through a tube.

The anorexia had ravaged my body and I was severely dehydrated and weak. My skin had this green yellow leathery tint to it and I was full of lanugo hairs. My eyes seemed gigantic because of my gaunt face. I had no feelings – just a constant numb, stale mood. I couldn’t walk and could barely talk. I felt like a little old man trapped in a young man’s body.

The doctors and nurses told me I could die if I didn’t start eating. You’d think that would have terrified me but, as bad as it sounds, the thought of eating scared me even more. I didn’t want to eat; I rather die than to eat those things that would make me fat.

During my stay in hospital, the plan was to have me make small, manageable changes in my behaviour. Sounds simple, right? Well, these changes were neither small nor manageable.

They asked me to do things that horrified me, like eating regularly whether I was hungry or not. They explained that because I’d been ignoring my body’s hunger signals for so long, the signals weren’t working properly anymore. To me, however, eating more often sounded like a quick recipe for weight gain.

I read the notes and discovered I was being fed more than 3,000 calories a day through the tube. I was so horrified and shock knowing that it was 10 times more than the amount I usually eat so that was when I pierced holes in it in a bid to stay emaciated.

I was so afraid of gaining weight that I would exercise by doing jumping jacks, jogging on the spot and sit-ups in my hospital bed.
 

No matter what the doctors and nurses said and how much sense it made, I told myself I could never do any of it. Being thin and perfect was more important. Asking me to just change my eating-disordered thinking would be about as successful as asking someone with a tumour to change their cancer cells back into healthy ones. Whenever I went to eat something, the eating disorder always had something to say, dictating what I was allowed to eat.

My dietician said that I was fainting because I was weak and needed to eat something. But my eating disorder said that I was just being lazy and that everyone was trying to make me fat.

The doctor told me that I was getting dizzy during exercise because I wasn’t eating enough to sustain physical activity. My eating disorder told me that I was just being a wimp and that my doctor didn’t know anything about fitness. I firmly convinced myself that if I listened to them, I’d lose all control, and become a lazy, pathetic, sloth.

This time the doctors gave me an ultimatum – live or die. There was no more pussyfooting around. They made it very clear that if I relapsed again I would die.
 

My body was rotting away; I can feel every cell withering away because there weren’t enough nutrients to circulate around my body. I always needed two to three blankets to keep me warm because I had hypothermia due to my excessive dieting for a long period of time.

Half of me wanted to get better but the other half didn’t; it was as if there was a devil on my shoulder.

The band members had started their concert without me and many of the concert items had to change due to my absence for the concert; my family had to go through heartbreaks because they didn’t know why I did that and the way I had become.

For a long period of time, I had a difficult time going through this rehab because I was struggling wanting to die because I did not want to be fat again, however, the moment I thought how much grief I would engrave on my family and friends’ heart, I wanted to get better.

I miss my band members, my family; I miss everyone. I went to the reception to ask the kind nurse if I could use their telephone to call my parents. As I dial the number, tears started to fall.

Ring… ring….

“Hello?” the heart-warming motherly voice was heard.

“Umma… I-It’s me, Youngjae.” I control my trembling voice.

“Yes, I know it’s you my dear son. How have you been? Things have been hard on you, wasn’t it?”

I could no longer control myself and I started crying through the phone, “Umma, I missed you so much.” Crying even louder after I said it.

“Umma knows and I miss you too. Umma loves you a lot okay? Take your time to recover. Umma will always be here for you no matter what.” She said calmly although I can tell she was also crying.

“Can you make me the spring rolls I used to love when I’m discharge? I want to eat Umma’s cooking.”

“Of course! I’ll make plenty for you and your band members to eat with you.”

“Thank you, Umma, thank you.” I cried and my tears wouldn’t stop; it kept flowing down my sunken cheeks.

“Get well soon, Youngjae-ah. Hwaiting! You can do it! I love you, sweetheart, go get some rest and we’ll talk again alright?”

“Yes, I can. Thank you,” I said while I was in a sobbing mess, “I love you too.”

Recovery is a painstakingly slow process that grapples at my core existence.  At first, recovery felt like making a path through untamed woods. I had to keep going over and over the same original path to forge a trail and shift my thinking. 

It is much easier to remain disconnected, in the throes of an eating disorder, than to face the pain of my past.  However, the joys and potentials of my future will forever be hidden unless those fears are faced.

I chose recovery because I was tired of merely “surviving” life and crushing the vessel that has carried me since the beginning. One thing I had to remember throughout this journey was that this eating disorder required so much of my will power and discipline to get into; I knew I had that same power and strength to get myself out.  

I owed it to myself to become nourished, to be healed from the inside out, to find ways to work through the tragedies of my past, and to stop the cycle of self-punishment.

It wasn’t easy at all. I had relapses, mood swings, anxiety attacks, bloating and weight fluctuations. People said its okay to relapse, it doesn’t mean they lacked effort or motivation; in fact, it’s often an inevitable part of recovery. It’s what we learn from the relapse that matters. My support network put positive and high expectations on me. This challenged me beyond what I thought I could do.

My therapist recognized my strengths, mirrored them, and helped me to see where I was strong, which kept me in a hopeful frame of mind. New doors always open and it takes strength to walk through them, and awareness to even notice one has opened.

It took me six months to recover. I looked healthier; I was a much happier person. Everyone was happy for me. Daehyun was always there for me from the start. He always wrote letters to me when I was in rehab. He always listens to me when I was going through an emotional dark time. I was really happy that I have a best friend like him.

For a few months, I had a really happy life, although I had minor relapses but the members were always there to encourage me. However, my happiness didn’t last long at all.

My disorder had relapsed, again.

This time, it was not like those minor ones. I started to feel fat again. Nobody could stop me this time; I made sure everything was in secret, my diet, exercises, literally everything. Nobody knew, I kept quiet about my relapse, no wanting anyone to worry or bother me. I just wanted to become thin again, but this diet didn’t last long.

The band members and I had a short holiday after we finished out concert promotions and we decided to spend our time in the dorm. We were going to grab lunch outside at the new store down the street and on the way walking to the place, I started to feel uncomfortable and all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.

I collapsed and I was readmitted to hospital, where I suffered a cardiac arrest that led to a hypoxic brain injury.

I went into coma for about 3 days. When I opened my eyes, I saw everyone being restless around me; Daehyun was walking around the ward, Yongguk, Zelo, Himchan and Jongup were all sitting on the couch frowning deeply.

As Daehyun turn around, he spotted me opening my eyes.

“Youngjae! Do you need anything? Water? Or maybe you want to eat? Just tell me.” He asked earnestly trying to assist me as much as possible.

I barely had the energy to do anything. I just shook my head rejecting his offered. The other members came along and surrounded my bed asking me if I was feeling better, if I needed the doctor to come in. I smiled, rejecting them. They stayed for another few hours before leaving because it was already late at night. Daehyun decided to stay in case I needed help. I was glad he stayed.

I felt my time has come; only the person dying knows when their time ends and mine was soon.

“Dae,” I speak with all the energy I can accumulate, “Dae.”

He heard his name and quickly ran across the room to hear me out.

“Hmm? What is it?”

“N-Need you t-to tell… members… sorry.”

“Tell the members you’re sorry? What for?”

I shook my head telling him not to further question me.

“S-sorry. D-dae, l-love you.” I can see his eyes tearing up.

I loved Daehyun for the longest time that I don’t even really remember when I fell for him.

“I love you too, Youngjae-ah.”

His tears flowed down his cheeks, it was beautiful yet the saddest thing I ever saw. He came closer to me, kissing me for the first time and the last time. I could feel the warmth of his tears dripping onto my face and the warmth of his lips that was the best and last parting gift I would get.

“S-see you s-smile.” I used my last few breathes

He smiled while his face was still moist from the tears he cried, I felt useless not even being able to wipe his tears away. The only final thing I can do was to smile back at him.

Ah, thank god I get to see Daehyun’s smile.

The lights started to get dimmer and dimmer as my eyelids felt heavy and it started to close slowly. Soon, all I see was darkness.

Goodbye.

This fic has officially ended. 

I'm sorry that Youngjae had to die. (ノД`)・゜・。

I'm so sorry if I disappointed anyone of you because my writing is not very professionally done. 

Thank you all once again for reading and liking this fics.