Seonghyeon said goodbye to his parents and sister as they left for a cousin's wedding. His mother had spent fifteen minutes trying to convince him to come.
He had midterms.
She had lost.
Unfortunately, so had he.
Mostly because of the fever.
It had started sometime during the night after staying up until three in the morning playing Brawl Stars with Keonho.
Which he had won fair and square.
Keonho's accusations of cheating were completely baseless.
Seonghyeon stared at his reflection while brushing his teeth.
His face looked pale.
His eyes looked tired.
His entire body felt like someone had replaced his bones with wet cement.
He swallowed two fever reducers and decided that counted as solving the problem.
By six in the morning he was already studying.
By seven he had finished breakfast, done the dishes, started the laundry, and cleaned the kitchen.
By seven-thirty he regretted every life decision he had ever made.
Still.
The math teacher was handing out important questions for midterms today.
Missing school wasn't an option.
His only goal for the day was simple.
Do not faint in front of anyone.
⸻
By lunch he was beginning to suspect the universe hated him.
His head felt heavy.
The classroom lights were too bright.
Every sound seemed louder than usual.
Worst of all, Keonho wasn't there.
Apparently some swimming competition was more important than accompanying his best friend through his suffering.
Traitor.
Seonghyeon dropped into his usual seat at lunch and immediately rested his forehead against the table.
Maybe if he stayed still long enough, nobody would talk to him.
The plan lasted approximately thirty seconds.
"Why do you look like that?"
Y/N.
Of course.
Seonghyeon didn't bother lifting his head.
"Like what?"
"Like someone stole your will to live."
"I have midterms."
"Fair."
The conversation should have ended there.
Instead Y/N sat down across from him.
Unfortunately.
"Did you eat?"
"Yes."
"Are you lying?"
"No."
"You're lying."
Seonghyeon ignored her.
A few moments later something cold appeared beside his arm.
An acai bowl.
His favorite.
Y/N pushed it toward him.
"I bought too much."
A blatant lie.
Y/N never bought too much of anything.
She guarded food with the dedication of a dragon protecting treasure.
Still.
The gesture was appreciated.
Usually.
Today just looking at it made his stomach twist.
"No thanks."
Silence.
Slowly, very slowly, Seonghyeon felt her staring.
"…No?"
"No."
"You're refusing acai?"
"Yes."
"Voluntarily?"
"Y/N."
"What the hell."
Seonghyeon closed his eyes.
When he opened them again she was still staring.
Not annoyed.
Concerned.
That was worse.
For a second — just a second — he thought about telling her. I feel like I'm dying. My head hasn't stopped pounding since six a.m. I don't think I can sit through fourth period.
He didn't.
He never did.
⸻
The bell rang.
Saved.
Before Y/N could continue interrogating him, Seonghyeon grabbed his bag and left.
Fast.
Or as fast as someone with a fever could manage.
The hallway tilted, just slightly, and he put a hand on the wall until it stopped.
Nobody saw.
That was the important part.
⸻
Y/N caught him after school.
Naturally.
Because life hated him.
"Stop walking."
"No."
"Seonghyeon."
"No."
"You refused acai."
"I didn't realize that was a crime."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You look awful."
"I always look awful."
"That's actually true."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They walked another few steps.
Then Seonghyeon's vision tilted.
The ground suddenly seemed much farther away than before.
Before he could properly process what was happening, a hand grabbed his arm.
"Whoa—"
Y/N.
Again.
Unfortunately.
His head dropped forward against her shoulder for a second.
Only a second.
Long enough to register that she smelled like the strawberry shampoo she'd used since middle school, and that her shoulder was a lot smaller than it looked, and that some stupid, fever-addled part of his brain didn't immediately want to lift his head back up.
He lifted it back up.
"You're burning up."
"I'm fine."
"You're literally leaning on me."
"I'm standing."
"Barely."
She didn't let go of his arm.
He noticed that too.
He filed it away with everything else he wasn't going to think about.
⸻
Getting home became an adventure.
A terrible adventure.
Every few minutes they stopped.
Usually beside a trash can.
Usually because Seonghyeon looked like he was about to die.
Each time, Y/N stood beside him without flinching, one hand fisted loosely in the back of his blazer like she thought he might tip over if she let go completely. She didn't say anything while it was happening. She waited until it was over, handed him a tissue from somewhere, and only then started yelling again.
"You absolute idiot."
"Hm."
"You had a fever and still came to school."
"Hm."
"You did chores."
"Hm."
"You studied."
"Hm."
"You are the dumbest person I've ever met."
"Hm."
"Stop agreeing with me."
He almost smiled. The motion cost him more energy than it was worth.
⸻
By the time they reached his house, Seonghyeon was too exhausted to argue.
Y/N shoved him onto the couch.
Not hard.
Just aggressively.
"There."
"I'm home."
"Congratulations."
He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and listened to her moving around — the click of the front door locking, her bag hitting the floor, footsteps toward the kitchen. The sounds were so familiar he could've mapped the house just from them.
He didn't remember the last time someone else's footsteps in his house had sounded like relief.
⸻
Twenty minutes later she had somehow taken control of his entire house.
Seonghyeon wasn't entirely sure how.
One minute she was yelling at him.
The next she was calling Keonho from his phone.
"Come over."
"No."
"What?"
"No."
"Keonho."
"I'm not talking to him."
"Why?"
"He cheated."
"He did not."
"He absolutely did."
Y/N closed her eyes.
Very slowly.
"Keonho."
"No."
Without another word she stood up, walked toward the bathroom where Seonghyeon was currently trying not to throw up, and held the phone toward him.
Silence.
Then the sound of violent retching.
More silence.
Then—
"I'm twenty minutes away."
The call disconnected.
⸻
Keonho arrived exactly nineteen minutes later.
Then proceeded to become the worst caregiver in human history.
"Seonghyeonieee."
"Leave."
"My poor baby."
"Leave."
"My sweet boyfriend."
"Leave."
Keonho carefully sat on the edge of the bed.
"Look how weak he is."
"Keonho."
"Y/N, he's smiling at me."
"He is not."
"He missed me."
"I hate both of you."
Despite everything, Keonho took care of him.
He carried him upstairs.
Checked his temperature.
Forced medicine down his throat.
Refilled water bottles.
Texted the group chat.
Then continued calling him boyfriend for the next hour.
Y/N threatened him with a ladle three separate times.
⸻
The others arrived before evening.
James.
Martin.
Juhoon.
The house immediately became louder.
Unfortunately.
Seonghyeon spent the next few hours being treated like a sick Victorian child.
"Drink water."
"No."
"Drink water."
"No."
"Drink water."
"…Fine."
Martin checked his temperature every twenty minutes.
Juhoon took pictures.
James confiscated the pictures.
Keonho somehow made everything worse.
As usual.
Through all of it, Seonghyeon kept track of one thing without meaning to. Where Y/N was in the room. Whether she'd eaten. Whether she looked tired.
He blamed the fever for that too.
⸻
Around eight, Y/N disappeared.
When she returned an hour later she carried enough food to feed an army.
Immediately every single boy reached for it.
Immediately Y/N smacked their hands away.
"That's for Seonghyeon."
"Just one bite."
"No."
"Y/N."
"No."
"You're being unreasonable."
"Get out."
They listened.
Remarkably fast.
⸻
Eventually the others left.
The house became quiet.
Keonho left after extracting several promises that Seonghyeon would survive until morning.
James stayed.
At Y/N's request.
Just in case.
⸻
Before leaving, Y/N returned upstairs one last time.
The hallway light was off. Only the small lamp on his desk was still on, throwing everything into soft amber and shadow. The house, for the first time all day, was completely quiet — no Keonho, no group chat buzzing, no chaos. Just the low hum of the air conditioning and the sound of Seonghyeon breathing, a little too fast, a little too shallow.
Seonghyeon was sitting against the headboard looking miserable.
Good.
He deserved it.
"You need to eat."
"I already did."
"Eat more."
"I'm full."
"Too bad."
She sat beside him — close, closer than either of them would acknowledge later — and held out another spoonful.
Seonghyeon stared.
"Y/N."
"Open your mouth."
"…"
"Seonghyeon."
He opened his mouth.
Humiliating.
He chewed slowly, watching her in the lamplight. She wasn't looking at him — she was focused on the bowl, on getting the spoon right, on not spilling anything on his blanket. Her hair had come loose from where she'd tied it up earlier. There was a faint crease between her eyebrows, the one she got when she was concentrating on something she actually cared about.
He'd seen that crease a hundred times. Over homework. Over choreography videos on her phone. Never once, until tonight, pointed at him.
It did something strange to his chest. Something he was too tired to name and too sick to argue with.
"One more," she said, already lifting the spoon again.
He let her.
⸻
Afterward she forced him into clean clothes.
Not literally.
But only because he lacked the energy to resist, and she had the decency to wait outside the door until he knocked twice to let her know it was safe to come back in.
She returned with a wet cloth.
The first touch of it against his forehead made him flinch — too cold, after how hot everything felt — and her hand paused.
"Sorry," she muttered. Quieter than her usual volume. Quieter than he'd heard her in years, maybe.
"It's fine."
She kept going. Slower this time.
Across his forehead. Down the side of his face. The back of his neck, where his collar had stuck to his skin with sweat. He kept his eyes closed through most of it, partly because the light hurt and partly because he wasn't sure what his face was doing and didn't trust it not to give something away.
She checked his temperature.
Adjusted his blanket, tucking it in at the side the way his mother used to when he was small, like she'd somehow absorbed the habit just from being in this house so often.
Then she patted his head.
The gesture was so unexpected that Seonghyeon actually froze.
It was such a small thing. She'd done it a hundred times, usually as a joke, usually followed by an insult. This time there was no insult. Just her hand, resting there for a beat longer than necessary, and the quiet.
"Get some sleep."
"I have school tomorrow."
"No."
"Midterms."
"No."
"Review questions."
"No."
"My parents—"
"Will be home tomorrow."
"I should text—"
"Already did."
Seonghyeon blinked.
"You what?"
"I handled it."
"Oh."
"Go to sleep."
He wanted to argue.
Really.
He did.
But his eyes were already heavy, and the room was warm, and for once — for the first time all day — his head had gone completely quiet.
No midterms.
No chores.
No mental list of things that needed doing before tomorrow.
Just the lamp, and the blanket pulled up to his chin, and Y/N's voice, still complaining, still bossy, still there, fading into something soft at the edges as sleep finally pulled him under.
The last thing he was aware of was the mattress shifting slightly as she stood up to leave — and some small, half-conscious part of him wishing, just for a second, that she hadn't.
