New Years Day. A day of celebration. So, one brownie wouldn't hurt... right?
Felix had made his amazing brownies, and the three dozen desserts were sitting out on the table just begging Han to eat them. It was in his allotted hour of eating, so one brownie wouldn't hurt him at all. He grabbed the smallest one he could and joined the rest of the boys playing Mafia in the crammed living room. There was a reason it was four boys per dorm and not eight all in one.
He ended up having to stand, too scared to sit on someone's lap and make them support his weight. But he could still enjoy the game from here - or at least attempt to.
"It's Changbin hyung." Felix declared, leaning back on the couch into Bang Chan. "It's gotta be him."
"What?" The rapper exclaimed, eyes wide. "You don't have any proof Lixie."
"I don't need proof. I have a gut feeling. I know it's you, hyung. You violently murdered Jeongin, Minho, and Han. I know it was you."
"Evidence?" Seungmin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Intuition." Felix nodded.
"We could play another round." Hyunjin - who had taken the role of narrator - offered.
"But then we'll lose!" Felix exclaimed. "If he murders one more person - which it'll probably be me because I'm onto him - then there's only two people left and if they vote, and he survives, then the mafia will win!"
"How about this." Chan chuckled, "If you get murdered this round, we'll vote Changbin."
"I don't necessarily like being the bait. Plus, he just heard your plan. But sure, whatever."
They closed their eyes, and another round was initiated. Han wandered mindlessly into the kitchen and grabbed another brownie. It tasted so good. He inhaled that brownie and grabbed another one without thinking before walking back into the living room to see the results.
Seungmin had been killed off, but Felix was adamant it was Changbin still.
"Alright, sorry, Bin." Chan shrugged. "I'll agree with Felix and vote you off."
"No way." Hyunjin laughed.
"I seriously wasn't the murderer though!" Changbin exclaimed, pelting the throw pillow on his lap across the room at Felix who ducked just in time for the pillow to hit Chan behind him.
"If it wasn't you then..." Felix slowly turned around, finding his leader to be smirking down at him. "No way. It was you?! I trusted you, hyung!"
"That was so fun to watch." Hyunjin laughed, slipping off the couch and onto Jeongin's lap on the floor.
"Should we play another game? It's not that late yet." Jeongin asked, glancing around at the older members.
Han shuffled back to the kitchen and grabbed another brownie... two more brownies... before he headed back to the living room as the members debated which game to play. They kept arguing - lightheartedly of course - Han kept making trips to and from the kitchen.
They finally settled on doing some karaoke since that seemed to be the only thing anyone could agree on.
"I'll set up the TV." Chan offered, pushing Felix off his lap.
The younger, blonde, aussie stood up, headed into the kitchen and stared at the pan of brownies he'd made. "Holy cow, who ate literally ten brownies?"
"What?" Seungmin asked, sitting up straighter to see over the back of the couch.
"Yeah, someone ate a ton of brownies." Felix laughed, grabbing a broken piece and popping it in his mouth.
Han's face went red as he looked down at the brownie half eaten in his hand. He'd made several trips to and from the kitchen, mindlessly eating. And, for the first time in what felt like forever, his stomach didn't feel empty. He felt uncomfortably full.
Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. Very, VERY, bad!
"Ji?" Hyungjin chuckled, glancing over at the younger member. "I'm assuming you're the culprit. You have that guilty look on your face."
"Yeah, you do." Jeongin laughed.
Han knew he looked guilty. He felt guilty. All that work for nothing. He'd just gain all that weight back. He'd failed after trying so hard for so long. He barely even reached his goal for more than a few days. Now he was going to be fat. He should have known he'd never lose that weight. He was fat. He'd always be fat. He'd always fail in everything he did. He was worthless, stupid, a waste of space. The group was better off without someone who couldn't even control himself when it came to brownies. He didn't fit in. And now he felt sick.
"Hey, you okay?" Minho asked, furrowing his brow.
Han had almost forgotten he was still standing in front of the members. And while Changbin and Seungmin were busy wrestling on the floor, and Chan was setting up the tv, he still had four pairs of eyes on him.
They think I'm fat. They see it now. They know I'm fat. I'm so fat. So, so fat.
"Jisung!"
Han jumped, eyes darting around to room only to fall back on Minho, who was standing up from his spot on the armrest of the couch.
"Sorry, guess I zoned out there for a second." Han chuckled, picking at the brownie in his hand. He wasn't going to finish it. He'd eaten so much already. He wanted to just pop it in his mouth, but his stomach hurt already, and he was sure that if he tried to take another bite, he'd actually throw everything up... maybe that wasn't a bad idea though.
"You doing okay, hyung?" Felix asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Yeah. Of course." Han offered a smile, but glancing back at Minho, he looked anything but convinced.
They know. They know and they're mad. They're going to demand answers. They hate me. They hate me just as much as I hate myself.
"Really, Ji, you don't look so good right now." Hyunjin added, his eyes piercing through Jisung.
His skin was crawling, and he felt so, so sick. It took about five seconds for the realization to hit him. He wasn't just feeling sick from humiliation - he was going to throw up.
Cupping a hand over his mouth, Han bolted down the hallway.
He could just hear Minho exclaim, "Shit! I forgot he was nauseous yesterday!" Before he slammed the bathroom door shut and collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet. He immediately threw the brownie away - he couldn't even look at it anymore without feeling sick.
He was gagging yesterday from crying so hard, but he hadn't been nauseous; The lie that he and Tiger JK had made up was so well fabricated that Chan and Minho accepted it as fact. But now he actually was nauseous. Maybe he was just so repulsed by himself that he was physically ill, or perhaps he really was coming down with something. Then again, his stomach was not used to this much food intake - that's probably the real cause of the nausea licking up his throat.
He groaned, dropping his head on the toilet seat. A soft knock on the door got him to lift his head, but by now the entire room was listing to the side. He couldn't answer - answering meant the risk of opening his mouth and not only words coming out but all those brownies too.
So, instead, the door opened on its own and Minho poked his head in. "Oh, Hannie, you really aren't feeling well, are you?"
Mentally or physically? Because currently, both are down in the dumps.
"Everything is spinning, hyung." Han whimpered, dropping his forehead back onto the toilet seat.
"Did you eat too much tonight?" Minho asked, walking over to the linens cabinet and pulling out a washcloth.
"Yeah." Han sighed, swallowing back the nausea rolling in his throat. He definitely ate too much. Way, way too much. He was a disgusting, fat, ugly, worthless person. The next whimper that was pulled from him had nothing to do with the nausea and everything to do with the desire to block the voice in his head out.
He heard the sink water run and then felt a cool, damp, towel be laid across the back of his neck. "There you go, Hannie. Let me get the thermometer."
"I don't have a fever, hyung."
"I know. But I still want to check. Humor me?"
"Mm."
Han stared at his reflection in the toilet water - this was becoming a common occurrence. What happened to healthy, happy Han? All he saw when he stared at that reflection was a gross, sick, very not okay Han. When did that change?
"Lift your head." Minho's voice pulled him from his thoughts and he lifted himself up a bit and opened his mouth to let the elder stick the thermometer under his tongue. Minho stood up and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched the numbers blink and change. "When did you start feeling sick, Hannie? Just yesterday?"
Han tried to see the numbers but it was too close to his face and going cross-eyed made his head spin even more. Suddenly, an idea popped in. If he played this up, he could skip practice tomorrow. He could lie in bed and not do anything - which is exactly what he'd been wanting to do this entire time. "I dunno." He mumbled around the thermometer.
"Hmm." Minho hummed, eyes glued to the numbers. When the device beeped, Han pulled it out and saw 97.7 degrees Fahrenheit.
"No fever. Told you so." He sighed, handing it back to the dancer who wiped it down with an alcohol pad.
"I know, Hannie, but it settles my nerves, okay? I don't know if you would tell me if you're not feeling well so I have to check for myself."
"I would, hyung."
"Would you though?"
Minho and Han stared at each other for several seconds. Han had to tear his eyes away after a while because he knew that the elder was seeing straight through his disguise. It was unraveling anyways, he had to do everything to keep himself from completely falling apart now. "I just don't feel good right now, hyung. Feel like I might throw up."
"While you don't have a fever, that doesn't mean you're not coming down with something. I'll get Chan hyung and see if you can miss practice tomorrow morning to sleep in. I know you have a meeting in the afternoon that's really important but I'm sure they'd let you miss the first half of the day. To be honest, I don't know why you have rapping lessons tomorrow - you don't need them. For you, they're kind of redundant."
Like me, I'm redundant - I'm useless and unnecessary now. Han thought then quickly shook his head trying to get the voice to quiet down. It didn't work. It started a monologue about how painful it would be if Minho decided to tell him how unimportant and worthless he was to his face. He physically winced at the thought.
"Stay here, Hannie." Minho ended, after having cleaned up the thermometer.
"Not going anywhere." Han sighed, dropping his head back to the toilet seat.
He heard the bathroom door open and close before he felt the loneliness sink back in. Wouldn't it just be better if he threw up? Then he'd lose the weight he was about to gain from those brownies.
It wasn't a terrible idea.
Han glanced over at the door, listening carefully for any footsteps. None. He turned back to the toilet and stared at his hideous self in the reflection. He wasn't exactly sure how to do this, but triggering his gag reflex had to be a sure way to make it work.
Thinking quickly, Han brought two fingers up to his mouth. He shoved them in, going immediately to the soft palate. Just barely brushing against it, he gagged, yanking his fingers out of his mouth.
Nothing. He just gagged and his stomach clenched but nothing came up.
Again? Again.
He tried again, this time poking his finger even farther in his mouth. He gagged more violently, bringing tears to his eyes, but nothing came up. He really couldn't get anything right, could he? Not even this. The tears that were burning his eyes slipped down his cheeks and his hand fell limply to the floor.
Worthless, Jisung, you're worthless.
The phantom feeling of his fingers in his throat brought another gag, but nothing else. He felt awful. He wasn't even sick - he'd just filled his stomach too much and freaked himself out. He was making things worse for himself. Now, he'd get Chan and Minho involved. It would impact the whole group now. Oh, he was the worst person alive.
The drum of fingers on the door paused the gagging for a split second. Enough for the boy to glance over as he watched Chan and Minho step inside.
"Hey, bud, not feeling well?" Chan asked, offering a sad smile.
In response, Han gagged and leaned back over the toilet as more tears filled his eyes. He felt so awful - he didn't realize mental pain could result in physical pain but this was worse than his broken toe. Every inch of him ached, inside and out. He couldn't handle pain like this - it hurt so much. Tears streamed down his cheeks, pattering into the toilet water. "I don't feel good, hyung." He cried, violently wiping his eyes. "I don't want to go tomorrow."
"Oh, Jisung." Chan cooed, squatting beside the maknae of the 3Racha. He pressed his hand to his forehead but shook his head and pulled back. "No fever. What are you feeling, Ji?"
"Not good." Han whimpered, rubbing his eyes again since the tears wouldn't let up.
"I can see that." Chan chuckled, though it was a very sad sound, like he was trying to hold back tears. "How about Minho gets you to bed, and I'll call the company and see if we can get you a sick day tomorrow. How does that sound?" There was a total lack of confidence in Chan's voice that was usually there, but Han didn't have the brain power to figure out why.
"Thanks." He sighed, dropping his forehead to the toilet seat once more.
"Alright, bud." Chan ruffled his hair before standing up and turning to Minho. Mouthing "watch him" to the dancer, Chan hurried out of the room to find his phone.
"Hannie?" Minho called, taking Chan's place, squatting beside the younger. "Let's get you to bed alright?"
"Okay." Han pushed himself away from the toilet and stood up, balancing himself against the wall. "Gotta brush my teeth first."
Minho nodded. He didn't move an inch, just watching in silence as the younger quickly brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face, abandoning the normal care he'd put into skincare. Han didn't even turn to Minho, instead, he just left the bathroom. The dancer followed him down the hallway to his bedroom.
"You gonna change?" Minho asked, flipping the lamp on while Jisung just flopped into the bed.
"No. Just sleep." There were reasons he wasn't going to take his shirt and pants off in front of Minho - the main reason being he'd see how fat he was. The second reason being that although his boxers covered the small scab on his hip, he was not about to risk exposing it.
Minho chuckled, rolling Jisung over so he was lying properly. He pulled the blanket up around the rapper, and crossed his arms, staring down at his work. "I'll probably take the rest of the boys back to the dorm soon, but if you need anything, just ask Changbin, Chan hyung, or Hyunjin. Call me too if you want."
"Mhm."
"Night, Hannie."
"Mm."
The lamp was clicked off and Minho's soft footfall was gone and the door creaked shut. Perfect. Silence.
But it was never silent. Voices screamed in Jisung's head. Covering his ears didn't help. Nothing helped. He laid awake for hours, tears long gone, and nausea a distant concept. All he felt was the buzz of hatred flowing through him.
He would never be enough. He'd never fit in with the rest of the members.
Han did get the next morning off. He was feeling fine though. Well, as fine as he could feel.
Although the nausea - the real nausea and not the made-up kind to hide his panic attack - was gone, the voice in his head wouldn't shut up.
So, he tried to drown it out with music. Blasting some of their old songs, Han attempted to redo the dances they hadn't practiced in a while. Doing Get Cool brought back some great memories of a time he wasn't crying himself to sleep at night. He was doing the bridge part when he heard a voice.
"Hannie? I thought you were sick."
Han spun around to find Chan standing in the doorway. He'd completely forgotten the fact that Chan said he'd come back to get him at noon. His cheeks went red, and his mouth popped open, but he couldn't find the words to say.
"Are you feeling better then?"
Han nodded, clamping his mouth shut since he clearly wasn't going to get anything worthwhile out.
Chan shrugged. "You ready to come to the company then? We have that 3Racha meeting this afternoon. We're discussing concept for the next album and picking songs we want to add to it."
"I..." Han swallowed; his mouth worked faster than his brain though. "I don't want to go."
"What?" Chan asked, eyes wide. "What do you mean you don't want to go? Are you feeling really sick?"
"Umm, no. I'm okay." That's a lie but whatever.
"Then you need to come, Ji. It's an important meeting. If you were still hunched over a toilet then maybe we could reschedule but the company really doesn't want to reschedule. JYP is going to be there."
Han cringed internally. How could he back himself up? He really didn't want to go. Not just because he hated meetings because he felt worthless during them, but because he just could not mentally handle anything right now. Last time he'd tried to prepare himself to be in front of several pairs of eyes, he'd been panicking on the bathroom floor. He didn't want a repeat.
Chan noticed the hesitation. "You know it probably won't last more than an hour - two at the most. You don't need to say much. Just offer up some ideas for songs we've written recently and insight into those songs. You know, the usual."
"I haven't..." He cleared his throat. "I haven't been writing."
Chan blinked a total of seven times before he could manage the word "what?".
Han took a deep breath. "I haven't been writing songs."
"What have you been doing in your room all this time then?"
"Attempting to write." Han admitted, easily lying to his leader's face. He knew what he did behind closed doors - and a lot of it was stuff he'd never admit to like searching up ways to starve himself, critiquing pictures, hating himself - the normal. God, he hated that that's his normal.
"Attempting to write? So, you have been writing?" Chan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms at Han like a disappointed father.
Jisung couldn't meet his eyes anymore. "Not exactly. No. I haven't written anything actually. The last thing I wrote was that rap verse for that beat you made."
"Han. That was a month ago."
"Was it? Oh."
"Jisung, this is your job. You've gotta write more. You need to be at this meeting. I'd say it's fine if you're still really sick, but you're doing alright now, so you need to be there."
Jisung shook his head. "No. I can't."
"Why not?" Chan's tone made Han shudder. Chan wasn't mad - he knew that - he was just... disappointed. Very disappointed. Of course he was disappointed; Jisung should've known that was coming.
"I don't..."
"Jisung, if you say, "I don't want to be there" that is not a good reason."
"But it is my reason, hyung!" Han exclaimed, crossing his arms to mirror Chan's position. "I don't want to go. I don't have anything written. No one at those meetings cares what I have to say anyways."
"I care what you have to say, Ji. So does Changbin."
"Really?" Han asked, a breathy laugh escaping him. "Because no one seems to care at all. Last meeting no one asked my opinion on anything. Not you. Not anyone. So, I don't get why I need to be there."
Chan's face was going white, like he was terrified of an argument breaking out between them. And the tension in his jaw, making his tone tight and clearly upset, was a sure sign of a very strong emotion being suppressed. "Because we're a team, Jisung. I want you to be there, even if you don't say anything."
"Why does your want outweigh my want?" Han knew he was being ridiculous. But he knew that as soon as he walked into that meeting, he'd never make it through the whole thing. He felt like crying already. It was too much. Way too much. Everything was so loud and so vivid it hurt.
"Because I'm your leader, Jisung."
"I'm an adult. You don't get a say over my life."
"You're right, I don't get a say over your personal life. But this is your work life, and I do get a say over that." Chan stared hard at Jisung, waiting patiently as possible for reason to take over him. This is exactly what happened a few weeks ago with the manager that night after their long dance practice. Why was he so keen on arguing with authority now? What had changed from the fun-loving, easy-going Han to make him into this bitter, barely attentive person? And after the conversation with the manager two days ago... Chan didn't like the direction this was going. "You're coming with me, Jisung, whether you want to or not. I'm sorry, but that's just the way things are."
"Go away." Han snapped, though he stepped back like a terrified animal; A kitten with claws and teeth bared but hair sticking straight up and back arched.
"Jisung, I don't want you to face the punishments of not coming to this meeting."
"But what if I'm not healthy?"
"Don't be like that, Ji."
"Don't be like what?"
Chan sighed, closing his eyes for several seconds. "Look, if you don't listen to me right now, the company is going to intervene, and we both know what that means. Remember Woojin? Remember Hyunjin's hiatus? Do you want that to happen?"
"I don't care, just go away, Chan." Han backed up, lowering his gaze to the floor.
"Jisung, I care."
"Well don't!" Han shouted. Both he and Chan stood frozen for a second. But the voice in his head was using him as a vessel and he couldn't make it stop. Everything was so loud it hurt. Everything was too much. He couldn't do this. Didn't Chan see that? No, no he couldn't see it. Han hid it too well. No one saw it. "This is my life, so let me do my own thing. You're not in charge of me and if I get kicked out that not your problem, it's mine. So go away, Chan. Just go away."
"Jisung, please." Chan reached out like he'd pull the rapper into arms and hold him forever.
Han wanted it. So, so badly wanted it. But as soon as Chan's fingers brushed his arm, his skin crawled, and his heart hammered against his chest so hard he thought it would burst.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Hey, Jisung, what's going on with you?"
"GO AWAY, CHAN. GET OUT. LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Jisung, I-"
"I HATE YOU, CHAN!"
Silence. Silence outside, but inside Han's head was the most noise. It was as loud as their concerts, but just from a voice screaming at him, blaming him for everything. Why did it have to be so loud.
"Jisung, take that back." The words held authority, but when Han looked back at Chan, the elder looked like he was about to cry. "Please, take that back."
Han's heart was breaking. It had already been obliterated before after taking all the pain he'd been in, but it was like it was being ground up into dust and sprinkled into the ocean to be washed away forever.
The silence carried on for far too long and the tears built up in Chan's eyes. Han had to look away, which, in retrospect, probably looked like disrespect and a lack of care. "I need a minute." The elder sighed, though in that moment, he sounded like a child. He turned and headed for the door opened it and left just as easily as he had arrived.
Though what passed between them could never be reversed.
Han bolted from the living room, sprinted down the hallway and slammed the bathroom door shut. He locked it just in case Chan returned quickly.
Han sank against the far wall, pulling his knees up to his chest, digging his nails into his skin. He could barely even hear Chan pleading to be let in. All he could hear was the hatred. He hated himself so much. He screamed at Chan for trying to help him - protect him. Someone who loved him, someone he loved. And that someone he loved, he just told he hated.
He gripped his hair, pulling it as hard as he could. He deserved the pain. He deserved it and so much more. Every inch of pain he felt right now he deserved it and then some. Pulling his hair wasn't enough. He banged his head back against the wall, pain jolting through his skull until every part of his head hurt so badly it brought tears to his eyes.
Still, there was no silence.
It's not working. I need more. I deserve more. I deserved all of it. Han yanked open the shower curtain, hand flying to Hyunjin's old rusty razor. He slid down to the floor, pulling his pants down to reveal the small barely visible scab on his thigh.
He thought he knew what he was doing this time. He was certain he was completely aware of it. All he knew was that he wanted it. He deserved it. Wasn't that the same thing?
I want everything that's happened to me. I wanted to lose weight, so I hardly ate. I wanted to be alone, so I pushed them all away. I want the pain too, don't I? I'm a monster.
He pushed the razor against his thigh and sliced sideways - hard.
Blood immediately rushed to the surface. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough blood. He needed to see more. He needed to know he still bled red, that he was still human and not a monster. Again. Again. And again. Eight cuts. Eight for the eight people he was hurting by doing this.
Only then did he stop.
Silence.
It was finally quiet.
He sighed, letting his aching head fall back against the wall. His eyes slipped shut, the pain finally registering in full. It stung.
He glanced down. The horrible, monstrous Jisung that lived in his head was gone. Leaving the timid, shy, terrified Jisung to deal with the consequences once again. There were eight cuts after all, he was one of the people he was hurting too.
"No." He whispered, watching the little droplets of blood roll down his leg. "No, wait." He sat up straighter, the pain in his thigh mingling with the pain in his head but it was quiet enough for him to process everything in full now.
"No, no, stop." He pressed his hands over the cuts. "Wait, don't. No." Tears blurred his vision and blinking sent them racing down his cheeks. "This wasn't supposed to happen again." He pulled his hands away surveying the damage he'd done. While last time, the little cut did bleed, he was sure it wouldn't scar. This though? This would scar. He'd carry the marks of this forever.
"No. Please, stop. I didn't mean to." He reached over for toilet paper, dabbing it against the blood. "I didn't want to do this. I didn't mean it. Stop. Please, stop."
But the blood didn't obey, it just kept rolling down his thigh.
Wiping his eyes, he stood up. But the skin pulled tight, and a gasp of pain worked its way out of his mouth. He clamped his hand over it, eyes shooting to the door. But Chan wasn't back yet, so it seemed. But he could be back any moment.
He dragged himself to the sink, whimpering with each movement of his leg. The cuts weren't deep, but they did hurt. He cleaned them the best he could and put a band aid over them. He couldn't cover them forever, and one day the scars would be visible to someone - proof of what he'd done to himself.
He threw away the toilet paper and picked the razor up.
He couldn't do this again. He didn't want to be hurting. He wanted to be okay. The razor was too much of a temptation. In a second, he'd snapped the razor in half.
But the razor wasn't his, it's Hyunjin's. Panicking, he shoved it behind Changbin's shampoo bottle, hoping to hide it from his roommate.
Just as Han stepped out of his room, the front door opened, and Chan stepped inside. His face was flushed, like he'd been crying really hard, but any other evidence of crying was gone. He froze when he saw Han though and studied the younger carefully.
Han offered a smile. "I'm really sorry, Channie hyung. I don't know what happened to me. I'll go to the meeting now."
Chan looked absolutely terrified, like Han was a zombie standing right there in front of him. That wouldn't be too far off how the rapper felt though.
"Sorry, hyung. Really, I'm really sorry."
"I..." Chan blinked a few times, attempting to orient himself. "I'm not mad, Jisung. I'm worried. Extremely worried."
"Don't be. I'm fine." Liar.
"I'm always going to worry, Ji. I care about you."
"You shouldn't." He zipped his coat up.
"Are you doing okay, Jisung?"
"Yep - I'm fine. Let's go." He yanked the door open, leg burning from the self-inflicted wounds. When did he get so good at lying?