Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

Isolation

Isolation

Minho

The bassline was still thundering through the floor when everything went dark.

One second, Minho was moving toward the side of the stage for a quick transition, heart pounding in rhythm with the music, lights flashing white and blue — and then, like a switch flipped by the universe, everything vanished.

Lights out.
Sound cut.
Crowd silence.

The only thing left was the heavy sound of his own breathing and the echo of a thousand people gasping all at once.

At first, Minho thought it was part of the show — a lighting cue gone dramatic. They'd rehearsed plenty of sudden transitions before. But then he heard the confusion.

A stagehand's voice: "Power's out! Hold positions!"
Another: "Someone get the backup lights—"
And then, the walkie-talkies crackled and went dead too.

Minho froze in place.

He was half-hidden behind a set piece, separated from the rest of the group by a maze of props and cables. Normally, Chan's voice would be the first thing he'd hear — calm, steady, guiding everyone through chaos. But now there was nothing.

No voices. No cues.

Just the sound of metal cooling and the distant murmur of fans waiting, uncertain.

He pulled off his in-ear monitor, but that only made the silence heavier.

His phone was in the dressing room. The exit signs glowed faintly, but the backstage corridors were pitch black. He could just barely make out the outlines of cables and scaffolding.

Okay, he told himself. Don't panic.

He crouched, tracing the wall with his hand, trying to orient himself. Somewhere in the distance, he heard someone call his name — maybe Felix, or maybe just wishful thinking.

"Minho?" The voice was faint, muffled by distance and walls.

He turned toward the sound instinctively, but it was impossible to tell where it came from.

The darkness was thick. Every small sound — a shifting cable, a creak of wood — felt magnified.

Minho wasn't the type to scare easily. He was practical, grounded. He liked control — knowing what came next, knowing what to fix. But there was something about the dark that clawed at something old in his chest.

He didn't like not seeing what was coming.

He took a slow breath, willing his heartbeat to steady. He remembered the emergency protocol Chan had drilled into them: If anything goes wrong, stay put unless you're in danger. Someone will find you.

So he stayed.

For a few minutes, maybe more. It was hard to tell time in the dark.

When the emergency lights flickered on, they came in short, hesitant bursts — small pools of orange light spilling into the black like fireflies.

It wasn't much, but enough to see the dust hanging in the air. Minho blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust.

The stage was empty now. The others must've been guided off safely.

He felt the edge of that realization sting.

He was alone.

A shout came from somewhere farther down the corridor — distant, frantic. "Anyone still back there?!"