Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

The Song That Breaks Him (Taesan)

Taesan had always loved the creative process of making music. When the team first discussed the concept for their new album, he had been brimming with ideas. The producers had encouraged him to take the lead on one of the tracks, a move that could solidify his role as more than just a performer in BoyNextDoor. It was an opportunity he had dreamed of—a chance to prove that his passion for music wasn't limited to the stage.

But as the days turned into weeks, that initial excitement began to wane. The pressure to create something extraordinary started to consume him. He wanted this song to reflect the essence of the group, something personal yet universally relatable.

Taesan poured every ounce of himself into the project, spending countless hours in the studio. His nights were sleepless, his days a blur of practice and quiet frustration. Yet, as much as he tinkered with the melody, adjusted the lyrics, and refined the arrangement, something always felt off.

"This has to be perfect," he muttered to himself one evening, staring at the glowing screen.

The deadline loomed like a storm cloud, and his anxiety only grew with each passing day. He told himself he could handle it—this was his responsibility, and he didn't want to let the group down.

It was 3:00 a.m. when Taesan finally leaned back in his chair, bleary-eyed but cautiously optimistic. The song wasn't perfect, but it was close. He saved the project file, shut his laptop, and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

The next morning, he returned to the studio, ready to fine-tune the final details. But when he opened his laptop and clicked on the file, an error message popped up on the screen:

File Corrupted. Unable to Open.

His heart sank. Frantically, he clicked through every folder on his computer, searching for a backup. There was none. His entire week's work was gone.

"No... no, no, no," Taesan whispered, his voice trembling.

He sat frozen in disbelief, staring at the error message as if sheer willpower could reverse the damage. His chest tightened, and his breathing grew shallow. How could this happen? How could he have been so careless?

The idea of admitting this failure to the group was unbearable. They had trusted him with this responsibility, and now he had nothing to show for it.

"I'll fix it," he muttered, his jaw set with determination. "I can fix it."

From that moment on, Taesan threw himself into rebuilding the song from scratch. He worked tirelessly, trying to recreate the melody and lyrics from memory. But the harder he pushed, the more elusive the song became. It was like chasing a shadow—every time he thought he had grasped it, it slipped away.

His frustration boiled over one night when he slammed his fist against the desk, tears streaming down his face.

"Why can't I get this right?" he yelled into the empty studio.

At practice, his exhaustion was impossible to hide. His movements were sluggish, his focus scattered.

"You okay, Taesan?" Riwoo asked one day, watching him with a worried expression.

"Yeah, just tired," Taesan replied, forcing a smile.

But even as he reassured his teammates, his mind was consumed by the song. He couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop obsessing over how much he had failed.

Each night, he returned to the studio, his body aching from practice and his mind weighed down by anxiety. The lack of progress gnawed at him, amplifying his self-doubt. He began skipping meals, his appetite replaced by a constant knot in his stomach.

One evening, as Taesan worked late into the night, his head began to pound. He rubbed his temples, trying to will away the pain, but it only grew worse. His vision blurred, and his hands trembled as he struggled to type out another line of lyrics.

Suddenly, the room spun, and Taesan's chest tightened. He gasped for air, his heart racing out of control. He clutched the edge of the desk, panic surging through him.

It was his first panic attack.

For what felt like an eternity, Taesan sat frozen in fear, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. When the episode finally subsided, he slumped against the desk, exhausted and shaken.

"I can't do this," he whispered to himself, tears streaming down his face.

But even as his body and mind screamed for rest, Taesan refused to give up. He couldn't.

The next morning, Taesan dragged himself to practice, his body heavy with exhaustion. His teammates immediately noticed something was wrong.

"You look terrible," Sungho said bluntly, concern evident in his tone.

"I'm fine," Taesan replied, brushing off their questions.

But during choreography, his fatigue caught up with him. He stumbled repeatedly, unable to keep up with the group.

"Taesan, what's going on?" Jaehyun asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I said I'm fine!" Taesan snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. The room fell silent as the members exchanged worried glances.

During the lunch break, Taesan disappeared. Leehan found him in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

"Taesan-hyung," Leehan said gently, crouching down beside him. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

For a moment, Taesan considered brushing him off again. But the concern in Leehan's eyes was too much to ignore.

"I lost the song," Taesan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The file got corrupted, and I couldn't save it. I've been trying to fix it, but... I can't. I've been working so hard, but it's not good enough."

Leehan placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want to let you down," Taesan replied, tears streaming down his face.

That evening, the group gathered in the studio. Taesan hesitated at first, embarrassed to show them the unfinished fragments of his song. But as he played the melody, the members listened intently, nodding along and offering suggestions.

"What if we add some harmonies here?" Woonhak suggested.

"I think the bridge could be a little softer," Jaehyun added.

With each piece of feedback, the song began to take shape. The studio was filled with laughter and creativity as the members worked together, their bond growing stronger with each note.

For the first time in weeks, Taesan felt a sense of relief. He wasn't alone in this.

By the time the song was finished, dawn was breaking. They listened to the final version together, their exhaustion overshadowed by a shared sense of pride.

"This is ours now," Woonhak said with a smile.

When the album was released, the song quickly became a fan favorite. During interviews, Taesan spoke about the challenges of creating it, though he kept the specifics of his struggle private.

What mattered most was that the song represented the strength of their group—a reminder that they were stronger together.

As they performed the track for the first time on stage, Taesan looked out at the cheering fans and then at his members beside him.

He smiled, knowing he would never face his fears alone again.