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The moment Seungmin opens his eyes, he feels, just for one blissful second, like it's any other summer day—one that will pass by with the usual, familiar rhythm. The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the room, while the filtered sunlight sneaks through the curtains, signaling the start of his typical morning routine. Any minute now, he'll spring out of bed, determined to reach the bathroom before the others, allowing him a peaceful shower without impatient knocks and calls from behind the door. However...
...However, as he props himself up on his elbows, he's immediately hit by a pounding pain in the back of his head and neck, and he crashes back onto the pillow. The ache is unbearable as if he'd been up all night rehearsing an intense dance routine with endless headbanging—even though he hasn't danced for almost half a year.
A scratchiness in his throat announces itself as he swallows, feeling as if he just gulped down a handful of broken glass, scraping his insides so harshly that his eyes nearly tear up.
Fantastic.
Just great.
Seungmin groans, rolling onto his side and burying his nose in the thin blanket.
Why did he have to get sick?
It's July. Normal people don’t get sick in July.
He silently curses the air conditioner.
Stupid machine.
Stupid summer.
Stupid everything.
He stays like that for a few more minutes, face nestled in the folds of the cover, weighing all possible options, which each seem equally impossible today.
Get up? No way. He can barely lift his head.
Stay in bed? He’d love to, but there’s band rehearsal today, and skipping it is out of the question. Gunil would be disappointed. Well, not exactly—Gunil would be understanding once he knows there’s a legitimate reason to miss it, but Seungmin would still feel guilty. He can’t just let everyone down, especially now, when they're so close to debuting and each rehearsal is like a monthly evaluation.
Besides, it’s just a sore throat, not the plague. He’ll push through. Probably.
Groaning, Seungmin tosses off the blanket and, stumbling over his own feet, climbs down the ladder from the top bunk. Heading for the bathroom, he feels like a walking corpse. Oh yes, today he has the grace of a zombie. Each step is a struggle, with muffled moans accompanying his every movement, like someone attached concrete blocks to his body, and a sledgehammer thuds in his head with each tiny motion.
One glance in the mirror, and he instantly regrets it. His face is unusually pale, with dark circles accentuated against his fair skin, more pronounced than usual. His bleached hair sticks out in every direction like an unkempt bird's nest.
Seungmin stares at his reflection as if he can will himself to heal just by thinking hard enough, but of course, even warm tap water doesn’t soothe his aching throat, which feels like it's bleeding with each swallow.
Today was supposed to be different.
Seungmin should have been up and ready, fresh, combed, breakfasted, and sitting at his keyboard in the rehearsal room by 10 in the morning. Now he feels halfway to the grave, and the day hasn’t even properly started.
He skips the shower, feeling dizzy and doubting it would do him any good. What’s the point if he’s going to look like a scraggly rat that the cat dragged from the trash?
Dragging himself to the kitchen, Seungmin feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Or maybe a couple of trucks. A freight train. A plane, even. Yes, a plane, because there isn’t a single spot on his body that doesn’t ache.
All he can think about is breakfast. He needs something to give him the energy to keep fighting off this stupid illness. Something quick and easy, like an omelet. Eggs don’t take much thought or effort, right? He can handle it. After all, he’s the one who always wakes up first and manages to cook without any catastrophes. Even sick, he won’t let Jungsu burn something, or Jiseok slice his finger with the kitchen knife, or the rest of the band starve.
His feet shuffle reluctantly over the cool tiles as he heads for the stove. He grabs the skillet and sets it down with a loud bang, annoyed with the dumb piece of metal for no reason at all. He tries to focus on the task at hand—cooking—but suddenly, his sight blurs, and he has to clutch the countertop to steady himself.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath, waiting for his vision to clear.
He cracks a few eggs onto the sizzling pan, cursing his shaky hands, which force him to pick out pieces of shell from the half-formed omelet that stares back at him with the charm of a roadkill deer. Definitely the worst thing he’s ever cooked. Even seven-year-old Seungmin could have made a better omelet than this.
At that moment, he hears a sleepy voice behind him.
"Good morning."
Seungmin glances over his shoulder and almost collapses as the quick turn sends his world spinning. Once the image stabilizes, Jungsu is standing in the doorway, hair a mess from sleep. Seungmin forces a weak smile and, gathering all his strength, mumbles, "Morning."
Jungsu rubs his eyes with a yawn and walks closer, probably to pour himself warm water as he does every single morning before diving into his routine (like occupying the bathroom for twenty minutes while Jiseok pounds on the door). In the two months they've been in this dorm, Seungmin has learned his schedule well. Yet…
…Yet, today, that schedule is quickly crumbling under the heat Seungmin’s beginning to feel spreading through him.
"Whoa, Minnie, what’s with your voice? You look awful."
Seungmin rolls his eyes, turning back to the omelet and poking at it with the spatula.
The sarcastic reply comes out before he can stop it.
"Oh, thanks. No one’s ever complimented me quite like that," he scoffs, though his scratchy, hoarse voice makes half the words nearly unintelligible.
Jungsu doesn’t laugh, even though he usually chuckles whenever Seungmin plays the offended card, making him feel like his dream of being a comedian has finally come true. Instead, he can practically sense Jungsu's concern weighing heavily in the room, pressing on his chest and forcing his heart beat a little louder, a little faster.
He hears the soft shuffle of Jungsu’s slippers as he steps closer, ignoring his usual mug with the kitten on it, which typically gets all his attention in the mornings.
Seungmin sighs, turns off the stove, and reaches into the cabinet for a couple of white ceramic plates, only to nearly bump noses with Jungsu.
Before he can protest, insist he's fine, or brush it off with another snappy comment, Jungsu’s hand is already lifting his bangs. Jungsu leans in, pressing his cool lips to Seungmin’s forehead.
Seungmin blinks, momentarily speechless.
"I… what the fu—?"
"Language, young man," Jungsu murmurs with a soft smile. "You’ve got a fever."
"It’s because you kissed me, you fool! Obviously, I’m gonna light up like a matchstick after that!" Seungmin wants to snap, but as soon as his mouth opens, the words die in his throat. He just stares at Jungsu, feeling his cheeks ignite, though he’s sure it has nothing to do with his fever.
"Have you taken anything? Fever reducer? Something antiviral?" Jungsu asks, his voice balancing between "You’re my little pet, and I’ll take care of you" and "Oh Seungmin, you’re such an unbearable idiot; I could throttle you with a pillow."
Seungmin feels a knee-jerk urge to lean in like a flower reaching for sunlight.
"No," he croaks, shaking his head. "I’m fine."
"Fine?" Jungsu raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You can barely stand. You need to take something and go back to bed."
"Bed?" Seungmin echoes, staring at Jungsu as if he’s just suggested abandoning all his plans, changing his name, and moving to Argentina. "I don’t need to sleep. I’m totally fine."
Jungsu’s only response is a skeptical look, one of his eyebrows lifting in a doubtful arc, while the other one silently scolds, "Oh, really?"
Seungmin tries to stand firm, but it’s hard when his own body seems determined to betray him, making his legs feel as unreliable as a cheap tripod he once bought for recording dance videos.
With an exasperated sigh, Jungsu steps away and opens the cupboard stocked with a mismatched array of medicines: half-used bottles, battered boxes, and likely expired eye drops that Jiseok left behind.
Muttering under his breath, Jungsu rifles through the shelves before huffing in frustration, "We’re out of fever meds."
Seungmin tries to look just as disappointed, though in reality, he’s clinging to the sliver of hope that maybe Jungsu will leave him alone and let him head to rehearsal without fuss.
But, of course, Jungsu has other plans.
"Alright," he says. "You lie down, and I’ll go to the pharmacy."
"Hyung, I told you, I’m fine," Seungmin groans, though he hears the weakness in his own voice. He’s resisting with all he’s got, but a part of him—okay, most of him—can’t deny that Jungsu’s concern is warming him in the best possible way.
"Minnie, just do as you’re told," Jungsu says firmly, crossing his arms. "Unless you want me to tie you to the sofa and leave you here while I’m gone."
Seungmin blinks in surprise, then, despite his miserable state, smirks.
"Oh? I didn’t know you were into that."
Jungsu throws him a pained look but doesn’t respond. He simply grabs the electric kettle, fills it, and sets it to boil. The appliance glows a soft blue as it heats.
Seungmin watches Jungsu move around the tiny kitchen, his chest aching with a tenderness he can hardly contain.
Jungsu’s hair is tousled from sleep, and he’s still in an oversized gray T-shirt and loose sweatpants, but he looks wide awake—which is a miracle for 8:30 in the morning. Usually, at this hour, he resembles a large fluffy cat that could sleep twenty hours a day, but today, he’s quick and focused, filling a mug with chamomile tea as naturally as if he were a practiced caretaker.
Seungmin, usually bright-eyed at this hour, just stands there, feeling more and more out of place with every passing second.
The moment the mug of tea is pushed—forcibly, honestly—into his hands, he realizes how cold his fingers have been, despite the oppressive July heat. Jungsu raises the mug, guiding Seungmin’s hands to his face as if daring him to reject this extra bit of care.
"Drink. It’ll soothe your throat."
It’s easier to give in. Every ounce of strength Seungmin had to resist fades away.
He takes a cautious sip, scalding his tongue on the herbal warmth, but it does ease the scratchiness in his throat.
"Sit in the living room, okay?" Jungsu says, patting his shoulder and steering him out of the kitchen and toward the big corner sofa. "I’ll grab you a blanket."
Seungmin watches Jungsu disappear down the hall, the hot mug practically melting into his hands. He barely has the energy to keep holding it, so he just slumps into the sofa, curling up and letting his muscles relax into a shapeless, exhausted puddle. He can’t pretend anymore that this is just a little cold, that it’s not taking him out at the knees.
Moments later, Jungsu reappears with a thick plaid blanket. Before Seungmin can protest, it’s draped over his legs. It’s soft, full of little pilling from too many washes, and steeped in Jungsu’s scent—a hint of their shared shampoo and blueberries, but also something intrinsically him. If Seungmin let himself curl into this blanket and bury his nose into a corner, he suspects it might feel exactly like the long-awaited embrace from his beloved hyung. He should take advantage while he’s sick and has the excuse.
"Drink it all, okay? You need to stay hydrated to get better," Jungsu says gently.
Seungmin can only blink sleepily up at him and comply, sipping the burning tea.
Then Jungsu is pulling away again, and Seungmin feels the urge to cry, like a five-year-old left behind by his mom.
"I’ll be back soon," Jungsu calls, quickly slipping on his sneakers and grabbing his keys and card.
Seungmin sighs heavily as the door shuts with a dull thud. The sound, echoing in the morning quiet, drills into his temple, making the air, filled with bright sunlight, feel lifeless and inexplicably cold.
He shifts on the sofa, clutching the hot mug, trying not to spill its contents as he adjusts to find a spot that doesn’t have the TV remote poking him in the butt.
His throat suddenly tickles, and a rough cough bursts out, tearing at his windpipe and leaving him nearly in tears, clutching his mug as he tries not to drop the tea.
Whether it was loud or just past nine, he doesn’t know, but the dorm seems to be waking up. There are muffled footsteps in the hallway, someone racing to the bathroom—probably Jiseok, considering how desperately he needs it every morning. Voices murmur in the kitchen as someone rummages through the cupboards and fridge.
No one notices him, bundled under a blanket on the sofa, until Hyeongjun steps in to grab some freshly washed clothes from the drying rack. He merely glances over, raises an eyebrow, and asks, "Staying home today?"
Seungmin gives a short nod, and that’s enough for Hyeongjun, who leaves with his stack of clean clothes. That laid-back indifference that only one person in this building could pull off—and thankfully it was laundry day only for Hyeongjun yesterday, or Seungmin would be facing Gunil's drama now.
Every minute without Jungsu feels like an eternity. Seungmin's convinced he'll go gray by the time Jungsu comes back. And there's nothing to distract himself with—his phone is abandoned on the kitchen table, and he has no energy to get up. All he wants is for Jungsu to be back, right beside him. Even without the meds for his sore throat, just… just being there would be enough.
God, when did he get this clingy?
Fever must be messing with his head.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the front door opens, and Jungsu steps in, holding two bags.
Seungmin squints at him—did he buy out the whole pharmacy?
"Did you… did you leave anything for the rest of the sick people in the city?" Seungmin croaks, muffling a cough in his lukewarm tea.
Jungsu smirks but says nothing. He kicks off his shoes, strides over, and places the bags on the coffee table next to the sofa. Pulling out a small box labeled "Antiviral," he fishes out a bottle of pills and passes it to Seungmin.
"Take two."
Seungmin grimaces, swallowing a lump as he imagines how hard it’ll be to force those huge capsules down his swollen throat.
"No arguments," Jungsu says, eyebrows furrowing.
With a dramatic sigh, Seungmin holds out his hand, taking the two red pills. He swallows them with the reluctant expression of a kid forced to eat broccoli.
"Happy now?" he mumbles, barely holding back tears for what feels like the hundredth time that morning.
Jungsu’s smile is soft but triumphant.
"Very. I brought you something to eat. Let me heat it up."
From under his heavy eyelids, Seungmin watches Jungsu head to the kitchen, completely drained. The faint hum of the microwave soon fills the quiet.
Nineteen years old, but today Seungmin feels about five, enveloped in an almost absurd amount of attention.
A moment later, a light scent of chicken broth wafts through the air, warm and comforting.
Jungsu returns, holding a large cardboard cup with the logo of a nearby bakery like it’s some precious offering. The lid is already off, a spoon rests inside, and steam rises from the cup, warm and inviting. With the utmost care, Jungsu places the soup—because it’s clear now that it's the soup—on the coffee table in front of Seungmin.
Without another word, he sits down on the sofa, looking at Seungmin with a patient, gentle expression. There’s something almost parental in his eyes, and Seungmin hates him for all the bedtime stories he’s spun about what Jungsu doesn’t see in him. Jungsu’s always viewed him as the younger one—a brother, or maybe just a kid he needs to look after—and Seungmin’s wanted to bang his head against a wall to prove he could be something more.
With a sigh, Seungmin puts his almost-empty mug on the table, only to grab the soup container and study the little glistening drops of fat on its pale yellow surface.
"So, are you my nanny now or what?" he rasps. "You gonna spoon-feed me?"
Jungsu raises an eyebrow.
"If that’s what you want," he chuckles, and the teasing tone catches Seungmin off guard. He feels a warm blush creep up his cheeks—or, well, deepen, considering the feverish flush already there.
He snorts—tries to, anyway—making an effort to downplay the comment, not even sure what it’d be like in reality. Humiliating or cute? Somewhere in between? He shakes his head and slowly spoons the broth into his mouth.
It’s surprisingly hard to eat under Jungsu’s intense gaze, which always drives him crazy with curiosity about what goes on in Jungsu’s head. Jungsu seems to observe his every tiny, awkward movement. Seungmin feels painfully exposed, like he’s not just eating chicken soup but lying bare, letting Jungsu see something no one else usually does, so he keeps his eyes on the little chunks of chicken, the potato cubes, and the noodles.
"Finished," he finally whispers, sniffling from the heat of the soup. He puts the empty cup on the table, pulling his blanket up higher to hide his stuffed stomach. "Thanks for—"
He stops mid-sentence as Jungsu suddenly digs into the pharmacy bag, pulling out a new box. A blue lozenge slips from the blister pack into Jungsu’s palm, and Seungmin’s too drained to protest (even though his throat barely hurts now, and these stupid lozenges cost a fortune), so he just opens his mouth, letting the tablet settle on his tongue, burning with menthol.
"Good boy," Jungsu murmurs with a quiet laugh, and Seungmin nearly chokes on the candy, doing his best to hide his mortification behind a loud, exaggerated cough. Jungsu just narrows his eyes suspiciously, shaking his head, and reaches out, gently brushing back the hair stuck to Seungmin’s forehead, maybe checking for a fever again. His touch is soft and cool, and Seungmin instinctively leans into it, but Jungsu pulls away too quickly, leaving an odd emptiness in his chest and a pout on his lips.
With a soft sigh, Seungmin shifts closer and carefully rests his head on Jungsu’s lap. Jungsu freezes for a second, and Seungmin can feel him looking down, but he avoids meeting his gaze, closing his eyes instead. He knows he should feel embarrassed. He should probably sit up and stop clinging to Jungsu like some desperate child.
But he doesn’t care.
Right now, he doesn’t care.
Only because his head is splitting and his whole body feels painfully heavy.
"You’re such a baby," Jungsu whispers with a chuckle, softly resting a hand on Seungmin’s head. His fingers tangle in the messy strands, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing strokes, filling Seungmin’s heart and head with a warm, comforting glow that makes him let out a quiet, involuntary sigh, nuzzling his cheek against Jungsu’s thigh, silently begging him not to stop.
"Comfy?" Jungsu asks in that tender voice—probably the one he uses with his little sister. Seungmin’s never actually heard it. He just assumes.
"Mmm… a little more… please?" he babbles—almost purrs, melting under the lulling strokes.
He knows it’s ridiculous—to be this dependent and to want so badly for Jungsu to stay, while Jungsu likely just takes pity on him, fussing over him out of a sense of duty, as an older brother might.
But it’s still not quite sufficient to make Seungmin pull away. Maybe if he pretends well enough, he can ignore how much this closeness makes his heart ache with a longing he’s buried for years in stubborn silence.
The murmur of voices drifts into Seungmin’s scattered consciousness as the living room fills with the bright laughter and noisy footsteps of Jiseok and Jooyeon, now way too loud against the sleepy quiet. Jungsu’s hand pauses as if ready to pull away at any moment, but Seungmin lets out a quiet grumble, pressing his cheek insistently against Jungsu’s knee, urging him to keep his hand there—and, hesitantly, he does.
"Oh, Seungmin-ah, you’re still here? We thought you’d already run off," Jiseok’s voice calls out, dripping with that teasing energy of his that always balances perfectly between funny and downright annoying.
Seungmin cracks one eye open to glare at them. They stand before the sofa, grinning like hyenas, obviously loving the scene that’s playing out.
"Ah, skipping rehearsal today, huh? Leaving us without our synth?" Jooyeon adds, drawing out the words in mock disappointment. He crouches down beside Seungmin, tilting his head. "Can’t say I blame you, though. It’s almost… cute."
Jooyeon glances back and forth between Seungmin and Jungsu, his brows wiggling slyly. Seungmin’s cheeks flare even brighter, and his hand twitches with the urge to do something drastic to The World’s Most Annoying Roommate, but he holds back, saving everyone from a band meeting where even more members are missing.
"Are we sure he’s really sick and not just putting on a show to get Jungsu-hyung’s attention?" Jiseok cuts in with a grin.
Seungmin glares at him and mutters, "Shut up," though he probably appears about as intimidating as a week-old kitten.
Jiseok and Jooyeon share a look and burst out laughing, a sound that probably carries all the way down the hall.
Seungmin wants to snap at them to quit jumping to conclusions, but he resists and instead just scrunches his nose. Jungsu, of course, remains perfectly unbothered. He’s built up a solid immunity to their teasing by now, and maybe even finds it amusing at this point.
"I wonder, why doesn’t Jungsu-hyung worry about us like this?" Jooyeon continues. "If it were me on my deathbed, he wouldn’t even bring me a glass of water. But little Seungminnie here somehow got the hyung treatment, huh?"
"Because you two are a pair of assholes, that’s why," Jungsu says smoothly, and despite the fever buzzing in Seungmin’s head, a grin sneaks onto his face. He holds back a laugh, just barely.
"Ah, Jungsu-hyung is so unfair to his little dongsaengs."
"Having a favorite should be a crime."
Jiseok and Jooyeon both sigh theatrically, draping the backs of their hands across their foreheads. Seungmin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe throwing a shoe at them is the best option.
"Jungsu-ya, you coming to rehearsal?"
Gunil’s voice cuts through the noise. It’s quieter than the racket from the two specific idiots, but it’s got this thin edge of reproach—a not-so-subtle reminder that there’s a right answer to this question, and it’s pretty easy to guess when their leader is standing in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets. Today’s rehearsal matters—Seungmin vaguely remembers something about trying out a few bridge ideas Jungsu wrote to pick the best one, so Jungsu’s presence is pretty essential. They’re all waiting, and Jungsu isn’t even dressed for the day, busy fussing over Seungmin as if he can’t handle anything on his own.
A pit of guilt gnaws at Seungmin’s stomach, pulling at his insides with an ache that’s hard to ignore. He’s not sure if it’s a fever symptom or just shame over keeping Jungsu glued to the sofa when he should be working.
"Sorry, hyung," Jungsu murmurs. "I’m sitting out today. I… someone should stay with him."
In the silence that follows, Seungmin hears two things with almost painful clarity: the quickening of his own heartbeat and the distinct irritation settling over everyone else.
Yeah.
Great.
Perfect.
Once again, they’re left without both of their keyboardists.
And while they can probably make do without Seungmin (it was practically the norm for him to duck out of practice or not show up at all, since the sight of a digital piano used to make him feel sick), losing Jungsu is a whole different story.
But before anyone can protest, Gunil just gives a quick nod.
"Alright, we’ll work on something else," he says. "C’mon, let’s get moving. We’re late."
The moment the front door closes, leaving just the two of them in the dorm, Seungmin sighs heavily, one hand gripping Jungsu’s knee.
"Listen, I’m not dying or anything," he mutters, wishing he could summon the energy to brush Jungsu’s palm away, which is still resting on his head, but instead only managing to cling to him harder. "You don’t have to play nurse. I’m not five. I can take care of myself. I’ll take some meds, and, well, probably not die by the end of the day."
"Probably," Jungsu replies with soft exasperation. "Key word."
"I’m serious. I’ll be fine. You really don’t ha—"
"Seungminnie, you’ve got a fever, and you’re not feeling good. At times like this, everyone wants someone around who’ll look after them. It’s normal," Jungsu insists. "Let me stay. Please?"
The way Jungsu says that single "please" sends a chill racing down Seungmin’s spine. He’d give anything for it to mean something more. For Jungsu to show him this kind of care without falling back on that plain, effortless kindness that he hands out to everyone—even to Jiseok and Jooyeon, who are clearly too dense to notice.
Seungmin presses his head more firmly against Jungsu's thighs. Every second, his head feels heavier, and the fever is pushing him toward the edge of consciousness.
Time stretches and compresses in strange ways. Seungmin starts wondering just how long he’s been sprawled across Jungsu’s lap. Ten minutes? Two hours?
He closes his eyes, unable to look at the clock or do anything at all, and memories of all the times Jungsu had been unfailingly kind to him flash like tiny sparks under his lids.
He sees Jungsu—the same Jungsu who joined the agency back in 2019 and trained alongside him—so clearly that it’s as though he could reach out and touch him. Jungsu, a bit shy and always tense from grades and lessons, had struck Seungmin as someone who had nothing to worry about if he could dance and sing like that.
They didn’t talk much back then. Maybe they’d walk back to the dorm together once in a while or grab a quick meal. Jungsu was attentive to details, even helping Seungmin hobble to the nurse’s office once after a twisted ankle. But Seungmin still figured Jungsu wouldn’t remember him if they went their separate ways one day because Jungsu was a true star, everyone’s favorite—including Seungmin’s.
Then there was the whole… rock band thing. A decision, so unexpected, that it made Seungmin feel like he’d lost some crucial piece of his future, but Jungsu was there with him already.
He kept Seungmin going—and still does. In every memory Seungmin has of this place, good and bad, Jungsu is there, with his soft smile, and his endless patience, even when Seungmin feels like a burden.
"Why are you… so good to me?"
The words slip out before he can stop them, barely audible in the graveyard silence of the room. Seungmin genuinely hopes Jungsu didn’t hear him because Jungsu just keeps combing through his hair, gentle and silent.
But he definitely heard.
Seungmin can’t bring himself to turn around and look up at Jungsu, so he waits for the inevitable response that’s sure to plunge him into despair. Something like "Because you need it" or, worse, "Because you’re like a little brother to me." He knows he’ll never hear what he wants to hear. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knows he’s only hurting himself by being this vulnerable with Jungsu, but the fever loosens his tongue, and he’s too exhausted to fight it.
"No, really," he whispers, voice barely there. "Why do you…? You’ve been with me from the start. Always helping me, always looking out for me, like… like…"
"Like you actually know what I want," he thinks but can’t bring himself to say. Instead, his hand clutches Jungsu’s knee in a weak, pathetic gesture that says more than he’s ever dared to.
And then the truth just spills out.
"You… you know I feel like the luckiest guy in the world every time… just because you’re around?" he says quietly. "I mean… you know it, right? Without you, I’m a lost puppy. You make me… want to be better, just so one day, I might actually keep up with you. You… make everything worth it, and you have no idea how much I… how…"
He can’t stop. The words are flowing unchecked, and Seungmin already knows he’ll regret this later.
"If I had to, I’d… I’d die for you because I… I lo—"
He stops, heart freezing mid-confession, suddenly aware of the gravity of what he’s just said. Panic seizes him, burning hotter than the fever.
What the fuck did he just say?
"No, no, wait," he stammers, trying to shake off his own words. "I didn’t mean that. I… I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just the fever. I—"
Jungsu laughs.
A soft, unhurried laugh seeps under Seungmin’s skin, stirring up a thousand wild thoughts.
Why the fuck is he laughing?
Fear clutches his chest, and Seungmin jumps off Jungsu’s lap, suddenly fully awake. He stares at Jungsu, eyes wide, desperate to find an explanation. Anything besides the pitying rejection that must be coming.
Jungsu’s smile softens. He opens his eyes too, and his gaze settles on Seungmin.
"Jiseok was right," he says.
Seungmin feels his stomach turn. His throat tightens, his gut feels like a bloody mess, and he wants nothing more than to vanish from this life, curl up and disappear.
That bastard… What did he tell Jungsu?
His heart pounds worse than a jackhammer, and he struggles to form a coherent response, to explain, to fix this, to blame everything on his illness, anything to keep things between them from getting weird because of something he never meant to reveal.
But all that comes out is a strangled, horrified whimper.
"Jiseok was right?" he repeats in a voice about to crack. "What the fuck did that jerk tell you? He can’t be right. He doesn’t know a fucking thing. He…"
He tries to meet Jungsu's gaze, but his eyes sting, and his body betrays him, trembling all over. His skin—especially around his neck—feels too tight like it might suffocate him and tear apart.
Jungsu narrows his look, not in anger, but with something else—something gentler, which only heightens Seungmin’s anxiety.
"You think so?" Jungsu whispers, raising his eyebrows with a smile. "Well, it seems like he’s the only one between the three of us who actually sees."
Seungmin blinks stupidly, feeling like he’s on the edge—one more second and the world around him will spin so wildly he’ll faint. But he’s still sitting there, his lower back pressed into the sofa, in a T-shirt clinging to his skin in the July heat.
"And what’s that supposed to mean?"
"Seungmin…"
Jungsu’s tone shifts, patient, almost like he’s a weary teacher speaking to a child, and Seungmin hates it. He hates how Jungsu is always like this, and how small it makes him feel. Hates how fast his heart pounds, stuck under his tongue, waiting for everything to fall apart—waiting for Jungsu to tell him he misunderstood, to laugh at his feverish confession like it’s some deranged rambling (because, fuck, maybe it is).
But instead, Jungsu just sighs.
"It means you’ve been in love with me like a fool for… what, at least a year?"
"Three years," Seungmin wants to answer, but he doesn’t dare say it aloud. Not when he feels like a criminal caught red-handed, needing to drop the bloody knife and bolt.
His mind goes blank, unable to process the simplest words.
This can’t be real. Jungsu can’t have just—
"So have I." Jungsu gives him a small, almost shy smile, "I guess we’re just two blind idiots."
Seungmin feels like he’s going to burst. He’s on fire, every inch of him blazing, but it has nothing to do with his fever. He can’t grasp it—he can’t even think properly because what the fuck is Jungsu even saying? Is this real? Did he just—?
"Wait," Seungmin rasps, his throat tightening. "Wait, wait, this… you… you're fucking with me?"
Jungsu frowns, shaking his head slightly.
"Watch your language."
"Oh, fuck the language!" Seungmin blurts out, raising his voice. "Are you serious right now? Are you messing with me?"
Jungsu just watches him, eyebrows raised, as if waiting for Seungmin to calm down, but he can’t. He can’t breathe, he can’t think because Jungsu just confessed, Jungsu just said he likes him, turning Seungmin’s world upside down.
"You’re kidding…" he gasps, looking away. "You—"
"I’m serious," Jungsu says softly, finding his hand and intertwining their fingers. "Why would I joke about this?"
"Because…" Seungmin stumbles, desperate for something to hold onto. He feels so ridiculous—he’s dreamed of this moment a thousand times, but never truly believed it would come. "Because… this stuff doesn’t happen…"
Jungsu chuckles again, and it echoes in his chest.
"Oh, it does."
Jungsu likes him.
God, Jungsu likes him?
Seungmin’s ready to cry.
He lets out an uncertain, almost nervous laugh, but it quickly turns into a cough. He pats his chest to stop himself, and Jungsu pulls him closer, holding him against his side.
"I’ll kiss you properly once you’re better, okay?" Jungsu whispers softly into his ear, his lips barely brushing Seungmin’s hot skin. "Think of it as a little… motivation."