Archive of Our Own

HWANG HYUNJIN: [Monotone] Welcome. To the Grand and Exciting and… [Staring back down at the script with lethargy] …Whatever. I don’t even want to be here. [He begins to walk off-stage, slouched and unsexily] Have fun, I guess. You’ll need it.

Seungmin has never made a sweet milkshake before. Jeongin looks at him strangely when he tells him this.

“What,” Jeongin barks out an incredulous laugh. He won’t be all jolly for long, if Seungmin has anything to say about it. “But I’ve seen you with the blender. Are you telling me that every use of it hasn’t once been for a milkshake? You use them to chop carrots, or what?” Well, he has? Felix’s blender is certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Seungmin huffs, “That’s not what I said, now is it?” His dongsaeng really needs to amp up his listening skills. “I’ve never made a sweet milkshake before. I’m just curious, Innie-ah. Is it worth it? I feel like store-bought and homemade would be the same.”

“Is it worth—” Jeongin sobers up comically fast. “Hyung.” With a grave tone of realisation, “You’ve been making savoury shakes.”

“Yeah?”

“Savoury—Like. Savoury.”

Maybe Jeongin needs to see an ear-specialist, because this amount of repetition cannot be for clarification only. Seungmin is now worried for him. “Yes, Innie,” he stares intensely at the other while he says this, because he’d rather not repeat himself again, “I’ve made chicken shakes before, and ones with carrots and ginger. I tried making a kimchi one, but I think I will stick to regular, traditional jjigae. It’s better, and spicier—and there are too many ingredients that need to be left out in a shake.” He has thought a lot about this.

“I’ve made one with leftover gravy and cheese sauce,” he adds, because it’s exciting to talk about his, dare he say, innovations, like this. None of the members seem to know of his endeavors with the blender (except maybe Minho, because he knows everything) and it doesn’t come up naturally in a conversation. “I think you’d like my kale and ranch one, Yen.”

Jeongin stares at him for a long time, a little green in the face. Seungmin frowns, because he had really exaggerated and enunciated his words that time around, so surely Jeongin would’ve been able to hear him. Is this his selective hearing at work again?

After a couple more seconds of awkward silence, Jeongin stands up, a haunted glint in his eye. He tells Seungmin with great acidity, “I always knew you were an extraterrestrial.”

Wow, Seungmin thinks, as he watches Jeongin slink away indiscreetly, That’s so rude. I don’t even think he’s allowed to say that.

LEE FELIX: [Sniveling pitifully] Wow. I’m so sad. I feel so sick, and this looming sense of doom hovers over me like a premonition for… [Pausing, glancing up at the ceiling, where galaxy slime is soaking through the plasterboard] …For…Yeah. I sure hope nothing bad is about to happen. Wow, I’m so miserable. [Bursting into an extreme bout of tears, he runs off-stage]

“Tell him it’s wrong, hyung.” Jeongin comes back, five minutes later, practically kissing his phone. “Tell him it’s illegal.”

“What’s illegal?” Seungmin sighs, not really having the energy to deal with his dongsaeng’s antics. At the same time, Chan’s voice filters through the phone, “Ayennie, I don’t have much control over this specifically…”

“His words have caused me great mental and physical distress,” Jeongin insists. Seungmin would like to know what he’s even talking about, that’d be great. “You have to punish him for this.” Jeongin, it’s too early for this.

“Punish? Are we in the nineteenth century, or what?” Chan’s fatigue is audible even through the phone.

Seungmin, because the opportunity presents itself on a silver platter, says, “You’d know a lot about the nineteenth century, hyung.”

Silence falls over the room, and the phone, as well. This is awkward, and a little damning. Seungmin sees Jeongin stifle a snort and narrows his eyes. This whole predicament is his fault, obviously. The others say they’re lucky Seungmin isn’t the maknae, but shit, Jeongin’s the maknae. Admittedly the lesser of the two evils, but still evil.

You’re evil, Seungmin mouths at him. Jeongin just shrugs innocently and cutely. How infuriating. The others cannot see his evilness because he blinds them with his adorable face, but Seungmin can’t be fooled. He knows an aegyo-exploiter when he sees one.

“Maybe you should stop putting meat in the blender, Seungminnie,” Chan finally says. Seungmin scoffs. As if Chan has any authority over this specifically. Jeongin looks prematurely smug—the brat. Seungmin will be sure to wipe that smile off his face. Along with his dimples. God, a Jeongin without dimples. That sounds nightmarish and would probably do more harm to Seungmin than to said dimple-central.

“Yah, Iyennie, why did you even call me about this?” Their hyung yells in a sudden outburst. Hah, take that, Ayen. “We all know Seungmin-ah is a bit weird sometimes!” Wait, what. “Don’t you remember the chicken-breast-bluberry-shake? This isn’t new!” What.

Jeongin gasps profoundly at the phone, as if this is very new and very insightful information. Seungmin wonders why that shake in particular is so mind-blowing. He’s created many other mind-blowing shakes that have not elicited such emotion from the younger—or Chan. Or the others in general. He didn’t know it was so apparently popular.

“You’re right, Hyung," Jeongin says, with newfound solemnity. Huh. “He has always been like this. The thought slipped my mind completely. I’m sorry, I acted with my emotions rather than logic.” Oh, what the fuck is he talking about now.

“You’re too dramatic, Innie-ah,” Chan sighs, “But it’s alright, I understand.” Well, Seungmin doesn’t understand. He thinks his understanding is also pretty important to the resolution of—whatever this is! He would like to understand!

The two don’t seem to sense his grievances, though, because they continue exchanging increasingly melodramatic lines back and forth like it’s ping pong. While the imagery of Jeongin squishing his phone to his cheek as he spews long and emphatic monologues is pretty cute, Seungmin thinks he has bigger fish to fry in this situation. The bigger fish being whatever the hell Jeongin and Chan were talking about in their five-minute performance of complete jargon. He sinks back into the couch with a heavy sigh. He should’ve known asking his dongsaeng a simple and innocent question would be too much for his little dongsaeng brain to handle.

He remembers the ‘chicken-breast-blueberry-shake’, of course. During his amateur days, the products of his success had always shone gold in his eyes—and he very clearly remembers posting the fruits of his labour to STAY. He was proud, he admits it. The shake had been a cornerstone in his savoury-shake agenda! Anyone would be proud.

Now that he thinks about it, STAY had not appreciated that particular fruit. If he really wants to think about it, they’d found it nonsensical. Seungmin gives Jeongin a quick glance. He is still deep in his convoluted storytime with Chan. Whatever.

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. If Jeongin thinks his milkshakes are bad, and Chan thinks his milkshakes are bad, and STAY think his milkshakes are bad… Oh no.

Oh no.

“Are the milkshakes really that bad?” Seungmin bemoans. This can’t possibly be. Jeongin pauses his ranting to gawk at Seungmin with such severity, his jaw may as well dislocate.

“You’re putting milk in them?!” Jeongin squawks. Holy shit, yeah, he’s been putting milk in them? Is he not supposed to do that? Next, the other will tell him he should be putting ice in, or something. “Hyung, he’s been putting milk in them. The fucking meat-shakes. They’re milk-meat-shakes.” Oh, okay. Go snitch to Chan, who is right there (in the form of an electronic device) practically making out with your lips (said electronic device’s phone screen is smushed against Jeongin’s mouth). Seungmin thinks he is about to go on a spiel.

“That’s really concerning, Seungmin,” Chan says, flatly. The poor old man must be reaching his bedtime (the sun rose three hours ago). With great and heavy fatigue, “Please stop. For Innie’s sake, and your sake, and STAY’s sake, and my sake, for fuck’s sake.”

That’s a lot of sakes. You could say, that’s a lot of shakes. Seungmin giggles to himself and pays no mind to the disturbed look Jeongin shoots at him.

“Fine,” he relents, much more easily than he expected. Easier than Jeongin seemed to expect, too, because the other leaps (practically) five meters into the air and does ten somersaults. Basically. He really does.

“Do that again,” Seungmin demands, because if he is giving up his great innovation, then he should at least have some compensation for it. “The backflips. Again.” Jeongin blinks at him.

“You’re not making sense,” the other tells him, bluntly. How mean. “Have you had your morning coffee yet?”

No, he hasn’t, Yang Jeongin. He hasn’t, because he had made the very stupid and very idiotic (those mean the same things. Whatever.) decision to talk to you about the sweet milkshake experience that he had only innocently wanted to know for himself. Seungmin will never make this mistake again. He swears on his Gimhae Kim-clan blood and Kim Suro himself, he will never talk to Yang Jeongin about sweet milkshakes, ever again.

He’s sure his stare reflects this internal monologue, because meatshake-enemy-number-one’s face does turn a bit sheepish. Hah. It seems that, because Seungmin has relented to his fervent pursuit, he is wilting back into the obedient and polite dongsaeng he should be.

“Alright, hyung,” meatshake-enemy-number-one says, “Well, now that we’ve resolved this, you can make your coffee—Hey!” Oh, great, another eureka from Jeongin, here. “Why don’t you make a coffee-flavoured milkshake?”

“You trust me with the blender so easily?” Seungmin huffs, testily. He’d scoff if he could. (Wait, he can. What’s stopping him? Whatever, clearly the lack of caffeine is doing something to him.)

For some reason, Jeongin gazes at him with abrupt earnestness. “I’d trust you with my life, hyung.”

“Thanks.” That’s not what he fucking asked, but okay.

Jeongin leaves with a flourish. Seungmin decides that he will, in fact, make a coffee-flavoured milkshake. Sometimes his dongsaeng can have good ideas. Clearly, not all the time. But sometimes, the neurons in his brain link together like fireworks in an enclosed space.

That was really mean, Seungmin tells himself, as he stands and makes his way to the kitchen. Even if he can’t make his ground-breaking meatshakes anymore, he’s sure there is some uncharted territory in the sweetshake niche that he can pioneer.

BANG CHAN: [Daredevilishly revving his motorbike on wet concrete] LOL! Water? Not me, dad! [Taking a shoe off and chucking it at the ceiling. A lump of slime falls on his face] Wow! Kim Seungmin sure knows how to keep things clean, if ya’know what I mean… [Winking at the camera] I hate you, Kim Seungmin. I am your biggest not-fan, ever. ACK~!

Seungmin’s above scouring Google for recipes, he thinks. Milkshakes cannot be that hard. He’s made dozens of unconventional ones, so it’s not like he’s going in completely blind. In fact, he’s probably only going in with the experience of a short-sighted person without glasses. So, Hwang Hyunjin levels of blind.

That’s not so bad!

He’s even got his coffee machine to help him! And Seungmin is nothing if not a coffee connoisseur. He’s got this—he will make a cappuccino. Or something. Cappuccino sounds good. He just has to pour it into the blender instead of straight into his mouth.

Wow, he’s really adaptable, isn’t he? Who needs Minho’s five-hundred-page cookbook when he can just use his glorious, neuroplastic and ingenious brain? God, Kim Seungmin, keep them coming! They don’t call you the Almighty and Intelligent Ingenious Master of the Third Division for no reason.

Nobody calls me that, Seungmin thinks, a little rueful. They should be calling him that. Or not. He needs some coffee, probably. “Or so he says”, he says, soyly (What? Call him Modern Shakespeare) as he gathers basic milkshake ingredients from the fridge.

He skims over the meat, and the fish sauce, mournfully, and grabs the milk (lactose-free, because he wants to feel inclusive) and the butter and the sugar and the shaving cream. Shaving cream? Oh no, that’s where Changbin’s can went. Changbin doesn’t even live here.

Whatever. That's out of Seungmin’s job description right now.

He sets the indigestible product aside and stares at the rest sitting innocently on the counter. Milk, ice cream, whipped cream, dairy cream, I scream, butter, sugar, and ten bags of chocolate. Ten bags of chocolate, because Jeongin and Felix like to plan midnight feasts that will never come to fruition because Mother (Derogatory) (Lee Minho) always catches them beforehand and forces them to bed. And everyone wonders why Seungmin is so wary of him. The man has dangerous cat instincts and a wet, looming cat aura to match.

Whatever, whatever! Seungmin, the longer you spend without caffeine, the longer you spend without caffeine. His gaze locks back onto the milkshake ingredients. And he sighs.

They’re definitely basic ingredients. Like, extreme basicness. The spectrum of basicness, of course being the Kim-Seungmin-Idol-Agenda level of basicness, to the Hwang-Hyunjin-Pro-Idol-Agenda level of basicness (which is, not basic at all). He’s not sure why he’s suddenly using Hyunjin as a unit of measurement, but it’s okay! Hyunjin should be honoured to be a unit of measurement in Seungmin’s box of units of measurements! What the hell is he even saying!

Fuck, he shouldn’t have woken up at two in the morning to do yoga stretches on his bed and nearly break his ceiling light. That is Han Jisung behaviour, not Kim Seungmin behaviour. Has he swapped bodies with Han Jisung? Why is that the first conclusion he comes to? Wow, he needs to bok in. Or whatever Felix says when he needs to concentrate really hard on the task at hand and get shit done.

Seungmin thus spends the next fifteen minutes collating all the ingredients into the blender. He even pours in two cups of coffee, because he’s feeling a little rebellish. And also because he infers that the milk will dull the coffee flavour out, but that’s the lesser of the two reasons. Sweetshake making isn’t honestly all that boring, now that he’s doing it, but he thinks he has to put in a lot more effort to make something truly innovative.

So he uses Melona sticks instead of vanilla ice-cream, five different types of chocolate bars, and rummages through the pantry until he finds a bag supposedly full of spices that are meant to be used in sweet foods. At least, he’s ninety-two percent sure. He rolls the bag around in his hands—yes, he thinks he’s seen Felix use this in his baking.

He’ll make a cakeshake. Wow! He really is innovative.

Sometimes, certain doors close so new ones can open, Seungmin nods to himself. He’s about to become the pioneer of sweetshake central. He’s about to revolutionise how people have been approaching this very popular drink for millennia (centuries, even). He’s about to extend his meatshake prowess into uncharted territories. Oh, they better make way. (Maybe their title track lyrics have been getting to him. Just a little bit.)

Feeling confident, Seungmin dumps the rest of his special-weapon ingredients into the blender. He figures, looking at the volume of the contents, that this batch will last him at least three to four days. That’s a good thing, he thinks. It makes him feel like he’s meal prepping, except it’s milkshake prepping—another pioneering invention. Call him the fucking 3RACHA of the kitchen.

He stirs all the dairy and coffee and what-not with a spoon, because it makes him feel meticulous even though it’s ultimately doing nothing. He then grabs his extra special special-weapon ingredient, the bag of spices.

This is nutmeg, right? He peers into the bag and blinks at the dust that floats into his lashes. It certainly smells familiar, and he knows what cinnamon and ginger look like—they are not round like nuts, at the very least.

It’s a good thing he has his own personal 10000recipe.com!

“Minho-hyungie,” Seungmin waltzes up to the cat’s front door and kicks at it with his foot. He waits a good three seconds (he’s being patient. He’s really on a roll today.) for the characteristic grunt before busting in with the bag of nutmeg(?) in his hands. “Hyungie, this is nutmeg, right? Can I use it on my milkshake?” He makes sure to be extra cute so Minho isn't extra grumpy. That'll show him.

Minho, still tucked cozily in his bed (Because it is nine in the morning and he is not the early bird out of the four of them), squints wearily at the bag in Seungmin’s hand. He really looks like a cat. Not that Seungmin would know, he’s never seen a cat before.

He just lied in his own face. Minho-hyung, put this poor boy out of his misery so he can have his caffeinated drink in the next ten seconds. Or he will die. This is a threat.

“Nutmeg?” Minho blinks, then rolls over in bed and huffs another noncommittal grunt, “Yeah, Seungminnie, go ahead. Do you know how to grate them?”

He does not know how to grate them. Luckily (unluckily, most of the time except for now) for him, Minho is a mind reader. “No, you wouldn’t. There’s a small-ish grate equivalent in one of the top drawers. It’s called a microplane, but you also wouldn’t know what that is.” Seungmin huffs but unfortunately, and as usual, his hyung is correct. “It just looks like a mini cheese grater. Maybe you’ve seen Yongbok-ah use it for lemon zest?”

Maybe he has. Seungmin cannot exactly reach into the far corners of his mind for such information, though. He thinks he is feeling the effects of caffeine withdrawal.

Minho also knows this, because he knows everything. He shimmies his hand out of his blanket burrito and waves non-commitally at Seungmin. “You’ll find it. Have fun. Knock yourself out, even.” Then, as an afterthought, “Also, use it well. They’re the high-quality ones.” Oh shit, he’s been given the high ground. Maybe he is destined to be the next milkshake connoisseur if Minho is allowing him to use the good stuff.

“Y’okay, hyung.” He pokes the place where he thinks Hyung’s butt is, and walks off. He is about to make the best milkshake in history.

LEE MINHO: [Buoyantly, with great confidence] And here is the part of the show where we all stand back and laugh at Kim Seungmin’s poor decision making skills. HA. HA. HA. [Ripping his shirt off and pulling a heap of spaghetti from his hair, playing the spaghetti like an accordion] Look at Kim Seungmin go! Go, Kim Seungmin! I’m your biggest fan! KYA~!

I am the pinnacle of patience, Seungmin chants to himself. I’ve sat down and listened to Felix talk about Overwatch lore for three hours straight. I’ve watched Hyunjin’s paint dry for a dare. I always shower last. I am not a caffeine addict. I can grate down a singular nut without losing my shit. Seungmin can grate down a singular nut without losing his shit.

How the fuck does Felix do this? His fingers are beginning to go numb from the grating, and the nutmeg is only a quarter way down. Oh, the pains of innovation.

This had better be worth it. Seungmin thinks it will be, at the very least. He’s seen Minho and Felix use nutmeg in their sweeter recipes. He likes nutmeg. It’ll give the shake a little…kick. Yeah, a kick. The grating will be worth it, and Seungmin never does things halfway.

It eventually gets therapeutic, he supposes. The repetitive motion of moving his hand back and forth, watching the delicate nutmeg dust float down into the blender and soak into all the dairy, is pretty satisfying.

It’s all about the process, he tells himself, the journey along the way.

“Yo, hyung,” Jeongin appears from down the hallway, and then begins to walk towards him.

“Yo, Jeonginnie,” Seungmin mimics. He’s like, halfway down the nut. So close! Jeongin passes the counter with a brief glance. He blinks and looks again, probably astonished with Seungmin’s great and never-seen-before invention.

“Wow, hyung,” the dongsaeng’s eyebrows raise, “That’s a lot of nutmeg.”

Hell yeah it is. Seungmin lets himself smirk. “Have you ever seen anyone do this, before? Is hyung’s brain too full of wit?”

Jeongin opens his mouth, thinks momentarily, and then closes it. He shakes his head. “Y’know what, yeah, hyung, I believe you. You’re always ahead of our time, or whatever. Evidently. With those…meatshakes.” Hah. “Well, I’m gonna hang out in Chan-hyung’s dorm. Apparently, Changbin-hyung and Jisung-hyung are going to have a Mario Kart Fight to the Death. Or something.”

“At nine in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

Damn. “Have fun, Innie. You don’t wanna try hyung’s milkshake? This is your doing, you know.”

“I’m gonna be honest, hyung. I’d probably die if I ingested that much nutmeg.” Seungmin rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “Maybe it’s a refined taste—not mine, though!”

Your loss, Seungmin thinks, as he pats Jeongin goodbye. He then spends the next couple days (minutes) grating the nutmeg down until it's all dust. Maybe it is a bit excessive to use the whole nut—but at the same time, shouldn’t he be using all of it? Minho had said to use it well. He won’t be able to use it well if he is not using it all.

It’s sound logic. Seungmin nods to himself and figures that, at the very least, this will be a new experience for him. And the milkshake.

As the last substance of the nutmeg soaks into the milk, he smiles proudly at himself. He should be proud! He’s making something so different than what he’s used to—he’s going out of his comfort zone. Good job, Kim Seungmin. Good work.

He sends a prayer to the Heavens that the noise of the blender won’t wake Felix up, and goes for it.

It’s a pretty, light, beige colour. That’s so cute, maybe even cuter than Seungmin’s typical red-coloured shakes. Move aside, Iced Americano. The real deal is in town.

He grabs one of Minho’s aesthetic glasses and pours himself a generous amount. He figures he’s going to need the caffeine if he wants to make it through the next ten hours without doing something extremely, mortifyingly stupid.

(Heaven's note: This is dramatic irony.)

He stores the rest of the blender contents into spare glass jars and focuses entirely on the one in front of him. It’s beautiful. He should add some decorations and take a photo—Oh, he must show STAY his wondrous creation. Whipped cream and a bar of chocolate, it is.

They’ll be more accepting this time, he’s sure. Maybe not everyone can appreciate his meatshake, but everyone will appreciate a visually pleasing milkshake, as basic as it is. Whatever! He’s appealing the wider audience. He should do that, sometimes. This is that some time.

And, post! Seungmin hums a little tune, because he is satisfied. If he were Hyunjin, he’d take a moment to appreciate his hard work. He is not. He is caffeineless and impatient.

He stirs the whipped cream into the rest of the shake and has to bite his lips down to not smile crazily in anticipation. Oh, this is going to be good. He can feel it in his bones. Once he takes a sip, nothing will be able to hold him down.

(Heaven’s other note: This is foreshadowing.)

“I’m sorry for being so boring today, blender,” Seungmin feels the need to apologise. “I will continue to be boring, because Jeonginnie is mean and I am not allowed to blend meat anymore.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Blender says back. Oh no. How can this be. Supposedly, you cannot please one person without upsetting another.

Seungmin cannot resist anymore. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a generous swallow.

The taste of the nutmeg hits his tongue, and then his nose, and then his brain and throat in a fascinating and outrageously strong punch. Good God. Holy shit, that’s a lot of nutmeg flavour. He might be drinking straight nutmeg.

Seungmin almost wants to put it down, but he remembers that he cannot be the chicken-blueberry-shake-eating member forever. He needs to save his reputation somehow, someway. The drink isn’t that bad. In fact, he probably just has to use more shaving cream next time!

He downs the entire thing.

(Heaven’s other, other note: This is really stupid.)

HAN JISUNG: [Jisungly] HO. HO. HO. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Minho figures he should get out of bed. It’s, what, one in the afternoon? His stomach rumbles, telling him to go and eat something good with the culinary expertise he has. Oh, but his blanket is so warm.

Whatever. His phone is about to die and he doesn’t want to roll over for the charger and attempt to get comfortable all over again. He should just get up. Put ‘em up, or whatever Changbin says. C’mon, Minho, Changbin would also say, Put those muscles to use.

So, with a very annoying and very animated groan, Minho stretches out of bed and ignores the cracks of his joints as he does so. The blanket burrito had simply baked him stiff, that’s all.

I could probably try whatever concoction Seungminnie made this morning, his mind traitorously thinks. He would never confess this to anyone still alive, but Minho does enjoy trying his silly dongsaeng’s silly inventions. The others think he’s crazy for it, but they simply do not understand the wavelength that he and Kim Seungmin have unfortunately found themselves sharing. And, nutmeg does sound good right now.

He will have to put extra hot peppers in the stew tonight, to balance the scales. Kim Seungmin cannot exist on the same field as Minho without facing some form of consequence, of course.

Oh, Minho huffs. It’s a good deal past noon. He didn’t realise he’d been lounging for that long. He’ll have to eat well to make up for it.

“Good morning, dog!” Minho announces as he comes down the hallway, expecting Seungmin to be sprawled over the couch, watching baseball like the nerd he is. (Cheerleading, if Minho is lucky.)

Minho expects Seungmin to whine, It's noon, hyung. To which Minho will laugh gleefully and respond, So you don’t deny your dog lineage! And Seungmin would whinge and snivel in defeat, and Minho would once again reign superior to his silly, comically reactive dongsaeng. This is not a fantasy, this is an accurate prediction.

“He–ey, hyungie.” Seungmin turns around from his spot on the couch and grins widely (wildly) at Minho. “H–ey…”

Okay, so maybe Minho’s accurate prediction was rather inaccurate.

“Hi, Seungmin,” Minho says, a little slowly, and a little suspiciously. His hyung senses are tingling, he thinks. A small buzz in the back of his mind that tells him there is something wrong with his member. Nothing should be wrong, right? He was fine this morning, when he’d barged into Minho’s room…four-ish hours ago? What can a Kim Seungmin do in four hours?

He walks towards said Kim Seungmin, and notes that Seungmin seems to be tracking his movement intently. “What have you been up to?” Minho might as well be blunt with it. That’s how they operate. Also, it smells. He is not sure of what scent, and he is not sure it’s a bad one, but it smells.

Seungmin’s lip quirks (twitches) up, “Nothin’. I’m just sittin’ here.”

Right. Minho cannot really say anything to this, because Seungmin does sometimes stare off into the void as an act of leisure. Still, his hyung senses tingle. He settles down next to the other and frowns at the glass in his hands.

“Is that what you needed the nutmeg for?” Minho assumes as much, but the more he gets Seungmin talking, the easier it will be for the dog to mess up. And then Minho can enact a Divine Hyung Retribution on him. Hah.

Seungmin’s eyes flit towards the glass, that’s loosely resting in his hand, then back to Minho. “Ye’h.” Another wide grin. “I made a milkshake. Y’proud of me, hyung?”

Huh.

“So proud of you, Seungminnie,” Minho replies flatly. The glass is near empty, with just some milk bubbles clinging to the sides. The potent scent seems to be from Seungmin, strongly nutty and warm—Oh. It’s the nutmeg.

Minho doesn’t think he’s ever smelled it this strong, before. Is it supposed to be this strong? He doesn’t handle nutmeg much—that’s more so Yongbok’s field. “You smell like nuts,” Minho decides to say, very seriously. Seungmin can get quite particular about the way he smells. Maybe he’ll get flustered. A flustered Seungmin is always fun to watch.

For some reason, Seungmin seems very intent on going against all of Minho’s predictions today. “The nutmeg!” the dog giggles. He giggles. When the fuck has Kim Seungmin ever giggled, ever. That is like, the one thing they do not have in common. Kim Seungmin does not giggle. The hyung senses blare in earnest. In a more solemn tone, a little more like himself: “The nutmeg.”

“Yes, Minnie.” Something is telling Minho that he needs to be careful with his next choice of words. “The nutmeg.”

And then Seungmin says, “M’makes me feel funny, hyung.” And Minho, with his pretty basic but apparently superior knowledge on spices, feels his heart drop out of his ass.

“The nutmeg,” he confirms, first, hoping that Seungmin is just all over the place today. But the dog nods, of course, because his sole existence is to make Minho’s life difficult and torturous. “Makes you feel funny?” Another jerky nod. “Seungmin-ah. How much nutmeg did you use.”

In generally every single recipe in the world (Minho’s world, at least) that uses nutmeg, one is advised not to go over half a teaspoon. One generally does not go over half a teaspoon, because who the fuck needs that much spice anyway.

“Jus’ one,” Seungmin whines.

“One.” Oh no.

“Y’uh. One nutmeg.”

But Seungmin, of course, used one whole fucking nutmeg.

“Why are you like this.” Minho says, before he can stop himself.

YANG JEONGIN: [Holding a teacup to his lips, in a refined and collected manner] Hello. For those of you who are uneducated in the domain of nutmeg and measurement conversions, half a teaspoon is roughly one gram. A whole nutmeg can range from five to ten grams, and seeing as this one is of good quality, it is certainly on the heavier end of the spectrum. [Matter-of-fact] Seungmin is very stupid, and I am now going to make out with Jisung-hyung. Goodbye. [Goodbye by BANG CHAN and SEUNGMIN starts playing]

Felix awakens to the distant sound of wailing, and thinks, What the fuck.

It takes a surmounting effort to get out of bed, and his back aches—a reprimand for staying up so late to play games under his blanket. Maybe Minho has the right idea, maybe he should actually listen to his circadian rhythm and stop trying to rebel against the laws of the sun and moon.

Whatever, that’s a problem for later. Felix stretches momentarily (because he would like to not catch a cramp from simply walking through his apartment), rubs his eye-crust away and struggles with a robe before valiantly deciding to brave whatever the fuck is apparently happening down the hallway.

“Hyung,” Kim Seungmin’s bawling gets vividly louder as Felix walks closer, “Y’ur ears’re gone! M–My e’rs! No! M’bald—”

I must be dreaming, Felix thinks, Yes, that’s what this is. This must be a Mundane Dream that Minho-hyung conjured up with his aura, to teach me to never disobey him again. Hyung, I get your point, now. You can wake me up, now. Please don’t make me walk in there to an earless you and an earless Seungmin. Who is also bald. Please don’t.

Taking a long, deep breath, Felix steps into the kitchen and comes head on with Seungmin sprawled out on the hardwood, clinging to Minho’s pants with agonised and harrowing cries.

Oh God.

“M’e–ears, the’gone,” Seungmin blubbers, while Minho looks up and says to him, “Yongbok. Help. Me.”

“What the fuck happened,” Is Felix’s first and foremost response, that very inconveniently shoots out of his mouth. He doesn’t think Minho even knows what’s happening, let alone Seungmin. Also, “It smells in here.” It smells very strong of some particular spice that Felix is sure is not supposed to be this potent.

“Yes, the dog ate a whole fucking nutmeg,” Minho deadpans. Oh. “And now he is poisoned.”

Holy shit. The dots connect impressively fast in Felix’s head. He stares at Seungmin’s hapless form on the floor and feels the overwhelming urge to coddle him and simultaneously call him a really dumb, stupid, idiot. This is something only a dumb, stupid, idiot would do. Felix loves you, Kim Seungmin—unconditionally so, but what is this.

“What the fuck,” Felix repeats, dumbly. He doesn’t think any of them have ever gotten intoxicated through anything other than alcohol. This is certainly a first. Hopefully the last.

Minho seems to be attempting to hush Seungmin’s crying, a little frantically. “C’mon, Minnie-ah. You can’t cry. You’ll dehydrate even more than you’re going to.” Ah, shit. That’s right, the nutmeg is going to suck Seungmin’s fluids dry.

Felix goes to get a glass of water, because it’s not as though they can make Seungmin throw up and magically become sober again. He’s pretty sure nutmeg takes a while to kick in. Therefore, Seungmin’s been at it for a while. It’s all absorbed at this point. Good God, if only he’d woken up earlier. This truly is a nightmare conjured up from his guilty conscience.

He kneels beside his fallen comrade and brings the glass to his lips. “Hey, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin, half leaning on his own elbow, and half being held up by Minho’s arms, blinks owlishly at Felix before he begins to giggle (what the fuck). “Yo–ongbok. Heh.”

He’s a bit cute like this, but Felix supposes he shouldn’t be thinking those things when he is…high. “Hi, Seungminnie. You’re thirsty, aren’t you? Have some water.” Seungmin thankfully drinks with no objections. Felix looks to Minho for what to do next—because, lo and behold, it’s a new experience for him—but Minho looks just as clueless. He supposes it’s a new experience for both of them.

Does Seungmin need a hospital? Felix is sure he didn’t just gnaw at nutmeg in its raw form, he’s pretty insane, but he’s not that insane. At least, Felix hopes he isn’t. He hopes Seungmin only poisoned himself in a stupid and unintentional manner.

“Oh, here it is,” Minho sighs wearily. Felix looks up to see his hyung holding jars of supposed…milkshake? It looks unassuming, but it must’ve been what Seungmin had consumed, if the worn look on Minho’s face is anything to go by. “The dog’s poison.”

Seungmin sniffles, and Felix pulls him closer. He thinks he should tell Minho to be nicer but. That is in fact, the dog’s poison. Regardless, their Hyung seems more worried than anything.

“Hyung,” Seungmin whines, “Yo’didn’t tell m’you were gonna dye y’r hair pink…” and then he giggles, again, “You look like…hm…minni’mouse.”

Great. “I didn’t know nutmeg was a hallucinogen.”

“Didn’t think we’d ever have to know,” Minho huffs wryly, before kneeling in front of Seungmin and holding his shoulders. It looks rough, but Felix can sense the motherly aura behind the gesture. “Seungmin-ah, how much milkshake did you drink? What else did you put in it? Do you feel sick?” Oh no, if Seungmin throws up, Felix thinks he’ll throw up. He does not do well with that.

Seungmin, bless him, blinks emptily at Minho before sighing dreamily, “Yur’ eyelashes ar’pretty, hyungie.”

Minho-hyung, Felix thinks, horrified, You better not be blushing at that—Holy shit. Your ears are red. Are you serious. Hyung, this is not the time to engage in whatever cat-dog enemies-and-lovers type of shit you have going on with Seungmin.

“A hallucinogen wouldn’t make him this delirious, would it?” Felix says, instead of everything else he wants to say (Like, Kiss him better at this point, Seungmin is kinda cute like this, I think he’s fine, we can probably have breakfast first). “Well, I guess it could…” No, it definitely could. May as well give Seungmin every symptom under the sun, if he’s consumed enough to poison himself.

Why couldn’t you have taken something more well-known?! Felix internally cries. Who the fuck gets high off of nutmeg?! Nutmeg! Nutmeg!!

And then Seungmin hiccups, and gags, and pukes all over Minho’s shirt and pants in a heave that looks and sounds very painful. Oh God.

Felix shoots up off the floor, wanting to both plug his ears and cradle the other at the same time. Minho seems to do the latter for him, though, completely ignoring the vomit soaking through his clothes to pull Seungmin against his chest and rub his back. It’s so gross it could almost be sweet.

“Oh no, it’s okay, Seungminnie,” he hears Minho murmur gently, as Seungmin coughs and retches into his shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

The smell of the stomach acid and whatever Seungmin had ingested alongside the nutmeg, hits Felix’s nose. Oh no. Uh uh. Not happening. He’s gotta get a more capable and vomit-immune adult before Minho has to take care of two sickly members.

“I’m gonna get Chan-hyung,” Felix squawks, undignified, but he frankly does not give a shit. He leaps over the puke and runs for the door. Kim Seungmin, why.

KIM SEUNGMIN: [Winking seductively at the camera] Yo, baby. You wann’a serenade? Oh, I can’t sing. But I’ll juggle just for you, babes. [Grabbing the plasterboard from the ceiling and crumpling them into small balls] See, munchkin? Imma total charmer, I know. [Ripping his jacket open to reveal his bare chest] YO! Someone get this beat UP!

Seungmin thinks, distantly, that there is something amiss, but he can’t bring himself to care. Look! He drags his hands up to his face—at least, tries—and the outlines of them are so big. They are so thick and big. Was his outline always this thick? Who turned this setting on? Don’t turn it off?

His mouth feels really dry, which is honestly the only downside to this whole situation. This situation that he cannot, for some unexplainable reason, identify.

The clock above him meows. It must be dinnertime.

Someone (something?) coaxes water down his mouth, though. So that’s that problem solved! Wow, at this rate, Seungmin’s gonna have no inconveniences whatsoever!

Minho-hyung looks gorgeous, as always. With the pretty slope of his nose and his slim cheeks that hug the structure of his face so well—wow. Seungmin wants to bite him. Minho would probably be crunchy, like celery. Or hard plastic. Wow, his aura even affects the backdrop behind him. It’s all pink and fluorescent and glittery.

I wish Minho-hyung would bite me, Seungmin thinks, a little mournfully. Eleven tiny Jisungs fly around him and sing the harmony to Get Lit. How are there eleven tiny Jisungs, anyway? Seungmin’s not counting. He thinks there should be twelve.

“Seungminnie,” a distant voice calls. It sounds like Minho—Oh, there’s Minho. In all his beautiful-face-glory. Seungmin could bite him, right now. Heh. Hehe. Haha. “Oh, dog.” Dog. Where.

Seungmin blinks, he thinks he should, because he just registers how blurry his vision is. Minho’s face becomes unfairly sharper—Oh, and there’s Jeongin, and Hyunjin, and everyone else that he is too lazy to name in this internal monologue. Also, why is everyone blonde. Did Seungmin miss the memo at their last hairstyling appointment. Oh, fuck. Is he about to be the yellow fish in a sea of blue fish.

The blue fish winks at him and says, The stars have aligned, Kim Seungmin. Oh. Yes, they have, he supposes.

“Oh my fucking God, hyung,” Jeonginnie cries, and grabs his face. Jeongin’s hands are so nice. They’re so smooth and nice. “Hyung, you can keep making your stupid disgusting meatshakes as long as you don’t kill yourself!” Ooh…little dongsaeng is crying. That can’t be good.

“Wha’th’fuck are y’talkin’bout.” Someone says, sounding just like Seungmin. Wow. Seungmin can’t believe someone sounds just like him. He feels sick just thinking about it.

“Yen, he’s not gonna know what you’re saying,” someone else sighs. He thinks, vaguely and because he is now a master at vocal recognition, it is Chan.

Seungmin wants to say hi. He goes to turn towards the voice and comes face-first to Chan’s bare and furry chest. Holy shit. Is this the day? Is Bang Chan finally coming out of his shell and revealing himself as what he truly is? This is a monumental occasion.

“I always knew y’were a werewolf.” He decides to say, because Chan deserves to know. “It’s’okay, hyung. I still lov’ya.”

CHAN:

(Tearing up slightly)

Oh my God. That’s so sweet. Guys, he said he loves me. That’s so sweet.

HYUNJIN:

(Flatly)

Hyung, he’s high. He just called you a werewolf. I bet you ten thousand primo-dollars, he thinks you’re shirtless right now.

CHAN:

(Greedily, with the curse of Genshin Impact)

Ten thousand primogems—

FELIX:

Honestly the tamest thing he’s said all day.

[The seven of them circle Seungmin’s prone form, like crows at a funeral. Nobody really knows what to do in this situation. As an idol, you are told not to take substances, and there is no real Plan B after that.

Seungmin makes a piteous noise and Minho drops to his knees with his vomit-stained clothes. He starts affectionately squishing his cheeks.]

MINHO:

(Cooing, at a volume only Seungmin could hear—if Seungmin were coherent)

Oh, my baby. My poor, stupid baby. You’re so cute. You’re so dumb and stupid, and you did the dumbest and most stupid thing ever, but you’re so cute. It’s okay, hyung’s here.

HYUNJIN:

Hyung, what are you doing? I know this is frustrating, but you shouldn’t smother Kim Seungmin to death for it. It’s not his fault nutmeg is poisonous.

FELIX:

(Glancing sideways)

It is kinda his fault, though.

CHAN:

(Smiling, still)

I love you too, Seungminnie.

JEONGIN:

(Crying, still)

Should we take him to the hospital?

JISUNG:

(Jisungly)

Guys, why are we in screenplay format right now.

CHANGBIN:

(For no apparent reason)

𝓲 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

Someone suddenly sounds like they’re about to cry. Seungmin thinks that is very acceptable. This must be a vulnerable moment for everyone. He goes to see who the crying person may be—Wow. Was Hyunjin always that tall?

He feels a little dizzy, and he wants to speak but his tongue weighs heavy in his mouth. How did he get here, again?

“Hi, Minnie-ah.” Changbin appears out of nowhere. Shirtless, for some reason. “I’m gonna lift you, okay?” Oh, yes please. Sign him up. Seungmin would never turn down some time in Changbin’s toned and firm arms. Even when he feels a little queasy at being picked up.

As he is content in his hyung’s strong hold, someone loudly whispers, “Some things never change. Minnie still yearns for the jacked-out muscle man.”

“Lix, not the time.”

DOONGIE: [Unimpressed] MEOW. MEOW. MEOW. KIM SEUNGMIN. WAKE THE MEOW UP.

Thank the Heavens, Kim Seungmin does not throw up all over him for the period of time he is in Changbin’s arms. They make it to the bathroom with surprising ease, considering the nature of the situation.

“—I just can’t believe he ate a whole fucking nutmeg,” Hyunjin is saying, plaintively, “I can’t believe my huzz is kinda buzzed, and he’s speakin’ in fuzz, and he usually just does, but today he just guzzed—”

“Okay, J.ONE, calm down,” Minho huffs. Changbin doesn’t need to turn around to know Jisung’s gawking at him in betrayal. He decides to ignore whatever the hell is happening behind him, in favour of taking care of the very volatile and very sickly Kim Seungmin in his arms.

Changbin didn’t think they’d spend their day off treating a high-as-heaven member in a 2x2 bathroom, but they just are. He’s going to take it as an opportunity to coddle the dog, instead of everything else it actually is. Kim Seungmin, why.

“You feel nauseous, Minnie?” He asks, not really expecting an answer in return. Felix had said the high would probably get worse as time goes on, and that nutmeg takes a while to run through. He sets Seungmin down in front of the toilet so he has somewhere to puke when he inevitably feels sick again. The other just stares up at him dazedly and leans heavily against his leg. Yeah, no response.

“Min-ah, you should change,” Chan says, hovering in the doorway, anxious and carefree at the same time, “We can take it from here.”

“You can borrow my clothes, hyung,” Felix sweetly offers. A little too sweetly.

Minho seems to do that blinking thing at him. Still clad in his soiled pajamas. “Yongbokie, I live here. I have a closet.”

Felix shrugs, “You can borrow my clothes.”

“Is this a ploy to see me in one of your tight shirts—”

“You can borrow my clothes.”

Everyone here has their own fucking agenda, I guess. Changbin internally bemoans. Yeah, let's just ignore that Seungmin is as high as a kite right now and instead use this as an opportunity to glimpse Minho-hyung's rock-ass abs. Okay. Y’know what. Okay.

While Felix continues to barter, Jisung shimmies his way into the bathroom and slowly lowers himself down to Seungmin’s level. Seungmin gasps and beams at him (admittedly, cute). “S’ngie-ah!” Oh, so now you speak. Changbin sees how it is. This fuckass favoritism.

(Bin, Hyunjin’s high-pitched voice rings distantly in his head, You are literally the guy’s favourite. Shut the fuck up.)

“Hi, baby,” Jisung giggles, and shuffles closer to the other until Seungmin shifts his weight off of Changbin’s leg to lean against Jisung’s side. Oh, okay. They are very cute. Changbin wants to pinch their cheeks.

Seungmin grins at him, very un-Seungmin-like. Changbin wonders what he’s seeing right now, if he really is hallucinating like Minho had said he is. (And, well, they got proof of that when he stared Chan dead-on and said he was a werewolf) Does Changbin look different? Maybe Jisung is all shiny and rainbow in his eyes. He already has the aura to match, might as well.

“You sure we don’t need a hospital?” Changbin asks again, to nobody in particular. He figures they won’t, but they aren’t exactly experts on this.

Chan shrugs at him, still hovering in the doorway. “Probably not. If he needed one, he probably wouldn’t be conscious right now.” His hyung glances at the two on the floor, a mix of fondness and worry swirling in his eyes. “Minnie’s strong, he can ride it out. If that changes, though, I’m hauling him to the nearest ER.”

“Right.” Hyung would. “You would.” It’s reassuring, at least.

“S’gnie,” Seungmin smirks dopily, “Y’re s’sexy, s’ng.”

Jisung, you better not be blushing at that— Changbin resists the urge to facepalm. No, of course you’d blush at that. You’re fuckin’ hopeless.

Jisung does in fact look red, and looks like he’s having the time of his life. “You’re sexy too, baby.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and then winks, because of course he would. “So sexy.”

Seungmin, the intoxicated fuck, swoons. Kissing would be less romantic than this, or whatever Hyunjin would say.

And then Seungmin slurs, “M’dizzy.” And they start moving in fucking formation again. Chan slips out to grab a glass of water, Jisung snuggles up impossibly closer, and Changbin kneels in front of Seungmin so he can inspect his face and hopefully not get thrown up on.

He’s not sure where the others went. Felix and Minho, probably arguing over clothes somewhere. Jeongin and Hyunjin are…somewhere. Maybe Hyunjin’s taken it upon himself to get the maknae to stop crying like Seungmin is about to die. Well, he hopes Seungmin isn’t about to die. Changbin sincerely hopes Seungmin stays a little buzzed out and nauseous so long as he doesn’t start seizing, or something.

He’s got a good feeling this will stay a bemusing but otherwise harmless learning experience for everyone involved. Maybe the Heavens are kind to them—the only person suffering from this will be Seungmin (and Minho’s clothes). And the guy’s been through worse.

“Min-ah, you want water?” He says, to said guy. Seungmin nods eagerly, like a dog, and also like an idiot, because the action seems to make him dizzier.

Chan returns with a glass and unnecessarily puckers his lips in Seungmin’s face. “Hi~ Minnie-baby,” Hyung coos, high-pitched and singsongy. Oh no. “Will Minnie-baby drink for hyung? Hm? Minnie-baby wants to drink this yummy water for Hyung?”

Seungmin stares at Chan for a long time. “I d’nno. Tha’s’scary.”

“Chan-hyung, he’s high, not aged three,” Jisung half-laughs, half-whines. “Don’t use this as an excuse to start aegyo.”

“Especially when you’re in front of the Aegyo Master.” Changbin adds, seriously. Chan huffs but helps Seungmin drink with no added commentary.

“He’s really warm,” Jisung sighs happily, sinking further into the other’s side—shouldn’t it be the other way around? “I could fall asleep like this…”

“Wait until the puppy’s asleep,” Changbin scolds. “You’re not the illy sick here.” It doesn’t seem like it’ll be long before Seungmin tires himself out, anyway.

“I think it’s sickly ill.”

“When have prescriptivist language conventions ever stopped us. Tell me.”

“I’m carrying Seungminnie to bed,” Chan states, exercising his leader authority for this one task.

Jisung blinks at him with big, saucepan eyes and switches his target. “Will you carry me too, hyung?”

“Hm. Maybe. If you’re cute enough.”

Changbin, because it’s funny, also blinks at Chan, sparkly and adorable. “What about me, hyungie?”

"Hah. Of course, Bin-ah." Heh.

And then, because attention cannot be strayed from him for too long, Seungmin gags. Thankfully, Jisung’s decision-making is at least quick enough to grab the dog’s sides and turn him towards the toilet bowl before he starts puking all over the floor.

“Poor baby,” Chan hums, as he helps Changbin pull back Seungmin’s hair (this is not a two-man job. Whatever). “It’s okay, hyungs are here.”

DAENGMO: [Daengmoly] Meow. Mew. Miao, miao. YEOUW!

The first thing Seungmin does when he wakes up, is spend five minutes dry-heaving over the side of his bed.

“It’s okay, Minnie-ah,” Minho’s voice filters through the absolute cotton in his head. He thinks his hyung is rubbing his back, it is a nice feeling. “It’s alright, you’re okay.”

Seungmin can only groan in response. He very much would like to die. Why did he wake up like this, and why is Minho-hyung in his bed—Holy shit. Minho-hyung is in his bed.

“Ho—Holy shit,” he croaks. God, his throat feels like it was sanded down and air-fryed. “You’re in my bed.” And his head hurts. And his arms feel genetically modified to weigh ten times more. And he’s thirsty.

Minho peers at him inquisitively, eyes wide with multitudes of emotions Seungmin isn’t coherent enough to interpret. Please, hyung, now is not the time to play charades. “Does Kim Seungmin not remember anything?” Top Ten Most Ominous Statements to Wake Up To. Number One.

“No, hyung,” He rasps. “I do not.” He’d like to say more, like, please elaborate, or, can I please have jjigae for breakfast since I’m unwell, but it seems that his throat does not like that idea.

Cue: Minho’s smug cat smirk.

Seungmin bats at him. Minho yelps. They fall off the bed.

“Yah, Kim Seungmin!” Minho squawks. “Be careful! You’re still recovering! I’m still recovering! You threw up on my clothes twice, y’know.”

“Huh?!” Seungmin squawks back, because he thinks that is the appropriate reaction here.

Minho huffs. “Well, the second time was Yongbok’s clothes. You woke up in the middle of the night and somehow vomited on only me. Not even yourself. Just me! I always knew you loved me, Seungminnie—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hyung,” Seungmin groans. This cat is too fast. He is too confusing. He speaks in too many riddles. “Can you just tell me what happened?” He tries to piece it together himself, but everything just seems like a really long-winded and hyperrealistic fever dream. Like, Hyunjin couldn’t have grown three meters overnight. Nor could Felix ever speak Italian. Well, as far as Seungmin knows, at least.

Minho hands him a glass of water, before saying anything else. Seungmin, because he is parched, drinks it gratefully. Even though it feels like a pre-emptive peace offering.

“You ingested roughly ten grams of nutmeg, and got high off of it.”

What.

“What." 

“Yongbok and Jisungie took many pictures,” Minho adds, sagely. What. Wait. What.

Seungmin laughs, a little forcedly. He must be lying. “You’re lying to me, hyung.”

“Jeonginnie cried tons,” his hyung keeps saying things just to give Seungmin a heart attack, surely. “He hugged you, crying, Oh, hyung! I’m sorry for making fun of your rancid, ugly, horrific meatshakes! Please don’t kill yourself! Yah, you should apologise to him, you know. I think he really thought you were trying to die.”

“I’m gonna throw up on you,” Seungmin threatens, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

Minho startles minutely, before sighing. “I mean, Chan-hyung’s right there. I think it’s his turn to be thrown up on.” Minho gestures, to the dead-asleep Chan, who has apparently been there since Seungmin woke up. In Seungmin’s bed. His single bed. His single bed that already had himself and Minho in it.

“Also, you’re banned from the kitchen until further notice.”

Fuck. What the fuck.

“Anyway,” And because this nightmare had to get even worse, Minho suddenly brings his hand to Seungmin’s forehead. He murmurs, caringly. With a sweet and gentle voice, “Are you still nauseous, Minnie-ah? Hyung can make some ginger tea for you. He’ll even get the pot ready for some jjigae. The puppy deserves some coddling—no objections allowed. The others have been camping in the living room, I’m sure they’re ready to smother you with hugs and kisses.”

“What the fuck,” Seungmin squeaks.

The little bears on Chan-hyung’s pajamas look at him and say, Woof, woof, Kim Seungmin. Arf. Arf.

SEO CHANGBIN: [Shyly] H–Hey…Yo–You’re still…h–here…? [Fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his sleeves] Th–That’s a to–total beige…flag… It–It’s okay, th–though! It’s ju–ju–just a…c–canon event! It–It’s giving… gi–giving s–sigma! HA. H–HA. HA. [Looking the camera up and down, with sudden clarity] Womp womp, oomf.

9:51 A.M KST

[image attached]

shake with two cups of coffee and one nutmeg~ yum~

[happy dog]

[is this a translation issue or]

[what do you mean ‘one nutmeg’. seungmin. WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONE NUTMEG]

[that looks good!! i might try it hehe]

[this is somehow worse than the boiled chicken, sweet potato, blueberry, protein powder monstrosity from last year. throw that out immediately.]

[YUMMMMMMMM!!!]

[omg if you seriously become the epicenter for a nutmeg high outbreak i will buy thirty albums im not joking]

[seungmin i know the idol life must be incomprehensibly unfair and torturous, but please dont kill yourself. there are so many people out there whom youve saved and i dont want to be presumptuous but seeing as youve sent this message this does look like a cry for help. i sincerely hope you can get through this difficult time in your life and please know that stay love you and support you so much…]