Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

A Rhythm Interrupted (Minghao)

Minghao loved the early mornings. The world was quiet, and the studio echoed with only his breaths and the rhythm of his movements. There was something almost sacred about these hours, where it was just him, the mirrored walls, and the beat of his music. He relished the calm focus it gave him, a chance to push his body and artistry to their limits without interruption.

This morning was no different. He had been working on a particularly challenging b-boying sequence—a seamless transition from a windmill into a freeze. It had been weeks of small improvements, but today, it felt like everything was aligning. His spins were tighter, his balance steadier. He was on the verge of nailing it.

As the final spin came around, Minghao pushed himself harder, determined to perfect the move. His momentum was perfect, the transition smooth, but as he shifted into the freeze, a sharp, searing pain shot through his right hip. The shock of it broke his focus, and he collapsed awkwardly onto the floor, a gasp escaping his lips.

For a moment, he lay still, clutching his side, his chest heaving. The pain radiated through his hip, but Minghao's first instinct was denial. It's just a cramp. A small strain. He pressed a hand to the floor, forcing himself to sit up. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, though he couldn't tell if it was from exertion or the pain. Slowly, he got to his feet, testing his weight on the injured side.

A sharp twinge made him wince, but he convinced himself it would pass. You've worked through worse. He stretched cautiously, ignoring the protests of his muscles. By the time the pain dulled to an ache, he told himself he was fine. He couldn't afford to let anything slow him down—not when the Performance Team's rehearsal for "Spell" was only hours away.

The team arrived at the studio mid-morning, buzzing with energy. Hoshi led the charge, as always, his enthusiasm infectious. Dino trailed close behind, chattering about a new dance move he wanted to try, while Jun offered quiet smiles, his presence steady and grounding.

Minghao was already there, stretching in a corner. He kept his movements controlled, careful not to strain his hip further, though he couldn't completely mask the stiffness. Hoshi's sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment, but Minghao smiled and waved, brushing off any concern.

Practice began, and Minghao did his best to keep up, sticking to the less demanding parts of the choreography. But as the hours wore on, it became harder to hide his discomfort. Each step sent a dull ache through his hip, and the more intricate moves were nearly impossible.

Hoshi was the first to notice. "Minghao," he called out, his tone light but probing, "are you okay? You're moving a little stiffly."

"I'm fine," Minghao replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Just a bit sore from practice earlier."

Hoshi didn't look convinced, but he nodded, letting it slide for the moment.

It wasn't until they ran through a particularly demanding sequence that everything unraveled. Minghao pushed himself harder, determined to keep pace with the others. But as he shifted into a spin, his hip locked completely, sending him crumpling to the floor.

"Hyung!" Dino was the first to reach him, his voice high with panic. He crouched beside Minghao, his hands hovering uncertainly. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Jun knelt on Minghao's other side, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Dino's alarm. "Let's take a moment. Don't try to move yet," he said gently.

Hoshi clapped his hands, calling for a break. The members of the crew gave the group space, their expressions a mix of concern and uncertainty.

Minghao bit back a groan, clutching his hip. "I... I think I pulled something earlier," he admitted reluctantly.

Hoshi crouched down, his gaze serious. "When earlier?"

"This morning," Minghao confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was b-boying, and I guess I pushed too hard."

The team exchanged worried looks. Hoshi exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should've told us, Hao."

"I didn't want to disrupt practice," Minghao muttered.

Jun's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "You're not disrupting anything. But if you keep pushing, you could make it worse."

Despite his protests, the team insisted on taking him to a doctor. Hoshi and Jun helped him to his feet, their grips firm but gentle. Dino hovered anxiously, offering support whenever he could.

The doctor's diagnosis was a severe strain in his hip flexor. Strict rest and physiotherapy were non-negotiable. Any further strain could lead to long-term complications, the kind that could jeopardize Minghao's dancing career.

The news hit him hard. By the time they returned to the dorm, Minghao was quiet, his shoulders slumped with defeat. He hated feeling like he was letting the team down.

Jun stayed by his side, his presence calm and comforting. That evening, as they sat in the living room, Jun shared stories of his own struggles as a trainee—times when he felt like he wasn't good enough, or when injuries forced him to step back.

"It's frustrating, I know," Jun said softly. "But resting now means you'll be stronger later. You're not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself."

Hoshi, meanwhile, took charge of adapting the choreography. He spent hours tweaking the routine, ensuring that Minghao could still participate in a seated role. "Your presence matters more than the steps," he told Minghao firmly. "We're a team, and we'll make it work."

Dino threw himself into mastering the more intricate moves, determined to hold the spot until Minghao recovered. He practiced late into the night, often seeking Minghao's guidance. "Hyung," he said one evening, "you're still teaching me. Even if you're not dancing, you're helping us get better."

Despite their support, Minghao struggled with feelings of inadequacy. Watching the others practice while he sat on the sidelines was a bitter pill to swallow. He began to retreat into himself, his usual quiet confidence replaced by self-doubt.

The turning point came a few days later. During a rehearsal, Hoshi called for a break and motioned for Minghao to join them. Confused, Minghao wheeled his chair closer to the center of the room.

As the music started, the team launched into a modified version of the routine. Minghao's heart clenched when he recognized the segment—they were performing his original choreography.

Hoshi grinned at him. "This is your work, Hao. We wanted to make sure it was still part of the performance. You're as much a part of this as any of us."

Tears welled in Minghao's eyes. In that moment, he realized that his worth wasn't tied to his ability to execute a move perfectly. His creativity, his guidance, his presence—they all mattered.

By the time of the performance, Minghao had embraced his role, both on and off the stage. Sitting at the side, he watched his teammates execute the routine flawlessly, their movements a testament to their unity and resilience.

When the performance ended, the crowd erupted into applause. Minghao smiled, his chest swelling with pride—not just for himself, but for his team.

In the end, "Spell" became more than just a showcase of their talent. It was a celebration of their bond, a reminder that they were strongest when they supported each other.

And for Minghao, it was a lesson in trust—that even in his most vulnerable moments, he was never alone.