K-pop sickfics/hurtfics

Ten Wayv (feat Winwin) - depression

900 words

For months, Ten had been feeling the weight of everything. The schedules, expectations, and perfectionism that had once fueled his passion for performing began to feel like chains. He still smiled on stage, still danced with that same intensity, but somewhere between the studio and his quiet moments alone, he felt like he was losing himself.

It started small. At first, it was just exhaustion, days where he couldn't seem to gather the energy to laugh as he once did, where his mind felt hazy and sluggish. Then, doubts crept in. Was he really good enough? Was he just one small part of a larger machine? Did his efforts even matter? Those thoughts grew, and with them, a weight settled on him that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

The members noticed. They saw him retreating more into himself, spending late nights at the dance studio or coming back from practice with a distant look in his eyes. Kun, being the leader, was the first to approach him. "Ten, are you okay?" he'd asked gently one evening as they were sitting in the living room after a long day.

Ten had forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he replied, brushing it off. It was easier that way, to not explain the loneliness he felt even among his closest friends, or the feeling that he was somehow fading, like his spark was slowly being extinguished.

But Kun wasn't convinced, and soon, other members began to pick up on Ten's low energy. He didn't laugh as easily, didn't joke around as much. Yangyang even stopped him once during dance practice. "Hey, are you sure you're good? We can take a break," he'd offered, concern visible in his expression.

Still, Ten brushed it off, not wanting to worry them. But the thoughts in his mind grew darker, until one night, he found himself alone in his room, overwhelmed by an emptiness he couldn't explain. Sitting on his bed, he looked around, feeling strangely detached, like he was floating in his own space, separated from everything that used to matter to him.

As he sat there, he felt the weight of his struggles crashing down, the countless doubts and worries blending into a crushing pressure. In that moment, he felt like he wanted to let it all go, to escape from the expectations he felt unable to meet. But before he could sink further, a quiet knock came at his door.

It was Winwin. "Ten, you've been in here all day," he said gently, his voice filled with concern. "Can I come in?"

Ten hesitated, but eventually nodded. Winwin entered, sitting down beside him without a word. There was a silence between them, one that felt heavy but safe, as if Winwin was telling him without words that it was okay to let down his guard.

After a moment, Ten began to talk. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but everything he had been bottling up poured out : the fear of disappointing his fans, the pressure to constantly improve, and the feeling that maybe, despite all his hard work, he wasn't enough.

Winwin listened quietly, not interrupting, just being there. When Ten finally finished, his voice barely a whisper, Winwin reached over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Ten, you don't have to carry this alone," he said softly. "We're here with you, and we see you for who you are, not just for what you can do on stage."

The door opened further, and the other members came in, one by one, filling Ten's room with quiet support. They didn't need to say much; just being there, surrounding him, was enough. As they shared that silent space together, Ten began to feel something shift, like a tiny light breaking through the darkness.

Kun, who had been watching Ten for weeks, sat beside him, gently reassuring him, "We'll take this one day at a time, together." And he meant it. They all did.

Over the following days and weeks, Ten's journey was not easy. There were days he still felt weighed down, moments he struggled to find joy in the things he used to love. But the difference was that now he wasn't alone. His members were there with him, making sure he knew he was seen and valued, that he mattered to them not just as a performer, but as a person and friend.

Together, they found little ways to help him reconnect with his passions and purpose. There were late-night talks, spontaneous dance practices where they just laughed and goofed off, and small reminders from each of them that he didn't have to be perfect to be loved.

Through this time, Ten learned that it was okay to lean on others, to ask for help, and to let people see his vulnerable side. He realized that his worth wasn't tied to flawless performances or unending energy. It was in who he was, in the love he gave, and in the friendships he shared.

Bit by bit, that heavy weight began to lift. Ten knew he had a long way to go, but with his friends by his side, he started to believe he could find himself again. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope that he could keep going, and that maybe, just maybe, he would be okay.

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