Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

Whispered Notes (San)

It started as something small, barely noticeable—an irritating tickle in his throat that San attributed to the long hours of practice. It was the same feeling he got after singing a new song for hours, or the tired scratchiness that followed a particularly intense rehearsal. He'd ignore it, brush it off, and go back to perfecting his routines.

But as the days passed, it only worsened.

San had always been careful about his vocal health, but sometimes, the pressure to be perfect pushed him past his limits. As one of Ateez's lead vocalists, the weight of expectation was always heavy on his shoulders, but he loved performing for their fans. Every stage, every note, every breath he took was a reminder of why he did this—why he pushed himself harder than the day before. But recently, it had become a struggle.

He woke up each morning with a sore throat, not a serious pain, but just enough to make him aware of it. By the time rehearsals rolled around, the irritation deepened. By the third day, his voice was cracking, and the smooth notes he was used to singing with ease were more labored than usual.

The hoarseness became a constant companion. He tried to soothe it with tea, honey, and lozenges. He avoided talking as much as possible, focusing on his dancing to give his voice a break. But even that wasn't enough. During the group's rehearsals, his voice became increasingly unpredictable.

San found himself unable to hit some of the higher notes without straining, and by the end of practice, his throat felt raw and sore, as if he'd been screaming for hours. Still, he ignored it. He couldn't afford to admit something was wrong. Not now, not when they were so close to their comeback.

The evening before their next performance, the pain in San's throat was unbearable. He rubbed it absentmindedly, sitting on the floor of their shared practice room as he stared at his reflection in the glass. His lips were dry, and his face was pale from exhaustion. His bandmates were preparing for a vocal rehearsal in another room, but San remained behind, not wanting to expose them to his worsening condition.

"Maybe it'll get better if I rest," he muttered to himself, a soft groan escaping his lips as he stood up and stretched his stiff muscles.

He had pushed himself too far, but he wouldn't let his team down. He couldn't. Not now. He had seen how far Ateez had come, and the thought of disappointing them terrified him.

That night, long after the others had gone to bed, San found himself alone in the practice room again. The others never noticed, too focused on their own schedules. But San? He couldn't let it go.

It had become a ritual of sorts—overworking his throat, hoping that the familiar practice and repetition would smooth over the growing cracks in his voice. Maybe if he pushed through the pain, he'd be okay for the show the next day.

San ran through the lines of a song, his voice straining with each note, fighting to stay clear, to stay strong. But it wasn't working. The higher notes were slipping away, and soon, even the lower notes were trembling. He was on the verge of frustration when a crack in his voice rang out louder than he'd intended. A sharp, dry cough followed.

San winced and pressed a hand to his throat. He could feel the tears prick at the back of his eyes—tears he didn't want to shed. He had to keep going. He couldn't stop.

But then, just as he was about to sing again, a voice cut through the silence.

"San?"

He froze. His heart raced, and he turned, startled to see Seonghwa standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but full of concern.

"You've been at it for a while," Seonghwa continued, stepping into the room slowly. "What are you doing here?"

San shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the discomfort in his face. "I was... just practicing," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "I could hear that," he replied, his tone soft but stern. "You're hurting yourself."

San forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. Just... a little tired."

"No," Seonghwa said firmly, walking over to him. He placed a hand on San's shoulder, gently but with authority. "You're not fine. Your voice... you're pushing it too hard. You can barely speak without cracking. What's going on?"

San swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening with both physical pain and the sudden wave of guilt crashing over him. He couldn't admit it—not to Seonghwa, not to anyone. The weight of being the main dancer and lead vocalist for Ateez had always been heavy, but lately, it felt like he was carrying the entire group on his shoulders.

"I don't want to let anyone down," San whispered, his voice barely audible. "I know I'm not as strong as I used to be, but I can't stop now. We've worked so hard for this comeback, and I don't want to be the reason we fall short."

Seonghwa's face softened, and he gently pulled San into a hug, surprising him. "Sannie," he said quietly, "you're not going to let anyone down. But you need to take care of yourself first. We can't have a comeback without you, but we also can't have a comeback if you ruin your voice."

San pulled away slightly, his eyes wide. "But what if they need me? What if I can't—"

"Stop," Seonghwa interrupted, taking his hands in his own. "They don't need you to break yourself for them. And we'll figure out what's best. But right now, you need rest."

"I don't want to rest," San muttered stubbornly, shaking his head. "I have to sing."

Seonghwa's expression turned serious. "And you will. When your voice is ready. But not like this."

It was a long night, filled with quiet conversations between San and Seonghwa, where San finally admitted how scared he was. He didn't want to be seen as weak, didn't want to admit that his body had limits. But Seonghwa, in his quiet, patient way, convinced him that his health had to come first.

By morning, San had reluctantly agreed to rest his voice. He stayed in bed, quietly waiting as the members gathered for breakfast. But the tension still hung in the air—San felt the weight of being absent from practice, the weight of being sidelined.

But he wasn't truly alone. As he lay there, feeling more vulnerable than he'd ever allowed himself to feel, the door creaked form of support.

"You okay, San?" Hongjoong asked, his face full of concern.

San gave a weak smile, nodding. "I'll be fine."

"Good," Mingi added, standing in the doorway with a teasing grin, though his eyes were soft. "Don't think you can get away with not singing on stage."

San chuckled weakly. "I won't."

"Get better soon," Wooyoung said, ruffling his hair. "We need our main dancer and lead vocalist."

San felt his chest tighten, but this time, the weight wasn't as heavy. It wasn't about doing everything on his own anymore. The team—his brothers—were here, and they weren't going to let him fall.

That afternoon, their vocal coach came in and confirmed that San had overstrained his vocal cords. He was given strict orders to rest for the next few days. San grumbled about it but knew deep down it was the right call. His voice would come back—he just had to let it heal.

As the days passed, San's voice slowly returned, but it was still fragile. The members helped him with his recovery, keeping him from pushing himself too hard, and reassuring him that his worth wasn't measured by the amount of work he could do. He was more than just his voice; he was part of a team that would support him, no matter what.

In the end, San learned that even the strongest needed to rest, that the group's strength lay in how they cared for each other—not in pushing past every limit. And when his voice finally came back strong and clear, he was ready to face the stage once again, this time with the unwavering support of his bandmates standing beside him.