Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

Miscommunication (Minhee)

The tension in the practice room was palpable. CRAVITY had been working tirelessly for their upcoming comeback, and while everyone was feeling the strain, no one had anticipated the brewing storm between their leader, Serim, and the ever-reserved Minhee.

Minhee had always been quiet, preferring to stay out of the spotlight unless necessary. It was Serim who had encouraged him to speak up more, to show his personality and take a more active role in the group. Initially, Minhee had hesitated, unsure of how to balance his natural demeanor with Serim’s directive. But over the past few weeks, he’d started stepping up—offering input during practices, organizing schedules, and even helping guide the younger members.

At first, Serim appreciated the help. But as the comeback drew closer and stress mounted, he began to view Minhee’s actions differently. The subtle leadership Minhee exhibited felt like a challenge, as if Minhee were trying to undermine him. Serim didn’t voice his feelings immediately, letting the irritation fester until it finally erupted.

It happened during a particularly grueling practice. The group was running through their choreography for the umpteenth time, and fatigue was wearing them thin. Minhee noticed one of the younger members, Seongmin, struggling with a part and gently suggested a way to adjust it.

“Seongmin, try keeping your weight on your right foot during the turn. It’ll make the transition smoother,” Minhee said softly.

Before Seongmin could respond, Serim’s voice cut through the room.

“Minhee, can you not?” Serim’s tone was sharp, almost biting. “I’m the leader. If anyone’s giving feedback, it’s me.”

The room fell silent. The other members exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to react. Minhee blinked, stunned by the sudden outburst.

“I-I wasn’t trying to—” he began, but Serim didn’t let him finish.

“It feels like you’re always stepping on my toes lately. You’re not the leader, Minhee. Stop acting like it.”

The words hit Minhee like a punch to the gut. His lips parted as if to defend himself, but no sound came out. Instead, he nodded stiffly and muttered, “Sorry.”

Serim turned away, clearly still fuming, and called for the group to start the routine again.

That night, Minhee didn’t join the others for dinner. Instead, he stayed in his room, replaying the confrontation in his mind. Serim’s words echoed painfully, especially the accusation that he was trying to take over. It wasn’t true—he’d only been trying to help, just as Serim had encouraged him to do.

Minhee’s appetite vanished, replaced by a heavy ache in his chest. He skipped dinner entirely and pretended to be asleep when the others came to check on him.

Over the next few days, Minhee’s behavior changed drastically. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, avoiding casual conversations with the members. During meals, he’d take his food to his room or skip eating altogether. In practice, he followed instructions without question, his usual quiet suggestions absent.

The members noticed.

“Is it just me, or has Minhee been acting weird?” Hyeongjun asked one afternoon as they lounged in the dorm.

“He’s definitely quieter than usual,” Seongmin added.

Serim overheard but didn’t comment. A part of him felt justified—Minhee had been out of line, hadn’t he? But another part of him couldn’t ignore the nagging guilt in the back of his mind.

The breakthrough came a week later, during a late-night conversation between Hyeongjun and Wonjin. They were reminiscing about their trainee days, and the topic of X1 came up.

“Minhee always had this quiet leadership vibe, you know?” Hyeongjun said, his tone wistful. “Back when we were training for X1, he was the one everyone looked to for support. He never demanded attention, but he had this way of guiding people without even trying.”

Serim, passing by on his way to the kitchen, paused when he heard Minhee’s name. He lingered just out of sight, listening to the conversation.

“Yeah,” Wonjin agreed. “It’s funny because he’s still like that now. I think that’s why the younger members gravitate toward him.”

Hyeongjun sighed. “I just hope he’s okay. He hasn’t been himself lately. I wonder if something happened.”

Serim’s stomach churned. He knew exactly what had happened.

The next morning, Serim knocked on Minhee’s door.

“Come in,” Minhee said, his voice flat.

Serim stepped inside and found Minhee sitting on his bed, a notebook in his lap. He looked up briefly before returning his gaze to the page.

“Can we talk?” Serim asked hesitantly.

Minhee didn’t respond immediately, but eventually, he set the notebook aside and nodded.

Serim sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with his hands. “I’ve been thinking about what happened last week,” he began. “And I realized I was wrong.”

Minhee’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Serim took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’ve been feeling stressed about the comeback, and when I saw you stepping up, I misinterpreted it. I thought you were trying to take over, and that wasn’t fair to you.”

Minhee’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You told me to show more of my personality,” he said quietly. “But when I did, you yelled at me.”

The raw hurt in Minhee’s voice made Serim’s chest tighten. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m so sorry. I let my insecurities get the better of me, and I took it out on you. But the truth is, your quiet leadership is one of your greatest strengths. It’s not a threat to me—it’s something the group needs.”

Minhee’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly blinked them away. “I just wanted to help,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to take over.”

“I know,” Serim said, his tone earnest. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I just wish I’d realized it sooner.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Minhee nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “But if I ever overstep, you have to tell me. Don’t let it build up like that again.”

“I promise,” Serim said.

That evening, Serim gathered the group together. “I want to say something,” he began, addressing the members. “I haven’t been the best leader lately, and I made a mistake with Minhee. I misjudged his intentions, and I want to publicly apologize for that.”

The members exchanged surprised glances, but their expressions quickly softened.

“Minhee’s been stepping up in ways I didn’t fully appreciate, and I want you all to know how much I value his contributions. We’re a team, and we’re stronger because of each of you.”

Minhee, sitting quietly at the edge of the couch, felt a warmth spread through his chest. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to smile.

As the group dispersed, Minhee approached Serim. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Serim smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”

From that day forward, the tension between them dissolved, replaced by a mutual understanding and respect. Minhee continued to show his quiet leadership, and Serim embraced it, recognizing that their different styles complemented each other. Together, they led the group with a renewed sense of unity, proving that even in moments of conflict, growth and healing were always possible.