#angsttocomfort

(Seventeen x 14th member FemReader)

*Angst, Hurt/Comfort* Trigger warnings: Fainting, blood, overworking, slight yelling, hospital scenes.

The rain had stopped falling, but the cold still clung to the air like a second skin.

You were late. Again.

Your phone buzzed with unread messages, most of them from the group chat stern reminders from Woozi, two short texts from Hoshi, and a long paragraph from S.Coups that you didn’t have the energy to finish. It wasn’t because you didn’t care.

It was because your fingers were shaking too much to tap the screen. And your vision? Blurry enough that the letters swam.

You hadn’t eaten in days. Nothing would stay down. Your head felt like it was cracking in half, and your body had been on fire all night. But the company had made it clear no breaks this week. Not even for a fever.

Come or lose your part.

So you came.

By the time you reached the practice room, makeup melting, hoodie soaked with sweat, and shoes dragging on the floor, you were already fighting not to crumble.

The moment you walked in, the room went silent. Seventeen was already mid-practice synchronized, sharp, intense.

And then it stopped. All eyes turned to you.

"You're late again," Woozi said first. Cold. Blunt.

"Seriously?" Hoshi’s voice rose, disappointment coloring every syllable. "We’re all working our asses off here, and you just show up when you want?"

You swallowed thickly, throat burning raw. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

"That’s not good enough." This time it was S.Coups, standing still in the center, jaw tight.

"You know how much this comeback means. What are you even doing lately? You skipped meals, practices, and now you think showing up late and saying sorry fixes it?"

You nodded slowly, eyes down. Apologies poured from your mouth like whispers, but they only made the tension thicker.

No one noticed. No one saw the pale color of your skin, the way your hand trembled on the bottle of water, or how your breathing was shallow.

Because they were hurt. And tired. And they assumed you just didn’t care.

So you danced.

You pushed yourself through the warm-up. You pushed through the choreography.

Even when your vision blackened around the edges. Even when the floor spun. Even when your chest seized up and it felt like something inside was trying to claw its way out.

Until your body gave out.

It started with a cough.

Then another.

Then blood splattered on your hand, your sleeve, the studio floor.

"Y/N…?" Seungkwan’s voice was the first to shift from anger to fear.

You staggered back, dizzy, trying to breathe trying to stay and then everything dropped out from under you.

The last thing you heard was Mingyu yelling your name and the sound of chaos exploding behind him.

Hospital Room – Hours Later

The beeping was soft.

Too soft for the way your body hurt. You felt like you’d been cracked open, like your lungs had turned to glass.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly.

The light was dim. You were warm. And there were voices—low, urgent whispers.

"She was pushing herself so hard and none of us noticed." S.Coups. He sounded wrecked. Guilty.

"She was coughing blood, hyung. Blood. We yelled at her like she was lazy or didn’t care." That was DK.

"She hadn’t eaten in days. She was hiding how sick she was just to practice." Jeonghan. You could hear him pacing.

And then the room fell silent again when they realized you were awake.

Your eyes met Woozi’s first. His face was pale. He looked like he’d been crying.

"Y/N…" he whispered, stepping forward but stopping just short of your bed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Your throat ached, and your voice was barely above a whisper. “Would it have changed anything?”

They all froze.

Because you were right.

They’d been angry. Frustrated. So wrapped up in the pressure, the stress of the comeback, the perfection they hadn’t seen you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, exhaustion overwhelming everything else. “I didn’t want to be the weak link. I didn’t want you all to hate me.”

And then

A hand reached out.

Hoshi. His eyes glassy, jaw trembling.

"You’re not the weak link." "You’re our member. Our family."

One by one, the others approached—quiet apologies, soft reassurances, fingers gently brushing your shoulder or hand.

Seungkwan placed a small bento box next to your bed. “We made sure it’s soft food. You’re not leaving this bed till you eat.”

Mingyu set a fuzzy blanket over you. “From the dorm. It smells like home.”

And S.Coups… knelt by your bedside, head bowed low.

"I’m sorry we made you feel like you had to destroy yourself to stay."

You didn’t cry then. You just nodded. Let yourself feel seen. Let yourself feel loved.

The room was still full of guilt and regret. But also warmth. Care. Healing.