Taehyung sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him, untouched for what felt like hours. The milk had long since gone lukewarm, and the spoon remained suspended in mid-air, but his hand didn’t move to stir it.

He couldn’t focus on the simplest of tasks, and everything felt wrong—his body heavy, mind sluggish. The constant, insidious hum of exhaustion vibrated beneath his skin, pulling him further into himself.

His parents were in the living room, talking in hushed tones, the occasional word slipping through the door like shards of glass. He hated it. He hated how they talked about him like he wasn’t there. Like he was some fragile object to be handled carefully, afraid that he might break if they said the wrong thing.

"Have you eaten today, Taehyung?" His mother’s voice called from the other room.

Taehyung didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The question felt like a thousand pounds resting on his chest. The truth was, he didn’t feel hungry. He hadn’t felt hungry for months, maybe longer. He was numb to the idea of food, and the thought of it made him sick. It wasn’t just the food that was hard to swallow. It was everything.

He dragged his feet over the floor and walked to the couch, sinking into it like a weightless ghost. His body wanted to collapse, to fall asleep and never wake up. But his parents wouldn’t let him. They were here, under the guise of caring, but all he saw was their control tightening around him.

He glanced over at the small table by the door, where a pile of unopened letters lay. Bills, reminders, invitations—things he was supposed to care about, but he didn’t. His life felt like a clutter of things he couldn’t even manage to face. The mess was a reflection of his mind, scattered and chaotic, but completely disconnected from reality.

"Taehyung," his father’s voice called, and his footsteps echoed as he walked closer. "Your mom and I are going to make some calls today, get you an appointment with a doctor. We’ll figure this out."

Taehyung clenched his fists, the anger bubbling up like molten lava inside him. "No." His voice was flat, the syllable cutting through the air like a warning.

His father paused, visibly taken aback. "Taehyung—"

"I said no." Taehyung’s heart pounded in his chest as his voice grew louder. "I don’t want to go to therapy. It won’t help. Nothing helps." His words were harsh, biting. He felt a strange mix of frustration and helplessness, as if he was shouting into a void and nobody could hear him.

His mother’s soft sobs filtered through the door, but Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t muster the energy to pretend that he was okay, that everything would somehow magically improve. He’d been pretending for years, but the facade had worn thin, and now, there was nothing left but darkness.

There was a long, painful silence. His father cleared his throat. "Taehyung, you’re not yourself right now. You don’t understand what’s good for you."

"But I do," Taehyung whispered, barely audible. "I understand that I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m not going to get better. I just... I just want to be left alone."

The words hung in the air like an accusation, a reminder that his parents—who loved him, in their own way—couldn’t fix what was broken.

His father’s heavy footsteps retreated, but Taehyung didn’t look up. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on his father’s face, didn’t want to feel the pity that suffocated the air in this small apartment. His mother’s soft voice followed soon after, but Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to respond.

---

Hours passed in silence, but the tension never lifted. His parents stayed with him now, watching him like hawks, making sure he didn’t slip away again, as if they could control everything. As if they could fix him.

Taehyung sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the world outside, but he wasn’t really seeing it. The streets were bustling, people moving with purpose, yet all he could feel was the crushing weight of his own insignificance. Everyone else was going on with their lives, but Taehyung couldn’t seem to find a way to rejoin the world he once knew.

The phone vibrated on the table, and Taehyung flinched, his chest tightening. It was a message from his college professor, reminding him of the upcoming exams. “You’ve missed the last few assignments. Please make sure to submit by Friday.” The words felt like daggers, each one piercing his already fragile sense of worth.

Taehyung didn’t even know if he was ready to face it. College felt like a distant memory, something that had once been a source of pride. But now, each day he woke up and wondered why he was even bothering to go through the motions. Was he attending classes? He didn’t even remember anymore. Sometimes, he’d show up and sit in the back, staring blankly at the board. Other times, he’d just stay in his apartment, pretending he was too sick to go, even though he didn’t care enough to explain why.

The deadlines for assignments piled up, and the overwhelming weight of them made it impossible to even start. The thought of facing an exam or submitting an assignment felt like a mountain too high to climb. The college life he had once imagined—vibrant, full of opportunities—had turned into a series of missed chances and empty days.

His father had tried to talk to him about it the other night, suggesting he drop out and take a break. Taehyung had snapped at him then. He didn’t want their pity or their solutions. He didn’t want to hear about how they thought he should fix his life. It wasn’t broken in their eyes—it was just him, refusing to get better.

---

Taehyung lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a constant whirl of thoughts. He could hear his parents talking softly in the living room, but their voices blurred together, fading into the background. It didn’t matter.

The world outside was silent, but inside his mind, the noise was deafening. He wondered if it would ever stop—this constant, gnawing feeling that he was broken beyond repair.

His phone lit up on the nightstand with a new notification. Another message from his professor, but this time, the words felt suffocating. “This is your last chance, Taehyung. Don’t let this slip away.”

Taehyung dropped the phone face down on the nightstand. He didn’t know if he could keep pretending that everything was okay. He couldn’t focus on the future when the present felt like a relentless storm that he couldn’t escape.

As he lay there, trapped in his own head, Taehyung realized that no matter how hard he tried to shut everyone out, he couldn’t escape the fact that he was still alive. And that, in itself, felt like the heaviest burden of all.