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Donghyeon really wanted to sing. It was his passion, his life goal, his first love! (after Keiju and WeFlip, of course.) But here lies KickFlip’s maknae—blankly staring at the ceiling and continuously swallowing down saliva. His throat was one-hundred-percent swollen, his nose was blocked and somehow still runny at the same time, and he was certain that if he tried to talk, he would sound like a dying toad.
He couldn’t even groan as he rolled over in the sheets, feeling the surface of the bedside table blindly to grab his phone to check the time. Great, just great. It was only 3.27 in the morning. Donghyeon would have to suck it up and wallow in his own suffering until his hyungs woke up and figured out he was dying from a sore throat and started to pamper him.
He quickly shook that thought away from his head and burrowed deeper into the blankets. Today was one of their only schedule-free days. Donghyeon sucked in a soft breath through his teeth. The air suddenly felt all too dusty.
From what he’d heard, everyone had plans of their own. Keiju and Minje were going to a PC cafe together (it’s a date, Donghyeon swears), Kyehoon was going shopping and Donghwa wanted to tag along with his digicam because ‘Kyehoonie hyung finds the weirdest and most interesting places to buy stuff’ (and it’s just another date, he’s absolutely certain), Juwang was going to have a solo food trip and refused any invitations from the other members to tag along and Amaru was planning to go on a nature hike.
Which left him alone in the dorms. He had initially wanted to go live… but thanks to this unfortunate turn of events, that wasn’t exactly possible. He wanted WeFlip to see him at his best! Not as a croaking, sniffling—
Donghyeon sneezed into his pillow.
Yeah, he really needed to get out of bed before he spread his sickness to one of his hyungs.
He slid out of bed. Hopefully like a ninja. Or a graceful swan. Donghyeon ended up fumbling with the sheets, landing hard on his side and stealing the blankets. Slightly panicking, he quickly draped the quilt back over his hyungs just to sneeze again. Keiju snored in his sleep, and he quickly slipped out of the room to the nearest toilet for tissue.
Sliding the door shut, Donghyeon took one look at the mirror and decided that he was definitely not going live today. He looked like some sickly Victorian child in the middle ages. Or something like that. History was never his strong suit.
Swallowing hard, he checked his throat in the mirror. Yep, it was inflamed. And it hurt. He prodded at his neck, as if that would chase away the bacteria who made themselves home in his body.
If Kyehoon was awake, he’d brew him tea. Suddenly Donghyeon found himself regretting how many times he’d called his hyung old for drinking it.
A quick glance at the clock. 3.59 AM.
Moping, he shuffled into the kitchen and turned on the water purifier. He popped a Strepsils candy into his mouth and sat down against the cabinets, pulling his knees to his chest.
Donghyeon really hated being sick.
Kyehoon sat up the moment his alarm rang at 6.30, gently switching it off before Donghwa woke up. He wasn’t a morning person, but today was different. He was practically giddy. An off-day and a date? He needed to prep his clothes, get that breakfast-in-bed running for his boyfriend and they were ready to go and blow some cold, hard cash.
Donghwa mumbled something in his sleep, and that was enough to make Kyehoon soften. That, and his mismatched eye patches that he insisted on wearing to sleep. He leaned down to brush a kiss against his temple. He liked the meaning behind that spot—the temple, a place of worship and reverence. Is this what being in love feels like?
He practically skipped out of bed—no, he did not trip, you’re hallucinating—to the washroom and splashed some water on his face. Now that he was fully awake and ready to cook something delicious—
Kyehoon paused at the bathroom door. What exactly should he make for breakfast? He wasn’t as good as Juwang when it came to cooking from scratch, but he couldn’t exactly just whip out a packet of instant noodles and just cook that with a few eggs. Where was the effort? Where was the love?
So he whipped out his phone and hurriedly searched for breakfast ideas. Half the things that popped up were undeniably American like bacon and eggs or some sandwich.
He walked out of the toilet, eyes glued to the spot on the side of the screen where the ‘Skip Ad’ button was due to appear any second now. He’d make some coffee while waiting.
The sun had just risen, painting the dorm light gold. The windows were slightly dusty from the cobwebs Minje failed to clean, the coffee machine looked shimmery, Donghyeon was on the floor…
Wait.
Why was Donghyeon…
Kyehoon’s first instinct is to snap a photo for future blackmail. This was gold.
Then he tried to wake the maknae up by tapping on his forehead, just to realise that Donghyeon—their baby brother, their precious boy—was burning up.
Coffee could wait. Kyehoon shook the youngest from his slumber. “Donghyeonie-ya, you have a fever.”
Donghyeon’s eyes fluttered open blearily, and a pained mumble escaped his lips. “Not sick…”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Kyehoon hoisted him up and carried him to the couch. “I’ll wake the rest. Stay there.”
Donghyeon barely registered the sound of Kyehoon’s retreating footsteps before he drifted back into a half-asleep haze, head throbbing and nose completely blocked. His ears felt weirdly stuffed too, like he was underwater. Maybe this was what dying felt like. He was feeling delirious. Maybe he should start writing his will.
By the time Kyehoon came back with a cold compress and a glass of warm water, Donghyeon had already somehow cocooned himself in the throw blanket like a caterpillar mid-transformation so that only his hair stuck out. His phone lay on the floor displaying a paused video titled ‘How to Cure Sore Throat Fast (Medically Approved!)’ It was a tragic sight; if tragic meant mildly pitiful and a little funny.
“Medically approved, my foot.” Kyehoon sighed, kneeling beside him. “You’re supposed to keep your face out so you can breathe.”
The blanket shifted. A muffled noise—something that could’ve been ‘leave me to die’—emerged from its polka-dotted depths.
Kyehoon snorted, adjusting the cold compress against Donghyeon’s forehead. “Yeah, sure, but at least die comfortably.”
It took approximately seven minutes before the rest of the members stumbled into the living room. Juwang shuffled into the room, wearing his blanket like a cape and his hair sticking out under his sleeping mask. “What’s happening? Why’s Donghyeon on the couch? Is he dead?”
“He’s sick.” Kyehoon replied, setting down a damp towel on the coffee table. “Fever. Sore throat. Probably the flu.”
Donghyeon sniffled weakly from beneath his little sanctuary. “Not the flu.”
“You sound like the flu.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, hyung.”
Amaru sat down beside him, pulling him into a hug that Donghyeon didn’t bother resisting. “Donghyeon-ah, how long have you been up?”
“Mm… since three? I fell asleep again so I don’t know…”
“Three—!?” Juwang squawked out of nowhere. “It’s seven now! You’ve been up for four hours looking like roadkill and you didn’t wake us?”
Donghyeon shifted awkwardly in his hyung’s embrace. “Didn’t wanna bother…”
“Bother—” Juwang was mid-rant when Kyehoon smacked the back of his head with a kitchen towel. “Go make porridge instead of yelling.”
Amaru chuckled softly as he tucked the blanket tighter around the maknae. “I’ll get the thermometer.”
Donghyeon gave a faint thumbs-up, eyes already drooping again.
He didn’t even get to drift back into LaLaLand, because right on cue, Keiju stumbled out of the bedroom with his hair looking like a cursed art installation. “Kyehoonie hyung, I want—why’re you—wait, is that Donghyeon?”
“Keep your voice down,” Kyehoon hissed, but it was too late.
“Oh my gods,” Keiju exclaimed, dropping to his knees dramatically beside the couch, “our maknae! Our baby is dying!”
Donghyeon groaned into the cushions. “Hyung, it’s just a sore throat.”
“That’s what people say right before they perish,” Keiju said gravely, “I saw it in a drama once.”
“What dramas are you watching…?”
Keiju bolted upright, whirling like a malfunctioning ambulance. “I’ll get medicine! Wait, no—porridge! Jujube tea! Water, water!”
Kyehoon caught him before he could run into the counter and crash straight into Juwang and his pot of porridge.
The commotion was enough to rouse the two remaining members. Donghwa stepped into the hallway with a yawn. “What are you all doing? Some of us were trying to sleep—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the cocooned maknae. “Oh. Never mind.”
And without another word, he vanished, only to reappear with a pack of lozenges. He set them down on the coffee table with a wordless gesture for him to take one. Keiju had returned to Donghyeon’s side and was giving him one-sided cuddles.
“You’re going to catch it too, idiot,” Kyehoon scolded.
“Worth it,” Keiju said solemnly, “he’s cold. I’ll warm him with my love.”
“Get off me,” Donghyeon croaked.
“Can’t hear you, that’s the fever talking.” Keiju cooed affectionately, ruffling his hair.
Minje was the last to join, still looking like a sleep-deprived puppy. “Good morning… oh, my. Is Donghyeon dying?”
“No one’s dying.” Kyehoon repeated, exasperated, as he wrung out a towel over the sink. “Unless I kill all of you for being so noisy this early.”
“It’s early?” Juwang grumbled, stirring the porridge. “It’s already 7:30.”
“Seven-thirty.” Keiju reiterated with more emphasis than necessary. “Our maknae’s suffering and we—”
“If you finish that sentence, Keiju-ya, I’ll dunk your head into the pot.” Juwang cut in.
Donghyeon sniffled weakly, trying to curl into a smaller ball. “Can everyone just whisper?”
“You heard the patient!” Keiju whisper-yelled. “Whisper, everyone!”
It had to be the least effective whisper in human history.
Amaru came back with a thermometer and carefully slipped it under Donghyeon’s arm. “Keep still, yeah? You’ll be okay. Rest a bit.”
Donghyeon nodded sluggishly, eyes half-closed.
Kyehoon handed over a cup of honey water. “Sip, not chug. Your throat’ll thank you later.”
He did as he was told. It stung at first, then soothed. The youngest could almost feel himself melting into the couch.
“Porridge’s done.” Juwang announced, carrying a pot big enough to feed a small army. “Someone set the table—”
“Table?” Keiju parroted, affronted. “We’re bringing it here! The patient mustn’t move.”
“You’re not in a hospital drama.” Juwang sighed. Keiju was already halfway to the cabinets, pulling out bowls with alarming enthusiasm.
Donghwa and Minje wordlessly helped—one fetching spoons, the other setting out napkins.
Within minutes, the living room had been transformed into a makeshift ward-slash-breakfast-nook. The members sat cross-legged around the sofa, half eating, half fussing over Donghyeon.
Donghwa took a spoonful of porridge and blew on it. “Say ahh.”
“Hyung, I can feed myself—”
“Say ahh.” Donghwa repeated.
Dongheyon sighed and opened his mouth, only for Keiju to shove a different spoon at him. “Mine’s got more egg in it.”
“Guys, please—”
Amaru laughed, sliding both spoons away before a fight could start. “You can take turns feeding him later. Let him rest for now.”
Donghyeon wanted to protest, but honestly? The warmth of the porridge, the faint sound of his hyungs bickering, the weight of the blanket on his shoulders—
It felt nice. Homey.
His eyelids drooped again. The fever made everything hazy, like sunlight behind frosted glass. He caught snippets of voices as he drifted off:
"Don't forget his medicine.”
“Hey, who took the lozenges?”
“Keiju-ya, stop sniffing the honey jar.”
“I wasn’t sniffing, I was appreciating!”
A soft laugh escaped him before he finally slipped back into slumber.