Every night I’ll be your sign | pt. 1
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Sickie: Wooyoung
Caretaker/s: San
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When San woke to the weight of someone dipping down on the other side of his bed, he felt strangely unbothered by the unexpected visitor. There was no startled wake up, no surge of adrenaline striking him in a flash of panic, because it took him no longer than a fleeting second to recognise the body pressing against his own. From the gentle smell of vanilla body wash, to the familiar, slender arm wrapping around him like it had always been meant to fit there.
For a moment, the still half-asleep San just hugged Wooyoung back like he’d been waiting for him to show up all night, drowsily folding his arms around his smaller frame and pulling him in closer. Everything about it was so familiar, so safe— perhaps it was even something San hadn’t realised he’d been deeply missing the last couple of weeks. It was initially a pleasant surprise. San could’ve easily just let sleep pull him back under right then and there, no questions asked, but there was something about the state of affairs that piqued the interest of his subconscious just enough to stir him awake.
Wooyoung was in his bed— not unusual in and of its own, but… in the middle of the night? Out of the blue? With no notice? Why? And how had he..?
Spare key, right… but still, San rounded right back to the question of why?
With a confused frown pulling on his lips, he peeled his eyes open to find the room still shrouded in darkness, the curtains admitting not so much as a sliver of light. The digital clock on his bedside table cast red numbers through the darkness; 3:46AM. What on earth could have driven Wooyoung to seek him out at this hour? Surely, if all he wanted was a cuddle, he could’ve at least waited until the break of dawn.
“Woo..?” San murmured sleepily, nuzzling his nose into the younger man’s hair with a slow exhale. “Whas’up? ‘S the middle of the night..”
For a moment, the silence that followed had San wondering if Wooyoung had already drifted back to sleep. Then, finally, a meek answer emerged.
“Don’t feel good..”
Wooyoung’s voice was muffled by the duvet, his warm breath fanning gently against San’s neck. The words came out rough and hoarse, as though his throat was sore… or as though he’d been crying. The thought tugged the last remnants of sleep from San’s body. The quiet confession struck him like a bolt of lightning, jolting him awake as effectively as a shot of caffeine pushed straight into a vein. One moment he was half-asleep; the next, his mind was sounding the alarm, every nerve in his body on high alert.
“Don’t feel good..?” San echoed the words thoughtfully, squeezing Wooyoung a little closer. As he raised a hand to cradle the back of his head, his index finger gave two gentle taps against Wooyoung’s skull. To anyone else, it might have seemed like a meaningless gesture, but between the two of them, it carried far more significance. It was a quiet invitation— a way of opening the door to conversations that were often difficult to start aloud.
“In what way…?” San asked gently.
“Not that way,” Wooyoung assured him quickly, though he didn’t sound as convincing as he hoped. San waited for him to elaborate. “‘Sick.. ’just feel sick. Ugh.. Stomach, head, everything hurts…”
“Oh,” San intoned gruffly, feeling his chest loosen just a tad, even though the concern never dwindled. “Did you throw up?”
“Not yet..”
The answer did little to reassure him. If anything, the yet had San’s own stomach sinking with dread. To his ears, it sounded less like an uncertainty and more like a warning...
“So, you think you might?” The older was already mapping out every receptacle within an arms reach of his bed. Wooyoung shook his head against him, but with the way they were positioned, it was hard to tell whether it was a yes or a no. Considering the state of him, San begrudgingly assumed the former.
Judging by the convulsive swallowing (which was usually an easy tell for Wooyoung imminently praying to the porcelain gods), San had the growing suspicion that his late night visitor probably was more nauseous than he let on, and he’d rather not have his bed soiled if he could help it. He needed an answer, preferably a verbal notice before the inevitable struck.
“Woo, baby,” San urged softly, twirling a lock of the youngers hair between his fingers. “Be honest with me. Do you think you’re gonna throw up?”
Wooyoung let out a stuttering breath, a shiver running down his spine so violently San could almost felt it rattle his own bones.
“Dunno...” his answer finally sounded, though the uncertainty in his voice still didn’t ease San’s concern in the slightest. He smoothed his hand down Wooyoung’s back, feeling the clammy heat that clung to him, the pyjama shirt sticking to flushed, overheated flesh beneath.
“‘Not yet..I… just really don’t feel good..”
San sighed gently, pressing his lips against Wooyoung’s forehead as he murmured, “You feel pretty warm, Woo…” another concerned exhale followed. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, another tremble running through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Woke up like this an hour ago…” he paused before speaking again, voice smaller, almost sheepish. “‘Dunno.. just.. just needed to come here..”
“Yeah?” San shifted a little to get comfortable, his fingers combing idly through the damp hair at Wooyoung’s nape. “Well, I’m glad you did..” He hesitated, then added gently, though he doubted it would be a possibility, “Wanna try to getting some more sleep then, or..?”
“Mhm..”
If San hadn’t turned hyper aware once Wooyoung conceded the reason for his late-night visit, he probably could’ve fallen back asleep in the blink of an eye. The warmth of another body intertwining with his own was soporific on its own. But now, with Wooyoung’s hitched breaths and small sounds of discomfort brushed against his collarbone, sleep suddenly felt miles away.
San trailed his index finger in slow, soothing patterns across the other man’s overheated skin as he shivered, wishing to alleviate if only a fraction of his discomfort. But rather than easing up, Wooyoung was only becoming more restless by the minute.
And San had a gruelling feeling he knew exactly why.
“Hey, Youngie..” he eventually whispered, dragging his hand back up Wooyoung’s trembling back. They both knew sleep was off the table for the time being. “Wanna go sit in the bathroom for a bit? I’ll come with you.. maybe get some medicine, too..”
Wooyoung went quiet at the suggestion. He definitely didn’t want to go sit in the bathroom. Really, who would? Only a madman would deliberately choose cold tiles over a comfy bed. But then again, he was also painfully aware that it was likely the wisest decision to make.
The nausea that had clung to him since he woke up only kept building exponentially, each new wave crashing in harder than the last. A cold sheen of sweat had broken out across his skin despite the fever raging beneath it, and the back of his throat burned with a warning he knew all too well. They both knew that waiting it out could very potentially be at the expense of San’s clean bedsheets.
Swallowing hard, Wooyoung pressed his face deeper into San’s shoulder before finally giving a small, resigned nod. Untangling himself from his bestfriends comforting arms felt like torture in itself, but he slowly slid away from the loving warmth and inched to the edge of the bed. The sudden ambiance of the bedside lamp did him no favours when San switched it on, making him squint and recoil like a vampire caught in sunlight.
A sheepish chuckle and quiet apology followed, but all Wooyoung could offer in return was a sour look and a noise that sounded somewhere between a hiss and a grumble.
With limbs feeling heavy as lead, Wooyoung made an effort to sit up, only to inhale sharply when the motion sent his vision spinning and his stomach lurching into his throat.
His head tipped a little too far forward, but San was by his side in an instant, one hand carefully grasping onto his shoulder to pull him back. “Woah, there— don’t fall off the bed..” he said, carefully guiding him upright again. “You okay to walk?”
Well, he’d managed the walk from his own room to San’s, hadn’t he?
Wooyoung tsk’ed softly, still ostensibly irked by the lamp incident. Blinking hard one last time in an attempt to fend off the static lingering behind his eyelids, he stubbornly pushed himself to his feet. His knees immediately wobbled, threatening to buckle beneath his weight, but San’s arm swept around his waist before they had the chance. Held upright by his steady presence, Woououng allowed himself to be guided through the dim hallway, taking slow, careful steps toward the bathroom.
When they reached it, he wasted no time dropping to the floor the moment they crossed the threshold, huddling around the toilet like it was his only salvation.
San tapped the switch and the lights blinked to life above them, harshly illuminating the rather sorrowful scene before him. This time, Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to spare on being grouchy about the brightness. Judging by how tightly he was squeezing his eyes shut, San doubted he’d even noticed the lights were on.
San crouched down beside him for a moment, patting his back a few times before carefully standing to search the cabinet for anything that might help. Fever reducers for when his stomach settled, nausea medication that would likely remain untouched in his current state, a thermometer…
A harsh gag quickly tore San from his wandering thoughts. He spun around instantly, the bottle of fever reducers slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor as he rushed back to Wooyoung’s side. Dropping to his knees against the tiles, he reached out, rubbing slow circles into his bestfriends heaving back. His brows knit tightly with concern as Wooyoung coughed up a small, miserable mouthful of bile— hardly enough to alleviate his discomfort. If anything, it was likely only adding to it.
“That’s it, baby, just get it out..”
If encouragement alone could’ve flipped the switch, Wooyoung would’ve been eternally grateful for the push. But even with San’s gentle words and grounding touch, his stomach remained locked in relentless knots that refused to loosen. The nausea consumed every fiber of his being, and yet, like he was being played by some cruel joke, each new gag left him no closer to relief.
“Sannie-ugh—“
Wooyoung choked out a whine between dry heaves, his stomach tensing and cramping relentlessly beneath his sweat-dampened shirt. San could feel the pull of every incessant heave ripple through the back muscles beneath his palm, each one a tangible testament of the effort his poor body was expending.
“Shh… I know, I know…” he soothed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder in a quiet, desperate gesture of comfort.
In the sharp fluorescent light, he could finally see the red tear tracks that had carved themselves into Wooyoung’s pale cheeks, as well as the raised welts of skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt— angry, red and clearly only adding to his misery.
A ragged inhale caught in Wooyoung’s chest before a helpless gasp escaped him, his shoulders hitching with another futile attempt to bring up whatever was tormenting his stomach. San felt his heart shatter, fingers working deftly to tie the younger man’s hair back with a stray hair tie he’d serendipitously found forgotten beneath the sink.
“Aigoo, aigoo, you feel that bad, baby?” He asked, though the answer was painfully obvious. He brushed a lingering lock of hair behind Wooyoung’s ear, earning only a faint, miserable nod in return.
“I’m so sorry..” San murmured, his hand sliding in slow, grounding passes down Wooyoung’s trembling spine “Just.. just try to breathe, take it easy.. let it happen.”
“I-I can’t…” Wooyoung sobbed, his breath hitching with every stabbing cramp that made his abdomen visibly tense. Tears, snot and whatnot gathered together in a pathetic smear across his face, lower lip trembling as he hung above the toilet bowl in ceaseless anticipation. “It-it wo-hurGh-w-won’t come..”
San’s brows pulled back in a helpless, empathetic grimace, his chest twisting with guilt as he watched Wooyoung writhe in pain. “I’m sorry you feel so sick, sweetheart, I don’t..” he let his eyes wander down the other man’s frame— from the spit dribbling from his lips to the skin of his abdomen peeking beneath his shirt, visibly taut and bloated just enough to puff out above the waistband of his pyjama pants. It looked beyond uncomfortable.
San inched a little closer, his movements guided more by instinct than any conscious thought. When his hand suddenly hovered over the warm skin of Wooyoung’s stomach, the younger tensed instinctively, and San paused, hesitating before carefully asking permission. “Sorry… can I? Maybe I’ll help..?”
Wooyoung hardly hesitated once his intention had been made clear, quickly nodding his head with a strained moan. “P-please.. please help me.”
He just wanted it to be over with. They both did.
At first, San barely dared to apply any pressure to the angry organ, terrified of making Wooyoung’s pain any worse than it already was. It was just a light, reassuring contact to start, his thumb brushing slow arcs against the scalding heat of his skin. But when Wooyoung let out a strained breath and gave another nod of his head, more desperate this time, San finally pressed a little firmer. “Tell me if it hurts more, yeah?” he added quickly, furrowing his brows in concentration.
Wooyoung shook his head yes, one hand gripping the edge of the toilet as another wave of nausea rolled through him. “Jus’—ngh— feels… tight… ow.. keep going…”
San kept his touch gentle, flattening his palm against the tense curve of Wooyoung’s stomach with steady purpose as the younger man pressed his forehead against the toilet rim. “Easy… I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and even despite the concern coiled tight in his chest.
The younger man was still breathing far too shallow and ragged— short, hitched gasps slipping between gags that never quite turned into anything steady or useful. San could tell there was no real progress being made like this. And as Wooyoung let out the most broken whimpering “hurts” San swore he had ever heard, something primal and protective clicked into place in his mind. There was no doubt. He had to help him. Fast.
“I know,” San whispered mournfully, keeping the pressure even as he worked against the spastic muscles. “Just keep breathing, Woo… let your body do its thing. You’re safe..”
He shifted closer, one knee braced against the tile beside Wooyoung’s thigh, the other tucked under himself. His free hand came up to cradle the back of Wooyoung’s neck, thumb brushing just below his ear in a soothing rhythm while the other hand continued to work slow circles over his abdomen.
Feeling the rapid, uneven rise and fall of his chest, San gently rested his chin over Wooyoung’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him. “Hey, try to breathe with me,” he coached softly, keeping his voice low. “Slow… in… and out…”
Wooyoung tried, he really did, but every inhale felt like it caught halfway, snagging on the nausea that kept twisting inside him like an alligator in a death roll. His breaths came out shaky and erratic, punctuated by pitiful whimpers he couldn’t hold back even if he tried.
Another gag hit him suddenly, but it emanated from somewhere deeper this time, somewhere fuller— which, unpleasant as it was, felt like a promising sign.
San reacted instantly, shifting his hand from Wooyoung’s stomach to his back and rubbing in firm circles, as if encouraging his body to follow the progression. “That’s it— good, lean forward, baby, don’t fight it.”
Wooyoung coughed deeply, the sheer force of it jerking his body forward so abruptly he nearly head-butted the toilet seat. This time, finally, the effort wasn’t entirely fruitless. There was only a small amount to spit up at first, but that first mouthful proved sufficient enough to break the awful stalemate his body had been locked in. Before he could even attempt to brace himself for the next wave to come, a torrent of sick rushed up his throat and spewed out past both his lips and nostrils.
Once the floodgates opened, there suddenly seemed to be no end in sight, wave after wave of sick gushing into the toilet bowl like a ruptured dam breaking loose. Yet again, Wooyoung barely managed to keep himself from collapsing face first into the porcelain, had it not been for the strong arms holding him back.
“Oh sh— there you go, there you go…” San coaxed softly, concern still present but easing now that things were finally moving in the right direction. “Good job, Woo… just let it out.”
Eventually, the onslaught began to subside.
Wooyoung groaned shakily, his forehead pressed to the cool porcelain as tremors rippled through him in the aftermath. His nose and eyes stung with bile, his ears were ringing, and his throat felt grated raw. While the worst seemed to have passed and his stomach had stopped seizing, his head kept spinning, leaving him limp and exhausted against the toilet bowl.
San didn’t rush him. Not even if he at the very back of his mind couldn’t help but worry about how unsanitary it was to press one’s face against the toilet the way Wooyoung had been for the past half an hour. He supposed it likely didn’t matter as much considering he was already sick… His hand kept moving in slow circles along Wooyoung’s back, the other returning to rest lightly on his stomach again— this time just a comforting weight rather than trying to trigger a reaction. It felt notably less rigid now, the immense pressure from before finally seeming to have let up. “Feel a little better?”
There was a long pause before Wooyoung gave the smallest nod, the motion barely imperceptible. “..yeah…” he mumbled hoarsely, a rather nasty shiver shooting up his spine, sharp enough to make his teeth chatter. “A-a bit…”
San exhaled slowly, a shred of tension easing from his own shoulders. “Okay. Good. That’s good. That’s something..”
He reached over, tearing off a few sheets of toilet paper to gently wipe at the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth. Then he tilted his head until their faces were level, brushing a few wayward strands of hair away from Wooyoung’s clammy skin. “You did really well.”
Wooyoung let out a weak huff that might’ve been an attempt at a sarcastic laugh, his eyes half-lidded and his skin ashen. Under the harsh lighting, his face looked almost gaunt. “Pft.. Choi San, don’t lie to me…”
A faint smile tugged at San’s lips despite himself, the pad of his thumb brushing tenderly over Wooyoung’s sharp cheekbone as he tried not to dwell on the hollowness beneath it. “Jung Wooyoung,” he replied in the same, mock-formal manner, “I never lie. I’m being so serious.”
“Mm…”
Wooyoung didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t argue the point. Or maybe he had simply run out of energy to spare on trivialities.
Carefully, San shifted again, this time guiding Wooyoung back just enough so he wasn’t folded over the toilet completely. “Let’s stay here a minute,” he murmured, helping the younger man settle against the wall before reaching over to flip down the toilet lid and flush away its foul contents.
“How are you feeling? What hurts?” San assessed him once he sat back, watching the way Wooyoung’s eyelids kept slipping shut over and over again, like a flickering light on the verge of going out.
“‘M itchy..” Wooyoung complained drowsily, which checked out once San’s eyes returned to the raised patches that spread down his arms and crept up his collar.
“Mm.. yeah, the fever must’ve triggered your hives, huh? Aigoo, I’m so sorry, baby…” San tutted softly as he tried to fan Wooyoung’s neck with his hand— a meagre, almost foolish attempt at cooling him down, really. “You’re really burning up..”
While Wooyoung didn’t necessarily agree with that assessment— he felt frozen to the marrow—he had not even an ounce of energy to fight him on it. San bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating their current situation, before trying again. “What else?”
Wooyoung answered with a flat hum at first, like he needed to warm up his vocal cords before attempting to speak again. “Everythin’ hurts…” He hiccupped softly. “’N my mouth tastes gross, ‘n…” His voice slid into something between a whine and a hiss. “’S fucking itchyyyy…”
Right. San chewed his lip out of nervous habit, giving Wooyoung’s shoulder a couple of gentle, reassuring squeezes— because he truly didn’t know what else he could do. Maybe Mingi had some antihistamines that would do the trick? He’d have to go look whenever he got the opportunity.
“Okay, let’s see,” San said carefully, mapping it out in his mind. “Let me get you some water. Just to rinse your mouth, okay? You don’t need to drink yet— only when you’re ready.” He paused, searching Wooyoung’s face and tenderly cupping his cheek with his hand. “Does that sound okay?”
Wooyoung nodded sluggishly at the suggestion, but he leaned into San’s touch without thinking, melting against him like butter on a hot biscuit. And San went completely still, because how could he not?
Suddenly, the water could wait, because how on earth was San supposed to pull away when everything inside him was screaming at him to hold Wooyoung closer? Every time his bestfriend instinctively sought him out like this, some invisible force tugged him closer in return. He’d long since discovered he was powerless against it.
After half a heartbeat of hesitation, San slid down to sit, pressing a gentle kiss to Wooyoung’s temple and lingering there when the other made no move to pull away.
Wooyoung seemed instantly relieved, gripping San’s shirt and curling against him with a soft whimper, as though San himself were the cure to every ache and ailment. If only it were that simple… The elder could only tighten his grip around him, a small, concerned sigh slipping past his lips. “I’m right here, Woo, you’ll be okay..”
The moment of peaceful respite was brief, swallowed by another round of tremors that wracked Wooyoung’s body like a storm rolling through fraying leaves.
San’s chest ached at the sight. Wooyoung was shaking like a chihuahua despite the heat clinging to him, every shiver a cruel reminder of the sudden illness that held him firmly in its grip. The fever wasn’t settling, and it didn’t seem to be going down any time soon. If anything, it seemed fiercely determined to dig its claws in deeper.
“Aish, you’re really burning up..” San repeated, more to himself than Wooyoung, as he pressed the back of his fingers against the other man’s forehead. Clammy. Hot. Flushed. Damn it, he really should’ve grabbed that thermometer and gotten a reading before being cat trapped. While San always enjoyed a snuggle, he couldn’t simply ignore the more pressing matters at hand. That would be irresponsible.
Wooyoung twisted weakly against him, one trembling hand fumbling at his arm before tugging at the collar of his pyjama shirt. He mumbled something incoherent, but then, almost indiscernible, he repeated himself.
“’M itchy…”
“Yeah, I know, I know…” San said quietly, gently guiding Wooyoung’s hands away from the rash before he was able to claw away at the irritated skin. “Don’t scratch, it’ll only make it worse.”
Wooyoung’s hand flopped back into his lap without much resistance, though San had a sneaking feeling it was as a result of debilitation rather than compliance.
“I’m gonna get you some anti histamines as well, okay? Just hold on, don’t scratch..” San spoke to him almost in the way one would their child, but in the moment, with Wooyoung delirious as a sailor in a fog bank, that state of mind was the only thing keeping him level-headed. He had to channel his inner mother hen, his inner Seonghwa, if you will.
Just as San was about to resign himself to spending the rest of their night on the bathroom floor, the door suddenly creaked open, revealing a very heavy-lidded, half-asleep Mingi on the other side of it.
The following second passed in a deafening, stunned silence.
“Wha.. what the fuck?”
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Hehe, so… I had the sudden epiphany that if I divide this story into smaller parts rather than stare at the thousands of words I’ve written and desperately try to tie them together, I’ll actually be able to post something!!! 😅😂 so here’s a part one of likely two, maybe three— we’ll see how it develops 😎
; might get around to write a short synopsis some later time, but it’s the middle of the night now and I’m already half asleep oooops g’night 🫶🏼
