Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

The Song That Remains (Minhee)

Minhee had always been known for his gentle voice and calm demeanor. As Cravity's lead vocalist and visual, he carried the responsibility of capturing fans' hearts both with his singing and his stage presence. To Minhee, those responsibilities weren't just duties—they were his way of proving his worth to the group.

Their latest comeback preparations were more intense than ever. Their title track featured intricate choreography paired with demanding vocal lines. While others handled the high-energy moves with ease, Minhee often found himself gasping for breath midway through a run. Yet, he pushed forward.

"Let's go again," Minhee would say, sweat dripping from his temple, even as his voice cracked during practice.

"Take a break, Minhee," Serim urged one day, noticing his exhaustion.

"I'm fine," Minhee replied with a forced smile. Deep down, he wasn't fine, but admitting that felt like admitting failure.

The first warning sign came during vocal practice. As the group rehearsed harmonies, Minhee's voice faltered on a high note, breaking into a raspy croak.

"Are you okay?" Jungmo asked, concern etched on his face.

"Yeah, just tired," Minhee replied, rubbing his throat.

But it wasn't just tiredness. Over the next few days, his voice became hoarser, and simple conversations left him breathless. During a recording session for the album, he struggled to hold his notes. The producer paused, looking at him with worry.

"Minhee, your voice isn't sounding right. Are you feeling okay?"

Minhee wanted to say no, but his pride wouldn't let him. "I'm fine," he insisted, though the strain was obvious.

Later that night, he spent hours in his room practicing, forcing his voice to obey him. Each failed attempt felt like a blow to his confidence.

Their manager eventually stepped in, noticing Minhee's persistent coughing and his inability to hit notes he once sang effortlessly. A visit to the doctor confirmed what Minhee had been dreading: vocal cord nodules.

"You'll need complete vocal rest," the doctor warned. "No singing, no talking—nothing that strains your vocal cords. Otherwise, the damage could become permanent."

The words hit Minhee like a punch. How could he stay silent? Singing was his identity.

When he shared the news with the group, their reactions were a mix of concern and encouragement.

"We'll adjust the vocal lines," Serim said immediately.

"Don't worry about anything except getting better," Jungmo added, squeezing Minhee's shoulder.

Allen handed him a small whiteboard and marker, smiling warmly. "We'll manage. You focus on healing."

Minhee nodded, grateful for their support but unable to shake the guilt gnawing at him.

The days that followed were agonizing. Unable to participate fully in rehearsals, Minhee felt like a shadow of himself. He watched as the others sang his parts during practice, each note a reminder of what he couldn't do.

At night, sleep eluded him. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying moments where he felt like he'd let the team down.

One particularly restless night, Minhee snuck into the practice room. The silence was deafening, but he forced himself to run through choreography. He wanted to prove to himself—and to his members—that he was still valuable.

He stayed until the early hours, his body aching and his chest tight with exhaustion.

It was only a matter of time before his relentless pace caught up to him. One morning, when the group arrived at the practice room, they found Minhee lying on the floor, unconscious. His face was pale, his breathing shallow.

"Minhee!" Wonjin shouted, dropping to his knees beside him.

"Call the manager!" Seongmin yelled, his voice trembling.

Within minutes, paramedics arrived, whisking Minhee away to the hospital. The group followed in stunned silence, their worry etched on their faces.

When Minhee woke up in the hospital, he was greeted by the sight of his members huddled around his bed. Serim sat closest, his hands clasped tightly as if in prayer.

"You're awake," Serim said, relief flooding his voice.

Minhee tried to speak, but his throat ached too much. He gestured for the whiteboard Allen had given him, which Jungmo quickly handed over.

What happened? he wrote, his handwriting shaky.

"You collapsed," Serim explained. "You've been overworking yourself, and your body just gave out."

Minhee's lips pressed into a thin line. I didn't mean to worry you.

"That's not the point, Minhee," Jungmo said gently. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're important to us, not just as a singer or dancer, but as our friend."

Over the next few days, Minhee struggled with waves of guilt. The others tried to lighten the mood, filling his room with laughter and teasing, but he could sense their worry.

One evening, when everyone else had left to grab dinner, Serim stayed behind.

"Minhee, can we talk?" Serim asked, pulling a chair closer to the bed.

Minhee nodded, picking up his whiteboard.

"You've been holding all this pressure inside, haven't you?" Serim asked.

Minhee hesitated before writing: I just wanted to prove myself.

"You don't have to prove anything," Serim said firmly. "You're already enough, Minhee. We're a team—we succeed together, and we'll get through this together."

Minhee's eyes filled with tears. He quickly scribbled another message: Thank you. I'll try to take better care of myself.

The group rallied around Minhee, creating a routine to support his recovery. Hyeongjun and Taeyoung took turns bringing him home-cooked meals. Allen and Jungmo adjusted their vocal arrangements to ease the pressure on Minhee. Wonjin made it a point to check in on him every night, offering words of encouragement.

Minhee, in turn, began to focus on his recovery. He attended physical therapy sessions for his body and vocal therapy to heal his strained cords. Though progress was slow, the unwavering support of his members kept him motivated.

Weeks later, Minhee was finally cleared to begin vocal exercises. His first session was nerve-wracking—his voice was weak and shaky, far from its usual clarity. But as he practiced, he found strength in his members' encouragement.

"You're doing great," Jungmo said after one session, clapping him on the back.

"Keep it up," Wonjin added with a grin. "You'll be back to full strength in no time."

When Cravity's comeback stage finally arrived, Minhee stood backstage, his nerves threatening to overwhelm him.

"You've got this," Serim said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

As the music started and the lights illuminated the stage, Minhee took a deep breath. His voice rang out, clear and strong, blending seamlessly with the others. The audience erupted into cheers, their energy washing over him like a wave.

In that moment, Minhee realized that his value wasn't just in his voice or his performance—it was in the connections he'd built with his members and their shared journey as a team.

The experience left a lasting impact on Minhee and the group. They became more attuned to each other's struggles, ensuring no one bore the weight of their responsibilities alone.

For Minhee, the journey was a reminder that he didn't have to carry everything on his own. With his members by his side, he could overcome anything. And as they stood together on stage, their bond stronger than ever, Minhee felt truly at peace.