As the days stretched into weeks, Chenle's changes became impossible to ignore. It wasn't just the missed hangouts anymore... he started canceling plans altogether, citing headaches, stomachaches, exhaustion. At first, his friends believed him. But as the pattern continued, worry settled in like a shadow that refused to lift.
One afternoon, Ara decided to check on him, dropping by his place unannounced. She found him curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket despite the warmth of the room. His complexion was pale, dark circles shadowing the skin beneath his eyes.
"Chenle," she called softly, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said quickly, sitting up a little too fast. The effort to appear normal didn't fool her. She noticed the slight wince as he moved, the way his fingers trembled when he reached for a glass of water.
"You don't look fine," she said gently, lowering herself onto the couch beside him.
Chenle exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's just... I've been feeling off lately. Probably just stress."
Ara frowned but didn't push. She made a quiet promise to herself... she'd keep an eye on him. If he couldn't open up to her, someone else could.
Kun noticed it first.
The boy who once filled their home with music and laughter had grown quieter. His piano sat untouched, the usual melodies replaced by silence. Chenle spent more time in his room, emerging only when necessary, his voice muted even in casual conversation.
One evening, Kun knocked on his bedroom door, balancing a tray of food.
"Chenle, you barely ate today," Kun said softly but firmly.
"I'm not hungry," came the muffled reply.
Kun pushed the door open gently. Chenle sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, fingers loosely clasped together. He looked up briefly, but the spark of mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced by exhaustion.
Setting the tray on the nightstand, Kun sat beside him. "Hey," he said, nudging Chenle's shoulder. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
Chenle hesitated, shoulders slumping further. "I don't know," he whispered. "I just feel... off. Like everything's too much, but at the same time, numb. It's hard to explain."
Kun studied him, then reached out, ruffling his hair in a familiar, comforting gesture. "You don't have to explain it perfectly," he said. "But you don't have to go through this alone. Keeping it all inside won't help."
Chenle swallowed hard and nodded, uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.
Kun smiled, a quiet promise in his expression. "We'll figure this out together, okay? I'm here. Always."
For the first time in weeks, Chenle didn't feel completely alone. The weight on his chest didn't disappear, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope.
