Toxic member

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of the Stray Kids dorm, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floorboards. For most of the members, it was just another grueling day of rehearsals and meetings. But for Seungmin, waking up was always an exercise in fear.

He felt the dampness before he was even fully awake. A heavy, cold weight pooled beneath him, soaking into his pajamas and the sheets. His breath hitched, a tiny, fractured sound in the quiet room. At twenty-four years old, Kim Seungmin was one of the most respected vocalists in the industry. But right now, his mind was foggier, smaller—shrunk down to the size of a terrified four-year-old.

"Oh no," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Oh no, no, no."

He knew the rules. He tried so hard to be a good boy. For six years, he had lived in this cycle, ever since the sweetness of Chan’s care had curdled into something sharp and poisonous. In the beginning, Chan had been his hero, the one who held him and told him that his littlespace was a gift. But stress had changed the leader. Or perhaps, Seungmin often thought in his darkest moments, it had simply revealed who he really was.

Seungmin climbed out of bed, his legs shaking. He shuffled toward the door, his head hanging low. He had to tell Channie. If he tried to hide it and Chan found out later, it would be so much worse.

He reached the leader’s door and knocked with a single, hesitant knuckle. "Channie?" he called out, his voice barely a thimble-full of sound. "Minnie had... had 'ccident."

The door swung open so fast it hit the stopper with a violent crack. Chan stood there, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes like bruises. He looked exhausted, but the exhaustion was quickly being replaced by a familiar, simmering heat.

"You what?" Chan’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.

Seungmin flinched, pulling his shoulders up to his ears. "I's sorry, Dada. Minnie tried to wake up, but the dream was too big. I'm sorry."

Chan stepped into the hallway, looming over the younger man. "Six years, Seungmin. Six years I’ve been putting up with this pathetic routine. Do you have any idea what I have to deal with today? I have three meetings, a track to finish, and the company breathing down my neck about the comeback. And I wake up to you telling me you’ve pissed yourself like a goddamn animal?"

"Minnie help clean!" Seungmin squeaked, tears already blurring his vision. "I be good! I promise, I be so, so good."

"You’re never good," Chan snapped. He grabbed Seungmin by the arm, his grip bruisingly tight, and dragged him toward the bathroom. "You’re a burden. You’re a leech. You think this 'littlespace' is a vacation? It’s just another thing I have to carry on my back until it breaks."

He shoved Seungmin against the tiled wall. The cold porcelain bit into Seungmin’s skin.

"Stay there," Chan commanded, his voice trembling with a terrifying sort of restraint.

He walked back to his room. Seungmin stayed, sobbing silently, his small heart hammering against his ribs. He deserved this, he told himself. Channie worked so hard, and Minnie was just a mess. He was a bad boy. A bad, dirty boy.

When Chan returned, he wasn't holding a towel. He was threading his heavy leather belt through his fingers, the metal buckle clinking with a sound that made Seungmin’s stomach turn to lead.

"I’m going to make sure you remember to wake up next time," Chan said, his eyes cold and distant.

"No, Dada, please!" Seungmin cried, dropping to his knees. "Minnie be quiet! Minnie be good! Please, no belt!"

"Shut up!" Chan hissed, swinging the leather down.

The first strike caught Seungmin across the thighs. He let out a choked scream, his hands flying to cover his face. The pain was white-hot, radiating through his small frame.

"You’re a failure, Seungmin," Chan spat, the belt whistling through the air again. "The members think you’re this perfect pillar of the group, but you’re just a broken toy I have to fix every single day."

"I's sorry! I's sorry!"

Seungmin’s world became a blur of sharp stings and hateful words. Every time he tried to crawl away, Chan pulled him back. The verbal abuse was just as jagged as the physical. Chan called him useless, a mistake, a weight that was dragging Stray Kids into the dirt.

The stress and the sheer terror began to churn in Seungmin’s stomach. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps. Between the sobbing and the screaming, his body finally gave out. He doubled over, retching violently onto the floor.

Chan stepped back, his face contorted in disgust. "Now you’re making a mess here, too? Are you kidding me? You’re doing this on purpose!"

He raised the belt again, his face red with a manic sort of fury. "Get up! Get up and clean it!"

"Can't," Seungmin wailed, his voice cracking. He felt dizzy, the room spinning as he slumped into his own sickness. "Minnie sick, Dada... please... it hurts..."

"I don't care if it hurts!" Chan yelled, the belt snapping against Seungmin’s back.

The front door of the dorm clicked open.

"We’re back! The manager let us leave early since the choreography was—"

Minho’s voice cut off abruptly. He and Hyunjin stood in the entryway, bags of takeout in their hands. The dorm was usually quiet, but the sounds coming from the hallway were unmistakable. The wet, slapping sound of leather. The guttural, panicked sobbing of someone who had reached their breaking point. And the retching.

Hyunjin dropped the bags, his face turning pale. "Is that... is that Seungmin?"

Minho didn't wait. He sprinted toward the sound, his heart leaping into his throat. He rounded the corner to the bathroom and froze.

The scene was a nightmare. Seungmin was curled in a fetal position on the floor, surrounded by sickness, his pajama bottoms soaked and his back marked with angry red welts. Chan stood over him, arm raised, the belt gripped like a weapon.

"Chan? What the hell are you doing?" Hyunjin screamed from behind Minho.

Chan turned, his eyes blown wide, looking like a cornered animal. "He’s being difficult. He needs to learn—"

"Learn what?" Hyunjin roared. He didn't think; he simply launched himself at the leader.

Hyunjin was usually the gentlest member, but seeing Seungmin shattered on the floor ignited a protective rage he didn't know he possessed. He tackled Chan, the two of them crashing into the opposite wall. The belt clattered to the floor.

"Don't you touch him! Don't you ever touch him!" Hyunjin yelled, pinning Chan’s arms down as the older man struggled, shouting incoherently about stress and responsibility.

Minho didn't look at them. His entire world narrowed down to the trembling boy on the floor.

"Seungminnie," Minho whispered, his voice cracking. He dropped to his knees, heedless of the mess on the floor.

Seungmin flinched violently when Minho reached out, his eyes glazed over with terror. "No! No more! Minnie be good! I clean it, I promise!"

"Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s Minho-hyung," Minho said, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces. He had known something was wrong for years—the way Seungmin flinched at loud noises, the way he hovered around Chan with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. But he never imagined this. "You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you."

"Minho-hyung?" Seungmin’s voice was tiny, a ghost of a sound. He looked up, his face stained with tears and sweat. "Dada... Dada's mad. Minnie was bad."

"No," Minho said firmly, his eyes stinging. He carefully gathered the shaking boy into his arms, pulling him against his chest. "You weren't bad. You are never, ever bad. He’s the one who’s wrong, Seungmin. He’s so wrong."

Seungmin buried his face in Minho’s hoodie, his small hands clutching the fabric as if it were a life raft. He started to sob again, but this time, it wasn't the scream of a victim; it was the exhausted release of someone who finally felt safe.

"He hurted me," Seungmin whimpered, his body racking with tremors.

"I know," Minho whispered, rocking him gently. "I know, and I am so sorry we didn't see it sooner. But he’s never going to hurt you again. I promise you on my life."

In the hallway, the struggle continued. Hyunjin had Chan pinned against the floor, his voice trembling with fury. "You’re the leader! You were supposed to protect him! How could you do this?"

Chan had stopped fighting. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, his breath coming in jagged gasps. The red mist of his rage was clearing, leaving behind the hollow, ugly reality of what he had become.

"I... I just wanted him to listen," Chan muttered, his voice sounding small and pathetic.

"He’s a person, Chan! Not a dog!" Hyunjin spat. "Get out. Get out of this dorm before I do something that lands us both in the news."

"Hyunjin, I—"

"Out!" Hyunjin screamed.

Chan scrambled to his feet, glancing toward the bathroom. He saw Minho holding Seungmin, the younger boy hidden entirely by Minho’s protective embrace. He saw the belt on the floor. He turned and fled out the front door, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Silence fell over the dorm, heavy and suffocating.

Hyunjin stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his chest heaving. He looked at the mess, the blood, and the broken boy in Minho’s arms. He moved forward slowly, sinking to the floor beside them.

"Is he okay?" Hyunjin whispered, reaching out to stroke Seungmin’s hair.

Seungmin shivered at the touch but didn't pull away. He peeked out from Minho’s chest, his eyes red and puffy. "Jinnie?"

"Yeah, baby. It’s Jinnie," Hyunjin said, his voice thick with tears. "We’re here. We’ve got you."

"Minnie sick," Seungmin whispered, his eyes drooping. "Minnie tired."

"I know, honey. Let’s get you cleaned up," Minho said softly.

With practiced tenderness, Minho and Hyunjin worked together. They ignored the smell and the grime, focusing only on the fragile soul in their care. They ran a warm bath, gently peeling away the soiled clothes. When they saw the full extent of the bruises—the old ones fading to yellow and the new ones rising in angry purple welts—Hyunjin had to turn away to keep from throwing up himself.

Minho stayed steady. He washed Seungmin with a soft cloth, speaking in a low, rhythmic hum that seemed to ground the little.

"You’re so brave, Seungminnie," Minho murmured as he dried him off with a fluffy towel. "The bravest boy I know."

"Am I?" Seungmin asked, his thumb hovering near his mouth.

"The bravest," Minho confirmed.

They dressed him in his softest oversized sweater and thick socks. Hyunjin had gone to the other room and stripped the bed, replacing the sheets with fresh, clean linens and a mountain of plushies.

When they finally tucked him in, Seungmin looked smaller than ever, lost in the middle of the large bed. He clutched a plush puppy to his chest, his eyes darting toward the door.

"He's gone, Minnie," Minho said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "He's not coming back here tonight. Or ever, if I have anything to say about it."

"Chan-hyung... he was mean," Seungmin whispered, the reality of his adult mind starting to bleed back into his littlespace. "He said I was a burden."

Minho took Seungmin’s hand, squeezing it gently. "You are the heart of this group. Without you, there is no us. He’s the one who’s burdened, Seungmin. He’s burdened by his own shadow. You don't have to carry that for him anymore."

Seungmin looked at Minho, then at Hyunjin, who was sitting on the other side of the bed, blinking back tears. For the first time in six years, the crushing weight on his chest felt a little lighter. The fear wasn't gone—it would take a long time for the echoes of the belt to fade—but for now, the air in the room felt clean.

"Stay?" Seungmin asked, his voice dropping to a tiny, sleepy lilt.

"We’re not going anywhere," Hyunjin promised, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

As Seungmin drifted off into a deep, exhausted sleep, Minho stayed vigilant. He watched the rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest, his jaw set in a hard line. The road ahead would be devastating. There were managers to talk to, a company to face, and a brotherhood that had been irrevocably shattered.

But as Minho brushed a stray hair from Seungmin’s forehead, he knew one thing for certain. The cycle was broken. Kim Seungmin would never have to be "good" out of fear ever again. He was loved, and for the first time, that was enough.