Do I have to choose? (BTS x Ftm Reader)

Chapter 2

Some of our new main characters that will be mentioned are brought to you by @camothecat

They created these characters for a different story, decided to not use them but I already fell in love with them so we couldn't have that.

WARNING! In the following chapter, there will be some triggering topics for some people.

If you have problems with: Sleep deprivation, depression, Dysphoria, Starvation, or any other internal/or self-conflicted issues please skip to the paragraph starting with the second authors note

In this world, we have a few types of people; the ones who think they make good decisions, and the others who know they make bad ones. I admit to being the latter. We as a species strive to reach certain standards, whether it be our own or someone else's we always make the choice on how to reach an idea of perfection. All my life I've been out casted or seen as a flaw, so of course, I tried to be perfect. That never worked out for me though. I have made horrible decisions, and just stuck to them no matter the consequence. When I begin telling my story I never mention my 'flaws' because I know they are still a problem for so many others. So instead, my flaws tell me about themselves and the bad choices I make to hide them from the world around me. For the past two weeks, I've been working on my own original routine. It wasn't top notch or super professional, but it was the piece I planned to present for review. Rumor has it that a group may be assigned and I became desperate. I started doing things I shouldn't have to make more time for practice and perfection. Others would ask to grab lunch, "No thanks, some other time." Lunch became a granola bar and water, after a while just water. Nightly rest went from eight hours to thirty minutes if I felt good enough. I was still healthy. I just felt a little drained is all. But it got worse. Wait, no. No, I'm not weak. I'm fine. My reflection seemed to get bigger as the days rolled by even though I knew how thin I was, and my dancing was just never good enough. Every time I swore that my body looked thicker that meant so did my chest. I grew a fear of my bust increasing in size so I started to become more familiar with the snug tightness of my binder as time went on. I tended to wear its a lot more than I had before which wasn't too bad until it was almost addictive. Just another hour and I'll go to bed. I wasn't that hungry, it could wait. It hasn't been that long so the binder can wait. That side-step didn't look right, I need to do it again. My voice is cracking so more water. I'm full from water, I don't need to eat right now. It's been three weeks since the rumor spread among the trainees, and I'm not sure how the time even passed. I don't remember it. I don't even recall leaving my apartment this morning.

I'm so tired. It's almost time for the next monthly review, and I'm on the edge of insanity. I know for a fact that everything going on is over the boundary at this point, but I can't stop now. I just have to suck it up. Countless hours of physical training is beginning to take its toll reminding me of my life's sickening reality. My arms wrap around my chest as a sharp pain attacks my lungs. It hurts so much. The mounds of fat on my chest that signifies I'm not anything like other guys here are smothered beneath a restricting piece of cloth I've come to appreciate more than breathing. I can't remember the last time I took off my binder, not to mention the amount of training I've been doing in it has obviously gotten to me. But I don't have time to hide my chest any other way, I can't do anything else except suffer for the good of the company, for myself. For over a year I have hidden these... warts of disgusting flesh from everyone at BigHit, and I don't plan on changing that. I'm okay. Do I mean that? Probably not, maybe it's the dysphoria talking, but the binder isn't leaving my body. Temporary pain is nothing compared to what life with the identity I have can spiral into. If they knew what would they say? I trudge into the company lobby as I always do ready to start another busy day before the sun even has a chance to rise and call to Korea's people. I needed breakfast, I don't even recall if I had dinner the night before but I knew I was hungry now. How long had I been hungry? When had I last eaten? My vision was spotty, my breath heavy and I just pushed through it. The truth is sometimes I don't pay attention to what happens to my body as long as people see a guy. A skinny, talented guy. That's what I plan to be and see myself as, so no matter what that's what people are going to see. It hurt so much though. At first, it was nothing, completely under the radar, now my lungs were almost dysfunctional and my mind hazy. I want to walk upstairs to the studio badly, except my instincts... no, my body says go to the bathroom. For the first time in a long time, I listened to my body's pleading for something it desperately needed. Pushing open the steady swung door, I stumble inside grabbing onto the sink counter. Inhaling what seems almost like the overwhelming scent of glass cleaner I wrap my fingers in the bowl of the sink pondering what I needed. I suck in a large breathe as my eyes scan my reflection in the freshly wiped mirror. Dark heavy bags hug the under of my eyes, my skin pale to compliment my weak form that shuddered and heaved in a pathetic manner. Have I even slept? I can't remember. What am I doing? I wasn't okay, I know that now. Even now I am trying to push my health to the side while I attempt to fix my hair into my (f/c) hood. I realize how stupid this was. I know that I irrationally did this thinking there was no other way to get what I wanted, but I just couldn't help not being perfect. My hands find their way to my abdomen as I pinch the little jiggling pouch known as my stomach. I know I was wrong as I muttered the word "Disgusting," before looking at myself once more. So entranced with the dizziness that seemed to possess me, I just barely notice when the door opens for someone else to enter. My eyes fixate back to the sink to avoid any unnecessary encounters. My head felt so light, in fact, everything did. The limbs I bare seemed to lose the sluggish weight that once made me feel like the walking dead. Rippled forms of the room flooded my vision, my hearing seeming to be incoherent when a fading voice tried to speak to me... or was it shouting? I became numb as someone's arms wrapped around my small frame. With their shadow looming over me I realize I must have fallen. I attempt to make out what they are saying as I watch their mouth open, plump lips form words yet still not a single sound seems to reach me. I tried to keep focused on their urgency, but eyelids fluttered threatening to shut me into darkness. Then it happened. It was dark.