Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

Steps to Recovery (Riwoo)

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The stage was electric, pulsing with energy as the members of BOYNEXTDOOR moved in perfect sync. The cheers of the crowd fueled their movements, and for Riwoo, it felt like the culmination of everything he had worked so hard for. As the main dancer, he took pride in his role, in how his body told the story their music couldn’t put into words.

The jump was supposed to be easy—a move he had executed flawlessly countless times during practice. But in the heat of the moment, amidst the blinding lights and deafening cheers, his foot landed just slightly off-center.

Pain shot through his knee like a lightning bolt, stealing his breath. Before he could react, his body crumpled to the ground.

“Riwoo!” Sungho’s voice broke through the haze as the music carried on around them. The other members froze, their eyes wide with panic, but the show had to go on. Staff rushed to Riwoo’s side, helping him offstage as the remaining members tried to finish the performance.

“I’m fine,” Riwoo muttered through gritted teeth, though the throbbing in his leg told a different story.

The doctor’s words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“A torn ACL and significant ligament damage. Surgery is necessary, but the recovery process will be long. Dancing may never be the same again.”

He couldn’t breathe. Dancing wasn’t just a part of him—it was who he was. Without it, what was left?

The members had been with him at the hospital when the diagnosis came. They each reacted differently—Sungho tried to be optimistic, patting Riwoo on the back and saying, “We’ll get through this.” Jaehyun was quiet, his jaw tight as if holding back his own frustration. Taesan fidgeted nervously, while Leehan offered calm, practical reassurances. Woonhak looked like he wanted to cry but held it in for Riwoo’s sake.

But none of it mattered. Riwoo felt hollow, like a part of him had been ripped away.

The first few weeks after surgery were a blur of pain and frustration. Every small movement sent a wave of discomfort through his body, and even the simplest tasks felt impossible. Physical therapy started soon after, but the progress was slow—agonizingly slow.

“Just one step at a time,” his therapist encouraged, but Riwoo could barely bring himself to try. Every stumble felt like a reminder of what he had lost.

Back at the dorm, the members tiptoed around him, their concern palpable. Sungho brought him snacks and drinks he didn’t ask for. Jaehyun insisted on carrying him up the stairs, despite Riwoo’s protests. Taesan filled the silence with jokes, though they lacked his usual spark.

Leehan, ever the calm presence, quietly sat with him during his recovery exercises, offering a steady hand when Riwoo wobbled. And Woonhak, the maknae, tried his best to cheer him up with silly antics, but Riwoo could see the worry in his eyes.

Despite their efforts, Riwoo felt isolated. Watching them leave for schedules while he stayed behind felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

“You’ll be back on stage in no time,” Sungho said one day, his tone bright but his eyes shadowed with doubt.

“What if I’m not?” Riwoo whispered, the words barely audible. Sungho didn’t have an answer.

One night, unable to sleep, Riwoo sat alone in the living room. The faint sound of music drifted from the practice room downstairs.

He knew they were rehearsing for their upcoming performance—their first one without him. He imagined their synchronized movements, the sharp angles of their choreography, and the empty space where he should have been.

Tears welled in his eyes. He had never felt so replaceable.

“They’re moving on without me,” he muttered to himself. The thought was unbearable.

The breaking point came during a group dinner.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” Jaehyun said, concern lacing his voice.

“I’m not hungry,” Riwoo muttered, poking at his plate.

“You have to eat, hyung,” Woonhak chimed in softly, his wide eyes filled with worry.

“I said I’m not hungry!” Riwoo snapped, slamming his chopsticks onto the table. The sudden outburst shocked everyone into silence.

“I’m tired of this,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines while you all keep going. I feel... useless.”

Sungho reached across the table, placing a hand on Riwoo’s arm. “You’re not useless. You’re part of us, no matter what.”

Riwoo shook his head, pulling away. “It doesn’t feel that way. You don’t need me anymore.”

“You think we don’t need you?” Taesan’s voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. “You think we like leaving you behind? Every time we perform without you, it feels wrong. Like something’s missing.”

The room was thick with tension, but it was Woonhak who finally broke the silence.

“We’re scared too, hyung,” he said, his voice small. “Scared of leaving you behind. Scared you won’t come back. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need you. It just means we love you.”

Riwoo’s resolve crumbled. For the first time since his injury, he allowed himself to cry in front of them. And for the first time, he felt truly understood.

From that night on, things began to change.

Riwoo still struggled with his recovery, but the members’ unwavering support kept him going. Leehan and Jaehyun accompanied him to therapy sessions, helping him with exercises at home when he wanted to give up.

“You’ve got this,” Jaehyun would say, holding Riwoo steady as he practiced standing without crutches. “Just one more step.”

Sungho turned every small milestone into a celebration. “Look at you!” he exclaimed when Riwoo managed to take a step without assistance. “Next thing you know, you’ll be running circles around us.”

Taesan channeled his emotions into music, writing a song about resilience. He played it for Riwoo one evening, his voice soft but full of emotion. “I thought it might help,” he said shyly.

Riwoo listened to the melody, letting the lyrics wash over him. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of hope.

The real turning point came during a surprise visit to the studio.

“We’ve been working on something,” Sungho said, leading Riwoo inside.

The members lined up, their usual choreography replaced with a slower, more adaptive version. They moved carefully, ensuring every step could accommodate Riwoo’s current limitations.

“What... What is this?” Riwoo asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“We’re not leaving you behind,” Jaehyun said simply. “We’re adapting. For you.”

Riwoo’s heart swelled. The overwhelming support, the love—it was everything he needed to push forward.

Months later, Riwoo stood backstage, his heart pounding. It was his first performance since the injury, and though he wasn’t fully healed, he was ready.

“You’re going to be amazing,” Leehan said, squeezing his shoulder.

“Just remember, we’ve got your back,” Sungho added with a grin.

As the music started, Riwoo stepped onto the stage, his movements slower but no less impactful. The crowd erupted, their cheers a reminder of everything he had fought for.

The performance wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. What mattered was that he was there—surrounded by his members, stronger than ever.

Riwoo’s recovery was far from over, but he no longer faced it alone. His journey had taught him that strength wasn’t about perfection; it was about perseverance and the people who stood by him through it all.

BOYNEXTDOOR wasn’t just a group—they were family. And together, they would face whatever came next.