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Shotaro thinks he may have slightly overdone it.
The floor is at least cool beneath his burning limbs, but when he tries to lift his arm, it just flops to the side like an overcooked noodle. Breathing is an effort, like someone put a 10-pound weight on his chest. Everything just hurts . Even blinking hurts.
He hadn’t meant to overwork himself. They had stopped practice for Make a Wish at 9:00, and he had felt fine. Maybe a little tired, but everyone was. Instead, he had desperately wanted to keep dancing. Dancing was in his bones, right down to his blood, and even though being an idol meant he was able to dance professionally, he missed dancing on his own. The dorms were too crowded and too small for him to do it there at night, and recently they had been at practice so late he wasn’t able to stay behind. This was the first night they had actually finished practice on time, and he had jumped on the chance to stay behind.
“Hyung?” He had asked timidly, creeping up behind Taeyong. He still wasn’t very comfortable with the NCT members, not yet, but Taeyong was the only one with the power to let him stay.
“Oh, Shotaro. What’s up?”
Shotaro had taken a few seconds to arrange what he wanted to say in his head, while Taeyong continued packing his bag.
“Can I stay?” he had said, ducking his head when Taeyong turned to look at him. “I want to dance.”
Taeyong had glanced at the clock, then at Shotaro. Shotaro had held his breath, hoping against hope that he would say yes.
“That’s fine,” Taeyong had finally said, standing up and looking at the members gathered at the door. “Just come back by 11:00, okay? I’ll keep dinner out for you.”
Shotaro had thanked Taeyong profusely, bowing repeatedly until everyone was out the door.
Then he had locked himself in, took off his shoes, turned off the lights, blasted the music, and just danced .
“Stupid,” Shotaro mumbles to himself, weakly kicking his bare heel against the floor. “Who locks themself in a practice room?”
His throat is dry, but his water bottle is across the room with his bag and his phone is still blasting music from the speakers, miles away from where he had collapsed after his knee gave out. He hadn’t really seen it coming- sure, he was tired, and about ready to call it quits, but he had thrown himself through one last song, and then his knees had buckled out of a jump.
And then his limbs apparently just gave up.
So here he was, a sore, thirsty, tired puddle of overcooked noodles on the floor of SM’s practice room. With no way of getting help.
“Yay,” Shotaro says to the fluorescent lights. “Being an idol.”
The fluorescent lights do not reply, or give him any sort of solution. Shotaro tries to sit up, and suppresses a cry of pain when his arms give out and he falls, hard, onto his elbow.
“Stupid,” he hisses again, reaching up to shakily grip his elbow. He swallows around a sudden lump of tears- he will not cry over this, he’s fine- and tries to sit up again.
Stars swarm his vision and his ears start ringing loud enough to drown out the music, but he manages to get to a seated position, breathing slowly through a wave of nausea. Everything is shaking- the ground, his body, his breathing. He feels terrible.
“I wanna go home,” Shotaro whines, pressing his hands against his eyes. His vision is still blacked out, and he squeezes them shut to try and stop everything from spinning. Even though he can’t see. Life is unfair like that.
A sudden wave of nausea makes him jolt up on unsteady legs. Apparently he can stand up, with a proper shot of panicked adrenaline. He hesitates though, torn between getting his phone or his water. There’s no way he’s able to make it to both.
There’s a trash can by the speakers, and suddenly Shotaro’s decision is made for him. He throws himself across the room, his knees skidding painfully across the floor as he collapses to wretch into the tiny trash can.
The burning, acid smell makes him feel even more sick, and he tries his best to scoot away from the gross bin. He snags the cord his phone is hooked to, and pulls it down on his head.
“Ow,” Shotaro groans. Then he groans again. The puking didn’t help with his dry throat, and it burns when he speaks.
His phone is thankfully, not out of charge. When he opens it, a whole slew of notifications nearly blind him. He throws a hand over his eyes and squints at the screen through the crack in his fingers.
Most of his notifications are from his friends. He ignores those for now.
He has two missed calls- one from his mom, and the other from Taeyong.
He has ten whole messages from other members, all asking where he is.
Shotaro sighs, although he’s secretly relieved to see that people are still awake- the last text was sent just ten minutes ago, even though it’s nearly- he checks his phone again and winces- 2:00 am.
Speaking seems like an impossible task right now, so he opens his text messages.
Then he pauses.
He had thought, at first, that he would just text Taeyong. At least that way, he can think of it as a strictly professional duty, and he can maybe curb some of the embarrassment.
But Taeyong suddenly seems intimidating. Which is stupid, because Taeyong is actually incredibly nice, but he’s also older, and has been in the industry longer, and is still really, really cool.
Shotaro hesitates for another second, and then scrolls past Taeyong’s name. The next one that pops up is Sungchan, which he scrolls past without thinking. He pauses, though, when he reaches Doyoung’s contact.
Doyoung is nice to him. He always makes sure to include Shotaro in conversations, and he tries to help him when he doesn’t know a word. But more than that, he’s asked Shotaro for help with some of the steps from Make a Wish multiple times. Surely if Doyoung has asked for help, then he wouldn’t make fun of Shotaro for the situation he’s in now.
It still takes Shotaro nearly ten minutes to finally text Doyoung. He debates just staying in the practice rooms to die, but eventually he gives up. It’s really cold, especially with the sweat drying across his back, and the shivers pull at his aching muscles. When he throws up again- mostly bile, which hurts more - he finally sends the stupid text.
Doyoung-hyung, i’m in the practice room. I can’t get up will you please come.
He gets a response in less than five minutes- on my way. The sigh of relief he lets out sounds more like a sob, and he settles in to wait.
Except it’s really cold. And the cold is making his limbs cramp up, and his stomach still feels off, and he feels gross all over. He tries to distract himself by scrolling through YouTube, but even that is exhausting. Shotaro ends up just leaning against the wall with his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from shivering.
It feels like ages before the door swings open and someone flicks the lights on. Shotaro can’t help the whine that escapes him, but he was so close to actually falling asleep, and the lights hurt.
“Taro!” Doyoung’s voice is soft, but Shotaro can still hear the concern in it. He tries his best to sit up straight and look at least somewhat alive, but it’s hard. His head is pounding now, and more than anything he just wants to be in bed.
“Hyung,” he manages to croak, even though it really does make him feel like he’s about to throw up again.
“Oh, you’re in bad shape,” Doyoung says as he crouches down in front of Shotaro. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, I had to get the keys. Can you really not get up?”
Shotaro shakes his head. He sees Doyoung glance at the trash can, but he’s too tired to feel embarrassed.
“That’s alright, I took a car here. If I helped could you make it to the parking garage?”
‘Parking garage’ is not a word Shotaro knows normally, and certainly not when he feels like he’s about thirty seconds away from either falling asleep or throwing up. Still, he nods.
“Alright, let me get your stuff and then we can leave. I think Taeyong’ll still be awake when we get back, but everyone else was asleep when I left.”
Doyoung stands as he talks and Shotaro watches him as he starts gathering his things. Shotaro thanks the heavens that he cleaned his bag last night, and leans forward as Doyoung finishes up and kneels in front of him once again.
“You dance with your shoes off?” Doyoung asks, handing him the objects in question. Shotaro winces as he sits forward to tug them on. Every single part of his body aches.
“I like the floor,” is what Shotaro manages to croak out. Tying his sneakers laces seems too hard, so he just leaves them dangling. Doyoung frowns and reaches out to press his hand against Shotaro’s forehead. It reminds Shotaro of his mother, when he got sick as a very little kid.
“You’re warm,” Doyoung says with a frown. “How long ago did you stop dancing?”
Shotaro shrugs, glancing at his phone. “Maybe an hour?”
The silence that follows is heavy, and Shotaro suddenly gets the sense that something is actually wrong. He accepts Doyoung’s hand in silence. Standing up is terrible, and Shotaro takes a second to stand stock still with his eyes shut tight. Doyoung just lets him lean on him, nudging him with a water bottle when Shotaro finally exhales.
“I don’t-” Shotaro chokes, pushing the water away weakly. He actually would kill for a drink, but his stomach is still lurching, and he doesn’t want anything to happen in the car.
“Okay,” Doyoung says, tucking it away. “Let’s go, then. I want to get some medicine into you.”
Shotaro stumbles after Doyoung, trying his best to keep himself upright, but he suspects he’s leaning on his hyung a lot harder than it seems. The walk to the car seems ages long, even if Doyoung lets him stop and rest halfway down the hallway. By the time they get to the parking garage, which Shotaro has definitely learned about but completely forgot, he’s sweating more than he does during practice.
“God, you look terrible,” Doyoung frowns as Shotaro leans against the car door. Shotaro waves him off, bending over to catch his breath. “Let’s get you home fast, alright? I’m going to call Taeyong and make sure there’s food left for you.”
Shotaro groans at the thought of eating, but allows Doyoung to hover over him like an overprotective mother as he settles into the passenger seat and lets Doyoung ruffle his sweaty hair as he drives.
Driving is also horrible, but not nearly as much as walking. At least in the car, Shotaro can just close his eyes, curl into himself, and wait for it to be over.
He can’t tell when the car stops, because he’s still spinning, the floor lurching unsteadily under his feet. Shotaro does hear Doyoung get out, and then open his door. His cool hands once again brush at his hair.
“Taro, are you awake?”
Shotaro nods, pressing up into Doyoung’s hands. It’s just, his head is still pounding, and Doyoung’s doing something with his fingernails that feels really, really good.
Doyoung laughs softly. “Come on, then. Taeyong’s going to absolutely smother you.”
As if you aren’t , Shotaro thinks as forces his eyes open, and promptly doubles over, gagging a thin stream of bile onto the pavement.
“Shit!” Doyoung curses, jumping back. Shotaro heaves with another weak gag, and then slumps back against his seat, panting.
“Are you alright?”
Shotaro feels tears spring to his eyes. He doesn’t usually cry, but today has been so long, and he feels so awful, and the trek up to his dorm feels like an impossible task.
“Just…” he can’t think of the word for dizzy. It’s one of the ones he has studied, he knows that. That’s the first set of words he learned, words like dizzy, and hurt, and pain. He tries to remember it, he really does, but every time he gets his hands around it, it slips through his fingers like jelly. For some reason, that’s the thing that pushes him over the edge, and he bites into his sweater to stifle a sob.
“Oh no, Taro.” Doyoung sounds sad, and Shotaro has to hold his breath to keep any sounds from escaping. “It’s alright, come here. I know you must feel terrible, but it’s okay. Come on, let’s get up. The sooner we get home, the sooner you can rest.”
Shotaro just hiccups around his sobs as Doyoung pulls him up and out of the car and into a hug. His face is pressed against Doyoung’s sweater, and he holds onto Doyoung as tightly as he can. Doyoung strokes his hair, and sways them from lightly from side to side in the middle of the parking lot.
“I know it’s a lot right now,” Doyoung murmurs into his hair. Shotaro sniffles in agreement. “But you’ve done so well, Taro. Give yourself a break for a couple hours, okay?”
Doyoung’s phone rings, interrupting the quiet they’ve managed to carve out for themselves, and Shotaro pulls away from the hug, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. Doyoung keeps an arm around Shotaro’s waist, which Shotaro leans against gratefully.
“Taeyong was yelling at me to bring you in,” Doyoung says once he hangs up the phone. “He’s watching us from the window, can you see?”
Shotaro can in fact see Taeyong’s skinny frame silhouetted in the window of their kitchen. As he watches, Taeyong makes a finger heart with one hand and flips them off with the other.
“That was for me,” Doyoung says tiredly. “Alright, let’s get inside before Taeyong comes down and murders us.”
Shotaro concentrates very hard on not throwing up in the elevator. Doyoung lightly rubs his back in encouragement. The hallway to their dorm is like a marathon, and even Doyoung is out of breath by the time they get to their door, although that might be because Shotaro can no longer feel his legs.
“Tae, let us in!” Doyoung calls, rapping softly on the door. He barely finishes knocking before it swings open and Taeyong reaches out to snag Shotaro’s sweater, pulling him into the dorm. Shotaro squeaks, bracing himself on the wall as he’s pulled off balance.
“Be gentle!” Doyoung scolds, following them inside. “I’m going to go change, do you two need anything?”
Shotaro whips towards Doyoung, hoping his eyes convey his plea as clearly as he wants them to. Doyoung looks taken aback, but he clearly knows what Shotaro wants, given the way his eyes flit between Taeyong and him. It’s not that Shotaro doesn’t like Taeyong, but Doyoung leaving makes his already unsteady stomach flip even more. Doyoung makes everything seem steady and normal right now, and Shotaro isn’t willing to give that up.
“Maybe you should stay,” Taeyong says quietly, observing their little exchange from the kitchen table. “We don’t have anything tomorrow morning anyway.”
Doyoung just nods, stepping forward to push Shotaro into one of the kitchen chairs, and then disappears around the corner. Shotaro can’t help the sad noise that slips out, and Taeyong hesitates for a second, the tupperware in his hands balanced precariously between two fingers.
“He’s just grabbing some things, he’ll be back,” Taeyong says in that same soft voice. Shotaro flushes up to his ears and slumps down to hide his head in his arms on the table.
“Are you feeling up to eating anything?” Taeyong asks. Shotaro shakes his head without lifting it from his arms. He never wants to eat anything ever again, because he’s thrown up more in the last three hours than he has in his entire life, and he still feels sick.
“Just a little?” Taeyong wheedles. “You’ll feel worse later on if you don’t eat. There’s plain rice and Powerade.”
Shotaro raises his head just a little, looking over at Taeyong blearily. Rice doesn’t sound like the worst, and he is desperately thirsty.
“Okay,” he rasps, ducking back into his arms. Taeyong makes a pleased noise, and starts bustling around the kitchen. Shotaro shifts in the hard chair, hoping to maybe sleep for a second, when his arm is lightly shaken. He groans, propping his chin on his folded arms, glaring at Doyoung.
“You’re scary when you aren’t smiling,” Doyoung says far too cheerily. “Open your mouth.”
“‘M not scary,” Shotaro grumbles, but he obediently takes the thermometer from Doyoung’s hand and sticks it in his mouth. The kitchen is silent while they wait, with only the running of the fridge in the background. The beep, when it comes, is loud.
Shotaro hands it back to Doyoung to read. He’s not great at Korean numbers when they go higher than 100.
“101.5” Doyoung reads, throwing a look at Shotaro. Shotaro just shrinks, preparing himself for a scolding.
“You know you shouldn’t have stayed back if you felt bad,” Taeyong says, crossing his arms. “And you should have called someone to pick you up earlier.”
Shotaro sits as upright as he can, indignant. “I didn’t feel that bad when I asked! And I was going to, but-” he cuts himself off.
“But?” Taeyong raises a single, perfect, eyebrow.
“My phone was plugged in,” Shotaro says slowly. “And I couldn’t get to the charger. I had to wait.”
Taeyong drops his head, a sigh shaking his thin shoulders. Shotaro squirms as guilt burrows under his skin.
“Sorry,” he adds, quieter. “I’ll do better.”
“No,” Doyoung says, shaking his head. “You’re doing fine, Taro. We know you know all that, and I understand that under the circumstances you did the best you could.”
Shotaro stares blankly at the table. He’s too tired for discussions with long words. A bowl of rice is slid in front of him, as well as a bottle of blue Powerade.
“Try and eat,” Taeyong says gently, sitting down across from Shotaro. “It’s okay if you don’t finish, but you should probably eat before you take any medicine anyway.”
“ Itadakimasu ,” Shotaro says under his breath before digging in. He gulps down the Powerade, barely breathing between drinks. When he sets the empty bottle down, Taeyong sets another one in front of him with a concerned frown. The rice is bland, but he manages to eat two-thirds of it in between sips of Powerade before his stomach protests.
“Good, Shotaro,” Taeyong says when he pushes the bowl away. “You did good. Do you still feel okay?”
Shotaro nods, his eyes drooping. He’s exhausted, and even though he’s still cold, he’s full and sleepy.
“Your stomach’s fine?” Doyoung pushes, reaching forward to feel Shotaro’s forehead through his bangs.
“It’s okay,” Shotaro says, batting at Doyoung’s hands. “I’m tired.”
“Of course you are,” Taeyong coos. “It’s nearly 3:00 am. Go take a quick shower and then you can sleep.”
Shotaro slowly levers himself out of his seat, his bones and muscles screaming in protest. Doyoung watches him with sharp eyes, hovering a hand over the small of Shotaro’s back as he passes. The hallway is dark, and Shotaro tries not to make too much noise as he fumbles for his door handle, fully aware that everyone is sleeping. His room is dark too, although Sungchan’s cloud light casts a blue glow over everything. Sungchan himself is asleep in the top bunk, curled on his side with one foot dangling out of the covers.
Shotaro fumbles across the room to his drawers, pulling a shirt and a pair of soft pants out randomly. Sungchan doesn’t move as he leaves, and Shotaro shuts the door as softly as possible.
The hot water feels amazing, and Shotaro can’t quite bring himself to get out of the shower, not when he’s finally warm and his muscles have stopped aching. It’s only when the water starts running cold that he steps out. He dries himself off and gets dressed as quickly as he can, but the shivers start up again as soon as he gets out.
When he gets to his room, he’s surprised to see light seeping from the room. The door opens in Shotaro’s face, and he has to stumble against the wall to keep from falling.
“Hey, Taro” Sungchan mumbles, his voice deep and raspy with sleep. “Taeyong-hyung kicked me out, hope you feel better.”
“Sorry,” Shotaro breaths, watching Sungchan waddle down the hallway. He cautiously peeks in the room. Taeyong is sitting on his bed, his delicate face illuminated by his phone screen.
“Hyung?” Shotaro edges into the room, hesitantly setting his clothes on the chair he and Sungchan had reserved for dirty laundry.
“Oh, Taro. Is it okay if I stay here tonight, just to make sure you’re okay?”
Shotaro blinks at Taeyong. “I am okay.”
Taeyong laughs, closing his phone. The loss of light makes Shotaro’s head swim, and he has to blink hard to adjust his eyes. Taeyong looks as pretty in the deep-blue night light glow as he does under studio lights. It’s highly unfair.
“I know you’re probably used to staying alone, but I’d rather know how you’re doing most of the night so we can figure out tomorrow as quickly as possible.”
That makes sense, so Shotaro nods, unsure if Taeyong can see him. Taeyong pats the bed, and Shotaro slowly moves to sit next to him.
“You’re still warm, even after that shower,” Taeyong hums, pressing a gentle hand to Shotaro’s forehead. It’s cool and it feels nice, so Shotaro stays as still as possible in hopes that Taeyong won’t move.
“Doyoung gave you medicine, right?”
Shotaro is shivering again, and he honestly just wants to sleep. He can’t remember if Doyoung had given him any medicine.
“Come on, let’s get you medicine before you pass out. Did you do your skin care?”
Shotaro wants to cry as Taeyong pulls him out of his room. He’s so tired, and Taeyong isn’t letting him sleep, and his legs are hurting again, and it’s just too much.
Thank god he learned to cry quietly when he became a back-up dancer. He trails behind Taeyong and brushes the tears off his cheeks as best he can. The trip to the bathroom allows him to try and collect himself, and by the time Taeyong flicks on the obtrusively bright bathroom lights, he’s mostly stopped crying.
Mostly.
Except Taeyong starts to turn to him, and the thought of being caught crying like a baby is so awful to Shotaro’s sleepy, sick brain that he has to bury his face in his sweater paws, muffling his sobs in the soft fabric.
“Taro,” Taeyong sighs, and then Shotaro is being hugged, his arms pressed into his chest.
“You must be so tired,” Taeyong continues, his chin digging into Shotaro’s head comfortably. “And I just kept giving you things to do, huh? I’m sorry, Taro. Just breathe for a second, okay? You can go to sleep so soon, I promise.”
Shotaro shudders in Taeyong’s arms. He can’t seem to stop crying.
“You’re shaking, baby,” Taeyong says. “Are you cold?”
Shotaro nods as much as he can when pressed up to Taeyong’s chest like this. He’s even colder than he was in the practice room- probably because his hair is still wet and dripping against his neck.
“Poor thing,” Taeyong murmurs. “Alright, Taro. There are three things left before you can sleep, okay?”
Shotaro can’t help it- he whines, more tears leaking into his sweater. Why is there more? He just wants to sleep so badly, Taeyong knows that.
“I know, but you don’t have to do anything. Just sit here, okay? I’m going to help you so we can get to sleep.”
Shotaro is ushered to the toilet, where Taeyong deposits him, and then whisks away. Shotaro watches through his fingers as Taeyong gathers supplies- a hair dryer, a giant white bottle, and Shotaro’s skin care stuff, all marked with an otter sticker.
“Take these first,” Taeyong says when he comes back, holding out two orange pills. Shotaro swallows them dry, which hurts his throat. Taeyong shudders.
“I’ll never understand how you people do that,” Taeyong mutters. “Alright, just close your eyes.”
Taeyong’s hands are gentle as he rubs in both of Shotaro’s cleansers, and then the exfoliating cream. He blow drys Shotaro’s hair as the exfoliating cream sits, and the warmth is so nice, Shotaro drifts off. He’s vaguely aware of Taeyong rubbing in the essence and the serum, and then the hair dryer starts again when the sheet mask is applied. It seems like hours later that Taeyong shakes him, murmuring gentle words that Shotaro can’t process and pulling him out of the bathroom. Shotaro wakes up a little on the walk down the hall, and by the time they reach Shotaro’s room, he’s at least partially coherent.
“Hyung,” he mutters, his tongue thick in his mouth. “Tired?”
“I know you’re tired,” Taeyong says, pushing Shotaro gently onto his bed. Shotaro sinks into the soft pillows, and clumsily tries to pull his covers up. Sleep is making his arms heavy, so Taeyong helps, tugging the covers so they sit right, and pulling an extra blanket onto the bed. The shivers finally start to go away, and Shotaro is falling asleep faster than can process, but he still reaches out to snag Taeyong’s sleeve when he turns away.
“No,” he insists, sure somewhere in his fuzzy brain that this is important, “hyung, ‘r you tired?’
Taeyong pauses, and Shotaro blinks his eyes open long enough to see a strange expression cross his face. Taeyong bends down to untangle Shotaro’s hand from his shirt.
“Yeah, I’m a little tired. It’s okay, just get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Shotaro wants to say something else, something like ‘thank you,’ or ‘I’m sorry’, but he falls asleep even before Taeyong stops talking.