K-pop sickfics/hurtfics

Sunoo enhypen - drugs

@rikimurashs here's your request.
900 words.

⚠️drugs, addiction

Sunoo didn't mean to get addicted.
He didn't even know when it started.

At first, it was just about the pain. A sharp, grinding sensation in his knee after a bad fall during choreography practice. The doctors said it was a ligament strain, and the management said to take it easy. They handed him a small orange bottle and told him to rest.

The pills worked. They dulled the ache just enough to let him sleep through the night. At first, he only took them when he really needed to—after a long day of physical therapy or when the twinge kept him from focusing during vocal warmups.

But then, the pain didn't leave. Or maybe, it did, but something colder stayed behind.

Sunoo started taking the pills before practice. Then during breaks. Then just because everything suddenly felt heavier without them—his limbs, his thoughts, even his own laughter.

He was still smiling, of course. This was Sunoo. He was the sunshine, the energy, the bright one. But behind every performance was a quiet kind of desperation, masked under layers of foundation and perfectly curled lashes.

None of the others noticed—it was subtle at first.

He missed cues in rehearsal—not enough to be alarming, just enough to be brushed off. He laughed less, but Sunghoon figured he was just tired. They all were. Touring. Promotions. Another comeback always looming.

But then he started zoning out during interviews. Once, he nodded off during vocal warm-ups and didn't remember doing it. Ni-ki thought it was weird, but he was too polite to say anything.

Sunoo told himself he wasn't addicted. Addicts couldn't function, right? He was still performing, still filming, still making fans laugh on live streams. But behind closed doors, it was harder to keep up. There were nights he'd sit on the dorm bathroom floor, staring at his reflection until it blurred.

He kept the pills in a different place each week. In a sock drawer. Taped behind his photo cards. Under his mattress.

Every time he swallowed one, it felt like control. Like safety.

The moment came quietly.

Heeseung was the one who noticed for real. Sunoo had missed his solo three times in one rehearsal, stumbling over footwork he'd mastered a year ago. Heeseung didn't call him out in front of everyone. Instead, after practice, he found Sunoo sitting on the floor with a cold water bottle pressed to his temple.

"You good?" Heeseung asked.

"Yeah. Just... tired."

"Tired or something else?"

That question hung between them like a warning. Sunoo looked away, jaw clenched. He didn't answer. Heeseung didn't push. But from that moment, things started unraveling.

The discovery wasn't dramatic. No pill bottles spilling from a bag, no confrontation in a hallway. Just Jake cleaning the dorm one afternoon, finding the half-empty bottle under Sunoo's bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, turning it in his hand.

Later that night, he pulled Sunoo aside, no judgment in his voice.

"You're hurting," he said. "And I think you've been hiding it for a long time."

Sunoo couldn't speak. His hands were shaking.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, voice broken. "I was just... trying to feel okay again."

Jake didn't leave. Neither did the others. There was no anger, just concern. No yelling, just questions.

Management got involved. Doctors. Therapists. There were meetings. Plans. Sunoo cried more in two weeks than he had in the last two years. But through the tears, a strange thing began to take root.

Hope.

Recovery wasn't poetic. It was ugly, slow, and laced with guilt.

The first few days without the pills were the hardest. His body trembled. He was nauseous. He couldn't sleep. Nightmares filled the spaces where his dreams used to be.

Jay stayed up with him some nights, sitting on the floor of the dorm, quietly humming songs until Sunoo drifted off. Other nights, it was Jungwon making tea, pretending everything was normal, even when nothing was.

Sunoo hated how weak he felt. How exposed. But he started journaling. Started therapy. Started talking, really talking, to the people who loved him.

Sometimes, during therapy, he'd remember things differently.

Like the first refill. He'd told himself it was because the pain returned—but now he knew it hadn't. It was because the emptiness had.

Or the day he snapped at a stylist. She'd only asked him to change his outfit, but he'd lashed out, heart racing, voice too sharp. He hadn't remembered doing it until she started crying.

Or the night on tour in Osaka when he took three pills instead of one and spent the rest of the evening staring blankly out a hotel window. The skyline had looked like stars falling.

It took months before he could dance without doubting himself. Before he could laugh and know it wasn't fake.

There were still bad days. Days when his body remembered the high, when his hands ached to reach for a bottle that wasn't there. But now, on those days, he reached for his phone instead. Called Heeseung. Texted Jake. Hugged Ni-ki just because.

They didn't treat him like he was broken. They treated him like he mattered.

And slowly, Sunoo began to believe that maybe he did.

Thanks for reading.