Chapter Text
Dohoon knew it was coming—the moment of truth. His throat had been on fire all day, his voice barely hanging on and despite resting it as much as possible, the pressure of performing on a live broadcast weighed on him. He had hoped, just a little, that maybe TWS wouldn’t win this time. Not because he didn’t want the trophy, but because he dreaded the encore stage.
He was already feeling like hell when stepped on stage that night, but somehow he made it through the live broadcast without a hitch. The high notes, the ad-libs—everything landed. Maybe, just maybe, he could get through the night without anyone noticing how wrecked his voice really was, though his fans had noticed how pale he looked and how he kept clearing his throat during the performance.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As the MCs announced TWS’s victory, the confetti rained down followed by a deafening cheer. Dohoon smiled, lifting the trophy with practiced ease, but inside, panic bubbled beneath the surface. When the encore stage began, he did his best, but the inevitable happened—his voice cracked, and the mic caught every second of it. He played it off with a casual shrug, laughing with his members, but the damage was done.
By the time he got off stage, he already knew what was coming. The internet exploded, especially on X.
“LMAO, what was that??”
“His voice DIED.”
“How is he even the main vocalist??”
“Embarrassing performance. Just admit you can’t sing live.”
“He should just lipsync next time.”
The hate piled up fast, spreading like wildfire on social media. Fans turned into critics, antis smelled blood, and even casual listeners joined the dragging session. And in the middle of it all was @solsticeforDH, a small Dohoon's stan acc with barely 100 followers, fighting tooth and nail in the comments section.
“YOU THINK HE WANTED HIS VOICE TO CRACK???”
“ARE YOU ALL DEAF??? HE’S SICK AND STILL SANG LIVE. THAT’S DEDICATION.”
“Y’all want perfect vocals 24/7?? He’s not a damn robot. Go touch grass.”
“If you think you can sing better, PLEASE. GO AHEAD. Drop a cover. Let’s hear it, sweetie.”
“THE MAN IS SICK, YOU HEARTLESS PIGEONS.”
Leesol, the person behind that account, was typing so fast. She jumped into every comment section, clapping back at trolls like a warrior in battle. She was a one-woman army, ready to burn the internet down for Dohoon’s honor.
What started as a few replies turned into a full-scale battle. Hate tweets? Ratioed. Mocking posts? Mass-reported. Even bigger accounts started attacking her. Notifications blew up, but Leesol wasn’t stopping there. She went to war, replying to every insult with clips of Dohoon’s past flawless vocals, fan-taken photos of his obviously swollen throat, and an essay on how vocal strain works.
At one point, her own tweet—“Y’all bullying a sick man like he ran over your pets. Get a life.”—started gaining traction. Some fans began rallying behind her, turning the tide.
Meanwhile, Dohoon, lying in bed exhaustedly looking through his phone. His group chat was blowing up.
Youngjae: bro ur fan is fighting for her life in the comments
Jihoon: LMAOOOO she calling people pigeons
Dohoon: what fan??
Youngjae: x.com/@solsticeforDH ur biggest defender rn
Curious, he clicked.
There she was, ratio-ing haters left and right. He was amused by the small, furious account that had been fighting for him.
“Who are you?”
He smirked slightly, before his voice cracked again from laughing.