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Seungcheol blearily blinks his eyes open at the sound of knocking. He pulls his blankets tight around him and ignores it, assuming (and hoping) whoever it is will go away.
He doesn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with anything right now. He doesn’t know where he got this stupid cold from, but it’s drained him of all willpower.
He was cast away from practices so he wouldn’t get anyone sick (and also to force him to rest. This was mostly enforced by Soonyoung, who was firm in his stance and brought him a homemade meal from his mother the next day). Not working stresses him out more than working does, if he’s being honest. It doesn’t feel right, especially as the leader, to sit and do nothing when he knows the rest of the group is diligently practicing.
Another knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts.
He wraps his plush throw blanket around his shoulders like a cape and shuffles to the door. His slippers scuff against the floor, their smiling frog faces designed by Minghao staring up at him.
When he peers through the peephole, it feels like he’s been electrocuted.
Jeonghan stands on the other side of the door, a smile blooming on his lips as Seungcheol opens it. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve seen each other, but their schedules rarely ever line up, with tour preparation running all through the day into the night. It feels like he’s seeing Jeonghan after a year apart, a shock to his core.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Seungcheol asks, his voice hoarse from lack of use and the soreness in his throat.
”Family emergency,” Jeonghan says, nodding at Seungcheol. It makes Seungcheol feel floaty, when Jeonghan refers to them as family. Really, all of the members are like family, but Seungcheol and Jeonghan are different. Everyone knows it. “Are you going to let me in?”
Seungcheol moves to the side, sniffling. “You didn’t have to come over. I’m almost thirty, I can handle a cold.”
Jeonghan tsks as he toes his shoes off. “All these things are true, yes. But it’s also true that you definitely want soup and then fingers running through your hair. You’re a baby when you’re sick.”
”I am not a baby!” Seungcheol whines. He hears exactly how he sounds and presses his lips together. “Besides, I don’t want you to catch anything.”
Jeonghan pulls him into his arms and kisses his forehead as he rocks him back and forth. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But I also don’t care. I want to take care of my Coups-yah.”
Seungcheol sighs, but it’s with a smile. His heart has been more tender lately, and Jeonghan’s presence is like a soothing balm.
Jeonghan starts moving around in Seungcheol’s kitchen, grabbing ingredients. Seungcheol watches intently, following the movements he used to see almost every day. He didn’t realize how badly he would miss how Jeonghan’s fingers hold various things, balancing some delicately and firmly grasping others. The bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows. How his arm bends as he stirs, although this is accentuated by a bit of new muscle from his training. Seungcheol wants to sink his teeth into him.
“Happy to know your staring problem hasn’t improved,” Jeonghan teases, not even looking up to confirm it.
It makes Seungcheol choke, which dissolves into a brief coughing fit. “It’s not a problem if I only stare at you.” Before Jeonghan can respond, Seungcheol asks, “Who told you I was sick?”
“Mingguri messaged me first. Then Soonyoungie sent me a picture of you curled up on the couch and I knew I had to come.”
Seungcheol makes a noise of acknowledgment. He’d complain about the photo if he didn’t know Jeonghan most likely loved it. He has his fair share of secret photos that Jeonghan would probably hate if he saw, but Seungcheol frequently flips through the album on his phone like a soldier’s wife.
“Thank you,” Seungcheol says quietly. He feels his cheeks grow warm, a warning that he’s getting emotional.
Jeonghan must hear it in his voice, because he reaches out and grabs Seungcheol’s hand, intertwining their fingers between them as Jeonghan’s free hand continues to cook the soup. “I miss you.”
Seungcheol rests his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder. Jeonghan lets him, even though the position they’re in must make cooking more difficult.
Once the soup is done Jeonghan pours him a bowl.
“You have some too,” Seungcheol says.
Jeonghan shakes his head. “I made extra so you have some to reheat la—”
“Please have some?”
Jeonghan’s expression softens, like he understands what’s going through Seungcheol’s mind. “Okay, baby.
Seungcheol, not realizing how hungry he’d been, downs the soup in record time and ends up eating Jeonghan’s bowl as well. He’d just silently slid it towards Seungcheol as he watched him eat. Seungcheol basks in the feeling of Jeonghan’s eyes on him. He could live in this moment forever.
But he finishes his soup, and Jeonghan places the bowls in the sink and leads Seungcheol to the couch. As if they’ve rehearsed it, they fall into position, with Seungcheol’s head in Jeonghan’s lap.
Jeonghan runs his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, scratching his scalp every so often, and asks about general things. Tour preparations, learning (and re-learning) choreography, things he’s excited to see in the US. Seungcheol’s bones feel like liquid.
“Will you come to the concert? In Goyang?” Seungcheol asks, even though he knows it’s unlikely.
“I’ll try,” Jeonghan says firmly. “Might even sneak out if I have to.”
Seungcheol beams. It’s not a promise that he’ll be there, but even if he’s not there in person, he knows Jeonghan will be watching online.
He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up there’s a blanket thrown over him, and he’s still laying on Jeonghan, who is snoring softly. He really does look like an angel, soft facial features illuminated by the tv, lips parted slightly, long lashes fluttering. Seungcheol would worship him. He does worship him.
Seungcheol is counting the days until this is their normal again. Until then, he’ll treat each chance he has to spend time with Jeonghan like the treasure it is.