Chapter Text
The backstage corridors of the 2025 MBC Gayo Daejejeon throbbed with the tightly controlled chaos unique to a major year-end broadcast. Inside Seoul’s vast Gocheok Sky Dome at the pretecording on 30. December the stage managers barked orders into headsets, makeup artists darted between rooms for frantic last-minute touch-ups, and the distant roar of the crowd vibrated through the walls like a living, breathing force, excited for the pre-recorded segments and live spectacles to unfold. Every sound seemed amplified, every movement urgent, as though the building itself were alive with anticipation.
Stray Kids had already taken the stage once the night before, delivering a group performance that left the audience hoarse from chanting their names. High-energy rap verses collided seamlessly with intricate choreography and layered harmonies, the group moving as one polished, relentless unit. Even after the lights dimmed on their segment, the energy lingered, buzzing in the air like static. Now, however, the focus shifted. The spotlight narrowed, honing in on something different—something bold.
Today was Seungmin’s solo collaboration with YB.
The legendary Korean rock band, known for their raw emotion and gravel-edged anthems, had teased the stage only a week earlier, setting social media ablaze. The pairing was unexpected Seungmin’s refined idol tenor layered over gritty guitars and pounding drums in a specially arranged rock-ballad hybrid. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a statement.
For Stray Kids, it was also deeply personal. In their intertwined, polyamorous lives, every milestone belonged to all of them. Every triumph was shared, just like they stood together backstage, watching thwir boyfriend being a nervous wreck.
Inside his assigned dressing room—a functional space with neutral-toned walls, illuminated mirrors, and garment racks heavy with backup outfits—the atmosphere felt charged with quiet intimacy. Water bottles and protein bars cluttered the counters, Changbin's fries, that was almost eaten aeay by staff, Felix ' Massage roller,a small portable speaker murmuring a calming playlist of soft acoustic tracks to ease the pre-stage jitters.
At the central vanity, Seungmin sat adjusting his in-ear monitor, for the third time,, fingers fidgeting slightly as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths to steady himself.
His outfit had been chosen carefully to bridge two worlds. A fitted see through button-up shirt made of lightweight silk and scarovski stones, that shimmered beneath the lights, slim black jeans woth sone holes all around, allowing ease of movement, while distressed leather boots grounded the look with practicality. Over it all sat a worn black leather jacket, faint scuff marks and subtle silver hardware lending a rugged authenticity.
His hair gelled back, his colour even a bit more red, and his makeup was minimal but more on the darker side—concealer to even his skin, black eyeliner sharpening his gaze, a neutral tint on his lips to keep the focus on expression rather than artifice.
Chan leaned against the vanity nearby, scrolling through the setlist on his phone. He glanced up, eyes warm and steady, then set the device aside and squeezed Seungmin’s shoulder. “Minnie, this is your moment,” he said softly. “YB chose you for a reason. Your voice cuts through everything. Just breathe and let it flow—like we do back home, baby ”
He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Seungmin’s lips. It was simple, familiar, and heavy with years of shared history and unwavering support.
Seungmin looked up at him, nerves easing just enough for a small smile to break through. He returned the kiss briefly before exhaling. “I know, hyung. It’s just… the energy out there. What if I miss a cue with the band? We didn’t habe much time to practice”
His fingers traced the edge of his leather jacket, the cool texture grounding him.
Lee Know rose from where he’d been lounging on the couch, moving with effortless grace. He slipped an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “You’ll lock in perfectly, pup,” he said, voice calm and sure. “Your timing’s always spot-on—remember practice? You did it on the very first try” He nuzzled Seungmin’s neck playfully, then kissed him. “We love you. Go show them.”
The door opened with a soft click, and the rest of the members filtered in, still carrying the heat and adrenaline of the performance , that was happening right now on stage. Their eyes lit up the moment they saw Seungmin. They crowded around him instinctively, forming a familiar, protective circle.
I.N reached him first, grabbing his hands with a bright grin. “Hyungie, you’re going to destroy this collab. YB’s sound with your vocals? It’ll be everywhere tomorrow.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Seungmin’s forehead, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “And hey, if you nail that high note like in rehearsals, I’ll make you that special ramyeon you love when we get home—extra spicy, just for you and i' ll allow you to grab my ass on our next stage”
Seungmin chuckled softly, squeezing I.N’s hands back. “You’re on, Jeongin-ah. But don’t burn the ramyeon this time.”
Hyunjin stepped forward next, fingers adjusting the collar of Seungmin’s shirt with an artist’s careful touch. “You look incredible,” he murmured. “Like a true rock-idol hybrid. Sing with the passion you give us every day.” His kiss was soft but lingering, lips brushing Seungmin’s as their eyes locked. Pulling back slightly, he added with a playful wink, “And after this, let’s all crash in the living room like old times—movies, cuddles, no schedules. You deserve it.”
“Sounds perfect,” Seungmin replied, his smile widening as the tension in his shoulders loosened further.
Changbin followed, his powerful frame contrasting with the gentleness of his embrace. “You’ve worked so hard for this,” he said quietly. “Your range is going to blow them away.” He kissed Seungmin, hands rubbing slow, grounding circles into his back. “Remember that time we stayed up all night practicing harmonies? This is your payoff. We’re all so proud—talk about it over breakfast tomorrow? I’ll cook.”
Han bounced in next, energy crackling as always. “Minnie, this is insane. Your ad-libs with those guitar riffs? Pure gold, you'll be the rockidol of this generation” He peppered Seungmin’s cheek with quick kisses before settling into a proper one on the lips, laughing softly against him. “And if the crowd goes wild, which they will, we’re celebrating with that ridiculous group dance we made up last tour. No excuses!”
Seungmin laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You’re all making this harder to be nervous about. Fine, dance party it is.”
Felix completed the ritual, cupping Seungmin’s face in both hands. His deep voice rumbled low and steady. “You’re our star,” he said. “We’ll be right there watching.” Their kiss was warm and reassuring, shared breath easing the tension in Seungmin’s chest. As he pulled away, Felix leaned in close to whisper, “And tonight, back at the dorm, I’ll show you just how proud I am—slow and thorough, just how you like it, until you forget all about the nerves, all about your own name"
Seungmin’s cheeks flushed slightly, a spark of heat cutting through the anxiety. “Yongbok-ah… promise?”
“Always,” Felix murmured, stealing one more quick kiss.
They gathered in a tight huddle, hands stacking together in the center. “Together, always,” Chan whispered. The group lingered there for a moment, exchanging soft words of encouragement—“You’ve got this,” “We’re with you,” “Love you forever”—their voices overlapping in a comforting murmur that filled the room with warmth.
A buzz crackled over the intercom. “Seungmin-ssi, standby in two.”
The walk to the stage was short, a fluorescent-lit hallway lined with staff offering bows, smiles, and quick thumbs-ups. As Seungmin reached the wings, the full force of the dome hit him—the vastness, the sea of synchronized lightsticks glowing in waves of red and blue, the hum of thousands of voices vibrating with anticipation. The stage itself was a sprawling masterpiece: towering LED screens flanking a multi-tiered platform with hydraulic lifts for dramatic reveals, pyrotechnics rigged along the edges for bursts of flame and smoke, and a massive overhead rig of spotlights that could pivot and pulse in sync with the music. The air was thick with the scent of fog machines and sweat, the atmosphere electric—fans packed shoulder-to-shoulder, their cheers building like a storm as the MC hyped the next act. The dome's curved ceiling amplified every sound, turning whispers into echoes and roars into thunder, creating an immersive bubble where the boundary between performer and audience blurred into shared ecstasy.
The MC’s voice echoed across the arena. “And now, a very special stage—Stray Kids’ Seungmin, collaborating with the legendary YB!”
The band launched into the intro, electric guitars building over a steady drumbeat. Tension coiled and tightened as Seungmin stepped into the spotlight, the stage lights bathing him in a cascade of crimson and gold hues that made his outfit gleam like polished obsidian.
The crowd erupted.
A deafening roar surged through the dome as Seungmin’s name flashed across the screens in bold, pulsing letters.
Fans in the front rows jumped wildly, banners waving—Seungmin Vocal King!—as he opened with a smooth mid-range verse, his voice clear and resonant over the rock instrumentation.
The atmosphere thickened with raw energy: the ground shook from stomping feet, the air hummed with chants and screams, and the lights danced in hypnotic patterns, casting long shadows that amplified the drama.
As the song climbed, so did the intensity. Seungmin soared into the chorus, his tone lifting into a powerful falsetto that blended seamlessly with YB’s gritty harmonies, the guitars wailing like sirens and the drums thundering like a heartbeat on steroids.
The audience lost control.
Screams pierced the air. Lightsticks pulsed in unison. Spontaneous chants of Kim Seungmin! Kim Seungmin! rolled through the sections like waves. Phones lit the arena like scattered stars as livestream numbers spiked, real-time reactions flooding in with awe at the unexpected fusion.
The stage fog swirled around their feet, adding a mystical haze, while confetti cannons exploded in bursts of silver, raining down like metallic snow.
From the wings, the rest of Stray Kids watched, breathless. Chan stood with his arms crossed, pride shining through his worry. “Listen to that control,” he murmured. “He’s owning it.”
Lee Know nodded, eyes fixed on the stage. “His voice, his aura with those guitars… chills.”
Hyunjin clutched I.N’s arm, eyes glassy. “He’s so beauriful, It makes my chest hurt—in the best way.”
Changbin pumped a quiet fist. “ our fierce pup. That run he just did? Flawless.”
Han bounced on his toes, grinning. “They’re eating it up—look at them! We knew he’d kill it.”
Felix exhaled softly, his hand finding Chan’s for a quick squeeze. “Pure magic. Can’t wait to celebrate later.”
Their hands brushed, linked, squeezed—shared pride magnifying every emotion, their whispered praises weaving a tapestry of support amid the chaos.
Then, midway through the bridge, as Seungmin poured everything into a high note that sent the crowd into a frenzy—his voice cracking the air with raw power, the guitars shredding in furious harmony—disaster struck.
From the front pit, a young woman vaulted the barrier during a burst of fog and light. Her face was twisted with obsession, eyes wild and unhinged, as she sprinted onto the stage with unnatural speed. “Oppa! You’re supposed to be mine!” she screamed, her voice shrill and piercing over the dying notes.
In her hand was a knife, its blade glinting viciously under the spotlights.
Security reacted instantly—but not fast enough.
She lunged with feral precision, the knife slashing through the air in a deadly arc. The blade drove into Seungmin’s upper chest with brutal, sickening force, plunging deep into flesh and muscle, tearing through skin and sinew with a wet, ripping sound that echoed horrifically in his amplified mic.
Blood erupted immediately, a hot gush that sprayed in a fine mist before pooling in thick, crimson rivulets down his shirt.
Seungmin’s eyes widened in shock, his breath exploding in a guttural, agonized gasp as pain exploded like fire through his torso.
He staggered, clutching at the wound, fingers slipping in the slick warmth as the knife was yanked free with a savage twist, widening the gash and exposing raw tissue in a grotesque spray of red that splattered the stage floor.
The attacker swung again, blade whistling toward his neck, but guards overwhelmed her at last, slamming her to the ground as the knife skittered away across the floor, leaving a bloody streak in its wake.
The music died abruptly, instruments screeching to a halt.
Euphoria shattered into confusion, then horror. Screams rippled through the crowd as spotlights dimmed and emergency protocols snapped into place, the once-vibrant atmosphere turning to pandemonium—fans crying, some fainting, others frozen in disbelief as the metallic tang of blood mingled with the fog.
YB rushed forward, one member pressing a scarf to Seungmin’s chest, hands shaking. “Stay with us—medics are coming!”
Stray Kids burst from the wings.
Chan hit the ground first, knees sliding in the pooling blood as he pressed his hands over the wound, feeling the warm pulse of life ebbing beneath his palms. “Minnie, look at me—stay with me.”
Lee Know cradled Seungmin’s head, voice breaking. “Pup, breathe. Please.”
Hyunjin gripped his hand, sobbing. “Don’t fade, baby—don’t you dare.”
Changbin shouted for paramedics, fury and terror colliding in his voice. “Move! Save him!”
Han knelt close, tears streaming. “Fight it, Minnie, baby, come on, look at me .”
Felix smoothed Seungmin’s hair, his deep voice trembling. “Hold on, sunshine. It's going to be okay."
I.N collapsed nearby, crying openly. “Hyung… please.”
When the medical team arrived, they worked fast—bandages, oxygen, shouted vitals—as Seungmin was loaded onto a gurney. His eyes fluttered once. “Love you all…” he whispered faintly, blood bubbling on his lips in a horrifying froth.
Then he went still.
Sirens wailed outside as the dome shifted into controlled evacuation, joy twisting into a nightmare. For Stray Kids, the world narrowed to flashing lights, red-stained hands, and the terrifying knowledge that their shared life had just been torn apart.
Emergency strobe lights from the venue's security vehicles cast erratic blue and red flashes across the stage, mingling with the half-dimmed concert LEDs that now illuminated a nightmare. The crowd, though partially evacuated under the guidance of ushers and announcements blaring "Please exit calmly," still buzzed with pockets of panic—fans sobbing in clusters, others frozen in shock, phones held high to capture the unfolding horror. On the blood-smeared platform where moments ago Seungmin had commanded the spotlight, the air reeked of metallic tang and sweat, the sticky pool around him growing as his chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic gasps. YB's members hovered nearby, faces ashen, one still pressing a makeshift compress to the wound, but the blood seeped relentlessly, soaking through layers of fabric and staining the wooden stage boards dark.
Sirens pierced the night first, growing from a distant wail to a deafening howl as the ambulance screeched to a halt just outside the dome's loading dock. Paramedics burst through the backstage entrance—two men and a woman in crisp navy uniforms, laden with trauma kits, defibrillators, and a collapsible gurney. They shoved through the cluster of staff and security, their boots thudding against the floor as they reached the stage. "Move! Clear the area!" the lead paramedic, a burly man in his forties with a no-nonsense expression, barked. His eyes widened at the sight of Seungmin—pale, unresponsive, his black button-up and leather vest now a sodden mess, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "He's bleeding out—prep the IV and tourniquet! Check vitals!"
The team dropped to their knees in the gore, gloved hands working with frantic precision. One paramedic sliced open Seungmin's shirt with trauma shears, exposing the jagged stab wound—a ragged three-inch gash just left of his sternum, bubbling with each labored breath as air escaped the punctured lung. Blood pulsed out in rhythmic spurts, arterial spray hitting the paramedic's sleeve. "Pulse is thready—BP crashing, 80 over 40. He's in hypovolemic shock!" the woman shouted, slapping on monitoring pads while her colleague jammed a needle into Seungmin's arm for an IV line, flooding saline and clotting agents into his veins.
Stray Kids, clustered mere feet away, were a whirlwind of hysteria. Chan lunged forward, bloodied hands outstretched. "Let me help—please, he's ours!" His voice cracked, tears carving tracks down his face. Lee Know clawed at a security guard's arm, trying to break free. "Puppy! Don't—fight it!" Hyunjin was on his knees, wailing incoherently, while Changbin roared like a wounded animal, shoving against the JYP staff who had formed a human barrier. "Get off me! I need to be with him!" Han hyperventilated, clutching Felix, who murmured broken prayers in English, his deep voice fracturing. I.N sobbed openly, collapsing against the group as staff physically restrained them—arms locked around waists, bodies blocking their path—to prevent contaminating the scene or interfering.
The paramedics ignored the chaos, their focus laser-sharp. "No pulse—he's flatlining!" the lead announced, the monitor beeping a flat, ominous tone. They ripped open the defibrillator case, gel pads slapping onto Seungmin's bare chest. "Clear!" The machine whined, then discharged with a sharp crack, Seungmin's body arching off the stage like a puppet on strings, muscles convulsing. No response. "Charging again—200 joules!" Another shock, the smell of singed skin faint in the air. Stray Kids' screams intensified—Hyunjin's piercing cry echoing, Changbin breaking free momentarily before being tackled back. "No! Minnie—come back!" Chan begged, his leadership crumbling into raw despair.
On the third shock, the monitor blipped erratically, then steadied into a weak rhythm. "We’ve got sinus—pulse at 60, faint but there!" The paramedics exhaled in unison, swiftly bandaging the wound with pressure dressings, intubating Seungmin to secure his airway, and lifting him onto the gurney. Blood trailed behind as they wheeled him offstage, oxygen mask fogging with his shallow breaths. "En route to Seoul National University Hospital—ETA 10 minutes. Notify trauma team!"