“Jimin just wants Taehyung to pet his hair and rub his back. He reallydoesn’t want to have to ask him. He should just freaking know.”
Summary: Jimin rarely actually gets drunk, but when he does, he wants to be in Taehyung’s lap.
_____
It usually takes a lot to grab enough of Taehyung’s attention from the tv screen if he’s watching a black and white film. Even harder if it’s one of his favorites. and this one is one his favorites—it’s just started too, and the beginning’s the best part because he loves how this one has been filmed. When the front door clicked open the first time, he didn’t look up; it was Yoongi shuffling in, muttering his acknowledgment and sounding sleepy, headed straight to bed. Right behind him was Jimin, making so much noise that Taehyung actually wrenched his eyes away from the screen to look his way.
Jimin is clumsy already, but he’s ridiculous when he’s drunk. Yoongi had to have helped him up to the door because Jimin would’ve hurt himself chancing it on his own, but obviously the rapper had reached his limit the moment they’d made it inside (“Wake me up if you need help with him, but right now I’m too tired. Going to bed.”). If Taehyung hadn’t quickly paused his movie to get up and hold him steady, Jimin would’ve wobbled his way into the edge of the kitchen counter and fallen straight to the hard floor.
Jimin hasn’t been drunk in a long time. He can drink alcohol like a fish and be adorably tipsy at best, but Taehyung can’t recall the last time he’s seen Jimin this far gone. he leans on Taehyung like deadweight and he’s breathing heavy. His face has the same bright red flush Hoseok typically gets the moment alcohol hits his system and Taehyung wants to sit him down just to snap a few pics of him on his phone.
Instead, he sits Jimin down gingerly on the sectional so he can go to the kitchen to pour him a glass of water and put some saltine crackers on a paper towel. Hopefully they can help soak up some of the alcohol still sitting in his belly. Hopefully he can prevent his friend from having a bad hangover in the morning. Did Jimin get hangovers? He’s never witnessed it before.
x
“Hyung.” Jimin grumbles, for about the fifth time, laid out on the sofa with his head on taehyung’s lap. Taehyung isn’t his hyung, but he is when he’s drunk. Jimin always denies it when he’s sober, and Taehyung finds it highly amusing how fired up he gets when Taehyung rubs it in. Jimin does not like to imagine himself as anyone else’s dongsaeng besides his beloved hyung line. It’s ironic, because Jimin is probably the most welcome member to baby, but he also likes to be in control, of everything. That includes Taehyung and Jungkook.
It’s refreshing to hear ‘hyung’ from Jimin’s lips, but it must also mean Jimin’s feeling really vulnerable right now. He must be feeling pretty dizzy, because he’s been grabbing at Taehyung wherever he can reach, breathing heavy and eyes trying to train on the warping ceiling above him. he closes his eyes with a throaty groan. Taehyung’s distracted, still enthralled by his movie, but he idly rubs a thumb along Jimin’s forehead to show he has at least some of his attention.
Jimin’s humming drowsily, a droning tune in his throat with each exhale, just making noise in Taehyung’s opinion. He’s wiggling his socked feet against the arm of the sectional and waving a floppy arm around for some chance that Taehyung will notice him but all he gets is a saltine cracker pressed to his lips.
“Eat your cracker.” Taehyung orders, still staring at the tv screen. Jimin pouts, but he’s obedient.
x
Jimin just wants Taehyung to pet his hair and rub his back. He really doesn’t want to have to ask him. He should just freaking know. What’s worse is his hiccups are getting more close together. They’re deep and they make his belly slosh and the couch under him is starting to feel like he’s on a rocking boat. Staring at the ceiling isn’t doing him any good and the crackers Taehyung keeps making him nibble feel like they’re stuck too high in his esophagus.
He flops himself so his head’s more into Taehyung’s lap, so his eyes are blocked by Taehyung’s chin, so he can watch Taehyung’s concentrated face. He reaches blindly for Taehyung’s hands and cups his own face with Taehyung’s warm palms. He hums with pleasure.
“Tae, you have biiiig hands. Like, maaassive hands, you know that?”
Taehyung hasn’t looked down but he smiles wide, taken back by Jimin’s sudden observation, the little slur in his words. Jimin squeezes the hand on his face. “Who gave you those—your mom or your dad?”
“Mom.”
Jimin’s eyes get so round and wide. “Really?!!!” he gasps. Taehyung bites back a laugh, looking down to hush Jimin and remind him that the others are asleep. Jimin’s face is completely flush from the alcohol. It’s a sight to see.
“Wahhh,” Jimin peels Taehyung’s hand from his face, which is now hovering teasingly over his whole head. He traces the lines of Tae’s palm. “But she doesn’t have very big hands herself,”
“Crazy huh?”
“Yeahh. So crazy.” A hiccup chirps out of Jimin again. “Kim Taehyung.”
“Park Jimin?”
“I’m drunk.”
Taehyung smiles. “Not just tipsy?”
Jimin grimaces, feeling the world spin with another unpleasant moment of vertigo. “Not,” He snatches Taehyung’s hand like he’s about to fall off the couch. Taehyung’s eyebrows make his concern clear as he now watches Jimin more closely, squeezing his hand a little tighter to steady him. “And now I’m dizzy… and my tummy feels weird.”
“Weird how, baby?”
“Mm, full, liquidy. Bubbly. A little not good.”
“Did you try some different drinks this time?” Taehyung runs his free hand through Jimin’s scalp. Finally, Jimin thinks. It feels so good that his eyes roll back. He loses his train of thought for a second, licking his lips and reveling the next pass of Taehyung’s fingers skirting through his hair.
“Y-yeah. I told Yoongi-hyung I wanted to try an irish bomb, because he did it with Kookie. You—you have to chug it, you know? This tall—hicc—tallll glass mug of whiskey and um—milk? Ugh, that’s what did it.” He says, like an afterthought, putting a hand under his shirt to rub into the gurgle of his stomach. It sends up a tiny burp that he’d usually blush over if he were sober.
“Did you have anything else tonight?”
Jimin scoffs. “Of course I did, hyung. Shot of tequila, shot of rum, a shot of this sparkly vodka, irish bomb—baam, do it with me,” he tries to fist bump Taehyung so Taehyung plays along, but he’s sporting an uneasy expression.
“That’s a lot—more than me,” he says, exaggerating how impressed he is. Everyone drank more than Taehyung.
“I had six drinks—that was only four. Can’t remember what else.”
x
Taehyung is pretty sure all six drinks are now what’s pooled on the floor of the living room right beside the couch because of how violently it came out of Jimin, but he isn’t finished, hunched over the puddle and gulping air into his lungs with shaky unsteady legs. Taehyung is right at his side, supporting him at his hip. The very moment Jimin sucks in more air, Taehyung chances hurrying Jimin to the bathroom. As soon as Taehyung holds him over the bowl, Jimin’s burping up a heavy stream of liquid, sputtering desperately as the contents of his stomach can’t seem to leave him quickly enough. He coughs hard, wheezing as he tries to get some air in his lungs, only to cough up another mouthful of putrid alcohol.
“Easy, baby, easy,” Taehyung instructs, patting lightly at Jimin’s straining back. Taehyung struggles to keep Jimin’s drunken body from swaying too far from the open mouth of the toilet.
Jimin’s whimpering, so nauseous that it’s frightening. He can’t stop retching. He can’t breathe. Taehyung tries his best to comfort with his words. He’s doing a great job holding Jimin steady and showing him that he’s not going anywhere, and Jimin is eternally grateful, but this is horrible. This is it. He’s never drinking again. Ever ever never.
x
Taehyung stays with jimin in the bathroom for hours. He’s sure by now they’ll be sleeping there tonight. Every time he thinks Jimin’s done, the dancer is unraveling himself out of his arms to heave productively over the toilet again. Jimin refuses to get in bed even after he’s eventually only dry heaving. Taehyung relents after Jimin’s pleas become tearful and he leaves him only briefly to take his comforter and a few pillows off his bed, returning to make a comfortable little pallet on the bathroom floor. He’ll have to explain to Jin and everyone about the puddle of vomit out in the living room if Jimin doesn’t let him go to clean up. Maybe he can slip out after the poor boy falls asleep. He gathers Jimin’s tired sick body onto his lap and holds him tight, pressing lips against Jimin’s throbbing temple and closing his eyes.
x
Jin finds Taehyung and Jimin in the bathroom the next morning, Taehyung fast asleep against the wall, wrapped in his comforter with Jimin bundled up on his lap and snoring faintly against his chest. The air smells of stale, sour alcohol and Jin doesn’t even need the explanation of Yoongi standing behind him to know what’s going on here. He sighs heavily, pressing his fingers into his forehead. He’s more worried than annoyed, but they have a meeting this afternoon and he now has 3 hours to attempt to cure Jimin’s hangover before the appointment. Jin grimaces at the sight on the floor; Jimin looks rough, to say the least.
He looks back at Yoongi who shrugs but still looks guilty. He isn’t hungover. Of course, he isn’t. “I guess the Irish bomb was a bad idea.”
_____
bonus:
Jimin’s hiccups clip over the low volume of the film, sometimes light with a random burp that cuts in between. Taehyung grazes his back while Jimin scrolls drunkenly through Snapchat filters on his phone. He looks down when Jimin suddenly groans and drops his phone right onto his face. “Ughhhmmph, I just sent that to Taeminnie-hyung. Taetae, here, fix it please?”
“I don’t think you can delete what’s already been sent, Jiminssi.”
realizing a headcanon of yours happens to make an element of canon even more heartbreaking when you hadn't even considered it from that angle previously
[ID from alt: emoji rubbing their hands together and grinning evilly. End ID.]
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
A relentless stomach bug sweeps through the Stray Kids dorm, turning every room into a war zone of sickness and survival. One by one, the members fall, leaving only a few to hold the fort.
____________________________________________
Sickie/s: Han, Felix, I.N/Jeongin, Changbin, and Bang Chan
Caretaker/s: Seungmin, Lee Know and Hyunjin ____________________________________________
By late afternoon, the Stray Kids dorm smelled faintly of bleach, peppermint, and despair.
Minho had boiled up a light chicken soup for the fallen members, and everyone had tried their hand at a bowl.
All except for Felix.
“Lixie, please.” Hyunjin begged, prodding at the younger mans shoulder yet again. “You really need to try… you’re dehydrated, you literally have nothing in you.“
Felix just groaned, not making even the slightest attempt at moving. He was sprawled out on Chan’s bed, blonde hair sticking out in every direction and face hidden somewhere in a heap of pillows.
Hyunjin knew the younger could be stubborn sometimes, but this was on a whole new level.
Even more concerning than his obduracy was the fact that even though Felix’s temperature kept rising, his skin felt dry, like all the moisture had been sapped out of him. And well, in a way, it had..
“Yongbok-ah..” It was Minho’s turn to speak now. Sitting beside Hyunjin on the edge of the mattress, he carried a stoic calm the former lacked. “You know how this ends... and we all know you don’t actually want to go to the hospital, so come on now.”
That finally evoked a response.
Felix turned over, peeking out his burrow with a resigned look. “I’m just s-so tired,” he whispered brokenly, eyes blood shot and weary. “I don’t wanna.. huhh.. don’t wanna go back to the bathroom again…”
Hyunjin and Minho shared a helpless, sympathetic glance, the kind that said everything words couldn’t. Oh, how their hearts ached to see him like this.
“We know…” Hyunjin began, running a hand up Felix’ warm back. “We know. I’m so sorry, baby, but a trip to the hospital is longer…”
Minho pressed his lips together in what was supposed to be a half-smile. His voice was soft and unusually sweet when he spoke. “And we’ll help you if you need it, okay? It’s… it’s gonna be okay.”
Felix let out a shaky sigh, burying his face back into the pillows for a moment before muttering, “O-okay… okay.” His voice was small, hesitant, but there was a thread of trust woven through it.
Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped in quiet relief, and Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
“Good, that’s good, Felix.” Hyunjin murmured encouragingly, brushing a loose strand of hair from Felix’s forehead.
Minho nodded. “Yeah. No rush. Just… slow and steady.“ he lifted up a spoonful of soup, eyes soft. “Now say aahh..”
—
When the evening rolled around, the dorm was quiet. Too quiet.
Seungmin and Hyunjin had done another round of disinfecting, masked up and feeling exhaustion begin to pull at their bones.
Minho had taken over Felix duty while Chan shuffled around doing the laundry, cleaning up sick buckets, and checking vitals like he was a nurse on the world's worst (and longest) shift.
None of them said it aloud, but it hung in the air between them like a charged storm cloud; someone else is going to fall soon.
…. they just didn't expect it to be Chan.
—
An hour passed, then two.
Bang Chan stayed on his feet, running between rooms like clockwork (even when the other healthy members gathered for a much needed dinner break). He helped Jisung clean up again, swapped out Changbin’s puke bowl, and sat with Jeongin when he cried deliriously for his mum in the middle of a fever spike.
He ignored the first few waves of nausea, brushing them off as stress. He hadn't really eaten properly, so of course his stomach felt off. His head was pounding, but he'd barely had a wink or sleep. His legs trembled, but he'd barely sat down.
Every symptom could easily be explained by the taxing day he’d had…
But the signs were coming in hot, each one more pressing than the last.
It wasn't until Chan dropped the thermometer and had to brace against the wall to keep from falling that Minho caught on. He saw his stumble from the hallway, freezing in place as his eyes narrowed— like a cat with its eyes fixed on a prey.
Chan couldn’t have lied his way out of it even if he tried
"Hyung.” Minho's voice was unusually sharp, demanding his immediate attention. “Stop."
"I'm fine." Chan protested, straightening up again, but Minho was unbending. He wasn’t that easy to fool.
The dancer dropped the supplies he was sorting, eyebrows drawn as he stepped closer. "You're shaking."
It felt like one of those eerie first symptoms in a zombie movie.. right before everything went wrong.
"I'm-" Chan swayed again, his vision momentarily swirling out of focus. For a second, he feared he would keel over, ears ringing, but he didn’t get the opportunity to.
Minho caught him by the elbow, tightening his grip when Chan's knees buckled slightly beneath him. This time, his voice left no room to argue,
"Hyung. Sit down. Now."
Chan allowed himself to be lowered to the ground, but the second his butt hit the floor, everything hit him full-force. The fatigue, the nausea he’d suppressed, the sweat clinging to his back.
A tsunami of pain erupted in his gut, and his head swam in dizzying waves, his vision turning spotty. His hands instinctively flew to his stomach, and he curled in on himself with a shaky gasp.
“Oh no.” Seungmin said warily, crouching beside him with a frown. Where’d he’d come from, Chan didn’t know. "That’s not a good sign…”
Chan gave a weak laugh, voice strained. "Tell me about it.." His skin had gone ghostly pale in the blink of an eye, a cold sweat broken out along his brow.
And before anyone could react, Chan was actively gagging into the same bucket he'd just cleaned out for Jisung.
Seungmin huffed resignedly, sweeping his bangs out of his face and keeping them clear from the line of fire. Minho stayed steady on the other side, his hand pressed flat to Chan’s back as he retched.
The sound of their leader forcefully emptying his stomach echoed down the hall, and amidst the chaos, another groan arose from the sick room.
Minho and Seungmin exchanged a glance— a weary kind that said “here we go again.”
But before either of them could decide who would stay with Chan, and who would respond to the new distress call, Hyunjin appeared in the hallway, looking visibly frazzled.
He spun on his heel, caught between directions, trying to decide where to go first. Who needed him? What could he do? Someone was being sick, but where—?
When he saw Chan on the floor with Minho and Seungmin by his side, gagging into a bucket, Hyunjin froze dead in his tracks.
The colour drained from his face like water from a sink, his heart plummeting straight to his feet.
“Fuck— oh no… no, no, don’t tell me he’s..” Hyunjin tried to mask it, but his voice trembled, fraying at the edges. Hell, he just wanted to sit down and cry.
Seungmin nodded slowly, rising to his feet with a grim expression as he reached for a roll of napkins.
“I’m afraid it’s official…” he said with a sigh. “The boss is down.”
—
By nightfall, the line of causalities was five and counting. And the medics? The medics had been reduced to a crestfallen trio.
Minho had taken over Chan's "command center" with its base in the living room. Second oldest equaled second in command, naturally enough.
Seungmin had started tracking fluid intake and symptoms on a tiny whiteboard, scribbling down temperatures with all the seriousness of a field doctor.
Hyunjin, meanwhile, made fresh cold packs, disinfected surfaces, and stayed juuust out of reach of any coughing, gagging, or suspicious stomach grumbles.
For the most part, anyway. His heart inevitably melted to a puddle whenever one of the sick members looked up at him with those pitiful puppy-dog eyes…
Cool, calm and indifferent? Not a chance. He couldn’t be. Not when they looked at him like that.
Jeongin, in particular, was his Achilles’ heel. If Hyunjin ended up sick himself, he knew it would almost certainly be from his inability to resist coddling the poor maknae.
At 9PM sharp, Hyunjin stood in the kitchen, stirring around the same pot of rice porridge Minho had begrudgingly entrusted him not to burn (he’d only been given the task because Seungmin already had set their noodles ablaze earlier in the day…)
“I hate this.” Hyunjin groaned, earning a soft hum in response from Seungmin, who was sitting with his legs dangling off the counter, snacking on a bag of hot Cheetos.
“This is like those zombie outbreak movies,” The older boy continued, staring into the porridge like it held all the answers he needed. “just with a lot more vomiting and diarrhea..”
Seungmin stopped chewing, narrowing his eyes in a tired glare. “Wow, thanks.” He muttered dryly, dropping a Cheeto back into the bag before shoving it aside. “Guess I didn’t need my appetite…”
Hyunjin shrugged sheepishly, a hint of guilt crossing his features. “Seriously though,” he said, suddenly solemn. “We’re outnumbered here. Our leader has fallen…. Minnie, we won’t survive the week.”
"We will..” Seungmin countered, though his voice was smaller than he intended, not nearly as confident as he wanted it to sound.
Their eyes tracked down the hallway as the way too familiar sound of vomiting echoed through the walls. Fluorescent lights gleamed through the slit of the bathroom door, and a soft voice rumbled from the other side, calm and steadfast.
“You think he needs help..?” Hyunjin asked quietly, stirring around the pot harder, hand shaking from the strain.
Seungmin hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Lino-hyungs got it.. let’s just.. let’s just focus on the porridge.”
-
The bathroom light cast an unbearably harsh glow over the tiles. Chan was slumped against the wall beside the toilet, his forehead pressed to his arm, the other hand clutching the edge of the toilet like a lifeline.
Minho had lost count of how many times he’d been in this same position over the past 24 hours; kneeling next to someone shaking and pale, watching the life drain out of them one heave at a time.
Surely, by now, he could be considered an expert in the field.
He’d already helped Chan through what he hoped was the worst of it, but his hyung hadn’t exactly bounced back… His breathing came shallow and uneven, every exhale trembling and thin with lingering nausea.
“Hey,” Minho’s voice was low, gentle but firm as he crouched beside him. “You done for now?”
Chan made a noise that could’ve been a groan or a laugh; it was hard to tell which. “Define ‘done’..” he said humourlessly, voice raspy and raw from the excessive upchucking.
Minho sighed softly, silently grabbing a towel and running it under cool water before wringing it out. He pressed it to the back of Chan’s neck, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. “You’re burning up...”
“No, no,” Chan insisted, shaking his head weakly. “‘M okay… just… tired.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Minho asked flatly, eyebrows raising. God, how foolishly stubborn this man could be.
Or if not for his stubbornness.. maybe, just maybe, Chan was already so feverish he’d officially lost his grip on reality.
“You’ve been ‘just tired’ since 7 o’clock this morning..” the dancer countered, “Now you’re pale, sweating and throwing up. That’s not ‘just tired’, that’s sick.”
Chan didn’t answer right away— partially because he felt too queasy to speak, partially because he knew Minho was right. He just leaned forward again, elbows braced on his knees and eyes squeezed shut as another wave of nausea rolled through him.
A gurgle reverberated up his chest.
Minho didn’t so much as flinch when Chan retched again, because he had expected as much.
Instead, he reached out, steadying a hand on his shoulder and rubbing slow, grounding circles over the tense muscles. By now, it was instinct driven more than anything.
“Breathe through it,” he murmured. “You’ll be okay, Chan-ah. Just let it pass.”
Chan obeyed, if only because he didn’t have the strength to argue or push him away. The bile burned its way up his throat as he got sick again, stinging vile and bitter through his nasal cavity.
Even when the first torrent dwindled to a trickle, his stomach kept clenching, twisting and turning until every last drop in his stomach had been ejected. How his body still had anything left to give was beyond him.
When the heaves finally eased, Chan sagged back against the wall, his head lolling weakly in Minho’s direction. His hair was doused in sweat, his skin clammy to the touch.
“Sorry…”
Minho frowned, supporting his head carefully against his shoulder as he reached over to flip the toilet lid down. “For what?”
Chan hesitated, then shook his head with a faint, almost childish petulance. “Forget it…’s dumb..”
Minho exhaled sharply through his nose, unamused. “Nope. That’s not gonna work on me and you know it. Speak.”
Chan swallowed thickly, his voice shaky as he spoke. “I just… ‘feel bad for getting sick cuz.. I’m the oldest..” he hesitated again, eyelashes fluttering. “I-I should be taking care of the others…”
“Well, you’re right about it being dumb.” Minho deadpanned, but then his expression softened. “You’ve been doing just that this entire time… taking care of everyone like some superhuman nurse. You can’t help that you got sick too. It was only a matter of time, really..”
He paused, allowing a moment for the words to sink in, then added with a shrug, “Viruses don’t care if you’re royalty. They’ll getcha either way.”
Chan let out a weak huff, leaning into Minho’s shoulder in quiet surrender. Even if he felt like a sack of shit, caught in the throes of the virus, at least Minho could lift a little of the guilt off his chest.
Minho rested his cheek lightly against Chan’s temple, letting the steadiness in his presence do most of the talking. “You’ve done your part,” he mumbled. “Now, let me help you.”
He grabbed another towel, this one dry, and dabbed it carefully along Chan’s hairline, wiping away the sweat.
Chan closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, and for the first time in hours, he allowed himself to fully exhale.
The sickness hadn’t gone away— quite frankly, it had only just begun, but for a moment, the weight of responsibility lifted off his shoulders. Just a little.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Minho said as Chan sagged against him, looking closer to unconsciousness with each passing second. “You can’t sleep on the bathroom floor. We only have one…”
Chan made a soft, noncommittal sound, halfway between defiance and surrender, but stretched out his arms anyway.
Like a damn toddler, Minho thought with a fond smirk.
It took effort to get him up, Chan was heavy and pliant in his arms, but eventually Minho managed to get him standing, one arm looped around his waist for support.
“Come on,” Minho murmured, a little breathless. “Sick bay for you too, General Bahng.”
When Minho pushed open the door to the sick room, a wave of warm, feverish air greeted them, tinged with the faint smell of disinfectant. Changbin and Jisung were curled up on their respective beds, both deep in restless sleep.
Minho led chan to the third bed, the largest, where Jeongin remained nestled under a mountain of covers. The maknae stirred in his corner, half awake and gazing at the newcomers with hazy eyes. “Oh, no.. Channie-hyung…?”
“Hey, Innie..” Chan greeted quietly, earning a concerned look from the maknae. Jeongin was still pale, but he looked a little better, Minho thought. Though maybe it just seemed that way in contrast to Chan’s rapid decline…
“Move over a bit, Innie,” Minho whispered as Chan settled down on the edge of the mattress, swaying like a boat caught in a swell. “Channie-hyung’s joining you.”
Jeongin blinked a couple of times, dazed but obedient, shifting to the side and making room without a word.
Minho helped Chan ease down beside him, the leader looking halfway asleep before his head even hit the pillow. The maknae’s warmth, even in sickness, was oddly comforting. Chan’s arms wrapped loosely around himself as he curled up on his side, finally allowing his body a moment to relax.
“Alright..” Minho hummed, placing a bucket securely by the side of the bed. “I got the superior bucket for you right here, okay? Now rest up, soldier..”
He adjusted the blanket over both of them, lingering for just a moment— just long enough to make sure Chan was breathing evenly, Jeongin’s hand loosely curled against his arm, before quietly backing out of the room.
11:20PM
The apartment was eerily quiet except for the occasional groan or retch. The sick room, now housing Jeongin, Jisung, Changbin, and Chan, had finally settled into the stillness of night.
At last, Felix too had finally fallen asleep, curled tightly in a blanket burrito back in Chan's bedroom. Now, the three who remained standing finally had a moment to breathe.
Like night shift nurses, they sat huddled around the dinner table, drinking ginger tea and whispering war plans. Seungmin was wiping at the whiteboard, scribbling notes with droopy eyes.
They hadn’t even started talking about how to deal with the night that was so rapidly approaching, dreading the topic as a whole.
All they wanted was rest, but resting while running a poor man’s infirmary was a scarce treat they probably couldn’t afford.
Hyunjin collapsed down in a chair after his last disinfecting duty, resting his forehead on folded arms. “We need reinforcements...”
Minho glanced over from where he was absentmindedly stirring a spoonful of honey around his tea. “There are no reinforcements,” he said quietly. “This is it. We're it."
Hyunjin closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath that might have been a prayer or a curse. Possibly both.
They sat in silence for a moment longer, listening to the distant sound of groans down the hall. As they grew more persistent, the three men tensed up, ears piqued and senses on high alert.
A door clicked open, feet shuffled, another door closed. Someone retched harshly, the sound echoing harrowingly through the thin walls. It sounded like Chan— again.
With a heavy sigh, Seungmin stood from his chair, but Minho lifted his hand, quietly signaling him to stay seated as he bravely volunteered himself to the task instead.
Seungmin gave him a look, one that practically spelled are you sure? in bold letters, but Minho nodded. He was sure, and Seungmin looked every bit as exhausted as the rest of them.
If he could spare the poor kid, he would.
"Day three of the apocalypse. We’re outnumbered,” Hyunjin muttered somberly, holding his head like he was on the brink of insanity. "Five infected. Three survivors. Hope dwindling…”
Seungmin rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his beverage. “We’ll live one more day, Mr.Hwang.. Innies already on the mend.” His voice took on a more genuine note, hopefulness and determination woven into his words.
“We can do this.”
The silence was heavy, they were all exhausted beyond compare, but a tiny spark of hope was ignited. And they wouldn’t let it fade away.
Not without another fight.
Before Minho got ready to leave the room and assist their fallen leader once more, Hyunjin suddenly reached out a hand, hovering it above the table.
“Nurse-racha?”
Seungmin and Minho exchanged a look before they both reached out, stacking their hands on top of Hyunjin’s in turn. In unison, they sealed a silent agreement, weary smiles tugging at their lips.
“Nurse-racha.”
____________________________________________
— extra scene—
The following day, Jeongin was looking more like himself again, the spark having returned to his eyes. He was still weak, but his fever had lowered significantly, and his appetite was resurfacing.
As his condition improved and his puke risk neared zero, he was roomed with Felix in Chan’s bedroom.
Changbin had finally managed a cracker and some water without immediate regret, and even Felix had replenished some much needed electrolytes thanks to Seungmin’s expertly made Gatorade popsicles.
Jisung had declared himself dead at least twice more, but he was resting, swaddled into an immobilised cocoon on the bed.
Beside him on the next bed lay Chan, resting uneasily as he drifted in and out of fever ridden dreams.
Minho, Hyunjin and Seungmin lingered in the doorway, surveying the room like three generals assessing the damage on a battlefield. For the first time since the outbreak began, they allowed themselves a small, shared sigh of relief.
The worst of it was, hopefully, behind them.
Hyunjin brushed a stray strand of hair from his face and muttered, half to himself, half to the others, “We… we actually did it?”
Seungmin let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips, jabbing his elbow gently into Hyunjin’s side. “Don’t jinx it,” he said. “But yeah… we did it.”
Minho leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a tired but genuine grin on his face. “Good job, guys.”
For a moment, the room was quiet, filled only with the gentle, even breaths of those still resting.
The past two days had been a bonding experience they wouldn’t forget anytime soon, and in the quiet aftermath, they all felt it deep down.
Blood, sweat and tears— they had made it through.
Together.
And if this didn’t bond them together for life, they didn’t know what would.
A relentless stomach bug sweeps through the Stray Kids dorm, turning every room into a war zone of sickness and survival. One by one, the members fall, leaving only a few to hold the fort.
____________________________________________
Sickie/s: Han, Felix, I.N/Jeongin, Changbin, and Bang Chan
Caretaker/s: Seungmin, Lee Know and Hyunjin ____________________________________________
Keeping a highly contagious stomach bug from doing the rounds was hard enough on a good day. But when one of those dreaded viruses broke out among eight young men sharing a single bathroom?
Now that was a whole other level of difficulty. Once it started, keeping it under locks felt like a near impossible task.
Jeongin was the first one to go down. No one knew exactly when or where he’d picked it up, but somewhere along his way, the norovirus had sunk its nasty claws into him.
At first, he was just a little pale, and said he felt a little ‘off’ one unsuspecting Tuesday morning. An hour or so after breakfast, just before they were meant to be heading out for practice, he was projectile vomiting in the bathroom.
Felix followed soon after. He’d deliberately ignored any warnings to keep his distance in favour of giving the poor maknae some tender loving care.
The result? Painfully predictable, and equally as miserable.
He started looking peaky by mid-afternoon and was locked in a losing battle with the toilet by nightfall. All within the same day.
Under normal protocol, the sick members were to be quarantined in the same room— a feeble attempt to contain the spread, really.
But with Felix… well, with Felix it was different.
They’d learned that the hard way. Putting a sick Felix in a room with other sick people? Now that was just a disaster waiting to happen.
Putting Felix in a room of other sick people didn’t lessen the chaos— if anything, it multiplied it.
The last time it happened (one time Felix and Jisung had foolishly eaten some shady street food during tour) they’d dubbed it, in Seungmin’s words, “a ping-pong match of gags and tears.”
It was messy, it was pitiful, and it was traumatic for anyone and everyone involved.
To put it simply, no one wanted a sequel.
So Felix got a room to himself, usually with a personal caretaker to go with it. Changbin was always quick to volunteer himself.
Changbin sat with him while he got sick, patiently enduring the tears and dizzy spells that inevitably came with. He was steady like that. Rock-solid. The kind of person who could anchor just about anyone through the heaviest of storms.
But when it came to cleanup, Changbin wasn’t exactly a pro. He did his best; mask on, gloves tight, dousing every surface with the bleach solutions Chan had already prepped— but norovirus has a way of laughing in the face of good intentions…
The next morning, their group chat pinged to life just a little too early for comfort:
Changbin: guys…… It got me
Changbin: I’m sick :(
Changbin: Moved in with Jeongin
Changbin: I’m ok though! Sorry </3
Right. Everyone knew he wasn’t okay, but he certainly was a trooper for trying to keep a positive mindset.
With Changbin out of commission, that left five of them: Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, Seungmin and Minho.
Chan paced the living room like a general preparing for war. Arms locked behind his back and his gait stiff, he waited for Seungmin to join them for an emergency meeting regarding the recent developments.
The others were already gathered on the couch, each and every one of them wearing matching expressions of exhaustion and dread.
The clock on the wall reflected the cruel reality back at them. 6AM.
It was early. Too early. They were barely even awake, having been ushered out of bed in their pyjamas, but there they were— huddled together on the couch like a drowsy litter of kittens.
The hum of coffee brewing in the kitchen filled the silence, punctuated only by the tick of the wall clock. Each second felt louder than it should have.
“Does it usually spread this fast?” Hyunjin asked in a yawn, pulling his pyjama clad legs up on the couch as Minho settled down snugly beside him.
The older dancer gave a shrug. “They could’ve just been exposed around the same time. Some people take longer to show symptoms.”
“Right..” Hyunjin nodded dubiously, his fingers tapping gently against the warm ceramic of his mug. “Still feels really fast…”
“Like wildfire.” Jisung chimed in from the other side of the couch, head resting on Minho’s shoulder and hoodie pulled up over hair that looked like it hadn’t met a brush in days.
“Bingo.” Seungmin agreed once he finally emerged from the kitchen, coffee in hand. He dropped onto the couch with the kind of sigh that said this day was already too long.
If only he knew…
“Alright. Good, everyone’s here.” Chan said, cutting right to the chase. They had no time to waste. “Here’s what we got. Jeongin and Changbin are sharing a room, that’ll be our sick bay for now. Felix is in mine, so I’m taking the couch out here..”
The leader paused for a moment, gazing down the hallway as if he’d heard something. More likely, he was just imagining things— he hadn’t exactly slept well.
“Seungmin-ah, you were the last one to check on them. Status?”
Seungmin peered at their leader over the rim of his coffee cup. He took a sip, then exhaled slowly through his nose.
“I’m not gonna sugar coat it,” he said flatly, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a mess. Felix fainted twice last night, Innie cried, and Changbin looked white as a sheet this morning.”
Seungmin stretched out an arm behind Hyunjin’s back as he continued relaying what information he had. “Innie’s still seems the worst off so far, fever’s high.” He paused to take a breath.
“Lix and Bin have mild fevers, but Felix has been back and forth to the toilet a lot, and you all know how it goes when he’s dehydrated..” Seungmin mimed a person walking and falling flat to the floor with his hand.
The living room fell silent for a beat, but then they all nodded along in a chorus of agreeing sighs. Yeah, they knew. Unfortunately…
“Okay, thanks Seungmin.” Chan clasped his hands together, scanning the four members cramped together on the couch. “Everyone here still feeling fine?”
Hyunjin offered a thumbs up and a short “yep” in return.
“Never been better.” Came Seungmin’s sarcastic response as he took an excessively long sip of his coffee.
Minho joined in with an ominously nonchalant, “For now”, his head tilted over the back of the couch.
And Jisung— well, Jisung didn’t say anything.
Chan was about to continue speaking on his plan moving forward, but Jisung’s silence threw him off…
Why didn’t he answer?
The leader felt his blood run cold, a frown tugging at his lips. “Han-ah? Are you..” he trailed off, the words dying in his throat.
Jisung was staring dead ahead, his eyes a little sunken and his expression fixed in a vacant stare. There was a slight crease in his brow, barely noticeable, but most certainly there.
Now that he had raised his head from Minho’s shoulder, Chan could get a proper look of his face and…
Oh no.
Something was most certainly wrong.
There was a dullness in his eyes that didn’t bode well, and no matter how much he didn’t want to, Chan had to admit Jisung looked a little… pale…
“Han, hey-“ Chan waved a hand in front of Jisung’s face, finally pulling his attention away from the still air. Up close, he looked even worse for wear.
Chan inwardly cringed, his heart skipping a beat as he pressed the back of his hand against Jisung’s cheek. He didn’t feel feverish, not yet, but…
“You’re looking a little green around the gills there, bud..” Chan paused, already dreading the response as he proposed his question. “You feeling alright?”
Jisung looked up and blinked slowly, as if it took him an immense amount of effort just to process the question. “I don’t know… I-I think..” His face scrunched for a moment, a tug of discomfort pinching his brow. “My stomach feels… funny.”
Chan narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘funny’…”
Jisung straightened up a little, but his moves were sluggish and heavy. “‘Dunno.. like.. crampy?” He paused with a suspicious swallow. “B-but it’s not like ‘I’m dying’ kinda crampy. Just like… ‘I had too much milk’ kind of crampy..”
Seungmin looked at him with a blank expression. “Well, did you have any milk?”
“…no.” Jisung whispered quietly. The room held its breath, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Great.” Seungmin drained the last of his coffee and placed the cup on the table with an exaggerated loud clank. “You’re next, then.”
Hyunjin immediately shifted a few inches away, like Jisung himself was a ticking time bomb of germs and contaminants. “Uh-oh.”
Minho, however, didn’t budge. “No kidding,” he looked at Jisung, eyebrows drawn together as his eyes scanned over his sickly features. "Look at him. He's already sweating."
"I'm not sweating.” Jisung protested weakly. Then he wiped his forehead. "Okay… Maybe I'm sweating a little. But it's just hot in here, right?” He looked around the room, eyes getting increasingly desperate as reality settled in. “Right?”
“Nope.” Hyunjin stood up, shaking his head with a bleak expression. He grabbed a disinfectant spray off the table like a weapon, holding it to his chest as he backed away. “Sorry, dude.”
“Hey..” Chan spoke up cautiously, watching in real time as Jisung turned paler by the second. “Hannie, do you think you’re gonna puke?”
When Jisung immediately gave a stiff nod in return, Minho finally moved. Not out of the way, but just far enough to grab the trash bin near the bookshelf. He wordlessly handed it to Jisung with the grim calm of someone passing over a parachute mid freefall.
Jisung quickly took the bin with both hands, shutting his eyes tightly as he leaned over it, lips trembling. “T-thanks…”
Hyunjin, who had steadily edged away from the couch, now stood with his back against the wall as he watched the chaos unfold before him. “That’s four down already.” He glanced at Chan. “We need to isolate him too. Immediately.”
Chan held up a hand to silence him, giving him a stern look. “I know. But let’s take it one step at a time, yeah?”
Jisung already looked miserable enough, Chan didn’t want him to feel like he was being treated like some sort of pest on top of it. That would only upset him further.
The youngest rapper sucked in a sharp breath, a whiny whimper leaving his lips as a string of saliva dribbled into the trash bin. “‘don’t.. hrgg.. d-don’t wanna get sick…”
Chan’s eyes softened with sympathy, but his shoulders tensed again as the muffled sound of someone gagging reverberated down the hallway.
Changbin.
And like a chain reaction set in motion, the sound of Jisung vomiting into the trash bin filled the room. Everyone collectively winced.
Minho sighed gently, holding Jisung’s hair back with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles along his trembling spine.
Chan opened his mouth to speak again, to try and delegate tasks, but his mind was running too fast for him to catch up.
“I’ve got him.” Minho said instead, cutting through the fog with calm certainty. A saving grace, truly.
Chan nodded sharply, already turning on his heel. “Okay-“ the leader cast a glance at Seungmin, who was calmly assisting Minho from the sidelines— then Hyunjin, who still stood plastered to the wall. “I’m gonna check on Bin.”
And with that, Chan bolted through the hallway like a firefighter responding to a blaze.
The sight that greeted him upon arrival shattered his heart to a million pieces. Changbin was drenched in sweat, slumped to a pale and shaky heap on the bathroom floor.
He hadn’t quite made it to the toilet in time by the looks of it, and now sat slouched against the bathtub, eyes fluttering with every new wave of nausea that hit him.
Chan crouched down beside him, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves with the resigned skill of a man who had been doing far too much bodily fluid cleanup for someone whose job was not supposed to be in healthcare.
“Hey, buddy.” Chan’s voice was soft and steady as he placed a hand on Changbin’s shoulder. “You’re okay. I’m here..” he gently brushed a few wayward strands out of the youngers face. “How’re you feeling?”
Changbin’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a soft, broken whimper in response. “Ugh.. crappy…”
“Yeah, I can tell..” Chan hummed softly, taking in the alarming pallor of the younger rappers face— so washed out he almost looked green.
Changbin curled in on himself with a wince. “Stomach hurts a lot…“ his voice was hoarse, and the shivers running through him made it hard to get his words across. “B-but it’s a little.. little less intense now that I finally got to throw up..“
“Yeah?” The oldest frowned softly, heart clenching in his chest. “Think you’re done for now, or..?”
Changbin hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders with a small grimace. “Maybe… for now, I think, yeah.. sorry ‘bout the mess, hyung…”
Chan offered a gentle smile, shaking his head lightly. “Don’t mind that. I’ve got it.” He squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick, Bin.. just hang in there for a minute, okay? I’ll get you back to bed soon. Promise.”
“Mhm..”
Chan started cleaning up the spillage, too preoccupied and concerned to be disgusted by any of it. His main priority was Changbin, and getting him back to bed as quickly as humanly possible.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, followed by a barely audible voice filtering through it.
“Hyung..?”
It was Felix. Oh fuck.
Chan threw some paper into the toilet, finishing off the last swipe of disinfectant against the tiles before answering in English. “Yeah, Felix, what’s up?”
The door clicked open and the younger Aussie appeared on the other side, his forehead pressed against the doorframe like that alone was keeping him from toppling over.
“I gotta..” Felix gestured weakly to the toilet, and the reluctance to voice his needs told Chan all he needed to know.
“Right.” The leader said, gazing back to Changbin who was now halfway dozing off against the bathtub. “Just give us a sec, Lix.”
“Binnie~” Chan crooned softly, shaking the rappers shoulder. “Ready to go back to bed, big guy? I’ll help you.”
With some effort, he got Changbin to his feet and led him toward the door, where Felix was still swaying, looking alarmingly pale.
“You gonna be okay on your own, mate?” Chan asked uncertainly as they passed by the younger, though the answer already seemed abundantly clear.
N to the O to the P to the E.
The weak hum he gave in return was not at all mollifying, and Chan scowled deeply as Felix’s eyes remained shut, the doorframe no doubt leaving indents in his forehead.
“Ooookay…” He paused for a moment, eyes darting down the hallway and lighting up with relief once Seungmin appeared.
Without even needing to say a word, the second youngest member scurried over (no doubt seeing the desperation in Chan’s eyes), giving the situation a brief look over before nodding.
“I’ll take Binnie back to bed.” Seungmin said firmly, slinging one of Changbin’s arms over his shoulder as he braced himself to support him.
Chan barely had time to thank him before the pair was off, and he was able to concentrate fully on the half-conscious kid before him.
“Oh, Felix...” He wrapped an arm around the younger man’s chest, like a railing keeping him from tipping off the edge of a bridge. “Lixie, hey, you with me?”
“Ugh.. yeah— s-sorry..” Felix lifted his head off the doorframe with a pitiful groan, eyelashes fluttering. “I-I need the… toilet..”
“Okay.. I got you.”
Chan secured an arm around Felix’s waist as he guided him to the toilet, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from visibly wincing when he swayed precariously on his feet.
The younger man was clearly teetering on the edge of consciousness, but Chan wouldn’t let him go down that easy.
Even if Felix moved like a tipsy pirate, staggering like a Jack Sparrow incarnate, he would be there to catch him. Always.
“Alright, easy does it now…” Chan murmured, gently lowering him onto the toilet seat.
Felix let out a tiny, embarrassed whine, eyes squeezing shut as a hiccup caught in his chest. “Chris—ugh—h-hyung… y-you don’t have to stay…”
“I know,” Chan replied simply, crouching beside him and brushing back the damp fringe clinging to his forehead. “But I’m going to.. sorry, mate, but I’d rather not have you crack your head on the tile, yeah?”
Felix didn’t argue after that. He barely managed a nod before curling around his midsection, trembling from the effort of holding himself upright.
The whole ordeal was far from pleasant, but Chan remained unfazed, brushing the hair from Felix’s face and muttering reassurances to help him through. “You're okay,” he whispered as the younger let out a half-choked sob. "You're doing really well, Lix."
Tears streaked Felix’s freckled cheeks, adding a shine to his otherwise dulled complexion. "H-hurts.. hurts so bad, hyung... my stomach feels like it's eating itself."
"I know, baby,” Chan soothed, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. His temperature was creeping higher by the second... “But you're doing great. Just breathe for me, okay? In and out… it’ll be over soon."
Time seemed to dissolve after that. Every time Chan tried to get up to fetch something— water, a cold compress, anything, Felix whimpered and reached for him, nearly faceplanting more than once.
So Chan stayed, sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor with his back against the tub, watching as Felix tried and failed to keep upright on the toilet.
Now, Felix had a bucket tucked in his lap, his head practically dipped into its hollow as he hiccuped and breathed shakily into the plastic.
It had been a while since the last bout, and by now Chan was more worried the kid would fall asleep there, cutting off circulation to his legs. Felix was all emptied out, but the poor guy was clearly too scared— and weak— to move.
"You need to rest," Chan murmured, voice tired yet laced with warmth. "You've got nothing left to give, Lix.”
Felix sniffled, tilting sideways until his head braced against the sink. "It feels like my insides are liquefied," he whispered hoarsely, words barely audible. "This is the worst day of my life."
Chan let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff, moving closer to rub circles along his back again. “That’s what you said when you dropped your rank in League.”
“I meant it then, too…”
“Right..”
Chan’s eyes flicked to the doorway, knowing the rest of the apartment wasn’t any more tranquil than they were.
Somewhere down the hall, others were still struggling through their own waves. The apartment was still alive with misery, solid proof that the war was far from over.
And he knew, without a doubt, that there was just a matter of time until someone else needed their precious bathroom…
—
A few doors down, Seungmin had managed to get Changbin tucked back under the covers. He’d fetched a fresh set of towels, a cool compress, and a water bottle that was likely to remain untouched until the worst of the nausea waned.
Hyunjin met him in the doorway, handing over a stack of clean pillowcases. “For Innie. He soaked through his again… I’ll be right back.”
Seungmin nodded listlessly and headed back inside the room with yet another task added to his agenda. Changbin had settled for now, but Jeongin…
Jeongin was but a miserable sight.
He was curled up beneath three blankets, his face blotchy with the unmistakable flush of fever and the pallor of someone thoroughly wrung out. The younger boy barely even stirred when Seungmin shook his shoulder.
Only when he shook again, a little firmer, Jeongin finally groaned. “Hyung…?” He drawled, turning over with sluggish effort.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Seungmin crouched down beside the bed, effortlessly slipping a thermometer between Jeongin’s lips and watching the numbers rise. Once it beeped, he grimaced.
38.8°C
Still way too high.
Like Hyunjin had stated, Jeongin’s pillow was thoroughly dampened with sweat, the sheets marred with dark patches. His body was fighting against the virus with everything it had, and the evidence of battle shimmered like crystals against his skin.
Seungmin reached out and brushed Jeongin’s hair back from his forehead, scowling gently. “Hey, you need to drink something, mister... Even if it’s just a few sips.”
Jeongin made a pitiful sound, clearly not eager to drink anything, but just as clearly not in any shape to argue. Even so, his obstinacy shone through.
Seungmin sighed. "Please?" he asked softly, nudging a straw against Jeongin’s lips, but he stubbornly turned his head away.
From across the room, Changbin suddenly mumbled, “Tell him it’s a juice box. He’ll do better if he thinks it’s a juice box…”
Seungmin snorted under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Seriously? We’re not bribing him like a five-year-old.”
“Speak for yourself.” Hyunjin said from the doorway, walking in again with a bowl of cold packs and a resigned expression. “At this point, I’d give him a lollipop and a sticker if it meant he drank something.”
Seungmin couldn’t bring himself to disagree with that logic. Their maknae was dehydrated, feverish and disoriented— if there was any way to hoax him into drinking water, of course he would do it.
And to his surprise, Changbin’s trick worked like a charm.
For some reason he couldn’t name, a delirious Jeongin was far more inclined to drink juice rather than water. A fact Seungmin never knew of, but was grateful that Changbin (strangely enough) did.
Jeongin took a couple of sips of the so called ‘juice’ before reclining back down with a displeased look. “That juice sucks… tastes like nothing..”
“Really?” Seungmin prompted, eyebrows raised. “That’s strange.” He couldn’t keep the amused smile from ghosting his lips as he swiped his thumb over Jeongin’s flushed cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll file a complaint on your behalf.”
The maknae seemed pleased by that, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. “Mm, thanks, Seungmin-hyung…”
“Anytime, Innie… anytime.”
—
Back in the living room, Minho was holding a damp towel to Jisung's face, one Hyunjin had handed over in passing just a few minutes prior.
The younger man was curled into a fetal position on the couch, a new, clean bucket close to his chest and his hoodie now discarded in a sweaty pile on the floor.
He had been sick twice more since the first round, but for now, it seemed like the waters had stilled.
Minho carefully adjusted the towel to rest over his forehead, eyes scanning over the younger’s pinched features. “Feeling any better?” he asked, voice low.
A pitiful groan was the answer he got as Jisung’s fingers tightened weakly around the bucket. “No. Worse. Everything hurts now…” he mumbled. “My stomach, my back… even my eyeballs, hyung.”
“Eyeballs?” Minho echoed, pressing his fingers to Jisung’s reddening cheeks. “Yeah, that checks out. Probably the fever… fevers.. fevers cause eyeball pain sometimes.”
Jisung paused for a moment, like the statement was grinding around in his brain, before peering up at Minho with glassy eyes. “Wait.. really?”
Minho paused, staring back at him. “Uh… dunno,” he admitted with a shrug. “Maybe— probably. I just thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”
After a beat of stunned silence, Jisung groaned again, slinging an arm up to cover his eyes with melodramatic flair. “I’m dying.” he whined, curling tighter into himself like it would shield him from the onslaught of discomfort.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t, and it didn’t, but whining did help a little.
Minho didn’t react much to his dramatics. He just kept smoothing the cool towel across his skin, calm and composed. “You’re not dying, Jisung-ah.”
“We all are..”
Minho paused again, blinking once, twice, three times. “Fair point.” He decided. “But you’re gonna survive this. I can’t let a stomach virus be the end of you, that’s just.. embarrassing.”
Jisung snorted weakly. “Fair point..” he echoed back, voice small.
As Minho moved the cool cloth to his neck, he shivered, teeth chattering. “Yah—I'm cooold..." Jisung whined, trying to swat him away to no avail.
Minho remained steadfast, holding the rag in place as he argued matter-of-factly, “No. Actually, you're being cooked from the inside out.”
The silence that followed was punctuated by a few soft, uneven breaths, and then another groan that came from somewhere deeper in Jisung’s chest this time.
Minho caught the beginning of another queasy shift in his expression and immediately lifted the bucket closer, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades as Jisung lurched forward again.
"Shhh, l've got you.” Minho murmured, his tone gentle despite the grim situation. “Just let it out. You’re okay…”
Ten minutes later, the three other members on caretaker duty filtered into the living room, one after the other.
In last came Chan, stripping off a couple of gloves and a mask before disposing of them in a bag. He sauntered over to the couch with a solemn look on his face.
“How is he?” The leader gestured vaguely to the Han Jisung shaped lump nestled under the blankets.
“Feverish, in pain and dramatically complaining about it, but… I think he’s half asleep now.” Minho reported back plainly.
Seungmin took a seat on the armrest, scowling at the pitiful mound of man. “He already looks just as awful as the rest of them. It sure progresses fast…”
“Let’s just hope it passes just as quickly.” Chan murmured under his breath.
“Hate to be that guy, again, but we really shouldn’t have him out here.” Hyunjin butted in, nodding to the space around them.
The living room was supposed to kept sacred for as long as possible, a no-contamination zone, but unfortunately, it seemed they were already way past that..
Jisung had been holding on valiantly despite his whining. But after throwing up three times, and now visibly shivering through the blankets, even Minho had to concede it was time to move him from the common area.
Han Jisung had become yet another health hazard in the Stary Kids dorm.
“Yeah… we need to get him in with the others.” Minho said softly, brushing a few damp strands of hair off Jisung’s forehead.
Hyunjin nodded, arms folded over his chest. “Well.. the third bed’s set up for him in the sick room. All ready for him when you are.”
Minho sighed, glancing down at Jisung’s flushed, half-conscious face. Then, he looked at Chan expectantly, awaiting his final call.
Chan didn’t look thrilled about more manhandling, but he didn’t argue either. The lines under his eyes had deepened over the past day alone, and there was a persistent tension in his jaw that hadn’t eased ever since Jeongin had gone down. He just nodded once.
“Okay. Yeah.. Let’s just get it over with.”
Between the two of them, Minho and Chan helped Jisung to his feet. He wobbled immediately, letting out a tired groan and pressing the bucket to his chest like a comfort item. “D’you think I’m gonna die, hyung?” he mumbled, half-asleep.
Minho rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I already told you you’re not... But if you throw up on my shirt, I will kill you.”
That earned a small snort from Jisung.“Mmm’kay.. gotcha.”
The sick room, formerly Jeongin’s, now resembled a disaster relief zone more than a bedroom. Changbin was tucked into bed at one side of the room, still ghostly pale. Jeongin was buried under a mountain of covers on the other end, slick hair clinging stubbornly to his forehead.
Felix had been moved back to Chan’s room after his last bathroom trip, to keep preventing the number of active gagging noises in one room from exceeding a safe limit.
As they passed the threshold and Jisung stumbled inside the room, Jeongin cracked an eye open. “Hannie-hyung..?” He mumbled, then groaned. “Oh god, not you too..”
“Heeey guys… I brought snacks.” Jisung croaked, gesturing weakly to the bucket.
Changbin wheezed out a faint laugh before wincing again, curling in on himself. “Ew, Jisungie, ew.”
Minho guided Jisung over to the third bed, which so far had been used to hold the supplies. He watched the younger member flop down and helped him get comfortable, tucking the bucket beside him before standing back up. “Alright, try and get some rest.”
“Death is eternal rest..” Jisung mumbled suggestively.
“Yah— quiet with the death talk already.” Minho groaned, half-heartedly jabbing a finger into Jisung’s shoulder.
“He hangs out with you too much.” Chan noted, and Minho couldn’t find it in him to argue. After all, he had a point…
As Jisung started drifting off, Minho ruffled his hair once more and glanced at Chan, who was still lingering in the doorway. “You good?”
Chan blinked at him, like the question hadn’t registered at first. “Huh? Oh, yeah… just… thinking.” He took one last, long look at the three members curled up in various stages of misery, and rubbed a hand over his face.
And as he turned and quietly shut the door behind him, Chan wondered, just for a moment, when he’d wake up from this hellish nightmare.
____________________________________________
After seeing Felix look borderline traumatised when asked what it was like for 8 people to be sharing 2 bathrooms in the old dorm, I thought…. Why don’t we make it 1 bathroom? Just for fun 😎(I also mixed it with a request I got for all five of them sick, hehe.. jackpot.)
So here I present to you Stray kids + a singular bathroom dorm + a norovirus outbreak ❤️🥳 part two will be coming soon 🙂↕️
Had a thought. What if Channie was laying in bed (working like the workaholic he is) but he had a belly ache? It would keep cramping and make him feel so nauseous, but he'd keep working because he has shit to do.
Maybe he'd keep a bucket by the side of his bed in case he did throw up? But who do you think would give him tummy rubs/hold his head while he's actively being sick?
I think he's the type to burp up wave after wave of sick, take a moment, spit, and then go back to whatever he was doing. He would only admit defeat if he couldn't look at his screen without feeling overwhelmingly sick.
I look forward to hearing your thoughts!
-🍋
Hello, dear 🍋!
I wrote something similar once, it's called "So close yet so far". But it was Channie x reader.
However, this one has its differences 🤔
If you don't mind, I'll write it as a drabble 😊
Stubborn.
Stupidly stubborn.
That was the most accurate description of Chan.
That man insisted on working no matter what, even if the world was about to end, he'd probably be working on his computer.
This time around, he was having stomach issues, due to work-related stress.
Yes. He was working himself to a stomach problem and insisted on the main cause.
He started off his day with some bad cramps on his abdomen and even getting up from the bed hurt. For a while, about 4 minutes, he couldn't even stand properly. Every time he tried to straighten his back, he felt a sharp pain on his middle.
"Oh fuck off"
He thought to himself.
He had work to do, well, he always did, but with an impending comeback, his workload doubled, tripled even. Now was not the time to take a break, not the time to get sick.
He tried going to the bathroom numerous times but to no avail.
And the worst of it all: the kids noticed something was wrong. But they knew better than to try to get him to talk and push the wrong button and end up making angry.
And Chan was incredibly scary when angry.
Every time he went to the bathroom he couldn't bring anything up but the nausea persisted as well as the cramps. That alone was making him mad.
Seeing that spending time inside the bathroom wasn't getting him anywhere he settled for bringing a bucket inside his bedroom and keep on working.
45 minutes of working proved to be enough to send his stomach over the edge.
The nausea increased tenfold and he felt a burning sensation and something rushing up his chest.
He suppressed a burp with his hand but was taken aback when it brought up a bit of bile. Out of instinct, he swallowed it back and that was when everything went wrong.
His stomach protested against that move and sent it's contents up his throat.
He was going to throw up. And his beloved computer was right in front of him. That one computer that contained their entire career, past, present and future.
He quickly tossed it aside and bend over the bed, grabbing the bucket and burping up a thick stream of chunky vomit.
Right after the first wave he started to cough, a wet and loud cough that triggered his stomach to expell even more food.
But the coughing insisted and it was getting too loud. Loud enough for the kids to hear.
The one who kept the others from entering their leader's room was Changbin. Chan didn't like people worrying about him and if all 7 of them decided to barge into his room to check on him, he'd be mad and it could even trigger a panic attack.
The rapper decided to enter the room alone to help his hyung, whether he wanted or not.
- Channie-hyung? I'm coming in.
- Don't-
Chan tried answering but the coughing didn't allow him.
Changbin entered the room and found Chan bent over the bucket almost falling inside it. He sat by his side on the bed and promptly held his hyung's forehead before he could actually dive inside the bucket.
- Aigoo~ hyung~
Changbin cooed, still holding his hyung's forehead and rubbing his back.
Chan burped up another thick wave of vomit and that was when Changbin noticed how the bucket was already half filled.
The older boy was holding himself up on the edge of the bed with one arm, while the other held the bucket close to him.
The wave that followed right after a wet burp was far more violent than the others and made him lose balance but thankfully Changbin held him.
He held Chan's torso while still supporting his head and the older one proceeded to burp another round of sick.
- Gosh, hyung. You're really sick. What happened?
- I don't know.
Lies.
He knew exactly what was wrong and he didn't want to tell Changbin because he himself didn't want to admit it.
He burped up another stream before his stomach had apparently emptied itself.
- I'm okay now, Bin-ah.
Chan answered propping himself up and leaning back on the bed.
Changbin wanted to insist on staying with his hyung or at least try to keep him from working on his computer but he didn't want to overstep the boundaries with his leader.
- You can go, Bin-ah, you need to enjoy the free time we have before the preparations for the comeback.
Changbin knew that if things got worse, Chan would most likely call for help, so he left.
And he was right.
Chan continued to work on the songs but changing screens all the time, going over and over the same beat again and just the noise overall became way too overwhelming. Even worse than before.
No matter how hard he tried, the nausea and the urge to vomit just wouldn't go away and it was starting to make him anxious.
He decided to text Changbin who promptly entered his hyung's bedroom and went to his side.
He put away the computer and helped Chan sit on the edge of the bed, placing the bucket on his leader's lap.
Chan's stomach didn't even hesitate, once he was sitting and he had a receptacle in hands, it contracted sending his lunch rushing up his throat.
He bent over as a wet burp made that come out hitting the bucket with a sickening sound.
Changbin rubbed his back as he proceeded to vomit once more, this time, inconveniently coming out of his nose as well.
- Oh gosh.
Chan said blowing his nose and spitting out some saliva before his stomach contracted again.
He lurched forward with such force that Changbin decided to place the bucket on the ground before it could get messy.
Chan burped up a thick stream of puke with bits of food, bending over even further. Changbin held his forehead again while his hyung proceeded to puke his guts out.
- Oh god, hyung. Did you eat something bad?
Chan just nodded a no and puked one more time at the sheer mention of food.
- Then, care to tell me what's going on?
Changbin asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice. He hated that Chan tried to keep things from the boys, especially when it came to his health.
- It's just stress.
- It's not "just" stress, hyung. You know how it can damage your health, you can't continue to keep these things from us. Come on, we're team remember? We're here to help each other out, why do you have to be the only one not allowing yourself to be helped?
The hint of annoyance in Changbin's voice turned into a shaky, sad one. In fact, there were tears forming in his eyes.
Chan looked up at him, and his heart broke.
- I'm sorry, Bin-ah. I'm really sorry. I'll let you guys take care of me. I promise. I'm sorry for worrying you.
He reassured his dongsaeng, pulling him closer so their foreheads were touching.
That simple touch comforted both of them. It was everything they both needed at that moment.
- Hyung...your breath stinks.
Changbin said laughing and earning an honest laugh from Chan.
The younger boy helped him brush his teeth and then go back to bed so he could rest.
But as soon as Chan touched his computer, Changbin snatched it from him.
- No. You're not touching this again today.
- I just need to see if the files are all saved.
He said pleading and laughing a bit nervously.
- They are, hyung. I checked it. Now try to get some sleep. This computer is coming to my room.
Changbin said with a playful tone and hugging Chan's precious computer.
Chan just admitted defeat and let Changbin take his dear possession with him, as well as be taken care of for the rest of the day.
