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“Ayoo. You good there, buddy?”
If Minhyeong had even an ounce of strength left, he would’ve grabbed the nearest object—water bottle, towel, anything, and thrown it straight at Geonwoo’s smug face. Instead, all he managed was a glare, slow and heavy-lidded, the kind that was meant to wound by sheer intent alone.
It didn’t work. Instead, Geonwoo, of course, being the menace he is, an expert in teasing him, only snorted and stuck his tongue out
“Go away,” Minhyeong muttered. His voice came out rough, scraped raw, like he’d been yelling all night instead of barely speaking at all. He slumped back into the chair, shoulders caving in as if his body had finally decided it was done pretending.
The room tilted unpleasantly the moment he closed his eyes. His head throbbed, a dull, relentless pressure pulsing behind his temples, and his stomach churned in protest. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.
He should’ve listened to his body. Should’ve said no. Should’ve stayed home instead of letting Geonwoo drag him to the gym with promises of “just light workouts” and “you’ll feel better after.” Because for the love of God, he hadn’t felt better all morning, and now, sitting here under the harsh lights, sweat cooling uncomfortably against his skin, he felt worse. Much worse.
Minhyeong exhaled slowly, breath unsteady, fingers curling weakly against the armrest. If this was his body’s way of saying I warned you, then the message had been delivered loud and painfully clear.
The door swung open, and Minhyeong opened his eyes. Wooje stood in the doorway, concern written plainly across his face before he even had the chance to mask it. Both of his hands were full of two plastic bags hanging from his fingers. One carried a container of warm soup, steam still fogging the lid. The other held the medicine Minhyeong had asked for, picked up from the small pharmacy just outside their bootcamp.
Minhyeong remembered sending the message earlier, fingers clumsy against his phone, vision blurring just enough to make the screen swim. He hadn’t expected Wooje to come back this quickly.
“Hyung,” Wooje’s voice was soft and careful, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder might cause the older man even more discomfort. “I brought you your medicine. I also brought some soup, in case you haven't had your dinner yet.”
Wooje was genuinely kind. Effortlessly so. One of the sweetest people Minhyeong had ever encountered, not because he tried to be, but because it came naturally to him. With the way he showed up without being asked twice. In the quiet care, the unspoken understanding. That's probably why having him here again, on the same team, within reach after all this time was more reassuring than Minhyeong knew how to put into words.
“Thanks, Wooje-ah,” Minhyeong murmured, the words barely above a whisper. “Sorry I interrupted your date with Hyeonjunnie.”
Wooje shook his head immediately, dismissing it without a second thought. “It’s okay, hyung,” he said softly. “Junnie understands.”
“Wow. The unfair treatment,” Geonwoo chimed in.
Minhyeong almost forgot he was still there. He shot Geonwoo a look that lacked its usual bite but made up for it in sheer annoyance. “Why are you still here?” he muttered.
“See!?” Geonwoo shot back immediately, pointing an accusing finger between them like he was presenting evidence in court. “You talk to Wooje all soft and gentle, and then you talk to me like you’re two seconds away from throwing me out.”
He clicked his tongue dramatically, shaking his head. “This is discrimination. Favoritism, even.”
Minhyeong let out a weak huff—something between a scoff and a sigh—and slumped deeper into the chair. “You dragged me to the gym while I was already dying,” he said, voice flat. “You don’t get kindness.”
Geonwoo gasped, clutching his chest as if personally wounded. “I was motivating you.”
“You were bullying me.”
“Same thing.”
The corners of Minhyeong’s mouth twitched despite himself, the faintest hint of a smile betraying him before his head dipped forward again, fatigue winning out.
Wooje laughed softly at their banter before moving closer, setting the food down with quiet care. He arranged everything within Minhyeong’s reach—the container of soup, the medicine placed neatly beside it—movements practiced, deliberate, as if he’d done this more times than he cared to admit.
“Hyung,” Wooje said gently, nudging the soup a little closer, “you should eat first before taking your medicine. Then call it a day.”
Geonwoo perked up immediately. “What about me, Wooje-ah?” he asked, hope creeping unmistakably into his voice.
Wooje paused and looked at him. “What do you mean, hyung?”
“My food.”
The silence that followed was brief but pointed. Wooje met Geonwoo’s gaze, expression flat. “Didn’t bring you any. You didn’t tell me.”
Geonwoo gasped, hand flying to his chest. “See!?” he wailed. “Clear favoritism!”
“Hush,” Wooje said at once, waving him off. “Go take a shower and leave Guma-hyung alone.” His nose wrinkled slightly. “You stink.”
Geonwoo froze, eyes wide, offense written plainly across his face as he looked between the two of them, betrayed, outnumbered, and very much unconvinced.
“…Wow,” he muttered. “I risk my life dragging him to the gym, and this is the thanks I get.”
Minhyeong, spoon hovering over the soup, let out a quiet huff of laughter despite himself. Geonwoo clicked his tongue but turned away anyway, shoulders slumping dramatically as he shuffled toward the door. “I’ll remember this,” he said over his shoulder. “Both of you.”
The door closed behind him, and the room finally settled into something quieter.
Wooje glanced back at Minhyeong. “Eat, hyung,” he reminded softly before he followed his sulking Geonwoo hyung outside.
Minhyeong could only shake his head, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips before he focused on the soup. He swallowed it down slowly, warmth spreading through his chest, then took the medicine Wooje had brought him without protest.
By the time his back laid unto his bed and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally pulled him under. And just like that, he let himself rest, calling it a day.
Minseok heaved a long sigh as the monitor finally went dark. His first live stream in months, over just like that.
Don’t get him wrong. It was fun. Genuinely so. But fun didn’t cancel out the exhaustion. The kind that settled deep in his bones, heavy and unshakeable. His shoulders slumped as the adrenaline ebbed away, leaving behind a dull ache and a familiar, creeping fatigue.
He was just about to stand when his phone lit up on the table. A message from Wooje.
Wooje⚡: minseokiee-hyung!
Wooje⚡: just wanna ask if yer still coming?
Wooje⚡: heard u just finished ur live, must be exhausting
Wooje⚡: i can take care of guma-hyung tonight if it's too much for u
Minseok could not help but to smile at the younger's messages. But ‘course he had to go. His boyfriend is sick after all.
Minseok: i’m going if i am still allowed to come
Minseok: y’know, will your management allow it?
Wooje⚡: ‘course they will
Wooje⚡: already asked permission from coach and manager-nim
Minseok: thank you, wooje-ah
Minseok: i’ll just get my stuff ready
Minseok: i’ll probably be there in 30 mins or so
Minseok: u think u can wait for me?
Wooje⚡: ‘course i can hyung
Wooje⚡: just lemme know if your almost here
Minseok: do you want anything? i’ll grab something on my way
Wooje⚡: it’s okay, hyung.
Wooje⚡: junnie brought me some snacks
Minseok: okay.
Minseok: see you later
Wooje⚡: see you, hyung
Wooje⚡: keep safe
Minseok did not waste any more time.
He pushed himself up, gathered his belongings, and headed straight to his room. Everything he did was quick as he packed only the essentials. Nothing extra. Nothing that would slow him down. A few minutes later, his bag was zipped shut, resting at his feet like a quiet promise.
As he stepped back into the hallway, he navigated his phone with one hand, booking a cab on instinct more than thought. The confirmation barely finished loading when he nearly ran into Sanghyeok.
They paused.
Sanghyeok took one look at him, bag in hand, jacket half-on, and simply nodded. “Be careful,” he said, voice calm but knowing. Minseok nodded back before continuing on.
It didn’t take long for the cab to arrive. He climbed in without hesitation, door shutting with a dull thud that felt strangely final. As the car pulled away, city lights slipping past the window, the weight of the day finally caught up to him.
A week.
That was how long it had been since he last saw Minhyeong—his sick boyfriend, stubborn as ever, probably insisting he was fine even now.
Minseok leaned his head back against the seat, eyes sliding shut as the car carried him forward. The hum of the engine was steady, almost lulling, and for the first time that night, he let the tension in his shoulders ease.
Whatever exhaustion waited for him, whatever worries came next, they could wait. For now, he needs to see Minhyeong.
Minhyeong stirred awake at the soft rustle of movement, consciousness surfacing slowly, hazy at the edges. Then a familiar voice cut gently through the fog.
“Thank you, Wooje-ah. I got it here.”
His lashes fluttered. Just barely, he cracked his eyes open, enough to register blurred shapes and muted shadows, Wooje standing near the doorway, and beside him, a figure Minhyeong could recognize even half-asleep.
“Okay, hyung,” Wooje replied, his voice kept deliberately low. “Just let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”
“Mmh.” Minhyeong shifted slightly, but not enough for the two people to notice he is awake. He let his breathing stay slow, even, feigning sleep as his gaze followed Minseok’s movements.
Minseok reached out, guiding Wooje toward the door with a gentle nudge to the shoulder, his posture relaxed but attentive, as if still holding the room together even in the dead of night. “Get some rest, Wooje-ah,” he added softly.
The door closed with a muted click.
When Minseok finally turned around, he found Minhyeong awake—propped slightly against the pillows, eyes still heavy with sleep but unmistakably bright, a soft smile already waiting for him.
“Did I wake you?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mmh,” Minhyeong hummed. “It’s okay.”
Minseok stepped closer, the sound of his footsteps muted against the floor. His hand reached out to touch Minhyeong’s forehead, checking his temperature. Instinctively, Minhyeong leaned into the touch, eyes closing as he let himself feel the coolness of his lover’s hand.
“I brought you porridge,” Minseok said softly, adjusting the blanket around Minhyeong with careful hands. “Do you want to eat it now?”
Minhyeong shook his head, “I already ate,” he murmured. “Wooje brought me soup.”
Minseok hummed in response as he started to get up but Minhyeong caught his hand immediately, fingers curling around his wrist with what little strength he had left. The reflex was quick, almost unconscious, and it earned a soft, breathy laugh from Minseok.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, gently easing Minhyeong’s grip. His hand lingered instead, brushing through Minhyeong’s hair, smoothing down strands that had gone wild from sleep. “I’ll just grab a towel and a change of clothes. You’re sweating.”
Minhyeong finally loosened his grip, fingers slipping from Minseok’s wrist with visible reluctance. He watched him go with heavy-lidded eyes, the comfort of knowing Minseok was still there settling quietly in his chest.
Minseok moved through the room with practiced ease, guided more by familiarity than conscious thought. He headed straight for the bathroom, his footsteps soft, his movements efficient yet unhurried. He took a towel from the rack and ran the tap until the basin filled enough, then wrung the fabric out .
From there, he crossed back into the room, stopping briefly at the dresser. He pulled out a clean shirt, soft cotton, one of Minhyeong’s favorites and folded it over his arm. Comfortable and familiar. Something that would feel gentle against overheated skin.
When Minseok returned to the bedside, towel in hand, his expression softened at the sight of Minhyeong already half-drowsy again, lashes fluttering like he was fighting sleep and losing.
“Hey,” Minseok murmured, quiet and fond. “Stay with me for a bit, yeah?”
The room remained hushed, wrapped in low light and care, as Minseok set everything within reach, each movement deliberate, attentive, done with a kind of tenderness.
Minseok started by wiping Minhyeong’s face first, the towel cool and damp as he moved it gently across his cheeks, along his temples, down the bridge of his nose. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if Minhyeong might break if handled too roughly. He paused every now and then, watching for any sign of discomfort, easing his grip when Minhyeong shifted beneath him.
Minhyeong followed every movement with soft, unfocused eyes.
Minseok moved to his neck next, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat gathered there, along his collarbone, down to where the fabric of his shirt had already darkened. “Lift your arms for me,” he murmured.
Minhyeong did as he was told without complaint, sluggish but trusting. Minseok helped him out of the damp shirt slowly, careful not to tug too hard, guiding the fabric over his head and setting it aside. The cool air made Minhyeong shiver faintly.
“Sorry,” Minseok said instinctively.
“It’s okay,” Minhyeong replied, voice soft, fond. His gaze stayed on Minseok’s face, watching the concentration there, the way his brows furrowed slightly as if this was the most important task in the world.
Minseok wrung the towel out once more before continuing, wiping Minhyeong’s shoulders, then his arms, moving steadily, methodically. He worked his way down with quiet patience, never rushing, wiping away the sweat with small, careful strokes. His touch lingered just enough to be comforting, never clinical, never distant. Minhyeong relaxed further with each pass of the towel, muscles easing, the tightness in his chest loosening.
“You’re staring,” Minseok murmured without looking up.
Minhyeong hummed softly, unapologetic. “You’re taking care of me.”
"Ofcourse I have to. You're so stubborn." Minseok replied.
Minhyeong let out a weak, amused huff. “Blame Geonwoo,” he murmured. “He dragged me to the gym.”
Minseok only shook his head in response, a quiet click of his tongue following. “You still went,” he replied softly. “No one could’ve forced you if you didn’t want to.”
His hand didn’t stop moving as he spoke, the towel gliding carefully over Minhyeong’s skin—mindful, unhurried. When he was done, Minseok wrung it out one last time and set it aside, satisfied that the lingering heat and sweat had eased.
“You always do this,” Minseok added, quieter now. “Push yourself. Then act surprised when your body protests.”
Minhyeong didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his head slightly, watching Minseok with tired eyes softened by affection. “You still came,” he said again, like the thought needed to be said out loud to feel real.
Minseok paused, breath catching just briefly. He let out a soft sigh, something gentle and helpless in it before reaching out to smooth Minhyeong’s hair back from his forehead.
“Of course I did,” he murmured. “Someone has to take care of you.”
Minhyeong leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering shut, a faint smile curving his lips as if the reassurance alone was enough to steady him.
Minseok reached for the clean shirt he’d prepared earlier and helped Minhyeong sit up a little more, one arm firm and steady at his back. Minhyeong moved easily with him, slow and pliant, trusting Minseok to guide every motion. The fabric slipped gently over his head, Minseok careful not to rush as he eased Minhyeong’s arms through the sleeves.
He smoothed the shirt down afterward, straightening the hem, brushing out the small wrinkles with deliberate care. His hands lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, checking, adjusting, making sure Minhyeong was comfortable, before finally pulling back.
“There,” he said softly, satisfied.
Minhyeong opened his eyes, gaze warm despite the exhaustion weighing on him, and the room settled once more into quiet as care was given freely, and received without question.
“Are you staying for the night?” Minhyeong asked.
“Mmh,” Minseok answered easily. “Wooje told me your manager already approved it.”
Minhyeong hummed, processing. “What about T1?”
“They know,” Minseok said. “Sanghyeok-hyung vouched for me.”
That seemed to ease something in Minhyeong’s chest, but only briefly. His brows knit together, concerned creeping in as he looked at Minseok again. “What if you catch my cold?”
Minseok snorted, unimpressed. He reached out and gently flicked Minhyeong’s forehead, not enough to hurt—just enough to distract. “I’m not someone who catches a cold that easily,” he said, teasing warmth threading through his voice. “Remember? My immune system’s way better than yours.”
Minhyeong winced more out of reflex than pain, then frowned faintly. “That’s not comforting.”
“Hush, now. I’ll be okay,” Minseok murmured as he gathered the things he’d used to clean Minhyeong, setting them neatly aside. “I’ll just put these away,” he added softly. “I’ll be right back.”
When Minseok returned, Minhyeong was already waiting for him, propped up just enough, the blanket pulled open in quiet invitation. Minseok let out a soft chuckle at the sight and moved closer. He climbed beside Minhyeong carefully, mindful of every shift of the mattress. The blanket fell back into place around them, warmth gathering instantly as Minseok settled on his side, turning slightly so he could face him.
Minhyeong shifted closer without being asked, his forehead brushing lightly against Minseok’s shoulder, a quiet, content sigh slipping past his lips. “I missed you,” he said.
Minseok’s arms came around him immediately, instinctive and sure. He drew Minhyeong in, one hand settling warm and steady at his back, the other patting him gently. “I missed you too,” Minseok murmured, pressing his cheek lightly against Minhyeong’s hair.
They stayed like that for a moment, breathing in sync, the world narrowing down to warmth and shared quiet. Minseok’s thumb traced small, absent-minded circles against Minhyeong’s back, a silent reassurance that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Get some sleep,” Minseok murmured, his voice low and steady as his hand continued to trace slow, soothing patterns along Minhyeong’s back meant to lull him to sleep.
“Thank you,” Minhyeong whispered, the words slurred at the edges with exhaustion.
Minseok smiled faintly, pressing a gentle kiss to Minhyeong’s temple. “You’re welcome.”
Silence settled between them, soft and warm, broken only by the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Minhyeong’s grip loosened gradually, his body growing heavier against Minseok’s chest as sleep claimed him inch by inch.
Just before he slipped under completely, Minhyeong shifted, fingers curling lightly into Minseok’s shirt. “I love you,” he murmured, barely audible.
Minseok’s smile is gentle. Then he tightened his hold just slightly, protective, certain. He rested his chin against Minhyeong’s head, voice just as quiet, just as sure. “I love you too.”
Minseok stayed awake a little longer, listening to Minhyeong’s breathing even out, feeling the warmth of him, the weight, the trust. When sleep finally found him too, it came gently, wrapped in the certainty that, for tonight at least, everything was exactly where it belonged.