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Hanbin barely got his shoes off before bolting towards Hao’s room, his heart pounding louder than the echoes of his hurried footsteps. The others had tried to assure him that Hao was fine—just food poisoning, nothing serious—but Hanbin couldn’t shake the worry pooling in his chest.
He’d barely been able to focus during their schedule, glancing at his phone every chance he got for updates. When none came, it only made his imagination run wild.
The door creaked open, and Hanbin stepped inside, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting a faint glow over Hao’s curled-up form. He looked small, buried under a heap of blankets, his face pale and drawn.
“Hao?” Hanbin called softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from Hao’s forehead. His skin felt clammy.
His poor Hao. Hanbin should’ve checked the food properly, he should’ve been more careful and now his Hao is sick. His Hao feels nauseous and he has a dangerously high fever. The guilt gnaws at him, but he knows there’s nothing he can do now except be there for him.
Hao stirred, barely cracking one eye open. “Hanbin?” His voice was weak.
“I’m here,” Hanbin said, his voice a mix of relief and guilt. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier. How are you feeling?”
Hao huffed a tiny laugh that quickly turned into a grimace. “Like I ate something I shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t joke about it,” Hanbin scolded lightly, though the worry in his voice made the words come out softer than intended. “Have you been drinking water? Taking your medicine?”
Hao’s silence was answer enough.
Hanbin tuts, he still cups Hao’s face, his thumb rubbing soft circles on Hao’s warm cheeks, “What am I going to do with you?”
He stands up, then walks over to the table where he'd placed the drinks earlier. He picks up the pack of Pocari Sweat, remembering how Hao had said it was the only thing he could stomach.
He’d snuck out in the dead of night, the sharp chill biting at his skin as he moved through the shadows. It wasn’t just a fleeting impulse; it was instinct, a pull so strong it left no room for second thoughts. The world could have crumbled around him, but all Hanbin had cared about in that moment was Hao.
The weight of the rules he was breaking didn’t matter, nor did the risk of being caught.
Love. A love so consuming that it rewrote every boundary he’d ever known. He would shatter rules, tear down walls, do the impossible, not because Hao needed him to, but simply because Hao wanted him to. That was enough.
When he’d returned, the pack of Pocari Sweat clutched in his freezing hands, he’d felt the ache in his chest ease. Not from the cold, but from knowing he’d done this one small thing for Hao.
Hanbin walks back to the bed, his steps careful, and sits next to Hao again, holding out one of the bottles. “Here, I got you the Pocari Sweat. I remember you said it was the only thing you could drink. Just a little sip, okay?”
Hao looks at the bottle, a weak but grateful smile pulling at his lips. “You’re too good to me,” He murmurs.
Hanbin chuckles softly, uncapping the bottle and bringing it closer to Hao’s lips. He shuffles closer to Hao, lifting his head up ever so slightly so Hao can drink it, being careful not to make him move too much.
Hao hesitates for a moment before taking the bottle in his hands, the cool liquid feeling like a relief. He takes a small sip, then another, his eyes slowly closing in quiet appreciation as the drink begins to settle in his stomach.
“I’ll leave it here for you, yeah?” Hanbin says softly, not wanting to push too much at once.
Hao’s lips twitch, just barely resembling a smirk. “Let me sleep now?” He mumbles, eyes fluttering shut again.
Hanbin smiles fondly, but his tone remains firm. “Not until I know you’re taken care of.” He adjusts the blankets around Hao’s shoulders, making sure he’s as comfortable as possible. He presses the back of his hand to Hao’s forehead, frowning slightly at the warmth radiating off him.
Hanbin frowns, he really should’ve made sure… “You’re burning up…” Hanbin mutters to himself, but loud enough for Hao to hear.
Hao shifts slightly, but the movement seems to drain him even more. He weakly opens his eyes, just enough to meet Hanbin’s gaze. “It’s... fine. Just… tired”
“No, it’s not fine,” Hanbin insists, his voice tight. He can’t stand seeing Hao like this, sick and vulnerable. The guilt gnaws at him, but he knows now is not the time to dwell on it. His priority is Hao, and he’ll make sure to take care of him no matter what.
“I’ll get you some water and medicine. Stay here,” Hanbin says firmly, as though Hao could possibly do anything else in this condition.
Hao’s lips twitch in a weak attempt at a smile. “Don’t go...”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hanbin promises, his voice softening as he leans down to brush his lips against Hao’s forehead before gently pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”
Hanbin hurries to the kitchen, his mind racing. He fills a glass of water and grabs the medicine from the cabinets. On his way back, he grabs a damp towel, remembering how his mother used to do the same for him whenever he got sick.
When he returns, Hao’s eyes are closed again, his breathing shallow but steady. Hanbin kneels by the bed and gently places the cool towel on Hao’s forehead. Hao flinches at the contact, his eyes fluttering open.
“It’s just me,” Hanbin soothes, holding the glass of water out. “Come on, Hao, just a few sips, okay?”
Hao shifts, trying to push himself up, but his body protests with a dull ache radiating through his muscles. He barely makes it a centimetre off the bed before collapsing back down with a frustrated groan.
“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Hanbin murmurs, placing the glass back on the bedside table. He leans in, his arm sliding around Hao’s back, slowly helping him sit up. Hao’s body sags against him, his weight heavier than usual, but Hanbin doesn’t falter.
“There we go,” Hanbin whispers, keeping Hao close to his side.
Hao groans softly, his head lolling until his face is buried in Hanbin’s shoulder. His breath is warm against Hanbin’s neck, and the way he clings to him—weak and vulnerable—makes Hanbin’s heart clench.
“Sorry,” Hao mumbles, his voice muffled against Hanbin’s shirt.
“Don’t be,” Hanbin replies softly, his free hand coming up to caress the back of Hao’s hair. It’s gotten significantly longer, soft strands slipping between his fingers. Without thinking, he threads his fingers through the back of Hao’s hair, massaging his scalp gently.
Hao lets out a quiet sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “That feels nice…” he murmurs, voice barely audible.
Hanbin chuckles, his thumb brushing against the nape of Hao’s neck in a soothing rhythm. “Good. You deserve a little pampering.”
“You always do,” Hao mumbles, the words barely formed but carrying a weight that lingers in the quiet.
Hao leans further into Hanbin’s hold, his arms wrapping loosely around Hanbin’s torso. The gesture is weak but earnest, like he’s drawing strength from Hanbin’s presence.
The room falls into a serene silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing, the steady rise and fall of Hao’s chest against Hanbin’s side. Hanbin tightens his hold just slightly, his hand resuming its soothing motions through Hao’s hair, to reassure him without words.
“Hao,” Hanbin says softly, glancing down at the figure nestled against him. “You should try to lie down. You need rest.”
Hao doesn’t move, his grip around Hanbin tightening just slightly. “Stay like this… just for a little longer,” He whispers, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
Hanbin lets out a quiet sigh, his hand still gently threading through Hao’s hair. “Alright. But only if you promise to take your medicine first.”
Hao groans lightly, a weak protest escaping his lips. “Don’t want to…”
“You have to,” Hanbin insists gently, his free hand reaching for the small packet of pills and the glass of water he’d placed on the bedside table earlier. “Come on, just one dose. It’ll help with the fever.”
Hao mumbles something incoherent, burying his face further into Hanbin’s shoulder as if that would make the moment go away.
“Hao,” Hanbin says, his tone soft but firm. He adjusts their position slightly, keeping Hao supported with one arm while holding the pill out in the other. “You know I’m not going to let this go.”
Hao’s voice comes out muffled, but it’s laced with frustration. “I feel gross... I don’t want to put anything in me, not even water...” His voice wavers, and his body tenses slightly, the very thought of taking anything in only makes him feel worse.
Hanbin’s expression softens, his gaze full of concern. “I know, but you need it,” he insists gently, his fingers gently kneading at Hao’s nape. “The medicine will help with the nausea too. You’ll feel a little better after you take it.”
Hao groans, his stomach lurching. He pulls back slightly, his hand lifting to cover his eyes, clearly exhausted and overwhelmed.
Hanbin’s voice softens, “Hao, I promise you’ll feel better. Just one pill, and I’ll stay right here.”
After a long moment of hesitation, Hao finally opens his eyes, just enough to glance at the pill in Hanbin’s hand. The reluctant look in his eyes softens a little as he looks up at Hanbin.
“Just one…” Hao whispers, barely able to meet his gaze.
Hanbin nods, his smile small but warm. “Good.” His thumb rubs the back of Hao’s neck in slow, gentle circles. “I’ve got you. Just a little bit more.”
Hanbin leans in, his lips pressing softly against Hao’s warm cheek. The touch is tender, lingering, and Hanbin closes his eyes for a moment, letting the connection soothe him. Hao’s feverish skin is almost too hot against him, but it only deepens Hanbin’s need to protect him, to care for him.
Hao’s eyes flutter closed again, but this time, there's something more—an unspoken faith in the way he lets his head fall back onto Hanbin’s shoulder, as if it were a pillow—it was the best pillow to Hao, “I trust you,” He murmurs quietly, his voice still faint.
Hanbin’s heart softens at the words, and he helps Hao bring the pill to his lips. With a slow, careful movement, Hao swallows it, then sips at the water Hanbin offers.
Hanbin’s fingers brush against Hao’s lips as Hao takes in the medication, and for a fleeting moment, even in Hao’s weakened state, Hanbin can’t help but feel a surge of tenderness. It’s always there, this undeniable pull to kiss Hao senseless, to remind him how much he means to him, even if he’s sick.
“There, see? That wasn’t so bad,” Hanbin murmurs, his voice soft and soothing, barely above a hum. He stays close, his hand resting lightly on Hao’s cheek, not pulling away, not wanting to leave him even for a second. The way Hao leans into him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, makes Hanbin want to protect him in this moment of quiet intimacy.
Hao’s eyelids flutter, a slight hint of a smile curving his lips despite the weakness in his body. He looks up at Hanbin with those heavy, trust-filled eyes, and Hanbin can’t help but brush his thumb across Hao’s cheek, a silent promise to always be there for him.
But then, Hao’s lips pull into a deep pout, and Hanbin’s attention shifts immediately. It’s an expression that makes his heart skip a beat, and he can’t hold back a chuckle, his fingers lightly pinching Hao’s cheek, drawing out the cutest little sound from him.
“You’re so cute,” Hanbin says, his voice warm and filled with adoration, his thumb still tracing small circles on Hao’s cheek, trying to hold the both of them together in this moment.
Hao grumbles under his breath, clearly not impressed by the teasing, but the pout only makes Hanbin’s heart swell with affection. Simultaneously, the whimpers of discomfort tear his heart.
Hanbin can’t resist it, his heart urging him to be closer, to make Hao feel safe in his arms. He leans down pressing a soft quick kiss to the top of Hao’s head, he rubs Hao’s side pulling him impossibly closer. Hao is the most precious thing to him, and he can’t stop the tightening in his chest as he takes in the tranquility of the moment.
Hao, in turn, buries his head into Hanbin’s chest, the softness of his body curling into him as if seeking warmth and solace. Hanbin’s arms naturally wrap around him, pulling him closer, his fingers gently stroking Hao’s back.
“Stomach hurts…” Hao whispers, his voice soft, the pain still evident in his tone.
With Hanbin, Hao knows he can be as vulnerable as he needs to be. In Hanbin’s arms, he feels safe, a quiet understanding between them, where no words are needed to communicate. And for Hanbin, that trust is everything. It makes him want to do everything he can to protect Hao, to take away the pain, even if just for a moment.
Hanbin’s hand slips under Hao’s shirt, his fingers trace gentle circles on Hao’s stomach, his touch soothing and careful. His heart aches as he feels the tension in Hao’s body, knowing the pain he’s in. He leans down, pressing his lips to the corner of Hao’s eye, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with tenderness.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, my Hao,” Hanbin murmurs, his voice thick with empathy. He wants nothing more than to take away the discomfort, to ease the ache that’s making Hao’s breath come in shallow, soft bursts.
Hao shifts slightly in Hanbin’s arms, his breath steadying just a little from the warmth and reassurance Hanbin provides. The steady rhythm of Hanbin’s hand on his stomach and the comfort of his presence offer a quiet solace that Hao hasn’t been able to find anywhere else. It’s as if all the noise in his mind and the pain in his body fades just a little, drowned out by the simple, gentle care of Hanbin’s touch, his care.
“I’m okay, really,” Hao murmurs, his voice quiet but sincere, trusting Hanbin with his vulnerability. “Just need you here.”
Hanbin pulls Hao closer, pressing him to his chest, the protective instinct blooming in his chest as he feels the weight of Hao’s discomfort. He can’t stop himself from wanting to shield Hao from everything—every pain, every worry, even the smallest discomforts. The idea of Hao being anything less than okay twists something in Hanbin’s chest, and all he wants is to make it better, even if he can’t fix everything.
“Lie down,” Hanbin murmurs softly, his voice like a comforting melody.
Hao, though, seems to have his own plans. “Only if you lay down with me. It’s not contagious,” he teases weakly, the playful glint in his tired eyes tugs at Hanbin’s heart.
Hanbin chuckles softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Hao’s forehead. “I have other ideas, Haohao. Just lie down for me, okay?”
Hao watches him, raising an eyebrow. “Other ideas?”
Hanbin nods, his gaze softening. He shifts slightly so that they’re both lying down comfortably, Hao still nestled against his chest. Hanbin’s hand slides down, gently resting on Hao’s stomach, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of Hao’s shirt. “Does your stomach still hurt?” Hanbin asks quietly, his voice tender, full of concern.
Hao exhales slowly, nodding faintly. “A little...”
Hanbin’s heart tightens. He’s determined to make him feel better, and in that moment, he knows what he wants to do. He pulls back just enough to look Hao in the eye, making sure his expression is gentle and reassuring. “Then let me help.”
Before Hao can respond, Hanbin leans down, placing a soft kiss just below Hao’s ribs, right where the pain lies. The warmth of his lips lingers for a moment, his touch tender, as if trying to kiss away all the pain.
Kisses always make the pain go away right—that's a thing.
“Hmmm…” Hanbin feigns thinking, his voice teasing yet gentle, “I don’t think that was enough, don’t you, gege?”
“I— what do you—” Hao’s breath hitches as he feels Hanbin’s hands lift his shirt carefully, exposing his warm skin to the cold winter air. His body tenses for a moment, a shiver running down his spine.
Hanbin immediately notices the shiver, and with a smile, he doesn’t hesitate. “Sorry, I’ll warm you up,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth.
Hanbin leans down again, pressing his lips gently against Hao’s exposed stomach. His kisses are soft at first, the warmth of his lips contrasting against Hao’s cool skin, then gradually grow more tender, more deliberate, as if to take away the lingering discomfort.
Hao’s breath catches, his chest rising and falling quickly as he’s overwhelmed by the unexpected but comforting sensation. Every kiss that presses against his stomach feels like a quiet promise, the pain melting away with each tender touch from Hanbin.
“Hanbin…” Hao’s voice is breathless, a mix of confusion and relief. “You’re… ridiculous…”
Hanbin chuckles softly against Hao’s skin, the sound warm and low. “How?! Kisses always make you feel better.” He continues to kiss down his stomach slowly, ensuring he’s not rushing, allowing each soft kiss to express everything he feels—how deeply he cares for Hao, how much he wants to take away the pain and replace it with something sweeter.
The warmth spreading through Hao’s body is not just physical; it’s the comfort of being cared for, of being loved in the most intimate way. Hanbin’s touch isn’t just soothing his body—it’s reaching into the very core of Hao, soothing his heart as much as it is his stomach.
The simple act of tenderness, of being fully present for him, makes Hao feel cherished, safe, and protected, as if nothing in the world could harm him while he’s in Hanbin’s arms.
As Hanbin continues his gentle ministrations, Hao’s breath becomes more erratic, his heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with his physical discomfort. He hadn’t expected to feel this way—this vulnerable, this deeply touched by the care Hanbin was showering him with. The soothing kisses on his stomach, the warmth of Hanbin’s lips against his skin, had started to replace the hollowing ache in his body with something far more tender.
His hands, which had been gripping the edges of the bed for some semblance of control, now slowly slip down, finding their way to Hanbin’s shoulders. The contact is light at first, hesitant, as if Hao isn’t sure whether he wants to surrender fully to this moment. But then, his fingers tighten ever so slightly, pulling Hanbin closer, his body silently urging him to stay, to not stop.
“Hanbin…” Hao breathes again, the word coming out almost like a plea, as his chest rises and falls more steadily, the discomfort in his stomach now completely overshadowed by the gentle warmth spreading through him. His voice sounds a little less sure now, a little more needy, a little more open than it ever has been before.
Hanbin pauses for a moment, his lips hovering over Hao’s stomach, sensing the shift. He lifts his gaze slowly, meeting Hao’s eyes. There’s an undeniable vulnerability in Hao’s expression, a softness that Hanbin recognizes—the same trust he’s always felt in Hao, but now magnified in the quiet of this shared space.
“Do you feel better?” Hanbin whispers, his voice low and tender, fingers still resting lightly on Hao’s skin.
Hao’s breath hitches again, but this time it’s not from pain. It’s something else, something that goes beyond the physical. He nods, eyes fluttering shut, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Much better,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
There’s a silence between them, heavy and warm, filled only with the sound of their breathing. Hanbin leans down once more, this time pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Hao’s lips, a soft, intimate kiss that says everything his words can’t. It’s tender, unhurried, and full of the love he feels—something Hao can feel deep within him.
“It’s not contagious remember,” Hao wants more, his hands remain firm on Hanbin’s shoulders, the soft tug almost begging Hanbin to stay close.
Hanbin smiles against Hao’s lips, feeling the unspoken plea in the way Hao's hands grip his shoulders. He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against Hao’s, his breath warm against Hao’s flushed skin. The warmth of their connection hangs in the air, and Hanbin's heart swells with the quiet intensity between them.
Hao’s chest rises and falls with every shallow breath, the softness of his gaze never leaving Hanbin’s face. There’s a moment of stillness, like time has paused just for them. Hao’s fingers trace small patterns across Hanbin's shoulder, grounding himself in the warmth of Hanbin’s presence.
"Hanbin..." Hao's voice is barely a whisper, laced with an intimacy that only the two of them can understand. His words seem unnecessary in this moment, the connection between them speaking volumes more than anything he could say aloud. The vulnerability in his touch, the way his hands rest so naturally on Hanbin’s body, tells a story that is deeper than their conversation.
"I know," Hanbin murmurs, his voice a low, reassuring hum, as he gazes into Hao’s eyes, searching for something more.
Of course. Of course, Hanbin knows. They’re practically one in the same person now. With a single touch, a glance in each other’s direction—they know exactly what the other is thinking, what the other is feeling.
Hanbin, feeling that same pull, places a tender kiss on Hao’s forehead, a silent promise that he’ll always be there. And Hao believes him, he knew Hanbin would always be there with him, in sickness and in health.
Hao then pulls Hanbin closer, his hands resting on the back of Hanbin's neck, gently drawing him into another kiss. This time, it’s slower, more deliberate—no rush, just the slow, sweet rhythm of two people finding comfort in each other. Every brush of their lips speaks of everything they’ve been through, of the trust they’ve built, of the love that continues to bloom between them, steady and sure.
When Hanbin tries to pull away, Hao whines softly, his hands tightening around Hanbin’s neck, not letting him get further away. There’s a slight desperation in the way Hao holds onto him, as if afraid the moment might slip away too soon. His lips are soft but firm, not wanting to break the connection, not ready to let go just yet.
Hanbin smiles softly, his own hand gently cupping Hao's face as he leans back in, this time more willingly, letting Hao guide him. “I didn’t want to go anywhere,” Hanbin murmurs against his lips, his voice low and filled with warmth, his fingers brushing through Hao’s hair.
Hao hums against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulls Hanbin even closer, savoring the closeness, the comfort of being held so tightly. “Just… stay,” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly, though it’s not from fear—it’s from the depth of his feelings, the intensity of what they’ve created together, a pure love.
Hanbin kisses him again, deeper this time, letting all the words they’ve never said flow through the tender connection between them. He feels the weight of Hao’s trust in every touch, every sigh, and it’s more than enough.
Hao’s lips part, a silent beg for more, and despite Hanbin’s better judgement, despite every rational thought trying to hold him back, he wants to give Hao everything he wants. Every instinct in him screams to make Hao feel safe, to wrap him in this warmth, to show him with every kiss just how much he means to him.
Hanbin’s hands move, tracing the curve of Hao’s jaw before sliding down his neck, pulling him closer, if that’s even possible. He deepens the kiss, his lips moving against Hao’s with a tenderness that feels almost too much to bear. His heart races in his chest, overwhelmed by how right it feels to be here, with Hao, in this moment where nothing else matters.
Hao responds, his hands sliding down Hanbin’s back, pulling him even closer, a quiet moan escaping his lips. It’s an invitation, a plea for more, and Hanbin can’t resist. His own body reacts instinctively, pressing against Hao, unable to stop himself from being pulled deeper into the connection between them.
Maybe it’s the sickness or just the overwhelming warmth that Hanbin naturally exudes, but Hao feels his body grow so incredibly hot, it clouds his brain no matter how much he wants this—his fever is catching up to him.
Hanbin pulls away, not succumbing to the soft whine that leaves Hao’s lips this time, “Are you okay?” Hanbin murmurs softly against Hao’s lips, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His concern is evident, the way his gaze lingers, full of care.
Hao’s eyes flutter open, his dazed gaze meeting Hanbin’s as he blinks, trying to focus. He’s still trying to fight the fog of his fever, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite it all.
“I’m fine,” Hao murmurs softly, his voice still a little breathless, but the words are barely coherent, lost in the haze of warmth and exhaustion.
Hanbin chuckles softly, brushing a lock of hair from Hao’s forehead with a tender touch. His heart softens seeing Hao in this state, so vulnerable and trusting.
“You don’t look fine, Hao love,” Hanbin says, voice soothing, as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Hao’s warm cheek. “Rest for me, okay? I’ll be right here.”
The kiss lingers for just a moment longer than necessary, a simple gesture that speaks volumes. Hanbin pulls away slowly, keeping his hand on Hao’s cheek, giving him a soft, encouraging smile. “Sleep, my Hao. I’ll stay close.”
Hao nods, his eyelids heavy, but before he fully succumbs to sleep, he pulls Hanbin down, pressing his face gently into Hanbin’s chest, the familiar warmth and steady rhythm of Hanbin’s heartbeat a soothing lullaby.
Hanbin adjusts, his arms wrapping around Hao instinctively, pulling him closer as Hao settles into the comfort of his embrace. The weight of Hao’s body against him feels like home, and Hanbin knows, with an unwavering certainty, that no matter what happens, he will always be there, right by Hao’s side, through every ache and every quiet moment.
And Hao knows it too.
In this moment, there is a peace that settles deep within him. The chaos of the world, the uncertainties of the future, none of it matters. Because as long as Hanbin is here, holding him close, Hao knows that no matter where life takes them, he’ll never have to face anything alone.