I wrote a little something something for @itsyourunniejoywithmoresickfics!
TW: Fainting, Emeto
--
To say that things have been stressful would be an understatement.
To say that things have been stressful for Kim Namjoon would be a flat-out lie; he’s been crumbling under the weight of the expectations put on him as a leader, actually. But with those expectations comes the requirement to stay calm and collected despite the stress, as the leader, of course. So Namjoon’s been dealing all on his own. And clearly, it isn’t going well.
It’s a beautiful morning when Namjoon wakes up with a migraine, and he’s never hated the sunshine more. The others are all awake already, shockingly; Jin must’ve gotten them up for him. They’re loud and lively as they all do different things with their morning, some probably making breakfast while the others get dressed. There’s a photoshoot today, and Namjoon really doesn’t want to go, if he’s being honest.
But he must. So he kicks off the covers, rubs his temples to unsuccessfully quell some of the pain, before shakily getting to his feet. He stumbles over to his closet and struggles to dress himself before making his way out to the living room. The scent of breakfast turns his stomach, making him groan inwardly.
Everyone's a little too preoccupied--they’re running a little late, after all--to pick up on his distress. Namjoon is thankful for that. He sits on the couch, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands as he waits for the others to be ready and prepares himself to try and stomach at least half his plate so as not to arouse any suspicion.
He doesn’t get very much time to do that preparation before they’re all called to eat. Namjoon takes a minute to debate on if he should scarf down the food fast enough that he barely tastes or feels it, or if he should eat slow to avoid feeling sicker. It seems that either way it won’t help the queasy feeling in his stomach, so he opts for a normal speed, clearing about half his plate just as he’d planned. And just as he’d planned, nobody asks questions.
Until they throw their plates in the sink and start to head off to the car. And then, as they’re leaving, Yoongi is the first to say anything to him all morning.
“You look like shit,” he mumbles, quiet to not gain the attention of any of the other members.
“Thanks, hyung,” Namjoon rolls his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks, genuine concern in his tone.
“Yeah. Just...a headache, is all,” Namjoon smiles weakly. Yoongi obviously doesn’t believe him, but he nods along anyway, and he doesn’t make any further mention of it. They get in the car, and Namjoon rests his cheek against the glass of the window, the coolness of it feeling nice on his skin for a moment. He lets his eyes close, taking a deep breath, relishing in the moments he doesn’t have to move or speak or think.
In what feels like seconds, many minutes too soon, they arrive at the shoot location. Namjoon fights the urge to moan. The bright flashing of the speedlites and loud hustle and bustle of the photographers in the building does nothing to help the pounding pain in Namjoon’s head and only worsens his nausea. Slowly but surely, each of the members take their turn. Namjoon sits on the couch, watching as he dreads his turn.
And finally, his turn comes. He expects the increase in pain from the bright lights. What Namjoon does not expect however, was the way the world suddenly starts spinning and the next thing he knows everything is black despite all the light as he collapses.
Yoongi is the first to run over in his direction, having kept a watchful eye on him since they left the apartment, knowing it was much worse than a “headache.” The others keep back, some going to get water or other supplies, so as not to crowd Namjoon and get him more worked up when he comes to.
It doesn’t take long until Namjoon does come to, disoriented at first. Before he gets a chance to register everything else that happened, the thing in the forefront of his mind becomes the horrible nausea that has worsened tenfold since minutes before.
“G-Gonna puke--” he stutters out before shakily pushing himself up and away from Yoongi to burp up a thin stream vomit on the polished linoleum floor, followed quickly by a much more projectile wave of his meager breakfast. Yoongi mumbles some kind of comfort as he rubs his back, but Namjoon can’t hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears and the shouting of confused photographers that only makes the pain continue to worsen. Even after he’s brought up all he has in him, he still dry heaves violently, his stomach refusing to give him a break.
All the others watch with concern. Someone comes up behind him to give Yoongi a water bottle for after he finishes vomiting, someone else ties his hair back for him. He retches and retches until finally, he can breathe again. Yoongi holds Namjoon steady as he catches his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the lights, breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell of vomit. Normally it doesn’t affect him, but he isn’t taking any chances.
“Namjoon-ah, what the fuck,” Yoongi mutters, and though the words are angry, his tone is not. “You shouldn’t have come if you felt sick. Tell us next time. For someone with an IQ as high as yours, you’re really fucking stupid sometimes…”
Despite the pain, Namjoon smiles.
“I know,” he whispers. “But you love me for it,” he jokes, finding the energy somewhere in him.
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers back, sighing. “I do. We all do. Let’s go home, dumbass.”
