A/N: This is dedicated to the wonderful @bultaoreunheyyy who has been so kind and supportive of my writing. Thank you (and others) for inspiring me to make this blog! I won't be doing every day of Feveruary, but I will do a few prompts, some of which are combined. I want to focus on having fun and writing when I feel the urge without feeling obligated to write everyday.
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It’s a clattering in the kitchen that has Seokjin snapping up in bed at 2:30 in the morning, and a wet cough that has him throwing off his blanket and rushing down the hall like he’d never been asleep to begin with. He skids to a halt outside the kitchen entryway, heart pounding, just to be met with a very ill looking Jungkook who’s kneeling over a mess of ice scattered across the floor.
“Kook-ah?” He hurries to his side, and the closer he gets, the worse Jungkook looks. He’s trembling, violent shivers making his shoulders quake and his teeth chatter. There’s a congested wheeze following his every exhale, and his cheeks and nose are tinged a blotchy pink.
Jungkook flinches at his name, not having noticed Seokjin come in. “Hyung,” he breathes, but his words catch on the gunk in his throat and he coughs, the sound wet and painful.
“Oh baby.” Seokjin crouches down and rubs his back through the fit. He can feel how febrile Jungkook is, even through the thick material of his sweater. “How’d you end up like this, huh?”
“Was… it was hot and I- I just wanted ice. The tray- but the tray… dropped it.” He trails off, gesturing tiredly to the plastic ice tray turned over on the floor and the quickly melting ice that’s seeping into his pajama pants. He sniffles thickly and scrubs a knuckle under his nose. “Sorry. Made a mess.”
“Hm, that’s okay. Let hyung worry about that.” Despite Seokjin’s steadily increasing concern, he keeps his voice light. It's hard to keep his smile, though, when he presses the backs of his fingers to Jungkook’s neck and feels a burning heat there. “Let's get you settled first, alright?”
Jungkook blinks. Sniffles. “But… the ice.”
Seokjin sucks in a breath. Jungkook’s condition had declined so quickly, it’s making him nervous. He’d seemed a little fatigued earlier that evening– a bit quieter than normal– but overall in high spirits. Now he can barely hold his head up. Seokjin schools his expression and slings Jungkook’s arm over his shoulders, wrapping his own arm around his waist.
“I’ll make Joonie clean it up.”
Jungkook groans. “Noooo he’ll just make it worse. Slip n’ it and… smack his head on the sink. Or fall in the oven.”
Seokjin snorts. At least Jungkook is coherent enough to clown on Namjoon’s clumsiness.
“He’s survived worse. He can probably handle a mop on his own.”
He gets Jungkook settled on his bed, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand and clicking his tongue in displeasure.
“Tell me what hurts, Kookie.”
Jungkook shudders. “Everything. It’s all sore.”
Seokjin hums. “It’s no wonder.” He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s damp hair, unsticking it from his forehead and scratching gently at his scalp. “You’re burning up, love.”
“I know. S’ hot.” Jungkook whimpers and fumbles with the hem of his sweater, struggling to peel it away from his soaked skin.
Seokjin stands up to help him, gently guiding his arms out of his sleeves and carefully pulling the sweater up and over his head, tossing it into a heap on the floor. He does the same with his soaked pajama bottoms. Hoseok would pick it up later. He helps him shimmy into some sweatpants, shushing him softly when he whines about being too hot. Jungkook always fluctuates between too hot and too cold when he’s sick. Seokjin knows he’ll be thanking him for the sweatpants later.
“Let me get you some ice and medicine,” Seokjin whispers, smoothing back Jungkook’s bangs and planting a light kiss on his forehead.
“Careful. Don’ drop it,” he murmurs, eyes already drifting closed.
Seokjin smiles and boops the tip of Jungkook’s nose, chuckling when he scrunches it up with a sniffle.
When Itafushi's tentative touches become bed sharing, which in turn become late night kisses, it's new and scary but exciting, so Yuuji and Megumi have an unspoken agreement not to tell anyone about it.
But, of course, everyone takes one look at them and immediately knows what's going on. Yuuji and Megumi, however, are too oblivious to realise their cover's been blown
Cue them being found in endless compromising positions. For example, they'll be cooking dinner together when they get distracted by each other's mouths. Someone will come in so they'll break apart - Yuuji giggling nervously, Megumi trying to catch his breath. "What's up, guys?" "Nothing," they'll say in unison, but when they turn around there are flour prints on Megumi's ass in the shape of Yuuji's broad hands
Everyone ignores it, it's old news - until of course Gojo comes back from a trip and rips them to fucking shreds 💀
A/N: This was actually the first story I wrote, and it was originally meant to be for the Sicktember prompt "Train Ride," So I guess you can consider this a double prompt but from two different events 😅. Biggest shout out to @darl-ingfics for reading part of this and encouraging me to keep writing. She's a huge reason I even had the courage to make this account at all. Please go check out her stuff, it's so good.
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Seonghwa gazes out the fogged train window, idly watching damp blurs of grey zip past his vision. Heavy rain patters against the glass in a steady rhythm, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. It’s early– too early to be awake. Apparently nobody else got the memo, as the train is at full capacity, filled to the brim with damp, downcast civilians on their way to their early morning shifts. Seonghwa is lucky he was able to find them a seat before the city crowd filed in. What a miserable day for a train ride. And speaking of miserable…
Wooyoung, who’s been sulking against his shoulder for the last ten minutes, coughs wetly into his hoodie sleeve before swiping it once under his nose. He whines, a tiny, nasally, pitiful little sound that makes Seonghwa’s heart clench. He peels his eyes away from the rain-washed landscape to focus on him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze in a show of sympathy.
“We’ll be there soon, Young-ah. Hang in there.”
Wooyoung snuffles into Seonghwa’s shoulder and groans. “Didn’ wanna go in the first place,” he grumbles before burying his face into the fabric of Seonghwa’s sweater to muffle another wet cough there. His breath hitches, and he stifles a congested sounding sneeze into the same spot.
Seonghwa grimaces and resists the urge to squirm away from Wooyoung’s shameless spreading of germs. He would probably scold him if he didn’t currently look and sound so pathetic. Above all, he just feels sorry for him.
Seonghwa sighs and pulls Wooyoung a bit closer, running a hand up and down his arm when he shivers.
“I know, Jagiya, but you’ve had a fever for two days, and your cough isn’t getting any better.”
Wooyoung huffs and sticks his lip out in a pout. “Such a mean hyung, makin’ me go to the doctor. Meanest hyung.”
Seonghwa chuckles, amused. At least Wooyoung feels up to being a brat. “I thought you said Hongjoong was the meanest hyung yesterday when he made you take that cough syrup,” he says, brushing his long fingers through Wooyoung’s hair.
Wooyoung somehow finds a way to pout harder. “You’re both conspiring against me. Only Sannie cares about me.”
Seonghwa snorts, both incredulous and fond. “Why, because he snuck you the ice cream that I bought you, with my money?”
Apparently Wooyoung doesn’t feel like coming up with a comeback to that, so he just reburies his too-warm face in Seonghwa’s shoulder, sniffling wetly. Seonghwa scrunches his nose up at the sound.
“We really should have put a mask on you,” he says, listening to Wooyoung’s congested breathing right in his ear. He has no doubt he’ll be down with the same cold himself within the next few days. San too, probably.
Wooyoung is clingy on a good day, and it’s only amplified when he’s not feeling well. Seonghwa had tried to avoid it as much as he could, but he’s always been weak to Wooyoung’s puppy eyes. Throw some feeble shivers and a sniffle in, and Seonghwa had quickly lost the battle.
Still, he’s been careful the last few days while taking care of Wooyoung- remembering to wash his hands after every interaction, taking extra vitamins, drinking extra water. He has some sense of self preservation, unlike San, who’d been attached to Wooyoung’s side since the first sign of illness. It’s sweet, but will definitely cause more trouble later when San inevitably goes down too. Seonghwa can only pray his own immune system will hold out long enough to deal with them both when it happens. Wooyoung always needs extra attention when he’s sick, and San has trouble acknowledging when he needs to just stay still and let his body rest. They’re a handful when they’re both unwell at the same time.
He pities Hongjoong, who will have to deal with all three of them if his immune system decides to betray him.
“Hyung?” A soft voice pulls him from his musings.
“Hm?” He peers down to see Wooyoung looking up at him, eyes red-rimmed and heavy with exhaustion.
“Thank you, for taking me. You’re not actually the worst hyung. I know I’ve been a bit much.” He turns his eyes to his feet and coughs into his elbow, looking sheepish and so, so tired. Seonghwa’s heart aches for him.
Wooyoung always gets a bit emotional when he’s sick.
“Baby, you’re never too much.” He pulls him closer, wrapping both arms around him. “You’re not feeling good. You’ve been sick for days. You’re allowed to complain,” he guides Wooyoung’s head back to the crook of his neck and rests his cheek on his hair, “and you’re allowed to hate the taste of cough syrup. I would call Joongie mean too if he made me take it.” He pauses to bring a hand up to Wooyoung’s neck and give it a brief squeeze. Still so warm. “Actually, I’d probably call him something way worse.”
Wooyoung laughs, but it’s watery, the sound choked and trembling as it tumbles from his lips. Seonghwa immediately pulls back to cup Wooyoung’s cheeks in both hands, gasping softly at the hot tears welling up in his eyes and trickling onto his fingers.
“Oh Wooyoungie.” He pulls him right back in against his chest, rocking gently side to side as the frustration and exhaustion and persistent fever of the last few days finally catch up to him.
“I-I’m sorry.” He coughs, hard. Seonghwa pats his back in a weak attempt to loosen up some of the congestion. “I don’t know why- why I’m crying,” he gets out between ragged, gasping breaths. The sobbing definitely isn’t doing his cold any favors.
“It’s okay,” Seonghwa whispers into his hair. “You’re sick and tired. You can cry. I’m right here.”
Seonghwa’s soothing only makes Wooyoung cry harder. A few other train-goers glance up at the commotion, and Seonghwa can’t be bothered to acknowledge them while he continues cradling Wooyoung’s head to his chest.
Seonghwa hates this. He hates that Wooyoung has been feeling awful for days, and he hates that he had to drag him onto a cold, dirty train in the middle of a downpour to go to urgent care. He would much rather have him home, in his own bed, medicated and bundled in blankets with Yunho’s humidifier running. But his congestion had moved from his head into his chest, and there’s a horrible rattling sound that comes with every cough, and his fever has been up and down for two days, falling just to rise higher when the medicine wears off. Seonghwa is convinced this isn’t just a cold anymore. He knows the doctor’s visit is necessary.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Seonghwa is startled when he feels a featherlight tap on his wrist. He peers up to see a sympathetic looking older woman sitting in the seat across from them, holding out a travel pack of tissues. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are soft– knowing, almost. Seonghwa wonders if she has kids. He mouths a very sincere thank you, bobbing his head in a grateful bow. She smiles at him before turning back to her phone.
Meanwhile, Wooyoung’s tears have slowed, but have left him a sniffling mess. He pulls the collar of his coat over his nose and sneezes four times, far too tired to stifle them like he usually does. They're still quiet though, muted by heavy congestion.
Seonghwa rips open the pack and plucks a few tissues out before pressing them into Wooyoung’s hand. While Wooyoung attempts to clean himself up, he pulls out a few more and tenderly dabs the tears from Wooyoung’s cheeks.
“Ugh, gross,” Wooyoung rasps, words catching on the phlegm in his throat and throwing him into a brief coughing jag. Seonghwa hands him another tissue so he can hack out the obstruction in his lungs.
“Do you feel a bit better after crying?” Seonghwa asks, reluctantly taking the soiled tissues from Wooyoung’s hands and shoving them into his coat pocket to be thrown out later.
Wooyoung shrugs and plops his head back onto Seonghwa’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Yes and no, I guess.” He sniffles. “I’ll feel better when we’re home.”
Seonghwa sighs and presses a delicate kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead. “Me too, Young-ah. Me too.”
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The trek from the train station to the urgent care building feels much longer than it should, Seonghwa’s umbrella rendered virtually useless by the onslaught of wind throwing the rain sideways against their faces. Seonghwa does his best to block Wooyoung from the worst of it, but both of them are thoroughly waterlogged by the time they finally trudge through the doors and check in.
Wooyoung goes through the whole visit in a haze, Seonghwa doing most of the talking in his stead. After he’s given an unsurprising flu diagnosis, they’re sent on their way with a prescription script and well wishes.
The ride home is much more uneventful than the ride to the urgent care. Wooyoung has long since knocked out against Seonghwa’s shoulder, completely spent from the whole ordeal. He still shivers in his sleep, and Seonghwa’s lips pull down in a frown at every little quake.
He knows Wooyoung needs the rest, but a selfish part of him wishes Wooyoung was awake, just so he could distract him from his own anxious thoughts.
It feels like either minutes or years later when they finally stumble through their apartment door. Seonghwa gets a very winded Wooyoung sitting down on the shoe bench so he can remove his wet shoes and socks.
Seonghwa holds back a groan when he hears footsteps rushing towards them from the hall. He’s really passed his limit with talking to people today.
He looks up and sees Yeosang running up to him with an urgency that immediately has him tamping down his frustration.
“Hyung, finally you’re home. There’s-” Yeosang pauses, looking them up and down. “You’re both soaked.”
Seonghwa pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is it, Yeosang?”
“Oh, sorry. Um, there’s a bit of a problem. Sannie-“ a high pitched sneeze rings out from the living room like a dark omen. “He’s running a fever.”
Feveruary Day 2: "Burning up then Freezing Cold," Day 6: "Spoon-Feeding," Day 11: "You're Burning Up!" (altered the line a little)
Sickie: Seungkwan
Caretakers: Joshua, Hansol
Word Count: 1166
“How’s he doing?” It’s the first thing Joshua asks upon entering the room, hip propping the door open and a steaming bowl of soup balanced precariously in his hands.
Hansol looks up at him, eyes brimming with worry and lips pressed in a thin line. “Not great. He keeps saying he’s cold, but he feels too warm to me. That means he’s probably feverish, right?.”
Joshua grimaces and peers down at the "he" in question. Seungkwan is curled up into a tiny, shivering ball on his mattress, blanket pulled up to just beneath his nose. He's shaking like he’s caught in the middle of a blizzard, not bundled up under a thick comforter in what Joshua considers to be a perfectly well-heated room. He places the soup on the nightstand and kneels next to the bed before pressing his palm against Seungkwan’s cheek, then his forehead. He sighs at the offending heat he finds there.
“Yeah, that’s a fever.” It’s concerning, to say the least- especially considering Seungkwan hadn’t been running a fever earlier that morning. “Looks like this might be more than just a cold like we were hoping.”
Seungkwan groans, nasally and drawn-out, and rolls onto his back. “Nooo,” he croaks, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Joshua smiles softly and cards a hand through Seungkwan’s bangs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know this sucks. But on the upside, hyung brought you some soup to make you feel better.”
Seungkwan levels Joshua with one of his infamous deadpan stares, but it’s heavily dampened by his disheveled, fluffy hair, pink nose, and stuffy little sniffles.
“He’s been grumpy ever since waking up,” Hansol chimes in, poking Seungkwan’s arm through the blanket.
Seungkwan redirects his glare at Hansol with an indignant sniff. At least Joshua thinks that’s what it is. It might just be from his clogged sinuses. Maybe both.
“That’s even more reason to eat a warm meal. It’s good for colds and for bad moods.”
Seungkwan huffs- the action immediately betraying him as it only makes him cough- and lolls his head so it’s turned away from them. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles, raspy voice laced with irritation.
“Are you sure? This is a Kim Mingyu signature dish,” Joshua tries, inching the bowl a little closer to Seungkwan who is still steadfastly avoiding him. “He said he made it very extra super special for you.”
“Well,” Seungkwan starts, sniffling and shrinking in on himself, “then I doubt he’d appreciate me losing this ‘very extra super special’ dish all over the sheets.”
Hansol steps out from the bathroom– Joshua hadn’t even noticed that he’d left– fiddling with a thermometer. He stops to focus on Seungkwan. “Mingyu hyung will get over it. I think he’ll take any excuse to cook more food.”
Seungkwan just coughs harshly in lieu of a proper response, doubling over with the force of it. Joshua reaches out and rubs Seungkwan’s back with one hand, gesturing for the thermometer from Hansol with the other.
“Hey Solie, will you get his meds and some water?” Joshua whispers to Hansol, hand never leaving Seungkwan’s back. Hansol nods, shooting one last worried glance Seungkwan’s way before hurrying out of the room.
“Here, baby.” Joshua climbs into the bed and eases Seungkwan over until he’s tucked up against his side. For all Seungkwan’s earlier grumpiness, he doesn’t pull away now, instead nuzzling his warm face against Joshua’s neck with a shaky sigh. Joshua taps the thermometer against Seungkwan’s bottom lip to get his attention. “Under the tongue, blossom,” He instructs softly.
Seungkwan parts his lips just enough for Joshua to slip the thermometer in his mouth. Before it has time to get a proper reading, Seungkwan is suddenly kicking out his legs, brows furrowed and sweat beading at his forehead. He only stops when the blanket has been kicked to the edge of the bed. He’s heaving through his nose like he just ran a marathon, struggling to suck in enough air through the stuffiness. Joshua frowns and uses his hoodie sleeve to dab the sweat from Seungkwan's hairline. The thermometer takes that moment to beep. Once Joshua pulls it from his lips, Seungkwan immediately takes a deep breath through his mouth, but it catches on something wet and nasty halfway through and leaves him hacking.
Once he’s caught his breath again, he eyes Joshua wearily. “So? What’s the prognosis, Dr. Jisoo?”
“Well, Mr. Boo,” Joshua tilts the thermometer so Seungkwan can see. 38.6. “you’re officially burning up.”
Seungkwan stares down the thermometer like it personally insulted him. “I’m surprised it’s not higher,” he mutters, yanking at the collar of his T-shirt. “It’s so hot, hyung.”
Hansol steps back in and blinks when he sees the comforter and sheet haphazardly bunched up at the end of the bed. “I thought you were cold?” He hands Joshua the glass of water and blister pack of pills before sitting on Seungkwan’s other side, sandwiching the small singer between them.
“It’s too hot and too cold.” Seungkwan drops his head onto Hansol’s shoulder, sniffling miserably. “My body can’t get its shit together.”
“Fevers are the worst,” Hansol laments, taking Seungkwan’s hand and massaging small circles into his palm. “But some meds and food should help.”
Seungkwan peers up at Hansol, but instead of looking annoyed at the prospect of food like before, he just looks apprehensive and exhausted. “Solie, I don’t think I can…”
“You don’t need to eat a lot,” Joshua reassures him. “Just enough to take your medicine. And then Solie and I will leave you alone.”
A quiet sniff. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”
Joshua doesn’t think he imagines the soft coo he hears coming from Seungkwan’s other side. He smiles and cradles the back of Seungwan’s neck, placing a tender kiss on his cheek. “Then we won’t. We’ll be right here.” He carefully grabs the bowl of soup from the bedside table and holds the spoon up to Seungkwan’s lips.
“Hyung.” There’s Seungkwan’s infamous side-eye. Joshua is relieved to see that snarky personality shining through. “I’m fully capable of feeding myself.”
“Sure you are, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Just let him baby you, Kwannie hyung,” Hansol says, rubbing Seungkwan’s shoulder with his thumb. “You know there’s no avoiding it.”
Seungkwan sighs heavily, but obediently opens his mouth.
Once Seungkwan has managed to stomach half the soup and down his pills, it doesn’t take long for him to slip into unconsciousness, breaths congested but steady.
Joshua smiles down at him, warmth blooming in his chest when he snuffles in his sleep and loosely curls his fingers into the front of Joshua’s sweater.
“I’m glad he’s finally getting the rest he needs,” Hansol whispers, adjusting Seungkwan’s bangs out of his eyes with a delicate touch.
“Me too.” Joshua rests his lips on Seungkwan’s soft hair in a slow, gentle kiss. He turns to Hansol and does the same on his cheek. “ We’ll make sure we’re here for him when he wakes up.”
