Stray Kids Oneshots & Sickfics

Jisung: Under the Spotlight - 2

•Part 2 of Jisung: Under the Spotlight
•Angst, Sickfic
•CW: therapy talk, descriptions of anxiety and anxiety attacks.
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The waiting room of the psychiatric office was almost suffocating in its stillness. The walls, painted a neutral shade of light gray, seemed to close in on Jisung as he sat nervously in one of the plush chairs, his fingers twisting the hem of his jacket. His mind was racing, spinning in a blur of anxious thoughts, and the only thing that kept him grounded was the presence of Minho, who sat beside him, his hand resting lightly on Jisung's shoulder as a subtle reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Minho had said to him earlier that morning when they were on their way here. "I’m with you, Sung."

Jisung had agreed to the appointment reluctantly, but as they sat there in the sterile quiet, the weight of the situation started to press down on him more than ever. He had gone through therapy before, had taken medication, but the thought of speaking openly about the things he was struggling with still felt daunting. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of how little control he felt he had over his own emotions.

"Ji, we can leave if you're not ready," Minho said, his voice soft, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable. He hadn’t pushed Jisung too hard, but it was clear how much he cared.

Jisung wanted to tell him he was fine. That he was ready, that he could do this. But the words felt like they were stuck in his throat. Instead, he just gave a faint nod, trying to push down the rising panic inside him.

As the door to the psychiatrist’s office opened, a middle-aged woman in a kind, professional-looking suit emerged. “Han Jisung? You’re next.”

Minho stood up immediately, giving Jisung a reassuring smile before walking with him toward the door. He gave Jisung's shoulder one last gentle squeeze before stepping back, leaving him alone to face the unfamiliar territory of the office.

The psychiatrist, Dr. Lee, gestured for Jisung to sit on the comfortable couch across from her desk. She was calm, her demeanor warm but professional. But Jisung barely registered the way she smiled at him, her words lost in a rush of thoughts. The room felt too small, too intimate, and the air was too thick for him to breathe.

“So, Jisung, how have you been feeling since our last session?” Dr. Lee asked, settling into her chair. Her voice was soothing, but it made Jisung feel exposed. It was like every crack in his carefully constructed facade was being laid bare.

“I… I’ve been okay,” he replied, his voice small, barely above a whisper. “I mean… it’s been hard. But I’m managing.”

Dr. Lee nodded, not pushing him, but her eyes were perceptive, searching. She could tell that something wasn’t right.

“Jisung, you don’t have to hold back here. This is a safe space. If you’re struggling, you don’t need to pretend,” she said gently.

Her words should have been comforting, but instead, they seemed to magnify the pressure in Jisung's chest. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pulling closer and closer until he felt trapped. His breath hitched in his throat, shallow and rapid, and suddenly his hands were shaking again.

“I… I don’t know how to explain it,” Jisung managed, his voice trembling now. “It’s like… like I’m never really… safe. Not in my own skin. Not even in my own head.”

Dr. Lee’s gaze softened. She had seen this before, the exhaustion that came with constant anxiety, the fatigue of fighting a battle no one else could see. “It sounds like you’re feeling overwhelmed, Jisung. Like there’s so much going on inside, you can’t catch a break.”

Jisung nodded, but his vision was already starting to blur. His chest felt tight—too tight. Like the air had become thick, impossible to inhale. He could feel his heart racing, and his palms were clammy. The familiar sensation of an anxiety attack was creeping up again, faster than he could stop it.

“I… I’m sorry,” Jisung whispered, trying to blink away the tears that were welling in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening… I can’t…”

Dr. Lee immediately sat forward, her voice calm but urgent. “Jisung, you’re safe here. I want you to focus on your breathing. In for four counts, hold for four, and then exhale for four. I’m right here, and you’re okay.”

But Jisung could barely hear her through the growing noise in his head. The world around him felt far away, distant, as his body began to tremble uncontrollably. His vision swam, the colors of the room blending into a haze, and his breathing came in short, desperate gasps.

“I can’t…” Jisung's voice broke, and he felt like he was drowning in his own fear. “I can’t breathe… I can’t do this…”

A small part of him—some logical part—knew that he was safe. He knew Dr. Lee was here, that Minho was probably waiting outside. But the wave of panic took over, drowning out everything else.

“Jisung,” Dr. Lee said firmly, her voice cutting through the storm of his mind. “I need you to focus on me, okay? I’m here with you. You’re going to be alright. Just breathe. In for four, hold for four, and out for four. I’m right here.”

Jisung tried to follow her instructions, but his chest was too tight, and his mind too clouded with fear. Tears leaked from his eyes as he gasped for air, his body shaking. He felt small, vulnerable, like everything was slipping out of his control.

At that moment, the door to the office opened. Minho’s face appeared, looking worried but determined. Without saying a word, he walked into the room and knelt beside Jisung, his presence a quiet but steady reassurance.

“Sung,” Minho said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me. I’m right here. You’re not alone. Breathe with me. In. Out. Slowly. I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho’s voice was steady, and somehow it anchored Jisung enough to get a grasp on his spiraling panic. He focused on Minho’s calm, on the feel of his hand on his shoulder, on the weight of his voice.

The tears kept coming, but slowly, slowly, the attack began to recede. His breaths became less jagged, less shallow, until they started to even out. His body still trembled, but the crushing weight of fear lifted, just enough to let him breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung whispered again, his voice raw and shaky.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Minho said quietly, his hand still on Jisung's shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize for being human. We’re here for you, always.”

Jisung nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything else. Dr. Lee’s voice was soft now, offering him a comforting silence.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” she said. “You’ve taken a very important step today, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We’ll work through this, at your pace.”

For the first time in a long time, Jisung felt like he wasn’t just battling his anxiety alone. He wasn’t just hiding behind the façade of a perfect idol. In that moment, surrounded by the care of his bandmates, he allowed himself to feel vulnerable—and it was okay.

It wasn’t easy, but with each breath, each step forward, he was learning that it was okay to need help. And maybe, just maybe, that was the hardest yet most important thing of all.

(1253)