Let It Out

The dorm was quiet, an unusual stillness that settled over the living room like a held breath. Felix sat on the far end of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, phone dark in his hand. He’d been scrolling for twenty minutes without seeing anything, his eyes glazing over the screen as his mind churned. Practice had been brutal—not because of the choreography, but because of the tightness in his chest that wouldn’t ease no matter how many times he told himself to breathe.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Pushing it down. Smiling when the cameras were on, laughing with the others, showing up for group dinners and late-night gaming sessions. But the smile felt heavier each day, and the laughter came from a place that was growing hollow. He didn’t want to worry anyone. They all had their own battles—Chan with the weight of leadership, Seungmin with his endless standards, Hyunjin with his art that sometimes consumed him. Felix’s problems were small. Manageable. He could handle them on his own.

Except he wasn’t handling them. The tears that prickled behind his eyes during dance breaks, the way his appetite shrunk to nothing, the loneliness that crept in even when he was surrounded by six other boys—it was all piling up, and he was tired. So tired.

He didn’t hear the soft footsteps until a warm hand settled on his shoulder. Felix flinched, and Hyunjin’s face appeared beside him, those sharp eyes immediately softening with concern.

“Lix?” Hyunjin’s voice was quiet, careful. “You okay?”

Felix forced a smile, the corners of his mouth trembling. “Yeah, just tired.” He looked away, hoping Hyunjin would take the hint and leave it alone. Hyunjin didn’t move.

Instead, he slowly lowered himself onto the cushion beside Felix, leaving a respectful space between them. Hyunjin’s hand dropped from his shoulder, and he folded his hands in his lap, staring ahead at the blank TV screen. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The words were simple, but they cut through something inside Felix. He blinked rapidly, pressing his lips together. “I’m not pretending.”

“You are.” Hyunjin’s tone wasn’t accusatory; it was gentle, almost sad. “You’ve been doing it for weeks. You laugh, but your eyes don’t. You say you’re fine, but your shoulders are always tense. I see you, Felix.”

Felix’s breath hitched. He wanted to deny it, to deflect with a joke, but the words got stuck in his throat. His hands started to shake, so he pressed them flat against his knees.

Hyunjin turned to face him fully, his expression open and earnest. “I’m not going to push you to talk if you’re not ready. But I want you to know that it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

Something cracked. Felix felt it—a fissure in the wall he’d been building, and all the pressure behind it began to seep through. His eyes stung, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the sob from escaping.

Hyunjin waited. He didn’t reach out or fill the silence with reassurances. He just sat there, a steady presence, his breath slow and calm. That patience was what undid Felix.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, hot and shameful. Felix wiped it away quickly, but more followed. Soon, his shoulders were shaking, and he couldn’t stop the quiet, broken sounds that escaped his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Felix choked out, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Hyunjin’s voice was barely a whisper. He shifted closer, this time resting a hand on Felix’s back, rubbing slow circles. “Let it out. I’m here.”

Felix leaned into the touch, his body sagging as the sobs overtook him. He cried for everything he’d been holding in: the pressure of expectations, the fear of disappointing his members, the homesickness that never quite faded, the exhaustion that sat bone-deep. It all poured out in ugly, gasping cries, and Hyunjin held him through it, murmuring soft words of comfort.

“You’re doing so well, Lix. You’re allowed to feel this.”

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

When the tears finally slowed, Felix felt wrung out, but lighter. He pulled back, embarrassed by the mess he’d made of Hyunjin’s shirt, but Hyunjin just smiled, wiping the tear tracks from Felix’s cheeks with gentle thumbs.

“Feel better?” Hyunjin asked.

Felix sniffled, managing a watery laugh. “A little.”

“Good.” Hyunjin’s hand found his, squeezing tight. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. That’s what we’re here for—me, Chan, the others. We love you, Felix. All of you.”

Felix looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up into Hyunjin’s eyes—warm, unwavering, full of a tenderness that made his heart ache. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Hyunjin shook his head. “No need to thank me. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Next time you feel like this, come find me. Or anyone. Don’t disappear inside yourself, okay?”

Felix nodded, a real smile finally touching his lips. “Okay. I promise.”

Hyunjin pulled him into a loose hug, and Felix melted into it, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and warmth. They stayed like that until the sun dipped lower, painting the room in shades of gold. And Felix knew he’d be okay. Not perfect, not fixed—but okay. Because he didn’t have to face it alone.