Notes:
Honestly, I feel like this chapter is all over the place but tell me your thoughts in the comments!!!
Also, there might be some medical inaccuracies but I researched as much as I can so I hope it isn't so bad.
It was another beautiful feeding tube day, when Sicheng opened the door of their room with a bit more strength than strictly necessary, startling the disorders out of Xuxi...almost, at least.
The older boy paced the whole expanse of the room before settling quietly in the corner of Xuxi's bed. One would think that after years of living with the boy Xuxi would know how to read his expressions better than anyone else.
Clearly, it was not the case, as Sicheng's thoughts were as much of a mystery to Xuxi as the knowledge of where he left his mental health.
He guesses, though, it's nothing pretty if the slight crease of his brow is any indication.
Xuxi understands, to a certain extent at least, what could possibly make sweet, lovable Dong Sicheng burst through the door in such a manner. And that was him. The one and only Huang Xuxi, Wong Yukhei, who can't seem to stop causing the members pain.
Whether he likes it or not it should be easy to assume that the earlier doctor's visit wasn't exactly what any of them were expecting. Especially when the other members refused to take off their pretty glasses and see the reality of the situation for what it was: Xuxi was not recovering too well.
Time and time again Xuxi had managed to make their worlds crumble beneath them, their walls shake and their hearts break and all it had taken was him stepping on a scale and a good old blood test for Xuxi to do it again. And it wasn't like he wasn't expecting it, considering the tube currently hanging from his nose, but it still hurt listening to the doctor's words and seeing his members' dejected faces and feeling, once again, that he was not worthy of them.
And that's the thing, isn't it? Worth means...a lot to Xuxi. To an unhealthy level - his therapist would say - especially with the warped view of worth he had conjured in his mind - his therapist would insist-.
And that, that right there, is the thing. His therapist would say. His members would agree. His doctor would insist. But Xuxi? He doubts every word that comes out of their mouths. Every statement, every sentence, every lie because they insist on taking the blame off Xuxi. Insist on making it seem like it isn't him the one destroying the team. Insist on "recovery is going well".
That's why he isn't all that surprised when the doctor says recovery isn't going at the pace they wanted. His weight is still too low, his mind is still too broken, he is still too sick.
When the manager speaks to the members after they get home he feels the air tense around him the way it does when they lose their patience with him. When Kunhang stands up from the table and goes to his room and slams the door behind him, when Sicheng looks down and wipes his face before excusing himself, when Xiaojun leaves the house for hours on end, when Kun and Ten fight, when Yangyang hides in PC games until his eyes are red and his body sore...when Xuxi is not good enough.
And if it wasn't glaring enough, he'll repeat it for those in the back.
The problem is Xuxi.
Sitting there, crumpling the sheets with his hands, Sicheng looks like a fish out of water: a little bit lost, and a lot upset. The way he opens his mouth repeatedly without actually saying anything does nothing to fix the image of a fish that Xuxi has conjured in his brain. That is, of course, until the oldest looks at him with an...anger in his eyes that Xuxi hasn't seen before.
It's odd.
It's frightening.
He doesn't say anything. Let the other boy glare and fist his hands and...stand up and leave, slamming the door the same way Kunhang does. Xuxi is left sitting there with crumpled sheets and racing thoughts and he can't help but feel scared at the prospect of the members being truly, really angry with him. Even when he knows he deserves it.
For all, he knows it is his fault that he isn't doing better. If only he'd put a bit more effort into eating the food the members have placed in front of him time and time again. Or maybe if he'd worked harder on therapy, maybe if he hadn't forgotten to take his medication, maybe if he talked more, maybe if he stopped using the stupid tube so much.
The whole situation was filled with 'maybes' and...maybe he just wasn't meant to get better.
It's a stupid thought, he knows. Because if it wasn't for the tiny, small steps he's achieved in recovery then he'd probably be dead. That statement, in return, poses a question in Xuxi's muddled mind: would that really be that bad?
Would the pain in his arms and the pins and needles on his legs stopping be terrible? Or the growth of stupid peach-like hair on his body? Or the depression and anxiety, the constant buzzing in his brain and the endless pain in his head? Would it? Xuxi doesn't think so.
The white scars on his wrists don't think so either.
A slamming door at the end of the corridor stops his musing in its tracks, yanking him from the rabbit hole his brain had decided to dive into.
His fingers play with the white on his arm, rubbing up and down, from side to side feeling the difference in skin. It helps, he guesses, with the fog surrounding his brain. As a distraction from the pulsing in his head and the sound of the pump getting liquid into his stomach. It doesn't work quite as efficiently in quieting the footsteps rushing to the living room.
It's Xiaojun, he recognises, if only for the way his voice carries to his door when he screams at Sicheng. And Xuxi should probably go out and investigate, soothe the members before a fight like the one last week happens but his legs feel kind of numb and his joints hurt and...and he just wants to stay in bed. Sleep perhaps. Forget. Ignore.
He doesn't, of course, because their voices carry throughout the house with a strength Xuxi didn't know was possible and he's forced to listen as Xiaojun says: "It's not his fucking fault! What can't you understand?!"
Then there's quiet, more footsteps -likely from Kun- and the front door opens and closes with a bang.
"Of course. Of fucking course! Why the hell are you leaving?!" he hears Xiaojun scream at the now presumably empty space. There's a wetness to his voice, like the shards of his broken heart cut his throat, or maybe that was Xuxi's sob escaping his mouth.
He can hear Xiaojun crying now. He can hear Kun's voice and he can't possibly understand what he's saying to the other boy but it's whispered in such a tender voice, with such care Xuxi is almost compelled to open his door. If only to listen to the comfort being spewed by the older boy.
He doesn't, of course, because he doesn't want to ruin anything else. He's done enough.
There has been a thin blanket of tension since his little adventure through Seoul. It started with Kun not answering his phone, with Kunhang not calling. It ended with - to put it simply - Kunhang losing his shit.
There were screams and tears and "Why the fuck do you have a phone if you're not going to answer huh?!"...and blaming. Because "You should've called sooner!". And "you think this is some fucking joke or what?"
But it really started with Xuxi. If Xuxi hadn't purged. If Xuxi hadn't gone out. If Xuxi hadn't called. If Xuxi hadn't... been.
They've been trying to...manoeuvre through the blanket. Lifting their arms so it wouldn't suffocate them, moving with the wind to try and escape, lighting flames when it got too dark, fighting to put them off when it caught fire, but it was only a matter of time before something like that happened again. Before the blanket got tangled on one of their necks and started drowning them alive.
Xuxi being the cause was also expected.
He can see what Xiaojun can't and maybe it's because the blanket hasn't completely wrapped him, but it's clear to him. Sicheng is right. It is Xuxi's fault no matter how much Xiaojun screams and thrashes, it doesn't change the fact that he should've done better.
It doesn't hurt any less. Not if the tears running down his cheeks have anything to say about it.
Sicheng has finally realised that Xuxi is a worthless endeavour and the fact that Xuxi knew that from the beginning doesn't make the other's realisation any less painful. It can't stop the burning in his heart and lungs and brain because...because Sicheng is angry. Upset. Frustrated.
Because Xuxi can't seem to get himself together.
His tears can't seem to stop falling and his hand has shoved itself between his teeth in a desperate attempt at stifling the sounds coming from his throat. He tries, at least. Because next thing he knows Yangyang is opening his door, Ten is behind him and Xuxi can't help but feel pathetic. Curled up in a ball on his bed, tears running down his cheeks and blood running down his hand.
He curls up tighter in response. Bites harder. Shoves his face between his knees and hopes the others will take the clue.
They don't, because they're dense like that.
Xuxi wants to feel exasperated, angry perhaps, frustrated at them, but then there is a steady presence on both his sides and arms he recognises as Yangyang's slithering their way around his middle and a hand that he knows is Ten's taking his own bloodied one and there's no room for frustration when he's in so much pain.
Neither says anything as he sobs, but he can feel the way Yangyang's breath stutters in his chest and he can't stop the feeling of helplessness that consumes him when he realises he's the cause of their pain.
The tears dry eventually. Not because the pain has stopped, of course not, it's more of a: he's cried himself dry and he's not sure it's even possible for him to produce any more tears.
Yangyang cleans the tears tracks with this expression of such concentration on his face that Xuxi is tempted to smile. Tempted is the keyword. Ten leaves at some point, only to come back with the first aid kit they have in the bathroom.
He cleans the blood on his hand until the teeth marks are all they can see, puts a band-aid on top of the wound and kisses his hand the same way one would for little kids. It's sweet, familiar, and for a second he can forget the cramps in his muscles, the headache pounding in his skull and Sicheng's anger.
For a second.
Then there's fire rushing up his arms and legs and he's tempted to double in pain if only to make it stop. He tries, with all his might, to stop his body from twitching, reacting to the all-consuming fire. He fails, because that's what Xuxi does best, and his face must've shown his discomfort because Ten is suddenly taking it in his hands and asking if he's okay, if something hurts, if he needs help. And Xuxi can see Sicheng bringing the white numbing cream, can feel the older picking him up and sitting with his chest pressed against Xuxi's back, can hear the sweet nothings whispered in Sicheng's voice when the cramps hurt like this.
And...and he doesn't want anyone else to feel as angry as Sicheng. To realise their efforts were in vain and leave through that door the way Sicheng did so he just shakes his head, swallows the pain and says he's okay. Because pain's better than being alone.
Ten looks unconvinced, the way he always does when Xuxi says he's fine or any other variation of the word. The thought pulls a smile on his face, if a small one, but it seems to do the trick as Ten releases his face.
Yangyang pipes in then, with a smile on his face and a shine on his eyes he gets when he's telling you about a song that he likes. Xuxi can't help the smile of his own at the sight.
"Come on, your room is too stuffy," the youngest says, scrunching his nose and flailing his arms in a way that's supposed to accentuate his point.
"Haven't finished this," he answers, pointing at the pump connected to his tube. He doesn't mention the fact that moving right now would probably make him cry again but hopes Yangyang will let him sleep for the next decade or so anyway.
"I can push it for you!" there's excitement in his voice, a happiness Xuxi can only dream of relating to and he can't help the "okay" that pushes past his lips.
The youngest is jumping off the bed in a way that gives Xuxi whiplash before anyone can get another word out. The next thing he knows it's he's being carried by Ten to the living room and dropped unceremoniously on the couch with two painkillers in his hand. He turns to say something when he catches the stern look the older gives him and promptly downs the two pills, feeling the way they move the feeding tube slightly.
It's then that he realises Kun is sleeping on the opposite side of the couch. His face is squished against his hand in a way that makes his lips pout and Xuxi is tempted to take a picture, for research purposes, he assures himself.
Yangyang sits next to him before he can fulfil his mission, and Xuxi gives him the most scathing glare he can muster through the pain when the boy wakes the sleeping leader up. "What?" is Yangyang's response, with that mischievous glint in his eyes everyone in the dorm has learnt to avoid. Xuxi thinks he should say something, perhaps how he should let Kun sleep when his eyebags look more like bruises on the pale skin. Instead, he flicks the youngest in the forehead twice, for good measure.
While Yangyang howls and thrashes in his usual dramatics, Ten comes from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and some crackers. He leaves the crackers on the coffee table, gives the popcorn to Kun who's somehow managed to reign in Yangyang, and sits in front of Xuxi, back pressed against his legs.
Kunhang enters with Dejun in tow after a few minutes, and they sit in front of the other two occupants of the couch. Dejun's tear tracks are still visible, his eyes are red and his face a bit pale but he looks...okay, somehow. His fingers curl around Xuxi's ankle and squeeze, and he looks fragile and a bit broken, but like he's talked and screamed and let out every frustration he could ever have and he looks strangely okay. So Xuxi tangles his hand on the boy's hair and gives it a gentle tug, just so the other knows he's there.
It's comfortable, familiar, warm in a way he hasn't felt since the blanket had been dumped over their heads. So he sits there, runs his fingers through Ten's hair, lets Yanyang rest on his shoulder, relishes the feeling of Dejun's fingers around his skin as they watch a dumb, children's movie and hopes to every entity that the cramps attacking his body will let up soon.
__
The cold air on his face feels...refreshing he guesses. Freezing would be a more appropriate adjective if he were to be honest. He keeps walking nonetheless, cursing the decision to not take his coat on the way out on every step.
He reaches the company eventually. Nose red and fingers numb and gets asked a couple of times by the people at the reception about his lack of a coat. He shrugs them off and walks to the closest dance studio.
The studio is warm, recently used and familiar . He's spent the past 7 years of his life training in this room, watching the image in the mirror until he couldn't stand the sight anymore, perfecting every move and facial expression and...and thinking about quitting and calling his mum, telling her to let him come back.
He never did. He used to pick up the phone, ring his mum, listen to the phone connect to the other end of the line while tears ran down his cheeks and ask her how she's been doing. Ask her if she's talked with his sister, and how New Zealand life is treating her. Tell her about training and the dorms and paint everything in rose-tinted glasses and hang up.
Those days he would curl up in bed and cry to his pillow. Those days when he would miss his native dialect. When he felt Korean messing with his head and Renjun's too young, too shy, they don't talk and Sicheng feels like he's drowning in language and dancing and singing.
He breathes, reminds himself he's no longer in that bunk bed surrounded by dozens upon dozens of other trainees and turns the speakers on. He doesn't plan on dancing, it's too cold, he's too tired. The music booming from the speakers is a playlist he blasts on his headphones when the nightmares get too real, when Xuxi's blood won't stop seeping from his fingers and his lifeless, unmoving body won't stop haunting him.
When "I can't do this anymore, gege" pounds in his head.
Sometimes, when Xuxi falls asleep in his arms after applying cream and he has an uninterrupted view of his bruised knees, and he runs his hands around his ribs and counts each one of them and feels the hip bones Xuxi had been obsessing over for the past year.
Sicheng's crying before he can stop it.
WayV had been his saving grace.
127 was nice, great, good, but it wasn't home. It couldn't be home when sometimes he would get lost in conversation, when speaking on live would feel claustrophobic, when he felt so out of sync with everyone else.
WayV is home.
There is still no one that speaks his native dialect, the same way there's no one that speaks Yangyang's or Thai with Ten like the three 99-liners speak Cantonese, but it's still home. He doesn't feel the constant mess of languages mixing in his brain and the desperate calls to his mother have been reduced to none. So yeah, WayV is home.
His home had been shaken from its foundations the day Xuxi locked himself in that cursed bathroom.
Somehow, even after that, they had managed to keep their home floating. Therapy was the first step, for Xuxi, for himself and everyone else. Doctor visits became regular things and sometimes they would have to throw themselves into the ocean and swim to get Xuxi back. But it was okay, it was fine because it was and is and will always be home.
But he feels himself drowning now.
Dejun's words play on repeat in his head and yes, he knows it's not Xuxi's fault, it never has been and never will be...but he feels himself drowning nonetheless.
Drowning in a sense of absolute helplessness and he's angry. Angry at himself for not helping more because maybe... maybe if he had pushed harder for Xuxi to eat, maybe if they had prepared his meals better, more nutrients, more fats, more calories, more something. Maybe if he had reminded Xuxi to take his medicine earlier.
Maybe that way Xuxi wouldn't suffer so much. Maybe he wouldn't need to lie down for hours on end just to feel human again. Maybe they could stop the tears staining his pillow and the gagging in the toilet.
Sicheng wouldn't know, because he hadn't tried hard enough and Xuxi is still in pain.
The songs keep playing through the speakers, keep bouncing on the walls of the room and the walls of his skull and although it's starting to hurt he can't seem to stand from the wooden floor.
He does eventually, when the booms of the music have started to pound inside his brain and there's a dull throb in his ears. There was a realisation at some point, maybe at the 30th or 13th song, Dejun thought he was angry at Xuxi, thought Sicheng was that much of an idiot and would blame the boy for the lack of progress and...what if Xuxi thought the same?
A strike of panic like lightning hitting his nerves makes him walk faster, almost running through the streets just to get to Xuxi, to tell him he was wrong, it's not his fault, I'm sorry.
However, the door of the dorm appears much faster than expected and he's not sure whether to go inside or not. Dejun's mad and Xuxi's probably too. The others must not be too happy either if they all mistook his anger at himself for anger at Xuxi. So he waits outside, hands on the door's handle. The cold air makes his breaths look white, like little clouds.
He opens the door.
They're all sitting on the couch, or well, some are sitting on the floor. It's an odd sight, sweet in every sense of the word and...and it feels like home. Xuxi is in the middle of it all, his eyes staring at the movie playing on the TV like trying to figure out something within the images. The others are asleep, Sicheng notices then, and he's really not that surprised when he can feel exhaustion pulling at his own bones.
Xuxi looks tired too. The purple circles under his eyes have been a permanent feature of his face for the past year, and the paleness of his face, but his eyes are red and his hands are playing with the end of the tube and someone should probably tell him to stop that before he moves the object the wrong way. He looks shaky, exhausted in a way he only is when really bad days hit their home.
Sicheng approaches and puts a hand on his, stopping the fiddling with the tube. Xuxi looks up then and he sees a flash of fear, of insecurity and, Sicheng can't help but slap himself internally.
He smiles. It's a weak attempt at letting the other know he's not mad, not at him, but it's all he can think of when his heart aches the way it does.
"Come on," he whispers, pulling Xuxi out of the pile of limbs and guides him to the kitchen. They sit on the floor, between the counter and the kitchen sink, the same way they do when Xuxi is overwhelmed, or when there's a storm and Sicheng can't bear the sound. It's cold and uncomfortable and a bit dirty but they sit there anyway, knee against knee and shoulders pressing against each other.
"I'm sorry," is the first thing he says, thinks should be said because he was an idiot who hurt the others.
"For what?" is the quiet answer he receives. He can practically see the way Xuxi's brain operates, hear the thoughts running around in his brain and all he can do is wonder how he let himself be the cause of those.
"For making you think I was mad at you," he can't help the pang that attacks his heart when Xuxi turns to look at him with wide eyes and surprise evident on his face, "I was-" he has to pause, collect his thoughts before he speaks, "I was angry with myself. I thought that maybe if I had done more for you then recovery would be going better," he looks at Xuxi then, their eyes connect and he smiles a little at the focused expression on the other's features, "That's a bit unfair, isn't it?"
Xuxi looks to be thinking, trying to make the connections between this and that. It had taken Sicheng a while too.
"You've been doing so good Xuxi, so fucking good I'm actually amazed," he receives a confused expression and a whispered "what?" from the other, "It's unfair of me to think that 'recovery isn't doing good' or that 'progress is not enough' because the fact is that there is progress and that you've been working stupidly hard and that's enough. I know Baekhyun-sunbae already told you something similar but I thought I should say it too," it had taken him a couple of almost-falling-on-hard-concrete moments for him to realise how unfair he was being to Xuxi and all of the others.
There was a pause in the conversation, a silence that suffocated Sicheng before Xuxi answered.
"You really think that?" it was small, whispered as if he was not meant to hear it.
"Yeah," he breathes, "I'm sorry for making you think otherwise."
Xuxi looks away then. He looks thoughtful, likely processing the words Sicheng just spewed in an attempt at making things right.
"I think you were being unfair to yourself too," he says finally, and now is Scheng's turn on trying to connect this and that, "You and the others have been working hard too," he turns to the older, cheek pressed against his knees as he speaks, "give yourself some credit, dumbass," and Sicheng is so surprised by the statement a laugh is pulled from his chest.
They stay like that for a while. Sitting on the cold, hard, tile floor until Sicheng notices the discomfort on the younger's face. It's in the way he curls into himself from time to time, in the scrunching of his nose and in the way he rubs his scars.
"Are the cramps acting up again?" Xuxi freezes at the question, then he seems to remember something, makes a connection and nods, looking like SIcheng just caught him red-handed.
He stands and offers a hand to Xuxi.
"We should probably take the tube out too, the other SuperM members are coming later anyway," the younger boy stops at that, likely just remembering the visit.
"It's fine, I...I don't-" he looks at the older with uncertain eyes and he thinks he understands, it's still not a good day.
"Okay, we'll keep it on then," he gives the hand he's holding a light squeeze and keeps walking, asking Xuxi about the movie they were watching. And there's something weird to the way Xuxi is tying the words, a certain disconnect between them that makes Sicheng stop mid-hall. Xuxi seems lost, uncomfortable in a way the boy hasn't seen before, disconnected in a different way from the usual and Sicheng guides them to the floor before he thinks too much about it.
"You okay?" he asks once they're seated.
"I- um, yeah?" the sentence does nothing to settle the older's nerves. He does the next best thing he can think of doing: he calls for Kun.
Kun arrives a couple of seconds later, looking ruffled and every ounce of tiredness that seemed to cover him is replaced by worry when he notices their position on the floor. The leader has Xuxi laying on the floor with a pillow under his head before Sicheng even realises what's happening.
Then Xuxi's eyes roll back and his body starts seizing, moving in odd ways that must not feel good on his already abused muscles. Kun has his phone's timer open the way they were taught in the course they passed a couple of months ago, and Sicheng wonders how is their leader managing to not feel as lost as he does.
This was expected. The doctor had said it was a possibility, something they should be prepared for. Sicheng just never expected it to actually happen.
The doorbell rings then, just as Xuxi's body is starting to still and everyone's hearts are starting to come back from their throats. He helps Kun place the younger in the recovery position before cleaning the drool from his face with a towel someone had brought at some point.
Kunhang says something about opening the door when Xuxi starts to blink. And again, it's an odd sight, sweet in every sense of the word how Kun whispers where they are and what happened and, most importantly, that Xuxi's okay. Sicheng soaks in the words as much as the others seem to do.
He runs his hands through Xuxi's hair as the other answers some questions from their leader and sits up. Sicheng says the first thing that comes to mind when the other seems stable enough.
" You're a dumbass, you know?" The other four left in the hall look at him with different expressions of confusion and anger on Dejun's part. Xuxi, on his part, looks amused.
"Why?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Well," he starts, "After all that heart to heart and pouring my soul out for your hands to hold you go and scare me like that! What the hell Huang Xuxi? Warn a man before you drop dead, will you?" Xuxi is laughing now. It's a quiet thing, and his smile is delicate, but it warms Sicheng's heart in a way only his home can. He decides to continue. "And after all that, I still have no idea what the movie was about, dumbass."
Ten laughs now too, and Kun has this exasperated expression he wears when one of them is being dumb and Yangyang pipes in with: "I've been telling you for years now, Xuxi is useless at retelling stories," which only makes the whole situation more ridiculous.
"Stop using my words against me, will you?" Xuxi says eventually and Sichengs just brushes him off and continues to stand, stretching both hands for Xuxi and Kun.
Dejun slips behind him at some point and squeezes his insides in a hug, and Sicheng considers himself forgiven.
Then something rings, Kun's phone drops, and the manager's voice sound through the speaker.
"Someone leaked the information about Lucas' hiatus," and that's enough for the world around them to come crashing down.
Notes:
So, I did some research, I asked around and, yes restrictive eating disorders can cause seizures. It can be caused by different reasons ranging from dehydration to side effects from medication but what I'm going for here is more of an odd mix of lack of nutrients and a slight case of refeeding syndrome. Refeeding syndrome (which is when someone who hasn't been eating or getting enough nutrients suddenly starts consuming bigger amounts of calories) can send the body into shock, which in turn causes seizures, irregular breathing, etc. But yeah, don't expect complete medical accuracy, I'm just speaking from experience and research, so yeah hehe.
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