·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

╰•★수많은 소설에 노래 가사에
깨지고 부서진 심장의 잔해
흔한 이별의 flag, 사랑의 cliché, oh
나는 널 위해 모든 걸 초월할게

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

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彡 im back <3

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Sunghoon's hand trembled as he picked up his phone again, typing in 'weight loss tips' with a newfound urgency. He scrolled through articles and videos, his eyes glazing over as he searched for a quick fix, a miracle cure to erase the last few months of pain and binge eating. He found a Reddit thread, several users saying they'd tried purging and it had worked. It sounded disgusting to Sunghoon, but he had to do what he had to do.

The comments online haunted him, their words echoing in his head as he studied his body. #sunghoonleaveenhypen had become trending on twitter. The company's media team tried to shut it down, but after no results they'd just exhaustedly told him to ignore them.

But he couldn't.

He physically couldn't.

There wasn't one second, he didn't spend in a day thinking about the pixelated words he saw on the screen every day. Even sleep offered no respite, as he often woke up shaking and sweating from dreams where everyone collectively laughed at him for his weight. There was also this one time that he had a dream, where they were attacked by animals, and he'd been thrown to them since he had the most flesh on him. Ridiculous, he knew.

He had become the very thing he had feared.

Sunghoon knew he had to act. He couldn't let his members see him like this, not when their careers were on the line. So he started making excuses, little white lies that grew into a fortress around his secret, growing from a small pile to a castle that protected his secret, the fact that he had been purging like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"I'm not hungry," he'd say at mealtimes, pushing his food around his plate. Or, "I had a big lunch," as he picked at his dinner, his stomach growling in protest.

They'd exchange glances, concern etched on their faces, but he'd just give a forced smile and change the subject.

The gym became his second home, his sanctuary from the whispers and the stares. He'd wake up before dawn to hit the treadmill, running until his legs felt like jelly, until his breath came in ragged gasps. He'd lift weights until his arms trembled and sweat soaked his shirt. He practice their most draining choreographies until his head spun and black dots threatened to take over his consciousness. His meals were meticulously measured, each calorie counted and recorded. He'd chew and spit food, a twisted game of tricking his body into thinking it was full. The scale was his only confidant now, the only one who knew the truth of his progress.

His members didn't seem to notice the change, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cheekbones jutted out sharply, but if they did, they didn't say anything. They just watched him with what felt like judgement to him. Sunghoon could feel their eyes on him, their unspoken questions hanging in the air like a fog he couldn't shake off. But he pushed through, driven by the need to regain control, to silence the voice in his head that whispered he was nothing without his image.

Or maybe he was hallucinating. It wouldn't be a new thing nowadays for him. It was his new normal.

And then, one day, it happened. He stepped onto the scale and the number 60 flashed back at him, a stark contrast to the 70 that had haunted him for weeks. It was a victory, but one that came at a cost. His body was weaker, his energy depleted, but the number was what mattered. He had done it. He had lost the weight. The whispers grew quieter, and the taunts online were replaced with admiration for his 'discipline' and 'dedication'. But as he looked in the mirror, he knew the price he'd paid.

Sunghoon's skin had a sickly pallor, his eyes sunken into his skull. His ribs poked out sharply, a stark reminder of the meals he'd skipped and the hours he'd spent purging. He had become a mere shadow of his former self, and the fear that he'd never be good enough had morphed into a monster that controlled his every move. His performances grew sluggish, his dance moves less sharp, his voice strained from the constant battle against his body's protests.

He had the solutions though.

Makeup.

Baggy clothes.

Energy drinks before concerts.

Excuses.

Excuses.

More excuses.

He was tired of it all.

But he had to keep going. He couldn't stop, not now.

Days turned into weeks, and Sunghoon's obsession grew stronger. The whispers grew quieter, but the monster inside him grew louder. His meals were no longer about sustenance, but about survival. Every bite was a war, a battle against the monster that demanded perfection. His reflection grew thinner, his cheekbones sharper, but the number on the scale was never low enough. His body was a canvas for his pain, and he painted it with every ounce of self-loathing he had.

The members didn't notice the change in him, everyone was too preoccupied with the comeback, it had already been pushed back a month due to problems and they were woefully behind. They didn't see the dark circles, the paleness, the lack of energy. They didn't see the way he'd push his food around his plate, the way his eyes would dart to the scale in the corner of the room.

But as the days grew closer, the whispers grew louder. He could feel his body betraying him, his once solid foundation crumbling beneath his feet. His legs felt like jelly during dance practices, his voice weak during vocal training. The exhaustion was like a thick fog, clouding his mind and making it difficult to focus. Yet, the number on the scale was all that mattered. He'd do anything to keep it going down.

One evening, as the rest of Enhypen sat down for dinner, Sunghoon's hand trembled as he reached for his fork. The food looked unappealing, a mirage of calories and carbs that threatened to undo his progress. He picked at his meal, pushing the food around his plate, trying to make it look as if he'd eaten more than he had. His bandmates' eyes were on him, filled with concern that they hadn't dared to voice.

Their unspoken worry was his silent tormentor. He knew they were worried about him, about his health, about his performance. So he took a deep breath and forced a mouthful of rice into his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, every chew a battle against his own will. But he swallowed it down, telling himself it was for them. If he could just show them he was okay, maybe they'd stop watching him so closely, stop whispering about him when they thought he wasn't listening.

He took another bite, his eyes fixed on the untouched mound of food. Each bite was a lie, a silent promise that he was okay, that he could handle it. The taste was bland, the texture foreign, but he chewed and swallowed, his stomach protesting with each mouthful. They talked and laughed around the table, their eyes occasionally flicking to him. Was it his imagination, or did their smiles seem forced? Did they see through his facade?

The conversation flowed around him, a river of words that he couldn't quite grasp. His thoughts were consumed by the food, the weight of it in his stomach, the fear that he'd slip, that he'd give in to the urge to purge. But he kept eating, pushing the rice around his plate, mixing it with vegetables to make it seem like he'd had more.

He forced down another bite, his eyes never leaving the plate. The others talked about their day, about the fans' reactions to their latest teaser images. Sunghoon tried to listen, to participate, but his mind was elsewhere. It was a constant battle, his hunger warring with his fear of losing control.

Finally, dinner was over, and he excused himself to the washroom, his stomach feeling like a lead balloon. The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned heavily against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room was a sanctuary of white tiles and chrome, the harsh lights glinting off the surfaces. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, the bags under his eyes, the hollow cheeks. He looked like a ghost of the person he used to be.

He eyed the toilet bowl with a mix of dread and resentment. It had become his enemy, a symbol of his loss of control. But the monster inside him whispered that it was the only way to keep going, to keep the weight off. With a trembling hand, he stuck his finger down his throat, the gag reflex almost instant. The food came up in a rush, and he retched until there was nothing left but bile. His eyes watered, and his throat burned, but he felt a strange sense of relief. The number on the scale would stay the same.

Sunghoon rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the guilt and the taste of his own failure. He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes sunken, his skin sallow. He didn't recognize the person looking back at him. The monster had taken over, and he was just a puppet dancing to its tune.

He knew he couldn't go on like this, but the fear of letting everyone down was too great. The whispers of doubt had grown so loud that they drowned out everything else. He had to keep going, had to be the Sunghoon they all expected.

The days grew shorter, the nights longer. His workouts grew more intense, his diet more restrictive. The weight kept falling off, but the number on the scale was never low enough. The monster demanded more, and he obeyed. His body was a prison, his mind a battleground.

He started cutting out entire food groups, his meals now a sad display of vegetables and protein shakes. The whispers grew quieter, but they never disappeared. He knew he was pushing himself too far, but he couldn't stop. He had to be perfect, had to silence the critics once and for all. So he ran harder, danced longer, and ate less. His body was a canvas for his pain, and he painted it with every ounce of determination he had.

He couldn't stop now, he wouldn't.

He could finally be perfect after all.

Just a little bit further.

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彡 sorry for the short chapter, more is comign !

彡 please leave a comment, it honestly means the whole world and it motivates me to write more too. in short more comments = more frequent updates

彡 long commetns pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee..e.se...seee....ejeidksjdsk