The night had settled over the city as ATEEZ returned to their dorm, the usual energy that crackled between them dimmed by exhaustion. The past few months had been relentless—rehearsals, performances, interviews, and fan meetings all blending into a blur of lights and sounds. But the adrenaline had carried them through, as it always did. Their passion for performing, for connecting with their fans, had kept them moving, even when their bodies screamed for rest.
Jongho was always the quiet one about it. He didn’t complain, didn’t show the cracks in his resolve like some of the others. To the rest of the world, he was the strong maknae, the powerhouse vocalist who could belt high notes while doing flips, the one with unshakeable determination. But his body had limits too. He just never said anything. He didn’t want to worry his hyungs.
That night, as they stepped through the door to their dorm, Jongho lagged behind the rest of the group. His vision swam, and the edges of the room seemed to blur. He felt his body growing heavier with each step, but he clenched his jaw and pressed on. Just a little further, he told himself. Just make it to your bed.
Seonghwa, always the first to notice when something was off, glanced over his shoulder as he kicked off his shoes. "Jongho, are you okay?"
Jongho nodded, or at least he thought he did. "Yeah, I’m fine, hyung," he muttered. But his voice sounded distant, even to himself.
Hongjoong was in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, when he noticed Jongho swaying slightly on his feet. “Jongho? You sure you're good?” His leader tone, that mix of concern and authority, cut through the exhaustion clouding Jongho’s mind.
Jongho opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, the room tilted violently. The ground rushed up to meet him, and everything went black.
Chaos erupted instantly.
“Jongho!” Seonghwa’s voice was sharp with panic as he rushed forward, catching Jongho just before he hit the floor. The others, startled by the sound of Seonghwa’s shout, dropped everything and ran into the living room, horror flashing in their eyes at the sight of Jongho collapsed, unconscious, in Seonghwa’s arms.
“He just… collapsed,” Seonghwa’s voice shook as he looked up at the others. “He said he was fine, but he just…”
“Move, let me check him,” Yunho said, his voice tight with worry as he knelt beside Seonghwa. He gently pressed his hand to Jongho’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but it was weak, and his skin was clammy.
“He’s burning up,” Yunho murmured, his brow furrowed. “He must have been hiding it.”
“Of course he did,” Mingi muttered, his hands trembling as he watched Jongho, fear twisting in his gut. “He always does.”
Hongjoong was already on the phone, dialing their manager. His voice was calm, but the way his hands clenched the phone betrayed the fear beneath the surface. “We need a doctor,” he said quietly, glancing at Jongho’s pale face. “Now.”
The minutes ticked by in agonizing silence as they waited for the doctor to arrive. Jongho had been moved to the couch, where Seonghwa sat beside him, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth in an attempt to bring down his fever. Yeosang and San hovered nearby, too worried to speak, while Wooyoung paced restlessly, his eyes flickering back to Jongho every few seconds.
“I should have seen this,” Hongjoong muttered, pacing next to Wooyoung, guilt heavy in his voice. “I should have noticed he was struggling.”
“We all should have,” Yunho added quietly, his expression grim. “But he’s Jongho. He never lets us see it.”
“He always tries to carry it all on his own,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice soft as he brushed Jongho’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s always trying to be strong for us.”
“But he shouldn’t have to,” Mingi said, his voice tight with emotion. “He shouldn’t have to carry everything by himself.”
Seonghwa nodded, his heart aching as he looked down at Jongho’s pale face. “We’ve been pushing too hard.”
The silence that followed was thick with the weight of their shared guilt.
The doctor arrived after what felt like an eternity, a calm presence amidst the panic that had settled over the group. He examined Jongho carefully, checking his pulse, his breathing, his temperature. The other members watched anxiously, their hearts in their throats as they waited for any sign that Jongho would be okay.
“He’s severely dehydrated and exhausted,” the doctor said after a few moments, his tone clinical but not without sympathy. “His body is completely run down. He’s been pushing himself far too hard, and it finally caught up with him.”
“Will he be okay?” San asked, his voice small, fear etched into every syllable.
“He’ll be fine, but he needs rest. A lot of it,” the doctor replied. “I’ll give him fluids and something for the fever, but you all need to make sure he doesn’t push himself like this again. His body can’t take it.”
Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged with relief, but the guilt still gnawed at him. “We will,” he promised, his voice heavy with regret. “We won’t let this happen again.”
After the doctor left, the dorm was eerily quiet. Jongho was resting now, his breathing steady but shallow. They had moved him to his bed, where Seonghwa sat beside him, unwilling to leave his side. The others gathered around, their faces still pale with worry.
“He’ll be okay,” Seonghwa said softly, though it was unclear whether he was reassuring the others or himself.
Yunho nodded, his eyes fixed on Jongho’s sleeping form. “We just need to make sure he rests. No more pushing him.”
Mingi sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “How did we let it get this bad? How did we not see how much he was struggling?”
“It’s not your fault,” Yeosang said quietly, placing a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Jongho’s been hiding it. He didn’t want to worry us.”
“Yeah, but we should have known,” Wooyoung added, his voice thick with guilt. “We should have noticed.”
Hongjoong stood by the doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We’ve all been running on fumes,” he said quietly, his voice full of self-reproach. “But Jongho… he’s been carrying more than any of us realized.”
The hours passed slowly as they kept watch over Jongho. One by one, they each took turns sitting by his side, making sure he stayed hydrated and comfortable. The weight of the situation pressed down on all of them, but none felt it more than Jongho himself.
When he finally stirred, it was to the soft sound of Seonghwa humming beside him. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he was disoriented, the edges of his vision still hazy with exhaustion. But then the familiar faces of his members came into focus, and the memories of the night before came flooding back.
“Hyung…” Jongho’s voice was barely above a whisper, rough from sleep and dehydration. He tried to sit up, but his body protested with a wave of dizziness.
“Easy,” Seonghwa said gently, pressing a hand to his shoulder to keep him from moving. “You need to rest.”
Jongho’s brows furrowed, confusion and guilt warring within him. “The schedule… I need to—”
“Forget the schedule,” Hongjoong cut in, his tone firm. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re better.”
Jongho opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Hongjoong’s face made him hesitate. There was no room for negotiation in his leader’s eyes. He sighed, slumping back against the pillows. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice thick with guilt. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t,” Seonghwa interrupted softly, brushing his fingers through Jongho’s hair in a soothing gesture. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” Yunho added from the foot of the bed. “We all have, but you… you’ve been hiding how bad it’s been.”
Jongho’s chest tightened as he looked at the faces of his hyungs. He had never wanted to be a burden, never wanted to add to the weight they all carried. But now, seeing the worry etched into their faces, he realized how much he had hurt them by not letting them in.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
Wooyoung, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shook his head. “You’re part of this team, Jongho. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself. We’re here for you.”
Jongho’s eyes stung with unshed tears as he looked around at his members, each of them watching him with a mixture of love and concern. He had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle anything that came his way. But now, lying there in his bed, he realized that strength wasn’t just about carrying the weight alone. It was about allowing people to help you when you need it, and he was so happy he had the people he called his members, his friends and his family.