K-pop sickfics/hurtfics

Leeknow skz - smoking

@alek1308 here's your request. Hope you like it.
1100 words.

⚠️ smoking, mention of eating disorder

The lighter clicked once, twice, before the flame finally caught.

Minho shielded it with a shaky hand, the tremble barely noticeable if you weren't looking closely. He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deep, like he was breathing something other than air for the first time in hours. The rooftop wind tugged at his hair, but he barely felt it. His body was there, perched on the edge of the building, but his mind was somewhere else—frayed and cracked at the seams.

He didn't even like smoking. He hated the smell, hated the burn at the back of his throat. But sometimes, when everything inside him got too loud, he needed something harsher than breathing.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Practice had been a disaster. Every wrong step felt like a personal failure. Every correction, every heavy sigh from the choreographer, drilled into his skull until it echoed. He knew the others noticed how he tensed up, how he withdrew, how his eyes got darker. They noticed everything.

Minho dragged another puff, staring out over the city lights, his chest tight and aching. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Crying meant breaking, and he was already cracked enough.

The rooftop door creaked open behind him, but he didn't turn. The footsteps were cautious, careful. Scared.

"Hyung..."

It was Seungmin this time. Always the diplomat. Minho could almost laugh.

"We're heading back," Seungmin said, voice light, too light, like he was speaking to a cornered animal. "You coming?"

Minho blew out a stream of smoke, slow and deliberate. "In a minute."

Silence stretched. Seungmin lingered, obviously wanting to say more. Maybe he remembered the last time someone tried. Chan had grabbed the cigarette out of Minho's hand, tossed it over the edge like it was poison. Minho had screamed at him—loud and raw, voice scraping out of his throat like something broken loose. It hadn't even sounded like him.

The whole group had frozen. No one had ever seen him lose control like that. After that night, no one tried to stop him again.

Minho could feel Seungmin's gaze, heavy and worried, before it dropped away. Footsteps retreating. The door swung closed.

Good.

The cigarette burned down between his fingers. He lit another.

Minho wished he could explain it. That it wasn't about rebellion or looking cool. It was the only thing that slowed the chaos in his head—the frantic self-hatred, the gnawing fear of not being enough, the anger that clawed at his insides until he couldn't breathe.

He wasn't proud of it.

He hated himself for needing it.

But sometimes, survival looked ugly.

Minho stared down at the city, cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. His heart pounded unevenly, his mind darting between anger, sadness, guilt. He tried to drag in another breath of smoke, but it caught in his throat and he coughed, doubling over, gasping.

It didn't even make him stop.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking stinging eyes against the night air, and lit a third cigarette with a bitter laugh.

If they were scared of him, fine.

He was scared of himself, too.

The next morning was thick with unspoken words.

The dorm was too quiet. No playful bickering, no music spilling from the kitchen, no laughter bouncing down the halls. Just the clatter of dishes being too carefully put away, the low murmur of people avoiding eye contact.

Minho sat at the counter, a black coffee in front of him, going cold. He wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the heat burn into his palms, grounding him.

He knew they were waiting—for him to say something, for the storm to pass, for anything.
Minho wasn't good at that. Words caught in his throat like barbed wire.

Everyone tiptoed around him. Everyone except Felix.

Felix sat down across from him, pushing a bowl of cereal to the side like it didn't matter.

He didn't speak right away, just studied Minho with those wide, heartbreakingly open eyes. No judgment. No fear.

Minho hated it.
Hated how it made something inside him ache in a way cigarettes never could fix.

Finally, Felix broke the silence. His voice was soft, but steady. "Hyung... can I say something?"

Minho shrugged, barely a movement. "You're gonna anyway."

Felix smiled, just a little. Then he leaned in, elbows on the table like he wasn't afraid to get closer.

"You know," he said slowly, "when I was stuck in it — the whole eating thing — it wasn't really about food. Not really."

Minho stiffened.

"It was about control," Felix continued, voice low. "It was about punishing myself. It made me feel like... if I could just control one thing, maybe everything else would hurt less."

Minho's hands tightened around the coffee mug. He didn't say anything.

Felix's eyes shimmered, but he didn't look away. "I see you smoking, hyung. And... I get it. I get it more than you think."

The words hit Minho like a slap—sharp, sudden, breaking through the numbness.

Felix swallowed. "But just like starving myself wasn't really helping me — smoking isn't really helping you. It's just... making the hurt quieter for a while. Not smaller. Not gone."

Minho looked down, blinking hard. His throat burned worse than the cigarettes ever did.

Felix leaned closer, voice barely a whisper now. "I'm not mad at you. I'm scared for you. The same way you were scared for me."

The silence between them was deafening.

Minho finally lifted his eyes, and Felix saw it — the crack in his armor. The way his mouth trembled, the way his shoulders sagged like he was suddenly so, so tired.

"I know you're right," Minho said, voice raw and rough. "I know."

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "But... when it's the only thing that makes it quiet up here—"
He tapped his temple, the gesture sharp and frustrated.
"—how the hell do I just stop?"

Felix didn't try to answer right away. He didn't say it was easy.
He didn't offer some pretty, perfect fix.

Instead, he reached across the table and placed his hand over Minho's, grounding, steady.

"You don't have to stop all at once," Felix said quietly. "But you don't have to do it alone either."

Minho squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

For the first time in a long time, he believed it.

Maybe it wasn't about stopping everything overnight.
Maybe it was just about letting someone stay when the worst of you showed.

Minho opened his eyes and nodded, once, barely there—but real.

Felix smiled again, small but fierce, like he knew the first crack had formed in the wall Minho had built around himself.

And this time, Minho didn't push it away.

Thanks for reading. If you have a story in mind don't hesitate. I take requests.