Kpop Sickfics and Hurtfics Part 2

The Sound of Silence (Beomgyu)

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Comeback seasons were always intense, but this one felt different. The weight in the air was heavier, thicker—almost suffocating. The schedules were packed tighter than ever before, every second accounted for, every movement rehearsed until perfection bled into exhaustion. The boys of TXT were no strangers to hard work, but the bar kept rising, and they felt it in their bones.

Beomgyu felt it in his head.

It started small. A little dizziness here, a faint headache there. He didn’t think much of it at first. Everyone was tired. Everyone was pushing themselves to the brink. What made him any different? He chalked it up to lack of sleep, maybe dehydration, and brushed it off. But the dizziness didn’t fade. The headaches weren’t just lingering anymore—they were growing, pulsating behind his eyes like a second heartbeat, one that pounded harder every day.

He could still hear Yeonjun’s voice in his head from just the week before:
“We need to get this right, Gyu. No mistakes this time.”

Yeonjun wasn’t angry, just stressed. They all were. Beomgyu understood. He had to understand. They’d worked so hard for this moment, and the last thing he wanted was to be the weak link.

So, he didn’t say anything.

But the headaches grew worse. The dizziness became more frequent, turning into brief moments where the room spun violently around him. During practices, his limbs felt heavy, like they were being pulled in directions he couldn’t control. His fingers would tingle, then go numb, only to snap back into sharp, shooting pain that made him flinch mid-dance.

Still, he kept quiet.

Beomgyu had always been the one who lightened the mood, the one who cracked jokes and teased his members when the tension got too thick. But lately, his smiles felt forced, his laughter hollow. The others noticed—of course they did—but in the whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and endless expectations, no one had time to dig deeper. Not even him.

It wasn’t until one late-night practice that things really started to unravel.

The studio was filled with the echo of their song, the bass thudding in sync with Beomgyu’s throbbing skull. They were running through the choreography for the tenth—maybe the twentieth—time. The mirrors reflected five tired, determined faces, but Beomgyu’s vision was starting to blur around the edges, the fluorescent lights above flickering like strobe lights in his peripheral vision.

“Again!” Yeonjun’s voice rang out, firm and unwavering. His eyes darted toward Beomgyu, a hint of frustration flickering there. “Beomgyu, you’re offbeat. Focus.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, nodding quickly, though the simple motion made his head swim. Get it together, he told himself. Just one more run-through. Then he could go home, maybe take some painkillers, maybe sleep this off. It had to be exhaustion. What else could it be?

The music started again, and Beomgyu pushed forward, gritting his teeth against the pounding in his head. His legs felt unsteady, like they were moving on their own, disconnected from the rest of his body. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it was no use.

And then it happened.

They were mid-routine when a sudden, violent spike of pain shot through his skull. His vision went white-hot, like a flashbang exploding behind his eyes. His foot slipped, and before he could steady himself, he crashed into Huening Kai, sending them both stumbling. Kai let out a surprised yelp as he hit the floor with a thud.

The music screeched to a halt.

The room was dead silent for a moment, the only sound Beomgyu could hear was the roaring in his ears, louder than the music had ever been. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.