pretties

You’ve never tried so hard not to cough in your life. 

You stare up at the ceiling, swallowing hard, trying to will the scratchy tickle in your throat away. Your shoulders still betray you, shaking with a tiny, muffled cough you can’t quite hold back.

Wanda, curled up beside you on your right, stirs at the sound. She hums softly in her sleep and snuggles closer, her arm tightening around you. Natasha, on your other side, doesn’t move, thankfully.

You sigh. It’s no use.

Your girlfriends have been taking care of you all day, making a much bigger fuss over your cold than it probably deserves. The last thing you want now is to wake them when they’re finally getting some rest. So you move carefully, easing yourself out of Wanda’s sleepy hold and inching away from Natasha’s side. You sit up, holding your breath.

Relief floods you when neither of them wake. Wanda curls around a pillow in your place, and Natasha lets out a faint, steady snore. You slip out of bed and pad quietly down the hall toward the kitchen, finally letting yourself cough once you’re alone. It racks your body, harsher now that you’re not suppressing it.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you feel worse than you did when you went to sleep. Your head throbs, chills ripple through your body, and your throat burns like fire. You don’t know if you can make it better, but you do know you’re not getting back to sleep anytime soon.

Walking into the kitchen, you wrap your arms around yourself as a harsh shiver tears through you. You probably should’ve grabbed a hoodie and some socks on your way out of bed, but it’s too late for that now. Instead, you busy yourself filling the kettle, setting it to boil, and rifling through your massive tea stash until you find your favorite sick-day comfort: vanilla chamomile. While the water heats, you sink heavily into a chair at the kitchen table and slump forward, your head pillowed in your arms.

Part of you wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed. But another cough claws its way out of your chest, reminding you why you can’t. So you stay where you are, cold and aching and missing your girlfriends, waiting for the kettle to boil.

When it finally does, you pour yourself a large mug of tea and grab the box of tissues from the counter. You bring everything back to the table and slump down again, hastily pulling a few tissues free just as your nose tickles. You sneeze several times in quick succession, groaning afterward at the pain in your head.

“Bless you,” a rough, sleepy voice murmurs.

You whip around in your chair and freeze. Natasha and Wanda are standing in the doorway to the kitchen, both of them bleary-eyed but unmistakably alert, matching looks of concern already etched into their faces.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” Wanda asks, frowning as she crosses the room toward you. She presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, then pulls back with a soft, unhappy sound. “Oh, baby…you’re still burning up. You should be in bed, sweet girl.” Her fingers card through your hair, brushing it carefully off your face.

“I agree,” Natasha says, sitting down on your other side and rubbing slow circles into your back. “If you wanted tea, we could’ve gotten it for you, baby. All you had to do was ask.”

You cough into your elbow, shoulders slumping with a tired sigh. “I was trying not to wake you guys,” you say hoarsely, eyes dropping to your mug. “You’ve already been doing so much for me. I just wanted you to get some sleep, and I couldn’t stop coughing.”

“Sweetheart,” Wanda sighs, running her fingers gently down your arm. She looks at you for a long moment, green eyes soft and searching as she takes you in. “We’re your girlfriends. Of course we’re going to take care of you. And you don’t need to worry about keeping us up.”

You give Wanda a dry look. “So if I don’t get any sleep, that means none of us get any sleep?”

Natasha smirks, tipping your face toward her with a finger under your chin. “Basically, yeah. We’re in this together, baby. Remember that time you stayed up all night with me when I had food poisoning?” 

Wanda chimes in. “Or that night I was having nightmares, and you held me the whole night through and rubbed my back?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, but that was different. That was you guys. And this is… me.”

Natasha chuckles softly. “I think that fever’s making you a little delirious, baby. You’re not making any sense.” Her thumb brushes your cheek. “Let us take care of you, okay? We want to.”

“Yes, we do,” Wanda agrees gently. “Now come on, sweet girl. Let’s get you back into bed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you shivering.”

Natasha grabs your mug of tea while Wanda scoops up the tissues, and together they guide you back toward the bedroom. Wanda helps arrange the pillows on the bed so you’re propped up comfortably, and Natasha carefully hands you your tea once you’re settled.

Then Wanda turns the humidifier back on, the soft hum filling the room, then returns with a small cup of medicine. “Take this, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pressing it into your hand. “It might help with the cough.”

You down it quickly, immediately making a face. Both of your girlfriends chuckle. Wanda hands you a glass of water, and Natasha settles in beside you, tucking you close and drawing you under her arm. She presses a kiss to the top of your hair, holding you firmly.

“We’re right here, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and protective. “And we’re not going anywhere.”

“And no more sneaking out of bed,” Wanda adds, giving you a stern look that doesn’t quite hide her fondness. She leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, humming softly against your skin. “Just stay here where we can look after you. We’ll get you whatever you need. Rest now, okay, detka?”

You smile faintly, feeling impossibly loved, nestled between the two women you care about more than anything in the world. “Thank you,” you whisper, letting your head fall to rest on Natasha’s shoulder. “I love you.” Wanda curls up on your other side, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“We love you too, sweetheart,” Natasha says quietly, and Wanda hums in agreement.

“We really do.”

Indeed the bottle was still where he had left it, in the middle of the far mirror wall. 

Hidden behind Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, who like Minho, had just finished the practice. And yet, the younger was in the middle of the room, furiously dancing to MANIAC. 

Sweat was flying around him, long hair wet with perspiration as he whirled. The grey shirt Hyunjin was wearing was soaked through, damp and darker everywhere. The younger dancer was pale and there was a heaviness to his breath that Minho didn’t like at all.

Hyunjin didn’t seem to have heard or noticed him, which was another red flag. He normally was very aware of his surroundings, to not hear or see his hyung even when his presence was obvious was just wrong. Minho stood back and watched with his arms crossed.

As he paid even closer attention he noticed how Hyunjin’s steps weren’t as graceful as they should have been, instead he was stumbling and landing heavier than he usually did. His movements weren’t fluid but choppy, as if his body didn’t respond as well as it should. 

Something was wrong.

🧭

“Hyunjinnie”, Minho called, louder this time, crossing over to the side and turned off the music. Only that made the dancer stop.

“Hyung?”, he asked, whirling around. His eyes were wild, haunted. His body trembled. He seemed utterly confused. “What are you…? You’re not supposed to be here!”

“Neither are you”, Minho replied, crossing his arms, “care to explain why you are here and using up precious rest time and risking your health instead of waiting for tomorrow’s practice?”

Hyunjin ran one trembling hand through the tangled strands of his hair, swaying a bit. His breathing was still heavy. “I just wanted to be good enough”, he whispered, his voice breaking as he looked up at Minho. Tears were brimming in his eyes.

Immediately Minho dropped his sharp facade, turning into the worried hyung Hyunjin clearly needed right now. A possible scolding could wait. He sighed and stepped forward, reaching out to Hyunjin.

“Who said you aren’t?”, he asked, trying to hide the anger rising inside him. He knew Hyunjin tended to be more insecure than he led on and he was a soft soul. Comfort was key now.

“I just …”, Hyunjin mumbled, staring at his feet. “There are so many expectations. The company’s, the fans’ - oh God, the fans -, yours, my own. I just, I … it’s a … it’s a lot right now.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. Something else was wrong. Hyunjin never stumbled over his words like that. He was blinking slowly, as if he had trouble focusing.

But Hyunjin just kept pouring out his heart. “I … everybody … everybody is expecting me to be … to be somebody else. Cool. A great performer, the best. Untouchable. Full of confidence. Sexy. Cool. Happy. Shy. Funny. Cool. Love … loveab … loveab…”

Hyunjin trailed off, a far away glance in his eyes. Then his knees buckled. 

🧭

Minho was there in a heartbeat, arms around Hyunjin’s waist, pulling his forward so he would collapse into his hold, not backwards. They hit the ground hard, Minho’s knees exploding with pain.

But it was all overshadowed by the worry he felt for Hyunjin. 

“Hey, hey, Jinnie? Are you with me? Hey! Stay awake!”, he called, trying to hold them up. But Hyunjin’s face was slack, his head lolling forward, hair like a curtain hiding his expression. He just groaned when Minho gave him a little shake.

“Shit.” Careful but efficient Minho laid Hyunjin down, turning him onto his back so he could access him better. Hyunjin’s limbs just melted against the floor, strings cut. Minho ran his fingers over Hyunjin’s cheek, tapping gently. “Come on, Jinnie. Stay with hyung, please”, he begged. “Don’t pass out on me. I don’t want to explain this to Channie-hyung.”

His words may have been joking but inside Minho was terrified. Panicked. They all had passed out before, multiple times. It never got easier to see the light dim in their friend’s eyes.

“Hyungie.” Hyunjin’s voice was tiny, weak. Barely a breath but clearly a word. And then. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby”, Minho mumbled, his hand not leaving Hyunjin’s cheek where he cradled the younger. “But please try to stay awake for me.”

“My body feels floaty”, Hyunjin whispered, “spinning. It’s so dark. I’m scared.”

“I’m here. Hyung is here, don’t worry. I’m gonna call Channie-hyung. We’ll get you feeling better, okay?”

Minho didn’t realise he himself was shaking until he nearly dropped his phone pulling it out of his pocket. He hit speed-dial one, his other hand brushing away the strands of hair clinging to Hyunjin’s sweat-soaked face.

He didn’t even wait for Chan to greet him. As soon as he heard the call connect, he called: “Hyung, Hyunjinnie is fainting in the practice room. I need you.”

There was a sharp gasp, a curse and then: “I’ll be there.”

But as Minho put his phone away, he felt it more than he saw. Hyunjin’s head rolled to the side, away from his hand. His body went limp, as if all strings had been cut. He was out.

Biting his lip to suppress his tears, Minho did what he had been trained to do. Rolled Hyunjin on his side, in recovery position. Neck overstretched in case Hyunjin vomited. With two fingers pressed to his dongsaeng’s neck he tried to monitor his heartbeat. Fast but steady. The skin clammy, wet with cold sweat. 

It was some of the worst moments in his life, waiting for Bang Chan to arrive or Hyunjin to wake up.

🧭

In the end their leader arrived first. No greeting, just a heavy drop beside Minho.

“He’s been out since I called you”, Minho explained, hating how his voice shook. “I think he overdid it. He was practicing again or maybe still practicing. He said … he said he wanted to fulfill all the expectations placed on him. Company, fans, himself. Us.”

“It’s good you were here, Lino”, Chan said calmly, his hand squeezing Minho’s shoulder for a moment. “Let’s wait for him to wake up and then I’ll take him home. He’s on bedrest until a doctor looks him over.”

It was then that Hyunjin stirred, a faint flutter of lashes against skin. A moan. Then cloudy eyes blinked open.

“Hey, baby”, Chan greeted gently. “You’re okay. Hyungs have got you. Let’s go home.”

He reached out to lift Hyunjin into his arms but the dancer shook his head slightly, features still confused and out of it. But his hand reached weakly for Minho.

The older dancer blinked in confusion. “You want … you want me to carry you?”

Hyunjin nodded faintly.

Chan laughed softly. “Come on, somebody needs a lot of rest tonight. No more overdoing it.”

Minho nodded, squeezing Hyunjin’s hand before lifting him under his knees and back, the younger’s head resting against his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, baby”, he whispered. “You are more than enough.”

“Nat? I’m home,” you call, stepping in the front door of your small, cozy home. It’s a damp, rainy day outside and you wipe your sneakers on the doormat then take them off, setting them aside. 

“Sweetheart?” you call out again, taking off your coat and hanging it up. You’re slightly puzzled. You know Natasha is home, she had a rare day off from training and Avengers duty. You’ve been gone at work all day, but had gotten an occasional text from your girlfriend throughout the day. 

When there’s still no answer, you curiously make your way through the house, past the empty sitting room and down the hall to the master bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, but the room is dark, so you can’t see whether Natasha is in there. 

Once you enter and push open the curtains to let in some of the early evening sun, your girlfriend’s whereabouts become clear. 

Natasha is curled up on the bed, covered in what looks like every blanket you own. You can hear soft snores coming from her, and you approach her with a small smile. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you say softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and brushing a hand over her hair. But then the smile on your face turns to a frown when you get a better look at your girlfriend. 

Her nose is shining a flushed, irritated pink, and the bed around her is littered with crumpled tissues. She’s also pale, with spots of color running high on her cheekbones that look suspiciously like a fever, and the auburn baby hairs at her hairline are stuck to her forehead damply. 

“Oh, honey,” you pout, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Natasha’s cheek, which wakes her up. Her eyes flutter open, red-rimmed and bleary with exhaustion. 

Natasha blinks, disoriented, and pushes herself up on shaky arms. “Hey,” she says in a low, hoarse voice, and immediately coughs into her elbow. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. You’re home already?” 

“Yeah, baby,” you say gently, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” 

Natasha’s cheeks darken slightly. “I’m not sick,” she says, pushing herself more upright and coughing again. She sniffles, clearly congested. “Just tired.” 

“Tasha…” you sigh, grabbing the tissue box off the nightstand and handing it to her. She doesn’t move to take it. “Are you really going to be stubborn about this? You look like death warmed up.” You frown, crossing your arms. 

“I’m fine.” Natasha moves to get out of bed, but she’s weak enough that you’re able to stop her with a firm hand on her shoulder. 

“You are not fine, baby.” You make sure to keep your voice gentle and patient. Although it’s not the first time Natasha’s been sick since you got together, you’re more than aware of how hard it is for her to admit when she’s not feeling well. You reach up to touch the back of your hand to her cheek, frowning when you feel the warmth there. “You’ve got a fever, Nat. C’mon, sweetheart – it’s just us. Let me take care of you. Please.” 

Natasha’s shoulders slump and she deflates a little, leaning back against the pillows with a small sigh, that’s followed by another cough. “I thought I’d be better when you got home,” she admits quietly, not meeting your eyes.

You smile softly, scooting closer to her and kissing her forehead. “I know you like to think you’re superhuman, but you still can’t defeat a cold by sheer force of will, babe.” 

“Ugh. It’s just so…” Natasha brushes a hand through her hair, frowning. “I hate being like this.” 

“I know,” you pout sympathetically, running a hand up and down her arm. Natasha relaxes some, melting into your touch. “I wish you weren’t sick either. But this just means you get to have me waiting on you hand and foot for a few days,” you grin cheekily. 

Natasha groans. “I hate being waited on,” she complains, then turns away to sneeze. 

“Bless you, and I know you do,” you say, handing over a tissue with a wry grin. “But I’m gonna take care of you anyway, baby. Now, do you want to start with tea, soup, or both?” 

Natasha peeks up at you over her tissue, eyes watery and hopeful. “Borscht?” 

You chuckle softly and lean forward, pressing your lips to both her cheeks. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll make borscht. An extra big pot, so we have plenty for the next few days, ‘kay?” 

“Okay.” The promise of Natasha’s favorite soup earns you a small smile. She sniffles a little, rubbing at her pink nose adorably. “Thanks. Sorry I’m…you know,” she grimaces slightly, the tips of her ears going red. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, and I love taking care of you.” You plant a soft kiss on her lips, not particularly worried about germs. “I’ve got you.” 

Natasha smiles up at you, and your heart fills with warmth. The fact that you’re the only one who Natsha will let see her like this – sick, weak, vulnerable – means the world to you. And you’re determined to nurse her back to health.