Chapter Text
The morning started slow.
Somewhere between the smell of scorched toast and the familiar hum of the rice cooker, the dorm’s kitchen settled into its usual low buzz of life. Jisung sat cross-legged on the floor with a yogurt in one hand and a phone in the other, narrating something about fan comments in an overly dramatic voice. Seungmin leaned against the counter, still in sleep shorts, flipping idly through the paper schedule Chan had printed out last night.
Minho, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was bent over the stove stirring scrambled eggs with the focus of a scientist in a lab. “If anyone touches this before it’s off the heat, I will personally unplug your phone charger for a week,” he muttered, not looking up.
“Threats so early?” Jisung snorted. “Hyung, you’re slipping.”
“I’m consistent,” Minho replied, flipping the eggs.
Chan entered last, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning, followed by Felix—quiet, still blinking the sleep from his eyes, sweater sleeves pulled down past his hands. He trailed a few steps behind, like he’d started following and then forgotten why.
“Morning,” Chan said, his voice low and warm.
“Morning,” came the echo around the kitchen.
Felix offered a small smile. “Mornin’.”
He padded across the tile floor with the careful, uncertain rhythm of someone who wasn’t fully awake—or maybe just wasn’t fully present. His socks made a soft shush-shush sound as he crossed to the fridge. He opened it, stared for a few seconds too long, then took out an apple. He held it in both hands like it might break.
“You okay, Lix?” Jisung asked between bites.
Felix nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… didn’t sleep much.”
He sat on the floor next to Jisung without looking anyone in the eye.
The group’s routine clicked into place without much talk. Minho plated eggs. Chan passed around vitamins. Seungmin made coffee, muttering that they should really switch to herbal tea for the sake of their nerves, while Jeongin came in late, yawning so hard he nearly fell over.
“Today’s light,” Chan said, glancing at the schedule. “We’ve got two hours of dance block, then a video thing. Just a birthday message for one of the fandom clubs.”
“Easy,” Hyunjin said, sliding into the room with a toothbrush in his mouth and no socks.
Felix’s head turned sharply toward the calendar on the wall. His expression flickered, and then smoothed out again.
He pulled his sleeves over his palms and took a small bite of the apple. The sound of everyone else—chatter, laughter, footsteps—echoed around him like it was happening in another room.
Across the kitchen, Minho set down a small plate with a cut slice of toast on it—no butter, just plain. He didn’t say anything. He just nudged it closer to Felix’s side of the floor and moved back to the sink.
Felix stared at it. Then gave a quiet “Thanks.”
Chan was watching.
He didn’t say anything yet, but his eyes followed Felix a little longer than they did the others. Noticing the flush in his cheeks. The deep shadows under his eyes. How he sat curled, knees pressed up against his chest, despite the warm morning.
“Alright,” Chan said finally, forcing cheer into his tone, “eat up. You’ve got thirty minutes before I drag you all to the studio.”
Groans erupted. Jeongin mock-collapsed. Jisung declared he had a medical condition called choreophobia.
Felix didn’t laugh—but he smiled. Softly. Quietly. Like he was mimicking the sound of joy, rather than feeling it.
By the time they piled into the van, Felix had already begun to retreat behind the soft hum in his own head. He kept his eyes on the window, letting the sunlight strobe across his face as they passed under trees. Jisung sat beside him, rambling about a new game he’d downloaded, but Felix only half-listened, nodding at the right moments.
His stomach felt like it had turned to rice paper—thin, crinkling under the pressure of nothing in particular.
The studio was bright and unforgiving.
Hard mirrors lined one wall. The air was already warm with effort and the faint smell of worn sneakers. Music equipment was stacked in the corner, and Felix stood in his usual spot as Chan connected his phone to the speaker.
“Warm-up first,” Chan said, stretching his arms behind his back. “Then we’ll run ‘Grow Up’ through twice—blocking, not full-out.”
“Okay~,” Hyunjin sang, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
Felix nodded again, wordless.
They began.
The warm-up was fine—easy stretches, shoulder rolls, jumping jacks. He could handle that. But as the tempo increased, as bodies found rhythm and spacing tightened, Felix’s chest began to fill with something thick and hot and stifling.
He was a beat behind.
Not just once.
Twice.
Three times.
He missed a pivot in the second chorus and nearly bumped into Seungmin. On the next reset, he stumbled stepping into the cross-formation, caught himself, and forced a tight, “Sorry—sorry, my bad.”
Chan raised a brow.
“You good?” he asked, pausing the track.
“Yeah.” Felix’s voice cracked slightly. “Just—blanked. I’m good.”
“Want to go over it slow?”
“No—no, I’ve got it.”
The second run-through was worse.
Felix’s limbs felt uncoordinated, like his body was half a second ahead of his brain. He turned too early. Missed a hand detail. During the bridge, he spun and his balance went all wrong—his foot slid just enough that he almost dropped to the floor.
Jisung’s hand shot out fast, catching his arm.
“Whoa—careful, Lix.”
“I’m fine.” Felix pulled away too quickly. His eyes flashed with something panicked, almost guilty. “I’m fine.”
The room went quiet for a moment too long.
Hyunjin turned off the speaker.
Chan stepped forward, soft but serious now. “Lixie,” he said, “that’s the third time you’ve slipped today. That’s not like you.”
Felix looked down, swallowed, then forced a tiny laugh.
“Guess I’m just off.”
“That’s not an answer,” Minho said from the side, his arms crossed now.
“I didn’t sleep much.” Felix’s voice dropped. “I’ll be okay.”
He could feel their eyes on him, heavy and warm and worried. It made his skin crawl in that cold, creeping way that only shame could.
“Can we just go again?” he asked, still not looking at anyone.
Chan exhaled, not pushing—for now. “Five-minute break,” he said instead. “Grab water. Sit.”
Felix moved fast toward the corner. He pretended to scroll his phone. His hands were shaking.
Behind him, Minho watched. His jaw was tight. Chan murmured something too low to hear.
No one said it out loud yet.
But something was off.
And Felix was slipping.
____________________
“You’ve got ten seconds to smile or I’m calling Seungmin ‘mama’ on stream,” Jisung warned, pointing his phone camera directly at the couch.
Seungmin blinked. “I don’t have a Little. I’m don’t have a title.”
“You would be a mama though,” Jisung said under his breath.
Hyunjin’s laugh bubbled in from the other room as he adjusted the potted plant in frame. Chan sat on the armrest, checking the lighting, while Jeongin leaned half into Felix’s side to make sure they both fit in the shot.
“Okay, we’re rolling,” Chan said, pressing the record button. “Three, two…”
“Hey, Stay!” Jisung beamed. “We’re back with another Q&A while we wait for our studio slot.”
“Which means,” Minho said from the far end of the couch, “we’re filming this half-asleep.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hyunjin replied, already too camera-ready for someone who woke up twenty minutes ago.
The members were sprawled across the couch and floor, tucked into soft sweaters, holding drinks, stealing snacks from each other’s hands. Felix sat in the middle, between Jeongin and Seungmin, the hem of his oversized sleeve pinched between two fingers.
The questions were printed on little cards that Hyunjin kept pulling from a tin shaped like a strawberry milk carton.
Favourite movie lately. What do you eat after a concert? Who cries the most at dramas (it was Chan; no one debated it).
Then Hyunjin read aloud:
“What are everyone’s classifications? 💕 I bet you’re all big softies.”
There was a short pause—less awkward, more curious.
“Caregiver,” Chan said easily. “Kind of expected.”
“Same,” said Minho with a shrug. “Didn’t even flinch when they gave me the results.”
Jeongin nodded. “Caregiver. My older sister called it before I even took the test.”
“Caregiver here too,” Seungmin added. “I think most of us are.”
“Yup,” Jisung said. “The test lady said I was one of the most chaotic Caregivers she’d seen.”
“Shocking,” Hyunjin muttered.
“Hey!”
“Caregiver,” Hyunjin said smoothly, before Jisung could argue again. “I mean, come on.”
“Same.” Changbin called out, diverting attention from jisung and Hyunjin. “Not that it was a surprise”
They all turned to the last one who hadn’t spoken.
Felix.
His eyes widened just slightly. “Oh. Um… Neutral,” he said. Fast.
The word landed with an awkward softness.
Even the room seemed to still for a second too long.
“Really?” Changbin asked, eyebrows raised—not accusing, just surprised. “Huh. Thought maybe you were—nevermind.”
Felix laughed, but it sounded thin. “Yeah, it surprised me too. Guess I’m just in the middle.”
Chan’s eyes flicked to him.
Minho tilted his head slightly, watching—not challenging, just… watching.
Hyunjin shuffled the cards quickly. “Cool, cool. Next one’s: ‘Who would survive the longest in the wild?’”
“Definitely not Jisung,” Seungmin said flatly.
“Rude,” Jisung huffed. “I’ve seen so many nature documentaries.”
As the group broke into bickering again, Felix smiled like he was part of it.
But his fingers were twisting tighter into the fabric of his sleeve. And under the table, his socked toes curled against the floor, like he was trying to root himself somewhere that didn’t wobble beneath him.
_________________________
Felix closed his bedroom door as gently as possible.
He stood still for a moment, hand still on the knob, eyes on the floor. From down the hallway, he could hear the others laughing—someone cranked the TV volume too loud, Jisung yelling something about snacks. The normal sounds of home. Nothing alarming. Nothing urgent.
He locked the door. Slowly.
Then turned.
The room was neat. Too neat.
Everything had been straightened twice already this week—sheets smoothed, bookshelf aligned, charging cords tucked behind the dresser. Even his plushies, the small collection he kept claiming were just for aesthetic, were lined up on the window ledge like soldiers at parade rest.
He stared at them now. They stared back—glass eyes shining in the fading light.
“Just cute,” he muttered to himself. “Just for the vibe. Not… not like that.”
He walked past them quickly, tugging his hoodie off by the sleeves and throwing it onto his desk chair. Then he stopped. Went back. Picked it up again and folded it carefully, smoothing out every wrinkle before placing it on the backrest.
The laundry basket was already empty, but he checked it anyway.
Just in case. Just something to do.
He pulled open a drawer. Refolded socks. Checked tags on his shirts like he was trying to find one that had changed overnight. His hands moved fast, compulsively—touch, fold, adjust, repeat.
His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. Or rather, he knew exactly why and couldn’t let himself say it.
Neutral.
He had said it like it was truth.
Like it was safe.
Neutral.
Neutral, neutral, neutral.
He sat on the bed. Pulled his knees up to his chest.
The room felt too big all of a sudden.
His fingers found the seam on his sleeve and started rubbing—tight, back and forth, a grounding motion that had once soothed him when he was small, when he was allowed to be soft. Before he understood what it meant.
He hummed, barely audible. A tune he didn’t recognize. His head tilted side to side gently, the way he’d done as a child to self-soothe. His words blurred into nothing.
“mmm... da-da-na, numma numma… mmm… uh-oh…”
The babbling snuck in before he could catch it.
He froze.
Then shoved his fist into his mouth. Hard.
The tears came next. Not loud, not gasping—just silent and steady, like a faucet left on too long.
He curled tighter on the bed, the edge of a pillow pressed to his cheek, sleeves pulled over both hands. One thumb crept toward his lips again, and this time he didn’t stop it. He sucked it slowly, like it was the only way to keep his heart from shattering into sound.
Somewhere, inside the thick fog of panic and instinct, a voice surfaced—sharp, rehearsed, impossible to ignore.
His mother’s voice.
“You will be Neutral.”
“That’s the only acceptable option.”
“Littles are burdens. Do you want to be a burden?”
“You don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?”
He shoved the heel of his palm against his eye, hard.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Stop, stop, stop.”
But his body didn’t listen. His breath hitched. His shoulders curled inward.
The stuffed dinosaur on the windowsill tipped slightly in the breeze from the AC.
He didn’t move to fix it.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft amber light bleeding in from the kitchen. Chan walked quietly, a glass of water in one hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up. Most of the others were still on the couch, arguing over movie picks, voices rising and falling like waves.
As he passed Felix’s door, he slowed.
Something wasn’t right.
There was no crying, exactly. Just a muffled hiccup of a sound—quick, like it had been caught and swallowed. Then silence. Then a soft, rhythmic creak. The kind a bed made when someone was curled up in the same spot, trying not to move.
Chan hesitated, hand hovering above the doorknob, before he knocked gently with the side of his knuckle.
“Lixie?”
A pause.
Then, from the other side of the door—bright, practiced:
“Yeah?”
Chan smiled faintly, though there was no one to see it.
“You alright?”
“Yeah—just a stomach thing. I’ll be fine.”
Another pause.
“Can I come in?”
Felix didn’t answer right away. Chan waited. After a beat, there was a click. The door opened an inch.
Chan nudged it open the rest of the way and stepped inside.
The room was almost too clean. The kind of clean that felt nervous.
Felix was curled on the bed, sitting upright now with his legs folded beneath him, arms wrapped around a pillow. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a slight sheen in his eyes—but he looked composed. A little too composed.
Chan stepped in slowly, crouching beside the bed instead of looming.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Felix nodded. “Just didn’t eat enough earlier, I think. Got a bit dizzy.”
“Mmh.” Chan tilted his head. “Happens to the best of us.”
Felix tried to smile. It looked like it hurt.
Chan sat beside him without asking, letting his presence speak first. He didn’t reach out, didn’t dig—just gave the room time to breathe.
“Wanna talk?” he asked softly, voice low and even.
Felix shook his head quickly. “No—it’s okay. Really.”
Chan didn’t press. He just nodded and leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“I know you’re probably tired of everyone asking you stuff all the time,” he said. “I just wanna make sure you know… you don’t have to do everything alone, okay?”
Felix looked down at his lap, fingers tightening around the pillow seam.
“Yeah,” he said. Too quietly.
Chan reached over and ruffled his hair with gentle fingers—slow and warm, like habit. Not playful. Just there.
“Alright. Then I’m here when you want me.”
Felix nodded again.
He didn’t believe it.
But a tiny part of him wanted to.
_____________________
The dorm was quiet now.
Not silent—nothing in their world ever really was—but the hush of late-night surrounded everything in soft shadows. A low hum from the fridge. The whisper of the AC. The occasional creak of floorboards stretching under old weight.
Felix padded barefoot into the kitchen, sleeves pulled long again. The fabric nearly dragged past his fingertips. His steps were slow, careful, like he was trying not to wake the walls.
He didn’t turn on the main light. Just the small one under the microwave, casting the room in a warm golden blur.
He reached into the cabinet for a chipped blue mug—his mug—and filled it halfway with warm water from the kettle. Not tea. Just water. His stomach was too tight for anything heavier.
One hand went to the candy jar on the counter, fingers closing around a piece of ginger hard candy. He unwrapped it slowly, holding the crinkled foil like it meant something.
From the hallway, Minho watched.
He hadn’t meant to. He’d just gotten up for water, too, and stopped when he heard movement. He could see Felix from the doorway—half-silhouetted, all small edges and quiet habits.
Felix stood still for a moment, like his body didn’t quite know what to do. Then he reached for the small plush keychain hanging from his bag on the chair. A tiny bear, worn at the edges, its fur slightly matted.
He pressed it to his cheek.
Just for a second.
Not like someone checking for dust. Not like a joke.
Like comfort.
Minho’s breath caught.
Felix whispered something under his breath, voice cracked and shaky.
“Neutral. I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Minho’s expression didn’t change. But his posture did—his spine straightened, his eyes narrowing just slightly, like something inside him had just shifted.
He didn’t step forward.
He didn’t say a word.
He turned quietly and went back to his room, footsteps silent.
In the kitchen, Felix stood by the sink, sipping warm water in tiny, shaky swallows. His fingers curled tight around the mug. Both hands. Close to his chest.
The way you’d hold a bottle.
His eyes stared at the far wall, unfocused.
He didn’t move for a long time.