I can't live without you.. || Chanmin

Within the Walls

(Seungmin's POV)

The room was sterile, cold, and quiet. Too quiet. Seungmin lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the dots in the panels as though it could anchor him, keep him grounded. He'd been here a few days, but time was hazy. It slipped through his fingers, turning minutes into hours and hours into long, endless days.

He thought of the others—of Chan's tear-streaked face as they said goodbye, of Jeongin's trembling hands, Felix's soft words of encouragement, Han's forced smile. They all looked at him with such raw, aching fear. It hurt to think about, but the images were burned into his mind. And in the lonely silence of the room, they felt more real than anything around him.

He didn't know how to be here, how to feel anything at all in this place that felt like both a prison and a sanctuary. The nurses came in with kind, patient smiles, asking how he felt, if he needed anything. But every time they asked, he felt the words die on his lips. What could he say?

He was too tired to lie, too numb to explain the storm that raged silently inside him.

When the therapist came, she was gentle, quiet, and observant. She asked him questions, some straightforward, some that made him think about things he'd tried so hard to bury. He'd wanted to keep things light, simple, but the more she probed, the more he realized just how tightly he'd bottled everything up.

One afternoon, she asked him a question that cut through his defenses.

"Why do you think you can't talk to your friends about this?"

The answer should've been simple. He should've told her that he didn't want to be a burden, that he didn't want to disappoint them, that he was supposed to be strong, the dependable one. But the words wouldn't come out. He stared at her, feeling the weight of all the secrets he'd been carrying.

"Because they don't need this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "They don't need me dragging them down."

She was quiet for a moment, then she said something that struck him deeply. "What if they want to carry this with you? What if they're stronger with you, not without you?"

The thought lingered, sitting heavily in his chest.

---

That night, lying in bed with only the dull hum of the hallway lights, Seungmin closed his eyes, letting the memories of his friends wash over him. He remembered Chan's words in the hospital, his gentle hands holding Seungmin's own.

"Just stay."

It was such a simple request, yet it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

The next morning, Seungmin woke up to find a note on his breakfast tray, folded neatly with his name scrawled on the front in a handwriting he knew all too well. Chan's handwriting. His heart clenched as he opened it, carefully unfolding the paper, his fingers shaking.

"Minnie," it began. "I don't know how to do this without you. None of us do. I know it feels impossible right now, but please... keep fighting. We're waiting for you, every single day. Whatever you're facing, you don't have to do it alone. We're stronger with you, not without you."

The words blurred as Seungmin's eyes filled with tears. Chan's voice felt like it was right there beside him, like a hand reaching out to pull him back from the edge. For the first time since he'd arrived, Seungmin allowed himself to cry, really cry, in the safety of his silent room.

It hurt, but something inside him began to loosen, to let go.

---

In the days that followed, he kept the note folded carefully in his pocket, close to his heart. He read it over and over, whenever the darkness crept in, when he felt like slipping away. It was his anchor, his reminder that there was a world outside these walls, a family waiting for him, a reason to keep going.

And bit by bit, with every passing day, Seungmin found the smallest slivers of strength. Not enough to fully understand or heal, but enough to take one more step forward. Enough to stay, just a little while longer.