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The lights dimmed as the final beat of the song echoed through the practice room. Hyunjin stood in the center, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his vision blurring with exhaustion and something darker—self-doubt.
The words of the latest article replayed in his head like a haunting refrain: “Hyunjin’s energy falls flat compared to his peers. While the group excels, he lags behind, a shadow in their brilliance.”
A shadow. That’s all he could see now. No matter how hard he pushed, his reflection didn’t seem to move in sync with the others. His limbs felt heavy, weighed down by the invisible chains of his own expectations. Each movement felt more like a desperate attempt to escape that label, to break free from the suffocating feeling that he was being left behind.
“Hyunjin, let’s take five,” Bang Chan called out, noticing the tremble in his stance.
“I’m fine,” Hyunjin snapped, a little too quickly, his voice sharper than intended.
Bang Chan hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes, but he nodded and turned to adjust the music track. The others shuffled to the side, grabbing water bottles and towels, talking in low, tired murmurs. Felix’s eyes lingered on Hyunjin a moment longer than the rest, his brows furrowed with worry, but he didn’t say anything.
Hyunjin stayed put, his eyes locked on his reflection as if daring it to show him something different. He tightened his jaw, his knuckles going white as his fists clenched by his sides. The ache in his muscles screamed at him to stop, but he refused to listen. The fear of inadequacy was louder than the pain.
The track restarted—the sharp bass and snare beat crashing into his ears like waves against a crumbling cliff. He forced his body to move, each step and turn a mechanical, desperate attempt to match the choreography that was etched into his muscles. His limbs obeyed, but the movements lacked the spark, the flow that had once come so easily.
Why can’t I get it right? The question clawed at his mind, relentless and cruel.
He pushed harder, his spins a little faster, his steps a little sharper. He ignored the sting in his thighs, and the ache in his shoulders. His lungs burned, each breath shallow and jagged. The edges of his vision began to blur, black spots dancing in his periphery. His heart pounded, a frantic rhythm that matched the panic building in his chest.
Suddenly, the floor seemed to shift beneath him. His foot caught on nothing, and gravity pulled him down. The moment stretched, the air thick with dread. There was no time to brace himself. A sharp crack reverberated through his skull as his head struck the unforgiving wood floor. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through his body, blinding and immediate.
“Hyunjin!”
The world blurred, shadows and shapes swimming together. His head throbbed, and a hot, pulsing pain bloomed at his temple. A wave of nausea rolled through him, and he tried to lift himself, but his arms buckled beneath him. Panic fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird.
Hands were on him suddenly, gentle but firm. The familiar scent of Bang Chan’s cologne and the warmth of his touch grounded him slightly.
“Stay still,” Bang Chan’s voice was tight with fear. “Don’t move.”
Hyunjin blinked, tears of pain and frustration pooling in his eyes. The lights above him were too bright, searing through his skull like a knife. He winced and turned his head slightly, only for the pain to spike again, sharp and merciless.
“What happened?” Felix’s voice was soft, trembling with worry. Hyunjin didn’t have the strength to answer, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“He hit his head pretty hard,” Chan said, his voice low and steady, but his eyes betrayed him. He was scared. They were all scared.
A cold dampness touched Hyunjin’s forehead—a towel, carefully applied by Seungmin. The sensation sent a shiver through his body, the chill biting through the heat of his skin. He felt so small, lying there on the floor, surrounded by people who cared about him more than he cared about himself right now.
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” Bang Chan’s tone left no room for argument.
Hyunjin’s lips parted, a protest on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to slow them down. But the world was spinning too fast, and the words dissolved before he could speak them. The last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him was Chan’s voice, low and close to his ear.
“It’s going to be okay, Hyunjin. We’ve got you.”
.
.
.
As Hyunjin’s body went limp in his arms, a cold dread settled in Chan’s chest. His breath caught, his heart hammering in his ears. For a second—just a second—he felt paralyzed, his mind refusing to accept what was happening. But survival instincts kicked in, and he pushed through the fear, forcing himself to stay calm.
“Call an ambulance,” he ordered, his voice tight and controlled, though his hands trembled as they cradled Hyunjin’s head. “Now!”
Felix scrambled for his phone, fingers shaking as he punched in the numbers. Seungmin knelt beside them, pressing the towel gently against Hyunjin’s temple to slow the bleeding. Jeongin hovered nearby, his face pale, eyes wide with terror.
Chan’s mind raced with every possible scenario, each one worse than the last. What if Hyunjin had a concussion? What if the injury was more serious? The thought of losing Hyunjin—even for a moment—made his stomach twist painfully.
“Stay with me, Hyunjin,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s cheek. His skin felt too cold, too fragile. “Please, just stay with me.”
The distant sound of sirens finally broke through the fog of panic. Relief and fear collided inside him, but he didn’t let go. He held onto Hyunjin as if his grip alone could keep him tethered to consciousness.
When the paramedics arrived, Chan stepped back, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He felt helpless watching them work, but he refused to look away. He owed Hyunjin that much—to be there, to make sure he wasn’t alone.
As they loaded Hyunjin onto the stretcher, Chan took a shaky breath and followed, determination hardening his expression. Whatever happened next, he would be there. Because Hyunjin wasn’t just a member of their group. He was family. And family didn’t let each other fall.
.
.
.
The hospital room was quiet save for the faint hum of machines and the soft rustling of blankets. Hyunjin’s face was pale against the stark white pillow, his brow slightly furrowed even in sleep. The gauze wrapped around his temple was stark, a cruel reminder of his vulnerability.
Chan sat by his side, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together as if he was praying or deep in thought. Dark circles ringed his eyes, a testament to the sleepless hours spent pacing the hallways or staring blankly at his phone. He’d contacted their managers, rescheduled the next few days of activities, and sent updates to the rest of the members who were waiting anxiously.
But nothing settled the storm in his chest.
A soft knock at the door broke his trance. Felix slipped in, his usual brightness dimmed to a subdued glow. His eyes flickered to Hyunjin, lingering on the bandage, before he turned his attention to Chan.
“How is he?” Felix’s voice was a whisper, as if he were afraid of shattering the fragile peace in the room.
“Still out,” Chan replied, voice gravelly. He exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest expanding. “Doctors said he’s stable, but…”
Felix stepped closer, his fingers trembling before he clenched them into fists. “But what?”
Chan’s jaw tightened. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face with his hands. “But what if this is too much for him? We push him so hard. I push him so hard.” His voice cracked, the admission raw and painful.
Felix’s eyes softened, and he crouched next to Chan’s chair. “It’s not your fault, hyung.”
“Isn’t it?” Chan’s laugh was hollow. “I should have noticed. I should have seen how exhausted he was. How close he was to breaking.”
Felix shook his head. “Hyunjin doesn’t let us see. You know how he is. He bottles it all up, flashes that stupid smile, and pretends he’s fine until he’s not.”
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken fears and shared guilt. Chan’s fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his skin. He’d run through every scenario in his head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he should have intervened. But it was like chasing smoke.
“He’s strong, Chan,” Felix murmured, his gaze fixed on Hyunjin’s face. “But even the strongest people need help.”
A shaky breath escaped Chan’s lips. He nodded, the weight on his shoulders shifting ever so slightly. “You’re right. We’ll help him through this. All of us.”
Felix reached out, squeezing Chan’s hand. It was a small gesture, but it grounded them both. They sat in silence, the quiet hum of the hospital room weaving a fragile thread of hope between them.
Hyunjin woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of a heart monitor. The world felt hazy, like he was underwater. He blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the dim light. Pain throbbed at his temple, dull and insistent.
“Hyunjin?”
He turned his head slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injury. Chan’s worried face swam into focus, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
“Hyung?” Hyunjin’s voice was a rasp, his throat dry. His memories were scattered, flashes of pain, of falling, of Chan’s panicked voice calling his name.
Chan was up in an instant, gently holding a cup of water to Hyunjin’s lips. “Slowly,” he murmured.
The cool liquid soothed his throat, and Hyunjin sighed as he sank back against the pillows. “What… happened?”
Chan’s expression tightened. “You collapsed during rehearsal. You hit your head pretty hard.” He swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face. “You’ve been out for almost a day.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widened. “A day?”
“Yeah.” Chan’s voice was low. “You scared the shit out of us.”
Hyunjin looked away, shame coiling in his stomach. The memories were clearer now—the exhaustion, the dizziness, the refusal to stop even when his body was screaming at him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Chan’s eyes snapped to him, anger and frustration flaring. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize.” He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard, Hyunjin. Too hard.”
Hyunjin’s eyes stung. “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Chan’s face crumpled, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting against Hyunjin’s hand. “You could never disappoint me. Ever. I’m just scared of losing you.”
The vulnerability in Chan’s voice broke something open in Hyunjin’s chest. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he turned his hand over, gripping Chan’s tightly.
“I’m scared too,” he admitted. “But I’ll try to do better. I promise.”
Chan nodded, his eyes glistening. “We’ll do better together, okay?”
Hyunjin squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
At that moment, the fragile threads of trust and hope held them steady, binding them closer. They weren’t alone, and that was enough to keep them going.