Stray Kids | Sickfics

Ruined | Minho

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a/n:

tw: hate, suicidal thoughts, cursing

hello hello, I hope you're all well! I still don't have enough time to update regularly but hopefully this will change as soon as I've finished my semester. Once again I want to say thank you to all the people who read my stories and leave such sweet comments under my posts. I really appreciate it!

requested by: mahaderangechosera & heymynameusri1993

This one is a bit different than my others stories. I'm sorry if it lacks structure but I wanted to try out something new. I'm also sorry if my interpretation of your requests is far from what you've expected. I still hope that you'll like it.

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𓍯𓂃

"It's just his persona, it's what makes him special and different from other idols"

"No it's just rude and unacceptable. As an idol you should know how to behave and act towards your friends. He's mean and he knows it. I wonder from where he's got this attitude but he surely has some issues..."

"I hate him"

"He shouldn't be here"

Nothing could express how much those words hurt me. How much damage those comments could do. People telling me to kill myself, people wanting to kill me.

People hating me for who I was.

I never thought I would crumble under all this pressure.

But I also thought I was a good person.

𓍯𓂃

--

Seungmin and I were sitting in the practice room, going over our choreography. As he stumbled over a particular tricky move, I found myself offering a supportive hand, something I hadn't done in a while. His surprised expression didn't escape me, but I brushed it off, attributing it to the stress we were all under.

After a few more instances of me being unusually kind and serious, Seungmin finally couldn't hold back his concern. Or was it even concern? I didn't know.

"Hey, Minho, is everything okay? You've been...different lately."

His question caught me off guard. No one had asked me that in what felt like an eternity. For a moment, I felt a surge of relief, the kind you feel when you realize someone truly cares about you. I wanted to spill my thoughts, to tell him how much his concern meant to me.

How selfish was I to want someone to care when I push them away?

"I'm okay", I finally managed to say, "Just going through some stuff, you know how it is."

I hoped my response didn't come off as dismissive. I hoped he would be satisfied with my answer and not dig deeper. In all honesty, I hoped he would stop caring, because it made things easier.

--

I wondered how long it would take to be able to sleep again, without being haunted by fear and nightmares. This day never came. After weeks, even months, my mind feels like it's constantly racing, comsumed by stress and worry. As soon as I close my eyes, the nightmares begin, vivid and haunting. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, my breathing short and shallow.

Why can't I sleep anymore when my body is so desperate for rest? My mind won't shut down, no matter how hard I try. It's racing with thoughts and possibilities, imaging different outcomes and I can't make it stop. The night is so calm and peaceful and yet I hear my thoughts loud and clear.

You can't help but think about life. Such complex thoughts, leading me to think as to why I am here and why I am not giving up. 

Am I doing the right thing? I need to stop thinking, stop caring about how people see me and want me to be. I shouldn't give a flying fuck about these people. These people who want me to get hurt, break down, even die. But in a twisted way that I can't explain, I'm somehow connected to what these people think about me.

I wasn't like this when I was younger. In fact. I was a child, who wasn't afraid of people's opinions and reactions. I remember my mum stopping me from going outside one day, her piercing gaze on me as she saw what I was wearing.

"Min, you can't go out like that! People will think you're a girl! What will your friends say?"

Innocently enough, I picked on my pink jacket that I borrowed from a friend, and smiled. "Don't worry mum! I don't care what they think. I like it!"

I continued living with this mindset for years until I got older and understood that, sometimes, you have to care, even if you don't want to.

"We can't do this. I'm so sorry."

"But why? I don't care what people will say!"

"But I do! I do care about how they look at me, treat me, and...and if this comes out, I don't know what's going to happen. I'm so fucking scared, Minho. I'm sorry but this is why I have to care."

From this day on, something clicked in my mind and I began to fear what people might think of me.

--

It got so worse to the point that I straight up abandoned my relations, my social life and anything that made me happy, What was once my passion, my way of conveying emotions and portraying my feelings, became a bitter reminder of who I once was. It made me feel angry and frustrated, because I didn't know how to get things back to normal. I couldn't ignore the hate anymore because it became a part of me.

It didn't help that we had so much going on and that everyone was so busy with themselves. I didn't even try to act happy anymore. Infront of the camera, I distanced myself, remained calm and spoke up only when asked. Even then I would receive hate as I didn't try hard enough to 'involve' myself.

The company was disappointed in my lack of performance and effort. They put me into the background, gave me less screen time and told me to try harder. I was so fed up with everything.

Luckily there was a place where I could truly be alone and feel at least something. It was the rooftop of our dorm that no one ever used since it was kind of restricted to go up. I could spent my time there, thinking that everything would be okay if I just...held onto that thought.

So stupid of me.

To think that everything will be alright without doing anything, really anything.

I took a deep breath as I sat on the edge, my feet dangling over the abyss below. The wind whispered softly but it only accentuated the emptiness around me. I stared at the knife in my hands, contemplating how bad of an idea this was.

"M-Minho?"

Suddenly, a soft voice breaks the silence, calling my name with an eerie familiarity that sends a chill down my spine. Slowly turning, our eyes meet and a wave of terror washes over me.

And now what?

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