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The practice room was humid, a cloying mix of drying sweat and polished wood, the mirrors were fogged at the edges from hours of choreo but still the mood in the room was relatively light and jovial. Jokes and gentle teasing flowing easily despite the tired faces and increasingly heavy limbs. It was nearing 1 a.m. and the members continued to work relentlessly. Seventeen’s choreography team had been pushing them hard for the comeback stage. Sharp angles, intricate formations, bodies moving like one machine that never faulted.
Hansol had always been a talented dancer, someone who was born with natural musicality, a sense of rhythm that others envied him for. He had stamina, precision and controlled power. He didn’t complain. Not even when the dull ache in his lower right abdomen had started two days ago. Muscle strain. It happened often enough that he recognized the signs. They’d been drilling the same lift sequence for three hours straight and Chan was heavier than he looked.
Hansol pushed on, trying to ignore the cramp that seemed to be growing stronger as he moved. He glanced to his right, catching Seungkwan's eye in the mirror reflection before Seungkwan's eyes darted away. He watched as Seungkwan turned his head to share a joke with Mingyu that Hansol couldn't hear over the backing track still playing while they caught their breath. It was warm in the room, verging on too hot but the chill in Seungkwan's expression, Hansol felt that right down to his bones.
Seungkwan had been angry at him again last night while they ate ramen in the dorm's kitchen. Bowls filled with seafood and noodles, Hansol sat on the countertop eating, legs dangling while Seungkwan sat at the table flicking through his phone. It was meant to be nice, just them, a quiet moment alone but the tension between them only seemed to add more storm clouds to Hansol's gradually darkening mood. It was a disagreement over something stupid, something about Hansol never voicing what he wanted to say and Seungkwan had gone on a short rant about how loving someone shouldn’t feel like pulling teeth and how his feelings shouldn't be treated like background noise. The argument had been small but one that was happening more often of late. The kind that left yellowing bruises no one else could see but them. Hansol had nodded, said “okay,” and swallowed the rest. Seungkwan clearly wasn't sated.
Hansol was normally good at fixing things when they clashed, reverting to baby talk that still carried his gentle understanding or tickling touches that made Seungkwan's frown begrudgingly begin to melt at the edges. But last night was different, they had both been exhausted after a long day of schedules and the niggling pain in Hansol's gut only served to sour his mood. Where he would have normally made attempts to mend things between them instead he retreated into brooding silence. They went to bed together but there was no kiss goodnight and Seungkwan had rolled away from Hansol's hand that had tentatively reached out to cross the covers to try and take its usual place, holding his waist. Next morning, too early for either of them to feel fully rested, nothing had changed, Seungkwan had clung to his discontent like a comfort blanket and instead of sharing breakfast together, he had left the dorm for an early morning run. Leaving coffee in the pot and a sense of disquiet in the air.
It was silly and childish and they'd make up eventually, Hansol knew that but with a tired mind and sore muscles, right now he wanted nothing more than to take Seungkwan in his arms and bury his face in the soft place between his neck and shoulder. Where Seungkwan's citrus sweet perfume was strongest and he could nip kisses along his collarbone. Silence between them hurt and as they started to practice the next sequence of moves the low ache in his stomach began to sharpen into something more vicious, a dull knife digging into his guts and twisting with every pivot. He missed a beat, foot dragging half a second too late. Jeonghan, ever vigilant when it came to his members' wellbeing, shot him a concerned glance but kept moving. Hansol forced a small smile, the one that usually worked. Keep going. Don’t be a weak link.
Seungkwan was across the formation, his bright voice cutting through the music like it always did—impossible to ignore. Their eyes met again for a fraction of a second during a turn and this time Hansol was the one who looked away first. Whenever they argued, looking at Seungkwan for too long hurt worse than any pulled muscle. Seungkwan’s grounding touch, delicate fingers toying with Hansol's ear or gently massaging at his nape made his world feel steady. And now? Radio silence. Forced politeness in front of the members. A kind of distance that if left could start to grow teeth.
The pain flared suddenly, poker hot and nauseating. Taken by surprise Hansol stumbled during the chorus transition, catching himself on the wall. Sweat poured down his back, but it felt cold. His vision blurred at the edges. This was starting to feel like so much more than just a pulled muscle. “Again from the top!” the choreographer called. Hansol pushed off the wall. One more run. He could do one more.
He couldn’t.
Halfway through the second eight-count, the pain detonated. It definitely wasn’t a simple cramp anymore—it was wildfire, tearing through his gut like something had exploded inside. Hansol gasped out loud, doubling over, hands clutching his side. The room spun. He tasted bile. Feet around him stopped moving, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as members froze abruptly mid action.
“Hansol-ah?” Someone—Soonyoung maybe—called out, but the voice sounded far away.
Hansol tried to straighten but his legs gave out. He hit the floor hard, knees first, then his shoulder. The impact jarred everything worse. A broken sound escaped his throat, half groan, half whimper. He folded instinctively, arms wrapping protectively around his stomach, the source of the agony, his forehead pressed to the cool wood of the floor as he squeezed his eyes tight. Around him, the sudden pause erupted into chaos. Footsteps running. Voices overlapping.
One voice cut through it all, sharp and terrified. “Vernon!” Seungkwan skidded to his knees beside him, hands hovering before gently gripping Hansol's shoulder. “Hey, hey—look at me. What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
Hansol tried to speak. All that came out was a shaky exhale. The pain was everywhere now, radiating, making it hard to breathe. He reached blindly, fingers brushing Seungkwan’s wrist. “Stomach… right side…Boo it's really bad.”
Seungkwan’s face paled. He pressed a careful hand to Hansol's abdomen, just below the ribs on the right. Hansol jerked violently at the touch, a strangled cry escaping him. Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed, assessing and then widened in horror. “Stop the music!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Someone get the manager—now! Tell them we need an ambulance. Suspected appendicitis. It might have burst.”
The choreographer froze. Members crowded closer, murmuring in shock. Seokmin had a hand over his mouth muffling a sob, Chan was clinging to his arm openly distressed. Seungkwan ignored them all, focusing only on Hansol's face now turned gray, lips pressed thin against the pain. Seungkwan had seen Hansol tired, frustrated, even quietly sad during their recent arguments. He had never seen him like this.
“I’m here,” Seungkwan whispered, voice cracking. He gently tugged off Hansol's damp beanie and brushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead, a gesture so familiar it hurt. “You’re going to be okay. Just breathe through it. I’ve got you.”
Hansol's eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain. “Boo I didn’t…I should’ve said something sooner. I'm sorry we were fighting.”
“Shut up,” Seungkwan started to cry, tears tracking down his cheeks. “Don’t you dare start with that right now.”
The next minutes blurred together. The members helped clear space, their backing dancers gathered in a corner watching everything unfold with horrified expressions. Seungcheol crouched down next to Seungkwan one hand gripping Hansol's thigh, kneading the muscle in a way that hurt a little but still brought a comforting sense of his formidable protective strength. Junhui had draped his jacket over Hansol like a blanket. Jihoon quietly coordinated with staff on the phone. But Seungkwan didn’t move from the floor. He kept one hand on Hansol, the other stroking his arm in slow, grounding circles. Every time Hansol tensed with another wave of pain and his teeth clenched tight, Seungkwan leaned closer, murmuring nonsense—old inside jokes, lyrics from songs they’d written together in secret, promises they hadn’t kept lately. "Hyung, where's the ambulance?" Seungkwan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"It's coming," Jihoon assured phone still pressed to his ear.
"I’m sorry,” Hansol managed between shallow breaths. “For making you mad, I never meant for you to feel like…like you're alone in all this.”
Seungkwan’s throat worked. The rocky patch had been his fault too—his loud frustrations and Hansol's quiet withdrawal clashing until they were both in a freefall. “We’re both idiots,” he whispered. “But you are not allowed to leave me alone. You hear me? Not now. Not ever.” Hansol tried to hold his gaze but the pain was so intense it felt like he was dying, darkness was beginning to blanket his vision. Seungkwan squeezed his hand desperately, watching in terror as Hansol's head lolled to the side and his eyes rolled back. "No, p-please Nonie..."
The ambulance arrived faster than expected but still not fast enough for the men panicking in the practice room. The paramedics, efficient and calm loaded Hansol onto a stretcher, IV already going in. Seungkwan refused to let go of his limp hand until the last possible second. “I’m riding with him,” his voice watery and clearly shaking from head to toe but brooking no argument. One look at his stricken face and the paramedics relented.
In the ambulance, sirens blaring, Seungkwan held Hansol's hand tightly as the medic worked. Hansol had come to briefly, confused hazy eyes that sought out Seungkwan the moment they cracked open. His grip was weak as the morphine started to dull the edges, but his eyes stayed stubbornly on Seungkwan’s face. “Remember Jeju?” Hansol murmured, words quiet and slurred so much that Seungkwan had to lean in close to hear. “When we snuck out at 2 a.m. and watched the sunrise…You said you had everything you've ever wanted.”
Seungkwan swallowed hard, tears slipping free again. “I remember. I did and I still do.” Hansol managed a wobbly smile at that, golden brown eyes closing as the medication took him back under.
Asan hospital's emergency department was a whirlwind—exams, bloodwork, confirmation of a ruptured appendix with early peritonitis. Emergency surgery.
Seungkwan paced the private waiting room like a caged animal while the other members filtered in and out in small groups, not wanting to overwhelm the quiet space and busy medical staff. Even with hoods up and masks on they were still recognizable but the nurses and doctors were professional and security kept any curious hospital visitors from straying too close. Seungkwan barely registered when Jeonghan wrapped him in a hug and Joshua pressed a cup of coffee into his hands. All he could think about was the moment Hansol had collapsed on the practice room floor, the utter dread that had lanced through him.
Hours blurred together but finally, the surgeon emerged. Successful operation. Hansol was stable and in recovery. There was infection but it was being managed with strong antibiotics. He’d need time to heal and they had to watch for sepsis but he’d be okay. He was going to be okay.
Seungkwan was so overcome with relief he thought he might faint and crumpled into the nearest chair, head in his hands. Losing Hansol was unimaginable but for awhile the possibility had seemed all too nightmarishly real.
When Hansol was finally moved into his own room, Seungkwan slipped in first alone. Hansol lay pale and still against white sheets, eyes closed as monitors beeped softly. Tubes and wires were everywhere. He looked vulnerable and despite the doctor's assurances the fear of losing him still thrummed through Seungkwan's veins.
Seungkwan pulled a chair close and sat, taking Hansol's hand again. The skin was cool. He pressed his lips to the knuckles, lingering. “I'm so scared,” he whispered into the quiet. “I keep thinking what if...I don't know how I could ever be without you.”
Hansol stirred after a while, eyelids fluttering, groggy. His voice was hoarse from the tube. “Kwanie?”
“I’m right here.” Seungkwan squeezed his hand. “Surgery went well. You’ve got a lot of recovering to do and you'll no doubt be super annoying about it but I’m going to be right here annoying you back.”
A weak smile ghosted across Hansol's lips. “Good. Missed you.”
The words broke something fragile in Seungkwan. He rested his forehead against their joined hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. All their tension of the past days—the missed dates, the sharp words, the fear that love wasn’t enough when personalities pulled them in opposite directions—crashed over him. “I love you,” he choked out. “God, I love you so much. We’re going to talk about everything when you’re stronger. No more shutting each other out.”
Hansol's fingers tightened faintly. “I love you too, my Boo. I was worried that you'd finally got tired of me being quiet when you need more, you deserve more...”
Seungkwan lifted his head quickly, eyes red. “I fell in love with your quiet. I just forget that sometimes. I need it, I need you, the way you balance me out. I have everything I want, remember?”
-----‐---‐------
The days that followed were long and painful. Hansol fought low-grade fever and relentless fatigue. Sophia facetimed her brother almost every day from abroad and Seungkwan listened to her sobs and scolding that softened into jokes and travel stories as the days passed and her worry slowly calmed into something more manageable, something less scared.
The members rotated visits, bringing snacks and laughter to lighten the sterile room. But the nights belonged to Seungkwan. He slept in the uncomfortable chair, even forgoing his precious night routine of face creams and satin pyjamas, he was awake at every beep or groan. He brought Hansol broth to eat when the pain meds made him nauseous. He sang softly—ballads they both loved—when the silence grew too heavy.
One afternoon, Seungkwan and Mingyu sat side by side in a quiet corner of the Skyview Lounge on the hospital's 18th floor while Chan and Minghao had taken up sentry at Hansol's bedside entertaining him with mobile games. Seungkwan looked up to see Mingyu chewing on his lip. "Go on, say it. I can tell you're holding back."
Mingyu put down his fork, "you need to stop feeling guilty. Vernon’s alive because of you."
"If we'd been talking I might have noticed sooner."
Mingyu shook his head, scowling. "You're the one who realized what was happening while we were all freaking out."
"I watch a lot of hospital dramas I guess," Seungkwan sighed as Mingyu chuckled reaching over to pinch the soft flesh of his cheek.
Later, as night became dawn and a rising sun warmed the distant horizon, Hansol watched as Seungkwan fussed with his blanket for the third time in less than an hour. “You don’t have to stay every second,” Hansol said quietly. “I know schedules are crazy.”
Seungkwan paused, then climbed carefully onto the narrow bed, curling against Hansol's uninjured side. “Schedules can wait. You almost died on a practice room floor because we were both too stubborn to check in. I’m not risking that again.”
"I'm not gonna die if you go home and get some rest, I pinky promise." Hansol turned his head, nose brushing Seungkwan’s hair. He inhaled deeply. “Is it wrong I'm kinda glad this happened?”
Seungkwan let out a watery laugh. “Yes, Hansollie. That's a terrible, terrible thing to say.”
“But it's true, just a little. I mean we are talking again.”
Seungkwan pouted and slapped at his chest gently. They lay in silence for a while, monitors humming. Seungkwan traced idle patterns on Hansol's arm and toyed with his earlobe. “I thought maybe you were pulling away because… I’m too much sometimes,” Seungkwan confessed. “Too emotional. Too demanding. Too everything.”
Hansol shook his head minutely. “Never. I pull away when I feel like I’m not enough. Like I’m disappointing you.”
“You could never disappoint me by being you.” Seungkwan lifted up slightly to meet his eyes. “We’re different. That’s why it works. We just…stopped reminding each other.”
Hansol's eyes were glossy. The pain meds had made him softer, more open. “I don’t want to lose this. Lose us.”
“You won’t.” Seungkwan peppered his face with kisses, before reaching his lips where the kiss became deeper more intense. Seungkwan let his tongue explore for a moment while Hansol sighed beneath him, he shifted closer on the bed, careful of the IV and lingering tenderness. “When you’re discharged, we’re taking a real break. Just us. No practice rooms. No pretending for cameras.”
Recovery wasn’t straight forward. There were setbacks. More pain, quiet arguments even in the hospital about Hansol pushing himself too hard because he was worried about delayed promotions and lost studio time. But every crack let the light in deeper. Seungkwan read fan theories about Hansol's 'minor practice injury' from the Pledis press release using ridiculous voices to make Hansol laugh. Hansol wrote half-formed rap lyrics on his phone about second chances and bodies that betray you when hearts are already struggling.
By the time Hansol was cleared for light activity, their rocky patch felt like a fading memory, tender, but healed stronger. They walked slowly in the hospital garden one evening, security trailing behind them at a respectful distance, Seungkwan’s arm around Hansol's waist for support.
“Next time something hurts,” Seungkwan said, voice low and stern, “you tell me immediately. Even if we’re fighting. Especially if we’re fighting.”
Hansol leaned into him. “We're going to fight again? Please save me." He smiled, wide and gummy, poking out his tongue before becoming more serious when he noticed Seungkwan's expression. "Same goes for you. Loud and quiet. We'll make it work.”
The comeback would wait. The group understood, a member's needs would always come first, it was them over everything. No matter how much Hansol was scolded for apologizing. Love, it turned out, sometimes needed emergency intervention too—someone to notice the pain, to shout loud enough to save what was breaking inside.
And Seungkwan had noticed.
He always would.