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Jeongin stirred, the remnants of a dream slipping from his mind like mist dissipating in the morning sun. The weight of sleep clung to him, heavy and reluctant, as he turned onto his side and reached out instinctively. But instead of warm skin and steady breathing, his fingers met only the cool emptiness of the sheets.
His brows furrowed. The bed was empty.
The realization came slowly, like the sluggish trickle of dawn creeping into a sleepless night. He pried his eyes open, adjusting to the heavy darkness that wrapped around the room like a thick blanket. Their room—his and Seungmin’s—was undisturbed save for the obvious absence beside him.
A thin sliver of light spilled from beneath the door, cutting through the gloom like a silent beckoning. Jeongin blinked at it, still caught in the lingering haze of sleep, before pushing himself up on one elbow. Seungmin must be in the kitchen.
He sat up fully, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and planting his bare feet onto the floor. The coldness sent a shiver up his spine. With a yawn, he ran a hand through his tousled hair and finally stood, rubbing at his face before padding toward the door.
The moment he cracked it open, a flood of brightness bombarded his vision. His body recoiled on instinct, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden contrast. He tried again, opening them in slow blinks until the harsh glow softened into something manageable. The kitchen light was on.
He stepped forward, letting the warmth from the other room guide him. The faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant tick of the wall clock, the occasional creak of the apartment settling—everything was quiet, undisturbed, yet somehow felt wrong.
Jeongin entered the kitchen, and there he was.
Seungmin sat at the counter, his arms wrapped around himself, his body slightly hunched. His head was bowed, dark hair falling over his eyes, casting a shadow over his face. He looked small—too small, like he was trying to fold into himself.
“Hyung,” Jeongin called, his voice thick with sleep.
Seungmin lifted his head at the sound, revealing red-rimmed eyes that blinked at him blearily. His nose was a little pink, and there was a tired droop to his eyelids, like he’d been fighting sleep and losing. He sniffled.
“Innie…” His voice was hoarse, a little cracked around the edges. He reached up, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Jeongin’s brows knit together in concern. He walked past the counter and went straight for the cabinet, pulling out a glass. The fridge door opened with a soft suctioned hiss as he retrieved the water pitcher, filling the glass to the brim. Then, balancing it carefully in one hand, he closed the fridge with his foot and turned back to Seungmin.
“Here,” he said, offering the drink.
Seungmin hesitated before taking it with both hands, fingers curling loosely around the glass. He took a slow sip, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“Were you crying?” Jeongin asked, watching him closely.
“Nah,” Seungmin sniffled again, but the obvious tremble in his voice betrayed him.
Jeongin sighed. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching up to brush back the hair sticking to Seungmin’s forehead. The touch lingered for a moment before his palm settled there. Warmth seeped through his skin—too much warmth.
“You’re burning up, Hyung,” he murmured, frowning.
“I know.”
Seungmin’s lips curled into a sleepy, lopsided smile despite the flush on his face. He swayed a little, the fever clearly weighing on him, but instead of leaning away, he tilted forward, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to Jeongin’s lips.
It was brief, just a touch, before he pulled back to look at him.
Jeongin scrunched his nose in exaggerated disgust. “Ew.”
Seungmin giggled, voice thick with congestion but still managing to sound mischievous.
“You’re gonna make me sick,” Jeongin complained, but he didn’t move away.
Seungmin tilted his head, eyes gleaming playfully despite their exhaustion. “Worth it.”
Jeongin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re cute when you’re worried. But then a again, you’re always cute.”
Jeongin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached forward, sliding his arms around Seungmin’s waist and pulling him in. The older boy didn’t resist, melting into him with a content sigh.
“Come on, Hyung,” Jeongin murmured against his shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
Seungmin hummed, his weight pressing a little heavier against Jeongin. “Only if you stay with me.”
“Like I have a choice,” Jeongin grumbled, but his hold tightened just the same.
Together, they stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet hum of the kitchen, before Jeongin finally led him back into the comfort of the darkened room.
┆ ┆ ┆જ ✾
Morning arrived quietly, a soft golden hue filtering through the blinds. The warmth of early sunlight pressed against the curtains, casting faint patterns on the walls. Jeongin stirred in his sleep, shifting beneath the covers, his body naturally seeking out the familiar warmth beside him.
He reached out blindly, fingers skimming over the sheets, and this time—thankfully—he wasn’t met with empty space.
Seungmin was there.
Jeongin’s lips twitched in subtle relief as he felt the solid presence beside him. The older boy was turned away, his back facing Jeongin, but he was there. He hadn’t wandered off into the cold kitchen again.
Jeongin exhaled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before pushing himself upright. The air in the room was thick and stuffy, a direct result of last night’s decision to turn off the AC. But it had been necessary—Seungmin was sick, and keeping it on would have only made things worse.
The heat had been unbearable, though, which was why Jeongin had discarded his shirt at some point in the night. Now, he grabbed the crumpled fabric from where it lay abandoned on the bed and slipped it back on before getting to his feet.
He padded around the bed, careful not to disturb the other boy, and crouched down slightly to get a better look at him. Seungmin was still deep in sleep, his lips parted as he breathed through his mouth, an unfortunate side effect of his blocked nose. His skin had a slight sheen of sweat, his face still flushed from the fever that hadn’t completely broken yet.
Jeongin frowned. Even without the AC, Seungmin didn’t seem to be getting much better.
He reached out, brushing stray strands of hair away from Seungmin’s forehead. His skin was warm, not burning like last night, but still warm enough to make Jeongin’s worry linger. He let his fingers linger for a second before pulling away.
Seungmin needed something to help ease his breathing. Something warm.
With that thought in mind, Jeongin stood up and quietly left the room, heading straight for the kitchen.
The apartment was silent as he moved through it, the only sounds being the soft padding of his feet against the floor. The kitchen felt slightly cooler than the bedroom, but not by much. He flicked on the lights and made his way to the stove, grabbing a small pot from the cupboard.
Tea.
Seungmin didn’t like tea, but that didn’t matter. It would help.
As he filled the pot with water, Jeongin pulled out his phone, swiping through his contacts until he landed on one name in particular. He pressed the FaceTime button and propped the phone against a roll of paper towels to keep it upright.
The call rang a few times before it was answered.
“Yes?” Felix’s voice came through, speaking in English.
Jeongin immediately noticed the background blur of movement, the faint hum of tires against pavement. Felix was driving.
“Felix hyung, can I borrow your humidifier?” Jeongin asked, switching to Korean as he set the pot on the stove and turned on the burner.
“Yeah, why?” Felix responded, also switching languages without hesitation.
“Seungmin hyung is sick,” Jeongin explained as he reached for the tea bags, grabbing one before tossing the box back into the cabinet.
“Ah, you can,” Felix agreed easily. “But I don’t think anyone’s home right now. Channie hyung might be, but I doubt it. He probably went out by now.”
Jeongin hummed in thought, glancing toward the living room as if he could somehow gauge the likelihood of Chan being home through sheer instinct.
“I’ll check,” he said eventually. “Thank you.”
“Hope he gets better,” Felix added before the call ended.
Jeongin pocketed his phone and turned back to the stove, watching as the water in the pot started to heat up. He let the tea steep, the faint aroma filling the kitchen as he grabbed a mug and poured the liquid inside.
He knew Seungmin wouldn’t willingly drink it, at least not without some sort of push. So, he grabbed a sticky note from the counter, uncapped a pen, and scrawled out a quick message:
“I made tea for you. Drink some.”
Peeling the note off, he pressed it against the wall in the hallway, somewhere Seungmin would see it if he woke up while Jeongin was gone.
Satisfied, he gave one last glance toward the bedroom before heading for the front door.
Now, he just had to hope Chan was home.
The car rolled to a stop in front of Chan and Felix’s shared place, the soft hum of the engine fading as Jeongin turned the keys and pulled them from the ignition. He sat there for a moment, exhaling as he leaned back into the seat, staring out at the quiet house before him.
It was still early, the sky painted in soft pastels, the world around him slow and unmoving. He only hoped Chan was actually home—Felix wasn’t certain, and Jeongin really didn’t want to have made the trip for nothing.
With that thought, he opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement, his shoes crunching softly against the gravel as he made his way up the front porch. He knocked firmly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited.
A moment passed, then another, and just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open.
“Innie.”
Jeongin looked up to see Chan standing in the doorway, his hair slightly messy, his expression the familiar mix of sleepiness and concern.
“Felix told me,” Chan said, stepping aside to let Jeongin in without needing further explanation.
Jeongin nodded in thanks and entered, the comforting warmth of the house wrapping around him. He had been here plenty of times before, yet each visit always felt just slightly different depending on the circumstances.
“The humidifier is in our room,” Chan said, already leading the way down the hall.
Jeongin followed without hesitation, the soft sounds of their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent space. When they reached the room, Chan motioned toward the nightstand where the humidifier sat.
Without wasting time, Jeongin grabbed it, checking to make sure everything was intact.
“I’ll return it when he doesn’t need it anymore,” he promised as he turned back toward the door.
Chan only hummed in acknowledgment, leaning against the doorway, watching as Jeongin walked past. There was nothing more to say—both of them understood.
Jeongin made his way back to the car, placing the humidifier carefully in the passenger seat before starting the engine. The drive back home was quiet, save for the occasional soft buzz of the radio in the background.
When Jeongin arrived home, he quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, the humidifier in hand. He nudged the door shut with his foot and locked it behind him, already moving toward the bedroom when he suddenly froze.
His breath hitched.
There, lying on the floor, was Seungmin.
Panic shot through him like a jolt of electricity.
“Hyung—Seungmin Hyung!” His voice came out sharper than he intended as he rushed forward, hastily setting the humidifier down before dropping to his knees beside the older boy.
His hands immediately found Seungmin’s shoulders, shaking him gently yet urgently. “Hyung, wake up.”
A soft noise left Seungmin’s lips as his eyelids fluttered open, eyes glossy and unfocused from the fever.
“Innie…” his voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make Jeongin exhale in relief.
“What the hell are you doing sleeping on the floor?” Jeongin scolded, his worry manifesting in frustration. “Are you trying to get worse?!”
Seungmin didn’t respond, only blinking up at him, his expression unreadable in his dazed state. Then, without warning, he sat up and threw himself onto Jeongin, arms wrapping tightly around the younger’s neck.
Jeongin’s body went rigid for a moment, startled by the sudden affection. The heat radiating off of Seungmin was intense, his fever clearly still present. Jeongin knew he should push him away—he needed to protect himself from getting sick too.
But… he couldn’t.
He sighed, relenting, and brought his arms around Seungmin, returning the embrace.
The older boy melted into him instantly, his weight pressing against Jeongin’s chest, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Jeongin could feel his warmth, his uneven breaths, the way his fingers weakly clung to the fabric of his shirt.
Seungmin was always thin, his waist small, but now that Jeongin was holding him this close, he realized just how much weight the older had lost. It was subtle—something he wouldn’t have noticed if not for the way his hands easily wrapped around Seungmin’s frame.
Jeongin frowned, his grip tightening slightly.
“Hyung…” he murmured, concern laced in his tone.
Seungmin didn’t respond, only pressing closer, as if trying to steal Jeongin’s warmth for himself.
Jeongin sighed again, resting his chin on top of Seungmin’s head. He wasn’t sure what to do—wasn’t sure what Seungmin needed in this moment, other than to just be held.
And so, he stayed there, on the floor, holding him.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” he muttered softly.
Seungmin’s grip on him tightened just a fraction, as if he had heard.
The world outside their small apartment seemed distant, insignificant compared to the quiet space they occupied. The two of them sat together on the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth, neither caring if their close proximity meant Jeongin would end up sick too.
The fever burning through Seungmin’s body didn’t stop him from curling up against Jeongin’s side, his head resting comfortably against the younger’s shoulder. Jeongin, in turn, let him, one arm draped loosely around his waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against the fabric of his sweatshirt.
The silence between them was neither awkward nor uncomfortable. It simply was.
Then Jeongin spoke.
“Did you drink some of the tea I left you?”
Seungmin hummed, his voice still heavy with congestion. “A little.”
Jeongin frowned at the vague response, already sensing that “a little” probably meant “barely any at all.” With a sigh, he untangled himself from Seungmin’s hold and stood up.
The older boy groaned at the loss of warmth, shifting slightly to bury himself deeper into the couch cushions. “Where are you going…?” he mumbled, voice muffled.
“Getting you more tea,” Jeongin replied, already making his way to the kitchen.
He poured a fresh glass, filling it almost to the brim before returning to the living room. When he held it out for Seungmin to take, the older boy immediately frowned, his brows knitting together in clear disapproval.
“I’m not drinking all that,” he protested, staring at the nearly full cup as if it personally offended him.
“You have to,” Jeongin argued, already anticipating the resistance.
Seungmin scoffed, tilting his head slightly as he gave Jeongin a pointed look. “Can’t you drink some? I only want a little bit.”
Jeongin blinked, staring down at him in disbelief. “You’re serious?”
Seungmin nodded, completely unashamed.
Jeongin sighed, but he wasn’t surprised. Not really.
“All right,” he conceded, lifting the cup slightly. “How much do you want left?”
Seungmin lifted a lazy hand and pointed toward the bottom of the cup, indicating the tiniest fraction of space—barely more than an eighth left.
Jeongin narrowed his eyes.
“Hell nah,” he deadpanned. “You’re gonna have to drink the whole thing, then.”
Seungmin only grinned, clearly entertained.
“Is that how much you drank earlier?” Jeongin asked, tilting his head.
Seungmin’s grin widened. “Less.”
Jeongin groaned in frustration, setting the cup down on the coffee table with an exaggerated thud. He turned back to Seungmin, arms crossed, expression firm.
“Seungmin Hyung, drink it. The whole thing.”
Seungmin tilted his head, mirroring Jeongin’s earlier motion, and responded simply, “No?”
Jeongin let out a sharp breath, already feeling a headache forming—not from sickness, but from Seungmin himself.
“You’re so difficult,” he muttered under his breath.
Seungmin, still curled up on the couch, smirked up at him. “And yet, here you are, taking care of me.”
Jeongin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the cup again, took a sip himself just to humor Seungmin, and then held it back out.
“There. Now drink the rest.”
Seungmin stared at the tea, then at Jeongin, then back at the tea. He pursed his lips, clearly contemplating.
Jeongin raised a brow. “Hyung.”
Seungmin huffed dramatically before finally reaching for the cup. “Fine,” he relented, but then added with a smirk, “Only because you drank it first.”
Jeongin sighed, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he watched Seungmin take small, reluctant sips.
At least he was drinking it. That was all that mattered.
Night settled over the apartment, the only sound filling the space being the soft hum of the humidifier, its rhythmic whir blending into the quiet atmosphere. The air felt less dry, less suffocating than it had earlier, and for that, Jeongin was grateful.
They lay together in bed, their bodies curled into each other’s warmth, their limbs tangled in the most natural way. Jeongin wasn’t sure when they had ended up like this, nor did he care. Seungmin, despite the fever that still clung to his body, had somehow made himself comfortable against Jeongin’s side, his head resting against the younger’s chest.
Jeongin had initially been reluctant to let him get this close—Seungmin was still sick, and Jeongin really didn’t want to catch whatever he had—but the moment the older boy had reached for him, warm and half-asleep, he hadn’t been able to push him away.
Now, as exhaustion slowly tugged at him, he felt himself sinking deeper into the comfort of Seungmin’s presence. The weight of the day, of the worry, of everything, melted away, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of their breathing.
Seungmin stirred slightly, shifting just enough to lift a weak hand and pat Jeongin’s back with slow, lazy movements.
“Look at our sweet maknae,” he murmured, voice slightly hoarse but still carrying that teasing lilt. “Taking care of his favorite hyung.”
Jeongin scoffed, but the corners of his lips twitched, betraying his amusement.
“I should’ve let you die of sickness,” he muttered in response.
Seungmin snorted, his laugh muffled against Jeongin’s shirt. “That’s cruel, Yeni. After all, I let you cuddle me.”
“Who said I wanted to cuddle you?”
“You’re not exactly pushing me away.”
Jeongin had no counterargument to that. Instead, he exhaled sharply, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.
“Just go to sleep,” he grumbled.
Seungmin hummed in response but didn’t move away. If anything, he burrowed closer, his breathing evening out as he settled into the warmth they shared.
Jeongin let his own eyes flutter shut, the steady hum of the humidifier lulling him into drowsiness.
If he woke up sick tomorrow, it would be Seungmin’s fault.
But for now, he didn’t care.