#wuki

You stand right next to Keonho’s desk, the blanket that Martin had given him now covering his whole body.

“I literally am and you don’t care.” He groans, sniffing as he reaches for another tissue.

You sigh, taking the cold banana milk you were saving for later out of your pocket and pressing it against his forehead.

“It’s still cold, so just keep this pressed against you.”

He looks up immediately and snatches it out of your hand, pressing the bottle around various places on his face. He looks relieved with each press, even going so far as to roll it’s coldest surface around his forehead,

“How did you catch a fever in summer anyway?”

He shrugs, now pressing it against the back of his neck.

“I kept forgetting to dry my hair these last couple of nights, so maybe that’s the reason.” He says before blowing his nose very loudly into a new tissue.

You hum in acknowledgment before patting his head, making a quick effort to rub his hair harshly.

“Just try to survive till the end of the day, m’kay? If your parents or sister aren’t home, just text me and I’ll help you.”

Before he can say anything, you walk away, leaving him to whatever a sick person could do.

Later that afternoon, he sends you a quick text that was clearly typed with one hand.

Today 3:48 pm

Keo

| cme ober plase

| evryone s gne

You sigh, already grabbing your hoodie.

By the time you arrived at his place, it was already four.

You had stopped by a convenience store close to his place, purchasing a few cough drop packets and medicine.

You knock on his door roughly, pressing your ear against it if he says anything.

Soon enough, you hear very light footsteps on the other side. The door opens slowly, creaking loudly as Keonho finally appears.

You walk in immediately, taking off your shoes and closing the door.

He looked even worse–his hair looked way more messed up, like more than half of his back hairs were standing straight up.

He had a tissue shoved up his nose, and he was still wearing his school uniform, just now very wrinkled.

“Hi.” He awkwardly says.

You shake your head before dragging him over to the couch and forcing him to lay down.

“Have you measured your temperature yet?”

You ask, loosening his tie so that he could breathe better. He didn’t mind it at all, lying down while shaking his head.

“I was too tired to measure it.” He mumbled.

You lightly smack his shoulder before walking over to his room, finding the ear thermometer right on his desk.

As soon as you walk back into the living room with it, Keonho is already on the ground, his feet somehow the only limbs left on the couch. You’re a little surprised that you didn’t hear anything while you were in his room but shake it off and help the whinging boy.

You groan as you lift him up with all your might, grabbing him like he was some teddy bear.

As soon as he was back into place, you shove the ear thermometer into his ear, pressing the button as it read his temperature.

“40.4? Geez Keonho, dry your fucking hair.”

He coughs and groans slightly in response, not bothering to move at all.

You put him back into a laying down position, grabbing pillows and elevating his head. Just as you were about to leave his side, he grabs your hoodie sleeve, dragging you right back.

He calls out your name weakly, making you crouch so that you were face to face with him.

“I think…I’m going to die.”

You press your lips into a thin line before patting his head, just deciding to let him be.

He calls out your name again before softly whining, and then coughing all over again.

When Keonho was sick as a child, you remember that his mother would cook him a chicken noodle soup, something that later became almost mandatory for every fever he got, even as a 16 year old.

You got all the ingredients ready and lit up the stove, grateful that his mother had told you the recipe once and you had never forgotten.

You were done after about 20 minutes, the smell of the soup’s spices overpowering everything else in the kitchen.

You walked back into the living room, finding Keonho in the exact same place you left him, except this time more crumpled tissues were left on the table.

He hadn’t moved at all, but his uneven breathing told you that he was still awake.

“Keonho,” you tapped his shoulder, earning you a small whine. “I made you soup.”

He opens his eyes slightly at that before sniffing the fumes of the soup. You help him sit up, his groans becoming louder each inch he moves.

“My body feels like it’s failing.” He cried out, his posture slumped over as he rubbed his temples.

“Isn’t there a thing where true love’s kiss ends a sickness?”

You look over at him, his eyes squinting as he looks at the bowl in front of him.

“You should do that.”

You felt a small heat crawling up your neck, but you pushed it down immediately. Is he serious? No, he can’t be. Maybe he’s just high as hell on cough syrup. 

You just shook your head at his antics, putting on an unimpressed expression.

“Right, because that’s totally 100% true.”

Just as you were about to leave him be and let him eat, he stops you once again.

“You can’t expect me to lift the spoon up in this condition.”

You almost roll your eyes but refrain from doing so. “Keonho, you’re just sick. You’re acting like both your hands are suddenly unusable.”

“But they are! They feel like jelly!”

After much arguing, you sit in front of Keonho as he lays down on the couch again, the spoon now held up by you.

Although this would usually be something seen as romantic, something like feeding your lover food and just taking care of them, you felt anything but. Every five seconds he just seemed to have another complaint. You wished his sister were here instead of you. 

It felt like a parent having to feed their own child soup.

“You’re holding the spoon too low.”

“You’re holding it too high now.”

“It’s too hot!”

You had to physically stop yourself from wanting to throw the whole bowl on him until he fully finished it.

You washed the dishes quickly before grabbing a blanket from his room, throwing it over him and even giving him an old plushie he still had to make it more comfortable.

You had asked him if you just wanted to be in his room, but he whined again, saying that it would be too cold.

You had unpacked the medicine and cough drops for him, pushing a drop into his mouth before checking the time.

6:03 pm.

“Keonho, I’ll be leaving now.”

“No, don’t leave.” He wailed, reaching his arms out in your direction.

“It’s already six, plus your parents will be home soon.”

You turn, already slipping your shoes on before he calls out your name once more, making you peek into the living room.

He lifts his head up, his eyes slightly open as you tie your shoes.

“Take care.” He says softly, almost like a two year old saying bye to their babysitter.

You almost chuckle at that.