#feveruary

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

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

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

You sigh. It’s no use.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We really do.”

1. "Don't get too close." 2. "You're going to get yourself hurt." 3. Migraine 4. Whiny Sickie 5. "I told you to wear something warm!" 6. Flu Shot 7. "Did you seriously think I wouldn't notice?" 8. Sharing Blankets 9. Unlikely Caretaker 10. "You can't catch it... Probably... Maybe." 11. "We better get you cleaned up before (blank) sees you like this." 12. Sent Home From Work 13. "Are you alright to drive like this?" 14. "I'd kiss you right now if you weren't contagious" 15. "I don't think I've ever seen you ill before." 16. Sneaking Out of Bed 17. Bad Timing 18. "You're not being needy. You're being human." 19. Refusing Medicine 20. Cancelled Plans 21. "Don't lie to me. You're pale, you're sweating, and you can barely stand." 22. Ear-Infection 23. "Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own." 24. Contagious 25. "It's just a cold." 26. Pharmacy Run 27. "I don't think that's exactly hygienic." 28. "Your boss called..."

Alternates:

Hiding the Thermometer

Refusing to Leave Work

“Is that my hoodie?”

“Not to say I told you so but…”

"I told you, I ain't got a choice," Darry grits out. "You think I don't want to take the day off and lay around until I feel less like I'm about to die? There's no other option!"

Two-Bit gets a determined look on his face, and marches over to the phone.

"What are you doing?" Darry asks, and Two-Bit holds a hand up for him to wait.

"Mr. Johnson?" Two-Bit says, and then Darry is hissing at him and trying to grab the phone. "I'm a friend of Darry Curtis. He's real sick today, and he's stubborn enough that he thinks it's a good idea to come to work." Darry keeps whisper-yelling at him while trying to get the phone. The fact that he can't just take it says something about how sick he is, but hell if he's gonna admit to it. "Of course, I'll make sure to tell him. And sir? I know this ain't the common practice, but you know Darry's the sole provider of their house. You think I could cover his shift for a couple of days, so he still gets a paycheck?" Two-Bit pauses. Darry is just looking at him in horror now. "I'll be honest, I ain't done the work before. But I can lift a good hundred pounds, and I promise you I'll do anything you ask." He pauses again. "Great. Thank you so much. I'll get the address from Darry and head straight over."

Two-Bit hangs up the phone. "There. All taken care of." Darry is gaping at him. When he makes another call. "Hey, Sodapop." Darry's gonna kill him. "Your brother's real sick. I took his shift at work and made him stay home. You think you can either check in on him or get one of the other boys to?"

"What the hell?" Darry says, then immediately starts coughing.

"Go back to bed. Everything's taken care of. All you gotta do is tell me the address of the job you were headed to."

"You can't-"

"It's done," Two-Bit says. "Now give me the address and get your ass back to bed."

Meanwhile, at the DX....

Soda feels even more like he made the right decision coming to work. They need the money, and if Darry is too sick to go to work, they need Soda's paycheck more than ever.

It was the right call, he thinks. He just feels a little bit woozy at the moment. "I'm gonna go on break," he calls to Steve. When he gets into the bathroom, he does a double take at his appearance. He successfully snuck out of the house this morning, but Pony was half asleep and apparently Darry was not in good shape either. Here he was just thinking that he was extra sneaky. (Maybe he's only medium sneaky.)

He splashes some cool water on his face and dries it. His face is hot, but he's so cold that he's chilled to the bone. His face is still flushed, and his eyes are glassy.

Steve has been busy working on cars all shift, and he has spent more time looking at an engine than looking at Soda. So Steve isn't really paying a lot of attention.

Soda just needs to make it through this shift. He'll be fine.

And then everything goes black.

Steve is swearing up a storm when Soda comes to. He doesn't catch the beginning, but he realizes Steve is also muttering about a damn fever, so he supposes the cat is out of the bag.

"I'm taking you home to your brothers. The hell were you thinking?" Steve asks, and Soda closes his eyes just before he feels burning hot tears roll down his cheeks. His breath hitches. "Soda..." Steve says, much softer. Soda lets out a sob then. "Christ. It's gonna be okay."

"We need the money," Soda gasps out, tears still rolling. "Darry's home sick. Which means he's probably halfway to dead, if he took a day off."

He feels Steve push his hair out of his face. "Don't worry about that," Steve tells him. "I got you covered." Soda starts to protest. "You know it drives me crazy that Muscles won't take money from us when we try to kick in. Hell, we should be buying groceries as often as we all eat there. So I got you. Damn thrilled about it, actually." He helps Soda up. "Now let's get you home to your brothers. I'll put up the 'back in fifteen' signs, and let's hope ol' Wanda don't require a push-start to drive you home."

When Steve brings Soda in the door, he finds Darry already on the couch. "Pepsi, what happened?"

"He's sick, too. Needs something to bring his fever down, passed out at the damn station." Darry moves to get up. "You take him, I know where y'all keep the medicine."

Then Soda is leaning against his big brother, and next thing he knows he's got tears running down his face again. "Aw, honey. You feel real bad?" Darry murmurs, his own voice raspy. "I'll save the lecture for when you're feeling better, but I don't want you going to work when you're sick like that, little buddy." Soda buries his face in Darry's shirt.

"But we need-"

"We're gonna be fine," Darry tells him gently. "Because Two's stubborn as hell, and he took my spot on the crew when he made me stay home."

Soda slumps against him, exhausted and breath still hitching. He takes the medicine that Steve gives him, and he doesn't remember much else after that because he drifts off, half in Darry's lap.

He wakes up to Ponyboy's voice. "I can't believe he tried to go to work." Pause. "I can't believe you tried to go to work. You're both ridiculous."

"Come on, Pony," Darry says wearily. "You know why we got to work."

Soda keeps his eyes closed. Maybe that will keep the lecture focused away from him.

Ponyboy's mad, though. "You both woulda skinned me for going to school in that condition. And most of the time at school you're sitting. You were gonna climb around on a roof? And it ain't like Soda don't spend most of his shifts at the DX running around." Well, guess he's gonna hear the lecture either way. "You need to use your head," Ponyboy snaps.

Soda cracks an eye open when Darry asks, "how long you been waiting to use that one on me?"

"Since my fourteenth birthday," Ponyboy says drily. "And we all know you're playing possum, Soda. You snore when you're sick."

"Do not," he mumbles, and he feels Darry's chest rumble a little when he chuckles.

"You two knuckleheads-" (man, Pony is going all in on this lecture) "so focused on paying the bills, you ever stop to think about what would happen to me and if I lost the two of you?" His voice catches in his chest.

"I'm sorry, baby," Darry says. "Don't cry."

"I ain't crying," Ponyboy says, sniffling and scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "But you two can't leave me. You just can't."

"Pony, you're getting dangerously close to me pulling you down into a big sandwich hug, germs be damned," Soda warns, and Ponyboy smiles a little, then.

"Y'all sit back and cuddle each other. Somebody's gotta be conscious to bring you soup and medicine. And it's Friday, so you're both gonna have more nursing back to health than you can stand. I got all weekend to take care of you, stubborn asses or not."

Soda wants to argue, he really does. But when Darry lets it go, he just snuggles back into his big brother's chest.

At the two week mark, on a Thursday night, after a grueling day of rehearsal that Yeosang had been sent home early from, Yunho sat despondently on their dorm couch, staring blankly at his lock screen. He hadn’t seen his roommate since returning home an hour ago. To be fair, he hadn’t gone looking. Rehearsal had been hell, especially for Yunho as the guest choreographer had been particularly harsh on him as the main dancer, so a petty part of Yunho was jealous Yeosang had gotten out of it. Sure, Yeosang had looked worse for wear, paler than the past week, cough somehow more constant too. It made sense for him to sit out, but… still. The mental and physical exhaustion weighed heavy, and Yunho felt that an hour of staring into space, completely alone, was warranted. 

But when Yunho finally stood to head for a shower, Yeosang stumbled into the room. Yunho pressed his lips together, biting back a wave of unbidden irritation. But then Yeosang paused, one hand grasping the kitchen counter for support as he bent in half with a desperately painful cough. That was… wrong. 

“Sangie?” Yunho felt his stomach twist, concern peaking. 

“Yunho, I… I’m not… I’m not feeling very well,” Yeosang stammered, voice ragged and breath wheezing as he tried to inhale. He gasped once more before stumbling forward, knees giving out. Yunho lunged forward, hooking his arms beneath Yeosang’s and gently guiding him to the floor. 

“Yeosang?!” Yunno exclaimed as the shorter man continued to wheeze in his arms. The dancer pushed Yeosang’s hair back from his eyes. “Sangie, what’s…?” Pausing in a lighting bolt moment of realization, Yunho pressed his hand back against Yeosang’s forehead. “You’re burning up!” The panic in Yunho’s stomach wound tighter. “Holy shit, Yeosang, you’re burning up…” 

Shaking his head, in a split second decision, Yunho hoisted Yeosang up to his feet and dragged him towards the bathroom. And it truly was a drag, as Yeosang hung like a sack of wet noddles in Yunho’s hold. Heart thundering wildly, Yunho deposited Yeosang onto the closed toilet lid before turning on bathroom lights. Now, the labored sound of Yeosang’s breathing echoed around them, and Yunho bit his lip, desperate to keep the panic at bay. He turned to the shower knobs, the whole reason he’d come in here; done right, a little water could fix anything. Hot water helped ease congestion, yes, but cold water brought a fever down. With a decisive nod, Yunho twisted the cold water knob, and then turned back to his roommate. 

“Alright, Sang, work with me,” Yunho mumbled as he reached forward, lithe fingers pulling off Yeosang’s hoodie. He wore a thin, white t-shirt underneath, and was already wearing sports shorts. Yunho nodded, deeming that enough. So he hauled Yeosang to his feet and dragged him into the shower. Yeosang immediately started whimpering like a wounded animal as he fought weakly against Yunho’s grasp, the icy water crashing down upon them both. “I know, love, it’s so cold, but we have to get that fever down…”

Yeosang gasped, a terrible choking sound, and suddenly clutched at his throat, coughing desperately. He went completely limp in Yunho’s arms, the dancer nearly slipping in his effort to keep them both upright. 

“Fuck,” Yunho whispered, his left arm wrapped across Yeosang’s chest while his right scrambled to turn the water off. Stumbling back into the bathroom, Yunho fell back against the wall with Yeosang landing in a heap on top of him. That terrible, rasping wheeze, punctuated now by harsh coughs was the only sound in the room, echoing louder and louder in Yunho’s brain. The dancer squeezed his eyes closed, terribly aware that he was seconds away from a full on panic attack despite the fact Yeosang needed him to be rational. With a steadying breath, Yunho put that thought on repeat: Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me. 

Snagging the towel from the hook above them, Yunho wrapped it around Yeosang’s shoulders before settling him against the wall. Yeosang whined pitifully as Yunho stood up. He slipped on his water-logged socks, left knee colliding painfully with the floor. Hissing in pain, Yunho pushed himself back to his feet, now limping slightly to the dining room table where he’d abandoned his phone. Fingers trembling, Yunho opened his most recent calls and clicked a number without looking, knowing that no matter what, a hyung would be with whomever he called. 

*

A phone on the coffee table began to buzz. Mingi looked up from his Switch. “It’s Yunho, hyung,” he called over his shoulder to Seonghwa, the owner of said phone. 

“You can answer it!” the eldest called back, nearly done preparing dinner for the trio. 

Mingi snatched up the phone and hit ‘accept.’ “Hello?”

“HYUNG! You need to… it’s Sangie, he…”

Mingi’s spine straightened at the rushed tidal wave of words screeching from the other end. “Whoa, whoa, Yunho, slow down…” Out of the corner of his eyes, Mingi saw both Seonghwa and San freeze, eyeing him nervously. “What are you…?”

“Help! He needs HELP!” Yunho sounded no less panicked. 

“Okay, we’re on the way. Hang tight.” Mingi hung up, jumping to his feet as he met the worried eyes watching him. “Something’s wrong downstairs.” With a nod, Seonghwa turned off the stove, abandoning dinner, and following after Mingi as the rapper dashed to the door. San grabbed his keys before following the other two into the hall and down the stairs, allowing them to enter the apartment shared by Yunho and Yeosang. 

As soon as they pushed the door open, Seonghwa called, “Yunho?” “In here!” The trio followed his voice to the bathroom where they found the dancer, sopping wet and trembling, desperately holding up an unconscious Yeosang. Despite the water dripping from his hair, it was obvious that Yunho was crying. “He’s so sick, hyung,” the dancer exclaimed, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. Seonghwa nodded, eldest brother mode taking over. 

“Mingi, take Yunho out of here. Sannie, I’m gonna need you to hold Sangie while I call a manager,” he ordered, calm and firm in just the way the others needed. San instantly slid to his knees, pulling Yeosang into his lap. 

“Come on, love,” Mingi murmured gently, holding his hands out to Yunho to pull him to his feet. As the rapper dragged his best friend from the bathroom, Seonghwa heard Yunho begin babbling again, his voice getting higher and higher and tearier as it disappeared down the hall. He shook his head; he had to trust Mingi to solve that one for now. 

Seonghwa pulled out his phone, dialed their manager and waited only two rings before he heard that familiar voice. “Hyung, we need an ambulance. Yeosang’s currently unconscious.” Seonghwa’s lips pressed together as he listened, San watching him intently as the eldest started rummaging through the drawers of the vanity. “No, we haven’t checked yet, I just got here and Yunho’s practically hysterical.” A low growl sounded in his throat as Seonghwa shut the last drawer with frustration, clearly not finding what he needed. “Can’t find the thermometer. He’s definitely burning up, though.” San pressed a hand against Yeosang’s forehead, shooting Seonghwa a thumbs up of confirmation. As Seonghwa nodded along with the other side of the conversation, San readjusted his arms around Yeosang, who’d started slipping from his grasp. The harsh grating of Yeosang’s breathing was one of the most terrifying things San could ever remember hearing. 

“Okay, thank you, hyung. We’ll be here. See you soon.” 

San watched, silent and scared, as Seonghwa hung up the phone, then clicked another number and held the device to his ear again. 

“Joong, Yeosang needs to go to the hospital. I already called management, and they’re calling EMS.” Seonghwa nodded to whatever the captain was saying. “Okay. Figured as much. See you momentarily.” 

*

As Hongjoong opened the door, Wooyoung sprinted past him towards the bathroom, which the captain expected. But Hongjoong and Jongho were stopped in the den, caught off guard by the sounds coming from the room. Mingi and Yunho were the couch, Yunho nearly shouting incoherent nonsense, nearly hyperventilating. Mingi looked up, helpless, at the newcomers. 

“What’s going on?” Hongjoong asked, rounding the couch and kneeling in front of the duo, his hand finding Yunho’s knee and squeezing. He started a bit to find the cloth of the dancer’s pants were soaked, but figured that was a story for another time. 

“It’s my fault!” Yunho gasped out. “I-i-i didn’t, I didn’t check on him, and…”

“Hey, hey.” Hongjoong grabbed Yunho’s tearstained cheeks, forcing eye contact. He could feel Yunho’s teeth chattering. “Breathe with me. In.” Hongjoong sucked in an over exaggerated breath. 

“Hyung! He… Sang collapsed!” Yunho exclaimed, hiccuping panickedly. He shook his head. “I almost drowned him!” 

The captain pulled one of the dancer’s trembling palms against his own chest. “Breathe, Yu. In.” Hongjoong inhaled again. Yunho mimicked him, admittedly very shallow. “Out.” Hongjoong kept it up until he felt Yunho’s hand stop shaking in his. “Good man.” 

Yunho’s free hand clasped at Hongjoong’s fingers, the ones still resting against his cheek. “I’m sorry…” he sniffled quietly, the last few tears leaking from his eyes. 

“Baby, no.” Mingi reached forward, squeezing his best friend’s shoulder. “You did so good tonight, Yunho.” The dancer shook his head, lips still wobbling. “Yes, you did. You tried to help Sangie however you could; that’s what matters.”

“Not to mention, hyung,” Jongho spoke up, leaning over the back of the couch, “there’s no way you could have predicted or prevented Sangie taking a turn for the worse. It was definitely him pushing himself at practice so much. Nothing to do with you at all.” The maknae ran a soothing hand through Yunho’s still damp hair, frowning a bit at that but, like Hongjoong, determining that could be clarified later. 

“Yeah, you’ve been taking such good care of our Sang the past two weeks,” Mingi said, smiling softly, encouragingly, adoringly. Yunho bit at his lip, sniffling again. 

“And I’m sure that hasn’t been easy on either of you,” Hongjoong added. 

Yunho nodded, scrubbing at his eyes. Then his hands fell into his lap. “I’m just so tired.” 

“Joong?” The voice was Seonghwa’s. Obviously, the eldest was oblivious to what was happening out here, but it tore the captain’s heart in two nonetheless, to be needed elsewhere when one of his crew was so visibly upset. 

“Go, hyung,” Jongho insisted. “Mingi and I got this.” 

Yunho nodded, grabbing Hongjoong’s hand and squeezing. “Sang’s more important.”

“Not true,” Mingi muttered as he pulled Yunho against his chest while Hongjoong stood and rushed towards the bathroom. Jongho looped around the couch, nodding to the leader before taking his place on the floor next to his tallest hyungs. Hongjoong felt his chest swell with pride. Damn, why were they all so good at this?

Hongjoong’s reminder that the eight of them were, after all, just humans came in the form of yelling as he got closer to the bathroom. Well, yelling wasn’t the correct term; harsh talking was more like it. 

“…are not going,” Seonghwa was saying, tone a sharp, dangerous warning. 

“Like hell I’m staying here!” Wooyoung shot back. As the captain settled into the doorwary, he saw San glancing helplessly back and forth between them. Wooyoung’s glare was pure fire as he clutched a pale, unconscious Yeosang against his chest. It shattered Hongjoong’s heart on sight. Which gave him the courage to step into the room, to take charge as ATEEZ’s Captain. 

“Wooyoung, Seonghwa’s right. I’m the only one going to the hospital with Yeosang.” As Wooyoung began to protest, Hongjoong held up a hand, silencing him. “I know how you feel right now, I do. But what’re you going to accomplish at the hospital, Woo? I’m just going to sit in that waiting room for god knows how long. We have to let the doctors do their thing. That’s what Yeosang needs right now. And the second he wakes up, I will call you and get you into that room. You too, San, if you want.” San perked up instantly at the promise, nodding enthusiastically. Wooyoung’s lips were a tight line of discontent, anger warring in his dark eyes as he glared at Hongjoong. “You can be mad at me all you want. That’s not going to change anything.”

“Hyung.” All four of them looked up as Jongho appeared in the doorway. The maknae flinched a bit, not expecting such a rapt reception, and thus focused his attention on Seonghwa. “Mingi and I are going to take Yunho up to your place,” Jongho said quickly. “I fear seeing the paramedics would send him into another meltdown.”

Seonghwa clasped the maknae’s hands. “You are a saint.” Jongho nodded, shooting one worried glance at Yeosang before hurrying back down the hall. “And on that note, we need to prep our boy for lift off. Sannie, come help me pack him up a bag?” 

The air was thick in the cramped bathroom as the two men disappeared into the hall. Hongjoong watched, expression guarded, as Wooyoung repositioned Yeosang so the performer’s body was more upright; he’d started wheezing again, that terrible rasping sound he’d been making when Wooyoung had arrived. It got a little less aggressive the more vertical Yeosang’s torso, which was difficult to maintain given the man’s current state.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes cast down towards his best friend. His fingers tightened against the towel still snugly secured around Yeosang. “I… I’m scared. For him.”

“I know, Woo. I’m sorry you can’t stay with him. I just… I don’t want the hospital to freak you out more.” 

Wooyoung nodded, reluctant but resigned. 

EMS arrived shortly after their manager, and whisked Yeosang away in a cloud of professionalism. When the door closed behind them, Wooyoung stood motionless in the hall, unsure of what to do with himself until a warm hand clasped his shoulder.  

“Come stay with us.” Seonghwa nodded his head back towards the hallway, to San, who’d left on a mission to grab a few of Yunho’s things. “You and Sannie can have a sleepover.”

A few minutes later, the trio quietly entered the dorm. Jongho sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The sound was so low, it was obvious he’d just turned it on to avoid dead silence. 

“Everything go okay?” the maknae asked as San collapsed next to him, immediately resting his head against Jongho’s shoulder. 

“Smooth as we could hope for,” Seonghwa sighed, watching as Wooyoung followed San’s movements, curling up on the performer’s other side as Jongho began to play with San’s hair. “Where’re the twins?”

“Asleep in Mingi’s room. At least, Yunho’s asleep. We slipped him some extra strength Benadryl to knock him out. Not that he needed it, but still.” Jongho shook his head. “I haven’t seen Yunho that worked up in a while. Maybe ever.”

“He’s scared,” San spoke up. “And he’s tired. That’s a bad combination when you throw in stress like your roommate passing out in your arms.” 

“Thank you, Jongho, for being so calm through all that,” Seonghwa added, smiling with pride. 

Jongho shrugged. “Hey, we can only have half of the team freaking out at once. Wasn’t my turn today.” San snorted out a laugh, and Seonghwa could see Wooyoung also fighting a smile. He had little choice when San threw an arm around his shoulders and tickled Wooyoung’s neck, eliciting a squeal from the younger man. 

As the couch descended into light chaos, Seonghwa padded down the hall. He peeked his head through the doorway of Mingi’s room. The rapper’s eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of his phone screen, turned towards him instantly, followed by a small wave of the phone hand. His other arm was trapped under a snoring heap of Jeong Yunho.

“Everything good?” the eldest whispered. 

Mingi nodded. “We might have to do some damage control in the morning, but…” He paused, beaming down at his best friend, “I think he just needed to sleep.” Then his face turned serious again. “How’s Sangie?” Seonghwa shrugged. “We’ll know when we know. All we can do is get some rest and be ready to help tomorrow.” 

Mingi saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”