sniffly for springtime

It had all started with Minho, naturally the source of most of Kibum’s problems. Minho had been the one to bring strep into their dorm. Because he was Minho, he’d ignored the sore throat at first, no matter how severe, claiming he was fine and didn’t need a doctor, just water. He fought the member’s worried caretaking attempts and insistence to keep his distance from them, assuring them it was just a cold. Then the fever hit, spiking so high he physically couldn’t move from bed. Jinki and Jonhyun had had the unpleasant task of manhandling Minho to the car, a terrible experience for all involved as Minho was finally in enough pain to give up the tough guy act, and barely had the strength to stay upright for more than a minute at a time. It was a genuine shock for everyone; they hadn’t seen Minho fall apart like this, ever. Of course he’d had his fair share of breakdowns over the years, but never had the members seen him so helplessly vulnerable. The manager who took him to the doctor said Minho cried basically the whole trip. And the tears didn’t fully stop until he’d taken his first dose of antibiotics and slept for five hours. Only then was the world back in order, and three days later, Minho was right as rain.

It felt almost cosmically divined that on that third day, when Minho regained his health, Jinki woke up with a sore throat. Unlike Minho, he understood the severity of the situation immediately and didn’t refuse rest, medicine, or isolation. Unfortunately, like Minho, the fever hit hard and fast, rendering their leader an anxious mess. He’d lost his voice almost immediately from the coughing and swollen tonsils, which maliciously transformed into flashbacks of his vocal polyps experience, when he feared he might never sing again. Scared and in pain, with no way to communicate clearly, Jinki had spent the better part of three days inconsolable, which broke his members beyond belief. While Minho’s body had reacted to the antibiotics right away, it took Jinki’s a bit longer, which in itself was unusual and further cause for concern from the members, unable to do much else for their leader until his body figured it out.

With Jinki so distressed, it had been difficult to keep Taemin away from him. Taemin couldn’t resist snuggle time on a good day, and given that Jinki was currently having several very bad days, and the members were terrified to leave him alone, they unfortunately had to let their young starfish do his thing and pray for the best. 

So it wasn’t at all surprising that Taemin got sick next, but it was a pleasant turn of events that his symptoms ended up on the more mild side, given how intensely the same bug had knocked out Minho and Jinki. Sure, he was still feverish and fatigued, and more than a little loopy because of it. But the sore throat only lasted 24 hours for Taemin, which created a new problem: keeping him at rest. Even with the fever, Taemin tried to weasel his way to practice after the allotted antibiotic time, insisting that he felt ‘so much better’ and ‘really wasn’t that sick anyway.’ Naturally, he’d failed to convince all of his hyungs, and was forcibly kept at home for three extra days to prevent a relapse. Not to be completely defeated, Taemin bartered for extra cuddles, which all of his members (Kibum excluded) were happy to oblige. 

So it really wasn’t a shock either that Jonghyun went down after, given that he was Taemin’s roommate and thus his preferred cuddle companion, because, even though he didn’t have the antibodies, Jonghyun couldn’t deny Taemin anything. His experience fell somewhere in the middle, not as blissfully mild as Taemin’s but also not as severe as the first two. The cough had been the worst for him, keeping him up most of the night, and also stealing his voice away. It was heart breaking and downright painful to listen to him talk, but that didn’t deter Jonghyun at all from chattering up a storm whenever his members came home from their daily activities. He was down for the count for just about five days. And then all five of them breathed a sigh of relief that they’d finally, after nearly a month, overcome their strep-apocalypse, believing wholeheartedly in Kibum’s immunity. 

It took three more days to prove them all wrong. 

But it made little sense to Kibum how he’d gotten sick. The previous pattern made sense: Minho to his roommate, Jinki to his starfish, Taemin to his roommate. But Kibum had avoided all of them through it all. Even when they’d all let Jonghyun chill on the couch 24 hours post-antibiotic, he’d worn a mask for Kibum’s sake (as had Kibum), and stayed in the same spot on the couch so it would be ‘easier to disinfect later.’ He had done everything right to stay healthy. And it hadn’t worked. 

Which brought Kibum back to this moment, staring at the ceiling, pitying himself. He’d replayed the same loop again and again, trying to divine the moment his body betrayed him. He was so far unsuccessful, and no closer to improving his mood. It stung that he’d gotten sick at all, but the fact that he was too sick to travel home for the Chuseok holiday? That was cruel and unusual punishment. Even though Kibum could have moved his travel arrangements a day or two after the first 24-hours on antibiotics, he felt wrong about it, not willing to risk infecting anyone else despite wearing a mask. He also felt absolutely horrible, and knew there was no chance he’d actually survive the trip down to Daegu.  

The creak of his bedroom door interrupted his melancholic musings. Kibum sat up, brows furrowed, as Jonghyun peeked his head in and gave a small wave. 

Kibum’s scowl stayed put. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was borderline menacing in spite of how raw and croaky he was. 

Jonghyun’s smile widened as he pushed further into the doorway. “Hanging out with you, duh.”

“Why?”

Jonghyun shrugged. “So you aren’t alone for Chuseok? Come on, Bammie, I thought you’d be happy.”

Kibum resisted the urge to cross his arms, afraid to look too much like a petulant child. “But your mom…”

“Has my sister. And I can go home tomorrow, or the next day. And Taemin’s going to stop over, and Jinki and Minho are coming back a bit early too. Cause it’s not fair to leave you wallowing in misery by yourself after you looked out for all of us this past month…” “I really didn’t help with any of you,” Kibum interrupted. A stab of guilt shot through his chest, but he swallowed it back down, which was incredibly difficult given the shrieking pain in his throat when he so much as moved. 

Jonghyun rolled his eyes. “Come on, be fair to yourself. You may not have been holding our hands, but you were the one making soup in the kitchen and running to the store for popsicles.” 

Kibum shrugged, glancing at his window blinds. “Listen, the popsicles were the only way to keep Jinki-hyung hydrated and Taemin quiet.”

“Okay. Be a brat, that’s fine.” Jonghyun’s smile grew irritatingly larger at Kibum’s glare. “But regardless, I’m staying home with you. And I thought we could have a little picnic!”

“Picnic?” “Yeah. I made us dinner, and I can either bring it in here, or we can move out to the living room cause I know you don’t like crumbs in your bed. However, few of the foods I made even have crumbs, because they are all soft, easy on the throat things.”

Kibum blinked, waiting for his brain to catch up. “You… made us dinner?” Jonghyun nodded. “When?”

“Last hour or so.”

“But… everyone just left. How did you…?” “No, they left about two hours ago, bud.” Kibum’s eye widened comically. Jonghyun did his best to contain his smile. “It’s normal to lose some time when on those meds.”

“I guess…” Kibum trailed off, looking away in slight embarrassment. He hid it behind a wince as he attempted to swallow again. 

“So, picnic in here or living room?”

“Living room please.”

“Alright! I’ll go set up, and then come back for you!” 

As Jonghyun disappeared, Kibum settled back against his pillows, utterly baffled by this turn of events. Sure, Jonghyun’s family lived the closest to the dorm, and he could go visit them in a day or so, but something about the older man willingly sacrificing his holiday to spend it with Kibum? When he was in peak whining condition? It made him want to cry. 

Especially because he felt like he’d actually been quite a jerk several times throughout the past month. Germaphobe that he was, Kibum had been snappier and more closed off, especially to whichever member was ill at the time. He knew it was mean, knew it was out of their control, but he couldn’t temper the voices in his head. 

But… the more he thought about it, with Jonghyun’s words as a guide, maybe Kibum had been more involved than he’d assumed. A few memories began to tug at his heart…

~ “Is he…?” Kibum turned from the doorway to see Taemin lingering in the hallway. His fingers were knotted in the hem of his t-shirt. The maknae bit his lip, avoided Kibum’s eyes. “Is Minho gonna be…?”

Kibum swept forward and pulled Taemin close. “Of course he is, bug.” There hadn’t been a way to keep Taemin from watching Jinki and Jonghyun basically dragging Minho to the manager’s car, but Kibum could hold him now. Focusing on Taemin’s distress over Minho’s distress helped Kibum ignore his own distress…. ~

~ “What’re you doing?” Kibum asked, leaning in the doorway to Jinki and Minho’s room. 

Taemin, sprawled atop Jinki’s bed with the sleeping leader curled up next to him, looked up only briefly from his Gameboy. “Helping.” 

Kibum settled against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed. “How?” 

“Whenever hyung starts moving around, you know, with a bad dream or something, I pet his head, and he stays asleep.”

“Okay, that’s… actually quite attentive.” Kibum shifted the box of popsicles in his hands. “Next time hyung wakes up, can you call me? We need to make sure he eats at least one of these?” Taemin’s eyes lit up. “Can I have one?”

“Sure. When hyung wakes up. AND!” Kibum held up a warning finger, “When he wakes up naturally, Taem.”

Taemin rolled his eyes. “I’m not that selfish, hyung….” ~

~ “Here. Chug this.” Kibum threw a bottle of Robitussin on the coffee table, clattering next to the amoxicillin that was nearly empty after passing between four separate people in the past two weeks. 

“Oh my god, in 24 hours, I’m giving you the best thank you kiss of your life,” Jonghyun exclaimed, relief evident in his entire body even as he winced in discomfort reaching for the new medicine. Despite the fact that Jonghyun was already 24 hours post-antibiotic, the joke had become a house favorite throughout the strep-apocalypse. 

“Um, no. You can kiss me in five to seven business days.” 

Minho snorted from the kitchen. “If you haven’t caught it by now, Kibum, one kiss won’t kill you.”

“You wanna make it seven to ten days?” Kibum shot back, head snapping sharply towards the now cackling rapper. 

“NooOOOO!!!!” Jonghyun cried, eyes wide in panic. 

Jinki cuffed Minho on the back of the head as the rapper continued laughing. “Stop being a menace!” 

“Hey.” 

Kibum shook his head, glancing towards the doorway, where Jonghyun had returned. “Ready for our picnic?” He cocked his head to the side when Kibum just stared back at him. 

“Why… why me?” Jonghyun waited as Kibum puzzled through his words. “I just… I don’t deser-“

“Don’t say that,” Jonghyun interrupted, rushing to the bed. He cupped Kibum’s face, forcing eye contact. “You deserve the world, Kibum. Whether you think you do or not, you do. We all know you do. You don’t need to earn love, okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time getting comfortable on the plane. He’s sleepy, and almost sad about the fact that the flight is only two and a half hours long. He could use a much, much longer nap, but he’ll settle for two and a half hours. 

There’s a heavy weight to his limbs that makes him feel like he’s glued to the chair. Jungkook had reclined it as soon as the plane took off, but now he’s just kind of stuck like that, staring up at the plane’s ceiling as he starts to drift off to sleep, but not quite fully there yet. He’s never actually regretted staying up too late before, but this might be the closest he’s come to that– he’s too tired to even reach for his phone, which means he can't turn on his music, and that’s kind of a bummer. 

As he reaches a state of almost-slumber, someone crawls into his lap.

Jimin. 

Jungkook can recognize his scent and his weight, even in a state of partial consciousness. 

Jimin is quiet. And warm. Too warm, Jungkook decides as Jimin lies down on top of him, face nuzzling into the crook of Jungkook’s neck. 

But still, Jungkook isn’t going to move. Nor can he. He’s too heavy, and now Jimin is a heavy, warm weight on top of him. 

Somewhere nearby, he can hear Hoseok’s cooing voice: Look at those two, I have to take a picture!

Jungkook is too sleepy to comprehend what Hoseok is talking about. 

At least Jimin smells nice. It’s the last thing Jungkook is aware of as he finally falls asleep.

*

“...we’re going to land soon.”

Jungkook blinks awake to the sound of Seokjin’s voice. “Huh?”

“Jungkookie? You awake? We’re going to land soon.”

Sniffling, Jungkook tries to make his eyes focus on Seokjin’s face. He’s hot all over, thanks to Jimn’s body covering every inch of him. It’s comfortable, but in a too-hot sort of way.

“Too hot,” he croaks out, knowing Seokjin will understand.

Seokjin does not understand. “We’re going to land soon, Jungkookie,” he repeats, carding his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “You guys need to sit upright.”

“Too hot,” Jungkook says again. “Can’t…can’t move.”

Raising an eyebrow, Seokjin tilts his head to one side. “What?”

“Jimin-hyung is…too hot.”

Jungkook isn’t sure why his tongue feels too big in his mouth. He needs water, probably, and about ten more hours of sleep.

“Jimin is too hot?” Seokjin echoes, moving his hands down to Jimin’s face. When his palm slides across Jimin’s forehead, he freezes. “Oh.”

Jungkook sniffles. In the next breath, he feels a sneeze sneak up on him, and turns his head to the side to let it out. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says. 

“Bless you,” Hoseok calls out from his seat.

Jimin, startled awake by Jungkook’s sneeze, groans softly and sits up halfway. “Kookie?”

“Hey.” Seokjin crouches down and takes Jimin’s flushed face in his hands. “You’re awake.” He speaks softly, even though they’re all awake now. “How are you feeling?”

At first, Jimin seems to hear him, but then his brows furrow and he tries to lie back down, face seeking out the crook of Jungkook’s neck again. 

“Ohh, nope.” Seokjin stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to get up. You need to sit in your own chair for landing.” 

Jimin groans again.

Seokjin clears his throat. “Joon-ah?”

Namjoon is at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“I think these two decided to get sick on us,” Seokjin chuckles, like he’s telling Namjoon a funny story instead of bad news. 

At that, Jimin’s head lifts up. “Wha’?”

“I think you’re running a fever, Jimi–”

“Kookie is sick?” Jimin asks, turning to look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Seokjin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Namjoon, I think we’re going to need med check-ups for them both after we land. They’re both really warm and Jungkook is–”

Jungkook sneezes, this time into Jimin’s chest.

There’s a moment of silence. Jungkook breaks it by sniffling wetly into Jimin’s shirt.

“That. Jungkook is doing that,” Seokjin finishes. “If you could just inform the staff, I’ll get them ready for landing.”

Namjoon nods, silent as he walks toward the front of the plane. 

Seokjin tugs on Jimin’s shoulder until he sits up. “Come on, Jiminie. You need to sit down in your seat and buckle up. We’re going to be landing soon.”

At Jimin’s hesitation, Seokjin tries another tactic. 

“Will you help Jungkook sit up and make sure he’s buckled in?”

Finally, Jimin springs into action– albeit clumsy, stumbling action, weighted down by fever and exhaustion as he uses an extremely hands-on approach to get Jungkook’s seat upright. Seokjin isn’t sure if Jimin is clinging so much to Jungkook because he’s not feeling well, or if it’s because he now knows Jungkook isn’t feeling well, but either way it's a struggle to separate them and get Jimin back in his own seat.

Once he’s there, Seokjin hands him a bottle of water. He brings one to Jungkook, too, uncapping it for him so he can drink.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin turns around. Yoongi is watching him from across the plane.

“Time to buckle in for landing,” Yoongi tells him.

Seokjin smiles. He takes his seat next to Yoongi and buckles his seatbelt. “They both have fevers, I think.” 

Frowning, Yoongi looks at Jimin, then at Jungkook. “Well, that sucks. Do they need medicine? I have–”

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?”

____________________________________________

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 😎

Jungkook opens his eyes when the sound of his alarm goes off. As he crawls out of bed, he feels a tight ache in his abdomen. He assumes it's from the workouts he's been doing.

Jungkook is slow to get ready - it hurts to move. His stomach muscles hurt as he bends over. "Ahh!" JK stops and winces, holding onto it. Jungkook frowns and feels a flash of nausea. He gulps and shakes it off. What is this??

Jungkook looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes don't have that sparkle they usually do. His face just looks.. out of it. He studies it for a good minute.

"Jungkookie? You still using the bathroom?" Hoseok knocks from outside.

Jungkook looks up "uh, almost done!" He finishes with his hair. He looks at his face one last time. Something is off. But he's hogged the bathroom long enough already.

****

At wardrobe fitting, Jungkook checks the time over and over again. The aches come and go and he sighs tiredly, holding his middle. He keeps feeling like he might lose his breakfast.

The morning drags on and it feels like he's tried on a hundred clothes. The tight fitting things make his stomach hurt and he's getting nauseas standing there. His stylist hands him a jacket with a belt. He doesn't like how it fits snug on his sore middle. Jungkook tries not to cringe in pain.

The nausea is getting worse. Jungkook scans the room, looking around for a bathroom - or even a trash bin.

"Jungkookie, you good?" Yoongi asks "you seem kind of distracted."

Jungkook gulps. Does he admit his stomach hurts? Or keep acting like he's fine, even though he's sweating now. "I just..need the bathroom" and Jungkook starts walking urgently, holding his abdomen. Yoongi noticed he's holding his right side more.

Jungkook looks in the mirror again. He looks worse than before. His face is pale and he looks sickly. Then his stomach rolls and he spurts up a mouthful of yellow into the sink. It's bitter tasting and makes him lose more instantly. His stomach clenches and he yelps. His voice squeaks at the end and he vomits again. The pain is severe now and gets worse as he coughs. He yelps again and his face scrunches up.

Then he hears Namjoon's voice: "Kookie, where'd you go? They're all waiting for you"

Jungkook silently curses as his stomach still churns. Joon comes in right as he pukes in the sink. "Oh my gosh!" the leader gasped and rushes to him. Yoongi follows behind.

Jungkook retches loudly and moans as his stomach folds. He sinks to the floor, holding it in tears. Then curls up in a ball. Namjoon and Yoongi are becoming frightened.

"Kook, can you get up?"

Jungkook stays down and shakes his head.

"How much does it hurt?"

"Ugghh, it just... hurts!!" Jungkook wails in agony. "Th-the...right side.."

Yoongi has an idea what's going on. "We should take him to the hospital."

Jungkook can't take it anymore. This isn't just a stomachache.

****

At the hospital, Jungkook clings one arm to his stomach and the other to Namjoon as they rush down the halls. The pain doesn't relent. He's just looking down at their feet moving as he's met by doctors and directed to who knows where.

Then he gets the urge to vomit again. He gags wetly and a nurse quickly holds a bag out. Jungkook throws up and moans miserably.

"It's okay, Kook" Yoongi rubs his arm. "They're gonna take care of you."

"And we'll be right here after" Namjoon assures.

The maknae didn't want to leave them but had no choice. The doctors suspect it's his appendix.

Jungkook can barely keep up with what's going on. He hears the scattered voices of doctors working hastily around him. He's changed into a gown and taken to a bed. They give him an IV and get him prepped. JK starts to feel sleepy as they wheel him in and the last thing he sees is a mask put on his face..

****

Jungkook wakes up slowly in a hazy state. He sees Yoongi and Namjoon there, just as promised. "Hey, Kookie" Joon murmurs. "How are you doing?"

"..Tired" Jungkook smiles lightly. It feels like he blinked and it was over. He still feels a bit sick but relieved as well.

Yeosang shot up from his bed, slapping on the side table lamp. The same congested, choking sound that had come from Yeosang not a day or two ago was now coming from Seonghwa. Immediately flooded with guilt, Yeosang sprang from his blankets, hands out to… what? What was he even supposed to do in this situation? Yeosang was once again smacked in the face with another realization: he’d never had to be a lone caretaker for another person before. 

Yeosang decided to run to the bathroom for water. Flicking on the light, Yeosang winced as he rushed to the sink, filling one of the hotel glasses to the top. When he hurried back into the room, albeit a bit slower so as not to spill, Seonghwa was bent over the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands pressed into his eyes as he gasped in air. 

“Hyung?” Yeosang asked, voice shaking as he approached. Seonghwa turned towards him, looking pale and sweaty and so, so tired. Yeosang felt his lips begin to tremble. “I’m so sorry…”

Seonghwa shook his head. “Not your fault. We did everything we could.” His voice already sounded rough. Yeosang held out the water and Seonghwa accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a few slow sips. 

“You… didn’t say anything last night,” Yeosang said. 

“I just felt overtired. I didn’t realize it…” Seonghwa sighed, rubbing at his throat. “Damn, this sucks.”

“You’re telling me.” Yeosang offered a tiny smile that Seonghwa attempted to return. 

“I don’t think you complained nearly enough if this is day one,” the older man said.

Yeosang simply shrugged. “What can I… what can I do for you?”

“Can you grab the thermometer?”

“Of course!” Yesoang scampered to the bathroom, the light still obscenely bright in the sleek white room, as he scanned the vanity for the requested item. Instead, his eyes caught the nearly empty bottle of Theraflu. A lightbulb flashing in his brain, Yeosang flipped the bottle over, taking a second to watch the tiny amount of remaining liquid began to float to the top. It looked like there was just enough left for a single dose. Pleased with himself, Yeosang located the thermometer and ran back into the bedroom. 

“Hey!” Yeosang chirped. Seonghwa had been staring off into space, and blinked a few times to focus on him. “We have one capful of Theraflu left. You want it?” 

“Sure… Wait, Sang!” 

But Yeosang had already run back to the bathroom for the medicine. When he slid to a halt in front of Seonghwa again, he held up the bottle with a bright smile. “What’s your temp?”

Seonghwa’s smile was small but fond. “I don’t know, love, you took the thermometer with you.”

Eyes wide, Yeosang’s attention turned to his left hand where he, indeed, still had the thermometer clutched tight between his fingers. His cheeks flushed crimson. “Oh. Sorry,” he muttered repentantly as he handed the device over. 

“You’re fine,” Seonghwa mumbled as he turned the device towards his forehead. Yeosang watched nervously as the thermometer beeped and Seonghwa frowned down at the screen. “Shit.” Yeosang leaned forward and Seonghwa turned the screen towards him: 38.3. 

“Shit,” Yeosang repeated. His chest ached with guilt. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

“Sang, we’re not going to keep doing this, okay?” Seonghwa replied. “I accept your apology. There’s nothing more we could have done; it is what it is. Can you open that bottle for me?” He nodded to the Theraflu on the table. Yeosang nodded, happy to be of use, and poured up the last capful. “We’ll just get some more of this tomorrow, huh?”

“Of course, hyung,” Yeosang agreed as he offered over the cap. Seonghwa shot it back instantly, not even grimacing, but reaching for his water immediately. After the older man drank down the last few sips in the glass, he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, finding it empty. “Here, I got it!” Yeosang snatched the water bottle perhaps too enthusiastically and raced to refill it in the bathroom. 

When he returned, Seonghwa’s lips curved into an affectionate smile. “You know I would’ve just handed it to you, right?” His tone was gentle, joking, but Yeosang’s cheeks still lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“I’m so sorry, Hwa! I just wanted to…”

“Sangie, please, no more sorry’s,” Seonghwa cut him off, grasping Yeosang’s free hand. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me so much. If I need something, I’ll tell you, okay? Team work.”

Yeosang nodded. “Team work. Got it.” After placing the water bottle on the night stand, Yeosang reached for the extra pillows from his own bed, propping them behind Seonghwa’s as the older man settled back under the covers. “Get some rest, Hwa.”

“I’ll try my best. Sweet dreams, Sang.”

“Sweet dreams.” Yeosang’s voice was quiet. He hoped Seonghwa would assume it had to do with the late hour instead of the guilt clawing its way through Yeosang’s chest. As he turned off the light and lay awake listening to his hyung’s labored breathing and restless shifting until the Theraflu kicked in, a litany of ‘how can I fix this?” began to echo through his brain. Because he, Kang Yeosang, had to fix this. It was his fault, after all. 

So he’d have to keep Seonghwa alive. No matter what. 

~

Yeosang, unsure when he’d actually drifted off to sleep, woke to the sound of whispering. He rolled over, seeing Hongjoong perched on Seonghwa’s bed opposite the eldest, staring intensely at their current invalid. 

“I mean, I don’t think we need to waste the time,” Seonghwa was saying, voice sounding even more ragged than last night. In the pale light of the window, his skin looked far paler than the night before too. “It’s definitely the flu. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.”

“But a doctor can medicate you faster,” Hongjoong  pointed out. He wasn’t arguing yet, meaning that the two were genuinely trying to figure out options. 

“An IV’s only going to get us so far, Joong.” Seonghwa paused, coughing into his sleeve. Hongjoong’s lips pressed into a straight line, his entire body taut with what? Concern? Tension? Frustration? Yeosang couldn’t read him. 

“Hwa, I can’t have you…” “Sangie never sat out.” Seonghwa’s tone had a harder edge to it now. 

Hongjooong’s right eyebrow twitched. “Well, Sangie didn’t hit 39 in his first 24 hours.” 

Yeosang couldn’t help sitting up at that. “39, hyung?!” Seonghwa’s face somehow drained of even more color as his eyes snapped to his roommate’s, Hongjoong’s following. “I thought it was just 38.3.”

“It was,” Seonghwa replied, nodding slowly, sadly. “But…”

“It’s higher now,” Hongjoong cut him off. “And I think we need to consider that moving forward to today’s activities.” The captain’s eyes flicked to Yeosang, softening considerably. “Also, I know Hwa said this last night, but no guilt wallowing, Sangie. This isn’t your fault, yeah? Immune systems are, as much as it sucks, out of our control.”

“Okay.” Yeosang didn’t even convince himself when he said it, but Hongjoong nodded nonetheless, and returned his attention to bargaining with his most stubborn member. 

In the end, Hongjoong lost. Seonghwa was given the green light to participate fully in group activities, hopped up on the medically recommended limit of Theraflu and Ibuprofen, and properly masked up with the only exception during their concert that night. Yeosang was thoroughly awed by Seonghwa’s sheer willpower to push through five different interviews, soundcheck, and a full concert with the bare minimum of complaints, which really only happened because someone asked how he was feeling. He was almost convinced that the eldest was, in fact, not completely human. 

That all faded, though, when the concert came to an end. As the members walked off stage after their encore, the moment the audience couldn’t see them anymore, Seonghwa practically melted into Yunho’s side, the dancer only able to catch him because, the eagle-eyed performer he was, he’d noticed the older man shaking and swaying during their final song. Yunho was the epitome of calm and collected as he carefully maneuvered Seonghwa to the floor, holding the eldest’s head in his lap while the staff swarmed. Unable to keep his eyes open, unable to draw a true deep breath, Seonghwa’s facade had fully collapsed, and all Yeosang could do was watch pitifully from the sidelines while Hongjoong took orders from the staff and Yunho played with Seonghwa’s hair to keep him conscious. 

Management forced Seonghwa to the hospital, where he’d been hooked up to an IV for two hours. Yeosang was still awake, a ball of anxiety, when Seonghwa arrived back in their room, physically escorted by a manager. Yeosang hopped from his bed, taking up Seonghwa’s other side and helping him to the bed. 

“No…” Seonghwa whispered when Yeosang pulled back the covers. Despite the weakness of his body, Seonghwa resisted the manager’s gentle push towards the bed. 

“What is it, kid?” the manager asked, rubbing at his back as Seonghwa, face screwed up with pain, fought for the right words to explain what he needed. 

“Nooo.” Seonghwa’s trembling fingers tugged feebly at his shirt. The manager looked at Yeosang with a shrug of confusion. 

It took the performer a few seconds for things to click. “Oh! Outside clothes!” Yeosang chirped, snapping his fingers. He dashed away from the pair towards Seonghwa’s suitcase, digging around for pajamas, which were neatly folded in a corner of the bag. “Ta da!” Seonghwa’s face relaxed instantly, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat at being correct. 

After helping Seonghwa peel away his hospital clothes and don the fresh pajamas, the manager filled Yeosang in on the details from the hospital. Nothing terribly crazy had happened but still, Yeosang hated that this was happening. Hated the way that Seonghwa curled in on himself once in bed, looking so much younger and weaker than he truly was. 

“Look out for him tomorrow, yeah?” the manager asked, his eyes pleading. 

Yeosang nodded. “Of course. I… You can count on me.”

~

That promise led Yeosang to his current predicament. He’d let Wooyoung talk him into going from breakfast. When he’d left, Seonghwa was fast asleep, on his left side, left hand tucked under his cheek and right arm hanging nearly over the side of the bed. When Yeosang came back from breakfast, Seonghwa was in the exact same position. San and Mingi had convinced Yeosang to join them for a walk. When he returned, Seonghwa still had not moved. Even after Yeosang got out of the shower, where he’d intentionally tried to make some light noise, Seonghwa was still in the same damn position. 

Panic bloomed in Yeosang’s chest. Was Seonghwa still… breathing? Had he choked in his sleep while Yeosang was out and…? 

Anxiety high, Yeosang moved none-too-quietly to the bed, kneeling next to his hyung. He reached a hand forward, pressing his palm against Seonghwa’s chest to check for movement. The motion, however, was not nearly as gentle as Yeosang intended, and ended up physically pushing Seonghwa backwards. Seonghwa’s eyes flew open in shock with a startled gasp. Yeosang yelped, flinching back from his own shock as Seonghwa attempting to edge backwards, away from Yeosang, clearly unaware of whose face was centimeters from his own, but ended up coughing instead. Coughing that seemed unable to stop. 

“Aaah!” Yeosang, utterly panicked, scrambled to his feet. He threw out a hand for the water bottle on the night stand, unceremoniously knocking it over with a loud clang. “Shit!” His fingers felt slippery as he reached for the bottle again, making contact and finding it nearly empty. Another distressed noise, a refilled water bottle, and a stubbed toe later, Yeosang stumbled back to the bed just as Seonghwa pulled in a ragged yet true breath, body still heaving from the force of the coughing fit. 

Yeosang thrust the water bottle forward, and Seonghwa accepted it with a grateful nod and a hoarse, “Yeosang…” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the younger man cut him off, falling to his knees next to the bed to be eye level with his hyung. “You were just sleeping so much, and you hadn’t moved, and I was worried, and I…”

Seonghwa’s hand, warm and trembling, cupped Yeosang’s cheek, effectively silencing his babbling. “Sang-ah. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I was just startled.” 

Yeosang took Seonghwa’s hand in his own, folding their fingers together. “I’m… I’m scared, hyung. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing your best.”

“But you’re… you’re not getting better…”

“Cause it’s been two days, Sang-ah.” Seonghwa laughed softly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, his body too wrung out for that. “You gotta give me more time.” A congested rasp bubbled through the last few words, prompting another harsh round of coughs. 

Yeosang squeezed Seonghwa’s hand. “Do you need more medicine?”

Eyes pinched shut from the effort and pain, Seonghwa shook his head. “No, I’ve got an alarm set on my phone.” 

“Are you sure?” Yeosang frowned. “Cause I know you just said it’s still early, but… I don’t know. Shouldn’t you not be coughing like this if you’re medicated?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “I don’t know, Sang. But I’m still,” he checked his phone, “about an hour and a half away from medicine time, and I’m not risking taking too much at once.”

“Okay. I trust you. But I’m… please tell me if you need me.” 

“I will, love. Thank you.”

Yeosang nodded and stood up as Seonghwa curled up under his blankets again, eyes slipping closed. He had to trust his hyung. He had to trust the one with more experience. 

~

Yeosang’s trust in Seonghwa lasted exactly 36 more hours. After that whole day of sleeping, and another full day of medicine, Seonghwa was no where near feeling better. Of course, yesterday’s performance hadn’t helped matters; terrified to disappoint the fans, Seonghwa had gone on, danced his muscles past their limit and sang his voice raw. He hadn’t collapsed back stage this time, but the weight of his exhaustion was obvious the second he was out of ATINY’s view. Usually he could hide it better. Now he didn’t even have the energy to care. 

But the worst of it was that damned cough. When Yeosang had been sick, coughing had been his main symptom as well, but it wasn’t like this. Persistent medication, water, and cough drops had sufficed to get him through the worst of it. That hadn’t been working at all for Seonghwa, though. Despite all of his best efforts, Seonghwa was continually coughing, sometimes able to swallow down a fit before it got going, but more often wracked with the scary type of chest rattling, choking-on-something-gross fits that wrung him out for minutes at a time. He physically winced each time, sometimes even gasped aloud after, clutching at his side. 

It hurt every single member to see their eldest in so much pain. 

So by one the next morning, as he listened to Seonghwa cough and gasp and toss and turn restlessly in his bed, unable to breathe or sleep, Yeosang had had enough. 

Throwing back his covers, Yeosang stomped the few steps between beds. “Hyung,” he said, voice soft yet firm, as Seonghwa’s was so frequently with him. “Sit up for a sec.” All he got in response was a pitiful sniffle. “I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whimpered. Yeosang turned on the bedside lamp. Seonghwa, tears running down his face, simply lay there, staring helplessly up at Yeosang. 

Nodding to himself, Yeosang cast away one of Seonghwa’s pillows and, placing his hands gently on the elder’s back, pushed his body forward just enough for Yeosang to slide in behind him. Despite trying his best not to, (Yeosang could tell), Seonghwa gasped in pain at the movement. “I know, hyung, I’m so sorry,” Yeosang whispered. “Just a bit more,” he added as he maneuvered Seonghwa back into his arms, the elder’s head cradled against Yeosang’s chest. 

“I’m sorry…”

“Please, don’t be.” Yeosang began to card his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair, establishing a rhythm, gentle and grounding, just as his hyung had done for him a thousand times before. He could feel the fever burning through Seonghwa’s skin, sweat beading at his hairline. He felt hotter than earlier. Yeosang felt a bud of hope; maybe this was it, maybe this was the fever breaking. “Sleep, Hwa.”

“I can’t…”

“You can. You will.” Yeosang slowed his own breathing, hoping to lull Seonghwa into a more peaceful state. “I think being horizontal might help you breathe easier.”

“It hurts so bad, Sang,” Seonghwa whispered, writhing a bit in Yeosang’s grasp. 

“What hurts, hyung?”

“Everything.” Seonghwa swallowed thickly, the motion clearly agonizing. But he didn’t start coughing again. That was a start. “I’m keeping you up…”

“No you’re not. I was playing games until a few minutes ago,” Yeosang said, genuinely telling the truth. If he were completely honest, he’d been playing games to keep an eye on Seonghwa until he fell asleep, but Seonghwa didn’t need to know that right now. “But I want you to rest, so I’m happy I was still awake so I can hold you now.” Seonghwa didn’t reply, simply letting his head rest fully against Yeosang’s chest, eyes slipping closed again. With a soft, satisfied smile, Yeosang began to hum, a little melody that filled the space between them. 

“Thank you, Sang. For being here.”

“Oh, totally.” Mingi’s eyes glanced downward as he readjusted his arms while San shifted slightly in his hold. “Really though, he’s been asleep for most of the time I’ve been in here, which I think is a good sign given the past few days.”

“Seriously.” Seonghwa shook his head, turning a soft smile to the sleeping man before him. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you Sannie?”

San had given them quite the scare earlier that wake, waking up in the middle of the night with a high fever and losing his balance on his way to the kitchen, hitting his head on the counter in the process. While one late night ER visit later left him with a flu diagnosis, he mercifully didn’t have a concussion on top of it, just a headache and a gnarly bruise. But it terrified Seonghwa and Mingi regardless. They refused to leave their third roommate alone for even a second until his temperature returned to normal. Management had been cooperative, giving them some time off to be with San, but they drew the line at other members stepping in to play babysitter, scared of the virus spreading farther than it had to. Seonghwa and Mingi were considered potentially unavoidable collateral damage, but had thus far proved resist to the bug. Which was honestly a miracle given San’s seeming inability to cover his mouth. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna swap out?” Seonghwa asked, gazing back up at Mingi. 

The rapper shook his head. “We are a-okay, hyung.”

“Huh?” San’s head pulled back from Mingi’s chest, his hair smushed up to the side as he blinked heavy eyelids. He took in Seonghwa’s face then swung his neck around to look at Mingi. “Hey, it’s you guys.” He sniffled wetly, a sound that had only just stopped making his roommate’s cringe about 24 hours ago.

“It’s us,” Mingi replied with a small laugh. 

“Who else?” Seonghwa added, rubbing a hand over San’s hip, exposed from the blankets that he’d seemingly kicked down. 

“Dun know. Thought maybe Woo would be here. Or Yeosang. Hongjoong.” San yawned wide, sniffling agin as he pawed at his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas.

Mingi clicked his tongue. “Yuyu and Jongho are gonna be pissed,” he stage whispered over to Seonghwa. San poked his cheek, sending Mingi cackling at a reasonable, indoor level. 

“Everyone wants to come see you, babe, but management said not while you’re still contagious,” Seonghwa answered. 

“That’s dumb,” San declared, pouting. 

“Is it?” Mingi asked coyly. “Cause I feel like you’re a…”

Without warning, San lurched forward, sneezing almost directly on Seonghwa’s face. As the older man fell back in shock, Mingi swung his own sweatshirt covered arm around just in time to catch a second sneeze. 

“A walking health code violation,” Mingi finished his earlier sentence with a dramatic shake of his sleeve. 

“Oh my GOD! I’M SO SORRY!” San cried, actual tears brimming in his eyes as Seonghwa rocked towards them again.

“It’s… it is what it is.” Seonghwa grabbed a few tissue from the box on the nightstand, handing them to San before taking a few more to wipe at his own face. 

“Hyung, I’m so sorry…” San whined guiltily. 

“Nope. We’re not feeling bad,” Seonghwa interrupted with an exaggerated shake of his head. 

“Hyung…”

“And you know what? I’ve had worse.” Seonghwa pointed up at Mingi. “That one’s thrown up on me before.”

“Hey, it was just on your shoes, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as that time Yeosang…”

Seonghwa held up a hand to cut Mingi off. “I do not wish to go back there.” The rapper nodded in understanding. “Case in point, I’m not mad, Sannie. Please don’t cry.”

“But please blow your nose, you’re dripping,” Mingi said, voice light and joking yet simultaneously serious. Swiping at his eyes once to clear the tears, San pushed away from Mingi before pressing the tissues to his face and blowing his nose. He coughed after, deep in his chest. 

“Did you…” San paused, sniffling, before he peeked over his shoulder at Mingi, “call me a goblin earlier?”

“Sure did.”

San shrugged. “Cool. It fits.”

“Okay.” Seonghwa pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna go wash my face quick. Then, since Sannie’s up, maybe we think about dinner?”

“Okay. I’m still sorry, hyung,” San whimpered, smashing his face back against Mingi’s chest. 

“Still think your flu shot’s still gonna hold up?” Mingi asked Seonghwa as the elder turned to go. Seonghwa glared back at the rapper’s barely contained, shit-eating grin. 

“Wait, shh, shhh, shhhh!” San pressed a finger against Wooyoung’s lips as they finally approached the door of the dorm. “People are SLEEPING!” He immediately stepped into the wall, found it comforting, and slid down into a seated slump, cheek smushed.

“Comfy?” Wooyoung asked as he began to rifle through his bag for their house keys. He knew for a fact San didn’t have his, as they both knew San would be too drunk to be of any use when they got home. 

As evidenced by the silly smile on his face, cheek still smashed against the wall. “Yeah!” Wooyoung grinned, unable to stop a rush of affection for his best friend. 

It wasn’t supposed to just be the two of them going out tonight. The original plan was for everyone to go bar hopping except for Hongjoong, who was on a pre-planned trip with his brother (he had been an avid supporter of the plans, though, and even offered to cover drinks at one of the bars). But then Jongho had been called home for a family emergency. And then Mingi had gotten sick, and, against his best efforts, took Yunho, Yeosang, and Seonghwa down with him. It was rather shocking, to both the drunken pair and everyone else, that San and Wooyoung, the two most tactile, ‘I don’t care about germs, let me hug you’ members, were the last men standing. Which was part of the reason they’d still gone out drinking tonight: the other four were jealous of their health and annoyed by their energy, and wanted some peace and quiet without them. 

Which, Wooyoung was starting to realize, may be even longer than anticipated… 

“Good, glad you’re comfy, cause I can’t find my keys…” Wooyoung pouted down at the bag as if that would produce the missing keys. 

“You know what would be so stupid?” San asked, shifting so the back of his head was now against the wall. 

“What?”

“If we just slept out here. Sleep over!”

Wooyoung snorted. “No, you goof. Hwa-hyung will have a literal meltdown if we aren’t in our beds in the morning,” Wooyoung argued back as he continued fumbling through his bag. 

“I think…  I think… yeah, you’re right. Hwa-hyung’s already melting down enough.” San peeked up at Wooyoung, gesturing absently to his hairline. “You know, fever and shit.”

“Maybe. A-HA!” With a lucky glint of the light, Wooyoung snatched his keys from the father’s corner of his bag, holding them triumphantly in the air. San cheered, and immediately slapped both hands over his mouth when Wooyoung shushed him. Both immediately started giggling, Wooyoung suddenly starting to feel overly tipsy again now that the key crisis had been averted. 

Wooyoung unlocked and pushed open the door as San scrambled to his feet, somehow managing not to fall. They continued to giggle spontaneously as they both struggled through the process of taking shoes off (it took Wooyoung until halfway through his first shoe to turn on the light,) and were leaning heavily into each other as they stumbled from the entryway into the living room. The dorm was dead quiet, but the duo barely noticed. 

Wooyoung pulled up short behind one of the couches, pulling San to a sudden halt. “You know what would be so stupid?” he asked, head lolling to the side, eyes sparkling more than just the alcohol. 

“What?” San asked back, leaning forward as his lips curled into a smile that promised to accept whatever challenge his friend had in mind. 

“If we kissed right now,” Wooyoung said with a rebellious lift of his eyebrows. 

“Oh my gosh, that would be so stupid,” San agreed, instinctively leaning a little closer. 

“So stupid,” Wooyoung parroted back, leaning in himself. 

“So incredibly stupid.” San shook his head. 

Before either could get another word out, Wooyoung’s hands were clasped around the back of San’s head, lips were pressed none-too-gently against his. San’s arms instinctively wrapped around Wooyoung’s waist, pulling them even closer into each other. 

It was unclear who pushed or pulled whom, but somehow the pair successfully navigated around the couch with the smallest pause possible. They did pull apart, however, terribly ungracefully and yelling none-too-quietly, when they fell onto human legs rather than the couch. 

“HOLY SHIT!” Wooyoung cried, as the shape on the couch groaned, the noise quickly transforming into a thick cough. San scrambled for the lamp. The sudden burst of light made all three wince. “YEOSANG? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Yeosang croaked, rubbing at his deeply shadowed eyes with a sweatshirt-covered hand. 

“YEOSANG!” San exclaimed, falling to his knees by his friend’s stomach and hugging the performer’s midsection. “Are you okay? Did we smush you?!”

Yeosang looked overwhelmed. “No, I…” He swallowed, turned as far away from San as possible as he coughed again. “I’m fine. Why did you fall on the couch any… wait.” Though drooping dangerously, Yeosang’s eyes squinted suspiciously between them. “What… what time is it?” “It’s uh…” Wooyoung consulted his watch. “It’s like three…” 

Yeosang’s entire expression widened with shock. “Did you just get home?”

“Ummm….”

“Yes,” San answered confidently. Yeosang turned his attention back to Wooyoung, a mix of astonishment and admonishment. 

Wooyoung threw his arms out to the side. “Hey! We had to drink for all of you!”

“Yeah!” San agreed. 

“And he didn’t help all that much cause he’s been drunk since midnight!” Wooyoung pointed accusingly at the red-faced San currently rubbing his head against Yeosang’s stomach like a cat.

“Yeah!” San agreed again, unaware of the insult. 

“So he’s going to be hungover as shit tomorrow, huh?” Yeosang asked, meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. He didn’t seem thrilled to be touched, but he also wasn’t forcibly removing San yet. 

“Probably.” Wooyoung shrugged. "Me as well.” Yeosang sighed a congested rasp of a sigh. “What’re you doing down here, anyway?”

“Woke up in the middle of the night, and someone was snoring too loud, so I came out here.” 

“Oooooooh,” San cooed sympathetically. “Poor Sangie.”

“Sounds like we’re all getting a bad night’s sleep, then,” Wooyoung said. He pumped a fist in the air. “Team no sleep, unite!”

“Hey.” Wooyoung physically recoiled as he whirled around at not only the intimidatingly deep voice, but the flash of light from the overheads in the kitchen. An unimpressed Mingi glared at them. “Why the hell are you yelling at three in the morning?”

“That’s… actually not out of character for me.” Wooyoung shrugged, attempting charm he knew was unlikely to sway the rapper. 

“MANGI!” San cried, releasing one of his arms from clutching Yeosang and waving it enthusiastically. 

Wooyoung pointed back at him. “I don’t speak for him.” Mingi’s glare did not let up, but he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact that logic was futile against his two drunken friends. “Also, I have it on good authority that someone’s snoring too loud, so maybe waking everyone up is good so we can all fall asleep at zero again.”

“‘Fall asleep at zero?’” Yeosang whispered to himself, squeezing at his forehead to stem the headache blooming there from the noise and the lights. 

Mingi was not amused. “First, I know you and San will literally fall asleep the second you lay down, no matter where that is.” Wooyoung huffed, insulted, but Mingi was not deterred. “Two, the yelling’s going to stop, now, because you will not be waking up Hwa or Yunho. And three… yes, it’s actually both of them who are snoring quite badly, but neither one has really slept much the past two days so we’re gonna let it slide.” Yeosang whined from the couch. “Sang, you can stay on the couch if it’s bothering you.”

“They fell on me, though…” Yeosang whined, gesturing weakly to San and Wooyoung. San gasped at the betrayal, retracting his hug for all of three seconds. 

“It was an accident,” Wooyoung shot back in the vein of a vexed younger sibling. “And he’s not even hurt! San and I just thought it would be stupid if…”

“Okay.” Mingi cut Wooyoung off. “Sangie, these two are going to their own beds now, so that won’t happen again,” Mingi replied, surprisingly gentle now that his attention was on Yeosang. “You can sleep out here, alright?” “Okay.” Yeosang now pushed San’s arms away as he settled back against the couch, eyes slipping closed. 

“Come on, drunkards.”

“That is a stupid word,” Wooyoung mumbled as he switched off the living room light. San stood from the floor, planted a sloppy kiss on Yeosang’s head, then stumbled over to Wooyoung, who also got a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hey, you know what would be so stupid?” San’s grin was far too wide for the circumstances. 

“Oh, we’re not going down that road again,” Mingi interrupted, moving behind the pair and pushing them forward towards their actual beds. “We all know how that game ended last time.”

“Ended that way earlier, too.” Wooyoung waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “How do you think we fell into Sangie?”

Sunday

Jungkook. It always starts with Jungkook.

This time is no different. Jungkook spends one full weekend doing photoshoots and attending a movie premiere and having back-to-back dinners with his friends. He comes home late in the morning on Sunday and he’s exhausted– from socializing, from working, from not sleeping in his own bed for two nights in a row. 

Seokjin clocks it right away, within thirty minutes of him stepping through the front door. 

“You didn’t sleep,” he says, a statement rather than a question, cupping Jungkook’s cheek with a frown when he shuffles into the kitchen for a snack. “You’re gonna get sick, if you’re not already.” 

“I’m not already sick,” Jungkook mumbles around a yawn. “Just tired.” 

“I’ll make you something warm.”

Jungkook sniffs. “I was gonna make myself some ramen…” 

“I’ll make you ramen, then. Go change into something comfy.”

Something comfy, to Seokjin, means pajamas.

To Jungkook, it’s his biggest sweatshirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants. 

Seokjin eyes Jungkook’s bottom drawer of his dresser, full of unworn pajama sets, with a pout as he sets a bowl of ramen down on the nightstand. 

“Take it easy today, Jungkookie. You’ve worked hard this weekend. Call hyung if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you, Hyung.”

With a fond smile, Seokjin kisses the top of Jungkook’s head and leaves him to rest.

Monday 

After sleeping for a good chunk of the day on Sunday, Jungkook goes to bed at 8:30 p.m. with a sore throat, sleeps all the way until 9:17 a.m. the next morning, and wakes up with a full-blown cold. 

He drags himself to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink in a daze for a few minutes before he works up the will to rummage around in the medicine cabinet for a box of DayQuil. It takes him entirely too long– another couple of minutes, maybe– to punch the two pills out from their blister pack and swallow them down with a mouthful of water from the sink. His hands are shaky and he feels too slow, too sleepy.

“Hey,” Seokjin says from outside of the half-open door while Jungkook uses the bathroom and washes his hands. “You up for the day? Or going back to sleep?”

It takes a moment for Jungkook to reply. He dries his hands in a hurry and then scrambles for the tissue box on the counter, sniffling against a suddenly runny nose.

“Think I slept too long,” he finally croaks out from behind his tissue. “I feel gross.”

Seokjin eyes the box of medicine on the counter. “You probably need more sleep,” he counters. “You are sick, then?”

Jungkook nods sadly and pulls out another handful of tissues.

“Just take the whole box if you need it,” Seokjin snorts. “Go back to bed. I’ll bring you something to eat in a bit.” 

By the time Seokjin appears in Jungkook’s bedroom doorway with a plate of toast and a mug of tea, Jungkook is asleep again, flat on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow. 

“He’s going to get us all sick,” Seokjin mutters to himself, leaving the food and retreating with a sigh and a plan to go shopping at the pharmacy later.

Seokjin stops in front of the dry-erase calendar hanging in the kitchen next. He’s the self-designated keeper of their schedules and he likes to keep track of everything in one place. Luckily, this week isn’t the busiest they’ve ever had, but with Jungkook sick today he’ll have to cancel a meeting that’s scheduled for the afternoon.

Erasing the meeting from the calendar, Seokjin also notices that Jungkook has added his little gym magnets to every day this week. He gathers them up and returns them to their allotted whiteboard-parking-spot along with the others. Then, he grabs the blue marker– blue for chores– and adds grocery shopping to today.

“Huh?” Taehyung’s voice is whiney as he appears out of nowhere and presses himself against Seokjin’s back. “I don’t wanna go grocery shopping today, I just went!”

“I’ll do this trip,” Seokjin chuckles, capping the dry-erase marker and returning it to its basket. “Jungkook has a cold so I need to pick up a few things.”

“Jungkookie has a cold?” Jimin gasps, never far from Taehyung’s side. He shuffles up behind Seokjin and surveys the calendar. “I should go check on him and see if he needs anything.”

Seokjin hooks an arm around Jimin’s waist before he can get far. “He’s resting. You can come with me to the store.”

Taehyung starts backing away. “Well, I better get started on those emails…”

He’s gone before Seokjin can turn around. 

Jimin, however, looks more than eager to join Seokjin on a shopping trip. “Did you already make a list, Hyung?”

Seokjin pulls out his phone and shows Jimin his running notes, currently at eleven items and counting. “I always have a list, Jiminie.”

*

“I brought you another blanket,” Jimin whispers from the doorway, trying to determine if Jungkook is awake. 

It’s late afternoon, and though the sun is bright outside, Jungkook’s room is cloaked in darkness, courtesy of his blackout curtains. 

Jungkook coughs a few times and shifts restlessly in his bed. “Min?”

Jimin is across the room in a second, spreading the blanket out over Jungkook. He tucks it around his shoulders, then untucks it so he can climb into bed next to him. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, smoothing his palm across Jungkook’s forehead. 

Though he’s clearly feeling miserable, Jungkook doesn’t complain. He just turns onto his side and presses his face into Jimin’s shoulder, coughing softly into his shirt. 

The door creaks the rest of the way open, and Seokjin appears holding another blanket. “Oh,” he murmurs in surprise when he sees Jimin and Jungkook already cuddling in the bed. “Does Jungkookie need a blanket?” 

Jimin shakes his head and answers for Jungkook. “No, I just brought him one.” 

Seokjin carries the blanket over anyway, folding it up and draping it over the back of Jungkook’s desk chair. Then, he cleans up the small mess of used tissues and empty water bottles and prepares Jungkook’s next dose of medicine.

“I can make sure he takes that,” Jimin offers. “What time?” 

Jimin has been Seokjin’s shadow all day, helping him care for Jungkook and only leaving his side to cuddle with the sick maknae. It makes Seokjin smile to see how attentive Jimin has been to Jungkook’s needs. As he watches, Jimin tugs the blanket higher over Jungkook’s shoulders and leans over to kiss his temple; Jungkook, having already drifted back to sleep, doesn’t even stir.

“He can take it any time now,” Seokjin finally replies after checking the time. “Whenever he wakes up next.” 

“Got it, Hyung!” Jimin whispers. 

Seokjin finishes cleaning up. He retrieves two new bottles of water to set on the nightstand for both Jimin and Jungkook, then presses kisses to the tops of their heads before leaving and closing the door quietly behind him.

*

In the evening, Seokjin makes a full family dinner and starts laying it out on the table in front of a half-family of only three.

“Where are they all?” he mutters to himself, already starting down the hall.

He finds Jimin and Taehyung both in bed with Jungkook, curled around either side of him. Both of them are sleeping, but Jungkook is awake. He sneezes once– uncovered, unbothered– and then gives a soupy sniffle as he looks over at Seokjin.

It takes him clearing his throat three times before he can speak. “Hi.”

“Hi. How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks, hands on his hips. “Did you run out of tissues?”

Jungkook sneezes again and shrugs one shoulder.

Seokjin spots the box of tissues on the floor. It’s one of eight new boxes that he and Jimin picked up at the store earlier in the day. Still completely full. 

As Seokjin sighs and bends to pick it up, Jimin shifts, his face moving closer to Jungkook’s until he’s only centimeters away from the germ zone.

Before Seokjin can act, two things happen at once: Jungkook inhales sharply, gearing up for another sneeze, and Jimin’s hand flies up, somehow already armed with a tissue that he cups over Jungkook’s mouth and nose just in time.

“Bless’ya, Kookie,” Jimin murmurs, still appearing to be half-asleep.

Jungkook sniffles and nuzzles into the tissue. “Thanks.”

“This isn’t going to end well for any of us,” Seokjin mutters under his breath. 

There’s nothing that can be done about it now, though. Seokjin has already rescheduled tomorrow’s recording session for Jungkook; he might as well do the same for Jimin and Taehyung.

In his sleep, Taehyung coughs once, then rolls over onto his back, and Seokjin finds himself sighing yet again. 

“I’ll bring you three dinner in a moment. You can eat in here.”

“M’kay, Hyung,” Jungkook croaks. “Thanks.”

*

Neither Jimin nor Taehyung are willing to leave Jungkook’s bed after they eat. Jungkook seems content to have the company, so Seokjin doesn’t push it too hard, though he does remind them that they’re setting themselves up for quite a few sick days.

“M’not gonna get sick, Hyung,” Taehyung grumbles in response, uncharacteristically prickly. His voice is already walking the line of hoarseness.

Seokjin is sure to leave extra water for the three of them while he waits for the kettle to heat up in the kitchen.

“At least try to take care of your voices,” he urges, turning on Jungkook’s humidifier. “I’ll bring you tea in a minute. Any other requests?”

Taehyung shakes his head with a frown, Jimin blinks sleepily up at him and doesn’t seem to realize he’s being asked a question, and Jungkook requests a long list of snacks and items that has Seokjin regretting asking.

“No problem, Kookie,” he says anyway, plastering a smile on his face. “You just stay here and rest. Be right back.” 

Tuesday

Sure enough, both Jimin and Taehyung wake up on Tuesday morning with sore throats. 

Somehow, a cold is never a simple thing in their house– and certainly not when three of them have colds all at the same time.

“My poor sick babies,” Seokjin tuts as he doles out doses of medicine to Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. 

“You’re all sick?” Namjoon asks from the doorway, getting the update in real time. “Wasn’t it just Kook yesterday?” 

“They’re sharing,” Seokjin sighs.

Namjoon takes a step back. “How generous.” 

Seokjin does a quick hand-gauged temperature check on the three sick maknaes’ foreheads, then starts gathering used tissues and cough drop wrappers and empty water bottles into a trash can. 

“Yoongi is making breakfast. Do you three want to eat in bed or come out to the living room?” 

Jungkook, silent until now, presses his face against the side of Taehyung’s neck with a soft groan. “Don’t wanna eat,” he whines, voice thick with congestion. 

“That’s not a good sign,” Namjoon mutters from the doorway.

Jimin gently pats Jungkook on the chest, making eye contact with Taehyung for a moment before he turns to Seokjin. 

“We’ll eat in the living room.” 

Namjoon goes ahead of them to prepare the living room, gathering up blankets and moving tissue boxes before he turns on the TV.

They settle on the couch, with Jungkook in the middle, tucking themselves under blankets. Yoongi brings three bowls of egg juk and three glasses of orange juice on a tray.

“Thank you, Hyung,” Taehyung says, sipping on his orange juice.

“Thank you, Hyung,” Jimin echoes, cradling his bowl to his chest.

Jungkook scrunches up his nose, still not feeling hungry. “Thank you, Hyung,” he pouts, trying to remain polite. “Wish I could smell it.”

“It smells really good,” Taehyung confirms, grinning up at Yoongi.

Hoseok appears a moment later carrying three steaming mugs. “Honey only for Tae,” he says, setting the first one down on the coffee table. “Lemon only for Jiminie. And, honey with lemon for Kookie.”

“Thank you, Hyung,” Taehyung says hoarsely. “You’re the best.”

“Thank you, Hyung,” Jimin echoes. 

Jungkook frowns at the mug– he hates tea– but picks it up regardless. “Thank you, Hyung.” 

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Hoseok grins. “Let hyungs know if you need anything.” 

After receiving three nods of confirmation, the four eldest move to the kitchen table to eat.

“Looks like I’m taking a few more sick days,” Seokjin comments, eyeing the calendar. He’ll need to erase a few things, reschedule a few more things. 

“I can’t believe all three babies are sick at the same time,” Hoseok says, glancing toward the living room. 

“I can,” Yoongi snorts. “It’s only a matter of time before–” 

“Don’t say it,” Namjoon stops him.

They all know it’s true, though; it’s not a matter of if, but when, the rest of them will come down with the same cold that’s currently plaguing their three youngest.

Wednesday

Wednesday morning brings rain, and an atmosphere inside the house that’s nearly as gloomy as the weather. 

Seokjin wakes to the distant sound of coughing. And sneezing. Lots of it, from multiple people. A whole house full of sick people. For a moment, he doesn’t want to get out of bed, but after a few more minutes he forces himself to get up, sluggishly shoving his covers aside.

He catches Hoseok coming out of the shower, coughing into his fist as his wet hair drips onto his shoulders.

“That was you coughing?” Seokjin asks, his stomach sinking.

“Huh?” Hoseok frowns. “No, I was just clearing my throat.”

Seokjin fixes him with a look, but Hoseok dodges him and calls over his shoulder, “Dance practice is in thirty minutes, Hyung! Better hurry and get dressed.”

Dance practice. Seokjin makes a U-turn and heads to the kitchen so he can check the calendar. Sure enough, there’s a dance practice scheduled for today, but he’s been all mixed up with all of the cancellations on their calendar and forgot about it.

By the time Seokjin gets ready for practice, it’s just about time to leave. Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon are already waiting by the front door, but Seokjin takes one more minute to stop by Jungkook’s room. The three maknaes are still asleep in Jungkook’s bed, same as they had been before Seokjin got dressed, but he can’t help needing to see with his own eyes that they’re resting peacefully and not in immediate need of anything. 

“How are they doing?” Yoongi asks him when he finally makes it back out to put his shoes on.

“Resting. They’re on the mend, hopefully. I’m sure by the time we’re back from practice, the three of them will be up and messing around with their usual energy.” 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Hoseok agrees, squeezing Seokjin’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go dance your worries away!” 

*

“You’re awfully warm, Tae,” Seokjin tuts, frowning hard. 

Curled up on the couch in front of him, Taehyung sniffles pitifully. “But I feel really cold.” 

Pressing the back of his hand to Taehyung’s forehead, Seokjin calls over his shoulder, “Yoon?”

Yoongi appears just moments later, coming to stand behind Seokjin with a questioning hum.

“Does Tae feel hot to you?” Seokjin guides Yoongi’s hand to Taehyung’s forehead, eyes wide with renewed worry. 

Yoongi feels Taehyung’s flushed face, sliding his hand first to his cheek and then to the back of his neck.

“He still has what Jungkook and Jimin have,” Yoongi replies calmly. “Just a cold. And he might have a low-grade fever. Nothing to worry about.” 

“I’ll get the thermometer,” Seokjin says anyway, hurrying off to the bathroom. “What if it’s the flu?” 

“Is it bad?” Taehyung asks quietly, looking up at Yoongi with watery eyes. 

Yoongi chuckles. “No, baby. Don’t let Seokjin-hyung worry you. You always get a bit of fever when you’re sick, hmm?” 

Taehyung nods, though he still looks a bit unsure. 

When Seokjin returns with a thermometer, Hoseok is with him, concerned eyes zeroing in on Taehyung’s shivering form.

“How are you feeling, TaeTae?” Hoseok asks, dropping down onto the couch next to him while Seokjin crouches back in front of Taehyung. 

“I feel gross.” Taehyung clears his throat and swipes at the sweat on his forehead. “Need a shower…w-wait, I need a tissue first.” He curls forward, eyes squeezing shut, and lets out a thunderous sneeze into his hoodie sleeve.

Hoseok grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table for him. “Bless you! Let hyung take your temperature real quick and then you can take a nice warm shower.” 

Seokjin waits for Taehyung to blow his nose and then slides the thermometer under his tongue.

“Joon is at the art exhibition,” Hoseok murmurs to Yoongi as they watch Seokjin fret. “He’s stopping back by the company afterward to update them on our sickies. We’ll have to do tomorrow’s dance practice without them too.” 

“I figured as much,” Yoongi sighs. “We’re lucky those three already have the choreo down so well.” 

“Let’s take it one more time, just to be sure,” Seokjin says, squinting at the thermometer reading. 

“It’s not even 38°C, Hyung,” Yoongi interrupts before he can put the thermometer back into Taehyung’s mouth. “Looks like he’ll be fine with a little Ibuprofen.”

Seokjin looks at Yoongi, then at Hoseok, and then back at Taehyung. “Okay. Right. Fine.”

Yoongi pulls Seokjin up off the floor, his hands gentle on his back. “I made lunch,” he says, softly, as if he’s trying not to startle his hyung. “Go get a drink of water and sit down at the table.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation, and Yoongi just waits patiently, his expression neutral and his hand moving to Seokjin’s elbow. Then, Seokjin nods, and he lets Yoongi guide him away from the couch, both of them pretending like they can’t hear Hoseok coughing as they leave the room.

*

Taehyung makes it halfway through his shower before Seokjin finds himself outside the bathroom door, hand raised to knock.

“Come in,” Taehyung croaks out, barely audible over the sound of running water, but Seokjin is already turning the knob anyway.

“Doing okay in there?” Seokjin asks. “You’re not dizzy or anything, right?”

A weak cough sputters out from behind the shower curtain, and then Taehyung pushes it aside a few inches. “Nope. Doing great!” 

Seokjin opens his mouth to reply, but Taehyung is already stepping back under the spray.

“I can wash your hair if you want,” he offers after a minute, inching closer to the shower.

“Hyung,” Taehyung sniffles from behind the curtain, “I like it when you help me. But I just want to take a quick shower. Don’t need help for that.”  

“...Okay. If you’re sure.” Seokjin takes a step back, then another. Taehyung just sniffles again, and Seokjin can hear him squeezing shampoo out of what sounds like a nearly empty bottle. “I’ll, um…I’ll go, then.” 

Seokjin’s shoulders sag as he turns around. He knows that Taehyung is right, and that he’ll be completely fine showering on his own– he’s worrying way too much about a low-grade fever. It’s silly, but Seokjin still can’t quite shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach, even–

“Hyung?” Taehyung calls out hoarsely just as Seokjin is about to open the door to leave.

Seokjin whips around so fast he almost turns a full circle, wobbling in place for a second before he rights himself and steps towards the shower.

Taehyung is peeking back out past the shower curtain, looking half like he’s about to sneeze and half like he’s about to laugh. “Wanna come in?” he offers softly, extending a wet hand. “I guess I do need some help rinsing my hair.” 

*

Later in the evening, after a hearty home-cooked meal and a round of cold medicine, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin get tucked into bed together once more. Seokjin takes their temperatures as everyone converges in Jungkook’s bedroom; Namjoon bringing two new boxes of tissues, and Yoongi cleaning up used tissues and gathering empty cups. 

Hoseok comes in carrying an armful of blankets, warmed up in the dryer. He doesn’t look well as he drapes them over the bed– a little pale, a little sniffly– but no one seems to notice how unnervingly quiet and subdued he is.

No one except for Seokjin, that is.

“Looks like you brought one too many blankets,” Seokjin says softly, draping one over Hoseok’s shoulders. “Good thinking, warming them up first. The babies will be so much warmer now.” 

Hoseok melts beneath the warmth of the blanket, his eyelashes fluttering closed for a long moment before he blinks around the room.

“Hyung?” Jimin’s small, raspy voice draws Seokjin to his side in an instant.

“What do you need, Jiminie?” 

Jimin cups his sleeve-covered hand over his face and sneezes twice in a row before answering. “Tissues?” 

Seokjin bites back a smile and grabs the tissue box that’s just an arm’s reach away on the nightstand. Jimin has been so quiet the past couple of days, but he’s never hesitated to ask for help. Seokjin can tell he’s fighting to stay awake as he dabs at his reddened nose with a tissue.

“What else?” He urges gently. 

“Thirsty,” Jimin whispers. “And Kookie needs water too, please.” 

“On it,” Yoongi says, leaving to fetch more water.

By the time Yoongi returns with water, Seokjin has herded Hoseok and Namjoon toward their own rooms to get some sleep, and both Jimin and Taehyung are sleeping. Yoongi sets water bottles on the nightstand and uncaps one for Jungkook.

“Thank you, hyungs,” Jungkook smiles. 

He’s looking sleepy now, but restless between Jimin and Taehyung in the bed. Yoongi waits for him to drink and then takes the water back, setting it on the nightstand next to the others. He then hands Jungkook a tissue so he can blow his nose.

“Try to get some sleep,” Seokjin says, tugging the warmed blankets up once Jungkook settles on his back. 

Jungkook nods, eyelids drooping. Taehyung coughs in his sleep and Jimin is snoring softly, curled up small against Jungkook’s side. Seokjin stands there watching them fondly until Yoongi takes his elbow and tugs him out of the room.

“You’re hovering,” Yoongi whispers, almost laughing. “Let them sleep.” 

Seokjin closes the door and wraps his arm around Yoongi’s waist. “Hoseokie wasn’t looking too good earlier. I should go check on him.”

Yoongi guides Seokjin to his room, shaking his head. “I’ll check on him. You can start washing up. I’ll check on Joon too, before you get any thoughts in your head about doing anything other than getting ready for bed right now.”

Yawning, Seokjin stretches his arms above his head. “Okay, fine. But only because I’m tired. They really wore me out today.”

“Wore yourself out,” Yoongi mutters under his breath in response. “Rest well, Hyung.”

“You too, Yoon. Good night.”

Thursday

Early on Thursday morning, Seokjin appears in the doorway of Jungkook’s room, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

The bed is a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets and used tissues. Seokjin is pleased to see that Jungkook is already awake, sitting up against the headboard right in the middle of the bed between Jimin and Taehyung, and looking much better than he had the day before.

“How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching up to feel Taehyung’s forehead with the back of his hand. He’s happy to feel only sleep-warmth and not the heat of fever he’d felt there yesterday.

“Pretty good,” Jungkook replies, looking up from his phone. He still sounds a little congested, but his face is back to a normal, healthy flush.

Seokjin smiles. “That’s great–”

Taehyung coughs himself awake then, whining hoarsely as he curls up under the blanket. The movement jostles the whole bed and Jimin stirs with a liquidy sniffle. 

“Huh?” 

Jungkook drops his phone into his lap. His hands move to Jimin’s and Taehyung’s shoulders like he’s trying to soothe them back to sleep, but Seokjin thinks this is a perfect opportunity for a transition. 

“Jungkook, why don’t you go take a shower?” he suggests, standing so he can hand Taehyung a bottle of water from the nightstand. He grabs the box of tissues and goes around to the other side of the bed, where Jimin is snuffling into his sleeve. “I’ll get your bedding changed. You can rest on the couch when you’re done, okay?”

“I wanted to go to the gym,” Jungkook replies over the sound of Jimin blowing his nose.

“Funny,” Seokjin deadpans. “You can go to the gym in a few days when you’re fully recovered.” 

Jungkook frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks so adorably petulant that Seokjin almost reconsiders.  

“Go take a shower,” Seokjin chuckles. “Tae, Jimin, come with me.” He pulls back the blankets. “We’re doing a transfer.”

Taehyung and Jimin are sleepy but compliant. They crawl out of bed, shuffling after Seokjin as he leads them across the hall to Hoseok’s room. Jungkook is right behind them, brows furrowed in confusion until Seokjin opens the door and Hoseok greets them with a pitiful cough-sneeze combo.

“Hoseokie is sick now too,” Seokjin announces, as if they can’t hear that for themselves.

“Oh no, Hyung,” Jimin murmurs, already climbing into the bed. He wraps his arms around Hoseok’s waist. “Sorry we got you sick.” 

Hoseok waves a hand dismissively. He tries to speak, but his voice cracks. After clearing his throat, he gets out a “don’t apologize” that’s immediately followed by a loud cough.

“So sorry,” Jimin whispers, resting his head on Hoseok’s chest.

Seokjin presses the back of his hand to Taehyung’s forehead again, lingering for just a moment before nudging him forward. “Go get some sleep with Hoseokie,” he instructs, then turns to Jungkook. “Shower time, Kook.”

As soon as Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung are cuddled up together in bed, and Jungkook is in the bathroom, Seokjin sighs and heads back to his own bedroom. He flops down face-first onto his bed and closes his eyes, only then registering the slight headache that’s forming behind his eyes. 

“Great,” he groans out loud. It’s probably because he hasn’t had any water yet this morning. And coffee– he’s definitely going to need several cups of coffee. And maybe some breakfast.

Deciding he’ll wait until he hears Jungkook get out of the shower before he gets up, Seokjin keeps his eyes closed and starts running through a mental list of everything they currently have in the fridge, and wonders what he should make for breakfast.

*

Seokjin doesn’t mean to take a nap, but he ends up falling asleep and wakes two hours later feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth. There’s drool on his chin and he clumsily wipes it away in disgust, stumbling towards the bathroom so he can brush his teeth and wash his face immediately. 

It takes him far too long to feel like he’s fully awake. Even after he splashes cold water on his face, there’s still a heaviness in his body when he moves that makes him want to crawl right back into his bed, and the only thing that stops him from doing just that is his desperate need for a drink of water.

There’s a half-empty bottle of water on his nightstand. He doesn’t even care that it’s room temperature and at least a day old as he chugs the rest of it down greedily. It quenches his thirst just enough that he can focus on the task he’d promised to do next– wash Jungkook’s bedding.

Seokjin’s heart sinks when he steps into Jungkook’s room and sees that his bedding has already been stripped off, and only then does the sound of the washing machine running just down the hall register. He nearly curses under his breath, but bites his tongue and drags a hand down his face instead.

“Did you have a good nap, Hyung?” 

Seokjin yelps and turns around to see Jungkook standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t nap!” He blurts out, even though he very obviously did.

Jungkook scrunches up his face. “...Okay, Hyung. Do you want to come to the gym with me?”

Seokjin’s brain doesn’t quite process Jungkook’s words fast enough, so he starts nodding before he realizes what he’s doing. “Wait– what? No, absolutely not–”

“You can’t stop me from working out,” Jungkook says, with far too much amusement in his tone for Seokjin’s liking. “I’m not even sick anymore.”

Seokjin’s hands fly to his hips. “Jungkook, you still sound sick. You should be resting, not working out.”

“I don’t need my voice to lift weights,” Jungkook giggles, infuriatingly nonchalant. “I feel good, I’m only a tiny bit congested still– but I’ll wear a mask. And I’ll make it to practice in time, promise.” 

Closing his eyes, Seokjin takes a deep breath through his nose, then exhales slowly. He opens his eyes to look at Jungkook, who’s pulling on a hoodie. He’s already dressed in his gym clothes and Seokjin feels his sense of control rush out of him, like he’s trying to catch something that’s slipping right past his fingers. 

No, he thinks, but he can’t get his mouth to say it. No, you can’t–

Then, Jungkook is standing right in front of him. “You doing okay, Jin-hyung?” he asks quietly, one hand coming up to hover somewhere near Seokjin’s shoulder. 

Instead, Seokjin ducks away and stalks towards the door. “I’m fine, Kook,” he lies, not looking back. “Be safe at the gym. Please–” He swallows thickly, suddenly extremely thirsty again. “Please don’t overdo it, okay?” 

He leaves before he can hear Jungkook’s response, and before he spirals further out of control.

*

“Thank you, Hyung.” Hoseok has the blanket pulled up to his chin. His face is pale, sleep-warm beneath Seokjin’s palm. But not fever-warm– Seokjin has checked twice already in the past ten minutes.

“Of course, Hoseokie. Anything you need, you just call Hyung, okay?”

Hoseok nods and closes his eyes, already close to falling back to sleep. Seokjin sits on the edge of the bed for just a moment longer, watching over him as his breathing evens out. On Hoseok’s other side, Jimin and Taehyung are sleeping face to face, their congested breaths mixing together. 

Slowly, Seokjin stands and backs out of Hoseok’s room, pulling the door shut softly. He’s feeling tired again after a long day of caring for his sick dongsaengs and a gruelling dance practice– and, annoyingly, very thirsty again.  

Before he gets a drink of water from the kitchen sink, Seokjin stops in front of the calendar. Today, there had only been dance practice, which Hosoek, Jimin and Taehyung had skipped out on. Tomorrow– Friday– there’s only a meeting on the calendar for Namjoon and Yoongi, plus a recording session for Jungkook that Seokjin is almost certain he’ll have to postpone until his voice is back in shape. 

And then, it will be the weekend. Seokjin has never looked forward to a weekend more. He sees a couple of social events on Saturday that he briefly considers erasing, but decides to leave just in case. He reaches out to touch the eraser anyway, his fingers hovering for a moment.

Behind him, whoever is sitting in the dining room sniffles loudly– loud enough to remind Seokjin that he had been on a mission to get water. He drops his hand just as there’s another sniffle. 

It sounds like Namjoon. 

Sure enough, he turns around just in time to see Namjoon swipe at his nose with his sleeve, sniffling yet again.

Suspicious.

Seokjin sighs and makes his way to the kitchen, deciding he’ll make some tea for both himself and Namjoon. He fills the electric kettle with water and finds two mugs and the tea, leaning on the counter and staring absently at the backsplash until the kettle starts to whistle. 

When he brings everything out to the table, Namjoon is writing in his notebook. Seokjin sets a mug of tea down in front of him and sits down in the chair across from him. Up close, he can clearly see that Namjoon is exhausted, dark circles under his eyes that stand out against his too-pale face.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” Seokjin asks, instantly regretting it when he sees the offended look that crosses Namjoon’s face. “Sorry, maybe it’s just me. Felt like I was waking up every two hours.”

Namjoon deflates a little, leaning back in his chair with a small sniffle. “Yeah, guess I didn’t sleep very much either.” 

That’s all Namjoon gives him verbally, though. Seokjin stares down at his mug of tea. Namjoon’s a little more sensitive than the others when it comes to illnesses. While Seokjin understands all too well the pressure Namjoon feels to appear strong in front of the other members, he still wishes their leader wouldn’t be so stubborn about getting sick. 

He clears his throat, keeping his eyes down as he asks, “You feeling okay?”

“Yep.”

Seokjin nearly smiles. He glances over to see Namjoon watching him with narrowed eyes. 

“And what about you?” Namjoon asks pointedly. “Jungkook texted me earlier and said you were acting weird, whatever he means by that.”

“I was just being a little overprotective, that’s all,” Seokjin scoffs. “I still don’t think he should have gone to the gym when he’s recovering. I don’t like how pale he was looking at dance practice, either.” 

Namjoon, having successfully deflected from his own health, looks almost smug as he responds, “We were all looking pale by the end of that choreo run Sungdeuk-hyung put us through. Imagine how it’ll go when Hoseok is feeling better.”

Seokjin shudders and takes a sip of his tea. “Yeah. Just imagine.” 

Friday

On Friday, Seokjin has to finally admit that Jungkook isn’t really sick anymore. Even Jimin and Taehyung are clearly on the mend, feeling much better, their symptoms nearly gone.

Namjoon, on the other hand, can’t say the same.

“Just because you’re saying you’re fine doesn’t make it true,” Yoongi says dryly as he watches Namjoon struggle through making himself breakfast while trying to stifle a cough. “Go to bed, Joon.”

“Better yet,” Seokjin adds, “Go to Hoseok’s room. Jimin has already vacated so there’s a spot for you.” 

“Don’t need to go to the sick room,” Namjoon mutters under his breath, sniffing sharply. “I need to get ready for my meeting.”

“We’re sending Jimin and Jungkook in your place, actually,” Seokjin informs him, bracing himself for their leader’s response. “You can’t deny that they’ll have wonderful ideas for the marketing team, and you’ll be able to add your input next week when you’re no longer dripping from your nose.”

Namjoon flushes pink and takes the tissue that Seokjin hands him without a word. 

Ten minutes later, after Namjoon has struggled stubbornly through a bowl of cereal and accumulated a pile of used tissues, Yoongi and Seokjin are able to convince him to rest with Hoseok and Taehyung.  

Reluctantly, Namjoon joins Hoseok in his bed, grumbling under his breath but rapidly losing steam. Taehyung is in the shower, and when he gets out he heads to his own bedroom instead, claiming that his hyungs will sleep better with more room in the bed.

“I’ll still rest today, Hyung. I promise,” he grins before Seokjin can protest. “I just have a few things I need to work on. I won’t even leave my bed.”

“I’ll be keeping you to that,” Seokjin replies, reaching up to feel Taehyung’s forehead. “There will be frequent checks. Now, go drink that water I gave you this morning that you’ve barely even touched yet.”

“How did the three of them recover so quickly?” Yoongi murmurs after Taehyung leaves the room. “If I end up catching this, I’m going to be stuck in bed for a week.”

In response, Hoseok lets out a hacking cough, Namjoon sneezes loudly, and Seokjin sighs.

“They’re young,” Seokjin says. 

“You’re only five years older than Jungkook,” Yoongi points out. 

“Is that all?” Seokjin muses, dragging a hand down his face. “Feels more like ten, sometimes.” 

A loud snore interrupts, and Seokjin and Yoongi look over in surprise to see that Namjoon has already fallen asleep, his mouth open and his hands bunched up into fists in front of his face. Hoseok, yawning, turns to face him, his eyelids drooping.

“Poor thing has been more tired than he was letting on,” Seokjin tuts, pulling the blanket up over Namjoon and Hoseok and tucking it in around their shoulders. “So stubborn.” 

“Yeah. Well, you should get some rest too, Hyung,” Yoongi murmurs. “You’re doing a lot to take care of everyone.” 

Seokjin hums noncommittally, but he knows Yoongi is right. 

They leave Namjoon and Hoseok to sleep. Seokjin peers through the door for a moment before he closes it the rest of the way, a tired yet fond smile crossing his face when Namjoon lets out a loud, stuttering snore. 

“Kook and Jimin and I are going to head out now,” Yoongi says. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I need this cold virus to stop attacking my members,” Seokjin chuckles wryly, leaning against the wall to watch Yoongi pack his work bag. His gaze flits to Jimin and Jungkook pulling their shoes on by the front door. “Keep an eye on them for me?”

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth turn up. “Only if you promise to get some rest while we're gone,” he negotiates.

Seokjin waves a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” 

*

Instead of resting, Seokjin decides to use the time to catch up on laundry. 

The chores have fallen a bit behind over the past few days; Seokjin is almost certain that they’ll be doing laundry for a week straight until they’ll be able to catch up. He gets a few loads out of the way, at least, lugging piles of clothes and laundry baskets throughout the various rooms of the house. 

He stops by Hoseok’s room after he finally gets the towels sorted and folded. A nap has left Namjoon more congested and no less stubborn than before. He’s sitting up in bed with his laptop in front of him, a tissue clutched against his nose.

“How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks, whispering since Hoseok is still sleeping. “You’re not working, are you?”

“I have a lot to catch up on already,” Namjoon replies, blowing his nose one-handed. “I saw you canceled both of my meetings on Monday.”

His tone clearly implies his dissatisfaction with the schedule change, but Seokjin isn’t too worried about that.

“Oh no, you sound stuffy. I’ll bring you some medicine with lunch.” 

Namjoon sniffles, frowning and scrunching up his nose in discomfort at the resulting shift of congestion in his sinuses. He plucks another tissue from the box and swipes at his nose. “I’m not hungry. And I’ll be fine to work on Monday.” 

“I admire your optimism,” Seokjin chuckles, checking Namjoon and Hoseok’s water bottles. “Drink some of that water, please.”

Seokjin pretends not to see Namjoon rolling his eyes as he leaves to go check on Taehyung, knowing he’s probably much more miserable than he’s currently letting on.

Taehyung is in his room, sitting in his bed similarly to Namjoon, with his laptop propped up in front of him. He’s watching an anime, but pauses it and smiles up at Seokjin when he comes in.

“How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks, sitting down next to him and cupping the side of his face. “You’re sounding a lot better.”

“Feel a lot better,” Taehyung says. “No more fever. No stuffy nose. I think tomorrow I’ll be–”

“Nope,” Seokjin cuts him off. “Tomorrow, you can rest.”

Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest. “You let Jimin and Jungkook go to work today,” he protests. 

“Jimin and Jungkook didn’t have fevers just yesterday,” Seokjin counters. “And that meeting couldn’t really be postponed. Trust me, those two aren’t going anywhere tomorrow, either.”

Whining, Taehyung rolls away from Seokjin. “I’m just going to see my friends, Hyung. They don’t care if I’m sick.”

“Then they shouldn’t mind if you take one more day to recover. Wouldn’t want to get them sick too, would we?” He pats Taehyung’s hip. “Now, I’m going to go get started on lunch. Drink some more water, please.” 

*

When Yoongi, Jimin and Jungkook return from their meeting, Seokjin herds them all to the table and serves them steaming bowls of samgyetang. 

“How was the meeting?”

“Productive!” Jungkook chirps, and Jimin nods in agreement. 

“Boring,” Yoongi mutters around a yawn. He pulls his bowl closer and starts eating enthusiastically. 

“Thank you for lunch, Hyung,” Jimin says. “It’s really good.”

Seokjin lingers a moment longer, watching the three of them eat with a smile on his face, before he takes lunch to Hoseok, Namjoon and Taehyung in their rooms. 

After everyone is done and Seokjin has cleaned up all of the dishes and the kitchen, he feels tired enough to nap. Instead, he decides to do one more load of laundry for the day. As he passes through the living room, he sees that Yoongi is sleeping on the couch, curled up under a blanket. He stops to feel his forehead, checking his temperature and only moving on when he’s satisfied it’s normal, though he pulls the blanket up a little high over Yoongi’s shoulders first.

Saturday

Yoongi holds out for as long as he can. He eats tangerines by the bagful until he’s undeniably fortified with vitamin C. He hauls around the disinfectant wipes with him everywhere he goes. But after a week of living in the same house as sick people, he is inevitably bound to get sick sooner or later.

He just wishes it would have been later, and not when Hoseok and Namjoon are still sick. Not when Seokjin is likely on the verge of getting sick too, but too focused on taking care of everyone else to even take care of himself.

He wakes up on Saturday morning and can’t even pretend he’s not sick– not that he ever would. He’s not stubborn like Namjoon and Seokjin. But he’s also not looking forward to letting everyone know that he’s finally caught this cold, and instead waits until Jimin walks into the kitchen while he’s getting himself some water to quietly admit that he has a sore throat and a runny nose. 

“Oh no,” Jimin gasps, wrapping his arms around Yoongi. “I’m so sorry, Hyung.” 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Yoongi shrugs. 

“What do you need? Medicine? Should I make you some tea?”

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth twitch up. “You’ve been spending too much time with Jin-hyung, huh?”

Jimin huffs, feigning offense. 

“He doesn’t know yet, by the way,” Yoongi sighs. “I’ll tell him later, but for now I’m going back to bed.”

“Want me to cuddle with you?” Jimin offers, and Yoongi shakes his head, aiming a cough into the crook of his arm. 

“Thanks for the offer, but maybe later.”

Jimin follows him down the hall anyway, stopping by Jungkook’s room to grab a spare box of tissues. He hovers as Yoongi climbs into bed– his fussing eerily similar to Seokjin’s– and only leaves after he’s sure Yoongi is comfortable.

*

In the afternoon, the whole house is quiet. 

Yoongi is napping in his own room, and Hoseok and Namjoon are napping in Hoseok’s room.

Seokjin seems to be missing until Jungkook checks his room and sees that he’s asleep in his bed, sprawled out like he flopped down and was too tired to move. Jungkook can hear that his breathing is labored and stuffy, and his chest tightens with concern. It’s all because of him, after all, that everyone in the house ended up getting sick. 

“I’m sorry, Hyung,” Jungkook whispers as he tugs a blanket over Seokjin’s sleeping form. 

Sun is shining through the windows, bright and cheery, when Jungkook goes back out to the living room to find Jimin and Taehyung.

“Jin-hyung is sleeping,” he tells them. “And I’m pretty sure he’s sick now.”

“Well, I guess it’s up to us now to take care of the hyungs,” Taehyung says. “They took care of us. Really sucks that all of us got this cold, but I guess that’s kinda how it always goes, huh?” 

“Sharing is caring?” Jungkook grins sheepishly, holding out his hands until Jimin and Taehyung laugh and roll their eyes. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon quietly taking care of their sick hyungs and playing video games, and the day passes with surprising calmness. None of the four sickies are feeling well enough to do much other than nap, and the fact that it's a weekend seems to help with any lingering guilt about missing out on work after a week of so much missed already.

Jimin checks in on Seokjin twice, each time finding him more deeply asleep than before.

The second time, he presses his palm to Seokjin’s forehead the same way Seokjin always does for them, frowning at the slight warmth there. He pulls the blanket a little higher over his shoulders, sets a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand, and tiptoes back out.

“He’s definitely sick,” he reports when he rejoins Taehyung and Jungkook in the living room.

Jungkook frowns, feeling guilty all over again, but Taehyung pats his knee.

“Hey,” he says softly. “No blaming yourself. It’s not like we tried to avoid cuddling with each other. This was basically inevitable.”

Still, Jungkook frowns and buries his face into Taehyung’s shoulder. “I just hate that I really stressed hyung out this week,” he says. 

“I think hyung would be stressed if he knew that you’re feeling guilty about that,” Jimin says gently, rubbing Jungkook’s back. “As long as you give him lots of cuddles when he’s suffering, he’ll be just fine.” 

A couple of hours later, Jungkook has made a run to the pharmacy for a restock, Taehyung has picked up a few extra neglected chores, and Jimin has offered his cuddling services to all four sick hyungs, and the house falls quiet again by the time the sun starts to set.

*

“What should we make for dinner?” Jimin asks Taehyung and Jungkook. “Any ideas?”

“I think,” Taehyung replies, “that we should order takeout for dinner.”

Jungkook nods. “Not a bad idea.”

Jimin laughs, relieved he doesn’t have to cook. “Takeout it is. I’ll place an order now.”

They decide on a restaurant and order more than enough food for the seven of them. When the food arrives, they plate it up and arrange it on trays with water and tea and orange juice before carrying it to their sick hyungs.

Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi have all taken over Seokjin’s bed, but Seokjin is nowhere to be found. Once they’ve delivered food and make sure their three hyungs have everything they need, they go in search of their eldest hyung.

They find Seokjin in Namjoon’s bed– which makes sense, since his room is a bit crowded.

Seokjin is clearly not feeling well, but they decide not to address it just yet.

“We brought you dinner,” Jimin says, climbing into bed next to Seokjin. “Everyone else has already eaten.”

Seokjin sniffles wetly, taking a moment to respond. He looks like he’s still in the process of waking up after a long sleep, his eyes puffy and his face slack. Jungkook props a pillow between his back and the headboard and Taehyung arranges a variety of drinks on the nightstand within Seokjin’s reach.

“Thank you,” Seokjin finally says, his voice cracking. “You’re sure everyone else has already eaten? What about–?”

“Yes, Hyung,” Jimin interrupts. “Everyone else ate. We just ordered food, so it’s nothing special, but hopefully there’s something here that looks good?” He hands Seokjin a pair of chopsticks and nudges a bowl of rice closer on the tray. 

Seokjin picks at the food, sniffling frequently. Taehyung hands him a tissue and Seokjin doesn’t even seem to realize that all three of them are watching him as he wipes his nose with it.

“Do you want some tea, Hyung?” Jimin asks, reaching out to brush Seokjin’s hair back from his forehead. His palm lingers for a moment before sliding down to the side of his face, his thumb brushing back and forth across the apple of Seokjin’s cheek.

In the end, Seokjin only has a few sips of tea and less than half of his food before he declares he’s done, but eating seems to give him a boost of energy. 

“I should go check on the others,” he says, surprising them. He grabs the tray and starts gathering everything up, too fast for any of them to help before he’s carrying it out of the room.

“We already checked on everyone,” Jimin calls out after him, but he knows it’s pointless to try and stop him now.

He trails out after Seokjin, with Taehyung and Jungkook right behind him. Seokjin sets the tray on the kitchen counter before going to find Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok in the living room, where they’re watching a movie together. 

“How are you all feeling?” He asks them, eyeing the crumpled tissues and half-empty mugs on the coffee table in front of them. “Did you all eat already?” 

Namjoon pauses the movie and nods. “Yep. The maknaes took care of ordering dinner tonight, so we’ve already had food.”

While Seokjin interrogates, Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s hand and pulls him to the kitchen.

“We have to clean everything up before Jin-hyung tries to do it,” he whispers. “Let’s hurry.”

In record time, Taehyung and Jungkook clean up the kitchen, box up the leftover food for the fridge, and wipe down the counters until they’re sparkling. They manage to sneak back out to the living room just in time to hear Jimin convince Seokjin to head back to his room to rest, claiming that he and Taehyung and Jungkook are going to do the same.

“Good idea,” Taehyung nods, throwing his arm around Jimin’s shoulder. “We can all turn in early tonight.”

“We’re going to bed as soon as this movie is done,” Yoongi promises, smiling up at Seokjin.

“That’s good,” Seokjin murmurs absently, rubbing at his nose. “Okay, then. Get some rest, everyone.”

All six of them are left shocked when that’s all they get from Seokjin– no more fussing, no protest. He just turns and heads back to his room, moving sluggishly and sniffling the whole way. 

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” Hoseok asks once they hear his bedroom door close. “Think he’ll be okay?”

“Of course,” Jimin replies confidently. “He’ll probably just need a little…encouragement to rest once he accepts it tomorrow.”

Namjoon reaches for a tissue and blows his nose. “Want to watch the rest of this movie with us?” he offers, looking at Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook over his tissue. 

“Sure,” Jungkook responds, watching as Hoseok grabs a tissue next. “But first, I think we better get a few more boxes of tissues out here.”

Sunday

Seokjin finally succumbs to the unavoidable shared cold just when the weekend is reaching its end.

Truthfully, he’s been fighting off the cold for much longer, but it’s on Sunday afternoon as he’s sitting on the edge of his bed checking his emails on his phone when he feels it all hitting him at once– a sore throat, a runny nose, the sense of dread he feels at having to cancel yet more meetings and practices and events. 

“Shit,” he whimpers to himself, allowing himself to curse. Allowing himself to wallow for just a moment in self-pity, because, shit. This really sucks.

“Fuck,” Seokjin adds, wincing at how hoarse his voice already is. 

He presses both hands against his face, groaning softly and preparing himself for what lies ahead. He’ll need to let the others know. He should take some medicine, to lessen the symptoms. He’ll definitely have to call the company to discuss schedules and rearrange some things on the calendar. 

What Seokjin wants, though, is to curl up in his bed and pull the blankets over his head and pretend like he’s not sick. Maybe he can just sleep it off. Maybe he can keep fighting it for just a little–

A harsh sneeze rips its way out of him, painful and wet. Uncomfortable. The thought of his poor dongsaengs, all six of them, having to go through this is more than Seokjin’s heart can handle at the moment, and he feels his eyes welling up with tears as he lifts his blanket and curls up on his bed and squeezes his eyes shut.

Just a little sleep. Just a little longer.

*

“How long has your throat been bothering you, Hyung?” Jimin asks, startling Seokjin as he sips on a glass of water at the kitchen table that evening, wincing with every swallow.

“Probably since Thursday, when Hobi-hyung said his throat hurt and Jin-hyung whispered “same”,” Jungkook shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on him.” He wraps a blanket around Seokjin’s shoulder and then wraps his arms around him from behind so he can’t shrug it off.

“You’re mishearing things,” Seokjin huffs, wiggling around weakly in Jungkook’s hold. 

Taehyung sets a mug of tea down in front of Seokjin. “Drink this, Hyung. It’ll help your throat a lot.”

“You can go back to bed, Hyung,” Jungkook murmurs. “We’ll take care of everything.” 

“I haven’t even started making dinner yet,” Seokjin huffs. The thought of standing and even just walking to the kitchen makes his legs feel shaky.

“Tae is already on it,” Jimin tells him. “Do you want to go to your room, or to the couch?”

Seokjin doesn’t even reply. He just stands and lets Jungkook guide him down the hallway. It doesn’t feel right to have the youngest members taking care of him, the eldest member– but it feels necessary, considering how exhausted he is currently. 

Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok are already sleeping in Seokjin’s bed, each of them snoring away. It’s a tight fit, but Seokjin crawls in next to Namjoon and curls around him easily, face buried in Namjoon’s shoulder. Jimin tucks him in alongside the other three, smoothing the blankets over them until Seokjin settles into sleep, his breathing evening out into soft snores that are drowned out by the congested breathing of the others. 

“They sound so miserable,” Jimin frowns sadly.

“Are the four of them really going to snore like this all night? How are they not waking each other up?” Taehyung asks.

“They need a humidifier,” Jungkook decides. “I’ll go get mine and bring it in here. Turn them so they’re lying on their sides instead of their backs.” 

When Jungkook returns with his humidifier, he finds that his four sick hyungs have been maneuvered to face each other– now Namjoon and Seokjin are chest to chest, while Yoongi and Hoseok are curled around each other, Yoongi’s head tucked under Hoseok’s chin. 

“They’re still snoring,” Taehyung whines.

“That’s just Joonie-hyung. He might not stop.” 

Jimin checks his phone. “I’m setting a timer for their next dose of medicine. We can wake them up for food, give them meds, and then put them back to bed.”

Jungkook’s hand settles on Seokjin’s forehead. “Poor Hyung,” he whispers. “He took really good care of all of us.”

Jimin gives a small smile. “And we’ll take good care of him, too.”

*

“What are we doing this week?” Jimin asks, staring at the calendar in confusion.

It’s nearly midnight and the three youngest members of the household are gathered in the kitchen before bed.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung replies, equally perplexed. “Jin-hyung usually does the calendar, but he erased everything for the rest of the month. How long did he think we were all gonna be sick?”

“Don’t you two ever look at the other calendar?” Jungkook asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

Jimin and Taehyung turn to face him. “What other calendar?” 

“The shared one. Everyone puts their stuff in it?” Jungkook spins his phone around to show the screen. “All of our meetings and other work stuff, plus practices and lessons and everything? How do you not know about it?”

Jimin grabs the phone, eyes going wide. “How long has this existed?”

“I just found out about it like a year ago,” Jungkook says. “But probably since debut. How do you think hyung keeps track of everything? He just likes to write it out so we can see it easier.” 

Taehyung gulps. “Uh, that’s a shared calendar? Like, with the whole company?” 

Jungkook smirks. “Yes, Hyung. Everyone knows about your Friday night anime marathons and your online book club.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff on this calendar for tomorrow morning,” Jimin says, still looking at Jungkook’s phone. 

“Guess we should head to bed, then,” Jungkook replies, hiding a yawn behind a fist. “It’s getting late.”

“Or we could stay up and watch something on TV?” Taehyung suggests.

“I mean…” Jimin looks between Taehyung and Jungkook. “We might as well call in sick tomorrow too, right? Someone needs to be here to take care of the hyungs.” 

Jungkook nods. “Good idea. Maybe Tuesday, too.”

“It won’t be hard to catch up on stuff,” Taehyung adds. “We’ll be back to work in a few days.”

Their decision made, the three maknaes head to the living room, piling onto the couch and pulling blankets into their laps. 

That’s where they all fall asleep a few hours later, and that’s where Hoseok finds them on Monday morning when he shuffles out of Seokjin’s room in a half-awake daze.

For a moment, he just stares blearily at them, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Then, he shuffles into Jimin’s room and pulls the comforter off his bed, dragging it back out to drape it over the three of them, tucking it gently around their sleeping forms. 

“Yeah, but we could cover for you today,” Jun insisted for at least the tenth time since the performance team had gotten in the car. The four of them had gotten a late start time for practice that day, one everyone was pretending had nothing to do with the terrible chest cold their dance captain was struggling to fight off. It had been nearly a week with no sign of improvement, and it was impossible to keep Soonyoung still for any longer. Thus, the managers had finagled a few extra hours rest disguised as unit responsibilities. “We know the choreo just as well. Let us demonstrate, and you can just give corrections…”

Soonyoung held up a hand to silence him. “Junnie, I recognize what you’re trying to do. All of you. I’m grateful you’re looking out for me. But you need to let me do this, okay?” His eyes moved slowly around the car, freezing on each member until they nodded their assent. “I’m going to be alright.”

“Oh, what do you know, that completely reassured me,” Minghao scoffed. “Hyung, I can barely hear you and we’re sitting three feet away from each other, if that.”

“Well…” Soonyoung winced at the sound of his own voice. He knew it was a wreck, raw from coughing, croaky and grating from the lingering congestion. Still… Soonyoung snapped his fingers. “How about your job today is to keep everyone quiet so my voice doesn’t get worse then, huh?” he shot back. Minghao exchanged a wide-eyed look with Chan, then Jun, genuinely heartened by the performance leader’s quick quip. He’d been lacking that sense of wit the past few days. Maybe… no. They couldn’t let him off that easy. 

“You are insufferable, hyung,” Chan commented, shaking his head as he settled back into his seat just as the car turned into the company building’s parking garage. 

“Idiotic is more like it,” Minghao replied gravely. 

“I would say idealistic,” Jun countered. 

“Let’s hope I’m all those things, and invincible too.” Soonyoung grinned a mile wide behind his mask as the car came to a stop. 

*

Much to his chagrin, Soonyoung was not as invincible as he’d hoped. It took only half an hour for things to go downhill. The medicine he’d taken that morning seemed to wear off hours before its time. The overhead fluorescent lights and echoing acoustics swiftly began to hurt his head, the constant up and down out of his chair transformed into aching joints and muscles and bones before he knew it, and the urge to cough went from every few minutes to every few breaths. Try as he might, Soonyoung couldn’t escape the reality that he’d pushed himself back too soon. But, stubborn as he was, the performance captain wasn’t going to admit defeat. He was Kwon Fucking Soonyoung, Hoshi of Seventeen, a fearsome tiger, and he wasn’t about to bend to a stupid cold. 

It was, however, hard to command the room without a voice. 

“Guys!” Soonyoung’s voice was little more than a rasp at this point, and did nothing to quell the wave of noise coming from the members. Mingyu was asking Chan about the fast footwork, with Minghao chiming in. Jun was walking Seungcheol and Jihoon through the pattern of a trick and lift section that had both of the other leaders skeptical. Seungkwan and Wonwoo were working through a section together, while Joshua and Hansol ran a completely different section, and, although both groups were relatively quiet, their voices added to the cacophony. Seokmin was arguing, loudly, with Jeonghan about God knew what.

“Hey!” Soonyoung tried again, but his voice came out even weaker than before. He attempted to clear his throat, but just that simple action spawned a coughing fit that had him bent at the waist, gasping. On a shaky exhale that brought him back to standing, Soonyoung noticed that all eyes were on him. “Huh. That’s all I had to do for your attention?” His voice was little more than a frog’s croak. 

“Oh, baby…” 

Soonyoung held up a hand to stop Jeonghan from pulling him into a hug. “Please, hyung. I’m working right now.” He leveled a glare around the room, trying to regain a semblance of authority. “And to do that, I really need silence.” 

“Got it!” Seokmin yelled, performing a perfect salute that Mingyu mimicked. It did, admittedly, make Soonyoung smile. 

“Agreed. I know everyone’s just trying to be helpful, but how about we focus on Hoshi’s teaching now, and ask clarifying questions later,” Seungcheol instructed, leader mode activated. “That way we can get him home faster.”

“Wait…”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Jihoon asked, a devilish glint in his eyes. Soonyoung glared back at him. “We,” the producer gestured to himself and the other eleven members, “have an extra two hours of rehearsal tonight to solidify this choreo in our muscle memory. And you get to go home and sleep an extra two hours. Isn’t that fun?” The cheeky smirk on Jihoon’s face did not scream ‘fun’ to Soonyoung, but he didn’t have the voice to waste on saying that. He settled for a harsh glare instead. 

“It’s for your own good, Youngie,” Jun chimed in. Something about his face calmed Soonyoung’s rage at the other leaders’ machinations. “Just think. Hao, Channie, and I will make sure everything is squeaky clean, while you get to go home, shower, and spend enough quality time with a humidifier to hopefully kick this bug’s ass. Win, win for everyone!”