Chapter Text
Yuta quietly shut the door to the dorm, the digital clock on the kitchen wall displaying a flashing 1:27am. He’d been out late, finishing some late filming and a meeting with the manager, and was ready to collapse and sleep for 4 days.
First, however, he had to check exactly how late he was.
The entire dorm - a massive dorm, seeing as they’re housing 15 boys, ranging in ages 23 to 15 - installed a system on seeing how late you were, not long after NCT-U debuted. (It was supposed to be an incentive to get back earlier, but some people turned it into a competition).
It all started when Hansol, a notorious night-owl who stayed up late and woke up randomly in the middle of the night, noticed how late Taeyong and Jaehyun would get back at night. The two most popular members from NCT-U - excluding Mark, who wasn’t allowed out late due to his age - normally had a lot of activities after schedules at the company, and Taeyong, who was a masochist, often stayed behind to practice extra. After this happened for a week, including an almost-breakdown from Taeil when Jaehyun collapsed during a practice and Taeyong threw up from lack of sustenance, the others started a system - if you were later than Jaehyun, you were pretty late, but if you were later than Taeyong, then you were late, and you would have to suffer a lecture from both Taeil and Hansol. (After that was added, people consciously tried to get back earlier.)
Yuta toed off his shoes, undoing his scarf as he made his way into the living room, avoiding strewn shoes and a jacket - one that was definitely Taeyong’s. When he entered the living room, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the black tuft of hair on the armchair, shallow breathing soft in the room. The Japanese man moved over to stand in front of the couch, looking at the other in front of him. Taeyong was curled up in a ball, face half-buried in his arm and the arm of the couch, and was shivering slightly. However, when Yuta moved to touch his arm, warmth radiated back. “Idiot,” Yuta muttered, not unkindly, as he draped his jacket over Taeyong’s lower half.
He moved into the kitchen again, already fumbling for the leftover dinner he knew Johnny left them and the painkillers left in the medicine cabinet. Discarding Johnny’s note about the food - (“to keep ur fatasses healthy ily to the moon xoxo - johnny”) and sticking the container in the microwave, Yuta poured a glass of water and dropped the two soluble tablets in - they had soluble because Doyoung was terrified of pills and refused to take them - before heading back into the living room, crouching down to gently nudge Taeyong awake.
“Taeyong … Taeyongie …” Yuta pressed against the other’s warm shoulder softly, the Korean slowly waking up. He coughed violently, burying his face in his hands, and shivered before focusing on Yuta.
“Yuta …?” Taeyong’s voice was croaky and hoarse, a sign of sleep and sickness. Yuta helped him sit up, before pushing the glass into his hands.
“You actually need to eat, and take medicine, because you’re getting sick. Come here,” he added, grasping Taeyong’s free arm and helping him up, his arm moving to gently, but firmly, tighten around the male’s waist. “I’ve got your dinner heating up for you - you’re lucky I’m tired enough that I’m in a good mood.”
Yuta woke up to soft snickering, the sound of a phone camera going off and Taeyong’s warmth on top of him, his face tucked into the crook of Yuta’s neck. On top of it all, Yuta could also feel the beginning fuzziness of a cold. Taeyong shifted, still asleep, and Yuta just managed to manoeuvre his head to open his eyes, staring at the others.
Currently, Johnny and Ten were standing in front of him, Ten's phone still out and Johnny holding the jackets and scarves both Yuta and Taeyong had discarded that night.
“Hyung, where were you last night?” Ten, a Grade A asshole - he knew exactly where Yuta was. He also knew that Yuta got home later than Taeyong, due to that fact that the Thai dancer was the one who had to collect Taeyong when he collapsed at the company, showing signs of a cold. “Eat shit,” Yuta muttered, ignoring Ten's quiet protests and pulling the blanket someone (Johnny) had draped over them closer.
“Do we have any schedules today?” Johnny shook his head, shoving the Thai out of the room to go and find some food, sitting down next to the Japanese man.
“No, I think manager-hyung cancelled after Taeyongie came home early, plus knowing how late you were out. Plus, it’s not like you guys had much - you finished your promotions last week, anyway.” Johnny carded his fingers softly through Taeyong’s hair, the younger nuzzling closer to Yuta sleepily, before petting Yuta’s head and standing up.
“I’ll get you some breakfast for later to heat up, and I’ll duck out to get some more medicine,” Johnny called back, Yuta thanking every deity he could think of for the wonder that was Johnny Suh.
Leaning back on the couch, he pulled Taeyong closer and let sleep claim him.