My wife has what... ~~~ straykids' Seungmin
Disclaimer ⚠️❗⚠️❗: Mention of Stomach Cancer
Summary : In which Seungmin tells Jeongin, Christopher, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung and Felix his wife Christopher twin sister has stomach cancer
I watched YN finally drift off, tears still glistening on her cheeks. They clung there like they didn’t want to let go—like grief had found a place to rest. I wanted to wipe away every single one, to take her pain with them, but after today’s news I could barely hold myself together. Stomach cancer. The words wouldn’t stop echoing, an endless, awful loop.
I made sure her hair is in her bonnet, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and tucked the blanket under her chin the way she likes. Her breathing evened out—soft, shaky, then steady. I lingered for one more second, memorizing the rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows. Even asleep, she looked like she was fighting.
The hallway felt too long. The house too quiet. Every sound was loud—the click of the door, the hum of the fridge, the heavy thud of my heart. I followed the flicker of the TV light into the living room.
They were sprawled around the couch, the guys—controllers on the table, a half-finished bag of chips collapsed on its side, someone’s hoodie draped over the armrest. The movie was paused on a bright, frozen frame. Easy smiles faded the second they saw my face.
“What’s the matter, hyung???” Jeongin asked, already pushing himself upright.
“It’s YN,” I said, and my voice came out smaller than I expected.
Christopher sat up straight, the leader in him taking over even as his eyes searched my face. “What’s wrong with my sister???”
I swallowed. The words burned. “She went to the hospital today,” I managed.
“And...” Minho’s voice was careful, bracing, like he already knew we were standing at the edge of something and didn’t want to push me over.
“She has stomach cancer.”
Saying it out loud broke something in me. My knees hit the carpet, and the sobs came—sharp, ugly, unstoppable. The room blurred. Hands were suddenly everywhere: Felix’s arms pulled me into a tight hug, warm and steady; Changbin’s hand anchored between my shoulder blades; Hyunjin pressed a tissue into my palm with shaking fingers; Jisung knelt beside me, his forehead almost touching mine like he was trying to share the weight. Jeongin hovered close, eyes red and wide, like he was trying not to cry and failing. Christopher wrapped an arm around my shoulders and didn’t say anything at first—just breathed with me until my breathing remembered how.
No one moved for a while. The only sounds were the quiet, ragged breaths around the room and the soft tick of the wall clock. The paused TV felt like another person in the room, holding its breath.
“Did she tell you anything else???” Christopher asked finally, voice low, careful.
I nodded, wiping my face, taking a moment to find words that didn’t break in the middle. “She… she said she went alone because she didn’t want to worry us unless it was real. She said she’ll get more tests. I asked if I could tell you. She said yes. She… she didn’t want to do this alone.” My voice cracked on the last word.
“She never has to,” Felix said, his accent thicker when he’s upset. He tightened his arm around me once and then let go, sitting back on his heels, eyes glassy.
Minho leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it could give him answers. “Okay. First—she’s sleeping???”
“She cried herself to sleep,” I said. The image of her face made fresh tears sting my eyes. “I didn’t want to leave, but I knew—” I looked around at them. “I knew I had to tell you.”
“You did the right thing,” Hyunjin murmured. He took a breath, straightened, and wiped his own eyes with the back of his hand. “We should make a plan.”
That was all Christopher needed to hear. He shifted gears, not cold, just steady. “We keep this tight for now. No leaks. No rumors. We protect her first.”
Heads nodded around the room.
“I’ll call management,” Christopher continued. “We’ll clear schedules where we can. If we have to move things, we move them. No shows are more important than her.”
“I’ll cook,” Minho said immediately. “Porridge, broths—gentle stuff. No spices that will hurt her stomach. We’ll make a weekly plan.”
“I’ll make a playlist,” Jisung blurted, then winced at how small that sounded. “I mean—I want her to have something that feels like a hug when she can’t sleep. And I’ll write with her in mind. Songs that… hold her.”
Jeongin nodded hard. “I can drive her to appointments,” he said. “Even if they’re early. I’ll clean the car, make it nice. I’ll keep snacks she can have.” Then softer, “I’ll sit with her if she wants quiet.”
“I’ll stay tonight,” Felix offered. “On the couch. In case she wakes up and needs someone. If she needs tea, water, anything.”
Changbin’s jaw was tight. “I’ll research,” he said, then caught Christopher’s warning look. “From real sources. Carefully. Second opinions. Questions to ask. I won’t drown us in the internet. I’ll print what matters.”
Hyunjin squeezed my arm. “I’ll make her room calm,” he said. “Fresh sheets. Open the window a little for air. Soft light. I’ll put her favorite photos where she can see them.”
“And I’ll talk to her,” Christopher said, meeting my eyes. “Tomorrow. Not to pry—just to let her know we’re here and we’re not going anywhere.”
I nodded, overwhelmed by the way they filled the spaces I couldn’t, by the way love in this room was something you could touch. “She’s scared,” I said. “But she was trying to be brave for me. Kept joking about hospital gowns like they’re the worst fashion in the world.” I tried to smile and almost managed. “She asked if I thought she could pull off the ‘patient chic’ look.”
A few quiet laughs slipped out around the room—wet, hiccuping, human.
“Of course she can,” Jisung said, sniffing. “She can pull off anything.”
Silence settled again, but it was a different kind—soft, held together by purpose. I could breathe without my chest caving in.
“I should check on her,” I said.
“Wait,” Minho said, already on his feet. “Take this.” He came back from the kitchen with a glass of water, the kind of simple thing that felt like salvation. “If she wakes up.”
I took it with both hands. “Thanks.”
The hallway felt less endless on the way back. I nudged the door open with my foot and slipped inside, setting the water on the nightstand. The room smelled like her shampoo. Moonlight painted a faint square on the floor. She stirred, barely, and I froze.
“Seungmin???” her voice floated up, more breath than sound.
“I’m here,” I whispered, perching on the edge of the bed. “Go back to sleep.”
Her lashes fluttered. “You okay???”
No. Yes. Somehow both. “I will be,” I said. “We will be. The guys know. They’re here. We’re all here.”
A tear slid from the corner of her eye into her hairline, but her face softened. “Okay,” she breathed. “Don’t go far.”
“Never,” I said, brushing my thumb under her eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She sank back under, sleep tugging her down. I sat there a while, counting her breaths like they were prayers.
When I rejoined the others, the living room had changed without moving a thing. The TV was off. The lights were low. There was a list started on a notepad with small, neat handwriting—Hyunjin’s, probably—bullet points for groceries, phone calls, reminders. Felix had folded a blanket on the couch. Changbin had a folder set out on the coffee table with a pen tucked in the spine. Jisung was humming under his breath, a melody that already sounded like comfort. Jeongin was quietly stacking the controllers, tidying what he could control. Minho was in the kitchen, a pot warming, steam rising like a promise.
I sank onto the arm of the couch, and for the first time that day, the ache in my chest loosened.
“We don’t know what’s going to happen,” Christopher said, not pretending otherwise. “But we know what we can do today. We’ll take this one step at a time. We’ll make sure she never has to face a single second of this alone.”
I looked around at them—my family—and felt the shape of a vow forming, solid and unbreakable.
Whatever the tests say. Whatever the road looks like. However long, however hard.
We will be there for her. Always...
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