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The atmosphere in the rented studio space was a joyous, beautiful chaos. Balloons clustered near the ceiling, confetti glittered on the hardwood floor, and the air buzzed with the energy of CORTIS celebrating James's 20th birthday.
Seonghyeon laughed easily, his eyes crinkling as he helped Juhoon attach an absurdly oversized bow to James’s back. Yet, there was a faint, almost imperceptible film of sweat on his forehead, a slight lag in his usually buoyant steps.
Keonho noticed it immediately. As Seonghyeon passed him to grab a celebratory party popper, Keonho’s hand shot out, not to tease, but to briefly check the temperature of Seonghyeon’s exposed wrist.
"You're warm," Keonho murmured, his voice low enough to be drowned out by Martin and James's fake wrestling match. "You should sit down. You looked pale during the cake reveal."
Seonghyeon pulled his wrist back, flashing a quick, almost too-bright smile—his default response when trying to dismiss concern. "I'm fine, Keonho. Just a little overheated from all the running around. It’s James’s day, I don’t want to be the one to kill the vibe."
Keonho’s jaw tightened, his concern battling with his characteristic patience. "Don't be stupid," he said, the words firm but lacking any real malice. "Just take it easy. We still have the live stream."
Seonghyeon simply nodded, already turning away to join the others in filming the last chaotic surprise video, leaving Keonho with a familiar, low-level thrum of worry in his gut.
The filming was a whirlwind of messy fun. They captured everything: the synchronized but slightly off-kilter birthday chant, the playful shoving, and the final, successful ambush of James with confetti and glitter. It was exactly the kind of genuine, messy content their fans adored.
When they finally settled down for the live stream on Weverse, the energy was calmer but still warm. By management's design, and Keonho's insistent elbow nudge, he and Seonghyeon were seated side-by-side on a wide, plush sofa.
For the camera, their interactions were subtle—a soft laugh shared at the sight of Martin trying to read a fan's fast-scrolling comment, or Seonghyeon leaning in slightly to whisper a joke only Keonho could hear.
But for the two lovers, it was a different story. Keonho’s knee rested firmly against Seonghyeon's, a heavy, grounding presence. At one point, when Seonghyeon coughed lightly into his fist, Keonho's hand snaked down, briefly grasping Seonghyeon’s hand in a tight, possessive squeeze—a silent directive to stay put and stop pushing himself. Seonghyeon squeezed back, a tiny reassurance, and they quickly returned their attention to the camera, their secret remaining safely between them.
The live stream wrapped up successfully. As the staff started to pack up the camera gear, Juhoon pointed toward an antique-looking stone fireplace nestled in the corner of the room.
"Ooh, let's try to light it up—for aesthetic!"
A staff member overheard and immediately saw the content opportunity. "That's a great idea! A nice, cozy ending. We'll set up a quick recording session.
The members immediately gathered around. Martin pulled out his phone. "Wait, let's not burn the house down. What’s the trick?"
James quickly opened his phone to a chatbot. "Okay, I asked ChatGPT. It says, 'Once the kindling is smoking, you need to deliver a gentle, steady stream of air right at the base to feed the embers oxygen without blowing the heat out.'"
Keonho immediately claimed a corner of the same sofa they had used for the live stream, folding his arms across his chest. He knew Seonghyeon wasn't well, and the last thing he wanted was for his boyfriend to exert himself or, worse, catch a chill near the damp wood.
The other members—James, Martin, and Juhoon—busied themselves with kindling. Seonghyeon, however, suddenly got a mischievous glint in his eye. He knelt right in front of the grate, peering into the growing smoke. He took deep breath, puffing out his cheeks.
Keonho bolted upright on the couch. "Hyeon, don't," he commanded, his voice sharp and carrying, cutting through the playful chatter.
Seonghyeon turned back—he saw the genuine panic and annoyance etched on Keonho's face, but he forced his usual carefree smile. "Just a small puff, Keonho-yah! For the camera! It’ll be quick."
"I said no," Keonho reiterated, his tone darkening. "You're already tired. That's dusty, and you know you get a cough when you push yourself."
Seonghyeon’s smile wavered, a flash of sadness crossing his face at the public snap, but he quickly re-centered himself as the camera would start rolling soon. He turned back to the grate, offering a warm, genuine smile to the lens, dismissing Keonho's sudden coldness as part of their usual banter.
Keonho felt a surge of frustrated fury. He was being ignored, and for something reckless that would inevitably worsen the sickness he was trying to hide. He sank back onto the couch, crossing his arms tighter, a slight, unmistakable frown marring his features as he stared at the group.
He watched the way the hem of Seonghyeon’s soft, thin shirt rode up every time he leaned forward, exposing a sliver of skin. He watched the way Martin laughed, putting an arm around Seonghyeon’s shoulder to stabilize him as he knelt.
"Seonghyeonie, don't waste your precious lung capacity!" Martin joked warmly.
"Aniyaaa!" Seonghyeon countered, his voice sounding a little strained now. "Maybe if I blow hard enough, I'll summon a Fire Spirit to make James's year amazing!"
Keonho’s jealousy, always simmering close to the surface when it came to his partner's easy, affectionate nature with others, started to boil. He’s exhausted, and yet he’s giving everything away to the camera and the hyungs.
Finally, after one last pathetic plume of smoke failed to ignite a flame, Seonghyeon stood up abruptly. He swayed slightly, his arms dropping heavily to his sides as a violent fit of coughing wracked his body. He was utterly spent, and his hidden illness had reached its peak.
Seonghyeon gave a weak, breathless wave to the camera. "We.. we can’t do it," he panted, his smile still visible, but hinted of a deep exhaustion. He immediately stumbled a few steps and collapsed onto the very far end of the same couch Keonho was occupying.
As soon as the camera focuses on another member, Seonghyeon curled in on himself, clutching his chest. His breathing was visibly labored, shallow, and fast. Keonho could hear the subtle, rattling wheeze that Seonghyeon desperately tried to hide. Every instinct in Keonho screamed to pull him close, to check his temperature again, to physically shield him.
But his fury, a cold, protective wall, held him back. Seonghyeon had knowingly risked his health for a silly, unnecessary content clip, and Keonho was too upset to cross that gap. He watched, helpless and hurt, as Seonghyeon struggled for air.
The content was declared wrapped. CORTIS piled into the van for the short ride back to the dorm.
Seonghyeon and Keonho ended up side-by-side again. Seonghyeon was quiet now, his head resting against the cool glass of the window, his eyes closed. He was trembling faintly, and the cold reality of his poor decision had finally hit him.
He reached a hand out, a silent, pleading gesture to rest it on top of Keonho's hand—their usual, comfortable form of silent contact in public.
Keonho didn’t physically pull away, but he tensed instantly. His hand remained rigid, the muscles tight. Seonghyeon’s fingers barely brushed it before he registered the cold, firm rejection. The warmth that had been there during the live stream was utterly gone. Seonghyeon retracted his hand, shame and sadness settling heavily in his chest.
Martin, whom they share a room with, was already half-asleep on his bed by the time they entered the dorm. Keonho moved quickly, changing into new set of clothes, grabbing a water bottle, and climbing into his own bunk without a single glance toward Seonghyeon.
Seonghyeon stood near the door, clutching his discarded t-shirt. "Keonho-yah," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Can we talk? I'm sorry, I just—"
Keonho interrupted him with a curt, icy response. "Not now, Seonghyeon." He rolled over, turning his back entirely to his partner.
The finality of the rejection stung Seonghyeon more than the fever in his bones. He knew Keonho was disappointed, but the cold silence was debilitating. He changed, crawled into his bed, and curled into a miserable ball, the fever steadily rising.
Hours later, the apartment was silent. The blue light of false dawn was starting to spill through the window.
Keonho suddenly stirred awake.
He heard it—a quiet, choked sound from across the room. Not a cough, but a thin, struggling whimper.
Keonho was instantly alert. Fury vanished, replaced by a crushing, protective terror. He knew that sound.
He swung out of bed and crossed the floor in three quick strides.
Seonghyeon’s skin was pale and slick with sweat, his eyes wide and vacant. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and he was shaking uncontrollably. Tears tracked silent paths down his temples and into his hair.
"Seonghyeon," Keonho breathed, his voice rough with immediate guilt and concern. He immediately went to stand up, his mind snapping into triage mode. "I'm getting you medicine. And water. And I'm checking the first aid—"
Seonghyeon’s hand shot out—weak, trembling, but desperately insistent—clamping onto Keonho's wrist and stopping him.
"No, please," Seonghyeon choked out, his voice a small, broken plea. His face crumpled, tears finally flowing freely. "Just... please stay. Don't be mad at me anymore. I know I was stupid, but please, Keonho… I just need you to be here."
The vulnerability of the moment shattered Keonho's remaining anger. He knelt immediately by the bed, pulling a hand through Seonghyeon's damp hair.
"I'm not mad at you," Keonho reassured him, his own voice softening to a deep rumble. He carefully wiped the tears away. "I was mad for you because you were hurting yourself. I would never stay mad when you need me, Hyeonie."
He carefully slipped his wrist free. "Give me two minutes. I'm getting you the medicines that you need, hm? I promise I will be right back, and I won't leave you again."
Keonho was true to his word. He administered the medicine, changed the sweating Seonghyeon into a dry shirt, and helped him drink enough water to stabilize him. Keonho sat on the edge of the bed, carefully checking his temperature every few minutes.
Finally, Seonghyeon’s eyes began to droop, the medication starting to take effect. Keonho carefully lifted the edge of the duvet, ensuring he made no sound that would wake Martin, and quietly slid into the comforting warmth of his lover’s bed.
"Get some sleep," Keonho murmured, leaning down to press a deep, soft kiss against Seonghyeon's burning forehead.
Seonghyeon mumbled sleepily, eyes half-closed. "Keonho-yah, wait. Don't... don't get in. You'll get sick too."
Instead of pulling away, he pulled Seonghyeon firmly against his chest.
“I'm strong enough to handle it, Seonghyeon.” Keonho whispered, settling his strong arms around his partner. He was already warm, a solid furnace against the shivering boy. "And I will always be strong enough for you. Now, rest."
Keonho shifted, properly settling his body around Seonghyeon's smaller frame. He pulled him flush against his chest and settled a firm, possessive hand low on his waist. He tilted Seonghyeon’s chin up slightly and pressed another gentle, possessive kiss to his forehead.
"Sleep," he commanded, a quiet, non-negotiable directive that Seonghyeon finally, fully obeyed.
Keonho listened to his partner's breathing slowly even out, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to him, too, as he held the only person who mattered perfectly safe within his strong embrace.