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The crowd was wild. Screaming filled the stadium as Hyujin took the centre stage for his solo performance.
You were watching from the artist’s corner, to the left of the stage, a proud smile adorning your lips and a string of praise erupting out of your mouth as Hyunjin successfully pulled off his backflip that he had worked so hard on during practice.
You stared in awe as Seungmin was lowered down on his cloud-shaped platform at the beginning of Divine.
But your smile soon disappeared when you noticed that Minho was missing from the stage, an empty spot replaced his mark beside Jeongin in the choreography you knew too well.
You scanned the crowd of backup dancers, worry filling the pit of your stomach.
‘It’s nothing, he probably just had a wardrobe malfunction that they’re fixing backstage.’ You thought, trying to reassure yourself and flicked your eyes back onto Hyunjin, who was singing his part, making his way through the centre of the backup dancers.
The boys all line up at the back of the stage, and that’s when you see him, your heart catching in your throat.
Minho was running from the backstage towards his mark, but something was clearly wrong; his head was down, and his eyebrows furrowed.
Your eyes didn’t leave him, desperately trying to understand what was bothering him.
It wasn’t until the members moved to the side of the stage to let Han perform his rap that you realised. He was limping. Badly.
The rest of the performance went on as planned, and you continued to cheer just as loudly as before, if not louder. Ensuring that the boys received all the support they deserved after such a challenging year.
Minho danced with precision, avoiding putting pressure on the foot that was causing him pain, all the while. However, you can’t help but cringe when you see just how hard he is pushing himself at the end of Ceremony.
As soon as their dance ended and the lights dimmed, you shot out of your seat, practically running towards the backstage.
The members emerged, sweating and breathless. You captured them one by one in a bone-crushing hug, whispering praise into each of their ears.
Jisung came down the stairs last with Minho supported under his arm. Once again, you rushed into his arms, telling him that his performance was amazing. Then you turned to Minho, and your composure fell slightly as you took in his appearance: he was pale and sweating, his eyebrows tightly knit, wincing every time he took a step towards you.
“What? I don’t get a hug? Did I do that badly?” He teased with a smile, stepping in front of you.
“No, sorry, Min, of course not. You really gave it your all. I’m so proud of you.” You smiled before pulling him into a tight hug, lingering slightly longer in his arms to rub your hand down his back. He rested one arm around your waist and the other pulled your head into the crook of his neck. You inhaled his smell deeply, relaxing further into the hug.
“Come on.” You pulled away slightly, turning to support him. His hand gripping onto your shoulders and yours stabilising his waist as you ushered him through the corridor and into their changing rooms.
He plopped down on the sofa with a grunt, and you immediately took his injured foot into your hands, gently undoing the laces of his shoe and propping his foot up on the table to elevate it.
The staff had come in, handing you an ice pack and a first-aid kit. You settled the ice pack on his ankle, ignoring his groans of protest at the cold weight on his foot and rummaged through the first-aid kit for a bandage to wrap around it, hoping that it would be enough to support it for the rest of the award show, until he could get proper medical intervention. You wrapped his foot in a figure eight with careful precision, securing the end of the wrap tightly and reapplying the ice-pack to his ankle before coming to his side on the sofa.
“You okay?” You asked sheepishly, as if the question itself was stupid.
His head was resting on the back of the sofa, eyes screwed shut.
“I’m pissed off. We practised so hard for this show, and I ruined it by tripping over my own feet running to change my costume.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, not caring if he further smeared his makeup.
“Min.” You started, gently pulling his hands away from his face and squeezing them gently. “You didn’t ruin anything. I doubt the crowd even noticed that something was wrong. They probably will once the fancams come out, but you did such a good job at hiding your pain.” You tried to reassure him. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes swimming with an emotion that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.
He squeezed your hands back with a sigh and rested his head on your shoulder, eyes closing once again.
You stayed like that, hand in hand, grounding him for a few minutes before the makeup team came piling in. You pulled away from Minho, letting the staff wipe away his sweat and fix his makeup.
“And the winner for Album of the Year goes to… Stray Kids!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd. The members leapt up from their seats, their faces lighting up with huge smiles. You, too, jumped up from your seat beside Chan, shouting praise and hugging them tightly before they made their way up to the stage, Chan supporting Minho all the way.
You couldn’t help the tears of joy as they rolled down your face, listening to their acceptance speech, unable to put into words how proud you were of them. They cried, the fans cried, you cried.
“And,” Chan continued, his voice wavering with emotion, “We’d also like to say a special thank you to a person very dear to us all. A friend who has been with us this entire time, supporting us through all the hardships we have faced this year. She has always stuck by our side. Thank you so much, Y/N.” He finished, pointing towards you as the members all bowed their heads.
You gasped, your hand coming up to your mouth as you let out a whimper, tears welling up in your eyes once more, at their gratitude.
The boys hugged one more time on stage, bowing deeply and then made their way back to their seats, back to you.
Felix was the first one to hug you, eyes red and puffy, tears still streaming down his face.
“You did it, Lix, you did it!” You cried into his shoulder, rubbing his back in comfort.
You pulled back from the hug to gently wipe at the tears on his cheeks, a warm smile gracing your lips.
As the members filtered back to their seats, you hugged each of them, once again. Drying their eyes and smoothing down their hair.
When Chan came towards you, you practically leapt into his arms. His hair was a mess from where he kept carding his hands through it.
“I’m so proud of you, Channie, so fucking proud.” You whispered, voice muffled by his jacket. He held you tightly, sobbing gently into your hair for a few moments before pulling back and wiping his tears.
“Thank you, Y/N, for being here.” He offered a crooked smile.
Minho stopped in front of you. He wasn’t crying, but you could tell by the way his eyes were shimmering and the tightness of his jaw that he was waiting to be alone to let out all of his emotions.
“You did it, Min.” You whispered.
He smiled at you, gently, full of warmth, and raised his hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears before engulfing you in another hug. He was shaking, and you could feel a sudden wetness in the crook of your neck as he let a few tears escape from his eyes with a shuddering sigh.
The next day, Minho had gone to the hospital for an X-Ray and came back with a large black boot on his foot, and to say that he was grumpy about it was the understatement of the year.
He pouted as he sat on the sofa in his hotel room, watching videos of the performance on his phone.
“Stop that, there’s no point in judging yourself after the fact, Min. You did great, and your foot isn’t broken, so stop sulking.” You laughed, throwing a pillow in his direction to get his attention.
He huffed, tossing his phone to the side.
“I wanted to perform at the AAA awards, and now I’m going to have to spend the entire time sitting on a damn chair; it sucks.” He grumbled, eyes closing and head resting back on the sofa.
“I know.” You offered with a kind smile.
“And this fucking boot is so irritating!” He suddenly exclaimed, rubbing his face in his hands.
You crouched in front of him, once again removing his hands from his face and holding them tightly.
“You’ll only have to wear it for two weeks, Min. After that, you can ease back into practise; you’ll be able to perform at the Golden Disc Awards.” You offered, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.
He looked down at you, expression unreadable, but eyes soft. One of his hands left yours to gently smooth down your cheek, resting there for a few moments.
You couldn’t help but notice his ears turn a light shade of red, and you knew by the way your face was heating up that you matched him.
“I have an idea!” You shout, suddenly jumping up, startling him. “I’ll be back in a bit.” You called out as you grabbed your coat and shoes and ran out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Minho behind to stare at the door where you had just left.
You hopped gleefully back to the hotel, small bag in hand, proud of your idea to cheer Minho up. Pressing the button on the lift to his floor, you hummed quietly to yourself.
Minho was lying on the sofa, foot propped up on the armrest and head resting on his arm. He looked up at you as you came back in, a goofy smile plastered on your face.
“What’s that?” He asked, looking at the bag in your hand.
You didn’t answer him as you sat down on the sofa beside his foot.
Rummaging through the bag, you pulled something out. Minho craned his head to see what you were doing. His eyes went wide as he saw you putting cat stickers on the hard plastic of his boot, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hummed a song to yourself quietly.
He couldn’t help the large grin forming on his face, his heart racing in his chest as he watched you decorate his boot, tongue poked out in concentration.
“Much better!” You said, putting the bag back down. “Now, when you look at your boot, it’ll make you smile instead of making you grumpy!” You teased.
But your smile dropped instantly as you saw his face; his eyes were shining again, tears forming in his waterline, but despite that, he wore the gentlest smile on his lips.
He got up slowly and moved towards you, eyes never leaving yours. His hands came up and cupped your cheeks gently, thumb rubbing up and down.
“Thank you, Y/N.” He whispered, and before you had the time to respond, he lowered his face and captured your lips in a soft kiss.
He pulled away slightly, meeting your eyes as a tear fell down his cheek. You quickly brought your own hand up, mimicking his, and wiped the stray tear with your thumb.
“You’re welcome, Min.” You whispered back, before slowly closing the gap between your lips once again.
Minho was wheeled through the airport, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he looked down in embarrassment. He noticed two cat stickers poking out of his joggers that were concealing his boot. He felt heat rush to his ears and a warm smile tugged on his lips. He raised his head to look at you. You were on his right, never leaving his side, anchoring him, even without touch.
You were already looking at him fondly as your hand reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently.
‘I love you.’ He thought to himself as he was rolled through the airport and onto the plane to their next destination.
Fin.