Archive of Our Own

SKZ TALKER ep. 03

8:50

The Idol Star Athletics Championships are in 2 days.

“Are you running the 60m? You must be nervous,” Changbin says.

“I am running the 60m,” says Hyunjin.

“But Bang Chan has a strong heart,” Changbin responds.

“No, I’m nervous too,” says Chan.

“The first one eliminated is Bang Chan! The second is Hyunjin!” Changbin shouts out.

“Hold hands and come out together,” Chan suggests.

“If you fall, act like you died! Shall we act like this?” says Changbin.

They all laugh and chuckle at the suggestion. The idea of Hyunjin pretending to die from a small trip cracks them all up because they know Hyunjin is a drama llama.

“I’m nervous,” Hyunjin says quickly. 

“Don’t get up right away,” says Lee Know.

They continue to eat their fast-food burgers.

“I used to fall down a lot when I was a middle school boy,” said Hyunjin.

“I’m serious, if you trip, act like you’re dead,” Han suggests.

“Stay still when you trip. Han and I are going to carry you if you fall,” Lee Know chimes in.

“Stop joking, I really trip easily,” Hyunjin says with a chuckle, but it comes off somewhat sad.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Two days later

The stadium was louder than Hyunjin expected.

Even with the roar of fans muffled by the echoing indoor arena, the sound pressed against his ribs and vibrated through the soles of his spikes. Banners waved, lightsticks pulsed, and names were chanted in overlapping waves. The Idol Star Athletics Championships were finally here—the day of—and suddenly, the joking from two days ago felt very far away.

Hyunjin stood near the warm-up lane, hands resting on his knees as he stretched his calves, breathing carefully. In. Out. His heart felt like it was tapping against his sternum, fast but steady—too aware of itself.

He can’t help but think back to the memory of the joke of him pretending to die…honestly, it sounds tempting, but Hyunjin was thinking he wouldn’t want to risk himself looking bad in front of the fans and make them feel concerned. He would feel guilty if they got upset at him for pretending to get hurt. 

Now, standing at the starting blocks, the memory felt like a bad omen.

Hyunjin rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms. His lane was clean, the track smooth and matte beneath the arena lights. He crouched, fingers brushing the surface, breathing slowing as his body switched into muscle memory. Sixty meters. That was all. Explode forward; don’t think, don’t hesitate.

“On your marks.”

Hyunjin lowered himself, spikes digging in.

“Set.”

His muscles coiled tight.

The gun cracked.

Hyunjin launched.

The world narrowed to rhythm and force—legs driving, arms pumping, breath sharp and fast. The air rushed past his ears as his stride lengthened, every step landing exactly where it should. He didn’t hear the crowd anymore. He didn’t hear anything except the beat of his own pulse.

THUMP..THUMP..THUMP

Halfway. Then forty meters. Then—

The finish line.

Hyunjin crossed it first.

A fraction of a second before anyone else.

Relief surged through him so hard it almost made him laugh as he began to decelerate, chest heaving, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins.

That was when it happened.

Something skidded onto the track.

It wasn’t intentional—later they’d say it was a piece of equipment knocked loose from the sideline, kicked accidentally by another athlete. But in that moment, Hyunjin only registered a dark blur under his foot.

His spike caught.

His momentum had nowhere to go.

Hyunjin’s body pitched forward violently. His foot twisted, his ankle folding at a dangerous angle as his knee slammed down. His shoulder followed, then his head snapped forward, striking the track with a hollow, sickening sound.

The impact stole his breath. Pain flashed white-hot through his leg, his shoulder, his skull—then everything went quiet. Hyunjin didn’t move. From the stands, the laughter died instantly.

“Hyunjin—?”

Chan was already running before the officials waved them back. Changbin’s face drained of color. Lee Know froze, his heart slamming against his ribs as he watched Hyunjin lie completely still, one arm bent unnaturally beneath him.

“This isn’t—he’s not acting,” Han whispered, fear clawing into his voice.

Medical staff rushed in, kneeling beside Hyunjin. One hand immediately stabilized his head, fingers firm at his temples to keep him from moving. Another checked his airway.

“He’s unconscious,” a medic said quickly. “Breathing’s shallow but present.”

Chan dropped to his knees just outside the circle, fists clenched so tightly his hands shook.

“Hyunjin,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Hey—please wake up.”

A pulse was taken at Hyunjin’s neck—rapid, bounding. His skin was pale, sweat cooling quickly against the track. When the medic shone a light into his eyes, there was no response.

“Possible concussion,” another medic said. “Maybe cervical involvement. Left ankle injury—possible fracture or severe sprain.”

They immobilized him carefully, fitting a cervical collar around his neck before rolling him onto a backboard. Hyunjin’s body remained limp, lashes resting against his cheeks, chest rising unevenly.

“This was supposed to be a joke,” Changbin muttered, horrified. “We told him to pretend. It looked like an accident, but now I’m wishing this is all a joke.”

Lee Know swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his stomach. Stay still when you trip.

Hyunjin hadn’t moved at all.

As they wheeled him off the track, oxygen mask secured over his face, the cheers that had followed his win were replaced by silence—heavy, suffocating. Some of the other runners who passed the finish line looked down and bowed out of respect. One of them is Wooyoung from ATEEZ, he looked more scared than the rest as he watched Hyunjin trip on the equipment before his eyes. He looks over to the person who dropped it from the sideline and goes over to talk to them to work out the issue. 

A few people from the stands shouted, “FIGHTING!” A few others are shouting, “Get better soon!” or “You got this!” from around the stadium.

That made some of the boys look back and bow in appreciation before they looked back at Hyunjin on the gurney being wheeled off.

For the first time that day, Hyunjin had crossed the finish line.

And he didn’t remember it at all.

The announcement echoed through the arena less than an hour later.

Due to an on-site medical emergency, the Idol Star Athletics Championships were canceled for the remainder of the day, with events to resume the following week.

The crowd, once electric, filed out in subdued silence. Cameras lowered. Banners drooped. The track where Hyunjin had fallen was already being cleared, wiped clean as if nothing had happened—but the weight of it lingered in the air. 

For Stray Kids, time fractured.

Hyunjin lay motionless beneath harsh white lights as the hospital corridor rushed past him. The stretcher wheels rattled softly and rhythmically while monitors beeped at steady intervals.

He hadn’t woken once.

A trauma team worked quickly and efficiently. Imaging came first—X-rays, CT scans, MRI sequences ordered back-to-back. The results painted a clear but serious picture.

The patient sustained a displaced fracture of the left ankle involving both the distal fibula and the tibial plafond, indicating a significant injury to the weight-bearing structures of the joint. In addition, the left shoulder sustained an anterior dislocation with ligament strain, suggesting joint instability and soft-tissue damage. The head injury consists of a severe concussion with no evidence of intracranial bleeding, though the presence of significant cerebral shock points to substantial neurological trauma requiring close monitoring.

The orthopedic surgeon studied the ankle films, jaw tight.

“He’ll need ORIF,” she said. “Tonight.”

The boys stood in silence and were directed to Hyunjin’s VIP room, which he would be going to after the surgery. None of them had any words and communicated with the managers about Hyunjin’s condition and surgery.

OR

Hyunjin was transferred onto the operating table with careful precision. His arm was gently reduced earlier under sedation—the shoulder eased back into place with a controlled maneuver, the joint stabilized and wrapped before surgery began.

Now fully anesthetized, Hyunjin lay utterly still.

The fractured ankle was prepped and draped. An incision was made along the lateral aspect of the joint, exposing the damaged bone. The fracture had been displaced by the force of his fall, with clean breaks, but remained unstable.

Metallic instruments clicked softly as the surgeon worked.

The bone fragments were realigned with meticulous care, restoring proper anatomical position. A titanium plate was contoured and fixed along the fibula, and screws were driven in with controlled torque. Additional fixation stabilized the joint, ensuring the ankle would bear weight again—eventually.

Once alignment was confirmed under fluoroscopy, the wound was irrigated, closed layer by layer, and dressed. His leg was immobilized, elevated slightly, even as the anesthesia continued to hum through his system. His heart monitor beeps and echoes through the OR, his body intubated to keep him under and out. 

Throughout the procedure, Hyunjin’s vitals remained stable.

But his brain—his consciousness—remained unreachable.

______________________________________________________________

The boys sat in Hyunjin’s private hospital room, untouched drinks sweating on the table.

No one spoke much.

Chan sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the door. Changbin paced in short loops, stopping every few steps as if afraid he’d miss something. Han hugged his arms to his chest, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. Lee Know stared at the floor, replaying the fall in his head again and again.

Felix broke the silence quietly. “They said he won.”

No one smiled.

The Statement

As Hyunjin was moved into recovery, JYP Entertainment released an official statement.

“Hello, this is JYP Entertainment.

During the recording of today’s Idol Star Athletics Championships, Stray Kids member Hyunjin sustained an injury following a fall after his race.

After being immediately transported to the hospital, Hyunjin underwent thorough examinations and was diagnosed with a fractured ankle, a shoulder dislocation, and a severe concussion. He has successfully completed surgery for his ankle and is currently recovering under close medical supervision.

Based on medical advice, Hyunjin will suspend all activities and focus entirely on rest and recovery.

We apologize for any concern this has caused fans and will prioritize the artist’s health above all else.

Thank you for your understanding.

JYP”

Phones buzzed simultaneously in the waiting room.

No one looked at theirs.

Recovery Room

The nurses rolled Hyunjin into the room. All the boys stood up and watched as they set Hyunjin up; they removed the intubation tube and threw the oxygen cannula around his head.

Hyunjin lay surrounded by quiet machines, his body heavy and unmoving beneath clean white sheets. A splint cradled his ankle, and his arm was supported in a sling. The oxygen cannula rested lightly beneath his nose.

His brain was still healing—neurons stunned, overloaded, forcing him into darkness to recover.

The doctor stepped out to speak to the members.

“Surgery went well,” she said. “The fixation is solid. But the concussion is severe. It may take him time to wake. When he does, he may be confused, emotional and sensitive to light and sound.”

Chan nodded, throat tight, “But… he will wake up?”

“Yes,” she said gently. “We just need patience.”

They were good at waiting.

They just hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

Hyunjin slept.

Not the shallow, restless kind of sleep that came with dreams—but the heavy, enforced stillness of a body recovering from too much all at once. A full day passed with no sign of him waking, his consciousness held under by trauma and medication, his brain insisting on rest.

Morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, painting soft stripes across the white sheets.

A nurse entered quietly, clipboard tucked under her arm.

“Vitals check,” she murmured, more out of habit than necessity.

The heart monitor showed a steady rhythm. Oxygen saturation held strong. Blood pressure stable. She checked his pupils carefully, lifting one eyelid just enough to shine a light—still sluggish, but improving compared to the night before.

“He’s doing okay,” she told the room gently.

All eight members were there.

Chan sat closest to the bed, one hand resting lightly on the rail, careful not to touch Hyunjin himself. Changbin sat on the couch, shoulders slumped forward, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. Han lay half-curled in a chair, jacket pulled around him like armor. Lee Know leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Hyunjin’s chest rising and falling.

Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin whispered near the window, voices low, as if the wrong volume might wake him—or worse, hurt him.

“I didn’t know sleeping could be so scary,” Felix whispered.

Seungmin nodded. “It feels like he’s… paused.”

“That’s a little bit dramatic, Seungmin. He’s resting. He’ll be okay, right?” Jeongin butts in, not liking the negativity despite the situation Hyunjin is in. 

It could’ve been worse. 

No one left. Even when nurses gently suggested breaks, meals, and rest, no one moved far. Someone was always there, watching the monitors, counting breaths when the room grew too quiet.

Every few hours, a nurse returned.

They would check his vitals, administer medication through his IV, and check his vision.
Another would occasionally reposition Hyunjin to prevent stiffness and pressure in his body.

His ankle remained elevated, wrapped, and protected. His arm was supported in a sling. Ice packs were changed, and everything about his care was calm and controlled.

It stood in cruel contrast to the chaos of the day before.

By afternoon, the door opened again.

This time, it was his parents.

Hyunjin’s mother froze just inside the room, one hand flying to her mouth. His father stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning every machine, every bandage, until they landed on their son’s face.

“He looks… so small,” she whispered.

Chan stood immediately, bowing deeply. “Thank you for coming.”

They thanked him back automatically, distracted, already drawn to the bed. Hyunjin’s mother reached out, hesitating before gently brushing his hair back from his forehead. Her fingers trembled when she touched his skin.

“He’s warm,” she said softly. “That’s good.”

They stayed on either side of the bed, speaking to him quietly—telling him they were there, that he was safe, that he’d done well. Even asleep, Hyunjin’s brow twitched faintly at the sound of familiar voices, as if something deep inside recognized them.

The doctor later reassured them again: sleep is expected. Healing is happening.

Still, waiting never got easier.

As evening approached, visitors came quietly.

A manager arrived first, arms full of flowers. Then another idol—head bowed respectfully—left a handwritten get-well card at the foot of the bed. Word had spread quickly through the industry. One by one, representatives from different groups stopped by, staying only a short while, not wanting to disturb him. Wooyoung and some other ATEEZ members showed up and said they had spoken with the person who caused the accident. Their company, which is sponsoring the championship, will be paying for Hyunjin’s hospital bills. That made Chan feel better, but it doesn’t help that Hyunjin is still not awake. Nonetheless, they all wait and watch and talk to those who show up in support.

They all left encouragement, support, and food for the parents and the boys. Cards stacked neatly on the side table, along with bouquets lined up beneath the window.
Notes written in careful ink: Get well soon. Come back healthy. We’re cheering for you.

Hyunjin slept through all of it.

He slept through the soft murmur of voices and the shuffle of feet. Through the weight of concern pressing in from every direction. As night fell again, the lights dimmed.

The members settled in once more, some dozing in chairs, others staring into the dark. His parents stayed late, leaving only when nurses insisted he needed uninterrupted rest.

Chan watched Hyunjin for a long time.

“You don’t have to wake up yet,” he whispered. “Just… rest.”

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell steadily, his body cocooned in care, surrounded by people who loved him.

He slept on, healing, piece by piece, in the quiet.

____________________________________________________________

Consciousness returned to Hyunjin in fragments.

At first, there was only light—too bright, too sharp, stabbing through his closed eyelids like needles. His brow tightened instinctively, a faint crease forming as his brain struggled to understand why the dark had been stolen from him.

Beep.
Beep.
Beep.

Each electronic chirp struck directly behind his eyes, reverberating through his skull as if the noise lived inside his head rather than beside the bed. His breathing hitched once, shallow and uncertain.

Hyunjin tried to swallow.

His mouth felt dry. His tongue felt too heavy. His throat worked slowly, awkwardly, like it had forgotten how to move.

What…?

The thought didn’t finish. It slipped away before it could form words.

His eyelids fluttered open a fraction.

The ceiling lights exploded into white, his vision washing out completely. A sharp groan tore from his chest before he could stop it, pain blooming instantly behind his eyes and down the base of his skull.

“—he’s waking up.”

The voice sounded far away, muffled, like it was coming through water.

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut again, chest rising faster now. Something was wrong—very wrong. His head felt impossibly heavy, as if it were sinking into the pillow. He tried to turn it, only to feel resistance and an immediate spike of pain that made him gasp.

Don’t move, a distant instinct warned.

The beeping continued. The sharp, loud sound from the machine was making him feel things in his stomach, suddenly twisting.

The nausea rose fast and mercilessly, rolling up from his gut into his chest. Hyunjin swallowed again, panic flashing through the haze as his body reacted before his mind could catch up. His breathing turned uneven, shallow bursts that made the room spin.

“No—no,” he tried to say, but it came out slurred, barely sounding at all.

A nurse was suddenly there, hands firm and practiced.

“Okay, okay—Hyunjin, don’t fight it,” she said calmly, already reaching for the basin. “You’re safe. You’ve had a concussion. Just let it happen.”

His body curled slightly despite the pain, a soft, broken sound leaving him as the nausea finally won. The movement sent fire through his ankle and shoulder, but it barely registered compared to the pounding in his head.

He felt the building stomach acid burn his throat as it made its way up past his lips.

When it was over, Hyunjin sagged back against the pillows, trembling, eyes squeezed shut again. Cold sweat clung to his skin. The room felt like it was tilting, floating, never quite settling.

“Deep breaths,” the nurse coached gently. “That’s it. In through your nose.”

The basin was taken away. A cool cloth brushed across his forehead. Hyunjin’s lashes fluttered again, slower this time. The light still hurt. The noise still hurt. Everything hurt—but now there was something else creeping in beneath the pain.

Fear.

He tried to speak again, words tangled and slow. “C-can’t… think.”

“I know,” the nurse said softly. “That’s normal right now.”

His vision blurred, shapes bleeding into one another. He could make out figures—shadows at the edges of the room—but none of them stayed clear long enough to be recognized. His heart rate ticked up on the monitor, responding to his confusion.

“Easy,” another voice said—gentler, familiar somehow. “Hyunjin, you’re in the hospital. You had an accident. You’re okay.”

The words landed, then slid away, leaving only the ache behind.

Hyunjin’s eyes welled unexpectedly, tears leaking out despite his stillness. He didn’t know why he was crying—only that everything felt wrong, too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. His body had woken up. His mind was still struggling to catch up.

A whimper of pain escapes him as he becomes disoriented. The world is spinning relentlessly around him like he’s on a merry-go-round. He feels a coldness take over him, a darkness ready to swallow him whole. Hyunjin passes out from the sedative the nurse administers into his IV line. His tense body becomes completely limp, Hyunjin’s one uninjured arm giving out after he got sick on the side of the bed. Chan and Felix carefully reposition him into a more comfortable position and clean his face, removing some specks of puke around his chin.

The following morning arrives quietly inside Hyunjin’s hospital room, though he could not tell whether minutes or hours had passed.

The curtains had been drawn nearly shut to protect his head from harsh light, leaving the room washed in dim gray-blue. Machines hummed softly around him. The heart monitor still sounded too loud, each rhythmic beep scraping against the inside of his skull, but it no longer felt like a knife splitting him open. Now it was simply unbearable in a duller, steadier way.

Pain lived everywhere.

Not sharp enough to scream over anymore, but impossible to escape. His ankle throbbed beneath layers of bandaging and immobilization, deep and pulsing like a second heartbeat. His shoulder ached every time he breathed too deeply, held captive in the sling across his chest. Worst of all was his head—a dense, swollen pressure behind his eyes that made thinking feel physically difficult.

Hyunjin floated near the surface of sleep, exhausted but unable to rest comfortably. Every time he drifted too deeply, he startled awake again in confusion, disoriented by the unfamiliar room and the terrible heaviness inside his body.

When he opened his eyes this time, someone was sitting beside him.

A dark hoodie and a curled posture with the person's head resting awkwardly against folded arms near the mattress. Hyunjin stared at the figure for several long seconds, trying to force his thoughts together. He knew that person. Didn’t he? The answer should have come instantly. Instead, it arrived slowly and painfully, like dragging something through mud.

“…Han?”

Han jerked awake so fast he nearly knocked over his water bottle. “Hyunjin?”

His voice was too loud. Hyunjin winced immediately, eyes squeezing shut as pain flared violently through his head. Han’s face dropped in horror.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m sorry,” Han whispered quickly, shrinking down in his chair. “I forgot. I forgot.”

The room spun gently when Hyunjin opened his eyes again. Han looked exhausted. His hair was messy, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. The sight confused Hyunjin for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Why did he look like that?

“Why…” Hyunjin swallowed painfully. “Why are you crying?”

Han froze. Only then did he realize tears had already gathered in his eyes.

“I’m not,” he lied immediately. Hyunjin stared at him, unable to tell whether that answer made sense. The door opened softly before either of them spoke again. Chan stepped in first, carrying coffee trays alongside Changbin, who balanced a bag full of breakfast containers. Felix followed quietly behind them while Seungmin and I.N trailed after, speaking in hushed voices. Lee Know entered last.

The moment all seven of them filled the room, Hyunjin’s breathing changed. There are too many people. 

His eyes darted between them, struggling desperately to keep up as recognition came in broken fragments instead of certainty.

Chan. Felix. Seungmin.

He knew them. He didn’t know them. Panic stirred quietly beneath his ribs.

“Hey,” Chan said gently, instantly noticing the change in Hyunjin’s expression. He set the drinks down without another sound and approached slowly, like nearing a frightened animal. “Good morning.”

Hyunjin stared at him for a long moment.

Then his brows pulled together weakly.

“You…” His voice cracked. “You work here?”

The silence that followed hurt more than the question itself. Changbin looked down immediately. Felix covered his mouth. Han turned away completely.

Only Chan remained steady, though Hyunjin noticed something fracture briefly in his eyes before he smiled softly.

“No,” Chan answered carefully. “I’m Chan.”

Hyunjin blinked slowly.

Chan. The name echoed somewhere deep inside him.

Leader. Safe. Home.

But the connections refused to settle properly. Every thought slipped before he could fully hold it.

“You hit your head really hard,” Chan explained quietly. “It’s making things fuzzy right now. That’s okay.”

Hyunjin looked frightened. It was genuine, exhausted confusion that scared him when he had trouble connecting names to people in his life.

Lee Know had seen Hyunjin anxious before performances. He’d seen him emotional, stubborn, overwhelmed. But this was different. This fear came from somewhere smaller and more helpless. Hyunjin looked like someone trapped inside a body he no longer trusted.

Lee Know suddenly understood why the nurses kept speaking so softly around him.

Hyunjin’s eyes moved again, searching faces one by one.

When they landed on Changbin, he hesitated.

“…Bin?”

Changbin nearly broke on the spot.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, voice wobbling despite himself. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Relief flickered weakly across Hyunjin’s face, fleeting but real.

Then the headache returned.

His expression twisted instantly. He brought his good hand shakily toward his forehead before stopping halfway, disoriented by the pull in his shoulder.

“It hurts,” he whispered.

Chan pressed the call button immediately.

Within moments, the nurse returned, checking his vitals while speaking calmly. Hyunjin tried to focus on her instructions, but his concentration was exhausted frighteningly fast.

“What’s your full name?”

“Hwang… Hyunjin.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Long silence.

His breathing picked up slightly.

“…Dorm?”

“No,” the nurse corrected gently. “You’re in the hospital.”

Hospital.

The word triggered something ugly and blurry in the back of his mind. Bright lights. Running. Falling—

Hyunjin flinched violently. His heart monitor sped up.

“Easy,” the nurse soothed. “Don’t force yourself to remember.”

But now fear was fully awake inside him.

He looked toward Chan again, eyes glassy. “Something happened.”

“You got hurt during the race,” Felix answered softly from near the window.

Hyunjin’s lips parted faintly.

“…Did I lose?”

The room went still. Changbin made a broken sound somewhere behind him.

“No,” Seungmin said firmly, stepping closer. “You won.”

Hyunjin stared at him blankly.

Won.

Then why did everything hurt so much? The effort of thinking became too much again. His eyelids drooped heavily, exhaustion dragging him back under before he could ask more questions.

For a while, the room settled into quiet. The members ate slowly, barely tasting anything. Nurses came and went. Hyunjin slept through most of it, occasionally stirring with small sounds of discomfort whenever the pain medication wore off.

By afternoon, he woke again—but wrong.

Chan noticed it first. Hyunjin’s breathing had changed. A little bit shorter and uneven. His face looked paler than before, a sheen of sweat gathering across his skin despite the cool room.

“Hyunjin?” Chan leaned forward immediately.

Hyunjin opened his eyes weakly, but they were unfocused, dazed. He swallowed hard. The movement looked painful. Nausea climbed fast across his expression.

Lee Know stood at once. “Get the nurse.”

Before anyone could move, Hyunjin suddenly curled inward with a quiet, distressed sound.

“My head—”

The sentence cut off sharply.

The monitor beside him began climbing rapidly as his blood pressure spiked. Beeping accelerated into sharp, urgent bursts that seemed to stab directly into Hyunjin’s skull. He squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to tremble.

“It hurts,” he gasped again, more frightened this time. “It really hurts—”

The nurse rushed back in, followed immediately by another. Questions were asked rapidly.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

“Hyunjin, stay awake.”

“When did the pain worsen?”

He couldn’t answer properly.

The pressure inside his head felt unbearable now, swelling behind his eyes until nausea surged violently up his throat again. Tears slipped from beneath his lashes out of sheer overload.

Changbin backed into the wall, looking sick himself. Felix’s hands shook visibly. I.N hovered near the doorway, terrified and helpless all at once. Then, Hyunjin suddenly made a soft choking sound.

The nurse reacted instantly, turning him carefully just as he began to get sick again. Chan looked away only long enough to hide the panic on his face because this time was worse.

Hyunjin was crying while it happened.

Just small, overwhelmed tears sliding silently down his face while his injured body shook from the strain. The humiliation of needing help mixed horribly with the confusion already clouding his mind. When it ended, he looked exhausted beyond words.

A doctor entered moments later, expression serious as she reviewed the monitors.

“We’re ordering another CT scan,” she said carefully. “This may still be post-concussive escalation, but we need to rule out delayed swelling or bleeding.”

The room went cold. Hyunjin barely seemed to understand the words, but he understood the fear on everyone else’s faces. And somehow, that frightened him more than the pain itself.

The decision to move Hyunjin came quickly. Too quickly for him to fully understand.

One moment he was lying beneath dim hospital lights with Chan’s hand resting lightly near his wrist, and the next, nurses were unlocking the wheels on his bed while the doctor explained something about precautionary imaging and neurological monitoring.

None of the words settled properly in his head when they all mentioned bleeding and swelling around him. All he understood was that something was still wrong.

“Hyunjin,” the nurse said gently, leaning into his limited field of vision so he wouldn’t have to search for her face. “We’re taking you downstairs for another scan, okay?”

Okay.

He wanted to answer normally, but his thoughts moved too slowly. By the time he managed a faint nod, the bed had already begun moving.

The motion hit immediately.

His stomach lurched.

The ceiling lights slid overhead one after another in glaring white streaks, each fluorescent panel burning through his eyes even though the hallway lights had been dimmed as much as possible. Hyunjin flinched weakly, trying to turn his face away.

Bad idea.

Pain slammed through his skull so hard his breath caught.

“Easy,” Chan murmured beside him instantly.

Hyunjin hadn’t even realized Chan was walking next to the bed until then. The relief that flooded him at the sound of his voice was immediate and frighteningly intense.

Chan stayed close, matching the stretcher’s pace perfectly. “You’re okay. Just keep looking at me.”

Hyunjin tried.

But everything around him kept pulling at his senses. Wheels rattling against the floor. Elevator chimes. Shoes squeaking somewhere down the corridor. Every sound arrived too loudly, layering painfully over one another until his brain could no longer sort them properly.

The concussion had stripped away his ability to filter anything out. By the time they reached radiology, his breathing had already changed. Chan noticed before anyone else.

“Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin stared upward blankly, his chest beginning to rise too fast. His fingers twitched weakly against the blanket. Everything was too much. The doors opened. A colder room waited beyond them. Fear tightened violently in his chest.

“We’re just going to transfer you over,” one of the technicians explained softly.

Transfer? Before Hyunjin could process the word, hands moved toward him. The panic detonated instantly.

“No—”

His voice cracked apart.

One nurse reached carefully for his shoulder to stabilize him during the transfer, and Hyunjin recoiled so suddenly that pain shot through his injured arm. A broken cry escaped him before he could stop it.

“Hyunjin, don’t move,” the nurse urged quickly.

But he couldn’t. The room tilted sharply. His pulse spiked across the monitor attached to him, beeping faster and faster as his breathing deteriorated into shallow gasps.

Chan stepped closer immediately. “Hey, hey—look at me.”

Hyunjin tried to focus on him, but the lights were blurring now. The machine beside him looked enormous and suffocating. His head pounded harder with every heartbeat, pressure building until it felt like his skull might split open.

“I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can’t—I can’t—”

The words dissolved into panic. His chest seized. The air stopped feeling real. Suddenly, he was breathing too fast to breathe at all. The monitor alarm changed pitch.

“Heart rate one-forty.”

“He’s panicking.”

“Slow his breathing down.”

Multiple voices collided at once, overlapping into painful noise. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut hard, but that only made the dizziness worse. Tears slipped out immediately. Everything hurt. His ankle throbbed violently from the involuntary tension running through his body. His shoulder burned. His head—

His head felt catastrophic.

“Chan—”

It came out small and desperate. Chan was beside him instantly, gripping his hand carefully while avoiding the IV lines.

“I’m here.”

Hyunjin’s fingers locked onto his with surprising strength.

“I can’t breathe,” he choked out.

“Yes, you can,” Chan answered immediately, voice steady despite the terror clawing through him. “Your lungs are working. This is panic. You’re okay.”

But Hyunjin didn’t feel okay.

His vision had started narrowing at the edges, black creeping inward every time he tried to inhale. The concussion magnified everything—the fear, the disorientation, the sensory overload—until his brain interpreted it as danger it could not escape.

One of the nurses lowered her voice dramatically, signaling the others to quiet down.

“Everybody, stop talking at once.”

The room softened slightly. Chan leaned closer, speaking low and slow near Hyunjin’s ear.

“Listen to me, okay? Don’t think about the scan. Just breathe with me.”

Hyunjin shook uncontrollably.

“I can’t.”

“You can. In slowly.”

Chan demonstrated deliberately.

Hyunjin tried to follow.

He coughed halfway through and failed. Hyunjin started crying harder from frustration.

“I can’t do it,” he whispered brokenly.

The sound nearly destroyed Changbin, who had arrived outside radiology moments earlier with the others after being allowed downstairs. Through the partially open door, he could hear everything.

Hyunjin sounded terrified. Changbin pressed a fist against his mouth hard enough to hurt. This was because of a race. A stupid sixty-meter race.

Inside the room, Lee Know stood rigid near the wall, hands trembling invisibly at his sides. He had never seen Hyunjin like this before—not stripped down this completely. The concussion had peeled away every layer of composure until only raw fear remained.

And Hyunjin kept looking around the room like he expected something terrible to happen to him.

“I need him calmer before we scan,” the technician murmured quietly.

“He has a severe concussion,” the doctor answered. “Sensory overload is amplifying the panic response.”

Another sharp alarm sounded as Hyunjin’s breathing destabilized again. Chan tightened his hold gently.

“Hyunjin. Look at me.”

Slowly—so slowly—Hyunjin forced his eyes open. He looked lost. Chan swallowed hard against the ache in his throat.

“You trust me, right?”

A faint nod.

“Then stay with me.” Chan kept his voice soft and unwavering. “Nothing bad is happening right now. Your brain is scared because it’s hurt. That’s all. You’re safe.”

Hyunjin’s breathing stuttered unevenly. Chan continued anyway.

“In for four.”

A shaky inhale.

“Good. Hold it.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightened painfully around his hand.

“Now out slowly.”

The exhale broke halfway through, but it was better than before. It took nearly ten minutes. Ten full minutes before the alarms stopped screaming. Ten minutes before, Hyunjin’s breathing had slowed enough for the trembling to lessen. Ten minutes before, he sagged weakly back against the pillow, utterly exhausted by the effort of surviving his own panic. Tears still clung to his lashes.

His face looked pale and young beneath the fluorescent lights. Chan brushed damp hair carefully away from his forehead, trying not to show how badly his own hands were shaking now.

“You did really well,” he whispered.

Hyunjin looked at him for a long moment before speaking.

“…Don’t leave.”

Chan’s chest tightened painfully.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time since waking up, Hyunjin finally loosened his grip—just slightly—as they prepared to try again.

The second attempt at the scan went far more smoothly than the first.

By the time the transport team was ready again, Hyunjin had exhausted himself emotionally. The panic attack had left him trembling, his muscles sore from tension, and his head pounding with an intensity that made it difficult to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. The staff dimmed every light they could, spoke one person at a time, and allowed Chan to remain beside the stretcher until the very last moment before the scan began.

This time, Hyunjin closed his eyes instead of trying to watch the room around him.

They all watch from the side as Hyunjin is transferred to the other bed and is about to undergo his CT scan. His eyes stay closed, but they can all tell he is still awake through the tiny tremors in his body. They have to grab a device to keep his head still before they do the scan. Hyunjin concentrates on Chan's voice as long as he can hear it 

"You've already done the hardest part," Chan said quietly. "All you have to do now is lie still. We'll be waiting for you when you're finished."

Hyunjin managed a weak nod before the scanner slowly carried him into position.

The examination itself lasted only a few minutes.

For everyone outside the room, it felt much longer.

Chan stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest while Changbin paced in slow circles along the hallway. Felix sat beside Hyunjin's parents, quietly twisting the paper sleeve around a bottle of water until it unraveled completely. Seungmin watched the closed doors without saying a word. Han leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, while I.N rested against the wall, occasionally glancing toward Lee Know.

Lee Know had hardly moved since they arrived.

He kept replaying the race over and over in his mind, wondering whether there had been something he could have done differently, even though logic insisted there had not.

When the neurologist finally stepped into the waiting area, every conversation stopped immediately.

The physician greeted them with a calm smile that eased some of the tension before a single word was spoken.

"The scan answered our questions," she said. "The good news is that we did not find any bleeding."

A collective breath escaped the room.

Chan closed his eyes briefly.

Hyunjin's mother pressed both hands together in front of her face, relief washing across features that had remained drawn with worry for days.

The neurologist continued before anyone could celebrate too soon.

"We did identify mild swelling in the brain, which explains why his symptoms became noticeably worse this afternoon."

The relief settled into attentive silence.

"Mild?" Chan asked carefully.

The doctor nodded.

"After a significant concussion, the brain sometimes develops a small amount of swelling over the first day or two. The impact causes the brain tissue to become irritated and inflamed as part of the healing process. In Hyunjin's case, the swelling is mild enough that surgery is not necessary."

Several shoulders visibly relaxed.

"What happens now?" Hyunjin's father asked.

"We monitor him closely."

She explained the plan in a steady, conversational tone rather than overwhelming them with technical language.

"For the next couple of days, we'll keep his head elevated whenever he's resting. We'll perform frequent neurological examinations, monitor his vital signs, and repeat imaging if anything changes. We've also started medication to help reduce the swelling and to manage his headaches."

Changbin hesitated before speaking.

"So... he'll be okay?"

The neurologist smiled reassuringly.

"Everything we're seeing tells us that we caught this early. That's exactly why we repeated the scan when his symptoms changed. Right now, this is something we expect to improve with careful monitoring and rest."

The tension that had been winding tighter inside the room finally loosened. It wasn't gone, but it had become manageable.

Hyunjin woke again later that evening.

His headache remained, though it had softened from an overwhelming pressure into something heavy and persistent.

The lights stayed low.

Even the monitor volume had been adjusted so its rhythmic beeping no longer echoed painfully through the room.

He blinked slowly, noticing the doctor seated beside his bed with a small flashlight tucked into her coat pocket.

"There you are," she said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

Hyunjin considered the question.

"My head feels... full."

The doctor nodded.

"That's actually a very common way people describe it."

He frowned.

"It still hurts."

"I know."

She waited until he looked at her before continuing.

"I'd like to explain what's happening inside your head, if that's okay."

Hyunjin gave a small nod.

"When you fell, your brain moved very suddenly inside your skull. Even though we can't always see the injury itself on a scan, those rapid movements temporarily changed how the brain cells communicate with one another. That's why you're having headaches, why the lights feel painfully bright, why noises seem louder than they should, and why concentrating is so exhausting."

Hyunjin listened carefully, his expression becoming more thoughtful than frightened.

"So... I'm not going crazy?"

The doctor smiled.

"Not at all."

A quiet laugh escaped Chan from his chair nearby, more from relief than amusement.

The doctor continued.

"The swelling we found is mild. Think of it as your brain reacting to an injury the same way an ankle becomes swollen after a bad sprain. The difference is that your brain has much less room to swell, so even a small amount can make you feel miserable."

Hyunjin's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"So that's why everything feels... louder?"

"Exactly."

"And why I cried..."

"That's also normal."

He looked surprised.

"The parts of your brain that help regulate emotions are recovering too. Right now, your feelings may become stronger than you're used to. You might cry more easily, become frustrated quickly, or feel anxious without understanding why."

Hyunjin looked down at the blanket covering him.

"I've been scared."

"I know," she replied gently.

"There wasn't even anything scary happening."

"There didn't have to be."

She rested her hands loosely in her lap.

"Your brain has been working incredibly hard to recover from a serious injury. Sometimes that makes ordinary experiences feel overwhelming. It doesn't mean you're weak, and it doesn't mean you're healing incorrectly."

He remained quiet for a long moment before asking the question that had been lingering since he first woke.

"I'm going to get better... right?"

"You are. You are going to get better."

She answered without hesitation.

"We found the swelling early. Your neurological examinations have remained reassuring. Recovery will take patience, and some days will feel better than others, but everything about your progress points in the right direction."

For the first time since waking in the hospital, Hyunjin's shoulders relaxed. The days that followed settled into a gentle rhythm.

Hospital mornings always began with nurses checking his neurological status before breakfast. They asked him his name, where he was, and what day it was. During the first few examinations, he struggled to remember the date, occasionally mixing up the sequence of events surrounding the race. By the middle of the week, his answers became quicker and more confident.

The headaches still lingered, but they no longer overwhelmed every waking moment. His parents visited every day.

His mother often arrived early enough to help him eat breakfast, patiently cutting his food into smaller pieces whenever dizziness made it difficult to coordinate both hands. Some mornings, he became frustrated with himself, embarrassed that simple tasks required so much effort.

One morning, after dropping a spoon for the third time, he quietly apologized.

"I'm making everyone take care of me."

His mother looked genuinely puzzled.

"When you were little," she said softly, "you had terrible fevers almost every winter. Your father and I stayed awake all night beside your bed because that was what parents do."

She reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, just as she had done when he was a child.

"You've spent years taking care of the people you love. Let us return a little of that."

Hyunjin lowered his eyes, unable to stop the tears that gathered there. This time, he understood why they came. He wasn't overwhelmed by fear. He simply felt safe.

His father approached recovery differently. Rather than focusing on the injuries, he talked about ordinary things. The weather outside. A new restaurant had opened near our home.

Stories from Hyunjin's childhood that made the members laugh.

One afternoon, he described a school sports day when a much younger Hyunjin had insisted on finishing a race despite losing one of his shoes halfway down the field.

"You still crossed the finish line," his father said with a smile.

Changbin laughed.

"So nothing's changed."

Hyunjin smiled sheepishly.

"I guess not."

It was the first genuine smile the members had seen since the accident. Felix nearly cried from relief. The seven members quietly adjusted their own routines around the hospital.

Chan coordinated schedules with the managers so someone could visit every day without overwhelming Hyunjin. Lee Know became the unofficial guardian of the room's quiet atmosphere, gently reminding everyone to lower their voices whenever conversations became animated.

Changbin discovered that reading aloud from books was easier for Hyunjin to tolerate than watching television. Han brought sketchbooks, sometimes drawing ridiculous cartoons simply to earn a tired smile. Felix decorated the windowsill with small folded paper stars after learning that bright flowers occasionally triggered Hyunjin's headaches.

Seungmin helped keep track of medications and doctor's instructions with characteristic precision, asking thoughtful questions about rehabilitation so Hyunjin wouldn't have to remember every detail himself.

I.N simply stayed close. Sometimes neither of them spoke for twenty minutes at a time. Neither of them minded.

By the end of the week, Hyunjin managed a slow walk down the rehabilitation hallway with a physical therapist.

His left ankle remained protected in a boot, and he relied heavily on crutches to keep weight off the healing fracture. Every few steps required concentration, but he noticed something encouraging.

The hallway lights no longer made him squint.

The conversations at the nurses' station no longer sounded painfully loud.

When they returned to his room, Chan happened to be waiting.

"You look different," Chan observed.

Hyunjin blinked.

"Different?"

"You've got your eyes open."

Hyunjin laughed quietly.

"So that's progress?"

"I'd say it's excellent progress."

Hyunjin looked around the room that had felt so frightening only days earlier.

It hadn't changed. The same walls. The same machines. The same window overlooking the city. The difference was inside him. His head still ached by evening. He still tires quickly. His memory occasionally skipped over details before catching up again.

Recovery had not erased the injury. It had simply begun to replace fear with confidence, one careful day at a time.

The discharge papers took longer than anyone expected.

Hyunjin sat quietly in the wheelchair beside the hospital bed, one hand resting on the armrest while a nurse reviewed instructions with Chan for what felt like the fourth time that morning. The orthopedic follow-up was already scheduled. The concussion clinic would see him again the following week. His ankle would remain in the walking boot without weight-bearing for now, and everyone received the same reminder more than once.

"Recovery from a severe concussion isn't measured in straight lines," the neurologist said as she closed the folder. "He'll probably have very good days followed by frustrating ones. If he becomes more confused, develops worsening headaches that don't improve with medication, repeated vomiting, weakness, or anything else that concerns you, call immediately."

Chan nodded so earnestly that the doctor smiled.

"I think he'll be well looked after."

Every member of Stray Kids looked up at the exact same time. The doctor laughed.

"I stand corrected. He'll be extremely well looked after."

The drive home was unusually quiet.

Hyunjin sat in the second row of the van with his injured leg carefully elevated across a stack of folded blankets that Felix had somehow produced before leaving the hospital. 

"Where did you even get these?" Seungmin asked.

"I asked the nurses."

"You asked for blankets?"

"I asked politely."

"...That explains it."

Hyunjin smiled to himself.

It was small, but it was real.

The city drifted past the window in soft afternoon light. For the first time in over a week, he wasn't looking at hospital ceilings or listening to monitors. The familiar streets felt strangely comforting, even though they made him realize just how much he had missed ordinary life.

When the van finally stopped outside the dorm, Hyunjin instinctively reached for the door handle. He barely touched it.

"I've got it."

Chan.

Before Hyunjin could protest, Changbin was already outside, opening the door while Lee Know unfolded the crutches.

"I can stand," Hyunjin said.

"We know," Chan replied.

"You don't have to..."

"We know."

"I really can..."

"We definitely know."

Hyunjin looked from one face to another. Seven expressions stared back with almost suspicious levels of attentiveness.

He sighed.

"...I'm outnumbered."

"You've been outnumbered for years," Han said.

Walking from the van to the apartment somehow turned into a coordinated operation.

Lee Know walked beside Hyunjin to make sure the crutches stayed steady.

Chan carried his backpack.

Felix insisted on holding every medication bag despite there being only two.

Seungmin unlocked every door before anyone reached it.

I.N walked a step behind with one hand hovering uncertainly near Hyunjin's back, never quite touching him but ready if he lost his balance.

Changbin carried absolutely nothing.

Instead, he watched Hyunjin with the focused intensity of someone expecting him to suddenly collapse into dust.

By the time they reached the living room, Hyunjin was already laughing.

"What?"

Changbin frowned.

"You almost tripped."

"I stepped over the doormat."

"You almost stepped over the doormat."

"I did step over it."

"It looked dangerous."

"It was a doormat."

"I don't trust it."

Even Lee Know couldn't stop himself from snorting.

Someone had clearly been busy while Hyunjin was in the hospital.

The couch had disappeared beneath layers of blankets and pillows.

The coffee table had been moved farther away to make room for crutches.

A small basket sat nearby, filled with bottled water, crackers, medication, lip balm, tissues, phone chargers, and three different television remotes.

Hyunjin blinked.

"...What's this?"

"Our rehabilitation headquarters," Felix answered proudly.

"Our what?"

"Our rehabilitation headquarters."

Han looked around thoughtfully.

"I think it needs another blanket."

"It has six blankets," Seungmin pointed out.

"It could emotionally benefit from seven."

Hyunjin laughed so suddenly that he had to stop halfway through because his head protested. The room fell silent immediately.

"You okay?"

"Does your head hurt?"

"Too loud?"

"Water?"

"Pillow?"

"Medicine?"

Hyunjin stared at all of them. Then he chuckled slightly to himself.

"I'm okay."

Chan visibly relaxed.

"Good."

The first afternoon settled into something gentle. No one expected a conversation. No one turned on the television louder than a whisper.

Felix brewed tea that Hyunjin only drank half of before getting sleepy again. Han worked on writing a song absentmindedly in the corner while I.N worked on a puzzle at the coffee table. Chan answered work messages, carefully keeping the brightness on his phone turned down almost all the way.

It felt...

Normal. Different from before, but still home.

Hyunjin hadn't realized how deeply he'd missed the comfortable silence that only existed between people who knew each other well.

Changbin, however, had embraced his temporary role as caregiver with astonishing enthusiasm. Around dinner, he appeared carrying a tray that looked capable of feeding an entire football team.

There was soup.

Rice.

Steamed vegetables.

Fruit.

Yogurt.

Toast.

Two different kinds of juice.

Three snacks.

A protein shake.

Hyunjin stared.

"...Bin."

"You need nutrition."

"I do."

"So eat."

"I physically can't eat all of that."

"You haven't even tried."

"I don't think anyone could."

Changbin looked offended.

"You underestimate yourself."

"I absolutely do not."

Chan leaned over to inspect the tray.

"...Why is there enough food for five people?"

"Recovery burns energy."

"He's recovering from surgery," Seungmin said.

"Exactly."

"Not preparing for hibernation."

Changbin remained unconvinced. Hyunjin obediently took a few spoonfuls of soup before setting it down.

"I'm full."

"You've eaten six bites."

"I'm full."

"You're just saying the same thing and hoping your cuteness will help you get away with it."

"Yep."

"No."

"Bin."

"No."

Hyunjin looked helplessly toward Chan. Chan tried very hard to stay neutral.

Failed.

"...Maybe let him digest first."

Changbin sighed with theatrical disappointment.

"Fine."

He picked up the tray.

"I'll be back in an hour."

Hyunjin watched him leave.

"...He's going to feed me until I explode."

Han looked up from his sketchbook.

"Probably."

"I think he thinks I'm a baby bird."

"A slightly injured baby bird."

"A very elegant baby bird," Felix added.

Hyunjin covered his face with one hand, his face turning too red from embarrassment. The days developed their own rhythm. Every morning, someone asked about his headache before asking whether he wanted breakfast. Someone always walked beside him whenever he practiced with the crutches. Someone always reminded him to take breaks before he became overtired. Whenever he stood up, seven pairs of eyes somehow noticed simultaneously.

"I'm just getting water," Hyunjin said one afternoon.

"I'll get it."

"I have legs."

"You have one very good leg."

"The other one still exists."

"It has privileges revoked."

"I'm capable."

"We know."

"So why won't anybody let me do anything?"

Lee Know looked genuinely thoughtful.

"Because you'll do too much."

Hyunjin opened his mouth.

"...Fair."

One evening, several days after coming home, the apartment grew quiet as the sun disappeared behind the buildings outside. Hyunjin sat near the window with his boot resting on a cushion, watching the sky slowly turn orange and violet.

Chan joined him without saying anything. For a while, they simply sat together.

"I've been thinking," Hyunjin said eventually.

Chan waited.

"I don't remember crossing the finish line."

"I know."

"I remember being nervous."

Chan nodded.

"I remember everyone joking about me tripping."

A faint smile crossed both their faces.

"And then..."

He searched for the missing pieces.

"They're still blurry."

"They might stay blurry."

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, contemplating how he felt about the words leaving Chan’s mouth. 

"I think that's okay."

Chan looked at him.

A week earlier, those words would have been impossible. It’s pretty scary not being able to recall some memories; Hyunjin wouldn’t blame himself for being upset about the whole incident. He heard that the company responsible for the accident was paying all the hospital bills. He felt relieved and couldn’t help thinking about his time in the hospital.

"I keep remembering how scared I was," Hyunjin admitted. "It felt like nothing made sense anymore."

Chan's expression softened.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about that."

"I'm not."

He surprised himself with how true the answer felt.

"I think... I was only scared because I didn't know what was happening."

He looked around the apartment. Han was asleep on the opposite couch with a sketchbook still balanced on his chest. Felix is quietly folding laundry. Seungmin was rereading the discharge instructions, even though everyone already knew them. I.N and Lee Know were arguing over whose turn it was to refill the humidifier. Then, there is Changbin, emerging from the kitchen carrying another bowl of fruit with unmistakable determination. A tiny, knowing smirk on his face like he knows exactly what kind of conversation he is walking into.

Some of the other boys stop what they are doing and watch the famous husband-and-wife show.

"...He's doing it again," Hyunjin whispered.

Chan followed his gaze.

"Oh no."

Changbin walked directly toward them.

"You've gone almost ninety minutes without eating."

Hyunjin groaned dramatically.

"Chan."

"I see him."

"Protect me."

"I'm afraid he's beyond reason."

Changbin stopped in front of the couch and held out the bowl.

"Just a few slices."

Hyunjin looked at the fruit, then at Changbin. Then at the six other members who were trying, and failing, not to laugh.

He accepted one slice of apple.

"There."

Changbin smiled in complete satisfaction, as though an international crisis had been resolved. Hyunjin shook his head.

"You've all been treating me like I'm made of glass."

"No," Lee Know called from across the room.

"Like what, then?"

There was a brief pause. Felix answered first.

"Like someone we really wanted back."

The apartment became still. No one had meant for the room to grow quiet. The words had simply arrived before anyone could polish them into something smaller.

Hyunjin looked down at the apple in his hand.

He thought about the hospital lights. The fear that had made every sound feel unbearable. His parents are sitting beside his bed. Chan was counting his breaths during the panic attack. The way every member had quietly rearranged their own life so he would never have to recover alone.

His eyes stung. This time, he smiled before the tears had a chance to fall.

"I think," he said softly, "I'm really lucky."

Changbin gently nudged the bowl a little closer.

"You are."

Hyunjin laughed through the emotion, picked up another slice of apple, and ate it. No one rushed him.

No one asked how he was feeling. For the first time since the race, there was nothing left to fix.

There was only home, the quiet comfort of being surrounded by people who loved him enough to hover, enough to worry, and enough to let the silence mean exactly what it needed to.

Recovery would continue for weeks. His ankle would heal slowly. His concussion would demand patience. There would be follow-up appointments, rehabilitation, and days that tested his resolve. But those challenges no longer felt frightening. Whenever he looked around the room, he saw seven reasons to believe that he would never have to face any of them by himself.