Among The Anomalies

The room was quiet save for the soft hum of distant machinery and the subtle flutter of Quokka’s ears as he sat curled up near the bed, eyes locked protectively on the boy half-buried in blankets.

Jisung hadn’t said a word since Felix led him back inside. His fists were clenched, knuckles white against the sheets. His jaw was tight, expression drawn and unreadable.

Felix returned a little later, carefully balancing a tray of food. He made sure not to mention who cooked it—no point pushing it. He just set it gently on the bedside table and gave Jisung a soft smile.

“I brought you dinner,” he said. “No pressure, but it’s still warm. Thought you might be hungry after earlier.”

Jisung didn’t even look at him. Quokka, however, perked up and sniffed curiously at the plate.

Felix crouched beside the bed and carefully unwrapped the gauze from Jisung’s arm to check his healing. Most of the wounds were nearly gone now, Felix’s powers smoothing skin that should’ve been permanently scarred. Only a few, remained—stubborn reminders of what couldn’t be erased.

“You’re good to leave here tomorrow,” Felix said softly, rewrapping the bandage with care. “I talked to Chan. You’ll get a proper room. Somewhere quiet.”

Still no response.

Felix stood and placed the tray on Jisung’s lap anyway. Quokka immediately leaned over and stole a piece of chicken, stuffing it into his cheek with his usual energy. Felix couldn't help but smile at the tiny companion.

Jisung, though, finally moved. He blinked and looked down at the tray, then at Quokka.

“I haven't even touched it yet, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice rough but present.

Felix smiled faintly. “That’s the most I’ve heard from you since we left the others. Progress.”

Jisung stayed quiet for a beat, then pushed the food around with his fork, nibbling cautiously. He didn’t eat much. Quokka helped with the rest, clearly having no issue finishing every leftover bite.

Felix moved to take the tray back when Jisung suddenly spoke again—quietly this time, like it was being dragged out of him.

“…Why are you guys helping me?”

Felix froze.

Jisung was staring at the wall now, his shoulders tense. “I’m not… worth it. I’m not useful. I’m not anything.” His voice cracked—just slightly—and he looked like he regretted even saying that much.

Felix’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

“You don’t have to be useful to deserve kindness, Jisung.”

“Yeah?” Jisung laughed bitterly.

Felix sat back down beside him but didn’t say anything this time. Words weren’t doing much.

So he just stayed.

After a moment, Jisung exhaled and turned his head away, clearly closing himself off again. Felix took the tray quietly, glancing once more at the boy on the bed before walking toward the door with BbokAri floating close behind him.

Quokka didn’t move from his place.

And Felix didn’t push him to.

~~~•~~~

Minho paced his room, sighing deeply. Something was wrong. He couldn’t shake the uneasy weight sitting on his chest. It had been like this since he got back—hell, since he saw him again.

Jisung.

With a low sigh, he stepped out into the hallway with plans on grabbing a glass of water. He padded quietly down the dim corridor leaving behind leebit who was sprawled out on his pillow, passed out .

The whole house was asleep, shadows cast by soft security lights dancing along the walls. But as he neared the med rooms, something made him stop.

A sound.

Shuffling. Something metallic. A faint creak of hinges.

His pulse spiked.

Minho hesitated, but the soft grunt from inside made his decision for him. He opened the door slowly.

What he saw made his heart drop.

Jisung was halfway out the window, trembling so violently he looked like he might collapse. His breath was coming in rapid, broken gasps—full-blown panic attack. Quokka was tugging at his pants leg frantically, clearly trying to stop him.

“J-Jisung?” Minho’s voice was soft, careful. He didn’t move closer. “Hey, what are you doing?”

The younger boy whipped around, wide eyes filled with sheer panic. He backed further, one leg already on the windowsill, looking like a trapped animal.

“Get away from me,” he breathed, voice cracked and strained. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”

“I’m not gonna touch you, I swear.” Minho’s heart was pounding. “Just breathe, okay? Just look at me.”

“No—no, I can’t—I can’t stay here,” Jisung was shaking his head, muttering, pacing the tiny space. “They’ll come—they’re gonna come for me—I need to leave—I have to go—”

“Shit, Sung—” Minho stepped closer slowly. “You’re safe. No one’s coming for you. I promise. You’re not back there anymore.”

Jisung shook harder, hyperventilating now, and Minho had to fight the instinct to grab him. But he knew better. He’d seen panic attacks before—Hyunjin, Jeongin… even Chan once. You don't just touch someone mid-breakdown.

Instead, he kept talking, voice low and steady. “You’re not in that place anymore. You’re here, with us. With me.”

That made Jisung freeze. His gaze snapped to Minho—sharp, filled with betrayal and pain.

“With you?” he spat, voice rising. “You left me!”

Minho’s throat went dry. “I know. I know I did. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Jisung faltered for a second—but his legs gave out a second later. Minho caught him before he could hit the floor and wrestled him gently away from the window, easing him back onto the bed even as the younger boy kicked and thrashed in full-blown panic.

“Let me go!” Jisung cried, shoving at him with weak fists. “Don’t fucking touch me—!”

“What the hell is going on?!” Felix’s voice broke through the chaos as he burst in, Chan right behind him, both in sleepwear and wide-eyed.

Minho had his arms wrapped around Jisung, holding him just tight enough to stop him from hurting himself, his face pale and distressed. “He—he was trying to leave,” he explained quickly. “I just—I found him like this—he’s having a panic attack, I swear I didn’t—”

Felix was already moving forward. “Move.” His voice was calm, controlled, but firm. Minho let go instantly, stepping back, shaking.

Chan stood frozen in the doorway, jaw clenched.

The panic slowly began to ebb from the room. Jisung’s breathing evened out little by little under Felix’s careful guidance. Tears were still streaming down his face, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused now, the fight gone from him.

Felix glanced over his shoulder at Chan, voice low. “He needs to rest. His nerves are shot to hell.”

Chan nodded grimly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Minho stayed silent, trembling slightly, staring at the boy curled on the bed like his presence had shattered the last fragile thing in Jisung’s world.

He turned without a word and left.

—————————————

The soft light of early dawn filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes across the floor. The med room was quiet now, the tension of the night before replaced by an uneasy calm.

Jisung hadn’t slept much. He lay curled under the blanket, Quokka tucked in beside him like a small, comforting anchor. His eyes were open, fixed blankly on the ceiling, and his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

Felix sat nearby, slouched in the visitor chair, chin in hand, watching him with worry shadowing his features. He hadn’t left his side since last night.

“You doing any better?” Felix asked gently, voice hoarse from sleep.

Jisung didn’t respond right away. He blinked slowly and muttered, “Not really.”

Felix offered him a faint, sad smile. “Didn’t think so. You freaked us out, y’know.”

Jisung winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Felix leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You were scared. And you panicked. It happens. Especially whatever shit you’ve been through.”

Jisung’s lip twitched upward in a bitter almost-smile.

Felix hesitated. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He exhaled burying his head under the blanket. “Maybe later. Not now.”

Before Felix could answer, the door creaked open and Seungmin stepped in, holding a tray in one hand. Puppym hovered behind him silently, observing everything like always.

“Morning,” Seungmin greeted, eyes shifting to Jisung with a neutral, unreadable expression. “Felix said you barely ate last night, so I brought food. But I can take it back if you wanna eat upstairs with the rest of us.”

Jisung tensed for a split second.

Felix caught it and quickly glanced at him. “No pressure.”

“I…” Jisung sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “I think I’ll come up. Just give me a second.”

Seungmin blinked. “You sure?”

Jisung nodded.

Seungmin didn’t comment, just set the tray down on the nearby table. “Good. Cause I’m not babysitting your plate if you flake halfway through.”

Jisung huffed out a small laugh. “You’re real sweet, Seungmin.”

Seungmin turned to leave. “I know.”

Felix stood and helped Jisung up, steadying him when his legs wobbled slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… don’t let me sit near him. I’m not ready.”

Felix nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep things light. Dumb jokes and awkward stares only.”

Quokka scrambled up to Jisung’s shoulder, nuzzling his cheek, still worried after last night.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Jisung muttered, petting his companions head before taking a deep breath as they started up the stairs.

The scent of sizzling butter and vanilla filled the air, warm and comforting.

Minho stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, brow slightly furrowed in focus. Jeongin hovered beside him, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried not to burn the eggs.

Leebit was perched on the counter, arms crossed with a disgusted look on his little bunny face as Puppym and BbokAri wrestled over a mixing spoon in a bowl of batter behind them, splattering gooey mix everywhere.

Leebit practically growled when a blob landed directly on his ear, while Puppym howled silently in laughter, snatching the bowl again with evil glee.

Guys—Guys!” Minho barked, snatching the bowl away from puppym. “For fuck’s sake, we need actual food, not a war zone.”

At the table, Jiniret was draped like a decorative shawl over Hyunjin’s back, and the latter was barely upright, head down on folded arms, hair loose and silver strands splayed like a curtain. Dwaekki occasionally poked Jiniret in the side with a spoon to see if he was still alive. (He was. Just deeply uninterested in mornings.)

Most of the others were already seated and chatting, teasing lacing the air like static. Changbin was stretching across the table to steal bacon off Chan’s plate, Dwaekki casually slapped his hand away looking up at him with an offended expression.

When Jisung stepped in with Felix and Seungmin, the chatter quieted just a beat—just a small flicker of surprise and curiosity—but it quickly resumed like nothing happened.

Felix nudged him toward an open seat and sat beside him. Quokka scrambled ahead and immediately began eyeing the pancakes like they owed him money.

When Minho finally brought over the plates—stacked high with golden pancakes, eggs, and fruit—Jisung didn’t say anything. He accepted his without looking at the person who made it, though he could feel Minho’s eyes flicking over to him every now and then.

He stared down at his food and picked at the pancakes. Quokka took full advantage, snatching bites from the corner while Jisung stayed quiet.

Across the table, Minho was trying not to stare at Jisung, but was clearly failing.

Seungmin noticed, of course, and smirked. “You gonna keep eye-fucking him or actually eat your breakfast?”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “You want to die today, Seungmin?”

“I mean, we all die eventually—”

Before he could finish, Minho summoned one of his glowing orbs and let it hover ominously over Seungmin’s head. It flickered with light, unstable and pulsing with energy. Seungmin raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t.”

Minho gave him a slow, evil grin.

The orb exploded.

Confetti rained down over Seungmin’s hair, his plate, the table, the floor. BbokAri immediately squealed in silent delight and began scooping some up into his little paws like it was gold.

Jeongin lost it, nearly choking on a strawberry. "Oh my god—!"

Seungmin deadpanned, covered in glitter and bits of streamers. “You’re dead.”

“Come at me, Shadow Boy,” Minho said smugly, summoning another orb and letting it spin lazily around his wrist.

“Don’t fucking test me,” Seungmin muttered before a shadow tendril slithered from under the table, yanking Minho’s chair an inch to the left just as he took a bite.

“You little—!”

Chan sighed from his seat. “Can we not weaponize breakfast?”

Amidst the chaos, Jisung sat quietly, forking a bite of his food into his mouth. His gaze flicked around the table. It was a mess. They were a mess.

But they were also a family. In the weirdest, most dysfunctional, supernatural-powered way.

And then his eyes landed on Minho.

Just for a second.

The glow from the orb had faded, but he remembered it. That light. That power. It had changed—more refined, more stable—but it was the same Minho he remembered. The same boy who used to throw orbs like firecrackers just to impress their friends.

Minho caught him looking.

Jisung looked away instantly, going back to chewing in silence.

Quokka snuck another bite of pancake off his plate and offered zero remorse.