Feveruary Day 15: "I don't think I've ever seen you ill before."
Fandom: SHINee
Sickie: Key (general illness)
Caregiver(s): Onew
Word Count: 1,407
Notes: Request from @minholly1965! Takes place two years into SHINee's career.
“What’s going on with Ki-hyung?” Taemin whispered as he slumped against Jinki’s side. He pouted up at the leader, which made him look significantly younger than his 16 years. “He’s been acting weird all day.”
“I don’t know, bud.” Jinki’s eyes wandered to Kibum, currently sitting in the back corner of the van, hood up, headphones on, eyes vacantly staring out the window. Taemin was right: Kibum had been weird today. Quieter, moodier, more dejected and down on himself than Jinki had ever seen him in the three years they’d known each other. Kibum’s dancing was half-hearted, his energy deflated… and voice practice had been nothing short of a nightmare for how many notes the younger man had missed, how some of his notes came out flat or off pitch. It was strange, to say the very least, but it wasn’t something Jinki could address in the moment. Every attempt to talk to Kibum today ended with the younger man becoming more withdrawn, no matter who tried it.
“Well, we have to do something,” Taemin insisted, pout intensifying.
“We will, Tae. I’m gonna talk to him when we get home. Let him cool down first.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Surprisingly, Jinki didn’t even need to make good on that promise as Kibum approached the leader himself after they arrived home. While Jonghyun and Minho loudly set about preparing dinner, Taemin looming at the edges of their shenanigans, Kibum sidled next to Jinki, face drawn tight with worry.
“Hyung, something’s wrong,” he whispered, voice terribly quiet.
Eyeing the others’ position, immediately reading Kibum’s desire for secrecy, Jinki kept his reply quiet: “Tell me about it.”
“Well, you heard what happened today,” Kibum started, sighing with obvious frustration. “I just… couldn’t get my voice to work right.” His eyes trailed to the floor as he spoke, his fingers tangling nervously in the hem of his sweater.
Jinki reached for those anxious hands, settling Kibum’s fingers in his own. “Kibum-ah, it’s okay. You can’t be perfect everyday. None of us can. No one’s mad at you for…”
“No it’s…” Kibum shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He pulled a sharp inhale, as if preparing to drop serious news. Jinki felt his own heartbeat start to pick up, the tension in Kibum’s body spilling over into his. “Ever since vocal lessons… well, no, even before that, I’ve felt this…” Kibum tapped absently at his neck, “this pain. In my throat. And now it’s more than that it’s… it’s everywhere.”
The knot forming in Jinki’s stomach disappeared instantly. This wasn’t the start of a breakdown. This wasn’t Kibum second guessing his talent and place in the group. This wasn’t the major issue Kibum was making it out to be.
No, this was something much simpler, something Jinki could easily handle. This was just a sick dongsaeng. Sure, this would be a little more challenging given that the ill one was Kibum, who, as far as Jinki could remember, had never been sick in their time together. And that was something Kibum took a lot of pride in; as the most germ-conscious member of the group, this had to be hard for him. Hard to deal with, and even harder to admit. But nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix.
As the puzzle pieces clicked into place for Jinki, Kibum’s eyes opened, shimmery with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t feel well.”
“OH MY GOD!”
Kibum physically jolted at Taemin’s sudden shout. Jinki didn’t fare much better, whirling towards the maknae who was staring at Kibum with relief. In fact, all eyes were now focused on Taemin and Kibum.
“That’s it! That’s why you’ve been so different today, hyung!” Taemin explained. He turned his attention to the leader. “I told you Key-ah was acting weird, but it wasn’t weird. Well… it kinda was. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick before, hyung.”
And with that, all pretense faded. Jonghyun and Minho and Taemin were all staring at Kibum with a mix of surprise and sympathy and a little bit of awe that their stronger soldier had fallen.
Completely overwhelmed, Kibum started sobbing.
The two eldest shared a look, a plan passing instantaneously between them.
“Okay, come on, love.” Jinki wrapped an arm around Kibum’s shoulders, leading him off into the hallway as Jonghyun did the same to Taemin, leading him the opposite way towards the living room. Jonghyun also grabbed the back of Minho’s shirt, dragging him away too. Jinki heard both of them start yelling about ‘what did I do?!’ and ‘I didn’t mean it!’ and other words of chaotic confusion. He blocked it out with the soft click of the bathroom door. The leader sat Kibum on the lip of the tub before kneeling to turn the tap on.
“This is so embarrassing,” Kibum whimpered, hiding his face in his hands.
“It’s not,” Jinki reassured him, holding his fingers under the water until it reached the right temperature.
“It is though…” Kibum sniffled tearfully. “I don’t like this, hyung. I don’t like feeling like this.”
“I know, jagi.” Jinki settled back on his heels, taking one of Kibum’s hands in his. “I mean, Taemin’s right. I don’t think you’ve ever been sick since I’ve known you.”
“Yeah, cause I fucking hate it,” Kibum said around a bitter laugh, swiping at his eyes with his free hand. His lips were set in a disgruntled pout, eyes still teary, seemingly against his will. “That’s why I’m such an ass when any of you get sick…” he mumbled.
“We know. We’ve learned to not take it personally. Well… most of us. Minho’s going to give you hell no matter what you do, though.” That earned him the smallest of smirks from Kibum. Jinki ruffled the younger man’s hair before moving towards the cabinet under the sink, digging around for the bubble soap they kept for special occasions. This felt like a good use of it: Kibum could use a little whimsy right now.
“I think I traumatized Taemin,” Kibum commented as Jinki returned to the tub and poured in a generous amount of the bubble soap.
“You didn’t. He’s a tough cookie.”
“Still….” Kibum’s entire frame deflated with a deep sigh. “This is so stupid.”
“Again, it’s not.” Jinki turned off the tap, and turned his full attention back to Kibum. “Now, you don’t have to take everything off if you don’t want to.” Kibum’s brow furrowed slightly. The leader nodded towards the bathtub. “Did you think I was just filling this for fun?”
“I mean, it’s a weird way to cheer someone up, but I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Jinki rolled his eyes at Kibum’s teasing. “I wouldn’t waste the bubbles if it was just for show.” Kibum looked at the water. “You said everything hurt. This will help.”
“Why does it matter how much I take off?”
“Because I’m not leaving you, sooooo… make your own decisions.”
Kibum eyed the water, then Jinki. After a few moments, he finally nodded.
The second his body was submerged in the water, Kibum felt all of the negative emotions he’d been harboring start to slip away. His eyes closed on impact, and he leaned back against the cold wall, the sensation of the warm water and cool tile so terribly satisfying. Maybe… things were going to be okay.
“Keep your eyes closed, okay?”
Just when Kibum thought things couldn’t get better, a rush of warm water cascaded over his head and gentle, strong fingers began to work through his hair. A noise of pure contentment, small but echoing in the tiled tub, escaped Kibum’s lips as all remaining tension melted from his body as Jinki continued to wash his hair, slow and steady. It was almost enough to make him forget the horror of the looming sore throat and oncoming fever.
“This isn’t fair,” Kibum murmured eventually, (he’d completely lost track of time at this point.)
“How so?” The younger man could hear the smile in Jinki’s voice.
“Do you do this for everyone when they’re sick?” Kibum asked.
“Not every time. But yeah, this is something I’ve done for the others a few times.”
“Well, that’s not fair, then. I shouldn’t be deprived just cause I take better care of my immune system.”
Jinki’s laugh was soft, musical, further dulling the ickiness crowding Kibum’s body. “I’m sure we can work out a special arrangement just for you, love.”
Feveruary Day 7: "Did You Really Think I Wouldn’t Notice?”
Fandom: All (ATEEZ, BTS, EXO, SVT, SHINee, Stray Kids??)
Sickie: Seonghwa (fever/flu)
Caregiver(s): Onew, Jin, Xiumin, Bang Chan, S.Coups
Word Count: 1,903
Notes: Welcome to this absolutely bonkers AU I have in my head. Music show where the eldest and youngest members of twelve groups (6 boy groups, 6 girl groups) compete in weekly challenges. Each week has a musical performance, sometimes as mixed gender groups, others divided, others in smaller, randomized subunits. Members live in a house together, also doing side challenges amidst their practices. Obviously, the main boy groups include my faves: SHINee, EXO, Seventeen, and ATEEZ. BUT I have also thrown in Infinite and Stray Kids. Every few weeks, there's a Challenger week where members from other groups join for the week, so that's how we got BTS in. Girl groups are not as well defined, but I could be pushed to make those choices if needed.
Seonghwa was good at performing when he shouldn’t be. He was a little too good at it, some might say. But as the eldest member of ATEEZ, Seonghwa felt it was necessary for him to be strong, to show his dongsaengs that he had them, even if he wasn’t feeling his best.
Still, even Seonghwa knew he had the tendency to overestimate his limits.
Like right now.
Right now, Seonghwa was convinced he was literally seconds away from passing out.
He’d gone into this performance knowing he was sick. Seonghwa figured he didn’t have a choice. The symptoms had quite literally hit during sound check; sure, he’d felt a little more fatigued than usual that morning, but nothing worrying until the full body chills and severe sore throat hit him like a bullet train. At that point, though, there was no little time for Seonghwa to do much substantial about it besides sneak a few pain killers. There wasn’t time to reblock the number on such short notice. They were already down Sungkyu thanks to the accursed flu Seonghwa knew had also claimed him, courtesy of the Maknae Team (how generous of them, really). In a similar vein, Seonghwa knew, despite their best efforts, that neither Minseok nor Bang Chan were back to full health after their own battles against this awful bug. And, on top of it all, it was a Challenger week… and the boy group Challengers were BTS… meaning there would be EXTRA viewers tonight. Therefore, he, Park Seonghwa, had to be at his best. It mattered because… that’s just how it worked. Seonghwa had to do it. Obviously. He’d taken his ibuprofen, and stuck on a smile.
But now that he was onstage? Seonghwa wasn’t sure if he was going to make it.
The first three minutes passed easily, adrenaline kicking in. It helped that the Hyung Team had front loaded the rap-heavy songs, meaning Seonghwa was mostly responsible for just dancing and some background vocals for what had quickly become the S.Coups show (not that Xiumin and Bang Chan weren’t killing it, they absolutely were, but they’d also strategically given Coups the most lines for flu-recovery reasons.)
Then minute four hit with the slo-mo pre-chorus of ‘Blood, Sweat, and Tears.’ And, in the sudden absence of motion, a deep heaviness settled upon Seonghwa’s body. He pulled in a desperate breath, and it burned like the fires of hell. The lights began to grow brighter, the music fading in and out the slightest bit. Panic settled in his chest.
There were four more minutes to go in this performance.
Seonghwa wasn’t going to make it.
Yet his body kept moving, mechanically executing the choreography. Seonghwa knew how to keep himself afloat, how to keep a smile on his face, even when things were going to hell.
Still, during the bridge of ‘DOPE,’ his voice cracked off pitch. When he spun to face the back, Seonghwa instinctively flinched at his own butchery of the note. He felt someone (probably Coups, he was closest) tap his hand for the briefest second. It wasn’t enough. Not when he opened his mouth to harmonize with Chan, only for nothing to come out. Seonghwa tried to swallow to no avail; his throat was dry and painful and he was royally fucking his team over.
And Seonghwa knew he still had to sing Jongho’s run from ‘CYBERPUNK,' which they’d mixed with ‘Dionysus.’ The panic in his chest constricted tighter, and Seonghwa faltered a step, running into someone (Seokjin-hyung… fuck, he’d tripped Seokjin-hyung!)
As he spun around, exactly five seconds away from humiliating himself on live televaion, Seonghwa felt a squeeze at his shoulder, and looked up, locking eyes with Onew for the briefest of seconds as SHINee’s leader pushed his body in the opposite direction from the choreographed positions. Seonghwa didn’t question it, his body mechanically following the silent direction as Onew sang the run for him, as if that had been the plan all along.
The rest of the song passed with Seonghwa on autopilot. When the music stopped, and his body along with it, Seonghwa couldn’t help the sudden wave of dizziness that assaulted him in the form of harsh lights and screams from the audience. He swayed, staggering a step forward, and instantly hands were on him. Someone clasped an arm around his waist, another settled on the space between his shoulder blades. Seonghwa couldn’t even risk looking to see who his saviors were; it took everything in him to stay on his feet.
As soon as the lights were off, the stage not even in full blackout, Seonghwa felt those strong arms practically carrying him away. The sound of his own breathing echoed in his ears, drowning out the barrage of chatter swirling around his head. Seonghwa didn’t even know he’d closed his eyes until he had to crack them open at the feeling of something wonderfully icy against his forehead.
“I know, it’s really cold,” a warm voice soothed. Seonghwa’s vision swam violently, and he closed his eyes again before he could figure out who. “If it’s too much…”
“Good,” Seonghwa ground out, his voice a croaking whisper.
“Where’s his water?” a voice asked from somewhere above (above?) him at the same time that a different one said, “Here, give him this.”
“Okay, Hwa, we’re going to sit up in one, two, three.” Two sets of hands clasped Seonghwa’s own, and pulled him up from… wait.
“Where…?” He lost his train of thought as the cold sensation returned, this time on the back of his neck.
“You passed out, bud.” Seonghwa blinked. S.Coups, Choi Seungcheol himself, was kneeling in front of him, smiling encouragingly. Worriedly, almost. “Can you drink some water for us?”
Seonghwa’s eyes peeled open, his brain attempting to push through an impenetrable wave of fog that cleared just enough for him to comprehend the request when he felt the lip of a water bottle pressed against his mouth. Fingers shaking, guided by unseen hands, Seonghwa tipped the bottle back, slowly drinking the lukewarm water that tasted like actual heaven. He had no idea how thirsty he’d been. Or how much his throat… wait, no, he knew his throat hurt. Because he… oh.
“I passed out… on stage?!”
Seungcheol shook his head as a voice from Seonghwa’s left confirmed, “No, no, after we got you off.” Seonghwa turned, heartbreakingly slow. Jinki. Of course. Of course Lee Jinki was on the floor with him, warm hand on his back, holding him up. Which connected a dot in Seonghwa’s brain…
“Thank you. For covering for me.” Seonghwa blinked at the man next to him. “How did you…?”
“I saw the way your breathing changed,” Jinki interrupted gently as Seonghwa’s voice gave out again. “Your center went from here,” he tapped his diaphragm, “to here,” he tapped his chest. “That’s a panic response your body will do if it feels low on air. Or if you, ya know, start panicking.”
“Hyung, that’s impressive,” a new voice from the right exclaimed quietly, careful not to spook Seonghwa. No such luck, though, as, at the unexpected sound, Seonghwa whirled to his other side, eyes widening comically at Kim Seokjin, who was also on the floor with him. Smiling at him. Like Seonghwa hadn’t just ruined everything during Jin’s special week.
Jinki shrugged. “I was already on high alert for Chan and Seok today, so it didn’t take much to catch someone else’s rhythm falling off.” His eyes widened as they flipped back to Seonghwa. “And like, general rhythm. Not dancing rhythm. You did that very well!”
“Yeah, I gotta say, very impressed you made it that long.” Jin nodded sincerely.
“Fully agreed, on both accounts.” All four men looked up as Minseok led Bang Chan through the door, settling the both of them down on the couch just a few steps away from the huddle on the floor. “Seonghwa, that was truly magic, only rivaled by the natural sorcery that is whatever happens when Jinki-hyung is on stage and not beholden to the laws of physics.” SHINee’s leader simply shook his head, rolling his eyes at his label-mate.
“Where were you two?” Seokjin asked, voice playful yet laced with concern.
“Just needed some air.” The arm Minseok had around Chan, and the way the younger man was leaning against him, spoke otherwise. And, to keep Chan from having too much attention on him, Minseok continued, “I do have to say, though, I thought we covered not hiding things from each other at the campfire two weeks ago.”
“Really. Why didn’t you say something before going on stage, Hwa?” Seungcheol asked, adopting the same combination of soft and worried that Seokjin had moments before.
“I…” Seonghwa shrugged, suddenly very, very tired. He squeezed at his temples. “I don’t…”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Seungcheol squeezed Seonghwa’s knees, grounding him. “The brain fog with this bug’s something fierce. You saw Sungkyu-hyung walk into that wall yesterday…”
“I’m not…”
“Sweetheart, we’re way past that game.” Now Jinki’s voice had that serious yet achingly gentle quality, and all of it made Seonghwa want to cry because he’d fainted and terrified his team. Simple as that.
“Did you seriously think we wouldn’t notice, Hwa?” Minseok asked, voice gently teasing, with the softest smile curling up his lips. “You’re in a room of eldest hyungs right now. We knew you weren’t yourself when we walked on that stage.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I watched the moment the color drained from your face during sound check,” Chan joked, trying to be light.
Instead, it made Seonghwa’s eyes well with tears. He covered his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Hwa no!” That was Seungcheol, who redoubled his efforts showing love through Seonghwa’s knees.
“Please, don’t be sorry!” Soft hands pulled his fingers away, wiping at the tears spilling down his cheeks (wait, when did that happen? Seonghwa was starting to get frustrated with his own lack of awareness.) He didn’t even know which hyung it was, Jinki or Seokjin, and he hardly cared.
“I… I messed up, though.” The words were so small, they made Seonghwa tear up again at how wrecked his throat felt.
“Sure, a note or two. But otherwise? You KILLED IT out there, Hwa,” Seungcheol exclaimed. “Absolutely impressive.”
“Exactly! We care more about the faking healthy part.” Seokjin nodded in confirmation. “Just say something, yeah? I know I wasn’t at this campfire heart to heart moment, but I feel like you’re all at the point that you could just say ‘hey, not feeling too hot, even though I still look hot, please watch my back out there.’ WHICH, I know is so much easier said than done cause oldest member guilt and all…”
“But yeah, that’s exactly it.” Seungcheol nodded. “Just say that. We won’t baby you.” “Unless you want that.” Seokjin shrugged. “Some people want that.”
Seonghwa shook his head, fighting a smile. “I don’t.” He swallowed, looking up at Seojin. “Thank you for saying I’m hot.”
“Okay, the ice is definitely working, he’s coming back to us,” Minseok sighed, not even trying to hide his relieved smile as the others laughed, Seokjin especially.
“Man, I love this. You guys are so fun!”
“Well, we might need a sub next week.” Seungcheol nodded towards Seonghwa, who gave a weak thumbs up. “So clear your schedule, hyung.”
Notes: Based on three things: the fact that I just learned the Onew and Minho continued to live together after the other SHINee members moved out, this video I saw that Onew was sick during one of their performances, and Kel/sea Ball/erini's song How Much Do You Love Me? (Also, there's more...)
Minho stumbled through the doorway of the dorm at 2am, completely hammered. It was a miracle that locking the door was so engrained in his muscle memory, otherwise they could have had a potential security issue on their hands. As the world swirled quite dangerously before his eyes, Minho managed to remove one shoe and throw it close to the shoe rack, but the other didn’t fully come off until he was through the entry hall and into the living room. He neglected to turn on any lights; even drunk out of his mind, he knew exactly where he was going.
When Kibum had suggested they stop for a drink after their performance, Minho knew he should’ve said no. Taemin knew he should’ve said no. Jinki did say no, but he didn’t count because he was sick with a cold, so Kibum couldn’t morally force him to go out. But still… Minho and Taemin could have said no. They should have recognized the look in Kibum’s eyes, should’ve known where this night was headed before they’d even ordered the first drink.
It was a miracle Minho had even gotten himself back into the dorm, and had a clear trajectory of what he needed to do right now. And that was, quite simply, go to bed.
Minho, though, did not go to his own room as he should have. Instead he stumbled into Jinki’s room, face planting gracelessly onto the older man’s bed, luckily not falling onto the sleeping Jinki already occupying said bed. Even luckier for Minho, Jinki didn’t wake up at the movement, allowing the drunk man to inch his body close enough to throw his arms around the leader, hugging him from behind. Thus cuddled contently, Minho’s eyes slipped closed and he was asleep instantaneously.
That lasted all of half an hour, when Minho’s body decided it couldn’t handle the alcohol inside it anymore. Minho had all of thirty seconds of clarity in which he shot up from the bed and attempted to sprint to the bathroom, but since this wasn’t his room, he wasn’t aware of the rug next to the bed and slipped, crashing hard onto his knees. The shock of the fall was enough to break him entirely, and he vomited on the floor of his hyung’s room.
A groggy “Minho-ya?” from the bed sent the rapper’s heart racing because, ‘oh shit, right,’ this wasn’t even his room. It didn’t help that he could already feel his throat pulsing in warning of more bile creeping up from his stomach.
A light switched on. “Oh, Mino-man…” Warm hands were suddenly on Minho’s back.
“I’m s-sorry,” Minho cried, swallowing far too thickly for Jinki’s liking. The leader knew for a fact that Minho was not a one-and-done kind of puker; he’d learned that the hard way over the many years of sharing a dorm. On autopilot, Jinki grabbed Minho by the shoulders, gentle but firm, and piloted him to the bathroom in the literal knick of time. Minho threw up again just as his knees smacked to the bathroom floor in front of the toilet.
Jinki sighed as he knelt down behind the younger man, rubbing a soothing hand over Minho’s back as his body spasmed repeatedly, trying to expel the poison inside it. Tonight was going to be rough. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Jinki felt his own throat tighten, and, keeping one hand on Minho, he leaned away, coughing roughly into his sleeve. The kind of cough that dislodged all the gunk that had gathered in his throat while he’d been asleep.
“You good?” Minho asked in a brief moment of peace, his arms still clutching the toilet bowl in a death grip as Jinki squeezed his shoulder before standing up to spit out a wad of phlegm in the sink. “Did I make you throw up too?”
“No, buddy.” Jinki chuckled to himself. There was something about drunk Minho, even when he was actively puking, that was too pure for this world.
“Okay, good, cause I feel like it’s only fair if one of us gets to throw up,” Minho said, far too serious given that he immediately gagged afterwards.
“Ah yes, how could I ever take away the privilege of puking in the middle of the night from you?” Jinki muttered to himself as he reassumed his position rubbing Minho’s back. As the urgency of the moment dissipated, Jinki felt his own symptoms coming back full force. The medicine he’d taken hours ago had certainly worn off by now, evident in the violent pounding in his head and his nose suddenly running like a faucet again. He caught another cough in his fist.
After what felt like an hour, but was actually only a minute or so, Minho vaulted backwards, with a long-drawn out, “I haaaate thiiiiiiiiis!” Jinki barely caught the younger man as he fell backwards, fully trusting the leader to catch him. On contact, Minho’s head lolled to the side, sad puppy eyes staring mournfully up at Jinki. “Are you mad at me?” It was stupidly difficult to be mad at that face.
Jinki shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure? Cause I just puked in your room…”
“I know, love, I was there…”
“And then you watched me puke even more in here…” Minho hid his face in his hands. Jinki took as deep a breath as he could, steeling himself for the rest of this conversation. As cute as drunk Minho was, he also tended to be a vulnerable and weepy drunk, which Jinki usually had a ton of patience for. Tonight, he had very little patience, even for himself.
Jinki shook his head, scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “Minho man, I’ve seen you puke more times than I can count.”
“How embarrassing…”
“It’s really not. It’s a part of life. Think you’re done for now?” Minho considered for a moment before shrugging. “Okay, then let’s chill in here for a little more. Where do you want to sleep after, though? Your bed or the couch?”
“Your bed,” Minho answered unhelpfully, attempting to dig himself deeper into the leader’s chest.
Jinki shook his head. “You cannot sleep with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sick.” He sniffled for emphasis.
Minho’s face lit up. “So am I! Ah!” His neck lolled back as a silly grin took over his face. “Best buds. Best roommates. Do everything together.”
Jinki couldn’t help smiling himself. “No, bud, you’re not sick. You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk.” Minho crossed his arms in a huff. “I don’t get sick like this from being drunk. My body’s better than that.”
“Sure, Minnie. Your bed or the couch?”
Minho pouted. He started playing with the strings of Jinki’s hoodie. “I was already sleeping in your bed anyway…”
Jinki squeezed his eyes shut. He’d figured that was the case when he’d woken up to Minho puking on his floor, but he’d set that thought aside for the sake of attending to the current crisis. He sniffled again. “Choi Minho… what am I supposed to do with you?” Jinki carefully maneuvered Minho to rest against the tub, much to the rapper’s discontent. The leader pushed to his feet and moved to the sink. He filled a paper cup with water, handing it to Minho, who happily drank it back. He held out the cup for more, which Jinki happily obliged.
A hopeful gleam took over the rapper’s face. He held his arms out. “Keep cuddling me?”
“Couch it is then.” Minho whined as Jinki turned away from him, digging through the closet for their cleaning supplies. “You good to chill here for a minute while I go clean the floor?”
“Nooooo… I want you to cuddle with me!” Minho insisted. Jinki turned away before rolling his eyes so Minho wouldn’t read into it. As soon as he turned away from the closet, he pitched forward, sneezing once, twice, three times. Minho frowned as the older man groaned, snatching a tissue to blow his nose. “You sound so stuffed up.”
“That’s cause I’m ill,” Jinki replied, tossing the used tissue in the wastebasket with more force than necessary. He sniffled again, sinuses still buzzing, leaving him feeling more congested than before, which felt unfair. Pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, Jinki didn’t even realize he’d groaned out loud until Minho asked, “Are you mad at me?”
Jinki looked at him, incredulous. “No?”
“Then why are you mad?”
Jinki laughed in disbelief. “That wasn’t at you, but because my head is filled with concrete.” Minho cocked his head to the side, clearly confused. Jinki shook his head as he pulled open the closet door. The buzz in his nose peaked again, and he scrunched up his face to keep from sneezing again.
“That was cute.”
“What?”
“That little nose scrunch thing you just did.” Minho mimicked him, wrinkling his own nose and giggling to himself. “Like a bunny. Bunny leader.”
“Okay.” He grabbed the Lysol and a roll of paper towels.
“Please let me help you clean.”
Jinki looked down at Minho with desperately tired eyes as he closed the cabinet with a definitive click. “The last thing we need is you puking again, and I can guarantee from past experience that will happen if you go into that room. I can’t even smell anything right now, so I’m perfectly fit for this task.”
“But… but…” Minho bit his lip, the turning of the wheels in his brain visible on his face.
“But nothing. Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Minho’s continued whining followed Jinki into the hallway, but was quickly ignored as the threatening sneeze from before caught up with him, sending a throwing pulse through the leader’s head. Jinki whined himself as he trekked the rest of the way to his room. Upon sight, he realized that there really wasn’t too much of a mess to clean. Thank god. At least he didn’t have to clean his bedding or rug; Minho had miraculously managed to hit only the easy-to-clean wood floor. Small victories.
Just as Jinki set the cleaning supplies on the floor, he heard the distinct sound of Minho vomiting again. Jinki sighed. How much did they drink? he wondered to himself.
Once Minho finished this round of vomiting, he groaned in misery. This was dumb. It was SO DUMB. What was wrong with him?
Self-pitying inner monologue over, Minho pulled his head away from the toilet and sat back on his heels, running a shaky hand over his mouth. As he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, he heard a cough echo down the hall.
“You good?” Minho yelled into the open doorway.
“I’m okay…” Jinki called back. Minho was not convinced. Especially because another cough followed.
With a grunt, Minho pushed himself to his feet. He flushed away the evidence of his weakness, washing his mouth out with another cup of water. Then, cradling his aching stomach, the rapper shuffled down the hall, leaning in the doorway to Jinki’s room. The leader was on his knees, and was nearly done cleaning up the mess on his floor. Jinki’s eyes acknowledged Minho’s arrival, but quickly shifted back to his task.
“You sound like shit,” Minho declared.
“‘Gee, thanks hyung for cleaning up my mess that I made in your room,’” Jinki mocked, not even looking up at Minho this time.
“Hey!” It was whinier than a sober Minho would ever dare. “I said I would do it!”
Jinki blew out a dramatic breath, sitting back on his heels. “How are you feeling?”
Minho squeezed his temples. “I feel dizzy.”
“You’re probably dehydrated. Go grab one of the Gatorades out of the fridge. That’ll help.” Minho gave a clumsy salute in response, heading off towards the kitchen. While his stomach still ached, likely as a result of vomitting, he felt less nauseous. Maybe now he could go to sleep and stay asleep and let his body fix itself. His body always fixed itself. That was his superpower.
Once in the kitchen, Minho opened the fridge, sluggishly grabbing the first sports drink he saw. He twisted the cap, which was surprisingly easy to open, and brought the bottle to his lips, chugging it much faster than he probably should have.
“NOT THE YELLOW!” came screeching down the hall.
Choking in surprise, Minho pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Sure enough, it was the yellow one. He hastily returned the cap and threw the bottle back into the fridge, grabbing the orange one, snapping it open, and slugging back a sip before Jinki appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with panic.
Minho’s cheeks were full, bulging like those of a squirrel. Jinki just stared at him.
Minho swallowed forcefully. “But I like the yellow…” he pouted. He really did like the yellow flavor, and the orange was fine but wasn’t as good, and…
“I know, love, and I’m sorry, but I drank out of the yellow one earlier…”
Minho pouted his lips harder. “Why don’t you want to share with me? First your bed, and now this?!” A sheen of tears appeared in his eyes.
Jinki opened his mouth to reply, a snarky retort already locked and loaded, but he was cut off, pitching forward another sneeze, this one much harsher than before. “Because I don’t want to share that with you.” Minho continued pouting, seemingly unconvinced. His eyes were hazy again, and not just with the frustrated tears that had sprung up. “Come on, Minho man. Couch time.”
The leader pointed towards the living room, and Minho trudged forward, looking crestfallen. He collapsed onto the far corner of the couch, and patted the seat next to him hopefully. Jinki shook his head, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch as he grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. Drunk Minho LOVED movies.
“OooOOOOOOOHHHH!” Minho sat at attention, very akin to an excited golden retriever, as he pointed at the TV. He gasped, eyes wide. Jinki looked on in confusion. “FROZEN!”
Jinki couldn’t keep himself from laughing. “Didn’t realize you loved this movie so much…”
“It’s a CLASSIC!” Minho exclaimed. “But the magic system makes no sense…” He flopped back, glancing at Jinki. “You’ve seen the second one, right?”
“Yeah, once.”
“What about the shorts?”
“Can’t say I have.”
Minho huffed. “Okay, then lock in. So in the first movie, Elsa has ice powers, right? WELL, in the first short…” Jinki smiled, watching Minho with adoration as the rapper’s words faded into the background. He hummed and nodded along, just enough to keep Minho rambling. He also kept his phone handy, snapping a few videos for the future. But even as he fought to keep his own eyes open, Jinki patiently ensured Minho talked himself to sleep. It didn’t take long; once they got drunk Minho watching a movie, he was on borrowed time.
Sure enough, about halfway through his rant, Minho’s eyes drooped, and within a minute, his lips slowed and his body melted further into the couch. Jinki watched him for another minute more, noting the deepness of the breaths that rocked Minho’s chest to ensure that he was truly asleep.
Once he was certain Minho was sleeping soundly, Jinki left the couch and went back to his own room. He’d only just sat back on his bed when Jinki heard feet hurry past the door, followed by the telltale sound of vomiting. His heart hurt for Minho, it really did; the rapper usually held his alcohol like a champion, and being so violently ill had to be torturous for him. But, until Minho’s body had either absorbed or expelled the alcohol, there was little Jinki could actually do to help at this point.
So he poured out a capful of the nighttime cold medicine on his nightstand and shot it back, settling under the covers immediately after.
Not a minute later, though, the door creaked open and a dramatically whispered, “Hyung?” interrupted the quiet. Jinki resisted the urge to groan audibly as he flipped onto this other side to address Minho-shaped shadow leaning in his doorway. “Do you hate me?”
With an unsuppressed huff, Jinki sat up and switched on his bedside lamp. “Babe, where is coming from?”
Minho bit his lip, toying with the hem of his t-shirt. “It’s just… I feel like you’re really mad at me, and I’m nervous that… that I finally did it. That I finally made you mad enough to hate me.”
“Minho… how could you…?” Jinki paused, sighing as he rubbed at his eyes, forcing his drowsy-medicated brain to contemplate his next words carefully. “I could never hate you, Minho.”
“But you won’t let me cuddle…”
“Yeah, cause I don’t want you catching my cold, buddy. I love you too much for that.”
“I guess… I guess that makes sense.” Jinki pressed his lips together to keep from making a snarky remark about how it took him saying it at least twenty times for it to strike home with his drunk roommate. That wouldn’t be helpful right now. “How much, though?”
Jinki’s head tilted to the side. “How much what?”
“How much… do you love me?”
The look in Minho’s eyes was so innocent, so needy, that Jinki didn’t even think about responding with any sort of clever retort. “So much, Minho man. So, so much.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I love you to the moon, and the sun, and all the stars in the sky, the ones you can see and even the ones you can’t.” Jinki didn’t know where that had come from, but it seemed to be the exact right thing to say.
Minho’s entire face lit up. “Really?!” Jinki nodded, smiling softly. “That’s so good to hear, cause I love you too.” Minho rushed forward and threw his arms around the older man, squeezing him tight. Jinki wrapped his arms around Minho, softly patting his back as Minho began rocking them from side to side. “Thank you for putting up with me when I’m a shitty roommate.”
“You’re not a shitty roommate. You’re just… sometimes a bother.”
“That sounds like the nice way to say ‘shitty roommate.’”
“No, there’s a difference.”
“Can I stay in here with you? Please?”
“Minho…”
“I know, I know.” The pout on his lips said otherwise. “Buuuuuut… I already drooled all over your germ-infested pillow earlier.” Jinki hummed in response. His brain was growing hazier by the second; he wouldn’t be able to hold Minho’s advances off forever. So Jinki made room for Minho on the bed, and curled contentedly into the younger man’s side once Minho had happily climbed in next to him. As the leader’s head rested against Minho’s chest, the rapper pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. “Love you, my Onew Man..”
“Love you, my Minho Man.” His voice was soft as sleep pulled him under.
Sicktember Day 4: “Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday.”
Fandom: SHINee
Sickie: Minho, Onew (cold)
Caregiver(s): Onew, Key, Taemin
Word Count: 2,399
Notes: The idea for this came SO fast, but it took me SO LONG to actually write out. SHINee's December birthday bros were too hard to pass up. Also, the little ending piece being in a text-based format just happened, and I had already spent too much time on the first part to want to spend more trying to elaborate/extend the end.
December 9
Minho jolted awake to the sound of knocking at his door. He groaned. Body achy and head foggy and just as congested as when he’d passed out, Minho cursed whoever had forced him back to consciousness. Another knock sounded at the door, and Minho groaned again, louder this time, triggering a fit of coughs that tore at his throat. Breathing hard, his hands sifted through the clutter on the coffee table in front of him, desperate to find a water or abandoned mug or something. Thankfully, there was still one sip left in a plastic bottle on the floor by his head. Swallowing that sip swiftly but carefully to keep himself from coughing again, Minho grimaced as a third, more insistent knock sounded at his door.
“Shut up,” Minho grumbled to himself as he pushed himself into a sitting position. From there, he vaulted to his feet, arms out to steady himself. The walk to the door felt perilously far. He didn’t bother checking the peep hole, simply unlocking the door and swinging it open. In a shocking twist of events, standing before him were his bandmates.
Minho blinked. Shook his head. Blinked again. “What are you doing here?”
“Happy Birthday!” Taemin yelled before slipping a party horn in his mouth and emitting the customary shrill sound. Minho flinched at the noise.
“I thought I canceled our plans today…”
“You did, but we decided that birthdays were uncancellable,” Taemin explained.
Minho turned his eyes towards the two older members standing behind the maknae. Kibum, the only one wearing a mask, sighed. “Taemin decided birthday plans were uncancelable, and Jinki and I figured you would be upset if he came over by himself.” Taemin bounded happily on the balls of his feet.
Minho looked back and forth between Jinki and Kibum again. “I refuse to be held responsible if any of you get sick.”
Jinki shrugged. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t accept the risk.”
“Well…” Kibum shifted his weight between his feet.
“Okay, Taemin and I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t accept the risk. Kibum was peer pressured into this, and cannot be held to such promises.” Jinki rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face never faltered.
Minho shrugged, waving the group forward as he turned and trudged back to his living room, coughing roughly into his sweatshirt sleeve. Taemin immediately trotted after him, humming a bit to himself as Jinki and Kibum followed.
“So what are the plans for this party?” Minho asked, settling back onto the couch, this time vertically at least. “Cause I’m not really in the mood for games.” Taemin followed close on his heels, sitting crosslegged on the floor on the far side of the coffee table. Jinki rounded the corner into the kitchen to drop off the bags he’d been carrying, then sat opposite Taemin on the floor. Kibum stayed standing, leaning against the wall as far from the couch as he could get without getting called out for being antisocial. He was also the only one who didn’t try to hide the way his eyes scanned the room, taking stock of the sorry state of Minho’s normally pristine living room. Minho tried to not let that bother him.
“Well, we brought cake and some movies, so we figured we could do that?” Taemin suggested, pulling a few DVD cases out of his bag. “And Kibum said he would make dinner?”
“As an excuse to be away from me, I get it.”
“Hey! It’s good enough that I’m here, okay?” Kibum snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Your reluctant presence is the only thing I wanted for my birthday this year,” Minho stated dryly.
“Can’t imagine you’d want me more than a bottle of Nyquil.”
“Oh, there are few things in this world I want more than you, and if you come a little closer, I’ll prove it…” Minho puckered his lips over dramatically at Kibum.
The other man scoffed. “Don’t make fun of me!”
“But it’s just so easy…”
“Okay, okay, I call this a draw.” Jinki jumped to his feet, clapping his hands together. “Taemin, you help Minho pick a movie. Kibum, I’ll help you start dinner.” Taemin nodded as he set about spreading out the DVD cases from earlier, seemingly unbothered by the mess of the coffee table.
“So we have a large variety,” he began, waving his hands over the cases. “Some wholesome Disney, adventure and action, holiday shit, ironically bad fantasy films… Only thing we don’t have is horror cause that’s not the vibe today.”
“Gee, I can’t imagine why you and Jinki-hyung couldn’t pick a horror movie…”
“Hey! You don’t like the either!” Taemin snapped. Minho laughed. Unfortunately, he laughed a little too hard and ending up bent over, coughing hard. Taemin frowned, leaning forward over the table, unsure what to do to help. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Minho rubbed at his chest. “Drugs are wearing off.” His eyes scanned the coffee table, but now that last bit of water was gone and the only pills he could see was an empty blister pack. “Must’ve left them in the bathroom…”
“I’ll go grab ‘em.” A glass of water appeared in front of Minho’s face, courtesy of Jinki, who disappearing down the hall right after.
After Minho had drank about half the glass, Taemin popped to his feet. “Hyung, come check out the cake!” He began to reach for Minho’s hands, but thought better of it, simply motioning for Minho to follow him instead. Minho took a shaky breath before following him.
The cake was cute: a six inch circle covered in a light orange icing. Spots of red, yellow, and white decorated the top, with the words “Happy Birthday Minho!” piped on in a gradient of blues. The sides were a beautiful swirl of the red, yellow, and orange, with flecks of blue. As if the whole thing were a smoldering flame.
“I suggested the fire, and Kibum came up with the final concept,” Taemin explained, pointing to the little details Minho had already noticed himself. “Jinki agreed to all of it, and paid for it, and picked it up, so it was a group effort.”
“I love it,” Minho whispered, smiling at his friends’ thoughtfulness.
“Good, cause we also had a momentary freak out that it was too cheesy,” Kibum added, turning away from the stove for a moment.
Taemin carefully picked up the box and held it out to Minho. “Hold it for a picture?”
“I’m not sure that’s…” He was cut off by a sudden, desperate sneeze that he was luckily able to catch in his sleeve away from his friends.
Taemin frowned. “Come on, please?!”
“Menace behavior,” Kibum muttered.
“I don’t wanna drop it!” Minho pleaded, sniffling hard against the urge to sneeze again.
“Or sneeze on it,” Kibum added.
Minho pointed towards him. “Or that.”
“You guys are so dramatic!” Taemin pushed the box into Minho’s hands and pulled out his phone. “One picture will not hurt anyone.”
Which was the exact thought process that led to Minho sneezing openly towards the doorway at the exact moment Jinki walked through it.
“Oh shit!” Taemin gasped.
“Hell-o…” Jinki’s voice was strangely calm, his body stock still clearly in shock. Minho was also frozen in place, eyes wide and mouth agape. Taemin’s jaw was also dangerously close to the floor.
Kibum marched over and grabbed the back of Jinki’s shirt, pulling him down the hallway. “I TOLD you! I told you both! Goddammit!” Kibum’s voice grew fainter and fainter until it was cut off by the slam of the bathroom door.
Minho turned back to Taemin with eyes wide as a deer caught in head lights. They held each other’s gaze for all of three seconds before Taemin snorted and burst out laughing. Minho couldn’t help but laugh himself as he collapsed into the chair across from Taemin. “What is wrong with us?” he gasped, in the throes of hysterics.
“Everything,” Taemin giggled back, wiping a tear away from his eye.
Minho rested his chin in his hands, staring off at the hallway. “Oh my God. I feel horrible.”
“Well, you’re sick. That’s normal.”
“Not what I mean, Taemin.” Nothing but a shrug from the younger man. “This is the worst birthday ever.”
“Aw, don’t say that. This has gotta be one the best nights you’ve had this week,” Taemin replied. Minho looked at him, one eyebrow cocked sarcastically. “I mean it. We’re all here, spending time together, laughing together. What’s a birthday without a few shenanigans?”
Minho thankfully didn’t have to respond to that as Jinki walked back into the kitchen. The rapper pushed himself out of his chair and wrapped his arms around the vocalist, burying his face in his shoulder. “Hyung, I’m so sorry!”
“Babe, I’m gonna need you stop apologizing.” Jinki’s arms squeezed him once before letting Minho go so the elder could look him in the eye. “I told you I accepted the risk. And given the amount of bodily fluids I’ve been drenched in over the years from all of you…” Jinki shook his head. “I really don’t care anymore.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Cross my heart.” Jinki dragged his thumb in an X across his chest. Minho felt like crying. “I’m just happy it was me and not Kibum.”
Minho smiled as Taemin barked out another laugh. “Oh, that would have been SO much funnier, though.”
“He thinks this is all a bit.” Minho jerked his thumb in Taemin’s direction, rolling his eyes for emphasis.
The comedic vibe immediately evaporated when Kibum walked into the room, unintentionally commanding everyone’s attention. He made eye contact with each member. “I’m sorry for being dramatic,” he announced. “I think I am overly stressed about other things in my life, and I took that out on you all, and that was not fair. So I apologize.”
“Wow. A Kim Kibum apology. I think that might be the best birthday gift I’ve ever received,” Minho replied.
Taemin laughed. “And the best birthday gift you’ve ever given Jinki was your cold, right hyung?” He realized what a stupid thing that was to say when Minho immediately burst into tears. Jinki shot the youngest a look over Minho’s shoulder as the rapper collapsed back into his arms. Taemin held up his hands in surrender, mouthing a ‘sorry’ that should not have been as heartfelt as it was.
“Taemin, you really are a menace, you know that?” Kibum stated, moving closer to the birthday boy, rubbing his back gently.
“Heyyyyyyy! I didn’t mean it! I thought we were all joking around.” Taemin pushed himself away from the table and threw his arms around all three of his hyungs, creating a group hug. “We were just laughing about it like a minute ago.”
“Yeah, to be fair, the medicine’s definitely worn off,” Minho forced out a laugh as he pushed away from Jinki’s shoulder, scrubbing at his face and sniffling harshly. “I don’t really know why I’m crying. I think my body’s just giving up.”
“Then let’s stop wasting time.” Kibum nodded. “Dinner’s almost done, then we can re-drug you. Taemin? Stop being the worst and go start up the movie.” Taemin whined something about not being the worst, but went and did as he was told. Kibum gave Minho’s back one final pat before returning to the stove. Jinki cupped Minho’s cheek affectionately before taking his hand and leading him back to the couch.
“I love you,” Minho said as the leader draped a blanket across his lap. He peeked around Jinki at Taemin, and then back to the kitchen at Kibum. “All of you.”
“And we love you,” Jinki replied, kissing the top of Minho’s head before snuggling in next to him, pulling Minho’s head onto his shoulder. “Happy birthday, love.”
December 14
Minho would openly admit to punching his pillow in frustration when he woke up to the Good news! text from Jinki that was attached to an image of a digital thermometer that read 38.3º. But he didn’t admit it at the moment, instead texting back:
Minho: Happy birthday??? D:
Kibum: You wanna postpone dinner?
Jinki: Please?
Minho: I’m SO SORRYYYYYY
Jinki: I will accept no apologies
Jinki: and because it is my birthday, you have to listen to me
Kibum: You also got him sick, so that means you have to listen to him EXTRA
Minho: 😭 😭 😭
Taemin: THERE WILL BE NO POSTPONEMENT!!!!!
Kibum: Reread Jinki’s last message. Please and thank you.
Taemin: 😡
Kibum: ✌️
That had been nearly twelve hours ago. In the intervening time, both Minho and Taemin had separately decided to show up at Jinki’s house at the original time anyway, just as they had done for Minho. Which was how they got the picture of the two of them outside the door of Jinki’s apartment that Taemin sent with the caption:
Taemin: Better news!!
Kibum still had yet to respond when Taemin sent another photo, this time of Minho and Jinki cuddled on the couch, with a thumbs up from Taemin in the corner. To this one, he added the text:
Taemin: They won’t let me cuddle 😡
Minho: Cuddles are only for those with the right antibodies 😘
Taemin: The only body I am anti right now it yours
Minho: 😝
At this point, Jinki, who was reading the exchange on Minho’s screen, asked why they were texting if they were in the same room.
“For Kibum’s benefit,” the rapper replied. To which Taemin texted:
Taemin: Kibum, you can come over after your schedules if you want!
The speed of Kibum’s reply was genuinely shocking.
Kibum: I thought we cancelled the plans today.
Minho: Well, I recently learned that birthday plans are ‘uncancelable’
Taemin: Kibum, you can come over after your schedules if you want!
Kibum: You already said that, Tae
Taemin: Because I MEAN IT!!!
Jinki: I won’t get you sick.
Jinki: I’m better than Minho.
Taemin burst out laughing while Minho pushed a giggling Jinki off his shoulder. But it was a very light push and Jinki was cuddled back against him almost instantly.
All three of them gasped, then cheered when they received a final text from Kibum:
Kibum: Of course you’re better than Minho, hyung. I’m already on my way. Wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world <3
Minho: Best news!!!
Hello! So excited to see a K-pop sickfic page with love for older groups!!!
May I request of you a shinee fic for Key or Taemin (no preference tbh) but with something snz related if you would mind 😊
Thank you! Love your posts 🫶
Oh boy!!! So happy to have another older group lover here, and it was so fun to write this for you, if you can't tell from the word count. I decided to just include both Key and Taemin cause why not? Sincerely hope you enjoy!!!
Finish Your Glass of Whine
Fandom: SHINee
Sickie: Key/Kibum, Taemin
Caregiver(s): Onew/Jinki
Word Count: 2,102
Notes: Title comes from Dua Lipa's "Blow Your Mind (Mwah)." It just feels like it fits, because there is a fever-induced, stream-of-consciousness rant section towards the ends.
Kibum did not feel good, and that a tragic reality he was struggling to deal with. When Taemin had called him crying two days ago, sick as a dog and unable to get ahold of his mom or Jinki, he hadn’t expected to end up just as ill in less than 48 hours. He’d been so safe about it too: always masked up, constantly cleaning things, drinking extra water. The one thing he was refusing to acknowledge, however, was how Taemin basically clung to him the entire time so all of those precautions were null and void. But what was he supposed to do?
So here they were, confined to Taemin’s apartment, wasting away together.
When Kibum had woken up on the couch an hour ago, coughing like his life depended on it, unable to sit up at first because his legs were tangled with Taemin’s, he’d seriously considered crying. He wanted to just snap his fingers and be well again. No more fever, no more coughing, no more sneezing and sniffling. Just healthy. But he wasn’t a wizard, so he’d just have to suffer it out. Kibum had decided he had the energy to take a shower, and prayed that would relieve some of the awfulness. And the shower had helped him feel marginally less congested, but he still overall felt icky, and that just made him even more upset.
While deep in his self pity hole, Kibum trudged back into the living room and nearly screamed at the sight of a man turning the corner from the kitchen. His sharp gasp caught in this throat, triggering a coughing fit that had him bent at the waist. Warm hands surrounded him, one holding onto his arm and the other supporting his back until he was finally able the fit subsided. Standing back up, breathing steadily, Kibum made eye contact with Jinki and nearly melted on the spot. He had entirely forgotten that Taemin had put in another call to both Jinki and Minho, and the older of the two had promised to stop over later, finally free from the solo schedules that had kept him away from his phone over the past 48 hours.
“Hyung,” he whined in spite of himself, shoulders slumping as he was pulled into a hug. Kibum closed his eyes, attempted to breathe in the familiar scent of his friend’s clothes, but coming up short.
“Kibummie,” Jinki replied, running a soothing hand up and down the younger man’s back. “Tell me how you’re feeling. What can I do for you?”
“I feel like shit,” Kibum answered. He tightened his hold on Jinki’s waist, deepening the hug. This was what he needed, someone to take care of him. Not that Taemin hadn’t been doing that, but it was hard to really do much when you were both so out of it.
When he didn’t say anything else, Jinki laughed, the vibration of his chest coursing through Kibum too. “I’m gonna need a bit more than that, bud. Why don’t we get you back to the couch first?” Kibum nodded against Jinki’s shoulder, and reluctantly released him from the hug. He scrubbed at his nose, lurching away from the older man with a violent, “Iitchou! H-ikt-choo!”
“Bless you.” Jinki snatched a few tissues from the box on the side table, passing them to Kibum before moving towards the couch. “Aw, Minnie,” he sighed at the sight of the youngest curled up there, a tangle of blankets, one of Kibum’s hoodies, and ridiculous bedhead. He instinctively moved towards him, but was startled back when Kibum grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Don’t wake him! He’s sick!” Kibum hissed, physically trying to pull him away from Taemin. The youngest was by far the lightest sleeper in the group, but had the ability to sleep through an earthquake when he didn’t feel well. A simple tap to his forehead wasn’t going to wake him up by a long shot. But now that Jinki was focused on Taemin, Kibum was too, and his fever-addled brain had switched itself back into caretaker mode, so that wasn’t a battle Jinki was willing to fight right now.
“Yes, I know, and so are you.” Jinki pressed a hand to Kibum’s forehead as if to check the fever he’d already felt earlier. “And you’re burning up, my friend. Which is why you both need to be medicated.”
Kibum huffed, stepping back so he could petulantly fold his arms over his chest. “I’m fine compared to him.” The sneeze that bent him at the waist after that statement said otherwise.
Jinki rolled his eyes. One crisis at a time. “Whatever you say.” The leader turned his back on Kibum for the moment, kneeling next to the couch and gently shaking Taemin’s shoulder. The younger man groaned quietly. “Taeminnie? You gotta wake up for a minute, buddy.” Bleary eyes cracked open.
“Hyung?” His voice was rough, hoarse and gravelly from sleep and sickness.
Jinki pushed his bangs away from his face, unmoved by how sweaty they were. “Hey there, love.”
“When did you get here?”
“You called me this morning, remember?” Taemin just blinked at him, his brain still waking up. “I got here maybe fifteen minutes ago? I brought food, meds, and tea’s already steeping for you both. You should definitely drink that and take more medicine before falling back asleep.”
Taemin nodded. “Okay.” He rubbed at his eyes and started to wriggle into a sitting position as Jinki ruffled his hair. The older man got back to his feet and headed for the kitchen.
“Sit.” He pushed Kibum gently towards the couch. The other man pouted. Sure, he wanted to be taken care of more than anything, but he also hated being told what to do. Especially when his head was hazy with fever. It was a conundrum his members were, fortunately, familiar with.
“Hyungie, sit,” Taemin repeated, patting the couch next to him. Kibum huffed, opting to slump into the recliner instead, pulling his knees to his chest. There: he was sitting, but on his own terms.
“Okay, it’s been sitting for a few minutes so it should be perfect to drink,” Jinki announced, carefully carrying in two steaming mugs. He placed them both on the coffee table, then turned back to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Taemin asked.
“To get mine, silly,” Jinki answered with a smile. “I’ve learned not to try to carry three mugs at once.”
“I’m genuinely shocked you got two without spilling,” Kibum replied, reaching for his mug and savoring the heat of it between his palms. He took a careful sip, and felt tears spring to his eyes at how good the hot liquid felt on his sore throat. Jinki had always had a way of making tea exactly how people needed it; extra sweet on a lazy morning, cozy and creamy before bed, honeyed and fruity when sick. “It’s like a superpower,” Kibum declared, unaware he was speaking aloud.
“Huh?” Taemin blinked at him, taking a sip from his own tea.
Kibum blinked back, totally confused. “What?” But he was saved from having to explain himself as Taemin pitched towards his left arm with a desperate “Ht’choo!”as he thrust his right arm holding the mug away, trying not to spill. Kibum instinctively grabbed the mug from him. “Ht’choo! Hah-ETchu!”
“Bless you.” Jinki settled onto the floor in front of the coffee table, creating a triangle.
“Can’t even enjoy tea,” Taemin moaned, collapsing back against the couch. He accepted the mug back from Kibum, sniffling miserably. “I hate this.”
“Me too.” Kibum raised his mug in solidarity.
“I hate it for you both,” Jinki added, mimicking Kibum’s toast with his own mug.
“Tell us about your project,” Taemin prompted, eager to think about something else for a while. Jinki happily obliged, explaining the concept for his next mini album, the ideas for the title track MV, and all of the recordings he’d been working on the past week. Taemin was entirely focused on Jinki’s stories, and while Kibum was also listening, he found his mind beginning to wander as he reached the bottom of his mug.
Their current situation, Kibum had decided (and was now unknowingly explaining aloud to his suddenly captive audience of two,) was not Taemin’s fault. No. Their current situation was entirely Minho’s fault. As most things were when one really thought about it. (Jinki and Taemin exchanged a glance, one Kibum didn’t notice at all as he was currently sporting the miles-long stare reserved for the deeply drunk or terribly feverish. They opted to let Kibum continue rather than interrupt him like he’d interrupted Jinki).
Taemin had been spending majority of his time this month practicing and promoting with the SuperM boys, so obviously he’d caught this cold from one of them, probably Mark, cause that kid was sick all the time, but that was a conversation for another day. Regardless, Taemin gets sick from SuperM, and then he has two days of solo filming, much of it outside, in this weather, only making things worse. And when he’d spiked a fever and tried to call his mom at 1:30am two days ago, she didn’t answer. And then Jinki, his next call, hadn’t answered either, which they knew was because Jinki himself had been up and busy working on his own solo filming, thankfully inside. So Taemin had called Kibum, now significantly more worked up, and how was Kibum supposed to ignore his dongsaeng when he was crying? So obviously, the blame fell entirely on one person. Choi Minho. Because where even was he? Their maknae was in trouble and was he anywhere to be found? No. Because he was ashamed to show his face after causing them such strife in the first place.
Jinki, who had been listening with the patience of an absolute saint as Kibum narrated all of this, smiled to himself as he nodded along. The line of logic had completely dropped off, but Kibum was still going, waxing poetic on all of Minho’s supposed cirmes. The leader decided a while ago to let Kibum talk himself into exhaustion, questioning if the cold medicine he’d slipped into the tea earlier was actually the drowsy kind or not, considering that it seemed to be having the opposite effect on Kibum.
Which couldn’t be said for Taemin, who was already falling back asleep sitting up when he innocently asked, “Are you done?” Kibum paused. Taemin didn’t look annoyed, but genuinely curious.
“What?” the older man asked, confused.
“Talking. Are you done talking?” Taemin clarified, completely unaffected. There was something so genuine and harmless about the question that even Kibum couldn’t snap at him.
“I mean… I guess,” the older man shrugged. “Why?”
Taemin held out an arm. “Come cuddle with me?” Kibum blinked, suddenly aware that he was extremely tired. His throat hurt a little less, his head felt a bit less stuffy, but the desire to sleep was immediately overpowering. Without a word, he stood and practically fell forward onto the couch, latching onto Taemin. He could never deny Taemin anything.
“Hyung, will you come cuddle with us too?” Taemin asked as he shifted to more comfortably accommodate Kibum’s presence on the couch.
“Maybe later. It’s probably best if one of us stays healthy,” Jinki smiled back at him.
“Minho would cuddle with us,” Kibum grumbled in response. It took everything in Jinki not to burst out laughing at that. “And you have a better immune system than him anyway.”
“Minho really lives rent free in your brain, doesn’t he?” Jinki asked back. Kibum tried to hit him despite the presence of an entire coffee table’s length between them. Jinki laughed, grabbing a blanket that had fallen to the floor and carefully wrapping it around the pair on the couch. “Get some sleep, and we can call Minho so you can nag him when you wake up.”
“Ooo, Minho-hyung would love that,” Taemin sighed, only retaining the part about calling Minho. Jinki chuckled again, patting each of them on the head.
As the leader collected the now empty mugs, Kibum pointed out, “Hey, you never gave us medicine.”
“Oh no, I did. It was in the tea.”
Kibum blinked. “What?”
“I mixed the extra strength cold medicine I knew you were gonna fight me on into the tea.” Jinki shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for years. You and Minho fought me too much early on, so I adapted.”
Despite his eyes dropping closed, Kibum pouted. “You bastard.”
Notes: Heavily based on Kelsea Ballerini's 'the way i used to.' I've been SO into her music lately, and might be writing a few drabbles based on her songs... but this one hit first cause this song is 🔥 ALSO, I'm still not sure how I feel about writing idols in romantic relationships, so this one very vaguely references a past relationship with an unspecified ex. Used 'them' for the ex cause I don't want to assume anything here, but needed to write a heartbreak plot line.
At exactly 2:15am on the dot, Jinki woke up to the sound of his phone crashing to the floor, the vibrations from in an incoming call sending it over the edge of his nightstand. Jinki snapped awake, scrambling for the phone, bleary eyes squinting at screen. Minho. “Hello?”
“Hyung? I’m worried about Kibum.” Minho wasted no time, his voice dead serious. Jinki sat up, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up faster. “He’d been texting me almost non stop. Real nonsensical things, probably voice to text. But since I’m in L.A., I can’t…” Jinki could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose in worry. “Can you please go check on him?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.
*
“Kibum?” Jinki called as he closed the door behind him. It had taken him half an hour to roll out of bed, look presentable enough in case he got pulled over or had to take Kibum to the hospital or something, and drive over to his friend’s apartment. He’d called Kibum three times and texted him to say he was on his way over, but had received no response. Much like now. Thankfully, he had a spare key to get in. “Kibum!” he tried again. Still nothing, except footsteps and murmuring from deeper in the house. Sighing, Jinki toed off his shoes and followed the sounds down the hallway until he found his friend.
Kibum was pacing back and forth in his living room, fingers tapping on his lower lip as his eyes moved rapidly through space. A notebook and several writing instruments were strewn about the coffee table, coupled with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass, which was currently laying on its side. Kibum’s phone was precariously placed at the very edge of the coffee table.
“Kibum?”
The younger man startled at Jinki’s voice, having just noticed him for the first time. His hand flew to his chest. “Jinki, what the fuck? When did you get here?”
“Just now. Minho called me. He’s worried sick about you.”
Kibum blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Minho? He’s in California…”
“Yeah, which is why he called me. He said you’ve been sending him some pretty alarming messages?” Kibum frowned, eyes shifting to his phone. His movements were uncharacteristically jerky as he grabbed the device, and began tapping the screen. His face crumpled into more confusion as he scrolled. “What’s… all this?”
Kibum looked up from the phone with wide eyes, as if seeing the mess of his living room for the first time. “Writing.” He knelt down in front of the notebook, fingers caressing the page.
“Writing what?” Jinki bit his lip, observing Kibum closely. The younger man looked dazed, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting endlessly.
“A song.”
Jinki had seen Kibum in a writing trance before, but he’d never seen him like this. The pacing, the finger tapping, that was normal. The shaking? The listlessness? That was off. And the drinking… Jinki nodded to himself, something clicking in his brain. He needed to keep Kibum talking. “Why are you writing a song now? It’s 3am!”
Kibum shrugged. “When the muse awakens, one must heed its call.” His voice trailed off as he scrambled for a pencil and scribbled something in the notebook.
Jinki shook his head, moving closer to his friend. Kibum flinched, instinctively covering most of the paper with his elbow. He seemed to believe Jinki hadn’t noticed that. So the elder let him, simply nodding towards the bottle. “What’cha drinkin’?”
Kibum’s eyes assessed the tequila. He shrugged. “Not really sure. Just needed something to help the words flow…”
“You know…” Jinki settled onto his knees next to Kibum. The younger man’s body tensed, and he didn’t turn to acknowledge Jinki joining him on the floor. “You’ve always had a knack for writing lyrics. You’ve never mentioned needing help with ‘flow’ or anything. In fact, I thought you said that drinking while writing actually slows down your process…”
“Well, yeah, most of the time it does but, sometimes it…”
“Except.” Kibum’s lips snapped shut. He still refused to meet Jinki’s eyes despite the elder staring at him straight on. “Except when you’re writing about a break up.” Kibum’s eyes could have burned a hole in his table. Jinki let the tense silence carry on for a few heartbeats. “Bummie, are you thinking about them again?”
Kibum sat still as a statue. Jinki watched him worriedly, observing each inhale and exhale, the beads of sweat at his hairline. He saw Kibum’s eyes move to his phone, and sensed what was about to happen before Kibum could move, snatching the phone up himself.
“HEY!” Kibum grasped at Jinki’s back as the leader swiveled away from him, unlocking Kibum’s phone and clicking into his messages. Sure enough, the last string of texts Kibum had sent to Minho were all about them. I miss them, Minho. think I fucked up… I should text them, right? It’s been so long. Just to check in. It’s just a phone call? That’s nothing. It was a mistake… all of it. They’ve posted pictures with the same person on Instagram FIVE times recently!!! That doesn’t mean anything, right? I should call…
“Hyung, noooo…” Kibum whined. His hands, buried in Jinki’s shirt stopped pulling backwards, and started pulling down instead. Jinki peeked over his shoulder, watching Kibum’s fingers detach from his shirt as he slumped face first to the floor.
“NO! It’s NOT okay!” Kibum cried into the floor. “They’re in love with SOMEONE ELSE! And it’s NOT FAIR!”
“You don’t know that…”
“I do know! Why else would they have broken up with me?!”
“Sometimes people just aren’t meant to be, Ki…”
“We WERE, I KNOW IT!”
“If that was true, then they wouldn’t have hurt you like this. You loved them so, much, and I know how painful that is to let go of…”
“But they aren’t in love with ME!” A gasping sob. “Why didn’t they love me?!”
Jinki clicked his tongue, his hand moving to rub at Kibum’s shoulders. The younger man crawled forehead, head falling into Jinki’s lap. “Bummie, it’s not your fault. They weren’t your person, and that just means that somewhere out there…”
“Oh, spare me all that ‘other fish in the sea’ bullshit.” Kibum sniffled sharply, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t want another fish. I want to be their fish.”
“Kibum, come on. You’re not the only one who’s had their heart broken before…”
The younger man scoffed. “Sure, sure. But you don’t get it. You weren’t… this relationship was…” His face screwed shut, a fist placed against his forehead. “Fuck, I loved them, Jinki. I love them. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone before, not like this.” His eyes turned up at that, tearstained cheeks and all staring at Jinki with such vulnerability the older man felt his own eyes start to sting.
“I’m so sorry, Kibum. You deserve someone who loves as fiercely as you love them.” Jinki traced a finger down Kibum’s cheek. He paused. Placed his finger back on Kibum’s cheekbone. Then placed his palm on the younger man’s forehead. “Bummie, how long have you had a fever?”
Kibum shrugged. “Maybe two days?”
“Two days?”
Kibum shrugged again. “It’s just work stress…”
“A fever’s never ‘just’ anything. No wonder you’re backsliding again…” Jinki cupped both of Kibum’s cheeks, leaning over him upside down. “Baby, just call me next time. Then we don’t need to go through the pain of recollecting the ex.”
Kibum pouted his lips. “I’m sorry?”
Jinki rolled his eyes. He then very gently pushed at Kibum’s shoulders to sit him up, before standing up himself and holding out his hands. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
Kibum took Jinki’s hands and let himself be pulled to his feet. “Are you sure we can’t call them, though? Just to see if…”
“Nope. No calling. The rules were clear when we made them a month ago.”
Kibum pouted. “Minho would let me call…”
“Oh sweetheart, you are so lucky I’m here and not Minho.” Even in his semi-delirious state, Kibum knew to immediately close his mouth. Even though Jinki’s voice was still light, a bright smile still on his lips, anyone who knew him well could see that he was at the edge of his seemingly infinite patience. Honestly, a part of Kibum understood; Jinki was only trying to protect him. Which was why Kibum allowed himself to be led back to his room and cared for by his worried hyung. Because, in the end, even if he was single, he knew what love looked like. He was loved. Very, very loved.
