Chapter Text
Fan sign days always felt different.
They were louder, brighter, sharper around the edges — all smiles and eye contact and careful touches, all warmth dialed up to eleven. Even backstage, the air carried it. Anticipation clung to the walls like static, buzzing under skin.
Jeongin rolled his shoulders once, then again, trying to shake off the restless energy humming through his veins.
Felix was glowing.
That was normal, omegas always did on days like this — but today it was extra. His scent curled warm and sweet through the room despite the dampeners they all sprayed on themselves, soft vanilla, layered with something almost like coconut. Jisung hovered near him instinctively, shoulders angled in, attention tuned like a radio always slightly too sensitive.
Chan noticed too. He always did.
“Lix,” Chan said gently, adjusting the sleeve of Felix’s jacket. “Drink some water.”
Felix grinned. “I did!”
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
Changbin snorted from where he was rummaging through a bag. “He’s not going to evaporate, Chan.”
Chan shot him a look. “That’s not the point.”
Jeongin smiled faintly at the familiar rhythm of it, then glanced to his left.
Seungmin stood near the mirrors, hands folded loosely in front of him, posture straight in that careful way he’d perfected over the years. He looked… wrong.
Not visibly sick. Not obviously struggling.
Just off.
His scent was muted, more than usual. Flat, almost hollow, like something had been pressed down too hard and left there. Jeongin’s instincts prickled uneasily, an alpha response he couldn’t quite place.
“You nervous, hyung?” Jeongin asked, stepping closer.
Seungmin startled slightly. “What?”
“The fans,” Jeongin clarified. “You’ve been staring at yourself like you’re about to fight the mirror.”
Seungmin huffed softly. “I’m practicing my smiles.”
Jeongin squinted. “You already have, like, five.”
“Quality control,” Seungmin said, but his voice didn’t have the usual edge to it.
Jeongin tilted his head. “You’re sure you’re good?”
“Yeah,” Seungmin said immediately. Too immediately. “Just tired.”
That word again. It really seemed to be Seungmin’s favorite word these days.
Jeongin nodded, but something in his chest didn’t settle.
Minho clapped his hands sharply, snapping everyone’s attention back. “Okay. Ten minutes. Jackets on. Stay focused.”
Seungmin reached for his jacket — and his hand missed the hanger. He frowned at it like it had personally offended him, then tried again. Jeongin watched his fingers tremble.
“Hyung,” Jeongin said quietly. “Do you want help?”
Seungmin looked at his hand like he’d only just noticed it. He curled his fingers into a fist, then relaxed them deliberately. “No. I’ve got it.” He got the jacket on eventually, movements careful, controlled.
Too controlled.
The room shifted subtly as staff began filtering in, handing out cue cards, adjusting hair, checking makeup. The energy ramped up, buzzing louder, sharper.
Seungmin swayed.
It was barely noticeable — just a small shift of weight, a half-step backward — but Jeongin caught it immediately. “Hyung—”
Seungmin inhaled sharply, hand flying out to catch the edge of the table. His knuckles went white.
The room froze.
Chan turned first. Then Minho. Felix’s smile dropped instantly.
“I’m okay,” Seungmin said again, breath coming faster now. He straightened, clearly forcing his balance back into place. “I just— stood up too fast.”
“You were already standing,” Changbin pointed out.
He opened his mouth to respond but a cough tore out of Seungmin, harsh, like it scraped through his throat. He turned away instinctively, shoulders hitching as he coughed, hand pressed to his chest like he was trying to hold something in place.
Jeongin stepped closer without thinking, alpha instincts flaring hard now. “Hyung, stop.”
Seungmin shook his head, breath uneven. “I can still—”
His knees buckled.
This time, there was no catching himself.
Chan was there immediately, arms steady as Seungmin sagged into him, weight going slack like his body had simply given up the argument.
“Okay,” Chan said firmly, voice calm but edged with steel. “That’s enough.”
Felix hovered close, eyes wide and frightened, scent spiking sharp with distress. Jisung shifted nearer to him automatically, one hand hovering protectively at Felix’s back.
“Min,” Felix whispered. “Min, hey—”
“I’m sorry,” Seungmin murmured, barely audible. His eyes were unfocused, glassy, but they stayed down, like he couldn’t look Felix in the eye. “I didn’t mean to—”
Changbin frowned deeply. “This isn’t normal.”
“No,” Minho agreed quietly.
Before anyone could say more, footsteps approached fast and purposeful. The manager entered the room like a storm contained in human form.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Chan didn’t hesitate. “He nearly collapsed.”
“I’m okay,” Seungmin said weakly, even as Chan kept a firm grip on him.
The manager’s gaze swept over him — the pallor, the way his shoulders slumped, the tremor still running through his hands.
“We’re not risking a medical incident at a fan sign,” the manager said flatly. “Get up.”
Jeongin took a deep breath to control the spike of anger he felt at their manager ordering Seungmin around. He really did not like that tone.
Seungmin stiffened. “I can still sit and do the event. I don’t have to stand the whole time.”
“No,” the manager repeated. “You’re coming with me.”
Jeongin’s chest tightened.
“Hyung—” Jeongin started, then stopped himself. There was no room for arguing here.
Chan helped Seungmin stand again, and this time Seungmin leaned into it without pretending otherwise. Felix’s eyes followed him, confusion and worry tangled together. “Is he—”
“We’ll handle it,” the manager cut in. “Physician’s room. Now.”
Seungmin nodded faintly, jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact.
As they moved toward the door, Jeongin caught one last look at him — the way his shoulders were hunched inward, like he was folding around something fragile inside himself.
This wasn’t exhaustion.
This wasn’t nerves.
Something cold settled deep in Jeongin’s gut.
The walk to the makeshift medical room was excruciating. Seungmin had to breathe through his mouth to avoid having to throw up, and his gaze was planted firmly on the floor, watching his feet take each step.
The manager was quiet, but Seungmin could tell he was mad — okay, maybe not fuming mad, but annoyed mad — and could Seungmin really blame him? He was the one who messed up the event today.
Dr. Kang was already up and moving around when they entered the room. The manager must have informed her of his arrival. She turned to look at them, and even with his eyes unfocused, he could see a flicker of something cross her face before it disappeared.
He didn’t bother to think too much into that right now. He felt tired, even though it was only 10 a.m. in the morning.
Seungmin sat on the edge of the examination bed, feet barely touching the floor. His hands rested in his lap, fingers laced together tightly enough that his knuckles had gone pale.
The door clicked shut behind them.
The manager didn’t sit.
He stood near the door instead, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Seungmin with an intensity that made his chest tighten.
“Tell me what happened,” she said gently.
Seungmin hesitated.
The manager answered for him. “He nearly collapsed backstage,” he said flatly. “In front of staff. In front of fans.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t collapse, and it was backstage.”
“You almost did,” the manager snapped. “That’s not better.”
Dr. Kang lifted a hand slightly. “Let him speak.”
The manager exhaled sharply but stepped back half a pace.
Seungmin swallowed. His throat still felt raw, like it had been scraped from the inside. “I got dizzy,” he said quietly. “My vision went out for a second. I caught myself.”
“And before that?” Dr. Kang asked.
He looked down at his hands. “I’ve been tired.”
The manager scoffed. “Yeah, we’re all tired.”
Dr. Kang’s gaze sharpened. “That kind of fatigue isn’t normal.”
She tapped at her tablet, pulling up his recent notes. “You’re on Stablyin Plus. Increased dose. Three weeks now.”
Seungmin nodded.
“And how have those been?” she prompted.
“I’ve been managing.”
Dr. Kang looked at him. “Let’s try again. How have the suppressants been?”
Seungmin forced himself to meet her eyes. “There’ve been a few side effects, but nothing crazy. I knew these things would happen,” he admitted.
“Like what?”
“You know, nausea, muscle pain, dizziness.”
“How often?”
“Daily.”
The room went quiet.
Dr. Kang’s mouth tightened, just slightly.
“And you didn’t report this because?” she asked.
Seungmin’s shoulders hunched. “Because I can manage. It’s fine.” The manager nodded sharply, like that settled it. “Well, it’s not fine now, is it?”
Dr. Kang stood, turning toward the small sink to wash her hands even though she hadn’t touched him yet. A habit. A pause.
“This isn’t sustainable,” she said carefully. “Your body is showing signs of resistance.”
Seungmin’s heart skipped. “I know.” The manager turned sharply. “You know?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know my timing’s been off lately.” Seungmin shrugged.
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” the manager demanded.
Seungmin flinched. “I didn’t want to cause problems.”
The manager laughed, sharp and humourless. “Oh yeah, ’cause it’s all fine and dandy now.”
Dr. Kang turned back around, placing both hands on the counter. Her voice softened. “When oral suppressants lose efficacy, there are limited options.”
Seungmin’s stomach sank.
The manager straightened. “What options?”
Dr. Kang didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flicked to Seungmin — not clinical now, but apologetic.
“We can increase the dosage,” she said. “Or change the delivery method.”
Seungmin’s breath caught. “No.”
Both of them looked at him.
“No?” the manager echoed.
Seungmin shook his head, too quickly. “Higher doses make it worse. I can’t think straight. My instincts lag. My coordination—”
“That didn’t stop you from nearly collapsing,” the manager cut in.
“I can manage on this dose,” Seungmin insisted, voice tight. “I just need time. I’ll be more careful.”
Dr. Kang sighed softly. “Seungmin, you’re already past what most patients tolerate.”
“I don’t need most,” he said. “I just need to get through this comeback, and just give me a little more time.”
The manager’s eyes hardened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
The manager took a breath, brushing away invisible lint from his expensive suit jacket. “Those people out there, Seungmin, they paid to see all eight members of Stray Kids, not seven guys and an empty chair.”
Silence pressed down on them.
Dr. Kang spoke slowly. “There are stronger suppressants,” she said. “Injectables. Extended-release. We usually reserve them for pre-heats.”
Seungmin’s hands clenched in his lap. He knew that, had it burned into his mind.
“You told me those were a last resort,” he said.
“They are,” she replied quietly.
The manager turned to her immediately. “Then we use them.”
“No,” Seungmin said again, sharper this time. “Please.” His hand drifted toward his thigh. It had been a week since the last time he used the injection, the pain still a buzzing reminder under his skin.
The manager stepped closer. “You don’t have a choice if you keep putting the group at risk.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” the manager snapped. “Whether you mean to or not.”
Dr. Kang raised her voice slightly. “Enough.”
They both stopped.
She looked at Seungmin again, something conflicted crossing her face. “If you continue like this, something worse will happen,” she said. “Vocal damage. Fainting. An uncontrolled episode.”
Seungmin swallowed hard.
“I’ll do better,” he said. “On the current dosage. I promise.”
The manager studied him for a long moment.
Finally, he nodded once. “Fine.”
Relief flickered briefly in Seungmin’s chest.
Then the manager continued.
“But this is your warning. One more incident — one more — and we increase. No discussion. You’re the balance, Seungmin.”
Seungmin’s chest tightened painfully. Some primal part of him wanted to rip his manager to shreds just so he never had to hear that sentence again.
Dr. Kang looked away.
“Understood?” the manager asked. Seungmin nodded. “Yes.”
The manager turned and opened the door. “Get some rest. You’re done for today.”
When the door closed behind him, the room felt smaller.
Dr. Kang sat heavily on her stool, rubbing at her temples. “You shouldn’t have to live like this,” she murmured.
Seungmin didn’t answer.
She looked up at him. “Please,” she said softly. “Tell me if it gets worse.” Seungmin managed a small, tired smile. “I will.”
They both knew it wasn’t true.
By the time they got home, Seungmin’s body felt like it was operating on borrowed time.
The van ride blurred past in fragments — streetlights streaking against the windows, Felix half-asleep against Chan’s shoulder, Hyunjin quiet in the seat across from him. Changbin had offered snacks. Seungmin had waved them off with a smile that took too much effort to hold.
Inside the dorm, shoes were kicked off, bags dropped where they always were. Familiar chaos. Familiar noise.
“You sure you’re okay?” Changbin asked again, softer this time, lingering near the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Seungmin said. “Just tired.”
Chan paused near the hallway, eyes scanning him with that steady alpha awareness that made Seungmin straighten instinctively. “Eat something before you sleep, okay?”
Seungmin nodded. “I will.”
Felix glanced over from the couch, concern flickering briefly across his face. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said. “You looked… rough today.”
“I won’t,” Seungmin promised.
Another lie, small and practiced.
“Night,” he added, already turning away.
“Night,” a few voices echoed back.
They let him go.
That was the worst part — how easily they let him go.
The hallway was dim and quiet, the sound of his footsteps muted against the floor. He turned toward his room out of habit, hand brushing the doorframe — and stopped.
The pack nest room door was open.
Warmth spilled out into the hall, thick with layered scents that hit him low in the chest. Felix’s vanilla sweetness had softened but hadn’t disappeared entirely. Chan’s grounding presence lingered, steady and calm. Hyunjin’s sharpness threaded through it, faint but unmistakable.
It felt safe.
Too safe.
Seungmin stepped inside before he realised he’d made the decision.
The nest was a familiar mess of blankets, hoodies, pillows piled and arranged in a way that felt intuitive rather than deliberate. Someone — probably Felix — had shed a sweater earlier, and it lay half-draped over the edge, sleeve brushing the floor.
Seungmin sat down slowly, exhaustion crashing over him the moment he stopped moving.
Just for a minute, he told himself. Just to breathe.
The tension in his shoulders eased as warmth sank into him. His fingers curled into the blanket beneath him without conscious thought.
This is off.
The thought surfaced dimly, barely formed. His hand smoothed the fabric, tugging the edge straighter. A pillow was flattened awkwardly; he shifted it, moved it closer to the center. The fallen sweater caught his attention next — he picked it up, folded it loosely, tucked it where it felt like it belonged.
Better.
Balanced.
“Seungmin?”
The voice shattered the moment. He froze mid-motion.
Felix stood in the doorway, eyes wide, breath caught sharply in his chest. For a heartbeat, the room was perfectly still.
Then Felix’s gaze dropped.
To the nest.
To the sweater.
To Seungmin’s hands.
The colour drained from his face.
“Why—” Felix’s voice broke immediately. “Why are you touching that?” Seungmin jerked his hands back like he’d been burned, heart slamming painfully against his ribs. “I— I didn’t realize,” he said quickly. “Felix, I’m sorry, I swear, I wasn’t thinking—”
“You can’t,” Felix said, voice shaking. “You can’t do that.”
“I know,” Seungmin said, panic rising. “I know. I’ll fix it, I’ll move it back, I—”
“Don’t,” Felix snapped weakly. “Don’t touch it.” His scent spiked, the vanilla turning bitter, sharp and distressed, and then the tears came — fast, uncontrollable. He sank down at the edge of the nest, shoulders curling inward as he sobbed.
“You’re not supposed to,” Felix cried. “You’re a beta. You know that. You’re not— you shouldn’t even want to.”
The words carved deep.
“I didn’t, I didn’t want to,” Seungmin whispered, throat tight. God, how many lies was he going to keep spewing? “I didn’t mean— I was stupid, I—”
Footsteps rushed down the hallway.
Hyunjin appeared first, taking in the scene in a split second — Felix crying, the nest disturbed, Seungmin standing rigid and pale.
“What happened?” Hyunjin demanded.
Felix let out a broken sound, curling further in on himself. Hyunjin moved immediately, crouching and pulling him close, one arm wrapping around him protectively.
“It’s okay, Lix,” Hyunjin murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Changbin came in next, stopping short when he saw the nest. His expression shifted from confusion to something tight and concerned. “Min,” Changbin said slowly, looking between them. “What did you do?”
Seungmin swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just sat down, and I wasn’t thinking, and my hands—”
“You touched the nest,” Hyunjin said sharply, fury flashing across his face.
“Yes,” Seungmin said. “I’m sorry.”
Chan appeared in the doorway then, presence filling the room immediately. His gaze swept over Felix shaking in Hyunjin’s arms, the nest, Seungmin’s rigid posture.
“What’s going on?” Chan asked, voice calm but edged with authority.
Felix clutched at Hyunjin, sobbing. Changbin moved closer, kneeling beside him, rubbing slow circles into his back.
“He touched it,” Hyunjin said, anger simmering. “He crossed the line.”
Chan’s jaw tightened as he looked at Seungmin. “Is that true?”
Seungmin nodded, shame burning hot in his chest. “I didn’t realise what I was doing,” he said. “I swear I wouldn’t—”
“That doesn’t matter,” Hyunjin snapped. “You don’t do this. Ever.” “I know,” Seungmin said, voice cracking. “I know the rules. I didn’t mean—”
Felix sobbed harder at that, burying his face into Hyunjin’s chest.
“Please,” Seungmin said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Chan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. His voice was steady when he spoke. “Min. You need to step away.”
Changbin looked torn, gaze flicking between Felix and Seungmin. “Maybe just— give us space for now,” he added gently.
Hyunjin didn’t soften. “Go.”
The word landed heavy.
Seungmin nodded, unable to trust his voice anymore. He backed toward the door slowly, chest aching, hands shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said one last time. Felix didn’t look up.
Seungmin turned and left.
He shut himself into his room and slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, breath coming shallow and uneven.
That hadn’t been a mistake.
That had been instinct.
Unfiltered. Uncontrolled.
Wrong.
His hands curled into fists as the realisation settled deep in his bones.
This can’t happen again.
He grabbed his jacket with numb fingers.
When he passed through the living room, the others were quieter now. Changbin sat beside Felix, murmuring softly. Chan stood nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” Seungmin said, forcing his voice steady.
No one stopped him.
No one asked where.
The door closed softly behind him, and Seungmin stepped out into the night, heart pounding with a single, desperate certainty.
He couldn’t stay like this.
And if that meant more suppressants — more pain — then so be it.
He headed toward the company building, the dorm lights fading behind him, unaware of the damage he was leaving in his wake.
Seungmin didn’t remember putting his shoes on.
He remembered the door clicking shut behind him.
The hallway light flickering.
The way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking no matter how tightly he clenched them.
Out. Just get out.
The night air hit him like a slap. Cold enough to bite through his hoodie, sharp enough to make his lungs seize for a second before he forced himself to breathe properly.
He walked fast.
Too fast.
His head swam, pressure building behind his eyes, heartbeat loud enough to drown out the street noise. He focused on the pavement, counting steps, grounding himself the way Dr. Kang had taught him.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
The image of Felix’s face wouldn’t leave him.
The way he’d cried.
The way his hands had clutched at the nest like it had been torn open.
The way everyone had looked at Seungmin like he’d done something unforgivable.
I didn’t mean to. But what good did thinking that do now?
He reached the company building on autopilot, slipping inside through the side entrance. The security guard barely looked up — they were used to this. Idols coming back late. Problems that didn’t fit into daylight hours.
The elevator ride felt endless.
By the time he reached the medical wing, his stomach was rolling, heat pooling wrong in his core, instincts buzzing beneath his skin like static.
He knocked.
Once.
Twice.
The door opened.
Dr. Kang froze when she saw him.
“Seungmin?” Her voice softened immediately. “What happened?”
“I want the injections,” he said as an answer.
She stepped aside instantly, letting him right away.
The room smelled clean. Sterile. Safe. It made something in his chest loosen and tighten all at once.
He sat on the edge of the examination bed, hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “I touched the nest. I wasn’t supposed to. Betas don’t mess with the nest. I don’t know what happened, okay. All I know is that it can’t happen again, so do what you need to, just get this to stop.”
He shook his head. “My instincts are wrong. They’re loud. I can’t control them anymore.”
She studied him carefully now — his pupils, his posture, the way he kept curling in on himself.
“This was never my first choice,” Dr. Kang said, almost to herself.
Seungmin let out a humourless laugh. “I don’t get choices. It all falls apart without me. I’m the balance.”
The words made him feel hollow, but Seungmin honestly couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t feel like this. So he pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie and extended his arm out.
Dr. Kang took that as the silent plea Seungmin had intended and got up.
She prepared the injection efficiently, professionally — no hesitation, no judgment. When she swabbed his arm, the alcohol was cold enough to make him flinch.
“Breathe,” she instructed.
He did.
The needle slid in. Bigger than usual, heavier than usual.
The suppressant burned as it entered his system, heat blooming sharply before dulling into something heavier. Denser.
It took less than a minute.
“There,” she said, applying pressure. “Sit for a bit.”
He nodded, head already feeling foggy.
“You might feel nauseous,” she warned. “Chills. Dizziness.”
“I can handle it,” he said.
She didn’t look convinced.
By the time he got back to the dorm, the suppressant had started to settle — not comfortably, but firmly, like a lid slammed down on something restless inside him.
The living room was quiet when he stepped in.
Felix was the first to look up.
Seungmin’s shoulders instinctively hunched, trying to make himself smaller.
He took a step closer toward him, eyes on the ground. “I’m sorry. I know there’s no excuse, and I had no right to do what I did. I was being stupid, and it won’t ever happen again.”
The room was silent for a beat, long enough that Seungmin chanced a glance upwards. He didn’t dare look at the others, especially Hyunjin. He couldn’t bear it if the alpha was still mad at him.
He only looked at Felix, how small he looked tucked into Changbin’s arm. Felix was not crying anymore, though if you looked close enough you could see the dried tear tracks on his cheek.
Fuck. Seungmin had done that. He had been the reason behind Felix looking like this.
“But if you want, I can stay away from the nest until you’re okay with having me back. If it’s too overwhelming with me there, you can say it,” Seungmin added before he could stop himself.
“Seungminah.” Felix sighed as he got up. And Seungmin forced himself not to flinch as the omega stepped up to him and, to his surprise, engulfed him in a hug.
“I forgive you, puppy,” Felix said quietly, voice still rough. “Just… don’t scare me like that again.”
Seungmin’s throat closed. “I won’t. I promise.”
The others watched from a distance — no accusations, no shouting. Just wary concern.
“I’m gonna take a bath,” Seungmin said after a moment. “Then I’ll sleep.”
The others let him go without much protest.
His bathroom thankfully was warm and quiet.
He turned the tap on, steam slowly filling the space as the tub began to fill. The sound of running water usually calmed him.
Tonight, it made his stomach twist.
He sat on the closed toilet lid as the room spun slightly.
There’s the dizziness.
He breathed slowly through his nose, trying to center his body, willing the ceiling to stay still. And then—
He barely turned and lifted the lid in time before gagging, body folding over itself as he threw up, harsh and violent. His throat burned, eyes watering, stomach heaving even when there was nothing left.
“Shit,” he whispered.
Cold swept through him immediately after — teeth chattering, skin prickling despite the steam.
There’s both the nausea and chills.
His hands shook as he rinsed his mouth. The room felt too bright. Too loud. He lifted his body to stand straight, and that was a bad choice.
The world tipped sideways.
His knees buckled.
The last thing he registered was the sound of water still running, splashing softly against porcelain, as his vision narrowed to black.
Then Seungmin hit the floor.
Hard.
And everything went dark.