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The practice room smelled like sweat and winter air, the kind that crept in through cracks despite the heaters working overtime. It was year-end season—schedules stacked on schedules—and Monsta X moved through choreography again and again, breath fogging, muscles aching, but spirits stubbornly high.
They were doing it for Monbebe. They always were.
Kihyun wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as the music cut off. He laughed lightly when Minhyuk groaned dramatically and flopped onto the floor.
“Again?” Minhyuk complained. “My legs are filing a formal protest.”
Kihyun smiled, but his hand drifted—almost unconsciously—to his stomach. His fingers pressed in, just for a second too long.
Hyungwon noticed.
He always did.
It wasn’t just once. Between takes, during explanations, even while standing still, Kihyun’s hand kept returning there. Sometimes his shoulders would tense. Sometimes his breath would hitch, so quick no one else seemed to catch it.
Except Hyungwon.
“You okay?” Shownu asked at one point, noticing Kihyun leaning against the mirror.
Kihyun straightened immediately, hand dropping. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Jooheon squinted. “You’ve been tired since yesterday, hyung.”
“I’m fine,” Kihyun insisted, waving it off with a practiced smile. “Really.”
They believed him. Or at least, they let themselves.
Hyungwon didn’t.
He watched the color drain from Kihyun’s face as practice went on. The way sweat soaked through his shirt faster than usual, not from exertion alone. The slight tremor in his hands when he reached for his water bottle. The way his jaw clenched like he was biting back something sharp and relentless.
During a break, Hyungwon moved closer, voice low. “Hey. Come sit for a bit.”
Kihyun shook his head immediately. “I’m okay, Wonnie. We still need to—”
His knees buckled.
It happened so fast it barely registered—one second Kihyun was standing, the next he was falling.
“Kihyun!”
They rushed forward all at once, voices overlapping, panic slicing through the room. Hyungwon caught him before he hit the floor, arms wrapping around him instinctively, heart slamming hard against his ribs.
“Kihyun—hey, look at me,” Hyungwon said urgently, cradling him. Kihyun’s face was pale now, lips bloodless, breath shallow.
“Fuck,” Minhyuk said, crouching beside them, fear written all over his face. “Hyung, call someone—”
“We’re going to the hospital,” Hyungwon said immediately, already lifting Kihyun into his arms. His voice didn’t shake, but his hands did.
At the word hospital, Kihyun stirred, fingers clutching desperately at Hyungwon’s shirt.
“No,” he whispered. “Hyungwon… don’t. I can’t. We have the performance tomorrow.”
Hyungwon looked down at him, chest tightening painfully.
“Kihyun—”
“I’ll be fine,” Kihyun insisted weakly, eyes glassy. “I promise. Monbebe is waiting. I don’t want to let them down.”
Hyungwon’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his hold, one arm supporting Kihyun’s back, the other under his knees, protective and unyielding.
“You’re not letting anyone down,” he said firmly. “Listen to me.”
Kihyun shook his head, tears welling now, mixing with sweat. “Please… just let me rest. Just tonight.”
Hyungwon leaned closer, forehead almost touching Kihyun’s. His voice softened, but the resolve beneath it was iron.
“I love Monbebe too,” he said quietly. “But I love you more than any stage, any performance, any schedule.”
The room fell silent.
“If something happens to you,” Hyungwon continued, swallowing hard, “there is no performance worth that. None.”
Kihyun’s grip loosened slightly, his strength fading. He looked at Hyungwon then—really looked at him—and the fight drained from his eyes.
“…I’m scared,” he admitted softly.
Hyungwon’s heart broke cleanly in two.
“I know,” he whispered. “That’s why I’m here. And I’m not leaving your side.”
“Car’s here!” someone shouted.
Hyungwon stood, holding Kihyun close as if he were something fragile and irreplaceable—because he was.
As they rushed out into the cold night, Hyungwon pressed a kiss to Kihyun’s damp hair, voice steady despite the fear roaring in his chest.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you. Just this once—no, always.”
And for the first time that day, Kihyun didn’t argue. He simply leaned into Hyungwon’s chest, trusting him completely, as the rest of the world blurred away.
---
The hospital hallway was too bright, too quiet.
Hyungwon sat hunched forward on a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his fingers ached. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he tried to still himself. The doors to the examination room had closed what felt like hours ago, swallowing Kihyun whole.
Please be okay, he prayed silently.
Please. Just this once.
He replayed every moment in his head—the pale face, the trembling hands, the way Kihyun had clutched his shirt like he was afraid Hyungwon might let go. Guilt pressed heavy on his chest. He should’ve said something earlier. He should’ve stopped practice.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Minhyuk was the first to arrive, breathless, followed quickly by Jooheon, Changkyun, and Shownu. Their faces were tight with worry, anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Where is he?” Minhyuk asked.
“Still inside,” Hyungwon replied quietly.
Jooheon dragged a hand through his hair. “Why does he always do this? Why does he always push himself like he’s replaceable?”
“He’s not,” Changkyun said flatly. “And he needs to stop acting like he is.”
No one disagreed.
They sat together in strained silence, the weight of unspoken fear hanging between them. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another.
Finally, the door opened.
Everyone stood at once.
The doctor stepped out, calm, professional. “You’re here for Kihyun?”
“Yes,” Hyungwon said immediately, voice tight. “Is he okay?”
“He collapsed due to acute gastroenteritis,” the doctor explained. “Severe abdominal pain, dehydration, exhaustion. Given his workload, his body simply couldn’t keep up.”
Hyungwon’s breath left him in a shaky rush.
“He’ll be fine,” the doctor continued, “but he needs to be hospitalized for a few days. We’ll monitor him, keep him hydrated, manage the pain. No schedules. No overexertion.”
Minhyuk scoffed softly. “Try telling him that.”
The doctor gave a knowing smile. “We will.”
When they were finally allowed into the room, the tension didn’t ease—it shifted.
Kihyun lay on the bed, IV in his arm, hair damp with sweat, eyes fluttering shut. He looked smaller somehow, swallowed by white sheets and sterile light.
The moment he noticed them, his eyes widened.
“Oh—hyung—guys—” He tried to push himself up immediately. “I’m okay, really, I—”
“Lie. Down.”
Five voices overlapped at once.
Minhyuk was already at his side, pressing him gently back to the bed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You collapsed,” Jooheon added. “Collapsed.”
Changkyun crossed his arms, clearly furious. “You don’t get bonus points for suffering in silence.”
Kihyun blinked, overwhelmed, then sighed weakly. “I just didn’t want to mess things up…”
Hyungwon hadn’t said a word yet.
He stepped forward quietly, taking the empty chair beside the bed. Without a word, he reached out and took Kihyun’s hand. It was warm. Real. Still here.
Kihyun’s voice faltered. “…Hyungwon.”
Hyungwon squeezed his hand gently, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You scared me,” he said softly. Not accusing. Just honest.
Kihyun’s eyes filled immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Hyungwon replied. “But you don’t get to apologize for being sick.”
The room went quiet.
Hyungwon leaned closer, resting his forehead lightly against Kihyun’s hand. “Your job is to rest now,” he murmured. “Our job is to wait. That’s it.”
Kihyun swallowed, eyes slipping shut again, exhaustion finally winning. His grip tightened just slightly around Hyungwon’s fingers, like he was anchoring himself there.
Minhyuk watched them, expression softening. “He’s asleep already.”
Hyungwon didn’t move. “Good.”
As the monitors hummed steadily and the night stretched on, Hyungwon stayed right there—hand in Kihyun’s, heart finally slowing—quietly keeping watch, grateful that this time, they’d made it in time.
---
Morning crept into the hospital room quietly, filtered through pale curtains and the soft hum of machines.
Hyungwon woke up with a start, his neck stiff from sleeping upright in the chair, fingers numb—but still wrapped around Kihyun’s hand. He blinked, disoriented, then immediately focused on the bed.
Kihyun was frowning.
At first, Hyungwon thought it was just a dream twitch. Then Kihyun let out a low, strained sound, his brows pulling together, his free hand drifting weakly toward his stomach.
“Kihyun?” Hyungwon whispered, panic snapping him fully awake. “Hey—hey, look at me.”
Kihyun didn’t answer. Another pained grunt slipped past his lips, breath uneven.
Hyungwon’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“I’m here,” he said quickly, voice already shaking. “I’m here—don’t worry.”
He let go of Kihyun’s hand only long enough to slam the emergency button, then immediately took it again, holding on like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“It hurts,” Kihyun whispered, barely audible. “Wonnie…”
“I know. I know,” Hyungwon murmured, thumb brushing soothing circles over his knuckles. “Help is coming. Just stay with me.”
The nurse arrived quickly, calm and efficient, asking gentle questions while preparing the medication. Hyungwon shifted back just enough to give space but never let go of Kihyun’s hand, eyes glued to his face.
Once the medication was administered, the change was gradual—but visible. Kihyun’s breathing evened out. The tension in his face slowly eased. His grip loosened, though he didn’t pull away.
Hyungwon finally exhaled, a long, shaky breath he felt like he’d been holding all night.
“Pain should ease now,” the nurse said kindly. “He’ll be sleepy.”
“Thank you,” Hyungwon said, bowing slightly without realizing it.
When the nurse left, the room settled back into quiet.
Kihyun’s eyes fluttered open just enough to find Hyungwon still there, hair messy, eyes rimmed red, worry written all over him.
“You didn’t sleep,” Kihyun murmured.
Hyungwon scoffed softly. “I slept.”
“That was not sleep,” Kihyun said weakly, squeezing his hand. “That was you… guarding me.”
Hyungwon swallowed. “I’m not apologizing for that.”
A small smile tugged at Kihyun’s lips—then faded when he noticed the time on the clock.
“…You’re late,” he said.
Hyungwon stiffened. “I’m not going.”
Kihyun frowned immediately. “You are.”
“I told them I might be late,” Hyungwon replied firmly. “I’m staying.”
Kihyun tightened his grip, despite how tired he was. “Hyungwon.”
“No.”
“Wonnie,” Kihyun insisted softly. “You’ve been here all night. You have work. Important work.”
Hyungwon looked away, jaw clenched. “I don’t care.”
“I do,” Kihyun said. “And I’ll be mad if you don’t go.”
That made Hyungwon look back at him.
“You don’t get to threaten me from a hospital bed,” he muttered.
Kihyun smiled faintly. “Watch me.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy but warm.
Finally, Hyungwon sighed, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Kihyun’s knuckles. “I’ll go,” he said reluctantly. “But only for a bit.”
Kihyun nodded, already drifting again. “I’ll be right here when you come back.”
Hyungwon stood slowly, every step reluctant. Before leaving, he tucked the blanket more securely around Kihyun, brushing damp hair from his forehead.
“I love you,” he said quietly, like a promise.
Kihyun didn’t answer—but his fingers curled tighter around Hyungwon’s sleeve, just for a second, before sleep claimed him again.
Hyungwon left the room only after he was sure Kihyun was resting, heart heavy but steadied by one simple truth:
This time, he wasn’t leaving alone.
---
The dressing room buzzed with movement—stylists calling names, staff walking in and out, music echoing faintly from the stage outside—but Hyungwon felt like he was underwater.
He sat in front of the mirror, hands resting uselessly on his knees, phone face-up beside him.
He checked it again.
No new messages.
“Kihyun… please,” he murmured under his breath, thumb hovering over the screen before forcing himself to put it down. He’d only left a few hours ago. The doctors said the pain would come in waves. He’s being monitored, Hyungwon reminded himself. He’s safe.
Still, his chest felt tight.
“Hyungwon-ah,” Minhyuk called gently from across the room. “They’re lining us up.”
Hyungwon nodded, standing automatically, body moving while his mind stayed somewhere else entirely—white sheets, IV lines, the sound of Kihyun’s breath evening out only after medication.
On stage, the lights were blinding. The cheers were deafening.
Monbebe screamed their names with the same love and warmth as always, but Hyungwon’s smile felt practiced, thin. He danced on instinct, hit his marks, sang his parts—but between every movement, his eyes drifted to the side of the stage, to the place Kihyun should’ve been.
The empty space hurt more than he expected.
After the first performance, they gathered near the microphones. This was the moment. The update.
Hyungwon’s mind blanked.
He stared out at the crowd, heart pounding, ears ringing. Words lined up in his head and dissolved just as quickly. All he could think about was the way Kihyun had gripped his sleeve that morning, telling him to go.
“I’ll be fine,” Kihyun had said.
You better be, Hyungwon had thought.
“Monbebe,” Shownu’s voice rang out, steady and calm.
Hyungwon blinked, realizing the leader had stepped forward.
“Kihyun isn’t with us today,” Shownu continued gently. “He was hospitalized last night due to acute gastroenteritis. He’s stable now and resting.”
A wave of sound swept through the venue—not screams, not disappointment.
Concern.
“I know you’re worried,” Shownu said, smiling softly. “But the doctors said he needs time. Please send him lots of love so he can recover well.”
For a second, Hyungwon couldn’t look up.
Then he heard it.
“Kihyun-ah, get well soon!”
“We’ll wait!”
“Take your time!”
The chant started small, then grew—thousands of voices filling the space with warmth and patience and care.
Hyungwon swallowed hard, eyes stinging.
He’s so loved, he thought. More than he ever realizes.
They finished the rest of the set on sheer willpower.
The final song ended. The lights dimmed. Bows were exchanged.
The moment they stepped off stage, Hyungwon was already reaching for his phone.
“I’m going to the hospital,” he said, already shrugging off his mic pack.
“Go,” Shownu replied immediately. “We’ve got things covered here.”
No one stopped him.
He didn’t even bother changing.
Still in his performance outfit, makeup intact, hair styled too perfectly for a hospital hallway, Hyungwon rushed through the night, heart pounding the entire way.
When he pushed open the door to Kihyun’s room, breathless—
Kihyun was awake.
Groggy, pale, but awake.
Hyungwon stopped short, relief crashing into him so hard his knees almost gave out.
“You’re—” his voice broke. He crossed the room in three steps, carefully taking Kihyun’s hand again, grounding himself. “You’re okay?”
Kihyun smiled weakly. “You’re still wearing stage makeup.”
Hyungwon let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead to their joined hands. “I came straight here.”
“You performed?” Kihyun asked softly.
Hyungwon nodded. “And Monbebe… they were incredible. They’re praying for you. Waiting.”
Kihyun’s eyes filled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”
“Don’t,” Hyungwon said immediately, lifting his head. “Not one more apology. Just… get better.”
Kihyun squeezed his hand. “You kept your promise.”
“I always will,” Hyungwon replied, leaning down to kiss Kihyun’s knuckles, makeup smudging, heart finally settling.
Outside, the world kept moving.
Inside that quiet hospital room, Hyungwon stayed—still dressed for the stage, still holding on—exactly where he belonged.
---
The days that followed blurred into something slow and gentle, measured not by schedules or rehearsals, but by medication times, vital checks, and the rise and fall of Kihyun’s breathing.
Hyungwon barely left the hospital.
If he did, it was only to grab a change of clothes or a coffee he forgot to drink. Most of the time, he was there—curled into the narrow chair beside the bed, jacket draped over the back, phone forgotten in his pocket.
Morning always started the same.
Kihyun would wake to the soft sound of fabric shifting, eyes opening to find Hyungwon already watching him, like he’d been afraid to blink.
“You’re staring again,” Kihyun murmured one morning, voice still hoarse.
Hyungwon didn’t deny it. “You’re awake.”
Kihyun smiled faintly. “You didn’t sleep.”
Hyungwon reached out, brushing his thumb gently over Kihyun’s wrist where the IV line had been the day before. “I did enough.”
It wasn’t true, but Kihyun let it go.
Hyungwon learned everything—how to adjust the bed so Kihyun’s stomach hurt less, which soup he could tolerate, how to tell the difference between discomfort and real pain just by the way Kihyun’s brows knit together.
When the pain came back in waves, Hyungwon was already there, hand steady, voice low and constant.
“I’ve got you,” he’d whisper. “Breathe with me. Just like this.”
And Kihyun did.
The members came and went, bringing snacks, jokes, gentle scoldings.
“You better actually rest this time,” Minhyuk warned, poking Kihyun’s cheek.
Changkyun added dryly, “If you collapse again, I’m telling Monbebe you’re grounded.”
Kihyun laughed, tired but genuine.
Through it all, Hyungwon stayed quiet, attentive, always just within reach. He helped Kihyun sit up when meals arrived, wiped his forehead when fever threatened to rise again, and never once complained when Kihyun fell asleep holding his hand like it was instinct.
One afternoon, as rain traced slow lines down the window, Kihyun watched Hyungwon reading something on his phone, eyes rimmed dark with exhaustion.
“You know,” Kihyun said softly, “you don’t have to stay every second.”
Hyungwon looked up immediately. “I want to.”
Kihyun swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s exactly why,” Hyungwon replied, voice gentle but unwavering. “I missed too much already.”
Kihyun’s chest tightened. He reached out, fingers brushing Hyungwon’s sleeve. Hyungwon took his hand without hesitation, like it had always been theirs.
By the fourth day, Kihyun looked more like himself again—color returning, eyes clearer, smiles coming easier.
When the doctor finally came in with a clipboard and a small smile, Hyungwon straightened instinctively.
“You can go home tomorrow,” the doctor said. “Strict rest. Proper meals. No rushing back.”
Kihyun exhaled in relief.
Hyungwon squeezed his hand, a smile finally breaking through the worry he’d been carrying for days.
“Home,” Kihyun echoed softly.
That night, as the room dimmed and the city lights blinked beyond the window, Hyungwon helped Kihyun settle back into bed.
“I’ll be right here,” he said, like always.
Kihyun turned his head slightly, eyes warm despite the fatigue. “I know.”
And for the first time since that terrifying night in the practice room, they both slept—hands still entwined, hearts finally calm—knowing the hardest part was behind them, and home was waiting.
---
The van ride back to the dorm was quieter than usual.
Kihyun sat buckled in, a blanket tucked around his waist despite his protests, eyes drifting between the familiar streets. Hyungwon sat close—too close to be accidental—one arm stretched behind Kihyun’s seat, hand ready to steady him if the road jolted even slightly.
When they finally arrived, the dorm door barely closed before Kihyun bowed.
Deep. Proper.
“I’m sorry,” he said clearly. “For worrying you. For pushing myself. For not saying anything sooner.”
The room went still.
Then Minhyuk scoffed, loud and offended. “Why are you apologizing?”
Jooheon crossed his arms. “Yeah, no. Absolutely not.”
Changkyun tilted his head, eyes sharp but gentle. “If anything, we should’ve noticed earlier.”
Shownu stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Kihyun’s shoulder. “You don’t owe us an apology. You owe yourself one.”
Kihyun blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“For treating yourself like you’re expendable,” Shownu said calmly. “For thinking the group falls apart without you suffering.”
Minhyuk reached out, poking Kihyun’s cheek lightly. “You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to be sick. You’re allowed to stop.”
Kihyun’s throat tightened.
“I just didn’t want to be the reason things got delayed,” he admitted quietly.
Hyungwon spoke then, voice low but steady. “You’re never the reason things fall apart.”
Kihyun looked at him.
“You’re the reason we slow down when we need to,” Hyungwon continued. “And that’s not a weakness.”
Silence settled again—this time warm.
The rest of the day unfolded gently, like everyone was collectively afraid to move too fast.
Kihyun was immediately banished to the couch.
“No cooking,” Minhyuk warned.
“No cleaning,” Jooheon added.
“No pretending you’re fine,” Changkyun finished.
Hyungwon handed him a glass of water and watched until he drank every sip.
They ate together—takeout, simple and warm. Kihyun tried to help clear the table and was immediately scolded back into his seat.
“This is ridiculous,” Kihyun muttered, cheeks warm.
“Get used to it,” Minhyuk said cheerfully. “You’re on babying probation.”
Later, Kihyun dozed off during a movie, head tipping sideways without warning.
Hyungwon noticed instantly.
He shifted closer, carefully easing Kihyun’s head onto his shoulder, adjusting the blanket so it didn’t press against his stomach. Kihyun stirred briefly, then relaxed, fingers curling into Hyungwon’s sleeve like muscle memory.
No one commented.
Changkyun just turned the volume down.
That evening, when Kihyun woke up disoriented and embarrassed, Hyungwon simply said, “You fell asleep. That’s good.”
Before bed, Kihyun lingered in the hallway, watching the others move around him like a quiet shield.
“…Thank you,” he said softly.
Minhyuk smiled. “Anytime.”
Shownu nodded. “Just promise us one thing.”
Kihyun looked up.
“Next time,” Shownu said, “you don’t carry it alone.”
Kihyun swallowed, then nodded. “I promise.”
As the lights dimmed and the dorm settled into familiar quiet, Hyungwon stayed by Kihyun’s side, hand resting lightly over his.
Not watching out of fear this time—
but out of love.