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He stares down at the little stick of plastic on the table, the two parallel red lines that seal his doom. His stomach rolls, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a symptom of the virus or of his own complete, shattering guilt.
“It’s positive,” he says, standing from the table and not meeting anyone’s eyes. He picks up his phone and moves away from the others as quickly as he can.
“No way!” Mark exclaims, and Jeno gestures to the test. Chenle and Jisung are standing up to lean over the table and see for themselves, while Jaemin, who had been sat next to him, just watches him stand. Jeno can’t face any of them as he gathers up his few things.
“Oh, Jeno,” Renjun says, looking up at him from over the table, shoulders sinking.
“Sorry,” he says, going to the door. Their manager takes a few steps back to give him a clear path out of the room.
“We should all do another test too,” he’s saying, already going for the packet. “Jeno, here, take the keys. Wait in the car and I’ll drop you back home once everyone’s done tests.”
Jeno catches the keys and pulls his hood up over his head, stepping out of the room to take the shortest route to the company’s underground parking. His mind is whirring like a broken fan, unable to stop tracing back his steps over the last week, wracking his brain for where he could’ve caught it from and trying to work out who else he might’ve infected. He’s known for a few days now that he hasn’t been well—he should’ve played it safe, should’ve seen this coming…
It takes him longer to find the car than it should. He’s exhausted from the music show recording and his brain feels cloudy, like he’s running the same thoughts on a loop but can’t quite see the loop connecting in the fog. It’s also so cold down here, hard stone walls unforgiving even though he’s in a hoodie and coat at the start of sunny June.
He has a coughing fit from breathing in the fine dust and stale air of the basement, and by the time he makes it into the car seat he slumps onto his side, curling up into a ball. Some amount of time passes in the car, but it’s hard to say how much. He’s tired enough to sleep, but his brain is still stuck on the thought that he’s never missed a schedule for sickness before, and now he’s missing one of their precious few 7-member promotions for a week or more because of this glorified cold. He so rarely gets sick, and it’s unthinkable that he could now, the one period of the year he’s needed to work.
And if he’s got the others sick, too—anyone at the music show, any of the staff, any of his friends—what would he do? The guilt is eating him alive as it is. Even as he hears other people walking past outside, getting into other cars, he can’t sit up and look alive. He can’t move his thoughts from this awful sense that he’s done this all wrong. He should’ve been more careful. He’s put everything at risk.
It’s not like he’s been anywhere the others haven’t been, though. It’s not like he has any other friends to hang out with, so how could he be the only one to catch it?
It’s not a very comforting thought.
After a little while, the other car door opens, and Jeno jerks and pushes himself up. Chenle is climbing into the seat next to him, completely casual.
Jeno blinks, takes a few moments to register what this means. Chenle just looks at him, perfectly agreeable.
“Not you too,” he says, despairing.
“What, you don’t want me here?” Chenle says, like he’s not at all affected by having to sit out another comeback, right after sitting out of the full album, all because of Jeno. “Come on, this is way better than being on your own. Now we can quarantine together. You’re coming back to mine, right? It’s better than locking yourself in the dorm room, you know that. We’ll have my whole house to ourselves.”
“Chenle,” he says, overwhelmed, slumping back into the car seat. He can’t quite swallow around the odd sort of grief he’s feeling for more precious time lost.
“No one else tested positive. Just me and you. You need to stop loving me so much more than everyone else, clearly.”
The knife in his chest twists. “Sorry.”
Chenle hasn’t taken his eyes off Jeno since he’d gotten into the car. “It’s alright, I don’t mind it really. If any of us were gonna get it, I’m kind of glad you’re not going to be on your own. You’d be too miserable. At least I’m good company.”
Jeno just flutters his eyes shut. Chenle shuffles a little in the seat next to him. “I don’t even think I got it from you, though. For all you know, you could’ve got it from me. Weird that we both tested negative this morning and positive this afternoon, right? Manager-hyung is coming to drive us home in a minute, after he’s let the company know what’s going on. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
Jeno swallows again. “Thanks,” he says, voice small.
Their manager arrives only a minute or two later, and they stop talking out of respect for his clearly fried nerves, driving as quickly as possible to get them both to Chenle’s house. Jeno stares out of the half-open window and tries not to cry for the duration of the trip, and Chenle sits on his phone, sniggering from time to time. Their manager drops them off with brisk instructions to take care of themselves, and Chenle leads them into the house.
“Did you get that same paragraph from Jisung?”
“Dunno,” he says, stepping into the house behind him. “Is no one else home?”
“It’s just me here right now, you can take your mask off. I’m going to make us some soup before you sleep. Do you want to shower too? You know where everything is, just pick up a towel. Check your messages, though. Jisung and Mark are needy.”
He goes to sit in Chenle’s bathroom, still wearing his coat, not sure if he has the energy to get undressed and step into the shower. He’s gross enough to necessitate it, stage makeup still sitting on his face, product in his hair—that's some more people he probably infected, the coordi noonas—and he’s cold and sweaty and achingly tired all over. Hot water sounds good—moving doesn’t.
He procrastinates by finally checking his messages. Jisung has, indeed, sent him a paragraph about taking care of himself, as has Jaemin. Renjun has sent him a message reminding him that he shouldn’t feel guilty about getting sick, but focus on getting better, that this will be over in no time. Mark has sent a few messages wishing him to get well soon along with plenty of messages containing only ㅠㅠ and sad emojis. Donghyuck isn’t much of a texter, but he’s sent PUBG tonight? If you’re not dying, which is about as good as a heartfelt get well soon message from him.
Chenle’s updated the group chat that they’re at his house, and Jeno sends a sticker in there rather than responding to the individual messages. He doesn’t have the energy.
He showers without thinking of much, but feeling so heavy he could fall through the floor, and so guilty he’s worried he might puke. He doesn’t move much but to stand under the hot water for a few minutes, then changes into Chenle’s spare clothes, softer and more comfortable than the stage outfit he’d been wearing. The hot steam had eased the burning cough in his chest, but now he feels sleepier, more susceptible to lying down somewhere and not getting up for a long time. The smell of whatever Chenle’s cooking draws him back into the kitchen.
“Sit,” Chenle says, sliding him a bowl of chicken soup across the table. “Eat, then sleep after.”
“Why are you telling me to sleep,” he grumbles. He spoons the first of the soup into his mouth, and oh, it’s so good. “It’s not even 10pm.”
“Because you look like you’re about to fall over. You’ve looked like that all day. It’s a good thing, really, that you’re going to be able to rest now instead of working.”
Jeno eyes him up over the table. Aside from complaining of tiredness after their stage, Chenle hasn’t shown any signs of sickness the same way Jeno is now. “What if they cancel everyone’s schedules? Then it won’t be worth it. Everything will be ruined.”
“They probably will cancel them,” Chenle says casually. Jeno’s spoon knocks into the side of his bowl. “Sounded like it when Manager-hyung was on the phone, anyway. That’s still the best thing that can happen, I think. It means we’ll still get to finish promotions together, just a bit later on. We don’t have to miss out on anything.”
Jeno sits back in his chair, clenching and unclenching his fist. “You can’t really believe that.”
“Yes I do,” Chenle says, completely assured. “This obviously isn’t your fault. That would be a stupid thing to believe. You got sick, and you need time to get better. Let’s just get better so we can go back to work. The comeback will still do well, anyway. The song is really good.”
“If I hadn’t got sick, we wouldn’t have to deal with this at all.”
Chenle snorts. “If we could all control when we got sick, being sick would never be a problem at all. There’s no use thinking like that. This has happened, so what’s the point of wishing it hadn’t? Eat your soup.”
“I am eating it.”
“No you’re not. You’re being all miserable.”
“I can do both,” he grumbles, spooning more soup into his mouth. It’s hard to swallow, but he manages, and finishes the whole bowl under Chenle’s watchful eye.
They get the news half an hour later that Dream schedules are being halted for the time being, like Chenle had said. Jeno and Chenle are told they have to quarantine for at least five days, then can resume schedules as soon as they have two negative tests. Jeno feels as if his chest might cave in with the shame of it all, but Chenle only shrugs and goes to clear up their bowls.
“That’s not bad. A few days of rest, then we can go back. Maybe now I’ll get some time to practice violin again. I bet you I’ll have a negative test before even the five days are up, I recovered really fast when I had it last year.”
Jeno sniffs, coughing a little. “How are you acting like this?”
“Because I’m not dying like you,” Chenle quips back. He doesn’t bother washing up the bowls, sticking everything into the dishwasher. “Also, the ankle was worse. I did that to myself, and it sucked so bad. But this isn’t my fault, so what can I do about it? Feel guilty and upset? How will that help anything?”
“Emotions don’t work like that, you know. You don’t choose not to feel guilty about something. It’s kind of weird you think that.”
“No, I’m just really smart. My logic makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” he says, subtly wiping his eyes when Chenle’s back is turned.
“It does,” Chenle assures him, closing up the dishwasher and setting it to run. He comes around to latch onto Jeno, who’s still sat at Chenle’s dining table, wrapping his arms around Jeno’s shoulders. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t be upset. Just listen to my logic. I’m trying to make you feel better, here.”
“Urgh,” he says, thick and wet, but leans into Chenle anyway. It’s a privilege to be held like this, especially when he’s this sick. “Still think you’re weird.”
Chenle laughs and starts to stroke his hair. Jeno can feel Chenle looking down at him, but he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t want to move and jostle their position. “If you don’t want to sleep now, come and watch TV with me. The new Stranger Things is out.”
“Okay.”
Chenle’s warmth leaves him so he can stand, but Jeno follows obediently after him into the bedroom. “Get in the bed. I’ll put it on.”
Jeno blinks. “In your bed? Why in here? Don’t you have a bigger TV in the living room?”
“Yes, but it’s more comfortable to lie down and watch in here. Get in the bed.”
“Alright,” he huffs, as Chenle picks up the remote and turns on his fancy humidifier.
A notification lights up Jeno’s phone. The announcement has gone out—he and Chenle now officially have Covid, and Dream schedules have been cancelled for the week. A dull sort of ache sits in his chest, along with the pull in his gut, the rolling fear that he’s messed everything up.
Chenle climbs into the bed next to him, also picking up his phone. “Don’t forget to send a message to everyone. Fans will be worried about you, you know, not holding pitchforks up at you.”
“Right,” he murmurs. He watches over his shoulder for a few minutes as Chenle types out his own messages, exposing Jisung’s fussing as soon as he can. Chenle’s subscribed to everyone else’s bubble too, so he shows Jeno Renjun’s long message, laughs at Jisung’s response to his own, and groans at Donghyuck’s characteristic response to the situation.
Jeno can’t think of the right words to say. He eventually, slowly types out, don’t worry too much about me.
The quick responses give him courage. He forgets, sometimes, paralysed by the fear of the whole world watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake like this, that many of those eyes have an awful lot of love behind them. He’s sure he’s disappointed people, but more importantly, he’s worried them, because worry comes from a place of care.
It’s really a pity that we couldn’t complete the rest of the first week but.... I’ll recover quickly and return with a bright appearance!! Don’t worry too much...
He scrolls through the responses for a while more, the many, many messages wishing him well. He daren’t leave the app for fear he’ll see some less kind words elsewhere. Even fans of other groups must be talking about him now, about whether he could get anyone else sick.
“I’m going to get you some medication before we put this on,” Chenle says from beside him, surprising him slightly. Somehow he’d forgotten he was pressed right up against his side. His phone is lax and dark on his lap, like he’d been looking Jeno’s way for a little while. “You’re getting all sweaty again. And Renjun has been nagging me about making the right tea.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, letting his phone slip from his hand. He’s somehow ended up lying down against Chenle’s pillows, comforter hitched up halfway over him. “Just put the show on.”
“It wasn’t a question, I was just letting you know,” Chenle says, already halfway out of the door.
As he walks away down the corridor, gently humming to himself, the quiet of Chenle’s bedroom crowds in on Jeno. He coughs a little, and it hurts his throat. His gaze unfocuses, and he thinks again about how everything has been ruined because of him, their excitement and hope for a strong comeback dashed after all their hard work.
Before he knows it, Chenle is stood back in front of him, thumbs wiping at his cheeks. “Aish,” he says, climbing back into the bed. “Stop that. Seriously, you’re not guilty of this. You’re fine. It’s only a few days setback.”
Chenle rearranges them so he’s settled back into the pillows too, coaxing Jeno up next to him until he’s upright enough to drink his tea. He passes him the mug, then two pills to go with it.
Jeno stares at the two little pills in his hand. “It’s just unfair.”
“It is,” Chenle agrees. “Though it feels worse than it is because you’re sick. So take your meds.”
Jeno puts them both into his mouth and chases them down with a little tea. He nearly gags it out again. “That’s disgusting.”
Chenle, who had sipped from his own mug at the same time, is grimacing. “Yeah, it is. Give it here.” He places both mugs back on the side. “Open your mouth. Let me check they’ve gone.”
“I’m not a child, I can take tablets!” Jeno complains, but lets Chenle take his face in his hands and check his open mouth. Chenle’s gentle fingers wipe his tear tracks again while he’s there, and tuts quietly.
“Yes you are. You’re a baby. Come here, baby.” He pulls Jeno in closer, and Jeno goes easily.
He ends up half on top of Chenle, leg thrown over his lap, head on his shoulder, arm over Chenle’s chest. It’s not a practical position for seeing the TV screen, but as much as he wants to put up a fight, he knows he’s not going to be awake for much longer anyway. He’d rather sleep like this.
“Comfy, baby?” Chenle says, eyes bright.
“Mmh,” he sighs, feeling Chenle press a kiss to his hair. His arm comes up around Jeno, rubbing up and down the side of his arm soothingly.
“I’ll put it on quietly,” he says. “Sleep when you like.”
“I was going to anyway,” he complains, and Chenle laughs.
“I know, I know. Good job, baby. You’ll be better before you know it, with me looking after you.”
Jeno sighs into Chenle’s shirt, who shivers slightly and pulls the comforter further up over them. “How did I end up with you again?”
“I told you,” Chenle says, a pleased intonation in his voice. He squeezes Jeno’s arm and nuzzles the side of his head. Jeno already feels like he’s drifting off, comfortable and safe. “It’s because you love me too much.”
“Unlikely,” he mumbles, and Chenle laughs again.
“Don’t worry, I love you too. Sleep now, or Renjun will have my head.”