Chapter Text
The vocal booth was supposed to be safe.
Seungmin had always loved this space the padded walls that absorbed every imperfection, the soft glow of the recording light, the way his voice could fill the small room without judgment. It was 11 PM, and he'd volunteered to stay late to record guide vocals for their upcoming album. The others had gone back to the dorm, exhausted from a twelve hour day of dance practice and content filming.
He was alone. That's what he told himself he wanted.
Seungmin adjusted his headphones and cleared his throat, scanning the lyrics on the music stand. The track started a mid-tempo ballad that showcased his range. He opened his mouth to sing the first line.
And then the world blinked.
One moment he was standing, microphone in hand, ready to pour his soul into the melody. The next moment—
Nothing.
Not darkness. Not unconsciousness. Just... absence. A complete void where time should have been he felt lost.
When awareness returned, Seungmin was on the floor. His cheek pressed against the cold studio tile, headphones tangled around his neck, one arm bent awkwardly beneath him. The track was still playing through the speakers, now on the second verse. He'd lost nearly a minute.
Panic seized his chest as he pushed himself up on shaking arms. What happened? Did I faint? His head felt strange not painful exactly, but heavy, like it was filled with cotton. He touched his face and his fingers came away wet.
Blood dripped from his nose in a thick stream, dark drops, spattering onto his white t-shirt. Seungmin scrambled backward nearly hitting his head, his breath coming in short gasps. He grabbed tissues from the box near the sound equipment and pressed them to his face, tilting his head back.
"It's fine," he whispered to the empty room. "Just... stress. I'm tired. That's all."
But his hands were trembling, and the blood kept coming, soaking through tissue after tissue. It took five minutes before it finally stopped, leaving him light-headed and terrified.
Seungmin cleaned up carefully, throwing away the bloodied tissues deep in the trash bin where no one would see them. He splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, avoiding his own reflection. The person in the mirror looked pale, frightened , a complete stranger wearing his face he had never looked so sunken before .
He deleted the recording session from the system. Gathered his things. Turned off the lights.
On the taxi ride back to the dorm, Seungmin stared out the window at the 711s and shops passing by and made a decision: he wouldn't tell anyone. It was a fluke , exhaustion and stress from their packed schedule. It wouldn't happen again.
He repeated that lie to himself until he almost believed it.
When he slipped into the dorm quietly at midnight, only Chan was still awake, working on his laptop in the living room.
"Seungmin -ah," Chan looked up with a tired smile. "How'd the recording go?"
"Good," Seungmin said, and the lie tasted like copper in his mouth. "Really good. I'm just tired. Going to sleep."
"Get some rest," Chan said warmly. "You've been working hard."
Seungmin nodded and escaped to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness, touching his nose gently, checking for blood.
Nothing.
See? he told himself. It was nothing.
But sleep didn't come easily that night, and when it did, his dreams were filled with the sensation of falling through empty space, reaching for something solid that was never there.