Chapter 9: Cracks in the Mask

Felix didn’t remember his legs moving—only the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears like thunder.

He didn’t stop walking until the bright lights and polished mirrors of the company halls gave way to a dark, half-abandoned stairwell tucked near the back of the building. Nobody came here. Nobody wanted to. The lights flickered. The walls were old, cracked, forgotten.

Perfect.

He dropped his bag and leaned against the wall, chest heaving—not from running, but from holding it all in.

His skin was already starting to itch.

His spine burned.

Not now. Not here, please.

He tried to breathe.

He tried to press it down.

But the pressure, the tension, the tight knot of emotions—confusion over Kelvin, dread over Marie, fear of exposure—it all cracked loose.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed against the wall, hands clawing at the cement.

The transformation hit like a wave.

Wrinkles twisted over his skin, sharp and unnatural. His shoulders hunched, hair thinned, his voice caught in his throat as his body folded inward.

A withered old man sat shaking in the corner.

Not an idol. Not a star.

Just a cursed boy who couldn’t hold it back anymore.

The stairwell door creaked open.

He flinched.

Footsteps.

Then her voice—soft, careful.

“Felix…?”

Marie stood a few steps above him, phone forgotten in her hand, her expression frozen between shock and heartbreak.

She took a step down. “Is it happening again?”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

She reached into her oversized hoodie and pulled out a small folded blanket—something she always carried, just in case—and laid it gently over his shoulders like he was made of glass.

“I told you not to push it,” she whispered, kneeling beside him. “You were getting better, weren’t you? Yesterday... you were laughing. You were real.”

He turned his face away.

The voice that came out wasn’t his own—it cracked like dry leaves. “I was faking it.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You weren’t. Not all of it.”

Silence.

She sat beside him, knees pulled up to her chest.

They didn’t speak for some time.

Then Marie sighed. “You scared me, you know. Running out like that.”

Felix said nothing.

“But I guess you were scared too.”

Still, nothing.

So she whispered the one thing he always tried not to believe:

“You’re not alone, sunflower.”

And somehow, that made the silence heavier.

The blanket settled heavier over his shoulders than it should have.

Felix didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t. He hated being seen like this—shriveled, weak, old. Like a discarded ghost of someone he used to be.

Marie stayed quiet for a while. She was always good at that—knowing when silence was a shield instead of a punishment.

But eventually, her voice broke through.

“…You know,” she said gently, “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

He shifted just slightly.

“I mean it. Maybe it’s time to tell someone. Someone else.”

His breath caught.

Marie went on. “Rika’s basically your second mom. She cares. Or—maybe one of the guys. Not all of them, obviously,” she added, rolling her eyes. “But someone.”

Felix didn’t answer. His jaw tensed.

“I saw you yesterday,” she continued. “With Kelvin. You were lighter. Like—for one second—you forgot to hold yourself in.”

“Don’t,” Felix rasped. His voice was distant, like he didn’t own it anymore.

Marie exhaled slowly. “He’s not a stranger, Felix. I’m not saying dump the whole truth on him, but… you trust him, don’t you?”

Felix’s hands curled into fists.

“No,” he said.

She frowned. “Felix—”

“I said no.”

His voice echoed through the stairwell, sharper than intended. The tension snapped like a whip.

And so did something inside him.

His spine spasmed. His arms twitched. The ache surged through his chest like lightning, and he gasped.

“Damn it—” he hissed, gripping his ribs as the pain pulsed. His skin burned where it had shifted already, then shifted back—like his body couldn’t decide who to be.

Marie immediately reached for him, panic flashing in her eyes. “Felix—hey, hey—deep breaths. Don’t bottle it. Just breathe.”

“I have to bottle it,” he snapped. “That’s the only way I’ve survived this long!”

His voice cracked again, this time with something closer to fear.

“If I let myself get mad, I shift. If I cry, I shift. If I laugh too hard—I shift. You think I can tell someone and not explode right in front of them?”

Marie placed a hand gently on his back.

He shuddered at the touch, not because it hurt—but because it felt too kind.

Too accepting.

Too dangerous.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate being scared of myself.”

“I know,” Marie said softly. “I know, sunflower.”

He flinched at the name—but didn’t stop her.

She rubbed his back gently, like she used to when they were younger—when his nightmares weren’t about turning into monsters, but just the kind that lived under the bed.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she whispered.

And finally, he let himself lean—just slightly—into her side.

Just for a second.

Felix didn’t agree with Marie.

Not fully.

He couldn’t imagine telling Kelvin—Kelvin, of all people—that there was something wrong with him. Something cursed. The guy was already uptight and judgy about the dumbest things. What would he say if he knew Felix could turn into a literal nightmare at the drop of an emotion?

Would he freak out?

Would he pity him?

Would he judge me? Of co Kelvin would.

Felix wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Still… part of him tucked the idea away. Quietly. For later.

He didn’t want to think about it right now.

Instead, he let himself melt into Marie’s hug. Her hoodie smelled like lavender dryer sheets and hand sanitizer—too normal for a moment like this, but comforting all the same.

Slowly, his body began to shift back. The aching in his spine dulled. His limbs lengthened. His skin smoothed. And finally, he was himself again.

Except for the crying.

His face was puffy. Eyes red. Cheeks streaked.

Marie dug into her tote bag and pulled out a compact and a cooling stick like she was a magician pulling a bunny from a hat.

“Sit still, ugly,” she muttered with a smirk, dabbing gently at his face.

Felix rolled his eyes. “You’re literally the worst nurse.”

“And you’re a diva with pufferfish cheeks. Now shut up and let me fix you.”

She cracked a few dumb jokes while cleaning him up—about how she could auction off his used tissues to obsessed fans, or how his crying face still looked better than half of Instagram’s filtered selfies. Slowly, the heaviness lifted.

They stood.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No,” Felix muttered. “But yeah.”

They made their way out of the stairwell, heading back toward the practice rooms—

And walked straight into Kelvin.

He stood there like he’d been waiting. Or pacing. Or both.

When he saw Felix, he straightened. “I need to talk to you.”

Felix didn’t even slow down.

“Not now,” he muttered, brushing past him.

Marie arched a brow, unimpressed as ever, but followed along without saying a word.

“Felix—” Kelvin stepped after him.

Felix didn’t stop.

So Kelvin reached out and gently caught his wrist.

Not harsh. Not dramatic. Just a simple, I’m-not-letting-this-slide kind of hold.

But Felix froze.

Anger flashed through him—too fast, too hot.

He yanked his arm back with more force than intended. “Don’t touch me.”

Kelvin blinked. “I wasn’t—”

Felix turned to glare at him—and that’s when it happened.

Kelvin’s words stopped mid-sentence.

Felix’s green eyes glowed—not metaphorically. Literally.

Like sunlight caught in emerald glass.

Not bright. Not

loud.

Just wrong.

A flicker of gold beneath the green, like fire hiding behind stained glass.

Kelvin stared.

Felix blinked once—and the glow vanished.

But it was too late.

Kelvin saw it.

And his expression said everything.