Chapter Text
8:00 AM
Jihoon woke to the sound of noisy chatter and an unpleasant alarm buzzing. He pulled his hand out from beneath the warm blankets, grimacing as cool air hit his skin.
As he swept his hand across the side table searching for his phone, another hand intercepted his, grabbing the device and silencing the alarm. The same person shooed away the members crowding near the doorway—a small but thoughtful gesture that made Jihoon's chest feel warm.
Ah, it must be Joshua, he thought groggily, catching a glimpse of the unique handmade bracelet on his hyung's wrist before burrowing back under his comforter.
But something was wrong. The noise had stopped, yet his body felt freezing, as if he'd been left in a walk-in freezer. He wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, trying to trap what little warmth remained, but waves of chills still ran down his spine.
After several minutes of shivering, Jihoon threw off the blanket and searched for the air conditioner remote, turning it off before hurrying back to bed.
He tossed and turned for another thirty minutes before giving up with a heavy groan. After rubbing his eyes, he pushed his bangs back and frowned.
Impulsive actions make life harder.
Am I really getting sick now? Out of all times? There's no way in hell I'm telling anyone about this.
The thought of being sick made his head throb worse, so he pushed it aside and dragged himself to the bathroom, hoping to wash away the fatigue.
He paused in front of the mirror, slowly frowning at his haggard reflection. His skin was ghostly pale except for the faint flush across his cheeks, and the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes were much darker than usual. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and upon closer inspection, his nails and lips had a subtle bluish-purple tint.
He laughed bitterly at himself while brushing his teeth. Mirrors don't lie, he thought. But I sure do.
His mood soured further as he yanked the thermometer from the cabinet.
38 degrees. This is bad... It should go down soon, right?
He tossed the thermometer back and left the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in a futile attempt to cool the burning sensation under his skin.
He wasn't surprised to find the others already eating breakfast without him—it was his own fault for sleeping in.
When a sharp ache speared through his skull, he groaned and bent forward, hands on his knees. All conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at him.
"Jihoon-ah, are you alright?" Jeonghan's gentle voice asked, concern evident. "You're very pale."
"I'm fine," Jihoon assured them with a weak smile.
"You look exhausted. You should've slept longer—we still have an hour before we leave," Joshua said, standing and walking over. "You're sweating?"
He reached out to touch Jihoon's forehead, while the others began voicing their concerns.
"You don't look well..."
"Yeah, are you sure you're okay?"
"You good, bro?"
Even though he'd already answered, the repeated questions made his headache worse. Anxiety crept in—if Joshua discovered his fever, he'd be forced to rest while everyone else worked. His panic won out.
Jihoon harshly swatted Joshua's hand away, earning surprised looks from everyone.
"What's wrong?" Joshua asked, stepping back.
"It's nothing. Sorry." Jihoon's hands trembled slightly, and he felt a lump rising in his throat.
"Alright, if you say so," Joshua said quietly, returning to his seat, clearly hurt.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Seungcheol asked again, having watched the exchange.
That wasn't smart, Jihoon thought. This is a mess. Sorry, Shua hyung.
He clenched his jaw, visibly annoyed. "I'm fine, so please stop asking. I'm just not in the best mood."
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow but decided to let it go for now.
Jihoon grabbed some food and stiffly sat next to Wonwoo, who had been silent the entire time. At least Wonwoo wouldn't push the subject and would let him eat in peace.
He wasn't hungry—nausea churned in his stomach at the sight of food—but he didn't want them nagging him about eating, so he forced himself to take a few bites.
"You don't want to eat more?" Wonwoo asked quietly.
"Nah, I'm good."
Wonwoo nodded with a small sigh. "Suit yourself." His voice was flat, but Jihoon could see concern in his eyes.
The awkward mood prompted most of the younger members to finish quickly and leave, while the older ones exchanged worried glances and kept watching Jihoon.
They loaded into their vans, and Jihoon hoped he could get some much-needed sleep and make it through the day without drawing more attention.
10:00 AM
In his studio, Jihoon held his shaky hands over his pounding head. His fever had dropped slightly, but his headache had worsened to the point where he couldn't even type in his computer password, let alone start working.
Bumzu was currently in a meeting, so no one could witness his miserable state in the dimly lit room.
He staggered to the couch and fumbled for his jacket, remembering he'd tucked some paracetamol in the pocket before leaving the dorm.
"Thank god," he muttered, swallowing the pill dry.
It felt like glass scraping down his throat. He choked on the sensation and spent the next few minutes on all fours, coughing painfully. He took another pill with water this time to avoid repeating that experience.
Is this the price of being stubborn? Screw this damn body.
He squeezed the plastic water bottle roughly, then tossed it aside. It landed perfectly on the nearby table—a small victory that made him feel momentarily proud despite everything.
When he tried to stand, his shaky legs gave out and he fell forward, barely catching himself before face-planting. "Bloody hell!" He slumped back on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to ease the burning sensation behind them.
No one in their right mind would trust legs that trembled like that. The fear of breaking his nose was enough to keep him seated.
He sat up quickly when he heard the door handle click, ignoring the pain shooting up his spine.
"Jihoon?" Bumzu's familiar voice called softly. "Are you alright?" He closed the door and hurried over as Jihoon discretely stuffed the medicine back in his pocket.
"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine." Jihoon forced a smile and started walking slowly to his desk to avoid another fall.
Bumzu gently grabbed his wrist and pointed at his face. "Your nose is bruised and bleeding a bit. What happened?"
Jihoon frowned and touched his nose, surprised. He checked his phone camera and cursed under his breath.
"Did I really fall that hard? How did I not notice?"
"You fell? When? How?" Bumzu led him to his chair and sat beside him, handing him tissues.
"Just before you came in. I went to get water and tripped over my own feet." The lie came easily, though it held some truth. "How silly of me. You know how the body can make a simple injury look worse than it is. It barely hurts!" He wiped his nose carefully and chuckled.
"Right. Be more careful next time—you're an idol, remember? You can't have your face injured like this." Bumzu sighed, still skeptical.
"Yes, hyung. It should be fine in a day or two. Shall we get to work now?"
His headache was fading, so he wanted to accomplish as much as possible before it returned.
Bumzu nodded and they dove into work. Jihoon quickly became absorbed in the conversation, forgetting—or ignoring—the dull aches throughout his body, like the workaholic he was.
12:00 AM
Jihoon had been working nonstop for ten hours straight, trying to make as much progress as possible.
Everything had been going smoothly, and he'd felt relieved for the first time all day—until he decided to extend his stay a few more hours.
Then everything started sounding like nails on a chalkboard and looking like words written by a drunk person. He couldn't tell if his exhausted brain was playing tricks on him or if his work was genuinely terrible.
The longer he stared at the screen, the worse he felt.
Terrible. Trashy.
Click, click, click.
Repetitive. Meaningless.
Tap, tap, tap.
What's wrong with me?! Work, work, work! Why? Why! Why?!
He slammed his fingers on the keyboard, creating jumbles of random letters while his feet tapped restlessly on the ground.
Frustration turned to fury as he hit the keyboard again and again. He felt tired, disappointed, and sad—but this was only the beginning of something far more draining.
3:00 AM
Jihoon groaned as his phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time. He finally lifted his head off the messy desk covered in lyric sheets, crumpled papers, and equipment, squinting at the bright screen.
Before he could make out the caller's name, the call ended. Though annoyed, he was relieved the noise had stopped before he threw the phone at the wall.
"I should head back before I get dragged out... and get another curfew or something." He frowned deeply, disturbed that he'd just called his studio—his second home, his source of comfort—a ditch.
"To hell with these useless thoughts. I must be going insane." He massaged the bridge of his nose, wincing when his fingers brushed the bruise, and decided to leave, unable to think straight anymore.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed back his chair with a loud screech and stood too quickly.
White flashed across his vision. The world spun like a rollercoaster as black dots danced at the edges of his sight. His knees buckled.
A loud thud echoed in the silent room as he collapsed.
A knock sounded at the door.
Another knock, slightly louder.
A third, harder.
"Woozi hyung?" A gentle voice called.
Jihoon's eyes twitched.
"Are you in there?" The voice grew more anxious.
Jihoon vaguely recognized it.
"I'm coming in," the person announced.
The door was unlocked, but Jihoon's eyes remained closed.
What could go wrong?