tags: modern au / established relationship / domestic intimacy / soft & protective levi / warmth & care / sfw / 547 w.
summary: you try to warm up alone, but Levi notices instantly and brings you back to bed, wrapping you in care, warmth, and quiet closeness
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ read on ao3 ⋮ feveruary’26 ⋮ main masterlist
you wake up cold.
not the dramatic, shivering kind. just a stubborn chill clinging to your arms and legs. you shift under the blanket, nudging closer to levi’s warmth, but it doesn’t help.
you stare at the dark ceiling.
levi sleeps beside you on his back, one arm near your waist. his breathing is slow and steady. proper sleep. the kind he rarely gets.
you hesitate.
waking him over something this small feels selfish. you tell yourself you’ll warm up soon.
you don’t.
carefully, you lift his arm, inch by inch. you pause, waiting for him to stir. he doesn’t.
you slip out of bed.
the floor is cold. you wince silently, grab the hoodie from the chair, and pull it on. you wrap the spare blanket around yourself and head for the couch.
close enough. quiet. you won’t disturb him.
you glance back once. levi hasn’t moved.
“just for a bit,” you whisper.
you curl up on the couch, knees tucked in. it’s not as warm as levi, but it’s something. sleep returns, light and fragile.
levi wakes instantly.
not from noise. from absence.
his hand reaches for you and meets cold sheets. he sits up, eyes sharp, irritation flickering before concern settles in.
“tch.”
your hoodie is gone. so is the extra blanket. the living room light is on.
he’s already moving.
you’re curled up on the couch, blanket tight around you, sleeves covering your hands. even asleep, you look small.
he stops and watches you for a moment.
then he crouches and presses two fingers to your wrist.
cold.
“unbelievable,” he mutters.
he brushes your cheek. “hey.”
you stir. “levi?”
“what are you doing out here?”
“couldn’t sleep,” you mumble. “cold.”
“and the couch was a better idea?”
you shrug weakly. “you were tired. didn’t want to wake you.”
he exhales slowly. “stay.”
he returns with another blanket and tucks it around you with careful precision.
“you don’t need to make yourself uncomfortable to avoid bothering me.”
you peek at him. “you looked peaceful.”
“you’re ridiculous.”
he slides one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.
“levi,” you protest softly, but don’t resist.
“you’re freezing.”
you wrap an arm around his neck without thinking. he’s warm. solid. you sigh.
he carries you back to bed and settles you under the covers. then he climbs in and pulls you close, closing every gap.
you relax against his chest.
“sorry,” you murmur.
“stop apologizing,” he says. “if you’re cold, wake me.”
“even in the middle of the night?”
“especially then.”
sleep takes you almost immediately.
levi stays awake longer, listening to your breathing, making sure your hands warm up, that you stop curling in on yourself. only then does he sleep, arm firm around you.
morning comes slowly.
you wake up warm. truly warm. sunlight slips through the curtains. levi’s arm is heavy around your waist.
you shift.
his grip tightens. “don’t.”
you smile. “i wasn’t leaving.”
“good.”
you tilt your head. “you noticed fast.”
“hm.”
“i didn’t think you’d wake up.”
he opens one eye. “i notice when you’re not there.”
your chest tightens.
you kiss his collarbone and settle back in. he exhales and pulls you closer.
all you want is to let your girlfriends sleep... but all they want is to take care of you.
tags: pure fluff, sick!reader, protective girlfriends, caretaking (1k)
You’ve never tried so hard not to cough in your life.
You stare up at the ceiling, swallowing hard, trying to will the scratchy tickle in your throat away. Your shoulders still betray you, shaking with a tiny, muffled cough you can’t quite hold back.
Wanda, curled up beside you on your right, stirs at the sound. She hums softly in her sleep and snuggles closer, her arm tightening around you. Natasha, on your other side, doesn’t move, thankfully.
You sigh. It’s no use.
Your girlfriends have been taking care of you all day, making a much bigger fuss over your cold than it probably deserves. The last thing you want now is to wake them when they’re finally getting some rest. So you move carefully, easing yourself out of Wanda’s sleepy hold and inching away from Natasha’s side. You sit up, holding your breath.
Relief floods you when neither of them wake. Wanda curls around a pillow in your place, and Natasha lets out a faint, steady snore. You slip out of bed and pad quietly down the hall toward the kitchen, finally letting yourself cough once you’re alone. It racks your body, harsher now that you’re not suppressing it.
You don’t know how it’s possible, but you feel worse than you did when you went to sleep. Your head throbs, chills ripple through your body, and your throat burns like fire. You don’t know if you can make it better, but you do know you’re not getting back to sleep anytime soon.
Walking into the kitchen, you wrap your arms around yourself as a harsh shiver tears through you. You probably should’ve grabbed a hoodie and some socks on your way out of bed, but it’s too late for that now. Instead, you busy yourself filling the kettle, setting it to boil, and rifling through your massive tea stash until you find your favorite sick-day comfort: vanilla chamomile. While the water heats, you sink heavily into a chair at the kitchen table and slump forward, your head pillowed in your arms.
Part of you wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed. But another cough claws its way out of your chest, reminding you why you can’t. So you stay where you are, cold and aching and missing your girlfriends, waiting for the kettle to boil.
When it finally does, you pour yourself a large mug of tea and grab the box of tissues from the counter. You bring everything back to the table and slump down again, hastily pulling a few tissues free just as your nose tickles. You sneeze several times in quick succession, groaning afterward at the pain in your head.
“Bless you,” a rough, sleepy voice murmurs.
You whip around in your chair and freeze. Natasha and Wanda are standing in the doorway to the kitchen, both of them bleary-eyed but unmistakably alert, matching looks of concern already etched into their faces.
“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” Wanda asks, frowning as she crosses the room toward you. She presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, then pulls back with a soft, unhappy sound. “Oh, baby…you’re still burning up. You should be in bed, sweet girl.” Her fingers card through your hair, brushing it carefully off your face.
“I agree,” Natasha says, sitting down on your other side and rubbing slow circles into your back. “If you wanted tea, we could’ve gotten it for you, baby. All you had to do was ask.”
You cough into your elbow, shoulders slumping with a tired sigh. “I was trying not to wake you guys,” you say hoarsely, eyes dropping to your mug. “You’ve already been doing so much for me. I just wanted you to get some sleep, and I couldn’t stop coughing.”
“Sweetheart,” Wanda sighs, running her fingers gently down your arm. She looks at you for a long moment, green eyes soft and searching as she takes you in. “We’re your girlfriends. Of course we’re going to take care of you. And you don’t need to worry about keeping us up.”
You give Wanda a dry look. “So if I don’t get any sleep, that means none of us get any sleep?”
Natasha smirks, tipping your face toward her with a finger under your chin. “Basically, yeah. We’re in this together, baby. Remember that time you stayed up all night with me when I had food poisoning?”
Wanda chimes in. “Or that night I was having nightmares, and you held me the whole night through and rubbed my back?”
You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, but that was different. That was you guys. And this is… me.”
Natasha chuckles softly. “I think that fever’s making you a little delirious, baby. You’re not making any sense.” Her thumb brushes your cheek. “Let us take care of you, okay? We want to.”
“Yes, we do,” Wanda agrees gently. “Now come on, sweet girl. Let’s get you back into bed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you shivering.”
Natasha grabs your mug of tea while Wanda scoops up the tissues, and together they guide you back toward the bedroom. Wanda helps arrange the pillows on the bed so you’re propped up comfortably, and Natasha carefully hands you your tea once you’re settled.
Then Wanda turns the humidifier back on, the soft hum filling the room, then returns with a small cup of medicine. “Take this, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pressing it into your hand. “It might help with the cough.”
You down it quickly, immediately making a face. Both of your girlfriends chuckle. Wanda hands you a glass of water, and Natasha settles in beside you, tucking you close and drawing you under her arm. She presses a kiss to the top of your hair, holding you firmly.
“We’re right here, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and protective. “And we’re not going anywhere.”
“And no more sneaking out of bed,” Wanda adds, giving you a stern look that doesn’t quite hide her fondness. She leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, humming softly against your skin. “Just stay here where we can look after you. We’ll get you whatever you need. Rest now, okay, detka?”
You smile faintly, feeling impossibly loved, nestled between the two women you care about more than anything in the world. “Thank you,” you whisper, letting your head fall to rest on Natasha’s shoulder. “I love you.” Wanda curls up on your other side, wrapping her arms around your waist.
“We love you too, sweetheart,” Natasha says quietly, and Wanda hums in agreement.
“Nervous?” the doctor asks and whumpee nods a little. “Ah, don’t worry. I’ve done this many times.”
Whumpee isn’t worried about that. They never used to fear needles, but after Whumper… well, they don’t really like needles, at all. But flu season is starting and caretaker, waiting outside, insisted.
“I’ll be quick,” the doctor assures Whumpee as they slip out of their jacket and bare their arm. “Just a prick…”
Whumpee looks away and closes their eyes. The prick is indeed minimal, and just like that, it is over. Whumpee slumps back and laughs nervously. “Thanks, doc.”
Whumpee moves to stand, but falters and stumbles. The doctor reaches out and steadies Whumpee. “Whoa, careful. Don’t worry, that’s normal after getting a shot if you’re nervous. Just take a second.”
Whumpee nods, but the world isn’t getting clearer. Their vision blurs and they blink hard. The doctor guides them back into the chair, and their hands stay on whumpee’s shoulders as they lean over them.
“Still as pretty as you were back then, huh?”
Whumpee blearily stares up at the doctor, as they take their mask off.
“Wh—Whumper.”
Whumper smiles. “It is wonderful to see you again, Whumpee. Don’t worry, rest up. You’ll need your strength.”
Whumpee doesn’t get to reply before their vision swims and their muscles go limp, head falling to the side as terror strikes their heart.
Feveruary is a sickfic event with a closer focus on comfort and caretaking!
Hello guys! After a busy year, Feveruary has been taken over solely by myself (as Somber is taking a well deserved break) so I appreciate everyone’s patience and understanding at the lack of clarity of this year’s event.
That being said, I can’t wait to see what great things are written this year, we had an amazing year last year and I hope this continues. Hopefully these prompts live up to the expectations, I know many people have been waiting a while for them. As always, the ask box is open for any questions!
Prompt Text Version Below!
1. "Don't get too close."
2. "You're going to get yourself hurt."
3. Migraine
4. Whiny Sickie
5. "I told you to wear something warm!"
6. Flu Shot
7. "Did you seriously think I wouldn't notice?"
8. Sharing Blankets
9. Unlikely Caretaker
10. "You can't catch it... Probably... Maybe."
11. "We better get you cleaned up before (blank) sees you like this."
12. Sent Home From Work
13. "Are you alright to drive like this?"
14. "I'd kiss you right now if you weren't contagious"
15. "I don't think I've ever seen you ill before."
16. Sneaking Out of Bed
17. Bad Timing
18. "You're not being needy. You're being human."
19. Refusing Medicine
20. Cancelled Plans
21. "Don't lie to me. You're pale, you're sweating, and you can barely stand."
22. Ear-Infection
23. "Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own."
24. Contagious
25. "It's just a cold."
26. Pharmacy Run
27. "I don't think that's exactly hygienic."
28. "Your boss called..."
Feveruary Day 23—Alternative: Suffering In Silence— Polytryx x sick!mira
Sorry it’s quite short! Hope you enjoy nonetheless 🫶
CW: Mentions of family trauma
Safe With Us
Mira’s never been one to show weakness if any kind. Growing up where any kind of slip was used to shame her for not protecting the “family image”, she learned early on that being sick was something no one else ever needed to know about.
Headache? Tylenol and powering through. Period cramps? They hate to see her coming, you wouldn’t even know her insides are stabbing her. Even a fully blown cold hasn’t knocked her out in the past. She simply felt as though she never had any other options. So she powered through for years.
But now? She’s escaped the harsh remarks and glares from her family. She’s made a name for herself as part of the biggest pop group in the world. She has something she never thought she deserved. Love.
Rumi and Zoey bring a light into her life in a way she never knew she could be a part of. With them she’s found herself happy, freer, and bit by bit parts of her walls and past slowly started crumbling away ever since she first met them.
Which is why when she wakes up one morning with a pounding headache, completely stuffed nose, and what she’s pretty sure is a fever, she scowls into her pillow and pulls the blanket closer around her. At least she’s in her own room right now. Most nights they all sleep together in one of their giant beds, but for whatever reason, last night was different.
She’s been lucky for a while now. For years she’s been able to hide any ailments from the girls. So why should this time be any different?
But now, that luck seems to have fun out, leaving her utterly miserable with what might just be the worst cold she’s ever had. Doesn’t matter though. Her old habits slip back in easier when she’s unwell, and while every new instinct she has is telling her to be honest with her girlfriends, there’s that little voice inside her head telling her they can’t know.
The problem with sporting a rather high fever is, Mira absolutely forgets about the part where if she doesn’t leave her room, her girls notice. And it’s already getting later into the morning.
“Mira never sleeps in.” Zoey murmurs worriedly to Rumi as the two of them stand just outside their girlfriend’s door. Rumi’s lips are tight with concern before she speaks, the wheels in her mind turning at what’s best to do.
“I know, Zo. I’m worried too.” Her hand comes around Zoey’s waist, pulling her closer.
They both look at each other like they don’t know what to do next. This quite literally has never happened, but they don’t stay fazed for long.
“Okay.” Zoey hears the change in Rumi’s tone. The gentle switch from worried to ‘she’s our girl’.
Rumi knocks once, softly, before trying the handle and thankfully finding it unlocked. She pushes it open slowly, soft light from the hallway spilling golden into dark bedroom. “Mira? Aein? Are you okay?” She calls quietly into the dark as the two them shuffle in. Behind them, Derpy slips in and silently pads to the bed, staring at the Mira-sized lump under the blankets.
A small groan coming in response makes both the other girl’s hearts sink in deep concern. Quickly but calmly, they both make their way across the room. Already sensing what’s going on, Rumi uses her powers to light the space just enough to get a better view of Mira while being dim enough not to bother her. She sits gently on one side of the bed while Zoey climbs onto the other.
“R-Rumi?” Mira rasps, blinking at the almost dream like lighting coming from her girlfriend’s demon patterns. She knows it all too well, but in her fevered state, she’s not even sure if she’s really there until a cool, familiar hand is reaching out to rest against her forehead.
“Oh, Agi…” Rumi hums and Zoey reaches out too, feeling the sick girl’s flushed cheek. “You’re burning up.”
“Duh…” Is all Mira mumbles, though it’s barely a coherent word. Zoey shifts closer, hand resting on her shoulder as Rumi immediately starts maneuvering Mira so she can hold her against her chest.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling well?” Zoey tucks herself carefully around them both, arm draping over Mira’s waist. She’s quiet for a long moment.
“Didn’t wanna bother…” Is all she gets out before instinctively turning to cough into Rumi’s chest. She feels both sets of arms around her hold a little tighter.
“You are never a bother? You hear us? Never. You’re out girl and we take care of each other. No matter what.” Rumi assures softly but her tone leaves no room for anything but that truth. And Zoey hums in agreement. “We love you, Mira.” A strange feeling swells in Mira’s chest, not from sickness this time, but from love. The realization that she can be loved so deeply and gently finally settles in, raw and beautiful and new.
These girls make her feel it, know it, believe it, in every part of her being that she doesn’t ever have to suffer in silence anymore.
“I…” Mira’s voice cracks with her emotions and she simply turns her face further into Rumi’s soft hoodie.
Rumi soothes a hand down her back as Zoey snuggles in a little closer. “It’s okay, agi, just let us be here with you, yeah?” Rumi’s voice is in the softest, most sincere tone Mira’s ever heard her use. And the two of them simply choosing to be here with her makes her blink back a few sneaky tears that somehow find their way rolling down her cheeks.
“We’ve got you, Mir. You can let go.” Zoey adds just at softly, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to her girlfriend’s feverish cheek. Mira can only nod as the tight feeling in her chest she’s had since she woke up like this finally loosens under the unwavering care of her girlfriends. Even Derpy purrs his agreement from the edge of the bed where he’s curled up by their feet.
Maybe she doesn’t have to be strong anymore, she feels the thought more than thinks it as she starts drifting off, Rumi continues her soothing ministrations on her back and Zoey’s thumb smoothes the last of the crease in her brows. Safe in her girlfriend’s arms, safe with their love, she can finally just…rest.
Feveruary 2026 | Day: 18 | “You're not being needy. You're being human."
Whumpee: Han
Caretaker/s: Bang Chan
Chn sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he begged for his patience to last. Not in the dramatic, end-of-the-world way. Just… in the deeply tired, way past 3 A.M’, “I love you but please stop crying before I start crying too” kind of way.
Across the living room, Jisung sat on the floor with his back against the couch, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands. His breathing was uneven and flimsy, shoulders jerking every few seconds like his body couldn’t decide whether to jump into a fist-fight or shut down completely. The same limbo he’d been stuck in for the better part of the night…
The rest of the dorm was quiet. Too quiet, compared to the storm of panic that buzzed through the air like static. Everyone else had wisely retreated to their rooms when the spiral started hours ago, quietly obeying an unspoken protocol. Any hesitant loiterers had been ushered away, ordered to get some sleep after a gruelling day.
Bang Chan stayed though. Of course he did.
Because even when Jisung started snapping, and his patience ran thin, Chan knew better than to run away. They’d seen this before, he could take it.
He crouched down a couple metres away, not too close, not crowding, the way he’d started to learn worked best when Jisung was too far gone for reason. Space first, bone-crushing hugs later.
“Hey,” Chan said gently. Not loud. Not soft. Just steady, present, a feeble attempt to somehow pull his kid back to his physical body. “You’re safe, Jisung-ah, okay? Nothing bad is happening right now.”
Jisung shook his head hard, eyes squeezing shut as he clutched at his chest. “But I messed up. I messed up, I mess up, I mess—”
“You didn’t,” Chan cut in calmly. “You don’t. Your brain’s just being loud. You haven’t messed up anything.”
Jisung’s breathing hitched harder and Chan shifted, sitting cross-legged on the floor before him. He rested his forearms on his knees, making himself seem smaller, less overwhelming.
“Can you look at me for one second?” he asked patiently, still unshakable despite the whirlwind of emotions that practically suffocated the room.
It took a few tries, but Jisung finally peeked at him through tear-blurred eyes and clumped lashes.
“There you are,” Chan said warmly, like he’d just found something precious that had rolled under the couch. “Okay. Good. Stay with me now. We’re gonna slow this down together.” He inhaled slowly, exaggerated but not overly theatric, waiting for Jisung to latch on.
“In… two… three…”
Jisung’s breath stuttered, but he tried. Chan could tell from the way his fingers twisted into his own sleeves, the way his eyes shut tightly as he fought to seize control over his own body.
“Out… two… three… four…”
It wasn’t perfect, but then again, it didn’t need to be. When Jisung’s breathing hitched and faltered, Chan held the soothing rhythm anyway, voice low and even, like the comforting hum of background music.
After a minute, Jisung felt himself starting to slip again, chest growing tighter, the buzzing in his head swallowing him whole. His eyes widened as he pressed a hand to his sternum, choking out a desperate, “Hyung, I can’t— my chest—”
“I know,” Chan said immediately, keeping his voice steady. “It feels awful. But it’s just your body being dramatic. You’re not dying, you’re not in danger. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He reached out his hand, palm facing up, offering instead of forcing himself through the protective shields Jisung had carefully conducted.
The younger man stared at the outstretched hand for a beat, like he couldn’t quite process what he was supposed to do. Then, slowly, Jisung grabbed on, his own fingers trembling and cold.
Chan squeezed his hand once, tethering him to the moment with something tangible in his own warm grasp. “Good,” he praised softly. “That’s it. You’re doing really well, Han-ah.”
Jisung let out a broken sound, somewhere between a scoff and a whimper, blinking hard as his vision blurred over again. “I-I’m literally falling apart, hyung.”
“And you’re still breathing with me,” Chan replied casually, moving his thumb in soothing circles over the back of his hand. “Multitasking king~”
That earned a weak huff of air that was almost a laugh. Almost.
Progress.
Chan kept talking— not giving advice or empty lectures, hust gentle narration and simple observations of the space around them. His own voice was rough with exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, but that didn’t deter him in the slightest.
“The coffee stain on couch is still there. The lamp’s still on, still a little flickery, I haven’t gotten around to changing the bulb… It’s quite warm in here, but your hands are still awfully cold, huh? And I’m right in front of you—“ Chan offered a cheeky, dimpled smile, “—being extremely insistent and annoying with my bad narrating.”
Jisung’s grip tightened on instinct, like he’d suddenly caught himself just before slipping away again.
“Don’tgo.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, merely a hopeful breath, but Chan didn’t hesitate to reassure him. He shifted a little closer and covered Jisung’s hand with his other one, warm and measured. “I’m not going anywhere, baby… I promise.”
Minutes passed. The storm didn’t dissipate all at once, but it softened, the darkest clouds drawing back to the horizon while the stars fought to regain their spot in the sky.
Jisung’s shoulders lowered, his breaths stopped sounding like they were fighting him on their way out, and Chan watched helplessly as the pearlescent drops on his lash line overflowed again, trailing in shimmering paths down his flushed cheeks.
Eventually, the younger slumped forward with a heavy sigh, forehead pressing into Chan’s shoulder like he’d finally run out of battery. His shoulders still shook, his breath hitching, but now at the tail end of soft sobs rather than the frantic pull of hyperventilation.
Chan wrapped his arms around him like he’d been waiting to do so for ages, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.
“Sorry,” Jisung mumbled into his shirt, voice muffled and low. Chan’s grip tightened just a little. “For what? Having a brain?” he said quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss to the side of Jisung’s head. “Rude of it for making you feel like shit, honestly.”
Another shaky breath, a little less sharp this time. “M’sorry for..” Jisung tried again, fingers curling into Chan’s hoodie and bunching the soft fabric. “F-for being so.. needy. Y-you don’t have time for this.. I-I’m.. I’m a mess.. I can’t do anything, I-I’m-“
“Ah-ah, none of that..” Chan shook his head, drawing in a slow breath through his nose as he leaned back just enough to gently guide Jisung’s face up to meet his eyes.
“Hey…” his thumb brushed carefully across Jisung’s cheek, dispelling of the tears that still clung to his raw skin. “You’re not being needy, Han-ah. You’re just being human..”
His heart ached when Jisung’s lower lip quivered again, and Chan couldn’t help but pull him back into his chest, his own voice trembling. “You’re struggling… and that’s okay, you’re allowed to struggle just..”
Chan closed his eyes, inhaling shakily as he held Jisung just a little closer, almost as if afraid he might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“Don’t shut me out, yeah?” He mumured, feeling the warmth of his own tears welling at the corners of his eyes. “I want to be here with you, for you, even through the muck..”
Jisung’s fingers loosened in the fabric at Chan’s back, like the words had knocked the last bit of strength out of him. His forehead pressed into Chan’s shoulder, breath stuttering again as he tried, and ultimately failed, to keep it steady.
“I don’t… mean to,” he whispered hoarsely, sounding entirely defeated. “I just… I get stuck and everything feels so loud and I can’t—” His voice cracked, the rest dissolving into a shaky exhale against cotton.
Chan didn’t rush him. He just kept one hand at the back of Jisung’s head, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles between his shoulder blades. “I know, Jisung-ah,” he whispered. “I know..”
Because that was the thing; despite their differences, Chan meant it. He knew. He was no stranger to that kind of darkness himself— he knew the shame that came with it, and he knew Jisung couldn’t help it. No matter how hard he tried.
Maybe that was why he truly didn’t mind being there with him, on the floor of the living room, in the dead of night.
In fact, Chan much preferred it to discovering belatedly that Jisung had been struggling alone, or waking up to find him missing and spending hours fearing the worst…
Jisung had always had a colourful, loud and extraordinary mind— and with the highest of highs, came the lowest of lows.
In the beginning, it was hard to figure him out. But Chan understood now, not all of it, but enough to feel the significance of every second Jisung allowed him a peek inside his head. Especially when it came to the scary, ugly parts.
The parts that had felt overwhelming and forbidding at first, but softened into a quiet, fearful plea once you unpacked the rotten shroud. ‘Please don’t hate me, I’m just scared’.
And if Chan could help— if he could be there for and hold Jisung together while the world came crashing down around him, then why wouldn’t he?
Wasn’t that what he was meant to do; as a leader, as an older brother?
And even if all his attempts fell flat… then that was okay too. Because Jisung was right there, in Chan’s arms, alive and breathing… and he would never let him disappear again.
For now, they’d just sit there together in the quiet mess of being human, wrapped up like two broken stars still trying to shine. Sometimes, that was all they could do. And sometimes, that was enough.
Jisung swallowed hard against the lump that had stuck in his throat for weeks. “Feels like I’m… broken or something. Everyone else can just… function.”
Chan huffed, not amused, but fond in that tired, achingly understanding way. “Yeah? Well, everyone else isn’t you. You’re not broken, Han-ah.” He tipped his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Jisung’s hair. “Your brain just runs a little hotter than most. Doesn’t make it broken. Just means it needs more care sometimes...”
“That’s…” Jisung let out a weak, breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t wobble so much at the edges. “Such a dad thing to say.”
“Good,” Chan replied immediately, nodding once. “I have a reputation to maintain.” He nuzzled against the side of Jisung’s head, making small kissing noises all the while. “You’re my first kid, remember?”
That finally pulled a real, if small, huff of laughter from Jisung’s chest; wet and fragile, but there. He pushed at Chan weakly, no doubt rolling his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.
If anything, he melted into every silly little sign of affection Chan showered him with, like each one was another promise to stay.
Chan kept his breathing slow and deliberate, the kind you could follow even without conscious effort.
After a minute or two, Jisung’s breaths finally started to match the rhythm, the sharp edges slowly sanding down to something more comfortable. But his chest ached from hours of shallow gasps and desperate heaves, deep and burning, and every muscle in his body burned like he’d just finished a marathon.
“I hate this,” Jisung admitted into the dark room.
“I know.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You’re not.”
“I feel like a lot.”
“Well,” Chan’s arms tightened again, firm and certain. “You are,” he said softly, unable to mask the fondness practically dripping off his words. “You’re a lot of things. Loud, dramatic, cute, talented, a little annoying sometimes—”
Jisung made a weak noise of protest, pushing a poorly balled up fist against Chan’s chest.
“—but never too much,” Chan finished, pressing his cheek more firmly to Jisung’s temple. “Not for me.”
Jisung unfurled his fist on the spot, letting out a relived breath he didn’t know he’d been holding onto for so long. Truthfully, he hadn’t known how much he needed to hear that.
They stayed like that on the floor, long after the worst had passed, breathing into the stillness of the night. Chan still didn’t rush him up, didn’t check the time, didn’t move— not even when his leg started to go numb under Jisung’s weight.
Some things were more important than circulation, and Jisung was definitely among those things. Chan had his priorities straight.
“Hyung?” Jisung whispered finally, voice small and weary, but laced with a hint of trust that made Chan’s chest soar.
“Yeah?”
Jisung pressed a little closer, and Chan welcomed it like he’d never wished for anything else. “Thanks for… staying.”
Chan lightly rested his cheek back against the top of Jisung’s head.
“Always.” he said.
And he meant it.
——————-——————-——————-—————
Angsty whump is allowed in Feveruary too, right? I sure hope so 👀
Also lol @ me posting these stories just as unpredictably and disorganised and as I feared I would 😂😭
"You're gonna get yourself hurt one of these days," Two-Bit tells him.
Darry feels a flash of anger. "What choice do you think I have, Two?" He coughs harshly. "If I don't work, ain't nobody in this house gonna be eating. Even with Pepsi's check, that won't cover much more than the mortgage."
"And how are you gonna take care of your brothers if you fall off a damn roof? You're wobbling on your feet, man. You don't need to be climbing ladders."
"I told you, I ain't got a choice," Darry grits out. "You think I don't want to take the day off and lay around until I feel less like I'm about to die? There's no other option!"
Two-Bit gets a determined look on his face, and marches over to the phone.
"What are you doing?" Darry asks, and Two-Bit holds a hand up for him to wait.
"Mr. Johnson?" Two-Bit says, and then Darry is hissing at him and trying to grab the phone. "I'm a friend of Darry Curtis. He's real sick today, and he's stubborn enough that he thinks it's a good idea to come to work." Darry keeps whisper-yelling at him while trying to get the phone. The fact that he can't just take it says something about how sick he is, but hell if he's gonna admit to it. "Of course, I'll make sure to tell him. And sir? I know this ain't the common practice, but you know Darry's the sole provider of their house. You think I could cover his shift for a couple of days, so he still gets a paycheck?" Two-Bit pauses. Darry is just looking at him in horror now. "I'll be honest, I ain't done the work before. But I can lift a good hundred pounds, and I promise you I'll do anything you ask." He pauses again. "Great. Thank you so much. I'll get the address from Darry and head straight over."
Two-Bit hangs up the phone. "There. All taken care of." Darry is gaping at him. When he makes another call. "Hey, Sodapop." Darry's gonna kill him. "Your brother's real sick. I took his shift at work and made him stay home. You think you can either check in on him or get one of the other boys to?"
"What the hell?" Darry says, then immediately starts coughing.
"Go back to bed. Everything's taken care of. All you gotta do is tell me the address of the job you were headed to."
"You can't-"
"It's done," Two-Bit says. "Now give me the address and get your ass back to bed."
Meanwhile, at the DX....
Soda feels even more like he made the right decision coming to work. They need the money, and if Darry is too sick to go to work, they need Soda's paycheck more than ever.
It was the right call, he thinks. He just feels a little bit woozy at the moment. "I'm gonna go on break," he calls to Steve. When he gets into the bathroom, he does a double take at his appearance. He successfully snuck out of the house this morning, but Pony was half asleep and apparently Darry was not in good shape either. Here he was just thinking that he was extra sneaky. (Maybe he's only medium sneaky.)
He splashes some cool water on his face and dries it. His face is hot, but he's so cold that he's chilled to the bone. His face is still flushed, and his eyes are glassy.
Steve has been busy working on cars all shift, and he has spent more time looking at an engine than looking at Soda. So Steve isn't really paying a lot of attention.
Soda just needs to make it through this shift. He'll be fine.
And then everything goes black.
Steve is swearing up a storm when Soda comes to. He doesn't catch the beginning, but he realizes Steve is also muttering about a damn fever, so he supposes the cat is out of the bag.
"I'm taking you home to your brothers. The hell were you thinking?" Steve asks, and Soda closes his eyes just before he feels burning hot tears roll down his cheeks. His breath hitches. "Soda..." Steve says, much softer. Soda lets out a sob then. "Christ. It's gonna be okay."
"We need the money," Soda gasps out, tears still rolling. "Darry's home sick. Which means he's probably halfway to dead, if he took a day off."
He feels Steve push his hair out of his face. "Don't worry about that," Steve tells him. "I got you covered." Soda starts to protest. "You know it drives me crazy that Muscles won't take money from us when we try to kick in. Hell, we should be buying groceries as often as we all eat there. So I got you. Damn thrilled about it, actually." He helps Soda up. "Now let's get you home to your brothers. I'll put up the 'back in fifteen' signs, and let's hope ol' Wanda don't require a push-start to drive you home."
When Steve brings Soda in the door, he finds Darry already on the couch. "Pepsi, what happened?"
"He's sick, too. Needs something to bring his fever down, passed out at the damn station." Darry moves to get up. "You take him, I know where y'all keep the medicine."
Then Soda is leaning against his big brother, and next thing he knows he's got tears running down his face again. "Aw, honey. You feel real bad?" Darry murmurs, his own voice raspy. "I'll save the lecture for when you're feeling better, but I don't want you going to work when you're sick like that, little buddy." Soda buries his face in Darry's shirt.
"But we need-"
"We're gonna be fine," Darry tells him gently. "Because Two's stubborn as hell, and he took my spot on the crew when he made me stay home."
Soda slumps against him, exhausted and breath still hitching. He takes the medicine that Steve gives him, and he doesn't remember much else after that because he drifts off, half in Darry's lap.
He wakes up to Ponyboy's voice. "I can't believe he tried to go to work." Pause. "I can't believe you tried to go to work. You're both ridiculous."
"Come on, Pony," Darry says wearily. "You know why we got to work."
Soda keeps his eyes closed. Maybe that will keep the lecture focused away from him.
Ponyboy's mad, though. "You both woulda skinned me for going to school in that condition. And most of the time at school you're sitting. You were gonna climb around on a roof? And it ain't like Soda don't spend most of his shifts at the DX running around." Well, guess he's gonna hear the lecture either way. "You need to use your head," Ponyboy snaps.
Soda cracks an eye open when Darry asks, "how long you been waiting to use that one on me?"
"Since my fourteenth birthday," Ponyboy says drily. "And we all know you're playing possum, Soda. You snore when you're sick."
"Do not," he mumbles, and he feels Darry's chest rumble a little when he chuckles.
"You two knuckleheads-" (man, Pony is going all in on this lecture) "so focused on paying the bills, you ever stop to think about what would happen to me and if I lost the two of you?" His voice catches in his chest.
"I'm sorry, baby," Darry says. "Don't cry."
"I ain't crying," Ponyboy says, sniffling and scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "But you two can't leave me. You just can't."
"Pony, you're getting dangerously close to me pulling you down into a big sandwich hug, germs be damned," Soda warns, and Ponyboy smiles a little, then.
"Y'all sit back and cuddle each other. Somebody's gotta be conscious to bring you soup and medicine. And it's Friday, so you're both gonna have more nursing back to health than you can stand. I got all weekend to take care of you, stubborn asses or not."
Soda wants to argue, he really does. But when Darry lets it go, he just snuggles back into his big brother's chest.
Note: @sickonthedancefloor I hope I did you prompt justice, friend!!!
“Hey! Look who it is!” Taehyung exclaimed, arms thrown out in welcome as the door closed behind Hoseok. The dancer paused, holding up a peace sign before shuffling to the front of the room. “Look who finally decided to show up!”
“Ha ha, so funny.” Hoseok rolled his eyes over dramatically, his statement punctuated by a sharp sniffle that had Seokjin practically shoving him into the folding chair at the front of the practice room. “Hyung, I know what I agreed to!”
Jin’s eyes alone spoke volumes. “One incident today, Hobi, JUST ONE!” He held up a finger for emphasis, “and I’m sending you back home.”
“Relax, hyung.” Namjoon clapped Jin on the shoulder with a raise of his eye brows. “Hoseok-ah’s an adult. He knows his limits.” The leader’s eyes flicked warningly towards the dancer. “Right?”
Hoseok shot them both an enthusiastic, two-handed thumbs up. “Right-o! Cough’s been gone for about 24 hours, so I am cleared to return to work.” Another sniffle punctuated his statement. “I am still a little stuffed up, but it’s out of my lungs, and that was the deal.”
Seokjin narrowed his eyes at Namjoon, as the leader had agreed to the deal that Hoseok could return to work as soon as his cough settled. It was, after all, just a cold, albeit the scary kind that settled in his chest. Clearly, though, Hoseok hadn’t developed bronchitis (or, don’t even think it, pneumonia,) so the leader really couldn’t move the goal post now.
Namjoon nodded. “That was the deal. As was you taking it easy today. Thus,” he gestured down, “the chair.”
“I know, I know.” Hoseok waved away the leader’s concern. “So go stretch. My eyes’ll be sharper today since I can’t participate fully.” The smile behind his mask was overly sweet, and both Seokjin and Namjoon could sense it, immediately groaning and returning to the dance floor. Hoseok chuckled to himself, rubbing at his neck. While his throat no longer felt sore, a persistent pain was beginning to bug him, crawling from his neck up the right side of his head to his ear. Hoseok sighed; it was probably from all the laying down he’d been doing. Sure, he didn’t have anything more than a stupid cold, but it had knocked him out harder than he’d expected. He’d even spiked a fever three days ago. He’d finally turned the corner two nights ago, the ache in his chest finally easing from rest and medicine. Yet the fact that he was still uncomfortably stuffed up despite the congestion finally loosening its hold on his lungs? Criminal.
Pulling his water bottle and a box of tissues from his bag and setting it decisively next to his chair, Hoseok’s eyes scanned his members, all in various stage of stretching. It was SO GOOD to be back, to be able to participate, even in a small way. When he called the member together to start running through choreography, he was J-Hope the dance captain once again, all focus and precision. Sure, he winced a few times from the pain crawling up his neck. Sure, he had to pause a few times to ward off the occasional sneeze. But Hoseok was back in his element, and his members were on top of the world having their choreography virtuoso back in action.
Everything came crashing down an hour before their lunch break. The group moved to a newer song, a dance that hadn’t fully settled into their muscle memory yet. So far, Hoseok had been able to teach from his chair, watching their run throughs and providing verbal feedback with minor hand gestures. But the group was getting worked up. Something about this track… even Jimin and Jungkoook were struggling.
“Okay.” Hoseok held up his hands and vaulted to his feet. The movement caused a sharper pain in his ear then Hoseok expected, and he stumbled slightly. Six pairs of hands raised, as if nervous he would somehow faint immediately. “I’m fine. Just moved a little too fast.” While every member’s posture relaxed, their eyes did not. Hoseok did his best to ignore that.
“Sit down, hyung. We can figure it out,” Jungkook insisted, sincere and helpful.
“It’s okay, Kook, I can walk you through a few moves. I won’t go at tempo, promise.” Hoseok crossed his thumb over his heart, watching the older members out of his periphery. “The movement goes 5, 6, 7…” He began to slowly walk through the steps, breaking it down, hoping to provide clarity where it was needed. And he was highly successful… until the turn. The turn involved a level change - there was a plié and head tilt and, when he did so, Hoseok’s vision tilted. He stumbled again, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden stars swimming before his eyes.
Steady hands caught his shoulders. “Hoseok, sit.” Yoongi.
“I’m f-fine…” Hoseok attempted to shake his head, but the movement caused another burst of pain and he cried out, holding the right side of his head as he fell onto one knee.
“HYUNG!” The cry echoed around him, but Hoseok couldn’t identify the voice as the volume sent yet another shockwave through his body. What was happening? This hadn’t happened at all since he’d been sick. As the confusion swelled within him, Hoseok felt his heart beat start to race and the room around him began to spin faster and faster.
“Hoseok?” Yoongi’s voice, deep and soft, right next to his left ear. Warm hands still holding Hoseok like his life depended on it. “What’s wrong, love?”
“I…” Hoseok swallowed thickly, suddenly nauseous. “Dizzy…” he breathed.
“Jimin, go grab ice, please,” a voice directed from somewhere above Hoseok’s head. “Kook, go with him.”
Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut, willing the spinning to stop. It didn’t. Neither did the screaming pain in his ear.
“Jung Hoseok!” A hand against his cheek startled the dancer’s eyes open. He met Seokjin’s worried gaze. “Hobi, can you hear me?”
“Huh?” Hoseok gasped breathlessly.
“I’ve said your name three times,” Seokjin said gently, his thumb working caressing the rapper’s cheek. “You responded to Yoongi right away, but not me. You don’t seem to have a fever, you’re suddenly dizzy, you…”
“Are pulling on your ear,” Taehyung interrupted.
“Wha-?” Hoseok didn’t even realize he was doing exactly that until Yoongi grabbed his hand, folding it into his own. “I don’t…”
“Seok-ah, you’re pulling on the ear where Jinnie was,” Taehyung said, eyebrows creased in worry. “Isn’t that… a clear sign of an ear infection?”
Seokjin sat back on his heels, eyebrows furrowing. “Since when are you knowledgeable about that?”
Taehyung shrugged. “I have two younger siblings. When someone pulls on their ear, that usually means ear infection.”
“But I…” Hoseok paused, the world only starting to come back into focus. He sniffled harshly, suddenly aware of his symptoms again. “When was I…?”
“Just now,” Yoongi answered before he could finish. “You lost your balance, then grabbed for your ear. And Jin’s right, you didn’t seem to hear him at all, but heard me just fine. That sounds like infection, Hoba…”
“But… how?” Hoseok asked, meeting his eldest hyung’s gaze.
Seokjin shrugged. “A lot of ways. Probably your cold moving from your chest up to your head.”
“Yeah, all that snot’s gotta go somewhere,” Taehyung joked.
“That’s… so rude.”
Taehyung’s face fell. “No, hyung, I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, no, not you, Tae!” Hoseok shook his head, immediately regretting it at the shoot of pain through his ear. After he winced thoroughly, he forced his eyes up to the younger man, squinting against the light. “I mean rude of my body to do that. Your joke was, unfortunately, spot on.”
“Hey, Kookie, can you turn off the first light switch?” Namjoon asked suddenly, his eyes focused beyond the small group. Hoseok assume the ice brigade has returned. “I think the full fluorescents are hurting our dear choreographer.”
“It’s okay, I…”
“Stop.” Yoongi pressed a finger to where he assumed Hoseok’s lips where beneath his mask (he was mostly right.) “You’re allowed to be in pain. Just accept it. And sit back in your chair until we can you to a doctor.”
“So dramatic,” Hoseok muttered as Jimin pressed an ice pack into his hand, which the dancer immediately pressed against his throbbing right ear. “It’s just a cold… and maybe an ear infection.”
“Jeez, hyung, we leave for two seconds and you get sick AGAIN?!” Jungkook exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’m starting to feel left out.”
“Oh trust me, this is something you want to be left out of,” Hoseok replied as Yoongi and Seokjin lifted him from the floor and back to his chair. Did he need the help? No. Was he going to hate the coddling that was sure to come with this new illness development? Yes. But did he love it anyway? 1000 percent.
