#caretaker reader

You sighed and moved closer. “Of course he did.”

Theo guided Keeho toward your car while you opened the back door. The moment you tried to help him inside, Keeho stiffened like a man possessed.

“Woah woah woah,” he said loudly. “Absolutely not.”

You paused. “Keeho, get in the car.”

He pointed a shaky finger at you, eyes narrowed with drunken conviction. “Ma'am, I am already taken,” he announced. “And I will not get into a mysterious vehicle with a stranger.”

Theo doubled over laughing.

You clenched your jaw. “Keeho...get your ass into the car now.”

He leaned closer, squinting at you as if the answer might suddenly appear. Then he snorted.

“I see,” he said. “You are very dangerous.”

You stared at him.

“A siren,” he continued, nodding to himself. “A beautiful siren. Trying to lure me into your shiny metal trap.”

Theo wheezed behind you.

You turned and shot Theo a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He only laughed harder.

“Not today Satan,” Keeho said firmly. “I am strong. I am loyal. I will not be seduced.”

“Get in now!” you repeated through your teeth.

He crossed his arms. You did not argue anymore. You grabbed him by the jacket, shoved him onto the backseat, and shut the door before he could protest again. The sound echoed like victory.

Theo wiped tears from his eyes. “Text me when you're home.”

You flipped him off and got into the driver’s seat.

As soon as you pulled away, Keeho started talking.

He babbled about the music being too loud, about someone stealing his drink, about how proud he was of himself for resisting imaginary temptations. He asked you your name three times and decided each answer was suspicious. At some point he declared the car seats very judgmental.

Ten minutes later, his voice softened. His words slurred into nonsense. His head tipped to the side. He fell asleep mid sentence.

The city lights blurred past while the car filled with quiet. You glanced back once and shook your head.

When he woke up, the world looked different to him. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the softer light. He shifted, groaning.

“…My head...what the-”

You glanced at him through the mirror. “Rise and shine.”

He frowned, then really looked at you. Recognition bloomed like sunrise.

“Y/n,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He sat up a little straighter, suddenly sheepish. “Where did you come from?” he asked. “I swear you weren’t there before.”

You laughed despite yourself and kept driving, already knowing tomorrow would be worse.

Theo

It was well past midnight when the noise dragged you out of sleep. A soft thud, followed by metal scraping against metal, then a quiet curse that sounded far too polite to be an intruder.

You groaned, pushed yourself out of bed, and padded toward the door. The sound came again. Someone was very seriously negotiating with the lock.

When you opened the door, you found Theo standing there, jacket crooked, hair slightly undone, one hand gripping his keys like they had personally offended him. He stared at the lock with intense concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

He startled and looked up at you. His eyes widened, then softened immediately.

“Oh,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You blinked. “Theo?”

He frowned gently, studying your face like a puzzle he was too tired to finish. “I think I may be at the wrong door,” he said apologetically. “This keeps happening tonight.”

You glanced at the keys, then back at him. “Are you drunk?”

He paused, considering the question with care. “Yes,” he admitted. “I did have quite a bit to drink.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for his wrist. “Come inside before you wake the neighbors.”

He stumbled a little as you pulled him in, catching himself on the wall. He immediately straightened and smiled at you.

“Thank you,” he said warmly. “You’re very kind.”

He looked around the apartment like it was a museum. “But I should tell you,” he added, lowering his voice, “I am already in a very beautiful relationship.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s great, Theo. Now go to bed.”

He shook his head, suddenly very serious. “No, no. I’ll take the couch. It wouldn’t be right. I have a girlfriend.”

You guided him toward the bedroom anyway. He resisted gently, like a man trying to follow rules written in fog.

“Theo,” you said, patience thinning. “I am your girlfriend.”

He stopped walking. Blinked once. Then again.

“…You are?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.”

He leaned closer, squinting like before, then smiled slowly. “Well,” he said, “if you are, then she’s very beautiful.”

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. “Oh Good god."

You pushed him gently onto the bed. He landed with a soft bounce, grinning up at you.

“Wow,” he murmured.

You pointed at him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it with sudden sincerity. “I love her,” he said earnestly. “So much. I really hope you get to meet her one day.”

Your laugh came out softer this time. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You started helping him out of his jacket, then his shoes, moving carefully while he watched you with unfocused affection. He hummed quietly, completely relaxed now.

“Thank you,” he said again, eyes already drifting shut.

“For what?” you asked.

“For taking care of me,” he answered, smiling. “She does that too. She’s wonderful.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself, and pulled the blanket over him. He was asleep before you finished, still smiling like he’d solved something important at the very end of the day.

Jiung

The bar was already loud when you stepped inside, all warm lights and overlapping laughter, but Jiung’s voice cut through it easily. He sat between the others, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, talking with his hands like the world depended on it.

“And I’m telling you,” he said earnestly, “she’s beautiful. Like, unfairly beautiful. And pretty. And guys...the things she does in bed...”

You stopped short.

Keeho choked on his drink. Someone else laughed. Jiung kept going, completely unbothered.

“I mean, truly incredible,” he continued, nodding to himself. “I wake up and think, wow. That’s my life.”

Heat crept up your neck. You walked over and tipped his shoulder with the back of your hand. “Jiung,” you warned.

He turned around.

His eyes widened immediately, big and round, like a startled cat. He stared at you for a long second, then looked around at the others.

“Oh my god” he said slowly, pointing at you. “She looks exactly like my girlfriend.”

The table exploded into laughter.

Your shoulders dropped as the realization hit. He was gone. Completely drunk.

You sighed. “Hilarious, let's go”

He laughed, bright and musical, shaking his head. “I’m flattered,” he said kindly, patting your hand like you were a stranger with a bold proposal. “But I have a girlfriend.”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Of course you do.”

You grabbed his hand anyway and tugged him up. He stumbled to his feet, still laughing, and leaned back toward Keeho.

“Hyung,” he said seriously, gripping his sleeve. “If you see my girlfriend, tell her I tried to resist.”

Keeho was already crying laughing. “I’ll make sure she knows.”

“Thank you,” Jiung said solemnly. “I don’t want her mad. She’s very scary when she’s mad.”

You dragged him toward the door while the others waved you off, still amused. Outside, the cool night air hit his face and he sucked in a deep breath, blinking.

You stopped him under the streetlight and grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “Pull yourself together.”

He froze.

His eyes focused. His brows knit together. Then something clicked.

“…Wait,” he said softly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

A slow, radiant smile spread across his face. “Baby...it's you.”

Relief washed through you. “Finally.”

He laughed again, this time softer, happier, and leaned forward to press a sloppy, affectionate kiss to your lips. It was clumsy and warm and very drunk, but full of relief.

“There you are,” he murmured. “Why were you pretending to be yourself?”

You shook your head, smiling despite everything. “You embarrassed me in there.”

He giggled, resting his forehead against yours. “I was telling the truth,” he said proudly. “She’s amazing.”

You wrapped an arm around him and started guiding him down the street. He leaned into you easily now, recognition fully settled, steps still unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” he added after a moment. “I really thought you were a clone.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

He smiled at you again, eyes half closed, happiness unmistakable. “I’m glad it was you who came,” he said. “I missed you. Even when I didn’t know it was you.”

Intak

Soul warned you the moment he stepped inside, one hand still steadying Intak by the shoulder.

“He had too much,” Soul said calmly. “A lot too much.”

You waved it off, already reaching for Intak. “I’ve got him.”

Intak blinked at you, eyes glassy but bright, lips curled into a lazy smile. He swayed where he stood, clearly enjoying the sensation of standing upright despite gravity’s objections.

Soul watched for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll go,” he said. “Good luck.”

The door closed, and you turned your full attention to Intak.

“Okay,” you said gently, voice automatically shifting into the tone reserved for children and drunks. “How about you put on your Pj's and go to bed huh?"

He nodded immediately. Very seriously. “Yes.”

You guided him toward the bedroom, hands hovering just in case. He shuffled obediently, humming to himself. Once you stopped him near the bed, you gestured at his jacket.

“All right. Let’s get you changed.”

He froze.

“Wait,” he slurred, holding up a finger. “Turn around.”

You laughed. “Why?”

He frowned, brows knitting together as if you had asked something outrageous. “Because,” he said slowly, “I am taken.”

You bit back another laugh. “You are?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Only my girlfriend can see me naked.”

“That’s very respectable of you,” you said, amused. “I’ll turn around.”

You faced the wall, arms crossed, still listening carefully. Behind you, there was some fumbling. Fabric rustled. A zipper made a tragic attempt at cooperation.

Then came a soft thump.

“Ouch,” Intak said dryly.

You turned around immediately. He was sitting on the floor, legs awkwardly folded under him, pants halfway undone, expression more surprised than hurt.

You sighed. “You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “The floor attacked me.”

You crouched down in front of him. “Let me help you.”

He immediately shook his head, trying to scoot back. “No, no. You said you’d turn around.”

“I won’t look,” you promised. “I’m also in a relationship.”

He paused. Considered this.

“Oh,” he said, brightening. “Okay then.”

You carefully helped him out of his pants, keeping your eyes very deliberately on the carpet. He relaxed instantly, shoulders dropping, trust absolute.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Once his legs were free, his head tipped forward. His eyes fluttered.

“Intak?” you asked.

He was already asleep.

You burst out laughing, quietly, as you eased him onto the bed. He didn’t stir as you removed the rest of his clothes, working around limbs that had gone pleasantly boneless. Every so often he mumbled something unintelligible, completely at peace.

You pulled a shirt over him, tugged the blanket up, and brushed his hair out of his face. He smiled in his sleep, like he’d won something.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered fondly.

He snored in response, loyal even in dreams.

Soul

Soul was never build for champagne.

You realized that somewhere between his third glass and the way his laughter started lagging half a second behind reality. Now you and Jongseob were practically carrying him out of the album launch party, one arm each, Soul’s feet doing their best impression of cooperation.

You glanced down at him, squinting. “How are you this drunk already?”

Jongseob adjusted his grip and sighed. “He didn’t eat anything.”

Soul giggled at that, head lolling forward. “That’s not true.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I had strawberries,” he said proudly, lifting a finger like he was presenting evidence.

You snorted. “Those were in the champagne.”

He paused. Thought about it. Then laughed again, delighted. “Oh.”

The night air hit you as the doors closed behind you. It was cooler outside, quieter, the city humming instead of shouting. Jongseob pulled out his phone.

“I’ll get a cab,” he said. “Don’t let him fall asleep.”

“Great,” you muttered. “No pressure at all.”

Jongseob stepped away, already tapping at his screen. You stayed with Soul, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back, the other steadying his arm.

“Eyes open, Soldier,” you murmured.

He groaned softly and lifted his head, eyes half open, unfocused. He looked at you like you were a very pleasant dream.

“You’re like really cute,” he said.

You smiled faintly. “Aww thanks.”

He tilted his head. “Have we… met before?”

You froze for a beat, then realized the glassy confusion behind his eyes. Alcohol was steering the wheel now.

You nodded. “Yeah. We met before.”

His face lit up with quiet satisfaction. “Ha! I thought so.”

He studied you carefully, then nodded again. “You’re pretty.”

You laughed under your breath and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Soul.”

“But,” he added solemnly, “I’m in a relationship.”

“You don't say,” you said gently.

He seemed relieved, like he’d passed an important moral test. Then his foot caught on nothing at all and he stumbled sideways.

You reacted instantly, bracing him as he bumped into you. He clutched at your shoulder, arm draping around you naturally, weight leaning in.

He went very still.

“…Y/n,” he said.

You looked down at him. “What?”

His eyes sharpened just a little, recognition flickering on like a shy light. He squinted at you, then smiled, soft and surprised.

“How did you get here so fast?” he asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Unbelievable.”

He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours, still smiling like he’d just solved a magic trick. You kissed his cheek quickly, fond and practiced, and kept him upright.

“Jongseob,” you called out, voice carrying into the night. “Where is the damn taxi?”

Jongseob waved from across the curb. “Two minutes!”

Soul hummed contentedly, cheek warm where you kissed it, arm still secure around your shoulders. He relaxed again, drunk logic satisfied, trusting you completely.

You shook your head, rubbing his back as the city lights blurred softly around you.

Jongseob

The club was loud enough to rattle your bones, but Jongseob’s absence was louder. You checked the bar, the dance floor, the corners where conversations went to hide. Nothing. A familiar itch of worry settled in your chest.

You pushed through the back door and found him outside.

He leaned against the wall, cigarette dangling from his lips, posture loose and dramatic like he had rehearsed this moment. The neon light caught his face just right, eyes glassy, smile lazy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked.

He looked at you slowly, then grinned. “Being cool,” he said. “Like those guys in movies.”

You stared at him for half a second before reaching forward and pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. “You hate smoking.”

He nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

Then he paused, squinted at the cigarette in your hand, and pointed at himself. “But I look really hot doing it.”

He swayed a little as if to prove his point, then coughed, bending forward with a rough laugh.

You chuckled despite yourself. “Yeah, very cool. Go drink some water.”

He straightened and waved you off. “I’m fine.”

You crossed your arms. “Are you sure about that?”

He nodded firmly, eyes closing for a second as he tried to keep the world steady. “You sound like my girlfriend.”

Your smile faltered.

You looked at him more closely then, at the unfocused way his gaze slid past your face instead of landing. He didn’t recognize you. He was gone-gone.

Before you could say anything, his expression changed. His hand flew to the wall and he turned sharply away.

You followed him instinctively, one hand already rubbing his back as he threw up, shoulders shaking. You sighed softly, not surprised at all.

“yeah,” you said gently. “You drink, then you smoke, then this.”

He groaned miserably, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stayed bent forward for a moment, breathing slowly, the night air cooling his flushed face.

Then he lifted his head.

He blinked once. Then again.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice small. “Y/n”

You softened instantly. “Hey.”

He said your name quietly, like saying it anchored him back into his body. “I don’t feel so good.”

You nodded. “I know.”

You took his hand, warm and slightly trembling, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Let’s go home now.”

He didn’t argue. He leaned into you instead, trusting, exhausted, embarrassment already creeping in around the edges of sobriety.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you guided him away from the wall. “I tried to be cool.”

You smiled and pressed your thumb into his palm. “You don’t need cigarettes for that.”

You’re at his side in seconds, pressing your palm to his forehead, then his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, eyes fluttering shut.

“I told you I’m okay,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he nudges closer.

“You’re warm,” you say softly. “And you sound awful.”

He gives a weak laugh. “Awful? That hurts.”

“You know what I mean.” You brush his hair back carefully, fingers slow and gentle. “You overdid it again.”

He shrugs slightly. “It was fun.”

It always is for him. Performing, giving everything, pouring himself into every note. And then he comes home and crashes.

You help him sit up, tucking the blanket properly around his shoulders. He watches you the whole time, eyes soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You didn’t have to rush over,” he says quietly.

“I wanted to.”

That makes him smile for real this time. Small. Fond. The kind he doesn’t show to cameras.

You disappear into the kitchen and come back with warm tea and medicine. He makes a face at the pills.

“Don’t start,” you warn gently.

He sighs dramatically, but opens his mouth when you hold them out. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”

“And you’re stubborn when you’re sick.”

He swallows the medicine and takes the tea from your hands. His fingers brush yours on purpose, lingering.

When you sit beside him, he doesn’t hesitate. He carefully shifts until his head is in your lap, blanket pulled up to his chin. He looks up at you like you hung the stars.

“You’re really staying?” he asks.

You stroke your fingers through his hair again, slow and rhythmic. “As long as you need.”

He hums, content, eyes slipping shut. His hand finds yours and squeezes gently.

“You know,” he murmurs sleepily, “being sick isn’t that bad.”

You frown down at him. “Don’t you dare say that.”

He smiles against your thigh. “Because you take care of me like this.”

Your fingers pause for a second, then resume, softer than before. “I’ll take care of you even when you’re not sick.”

“I know,” he whispers.

And he does.

Within minutes, his breathing evens out, warm and steady against you. You keep playing with his hair, thumb brushing lightly over his temple. The apartment is quiet, peaceful. The world outside can wait.

Right now, it’s just him resting safely in your lap.

And the tiny, sleepy smile still on his face tells you he’s exactly where he wants to be.

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