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The fever had come on fast. Too fast. Kim Rok Soo rarely showed weakness, rarely let his body betray him, but this—this was different.
Lee Soo Hyuk sat at the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration as he wrung out a damp cloth before placing it gently against Kim Rok Soo’s burning forehead. The sweat-soaked strands of his dark hair clung to his skin, his breathing too shallow, his body trembling from exertion.
The Record ability had pushed him too far again.
Lee Soo Hyuk had found him collapsed in his office, nosebleed staining the papers he had been reviewing, his body barely able to hold itself upright. The moment their eyes met, Kim Rok Soo had tried to wave him off, but the instant he moved, he had staggered. And Lee Soo Hyuk—of course—had caught him before he could hit the ground.
Now, hours later, Lee Soo Hyuk hadn’t moved from his side.
He stared at the man in the bed, the person he had fought beside for so long, and something deep in his chest twisted in anger—at the world, at this cursed ability, at Kim Rok Soo himself for pushing past his limits like this.
Still, he didn’t speak. Not yet.
Instead, he simply reached for his wrist, pressing his fingers lightly against the inside of Kim Rok Soo’s palm. His skin was too hot, his pulse weak but steady. He should be resting, recovering, but even now, even in fevered sleep, his brow was furrowed as if his mind still refused to quiet down.
Lee Soo Hyuk exhaled sharply, running a tired hand down his face before speaking, voice low but firm.
"Does it hurt?"
The words hung in the air for a moment before Kim Rok Soo stirred, his lashes fluttering slightly before his gaze—glassy and unfocused—met Lee Soo Hyuk’s.
“…I’ll survive.”
It was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it made Lee Soo Hyuk’s jaw tighten.
He scoffed, shaking his head, fingers curling slightly against Kim Rok Soo’s wrist. His touch was still gentle, but his patience—his tolerance for Kim Rok Soo’s deflections—was wearing thin.
"Not what I asked."
Kim Rok Soo’s breath hitched.
He didn’t reply right away. His lips parted slightly, but whatever answer he was about to give caught in his throat. Instead, he closed his eyes again, as if willing himself to sleep before he had to acknowledge the question.
Lee Soo Hyuk wasn’t letting him.
Gently—so gently—he reached up, cupping Kim Rok Soo’s cheek. His thumb brushed over the too-warm skin, tracing along his cheekbone, memorizing the shape of him beneath his palm. It wasn’t just fever heat—it was exhaustion, it was strain, it was the aftermath of too much, always too much.
"You push yourself too hard," Lee Soo Hyuk murmured, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see it?"
Kim Rok Soo let out a slow, shuddering breath. “I—”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Lee Soo Hyuk cut him off, leaning down slightly, his forehead nearly brushing against Kim Rok Soo’s. “Not anymore.”
Another pause.
Then, barely above a whisper—
“…It hurts.”
Lee Soo Hyuk closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet admission settle between them, before exhaling deeply.
He pressed a lingering kiss against Kim Rok Soo’s burning forehead, letting the moment stretch, letting himself feel it—the sheer weight of everything Kim Rok Soo carried, the exhaustion, the burdens, the pain.
Then, as he pulled away, he murmured—soft, steady, unwavering—
"Then let me stay."
---
Choi Jung Soo wasn’t sure what he had expected when he stepped into the room carrying a tray of hot soup and medicine, but it certainly wasn’t this.
The atmosphere was thick—too thick—with something heavy and unspoken.
Lee Soo Hyuk sat at the edge of the bed, fingers lightly resting against Kim Rok Soo’s wrist, his usual composed expression cracked with something close to frustration, something close to anger, but mostly—mostly—something like aching worry.
Kim Rok Soo, on the other hand, looked awful. His skin was pale, a stark contrast to the fever burning beneath it, and his usually sharp eyes were glassy, unfocused. There was a damp cloth against his forehead, but even that didn’t seem to help with how wrecked he looked.
And just as Jung Soo was about to speak—to break the silence, to announce his presence, to shove the tray into Lee Soo Hyuk’s hands and tell him to eat something too—he heard it.
"Does it hurt?"
Lee Soo Hyuk’s voice was quiet, but not soft. There was no room for dismissal, no space for the usual deflections Kim Rok Soo was so good at giving.
And, of course, Kim Rok Soo tried anyway.
“…I’ll survive.”
Jung Soo barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Oh for f— even on the verge of burning up, Kim Rok Soo still had the nerve to pull this ‘I’m fine’ nonsense.
And from the way Lee Soo Hyuk’s fingers tightened just slightly, from the way his voice dropped when he spoke next, Choi Jung Soo wasn’t the only one fed up.
"Not what I asked."
Choi Jung Soo felt the shift.
Felt the air in the room change.
It wasn’t a command, wasn’t a plea—just something firm, something undeniable.
And for the first time since he had walked in, Kim Rok Soo hesitated.
The silence stretched.
Lee Soo Hyuk moved first, reaching up to cup Kim Rok Soo’s face with a touch so gentle that Jung Soo almost felt like he was intruding just by witnessing it.
"You push yourself too hard,” Lee Soo Hyuk murmured, voice low but achingly steady. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see it?"
Choi Jung Soo swallowed.
He sees everything.
It was obvious. Painfully obvious.
Lee Soo Hyuk—the man who never spoke more than necessary, the man who carried himself with effortless strength and unwavering certainty—was pleading.
Not for words. Not for gratitude.
Just for Kim Rok Soo to stop suffering alone.
And maybe—maybe—it was because of that, because of how damn relentless Lee Soo Hyuk’s patience was, that Kim Rok Soo finally—finally—broke.
“…It hurts.”
Choi Jung Soo inhaled sharply.
Lee Soo Hyuk closed his eyes for a brief second, and when he opened them again, there was nothing but pure, unshaken devotion.
He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Kim Rok Soo’s fevered forehead, as if trying to pull away the pain just by being there.
"Then let me stay."
And Kim Rok Soo—who always, always fought back, who always carried everything on his own—didn’t resist.
Didn’t push away.
Didn’t argue.
Choi Jung Soo lowered his gaze to the tray in his hands, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a moment that wasn’t meant to be seen.
He didn’t know what to do with the emotion sitting heavy in his chest, didn’t know what to say.
So instead, he did what he did best.
He cleared his throat, loudly.
Both men turned toward him, Lee Soo Hyuk looking vaguely annoyed at the interruption, Kim Rok Soo blinking sluggishly, as if just realizing someone else was in the room.
Choi Jung Soo huffed. “You both are impossible.” He walked forward, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “I made the soup, just like you asked. And before you start—yes, I followed the damn recipe exactly. No complaints.”
Lee Soo Hyuk raised a brow, but nodded approvingly. Kim Rok Soo, still too fevered to process much, just let out a barely audible hum.
Choi Jung Soo shook his head, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “You know,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “you guys make it really hard to third-wheel when you’re this disgustingly in sync.”
Lee Soo Hyuk ignored him. He reached for the soup, scooping a spoonful before holding it near Kim Rok Soo’s lips.
Kim Rok Soo made a faint noise of protest, but Lee Soo Hyuk just stared at him, expectant.
“Eat.”
Kim Rok Soo sighed, but obediently took the spoonful, too tired to fight.
Choi Jung Soo watched, exasperation laced with something quieter. Something warmer.
They were ridiculous. Stubborn. Absolutely incapable of expressing things normally.
But damn if it wasn’t the most painfully real thing he had ever seen.