K-pop sickfics/hurtfics

Sunoo enhypen - sh and ed

@pumpkin_En here's your friends request.
Hope you all enjoy
900 words.

⚠️ s€lf h@rm, e@ting disorder, blood, vomiting.

Sunoo had always been the sunshine of the group—bright-eyed, radiant, effortlessly charming. The one who smiled the widest in photos, who laughed the loudest during interviews. But no one ever thought to look too closely beneath the glow.

The truth was, his light had been flickering for a long time.

Even before debut, the pressure had been there—lingering like a shadow. The quiet whispers of staff behind clipboards, the side-eyes during fittings, the words unspoken but deafening: You're not small enough. Your jawline could be sharper. The camera adds weight. Smile more.

And Sunoo tried. God, he tried. He counted every calorie like a sin, punished himself for every "cheat," and learned how to fake fullness with two bites. When that wasn't enough, he'd purge. At first it was rare. Then it was routine.

He told himself it was worth it. That it was the price of being loved.

But the more he shrunk his body, the heavier his thoughts became. His reflection twisted into something grotesque—something he hated. The scale became an enemy he couldn't stop visiting, each number a sentence passed down on his worth. His body was never thin enough, and his heart was never light enough. The pressure to be perfect hollowed him out.

Then came the blade.

He never meant for it to go that far. But one night, drowning in shame, the only thing that made him feel was pain. A shallow slice. Then another. He told himself it was control. He told himself it was relief.

He told no one.

The members started noticing things, but only in fragments. Sunoo's hoodies hung looser. His portions got smaller. He'd laugh and claim he'd already eaten. He had a thousand reasons for why he wasn't hungry, why he was tired, why he needed a moment alone.

Still, no one asked.

Until that night.

They had gone out to eat after a long day of rehearsals. It was supposed to be comforting—hot food, laughter, their usual teasing. Sunoo sat at the table and tried to pretend. He chewed, swallowed, smiled. But the entire meal was a war zone in his head.

"You're weak."
"You'll gain it back. Look at you."
"They're watching. They'll hate you."

He pushed the thoughts away, but they were loud, venomous, constant.

Back at the dorm, while the others flopped onto couches and opened games and snack bags, Sunoo slipped into the bathroom and turned the lock.

He didn't look in the mirror—he couldn't.

He knelt by the toilet, throat already burning before he began. The taste of bile stung as he vomited over and over, trying to rid himself of every ounce of guilt disguised as food.

When he finished, he sat slumped on the tile, eyes wet, head spinning, hatred crawling over his skin. His fingers reached for the razor he had hidden behind the pipes, like a reflex. And when the metal kissed his thigh, it felt like silence. He pressed down. Again. Again.

And then—he lost track of time.

Until he heard voices outside the door.

"Sunoo?" Jake's voice. Too gentle. Too worried.

"Hyung, I don't think he's answering."

Footsteps. More knocking. A pause.

Jay's voice now. "I'm getting the key."

The door clicked open.

And the world shattered.

Heeseung stepped in first. His breath caught in his throat at the sight: Sunoo, curled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, the faint trace of vomit at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were wide, glassy. He looked so small.

No one screamed.

Heeseung moved quickly, kneeling beside him, gathering Sunoo into his arms as if he were made of paper. Sunoo didn't resist. He just broke.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, over and over. "I didn't mean to—I just—I couldn't—"

"You don't have to be sorry," Heeseung whispered, voice raw, holding him tighter. "It's okay. You're safe. We've got you."

The others stood behind him—Jay's hand shaking as he dialed for help, Jake biting back tears, Jungwon clenching his jaw to stay calm. Ni-ki sat down beside Sunoo's feet, reaching out to touch his hand with trembling fingers.

"We love you, Sunoo," Jungwon said finally, voice cracking. "We're here. You're not alone."

Sunoo let himself believe it.

The recovery wasn't instant. The days that followed were filled with hospital visits, quiet tears, therapist sessions, and slow, painful honesty.

Sunoo told them everything—not all at once, but in pieces, like a puzzle he was terrified to put together. They listened. They never judged. They cried with him.

They watched over his meals, but never made him feel cornered. They took turns checking in, learning how to spot the signs. And slowly, the dorm became a safer place. Not perfect. Not easy.

But healing.

And sometimes, Sunoo would wake up in the middle of the night, the darkness still thick in his chest—and find someone waiting outside his door. A silent promise: I'm here. Always.

Because love, real love, doesn't look away from pain. It reaches in, and stays.

Thanks for reading. If you struggle don't hesitate to reach out, to a friend, a colleague, mentor or even a stranger. Telling can help.