#appendicitis fic

“Darry?”

Darry’s only reply is another dry heave that shakes his entire body. “Darry how long you been in here,” Soda whispers as he crouches down next to him, a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. It seems like a decade has passed before Darry finally gets a break from throwing up, leaning against the bathtub.

“I don’t know, been here since one,” Darry says in a low voice sounding like he’s been gargling gravel for the whole twenty years of his life. Soda stands and fills a cup in the sink.

“Here drink some of this an’ let’s get you back to bed.” Soda guides the glass to Darry’s lips and allows him to take a few shaky sips. “Alright Dar, up you get.”

With his arm around his shoulders, Soda helps Darry stand up and take a few steps towards the door. “Wait Soda I’m gon-“ Darry darts out of Soda’s arms and back in front of the porcelain, throwing up the little water he was able to drink. Breaking out of his trance, Soda kneels beside Darry, a steadying hand on his back.

“Shit Dar, you’re real sick huh?” With one last heave, Darry drops his head onto the rim of the toilet. He sucks in a deep breath and leans into Soda’s shoulder. In Soda’s surprise, and sort of horror, Darry starts to shake with silent sobs where he leans against him. “Shhhh big brother, you’re okay shhhhhh,” he whispers against Darry’s temple, “I’ve gotcha, you’re gonna be alright.”

Fat tears roll down Darry’s cheeks, whimpers escaping his lips before he can stop them. “I ain’t been this ‘ick since Mama and Pa were alive,” he whimpers out as a wave of pain sends him doubling over.

Soda looks up, blinking away tears, then shakes his head and continues to move his hand over Darry’s back and between his shoulder blades. Darry stops crying and wipes the tears from his face. “Alright let’s get you to bed.”

Soda once again hoists Darry up, wrapping his arm around his shoulders as they make their way toward the door. After an eternity, they make it to Darry’s bedroom where Soda deposits him on the bed. “I’m gonna go grab you some Pepto and some water, then we’ll get you to sleep.” Darry nods and buries himself under the covers.

“Soda?” Soda jumps as he closes the door and stares directly at Ponyboy, who has the blanket from their bed wrapped around his shoulders.

“Glory Pony you scared me. What are you doing up,” Soda asks in a hushed voice.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed so I wanted to see where you were.” Pony pauses, and looks towards the door to Darry’s room. “Is Darry okay?”

Soda sighs and heads towards the kitchen. “He’s pretty sick, said he’d been throwin’ up for about two hours before I woke up and found ‘im.” He reaches up into the cabinet and grabs the Pepto and a glass. Turning on the faucet, he fills the glass about halfway. “I’m probably gonna sleep in his room Pone, so you get on back to bed.”

Ponyboy scrunches his eyebrows together and lets out a small huff. “Like I’m not gonna check on him when he’s sick. And you can’t make me go back to bed.” Soda sighs and ushers Pony forward to open the door. The smell of vomit hits them immediately, then the sight of Darry hunched over a trash can on the bed.

“Aw shit Dar,” Soda whispers as he sets the water and the medicine on the nightstand, “you just can’t catch a break, huh?” Darry shakes his head, then heaves forward throwing up bile. “Pony go on and grab a wet washcloth, will ya?” Pony nods, and dashes out of the door.

With one last heave, Darry leans his head back as Pony returns with the washcloth. He wipes it down his cheeks before laying it across his forehead. “That’ll help the fever I know you got with how flushed your face is.”

“Thanks kid, now y’all get on back to bed,” Darry says as he lies down fully. Soda rolls his eyes and gets into bed with Darry, with Pony following right behind. “What do y’all think you’re doing?”

“Well I ain’t gonna leave ya alone, am I,” Soda asks as he settles next to Darry under the covers. Darry smiles a little and shifts to give his brothers more room. “Now you get some rest and don’t worry about nothing.”

Soda didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Darry was out like a light.

Soda woke up two hours later to an empty bed and the sound of vomiting filling his ears. Ripping the covers off of himself, Soda runs to the bathroom to a scene he knew he would find. Ponyboy has his hands on Darry’s shoulders, squeezing them every once in a while, and Darry is perched in front of the toilet.

“Pony?”

Ponyboy looks up and Soda and gives him a sad little smile, indicating they’d been in there awhile. “It's been nonstop for an hour,” Pony whispered, his hands never moving from their position on Darry’s shoulders. Soda sighed and filled a cup in the sink, with the hope he’d be able to get Darry to drink some.

Darry leaned his body in Pony, going almost limp against him. “Dar, honey, do you think you could drink some water for us,” Soda pleaded, putting on his best puppy dog eyes he could muster up. Darry shook his and whimpered, a sharp cramp seizing his insides in a vice grip.

“I’ll jus’ throw it up again,” Darry murmured. Soda and Pony exchanged worried glances that seemed to communicate that they were thinking the same thing. Before either one of them could say anything, Darry was hit with a wave of pain that sent him doubling over.

Soda pops up and rushes over to Darry’s side, replacing Pony with himself. “Darry talk to me, what’s goin’ on?” The only response Darry can give is a low groan and a whimper. “Pony go call Two and tell him to get his ass over here, we’re taking him to the hospital.”

Pony goes to get up only to have a large hand wrap itself around his wrist. “Pone don’t please, no hospital ple-,”

Before finishing his sentence, Darry scooches forward and begins to throw up again, more violently than before. Ponyboy, who was always more inclined to listen to Soda over Darry, takes the opportunity to go and call Two-Bit.

Soda moves to be behind Darry, virtually having to hold him up as he expels stringy bile that gets caught on his lips. “Darry listen to me,” Soda started, “we gotta get you to the hospital. You ain’t been able to hold down anything since last night and even I know that ain’t good. I know you don’t want it but I’m worried about you so you’ve gotta do it.” Darry nodded his head and pulled back from the porcelain throne, leaning into Soda’s arms. Tears streamed down his face, a mixture of pain and frustration flowing with them.

After a few minutes of letting the tears flow, they heard the screen door open and slam shut, a good indication that Two-Bit had entered their house. Darry quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks and attempted to sit up, an attempt that fell short as he fell back into his original position.

“Damn Muscles, the kid wasn’t kiddin’ when he said you were knocked on your ass, “ Two-Bit whistled as he entered the bathroom. Darry used the little bit of energy he had left to flip him off, before leaning heavily into Soda. “Alright man, let's get you some help.”

Two-Bit crouched down and wrapped Darry’s arm around his shoulder, helping Darry to stand. Soda got up quickly and slotted himself on his other side as extra support. “Pony go open the back door of the truck so we can get him in.” Pony gave a fake salute as he ran outside to do what Soda asked.

“Small steps honey, go as slow as you need,” Two whispered to Darry, who already looked like he was about to keel over. A walk that should’ve taken a minute took almost ten as they kept pausing to let Darry breathe through the nausea. After what felt like forever, they finally got Darry into the truck, with Two-Bit staying in the back with him while Soda drove and Pony took the front seat.

The drive to the hospital was silent, minus the whimpers and groans of pain that escaped Darry’s lips despite Two’s steady hand in his and the other hand running fingers through his sweaty hair. The car lurched to a stop as Soda pulled up outside of the hospital. “Pony go get a nurse and a wheelchair so we don’t gotta walk him all the way in there,” Soda told Pony as he hopped out of the car. Ponyboy nodded and ran inside the hospital. “Dar, sit up for me so we can get you outta the car.” Soda looked at Darry and saw not his 20-year-old brother, but the 12-year-old who got the flu so bad their Mama made him stay in bed for a whole week. He looked miserable, with red eyes and pale cheeks.

Two-Bit nudged Darry to look up at him, stilling the hand in Darry’s hair. “It ‘urts to move Pepsi.” Darry’s voice was wavering and weak in a way Soda had never heard before. “Please I, I want Mom.” Soda fought the urge to open the floodgates and cry. He had never heard his big brother sound so small before, so scared. Before he could let the thoughts linger, Pony rushed outside with a nurse pushing a wheelchair.

“Alright, bud I know you ain’t wanna get up, but you gotta. Soda and I are right here to help ya,” Two told Darry. Darry gave him a little nod and worked to sit up. “Just like that Superman, you got it.” With a great amount of effort, Two-Bit and Soda were able to get Darry out of the truck and into the wheelchair. The nurse took one look at him and immediately rushed him into a room in the ER.

Soda followed when another nurse stopped him, “Give the doctor time to look at him before you go in there, and I need you to fill out some paperwork for me.” Soda nodded and made his way into the waiting area. He had never been the one to fill out doctor’s paperwork, Darry was always doing it for them since their parents died. He couldn’t answer half of the questions, his brain drawing a blank at every turn.

“Family of Darrel Curtis?”

Soda jumped out of his chair faster than Pony at his track meets. “That’s us. How is he,” Soda asked, his voice wavering.

The nurse sighed and averted her gaze just a little. “Why don’t you boys follow me somewhere we can talk privately?” Her tone sent a shiver down everyone’s spine, a mix of sympathy and worry, with a hint of pity. She pointed to a small lounge area, with a round table with six chairs. The three boys sat on one side of the table, with Soda in the middle.

Soon after they got settled, an older doctor with thick glasses and hair grey like smoke walked in. “Hello boys, I’m Dr.Jones,” the man said leaning over and shaking each of their hands. “Now I’m not going to sugarcoat it, your brother is in pretty rough shape.” Soda gripped the edge of the table, trying to hide his shaking hands from the others.

“What’s wrong with him,” Ponyboy asked in a small voice, his fear and worry evident in how it wavered.

Dr.Jones sighed, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “Your brother has appendicitis, and it was pretty severe when you brought him in. You came at the right time, any later and his appendix would have burst.” Soda felt his heart stop. Appendicitis meant surgery, surgery meant recovery, and recovery meant pain; Soda didn’t think he could stand to see his big brother in pain again. “We need to take him into surgery.”

All three boys nodded, the gravity of the situation washing over them. “Can we go see him,” Two-Bit asks.

“You can, but only for a little bit.”

The boys stood up and followed the doctor down the hallway to Darry’s room. The room was white and quiet, except for the beep of the heart monitor. Darry lay motionless on the hospital bed, his head lying to one side. When Two-Bit closed the door, Darry opened his eyes and smiled just a little. “Hi baby,” Two whispered. Soda could tell he was trying to be quiet enough so that only Darry could hear him.

Two-Bit sat on the edge of the hospital bed and ran his fingers through Darry’s hair. “Two I hurt.” Two-Bit nods and twirls the strands of Darry’s ungreased hair around their fingers.

“I know you’re hurting, but the doctor will fix you up real good.” Darry hummed and tilted his head into Two-Bit’s hand. Soda walked over to the side of the bed opposite Two-Bit.

Darry lolled his head towards Soda, giving him a small smile before his eyes fluttered closed. “Hiya Dar, how ya feelin’?”

Darry shrugged and shook his head. “Lousy, but I ain’t throwing up anymore.” Soda chuckled and nodded his head in agreement. Ponyboy came and sat at the foot of the bed, his hand resting on Darry’s shin.

After a few minutes of chatting, the nurse, the same one from when they arrived at the hospital, walked into the room. “I hate to break up this party boys but we’ve gotta take Darrel into surgery.” The gang got up from the bed and watched as they wheeled Darry down the hall to the operating room.

Soda took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around Ponyboy’s shoulders. “Alright y’all, let's go to the cafeteria and get some food.”

After hours of waiting and eating silently, the boys sat in the waiting room. Two-Bit was picking at the skin on his fingers, Soda was pacing, and Ponyboy was slumped on Two’s shoulder fast asleep. “Family of Darrel Curtis?” All three boys sprung up and rushed over to the nurse.

“That’s us,” Soda says, “is he okay?”

The nurse smiled and nodded her head. “He’s doing just fine. The surgery went well and I can take you to his room.” The group all hummed their affirmatives and followed the nurse down the hallway. Soda opened the door and the room was a mirror image of the last one that Darry was in. The stark white walls, the lack of any good natural lighting, and the cold temperature.

Soda carefully perches himself on the edge of the bed, doing his best not to disturb Darry where he is sleeping. “He looks so peaceful,” Pony whispered from behind Soda. Soda wraps Darry’s hand in his, keeping one finger on his pulse. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sleep so soundly.”

Darry’s eyes flutter open, looking over to where his friends sit vigil next to his bed. Pony was the first to notice that Darry’s eyes were open, nudging Soda and Two-Bit to get their attention. “Hey Darry,” Ponyboy says in a low voice. Darry doesn’t answer him, he just looks at Pony and blinks. “You feeling okay?”

Darry shakes his head slightly, attempting to sit up. Soda can tell something is wrong by the way Darry’s whole body is shaking while trying to sit up. “I wanna go home. Soda I wan’ go home.”

Soda grabs Darry’s hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it. “I know you do, but you gotta recover first.” Darry nods his head in understanding, though a tear does slip out. Soda can’t tell if it is from pain or sadness, or perhaps it’s a mix of both. “Get some more rest Dar, we’ll all be here when you wake back up.”

Darry nods his head and lets his eyes slip closed. “Love you, little buddy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon pulls the thermometer out of his mouth. He looks down at the digital reading- 37.8. It’s not a terrible fever, but he wants a second opinion before making any decisions for the day. He carries the thermometer to his hyungs' room and knocks on the door. 

Seokjin answers, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He looks quizzically at Namjoon, looking the younger member up and down for any sign of distress. When he eyes the thermometer in hand, he forgoes any greeting and just invites Namjoon inside. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen. He must have already been downstairs with the others. “Hyung, I have a fever.” He shows Seokjin the thermometer, but the device has since turned off. He curses slightly under his breath and sticks the thermometer back under his tongue.

Seokjin rolls his eyes with a fond chuckle. He rushes to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste in his mouth while Namjoon fidgets with the buttons. When Seokjin returns, Namjoon’s taken a seat on the edge of his bed with the thermometer sticking out of his mouth. Seokjin takes in Namjoon’s appearance. He doesn’t look sick. Maybe he looks a little tired and worn out. But don't they all. But it’s odd. He knows Namjoon’s also not one to complain. So he assumes it must be serious. He places a hand on Namjoon’s forehead while they wait for the thermometer to beep. It's a little warm, but Seokjin’s not concerned. It could easily just be the leftover warmth from being tucked into bed.

The thermometer beeps and Namjoon pulls it out. 37.9. Again, a pretty low grade fever. Namjoon looks at the number dejected. Seokjin clicks his tongue, “I guess you do have a little bit of a fever, Joonie. Is anything else bothering you?” He doesn’t want to minimize Namjoon’s feelings. The leader came to him after all, presumably for help.

“Mmm, my stomach aches, a little, I think?” He clutches his stomach while he speaks. It really feels like minor complaints. But he can feel it in his gut. His intuition is telling him something's not right.

“Like you’re going to throw up?” Seokjin asks for clarification. He’s starting to assume Namjoon caught a stomach bug in the early stages. Arguably the best time to catch it.

Namjoon shakes his head, “More like cramps. It hurts, like aching.” There’s a whine in the leader’s voice that is categorically not Namjoon. “I’m just not feeling very good today, hyung.”

Seokjin’s torn. Namjoon’s not exhibiting any symptoms that would justify a day off. He’s pretty sure his parents have sent him to school with higher fevers in his youth. And they always have cramps and muscle aches from the choreography rehearsals. But Namjoon never over exaggerates. Namjoon has never overplayed symptoms to get a day off. He usually doesn’t even recognize his body might be trying to tell him something until it’s too late. Seokjin doesn’t know what he should do. “Namjoon-ah, do you want to stay back today?” He asks, realizing Namjoon never actually made any kind of request. Maybe Seokjin's got the leader’s objective all wrong.

“Of course not.” Namjoon admits vehemently, like the very idea offends him. He softens a bit before he continues. “But I don’t want to hold the group back. And if I'm sick, I might make trouble for you guys." 

“I’ll keep an eye on you, then.” Seokjin promises with a wide smile, “Just let me know if you start to feel any worse. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” Namjoon nods, returning the smile graciously. They both finish getting ready and leave with the rest of the group. 

The day starts off with a grueling 6 hour rehearsal. And it's not even the slow step-by-step breakdown rehearsal. It is a back-to-back full run through of all the songs in their set list rehearsal. The worst kind. But with concerts coming up, they need to be solid on all of their movements. They need to have every transition down. They need to have the positioning, posing, and posture all perfect. And if they don't, they'll run it through from the top. 

It's only been an hour and Namjoon's struggling to keep up. He's sweating more than he usually does during a full choreo run through. More than he does during a concert, even. He blames the fever. Of course it's intense choreo, it's hot in the studio, and he's wearing all black. But he knows the fever is to blame. Because despite everything, there's a faint chill deep in his bones. 

And the cramp-like feeling he acknowledged earlier is more intense. He wonders if he pulled a muscle or bruised himself. There's an ache deep in his lower belly that makes it impossible to stand up straight without yelping out in pain. He's really only moving his arms anymore. And taking baby steps from side to side. And even that little bit takes everything out of him. 

In one misstep, he manages to take out Taehyung and Yoongi in the formation. The song stops abruptly. Jimin and Hoseok help Taehyung and Yoongi off the floor and check for injuries. Thankfully there aren't any. Seokjin rushes to Namjoon's side, having witnessed the incident in the mirror. 

"Sorry, Tae. Sorry, Hyung." Namjoon apologizes, still hunched over and very much out of breath. "My fault." 

Taehyung's quick to brush it off with a swift “no harm done" and gets back into formation. Yoongi goes back to formation as well, ready to start the song over. But he eyes Namjoon suspiciously as he does. Whatever's going on, it seems Seokjin's in on it. 

Seokjin pulls Namjoon off to the side of the studio. He puts a hand on Namjoon's forehead and finds that he's burning up. His fever is way higher than it was back at the dorms. He's surprised it had spiked so much so quickly. "Namjoon-ah, you need to sit down." The older man strongly suggests. 

Namjoon takes a step but winces in pain. He presses his hands over the lower right side of his abdomen. Eventually, he finds his breath, the pain quelled for the time being. "I told you I didn't want to make trouble.” He complains, inching closer to the formation.

Seokjin’s ready to put his foot down about the situation. He’s ready to call a medic and have Namjoon escorted to the dorms, or the clinic if Namjoon’s really not feeling that well. “I really think you should-”

Namjoon cuts him off. “I'll be okay. I can manage." the leader replies through a clenched jaw. 

Seokjin doesn't believe it, not even for a second. They still have hours left of rehearsal. But Namjoon’s old enough to make his own decisions. And he’s wise enough to lead the members to the forefront of the global stage. Clearly, he must know what he’s doing. Seokjin bites his tongue. He does second guess his decision from that morning. Maybe he should have forced Namjoon to stay back at the first sign of illness. What was he thinking?

He comes to the resolution that Namjoon will wear himself out. He’s nearing his limit, then he’d be able to rest peacefully knowing he pushed himself as hard as he could. Seokjin wordlessly vows to pay closer attention to the leader as he hangs on to the last of his energy. To start, he doesn't let Namjoon rejoin the formation until he drinks at least half a bottle of water. He's sweating bullets from the fever. The last thing they need is for him to be dehydrated. 

No one asks any questions when Namjoon rejoins the formation. They can all see he's not at 100%, he’s barely pushing 50%. But Seokjin took care of it, whatever it is. So they unanimously and silently decide to go easy on him. They're all more mindful of their own positioning around Namjoon, making sure there's no further collisions when the leader doesn't move like he's supposed to. 

They're midway through the 15th song when Namjoon bends at the waist and heaves a puddle of water onto the floor. Again, the music stops abruptly but this time the members don't brush it off. Seokjin rushes to Namjoon, easing him to the floor as he continues to vomit heavily onto the polished hardwood. At first it’s just the water he drank. But it soon becomes everything he’s eaten in the last two days. 

"Alright, hyung. What's going on?" Yoongi seethes. He's clearly worried and it's manifesting into anger. "What are you not telling us?" 

Seokjin's rubbing circles into Namjoon's back. The puddle is growing larger by the second. And Namjoon's not showing any signs of slowing down anytime soon. Between heaves, Namjoon’s screeching out in pain, begging for help and relief. Jungkook swoops in with the studio trash bin and puts it under Namjoon's mouth in time for the next heave. He takes over holding onto Namjoon so Seokjin can address the frantic members. 

"He wasn't feeling too well this morning-" Seokjin starts.

"-And you told him to come to rehearsal?" Jimin interrupts, sounding absolutely horrified. It's a very un-Seokjin thing to do. Usually, Seokjin's all about doting on his dongsaengs and making sure they take care of themselves. "You knew he was sick and didn't make him stay back." 

"Jimin-ah, guys, I swear." Seokjin's quick to defend himself, "he didn't seem that sick. His fever was low. And he said he just felt cramps. I assumed it was just morning fatigue and he'd get over it." Seokjin feels the blame of the members, like skewers piercing through his heart 6 times over. He has disappointed his dongsaengs. He let Namjoon down. He crumbles under the weight of his own shame, collapsing onto his knees. He should have been a better hyung. "I didn't know he'd get so sick so fast." He sobs, "I'm sorry. I should have paid better attention." Tears pour freely from his eyes. "I'm so so sorry." 

No one offers Seokjin any sympathy. They all rush to tend to Namjoon. Yoongi noticies the positioning of Namjoon’s hands on his stomach and it triggers flashbacks for him. His mind wanders to their early debut days. He remembers the stomach pains, the fever spikes, and the rolling nausea. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, and his heart aches thinking it’s happening to his best friend. “He needs to go to the hospital. Right now. I think his appendix burst.” 

Jimin cringes at the mention, also having some residual traumatic feelings around Yoongi’s diagnosis and the pain Namjoon’s experiencing. But Jimin was never this bad. Thankfully, they caught his appendicitis early and were able to remove it before it ruptured. 

Taehyung runs to find a manager and explains the situation. In a matter of minutes, Namjoon is rushed to the hospital. EMTs come to the same conclusion that Yoongi drew and he was rushed to an emergency surgical procedure as soon as the ambulance skids to a stop at the trauma bay. 

Namjoon wakes up an indiscriminate time later in an unfamiliar room. He can’t remember anything after drinking water with Seokjin at practice. There’s clearly some pieces missing. He shifts to take in his surroundings and winces at a fresh pain in his side. When he takes a look, he sees the incision site and six neatly wound stitches holding two pieces of his skin together. Looking at it makes his skin crawl. 

“Hyung, don’t look at it.” Taehyung’s small voice fills the room, drowning out the beeping of the vitals monitor for a short while. Namjoon hadn’t even known the rest of them were in the room. He cranes his neck to look at them, trying to do everything he can to keep his torso still. 

“Welcome back, Joonie-hyung.” Jungkook greets with his wide bunny smile. They’re all huddled in the corner holding balloons, stuffed toys, get well cards, and a treats basket. For after he’s recovered, of course. “How are you feeling?” 

“Hurts,” Namjoon groans, “What happened?”

“Your appendix nearly ruptured.” Yoongi explains, “You had to have surgery to remove it.” 

“Surgery?” Namjoon slurs, glancing back at the scar above his hip. “Was everything okay?” 

Hoseok chuckles fondly, stepping closer to Namjoon. “Everything went fine. You’ll be good as new in a few weeks. You’re pretty lucky, Joonie. You could have really hurt yourself today.” He holds onto one of Namjoon’s hands. “You need to tell someone when you really aren’t feeling well.” 

Namjoon glances in Seokjin’s direction. The older man looks down, avoiding any kind of eye contact. “I did tell someone.” He remarks. The air in the stuffy hospital room fills with tension. 

Jimin feels the tension like an elephant sitting on his shoulders. He corrals the members, Seokjin excluded. “Come on, we should give them some space.” He whispers to the members. But out loud he announces they are going to the cafeteria. He says he’ll pick something up for Seokjin and recalls that this hospital has the best rice pudding for Namjoon. 

Seokjin and Namjoon are left alone in the room. They can both feel the awkward air between them. It’s a few minutes before either of them breaks the silence. 

“Namjoon, I-” 

“Hyung, wha-” 

They both try to speak at the same time. “Sorry, you first.” Seokjin recedes immediately. 

“I told you I didn’t feel good today.” Namjoon scolds, “I told you I didn’t want to make trouble for the group.”

Seokjin bites his tongue. It’s not often that Namjoon speaks to him in a scolding manner. Even though he’s the leader, he’s usually gentler toward the hyungs. Yoongi excluded, those two can go at each other’s throats. He wants to bite back that Namjoon also told him he didn’t want to skip rehearsal. And that he said he’d be fine to continue. But Seokjin knows he’s in the wrong. Everything Namjoon had said to him was muddled with fever and pain. He never should have listened to him. “You’re right, Joonie. I should have taken you to the doctor as soon as you told me you didn’t feel good. This is my mistake.” He admits, daring to move closer. He wants Namjoon’s comfort, though he isn’t sure he deserves it. 

“You said you’d take care of me.” Namjoon’s breath hitches as he continues, wiping at his eyes. He doesn’t cry, but he wants to. Deep down he knows it’s not Seokjin’s fault. Since it was his appendix, he knows he would have ended up in the hospital regardless. Resting for the day wouldn’t have solved anything. But he still hurts. He trusted his hyung to guide him, to take care of him. 

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate anymore, he rushes right in and consoles Namjoon. He rubs the younger’s shoulder gently. “Oh, Namjoon-ah.” He shushes, “I will always take care of you.” Namjoon leans into his hyung’s touch. He shouldn’t take it out on Seokjin. He can never stay mad at his hyung for too long. “I’ll do better. I’ll be with you while you recover, until you’re all better. Promise.” 

Namjoon likes the sound of that, “Hyung, I’m tired.” 

“Then sleep,” Seokjin squeezes himself onto the edge of the hospital bed. He doesn’t jostle Namjoon’s body but manages to wrap an arm around the leader’s shoulders. Namjoon rests his head against Seokjin’s shoulder and falls asleep before the other members return with food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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the uni crew is hilarious. max actually goes by max emilian in uni but he forget to change his groupme name so the first time they made a group chat the others were like "why does it say max V" and he panicked.

(max told them who he was and they decided to make it a running gag that noooo that's not max verstappen, that's just max, he just looks really similar hahaha)

so whenever he shares a racing anecdote they're all like "yeah, sure you did 'max verstappen'"

it's surprisingly good for him.

max and charles having the same argument three times in five minutes is so them 😭 bickering is a love language and they're both fluent.

lewis knew GP was going to fear of god charles which is exactly why he brought up marriage.

charles is going to put an airtag on max. every time he looks away something happens

I think I am the only person to write lorenzo and nico into a scene together LMAO