Work Text:
Donghyuck curls up in the bundle of blankets, a dried cloth sitting on his forehead. It had been cold and wet probably hours before, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up and wash the cloth to retain that cool feeling again.
His limbs felt like lead, thin and fragile. If he were to move them from his current position, his head was sure to spin and threaten to implode if he continued his movements.
And so, even if his stomach growls and the thirst in his hoarse throat gets to the extent of very noticeable, he doesn’t (can’t) bring himself to stand up.
He wants to fall back asleep, but now that he’s awake without any source of entertainment and human life around him, his brain has gone into a sort of overdrive.
It’s late into the night, he wonders if everyone else will be finished with the concert that he had so abruptly missed.
It wasn’t his fault, is what he would like to protest. But between the hectic schedules and plane flights, perhaps he’d missed a couple meals here and there, forgot to put on his coat in the cold weather when he’d touched down. So actually, this entire thing should’ve been his fault.
Or at least that’s how he rationalises it. It doesn’t occur to him that humans shouldn’t be travelling from place to place between tight time frames with high amounts of stress and even lesser time to rest.
So he sits, wallowing in his guilt, melting into it like how the blankets were wrapped around him. At some point, it gets so warm that he kicks off the blankets tiredly and the cloth falls from his forehead.
When it gets colder moments later, he doesn’t have enough energy to pull it back around himself. He just slips, and gives in to deep slumber.
Donghyuck wakes up to a cold cloth being replaced on his forehead, along with the beep of a thermometer.
He stirs, hands heavily lifting to grab onto whoever was currently trying to take care of him. It could’ve been a manager, but something about the tiny brush of skin against his forehead tells him it isn’t.
“Sorry, go back to sleep.” Whispers the voice and Donghyuck wants to cry and sink into it. His head has been pounding for a long, long time. Much longer than when Mark had thrown him back into bed and Johnny had pronounced him sick.
Hearing his voice now was like a drop of water hitting the back of his throat after dying from immeasurable thirst.
Which reminded him — water.
“Thirsty,” Donghyuck croaks.
“Mm, figures.” Mark hums silently, shifting to uncomfortably stuff a hand underneath Donghyuck’s (very sweaty) back. He pulls him until he’s sitting against the headboard.
Donghyuck’s are still painfully closed, too heavy to properly open.
He only parts his lips when a glass of water is placed on his bottom lip, and for the first time in probably a few hours, water enters his system.
He wants to cry again.
He shuts his lips when he thinks he’s had enough and Mark gets the memo, pulling his hand back. There’s the sound of him placing the cup back onto the table.
“How’re you feeling?” Mark asks, voice inexplicably soft. Donghyuck hums, his head lolling to the side as he tries to open his eyes.
It takes a few attempts, but when his eyes finally do part, and the light enters his eyes, he’s almost blinded. The light is dim, thankfully, but Mark was looking at him with such fondness that he immediately chose to shut his eyes again.
Now, why would you look at your sweaty and sick significant other like that?
“Like shit,” Donghyuck croaks in reply when Mark laughs after catching his tiny glance.
“Are you hungry?” Mark asks.
“Why? You going to cook for me?” Donghyuck asks, a grin curling at his lips. Mark frowns, and the soft circles he had been rubbing on Donghyuck’s thigh stops.
“If you’re able to speak like that then you’re probably fine,” Mark says, pulling his hand away from his skin but Donghyuck blindly reaches down and grabs it, pulling it up to his cheek.
He splays Mark’s palm there, in the space around his jaw and cheek. And then he lets his own hands fall, sighing in content when Mark starts rubbing his cheek gently with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re running a low fever,” Mark comments and Donghyuck tries for a scoff. It comes out more like a wheeze.
“Tell me something I didn’t already know,” Donghyuck grumbles.
“You haven’t answered my previous question,” Mark reminds instead and Donghyuck’s lips fall into a pout.
He’s considering it now, because he is hungry but if he says that then Mark will definitely go out and find some food because he’s sure that room service probably has a really shit menu at this time.
Burgers, pizzas, things Donghyuck doesn’t necessarily like. And Mark knows it.
So he’ll go food hunting right after a most-likely-very-tiring concert and not to mention in the cold of the night.
Not happening.
“No,” Donghyuck replies. “Not hungry.”
“Liar,” Mark whispers in response. “You just don’t want me to leave.”
“If you know that then don’t,” Donghyuck grumbles, nuzzling into Mark’s palm. “Want cuddles.”
A second hand joins the first, brushing through Donghyuck’s brown locks of hair.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” Mark mumbles. Donghyuck makes a noise at the back of his throat.
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
Mark snorts.
There’s still another concert tomorrow, and if Mark decided to give into his temptation now, there would be two people missing the concert — Donghyuck didn’t want that. It wouldn’t be fair.
A hand pushes his sweaty bangs back and soft warm lips are meeting his forehead. Donghyuck sighs, relaxing in Mark’s hold and slipping his eyes open.
Mark looked soft in the dim orange lights of the hotel room, with the complementary hotel pyjamas he was clad in. He smelled sweet, which most likely meant he had taken a shower before visiting — or perhaps right after the concert.
“I’ll order takeout and then start a shower for you?” Mark asks softly as he leaned over Donghyuck.
“And then a kiss?” Donghyuck asked hopefully despite already knowing the answer.
“When you’re better,” Mark compromises. “You’re awfully soft when you’re sick, you know?”
“And you’re nicer to me when I’m sick,” Donghyuck retorts. “Maybe I should get sick more often.”
Mark pulls away, frowning at Donghyuck’s words. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Donghyuck exhales in the form of a laugh, tilting his head sideways — ignoring the throbbing that starts at that action.
“You know I hate it when you’re sick,” Mark grumbles, hands slowly resuming the previous caressing of Donghyuck’s face.
Donghyuck made a sound in the back of his throat, slow and dragged out, half a whine but mostly importantly a purr of satisfaction.
“I know,” Donghyuck replies, softly. His eyes flutter shut again.
“Sleepy?” Mark asks, amusement seeping into his voice.
“Shut up,” Donghyuck croaks. “Bring me to that shower you promised.”
“Oh, and carry me.” He adds for good measure.
Mark laughs, but he reaches down all the same, scooping up the younger in his arms and placing him on a stool in the bathroom.
Donghyuck may be being a bitch about it but really, he’s asking Mark to carry him solely because his legs feel like jelly. Mark must know this too, for him not to hold any complaints.
Donghyuck hums, as Mark runs the bath, the sloshing of water echoing around the walls of the bathroom.
In a moment, he will enter the bath with the water surrounding and cooling down his overheated skin. He will ask Mark to tell him about his day and the concert, about the fans and the things that happened that day — if not only just to listen to his voice.
Mark will massage his scalp with the soap the hotel provides, hands working gently. Donghyuck will nod to the words of Mark, maybe even doze off for a second or two.
And when he thinks he’s finally become enough of a prune with the wrinkling of the pads of his fingers, he will stretch out his arms for Mark to pull him out of the bath.
Back in bed with his stomach full, Donghyuck will think of contentment and the meaning of love, even though that’s a little bit too cheesy. He will whisper a thanks to Mark, because he has soft little mushy feelings for his boyfriend despite being a brat most of the time.
Unfortunately.
At the end of the day, it’s Mark’s hands in his hair and his voice that lulls him to sleep.
And at the end of the day, it’s always him.