hi, if you are taking any requests could you write one where Taehyung is sick during the album preparation and can't show up in the studio, in LA ? And others are worried and take care of him??
Caretaker ot7
Also the part where he couldn't attend meeting due to feeling unwell in the docu woahh
Anon, I was trying! I've been fighting the demons (the fancams on tiktok) and kept forgetting to continue to write. It's a liiiittle rushed but I hope it's okay!!
The sneeze echoes from the little Los Angeles living room, followed by a thud of the coffee table. Jimin, who’d entered the room with two mugs of tea, pauses in the doorway.
“Tae-yah?” he calls, a grimacing smile on his face. “Did you hit the table?”
He sees Taehyung, rosy-nosed and grimacing, rubbing his knee as he shifts back on the couch. Honestly, he looks pale and -tired, and Jimin’s sure he’s sick, but he’s letting Taehyung work through his denial first. “Yeah…” Taehyung grumbles, sinking back.
Jimin sets both cups on the table, one sweetened tea in front of his fellow 95-liner, the lighter tea in front of him. “Here. Drink some tea. Might help your throat.”
Taehyung sighs, but instead of reaching for his tea, he leans over and drops his head against Jimin’s lap, eyes closing. Jimin laughs and reaches down to scratch his scalp, smiling as he watches his friend melt at the touch.
It doesn’t take long for Jin to come in, brows furrowed. “Is he catching something?” he asks softly.
As Jimin nods, there’s a soft, gruff voice that answers: “Nuh-uh.”
It gets Jimin to laugh, but he leans down to look at Taehyung’s face, his fingers shifting to brush against his forehead. “You’re not feverish, but you definitely have a cold or something.”
Jin frowns. “Symptoms? I heard the sneeze. Coughing? Sore throat? Dizzy?” He squats next to them in front of the couch, reaching over to touch Taehyung’s forehead himself. True as stated, he wasn’t warm, merely… sniffly.
Taehyung sucks in one wet, loud sniffle. “S’dot,” he answers softly.
“Hmm… I’m sure we’ve got some sinus meds somewhere, but maybe drink the tea Jimin-ah made, okay?”
“In a minute,” he grumbles a soft response. He shifts his head up, bumping Jimin’s hand; Jimin grins and gets back to scratching his scalp. “Comfy…”
“Don’t sit there for too long,” Jin warns anyway. He stands back up, glancing towards the window as he ponders for a moment. “We don’t actually have any medication here. But there’s uh… Wall… Wall-something is here. It has drugs.”
That gets both Jimin and Taehyung to laugh.
“YAH! I didn’t mean that!” But he grins, play-kicking at them both. “We’ll go pick something up. HOB-AAAAAH!” Jin disappears around the corner, and soon Hoseok, mouth full of some sweet pastry, grunts and shuffles after him.
As the noise fades, Jimin leans over to pat his friend’s shoulder. “Okay, up you get. Drink some tea now before Jin gets mad at both of us.”
~*~
The nyquil definitely helped, but it had a very adverse effect of what they had been asking for. The group had gathered in the house’s little den area, where Namjoon had set up a mini studio layout for practicing and writing on the little table in the room. Scattered around were various couches and seats, and Taehyung, who had claimed a comfy armchair early in, had definitely fallen asleep.
Namjoon, a little surprised, looked at Jin and Hoseok. “What did you guys give him? We’re loud as hell and he’s not even rolling around.”
Jin brings the bottle over to Namjoon, shrugging a little. “It seems like it’s best for treating… whatever he’s got,” he said. “We tried to translate it, but the ingredients were like Pancold.”
Reading the front label for a second, Namjoon sighs. They should’ve brought one of their more English-proficient guards with them. Or better yet, he should’ve gone with them instead of holing up in the makeshift studio den. They weren’t wrong, not at all, but Namjoon knew this medication well. He’d taken it for a few days a few years ago when he’d gotten sick overseas.
“No wonder,” he grumbles. “This makes everyone drowsy.”
Taehyung lets out a rather impressive snore. They glance over at him, then at Jungkook who’s taken to balancing throw pillows on his crossed arms. So far, he’s got four, and one held up between the stack and Taehyung’s head.
Namjoon sighs. “Let’s just call it for today.”
“Yeah… We should just order dinner. Should we get something with soup for Tae-Tae?” Hoseok asks, watching Jungkook intensely as the maknae tries to balance the fifth pillow. Taehyung sniffles, mouth moving for a few seconds, and then he lets out another deep, wet snore. “You know… I’m kind of impressed.”
“Honestly? Me too.”
The seventh pillow finally wakes Taehyung up, but he’s so groggy from the medication that all he does is shift to the couch, where Yoongi’s been testing beats on his phone, and curls up at his side.
“Okay, Tae-Tang-ie,” Yoongi says with a laugh, referring to his cat.
Taehyung lets out a silly little “Meow” sound before he falls asleep right on his hyung.
~*~
“Maybe we should get him more soup,” Jin muses from one of the SUVs they’ve rented. They had a meeting earlier with some of the production staff, but Taehyung’s fever had begun to spike and he opted to stay in the house and just call in. Surprisingly, he was quite attentive during the meeting, despite Jin pushing meds into him before they left, but he received that sleeping emoji text the moment it was over.
But he knows the rest of the boys aren’t all in the mood for just a brothy soup. Thankfully, Jimin seems to be on the same page, scrolling around on his phone from the passenger seat. “What about chicken, hyung? Fried chicken, some good starchy sides.”
“Yah! And my cheeks will be puffy for days!” Jin complains.
“They’re already puffy.” Jimin’s small finger comes to poke his cheek, and Jin frees one hand from the steering wheel to swat at him. “Let’s just do a chimaek night! Tae-yah can still just crash with us. We had a really productive meeting, and we get a few more days to just plan and fiddle. And we can just let Hobi-hyung do all the fiddling since he’s not listening anyway.”
“Eh?”
That gets their dance leader from the backseat to look up from his phone. “I heard my name, what?”
“Noooooothing, hyung!” Jimin says with a grin. “I’m gonna call Joonie, I bet he wants to participate.”
Hoseok knows it’s useless to ask Jimin for more details, especially since Jimin calls Namjoon’s phone immediately after and puts it on speaker.
“Ya! Jimin-ah! Did you forget something at the office?”
Jimin laughs. “Nooo, I had an idea! Chimaek? We get some jjigae for Tae-yah, and enough sides and snacks to put us in nap-mode?”
“Chiiiimaaaaek!” Namjoon screams into the phone, followed by Jungkook singing it aloud from the background. “Let’s do it! Movie night and we can do karaoke or whatever.”
Jin just laughs. “Every time we get together, it turns into karaoke or whatever.”
“Because we’re noisy,” Hoseok supplied hopefully. “Good thing Taehyungie can sleep through a hurricane. We’re gonna get noisy.”
“We can just give him nyquil again,” Jimin snickers. “He’s not gonna care.”
~*~
And honestly, Taehyung was grateful. He’s back in the living room, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, tucked into Yoongi’s side on one of the couches while Jin feeds him. He’s not that sick, not really, but given it’s an annoying enough bug that he hasn’t been able to shake, he decides to milk it for his comfort.
He is their baby, after all. (Jungkook doesn’t count.)
Yoongi doesn’t complain about being a human pillow, merely reaching over to adjust the blanket across his lap if it moves, and Taehyung feels absolutely loved. He’s in Namjoon’s warmest hoodie and a pair of fuzzy socks Hobi bought him earlier from the convenience store. The blankets were pre-warmed from the dryer, courtesy of Jungkook. And the soup is honestly delicious. Jimin also promised him head scratches when he’s done eating.
He opens his mouth, letting Jin feed him another spoonful.
“Aish, you’re too big for this!” Jin mutters, splitting a piece of tofu with the spoon. He’s complained every time Taehyung looks smug, but Taehyung knows he’s glad he’s finally stopped coughing for a while. And honestly, whatever cough suppressant the doctor had prescribed him felt like a lifesaver; he hasn’t coughed in the better part of an hour.
“Hyung?” Taehyung asks Jin softly. “Tea?”
Jin doesn’t even complain, merely picks up the glass with a bendy straw inside and holds it up for Taehyung to take a sip. After all, staying hydrated is key.
Taehyung scoots back when he heard Hoseok laugh, watching as the older rapper falls off the couch. Jimin, giggling with Jungkook, kick at Namjoon as he grins back. They’re silly, as always, and loud, and fussy, and a lot, but honestly? Taehyung hasn’t been this happy in a long while here, even with a pesky cold.
And if he sneaks a beer later just because he wanted one, still wrapped up with the throw towel around his head, he knows Yoongi doesn’t rat him out about adding alcohol to the medication cocktail he’s been on. He even opens it for him, and another for himself. Taehyung knows he’s spoiled, and he’s glad that even after their time apart, they’re still as close as ever.
Both of them, sitting on the patio outside, freeze when they hear Jin stomping down the stairs. Yoongi snatches Taehyung’s beer and hides them both behind his legs, just as their oldest opens the back door.
“Tae-yah?” Jin calls softly. “Did you take your last dose for the night?”
He’s been on it for medication detail. Taehyung looks at Yoongi, who waves off his hyung easily. “I’ll get it for him when we go back inside. The fresh air’s good for him.”
Taehyung gives Jin his biggest boxy smile, nodding. “Yoongi-hyung’s got me.”
Yoongi merely nods. “We’ll be back in soon.”
“Okay. Don’t stay out here too late, it’s chilly.” And with that, Jin heads inside again.
Yoongi sighs, handing Taehyung his beer back before grabbing his own. “We were only getting fresh air. Nobody else needs to know.”
“Know what? Fresh air’s good for me.” And with that, they both laugh and take a sip. They take their time finishing their drinks, looking up at the stars while Yoongi tells Taehyung all sorts of random facts he knows from the constellations they can see with the porch light off. But once the junebugs begin to float around, the two retreat indoors. It’s late, somewhere closer to two or three in the morning, but they’d never been one for proper sleep schedules. Occupational hazard of idol work, Yoongi figures. He and Taehyung share a sink to brush their teeth, and Taehyung whines enough that Yoongi actually applies his moisturizer for him before giving him his dose and water.
“C’mon, Tae-yah. Bedtime for you.”
Jimin finds them both in Yoongi’s bed the next morning, Taehyung tucked under Yoongi’s arm like a babe needing protection, and it’s the best sleep both of them have that entire trip. Jimin merely closes the door and lets them sleep in a little longer, hoping that maybe the shared body heat will do Taehyung some good.
A/N: This was almost too late so that's why it's so short, but it's for @tlkfanficfest . Also, I kinda want to write a part 2?
Prompt: Aldhelm has a nice day for once
Words: 1511
Warnings: none
Aldhelm found himself in the stables preparing for a midday adventure after a long morning of rain, reflection, and prayers. He was light on his feet as he circled his gelding, adjusting the mount and reins. His rides were an escape from Saltwic and everything associated with it — every political concern and every bit of feelings he had for the Lady Aethelflaed.
The stables were typically empty on Sunday afternoons, so Aldhelm was able to enjoy moments of peace with his horse before setting off. However, today there were two individuals in the stall beside his, voices raised argumentatively. He tried not to listen in on their conversation as he tightened his gelding’s reins, but his curiosity got the better of him. After all, what kind of scoundrels would disturb the peace on the Lord’s day? One, a female, raised her silvery voice in indignation.
“Lord Eowahl, I have done all that was asked of me! I have prayed in the chapel with the Lady Aethelflaed, I have read scripture, and I have delivered alms to the poor. All I am asking for now is the opportunity to go out on a ride and explore the land.”
Aldhelm’s brows raised. He recognized the voice as that of Lady Enid, a visiting Breton noblewoman. She had not been in Saltwic long, having arrived only a fortnight ago on her father’s orders. He wished to have her serve under the Queen of Mercia, where she would surely learn a thing or two about politics and Saxon civility. Aethelflaed was delighted to accept Enid into her household and here she was now — arguing with a Saxon guard in the stables while Aldhelm eavesdropped.
“Lady, this is no time for a jaunt outside the gates. You need to be protected, and much of the guard is busy,” Eowahl countered.
“Oh, just let me go alone. I know how to ride and use a dirk. I think I can manage.”
Aldhelm couldn’t help the small smile in amusement at her words. A noblewoman, using a dirk? He supposed the Waelisc did things differently. He didn’t mind, however, having become accustomed to the sight of Aethelflaed in the midst of battle, wetting her own blade with the blood of another.
Eowahl cleared his throat and responded, voice decidedly harsher this time, “M’lady, you know I cannot do that. The captain of the guard would have my head if I allowed the fairer sex to roam the land alone. You’d go feral, Lady.”
Here was Aldhelm’s opportunity to make his presence known. He let go of his gelding’s reins and gave him a quick stroke. It was only a few paces before he rounded the corner and came face to face with the raven-haired guard and the Lady Enid.
“Lord Aldhelm! I did not know you would be here. I- I was just telling Lady Enid she could not leave the gates,” Eowahl explained hurriedly, his face flushing slightly in surprise.
Aldhelm’s inquisitive gaze flitted from Eowahl to Enid, whose grey-green eyes lit up with something close to hope. “And why not, pray tell?” He questioned.
“You- I- well, Lord, it is not proper for a lady to go out unaccompanied,” Eowahl announced, as if it were the most scandalous concept he had ever heard. Beside him, Enid wrung her hands, visibly restless, and rolled her eyes.
He was at a crossroads. He could leave the lady here and go out for his midday ride on his own, or he could set her free. She was like a caged bird, singing a sweet, melancholic song. His heart softened as he met her pleading gaze once more. He would set her free, he decided.
“She is not unaccompanied.”
The corners of Enid’s lips curled up instantly and her eyes were alight with excitement. “Thank you, Lord!” She squealed. Eowahl gave her a judgemental side eye but kept silent, instead choosing to huff in resignation and march out of the stall.
When they were alone, Lady Enid bowed her head. “I appreciate the gesture, Lord. I have been waiting ages to leave these walls and get some fresh air.”
Aldhelm offered her a small smile in reply, folding his hands. “Well- I suppose we should go?”
It took them only a matter of minutes to leave the stable, as Enid had already prepared her own gelding. Once they cleared the gate, Aldhelm threw a glance over his shoulder at her. “I’d like to take you somewhere.”
“Oh?”
During the fortnight she had been at Saltwic, Aldhelm had interacted minimally with Enid but had seen her plenty. He had seen the way her shoulders were rigid as she took her place beside Aethelflaed in the main hall. He had noticed how she was always restless and fidgety during mealtimes. It hadn’t been lost on him how out of place she seemed amidst a crowd of Saxons. She was a stranger in a strange land. The least Aldhelm could do was show her the spot he liked to go when he needed his space.
With a click of his tongue, he was off with Enid close behind. The warm rays of the sun bathed them as they traversed the idyllic countryside, headed for the treeline in the distance. Aldhelm felt like he was flying as the soft breeze rippled his tunic. With each stride, he felt a piece of himself take flight. As much as he loved Mercia and his duties, he understood what Enid was feeling. The difference was, he’d felt that way for years.
As they rode, they exchanged looks. Enid looked at peace, the sun’s golden rays complimenting her loose chestnut locks. She wore a wide smile for most of the ride which cut into her flushed cheeks.
After some time galloping along a dirt path in the forest, Aldhelm signaled his gelding to slow and made a sharp turn to the left. They picked their way through the thick undergrowth covering the footpath. Aldhelm had to duck under a swath of low hanging branches which had not been there last time. It wasn’t long before he could hear the soothing trickle of a stream, which turned into the burble of a waterfall. Between the thick greenery, the waterfall could now be seen.
Enid associated the sound of the waterfall with release. The soft splash of water meeting water welcomed her. Her heart fluttered with excitement. A stream meant swimming, even if it was seen as improper to a man like Lord Aldhelm. To hell with what Saxon men found ladylike had been her mantra since arriving in Mercia. When their horses broke through the trees and into the open clearing, Enid flew off hers and bounded for the water.
“Lady!” Aldhelm called after her, amused at the flash of chestnut and pale blue that passed him. He grabbed both horses’ reins and led them to the water’s edge for a much needed drink. In that time, Enid had rid herself of most of her clothing and waded into the cool water. She let it envelop her, wading deeper until the small waves lapped at her waist.
When the horses had drunk their fill, Aldhelm tied their leads to a tree nearby and fetched a manuscript from his saddlebag. He seated himself against the trunk of a tree and peeled it open, studying the page he had marked. He loved the look of the dark ink and the light colors which danced on the parchment pages. The history of the land had been documented well in this manuscript, one of Aldhelm’s favorites. The stories of kings and queens were being told in long, flowing verses.
Aldhelm traced a finger over the image of the cross etched on the page. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander as he studied the dated manuscript before him. He wondered what his place would be in history, if his life would even be a story worth telling. It was inevitable , having a greater concern for the future than for the present. After all he’d been through with Aethelred, and now Aethelflaed, he wondered where he’d fit into everything, where he’d make a contribution worth noting. Lord Aldhelm, a skilled soldier and advisor to two Mercian rulers — one of whom he was in love with.
Suddenly he was dragged from his reverie by the sound of Enid’s voice, light and feathery, almost singsong, “Lord Aldhelm, would you care to join me?”
His eyes moved from the pages to the noblewoman, almost completely submerged now. Most of her hair was wet and clung to her bosom. Aldhelm couldn’t stop the momentary blush on his cheeks and forced himself to meet her eyes. After all, she was a lady.
Ah, but she was not like most other ladies, barring the Lady Aethelflaed herself. Before he could raise any more objections to himself, he set the book aside, rose to his feet, and headed for the shore.
They were caged birds no longer, and Aldhelm would truly enjoy his freedom this time.
The chilling October wind is nipping at our ears and noses, while drying our eyes. We walk through the deserted park on our own. Two kids doing what they will, living their lives. Jumping off of park benches and swinging around thin birch trees. You in your navy hoodie and me in my gray zip-up. We run this park, even if it's only for an hour. We are alone, we will play til our hearts give in and our legs are sore. That's our dream, to be together.
Not a month after our day, you leave. It's not your fault, you are merely living with your parents. You are not a human, not yet. That is the way your parents think. You are property until the age of eighteen, you were only seventeen. To Indiana you went, away from me. I turn eighteen before you, a month to be exact. I would drive but I do not have the money, my family is not rich like yours.
It was a year after our eighteenth, it is October again. I'm in the park where we had our last exceptional memory. The leaves beneath our feet, crinkling, the warm smell of coffee in a nearby food cart, the oranges and yellows and reds painted on the tree leaves. The sunlight glittering through them, the chilling wind that brought us closer together on the bench. That wind I will forever thank. For bringing me warmth in the man I love, more than a brother like everyone thinks we are. I only wish you were here now.
My gray zip-up is nearly too thin now, after years of wear and tear. Small holes here and there from moths and loose threads coming loose. You bought me this. I complained of being cold, so you brought me into a store on the walk and bought me this. I have worn it religiously ever since. The cobble stones of the path tap beside me with the sound of footsteps. I believe they are not yours but memories can become anything.
"Hello, Clemens," You are standing tall and proud, not a change on your face. You're nineteen now.
I stand, baffled as to how you could be here. Instead of greeting you with words, they are supplanted by a hug. A long tight hug. For we have not seen each other for two years, our love is still strong. We release each other, partially. Your arms around my mid and mine on your shoulders. You still have your navy hoodie. It obviously hasn't kept you warm enough.
"You're nose is pink," I say, your cute little nose all pink now from cold.
"So is yours," You crack a slight grin, " How about we go into the local coffee shop and catch up?"
"That's a date, Pinkie."
**don't repost without permission please, reblogs are appreciated, and I know I'm not that great at writing or grammar. I just felt like writing something short. Thank you! 😄**
( @toolazytothinkofcreativename @fullonfandomfood) **let me know if you want to be tagged**
Feveruary Day 1 – How did you end up like this?
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: Yunho
Caretaker: ATEEZ + manager
Content: Concussion, Flu symptoms, short term memory hiccups, vomiting, ambulances / hospitals
I make no promises on how many fics y’all are gonna get out of me, but I found something in the drafts… Let’s see how far we go!
“Yunho-ya. Yunho-ya!”
“Mm?”
Yunho doesn’t open his eyes, but his head turns in the direction of his name. His limbs feel heavy, and his head, for some strange reason, is throbbing. A migraine? He tries to open his eyes, wills himself to, but the pain worsens, and he knows to stop. He can feel moisture forming behind his eyelids, tries to squint it away.
“Ssh, Yunho-ya, it’s okay. Can you speak to me?”
…Hongjoong.
There’s commotion going on behind him, someone’s shouting—then silence, for a solid moment—then Yunho hears his name again.
“I’m ‘wake,” Yunho mumbles. “My… head hurts.”
Hongjoong sighs softly. Yunho feels gentle hands press against his cheek, calloused thumbs swiping across his face gently. “There we go. Does anything else hurt? Your back?”
What else… does hurt? Yunho can feel the throbbing in his head, but as he tries to move a limb, his body just feels… sore. “I’m… achy. And… m’ head. Mm. What…?”
“You passed out,” Hongjoong answers. “And you probably hit your head. You went down hard. How did you end up like this, baby?”
“Wh…at?” That’s when Yunho finally forces his eyes open. The light makes him cringe, unshed tears releasing down his cheeks, the sides of his face, vision blurred, but relief comes in the form of Hongjoong’s hand blocking his eyes from the overhead lights. Hongjoong leans down to look into Yunho’s eyes. Yunho can see the crease of Hongjoong’s brows looking down at him. But seeing his leader there, he feels a little better. Even if he’s still a little lost on what happened, at least Hongjoong is there.
“You might have a concussion. Just keep laying down, we’re going to wait for the med staff, okay?”
“Stay?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna stay.”
Yunho smiles, eyelids slowly fluttering closed. He blinks them open when he hears Hongjoong shout his name, his eyes looking a little wild and panicked. Yunho hasn’t seen him look so shocked in a while. When they make eye contact, Yunho can see relief flood Hongjoong’s face.
“You gotta stay awake, Yunho. Keep looking at me, okay?”
“O… okay.” That will be hard. His eyelids feel so heavy, and it hurts more. But for his captain, he’ll try his best. Yunho opens his mouth to speak again, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. The noise around him adds to the pounding in his head.
“Do you remember where we are, Yunho?”
Yunho blinks at him, and he feels Hongjoong’s thumbs brushing under his cheeks again. “We… A film set?”
Hongjoong nods. “Do you remember what song?”
“Mhmm,” Yunho grumbles. “It’s… it’s…” His tongue moves, he says a word, he’s not even sure if it’s Korean. Doesn’t think it’s Japanese either, but it definitely doesn’t sound right. “That one.”
Hongjoong nods. “That’s not it at all,” he laughs.
Hongjoong’s chuckle makes Yunho smile, and his eyes close for a moment. Trying to open them takes energy. “I don’t remember the name… But I’m… blue.”
“Yeah, you’re in blue.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Blue.”
He hears Hongjoong shout his name again. When did he close his eyes? But Hongjoong sighs again, before looking away. Two blurry forms appear above him, and by the time he blinks again, he’s strapped onto a stretcher with a nice young woman telling him he’ll be okay. She’s pretty, and her smile makes him feel like she’s telling the truth. He tries to give her a smile, but he feels a pressure focused on his cheeks and an odd smell approaches his senses. Weird… A beeping behind him slows down to something simpler, and he tries to turn to look at it—but he can’t move his head at all. So weird.
“Yunho-ya… stop trying to move.”
When he blinks open his eyes, he sees Hongjoong next to him. He feels his captain’s small hands holding onto one of his and squeezes it gently. The squeeze has Hongjoong smiling softly.
“That’s a good sign. Just keep still, Yunho-ssi.” That was the woman’s voice again. “Your head is strapped onto the gurney, and you’re buckled onto the stretcher for safety. We’re going to let the doctors at the hospital look at you.”
When Yunho’s eyes shift to Hongjoong, he sees his friend’s frown return, glancing up at something behind him. The beeping picks up, and fades into ringing in Yunho’s ears.
“Yunho… Yunho, breathe… breathe.” Hongjoong’s voice floods around the beeping. Yunho forces himself to take a deep breath, and the sound fades. It’s nicer… but this smell is odd. When he squints, he can see something’s rounded by his nose. Something in the back of his head tells him it’s an oxygen mask. His vision fades, but comes back to see Hongjoong talking to the woman. Their words don’t make any sense from what little he can hear, but he tries to glance around at his surroundings while they talk. Hongjoong’s grip is tight in his own, and every few moments he can feel him squeezing his hand. It’s comforting, in a way. The area… is bright, but he can see bits of metal here and there. He’s not even sure.
When they arrive, things make a little more sense. Yunho groans when the lights flood his view, but it dawns on him that they’re at the hospital. He has Hongjoong trying to shield his eyes from the overhead lights, but he moves back and his hand shifts away, and a man in a lab coat appears. He introduces himself, but a flashlight soon shines in Yunho’s eyes and he groans, eyes shutting. Or at least as best as he can; the man pulls his eyelids up and apologizes. “I just need to check your pupils; I really am sorry.”
Yunho whimpers in pain. But a few moments later, the pain fades. His consciousness fades along with it.
Yunho awakens to a different chemical scent and it makes him think of antiseptics. His mouth feels dry and sour, and his body just feels heavy. His nose feels stuffed. When he turns his head, he groans. The noise gets Hongjoong’s attention, where he can see the captain has moved to sit in the chair next to his bed. Hongjoong leans in.
“Don’t move too much, Yunho-ya. You’re going to bump your bruise.”
Yunho opens his mouth, experimentally—and his voice is rough, but his tongue doesn’t feel like lead anymore. “What… what happened?”
Hongjoong smiles, rather relieved at the sound of Yunho’s voice. “You fainted, and gave yourself a concussion on the way down.”
“…uh?” He fainted. Why does it sound like Hongjoong’s explained this before? But also… why does his mouth taste so raw? His lips are stiff, probably chapped. There’s an odd, metallic taste on his tongue.
“Let me get you some water. You look parched.” Hongjoong spends a moment grabbing the lidded cup for him, and pulling the straw tap open. He holds the cup’s straw to Yunho’s lips, and the taller one sips it carefully before he moves his head back.
“You got sick shortly after we got here, a few times. Honestly… you’re actually sick, too.”
Yunho sighs. “Sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Hongjoong comforts gently. His small hand reaches up to smooth back Yunho’s bangs, and the vocalist smiles as he leans back against the pillows again. “The doctor said you have the flu. Do you remember what happened earlier? When we were filming?” Then, before Yunho delves into it, Hongjoong adds: “If you don’t right now, it’s okay. You’ve been out of it for a while, it’s okay if you don’t remember right away.”
Yunho can’t decide if that helps him feel better or not. But trying to think too hard just makes his brain feel foggy. He closes his eyes for a moment, but hums softly so Hongjoong knows he’s still awake. What he remembers last comes in odd waves, odd little blurbs of their filming. He remembers dancing, and fighting his legs to stay on beat, and trying to sharpen his movements when the director instructs them to. He remembers Seonghwa giving him water; he remembers telling Seonghwa he was fine, just a little tired. But he knew, and he chose to ignore it, and now his body wavers with the consequences of his own actions. When his frown grows. Hongjoong’s hand stills, and he shrinks more against the blanket as the realization dawns over his captain.
Hongjoong’s next question has a razor-sharp edge to it, holding back his own lecture, but it comes with a warning: do not lie to him. “Yunho… did you know you were sick when you woke up this morning?”
He hesitates, but then decides to admit the truth. It would be better in the long run. It can’t get any worse than it already has, if this already landed him in the hospital. “I… suspected I was getting sick. That’s… that’s why Yeosang and I ran a little late this morning. I hit snooze a couple of times and just slept in… accidentally slept in past my latest alarm.” And by then, all they did was go go go. Hurried out the apartment, rushed to the filming location, hurried to makeup. He hadn’t actually eaten anything besides a granola snack and water, which also didn’t help. The silence that falls over the two is so thick Yunho feels like he’s suffocating. He whimpers a little, along with a small grunt as his hand moves to his throat. Hongjoong moves the cup back to his mouth, and Yunho sips carefully from the straw, slowly chewing it about in his mouth.
“Yunho-ya… You should have come talk to me,” Hongjoong says softly. “Even if we couldn’t stop filming, I could have helped.” The older man sighs, moving the straw back when Yunho sinks back from it. His hand reaches over to pat Yunho’s shoulder softly, and Yunho wants to cry at how kind he’s being. Their captain has always been so caring, it sucks feeling like he’s letting him down like this. “You don’t have to hold things in on your own, you know. If you didn’t want to come to me, you should have told Seonghwa. Mingi. Anyone. We could have given you medication so you wouldn’t have felt as bad by yourself.” Hongjoong sighs, finally leaning back. He pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher at the bedside table, into one of the paper disposable cups. They had those too?
“You’re all going to worry me into an early grave, I swear!”
“I’m sorry?” Yunho looks up at him. “Don’t—”
“Don’t be sorry,” Hongjoong cuts him off. “Just… feel better. I hope you actually remember this conversation, though.”
Yunho blinks. What?
“Oh… right.” Hongjoong smiles, bringing the straw cup back to Yunho’s mouth, encouraging him to sip a little more. “When we first got here, you asked what happened… And when I chewed you out over it, you threw up all over your lap. You woke up maybe twice more? Both times trying to figure out what happened, but then you’d get sick and complain that your head hurt. They had to switch the oxygen mask to the one under your nose because you threw up on it… They’ve put so many medications in your IV all I know is it’s working. This is the most we’ve talked since we got here.”
That… explains why he felt so thirsty. He groans, leaning back from the pillow again to cover his face. “I’m so sorry, hyung, I… this… That’s so much!” He feels embarrassed, and rightfully so. It feels like he’s been part of a circus since he got here. But when he hears his captain laugh, a weight lifts from his shoulders; at least he knows Hongjoong isn’t mad at him, at least not for long. He may not have spoken up, but he’ll try and be better for the next time.
Hongjoong makes him sip a little more before his energy finally feels sapped, and he falls into an easy sleep. He wakes once when the doctor rouses him, a nurse changing the medication in his IVs, and answers a few questions before asking for where his captain was. Hongjoong is right by his side, and it’s enough to help him fall asleep again to the sound of his captain talking with the doctor. He wakes again at one point to go to the restroom, but his third rousing and it’s with his manager, Hongjoong and Jongho this time.
“Come on, you big baby,” Hongjoong teases him as they sit him upright.
The world swirls into view and Yunho feels nauseous for a moment but swallows it away. He’s shaky, and he can see Jongho frowning. “All the color drained from his face. Is it really a good idea to let him leave, hyung?”
“Leaving sounds great, honestly.” Yunho doesn’t want to stay in the hospital. Even if he didn’t realize they were actually getting him out of there.
Their manager answers him carefully. “They said he might still have side-effects for a few days, but he’s medically cleared, no lasting damage.” When his manager appears into view, the man’s hand brushes against Yunho’s face near his temple and the younger one grimaces as a sharp pain throbs from the touch. “Sorry, Yunho-ya. The doctor said you might have some sensitivity, didn’t know it was that much.”
“It… it just stings.”
“Oh, I bet! We’ll ice it on the way home.”
“Mm… kay.”
Jongho’s arms find his waist and ease him from the bed and onto shaky knees. He feels Hongjoong grip him more, and with the manager’s help, they ease him into a wheelchair. Hongjoong helps lift his feet onto the footrests. “There. Just sit tight, we’re just going back to the van.”
As a precaution, they hand him a travel sick-bag, and when they notice Yunho staring blankly at it, Jongho just wraps his fingers around it and moves his hand to his lap. It takes Yunho a moment to place it, in which he grimaces. He can hear his dongsaeng chuckle, reaching over to pat his elbow.
They wheel him towards a secure back exit, where another one of their other managers sits in the driver’s seat. It takes all three of them to comfortably ease Yunho into the van, and he finds himself laying against Hongjoong while Jongho sits in the front. Their manager climbs in next to them in the back seat just in case, securing the doors. Yunho doesn’t remember the drive home, but he does remember reaching the dorm and discovering he’s actually at Hongjoong’s apartment. He also remembers throwing up in the entryway, and crying about it.
Wooyoung wipes his face off and helps him change into his pajamas while Hongjoong prepares the bed and Jongho and their manager clean up the mess.
Wooyoung shushes him again, helping him lay down on his side. At some point, he has an ice pack pressed on his head, right where the bruise lays—and it feels, oddly, very nice. He doesn’t realize he falls asleep again until Wooyoung shakes him to help him to his feet. He and Jongho lead him to Hongjoong’s room and tuck him in, and he curls up to Hongjoong’s side. The captain hugs him gently, and Yunho just drifts into a deep, deep slumber.
Yunho wakes up a few hours later to Hongjoong shaking his shoulder, calling his name softly. When he blinks open his eyes, the first question he gets is: “Do you remember your name?”
What an odd question. Yunho stares at him for a moment, eyes blearily trying to blink consciousness back into them as he tries to unpack the question. “Am I being pranked?” he asks—mumbles, really, deep and gravely as he rubs his eyes.
“No, just have to ask.”
“Jeong Yunho, and I’m tired, hyung.”
Hongjoong smiles a little. Yunho feels Hongjoong’s hand brush through his hair, smiling as his eyes fluttered closed. Hongjoong’s hand stills.
“Yunho-ya, don’t fall asleep yet. Wooyoung went to get you some more cold medicine. Your fever went up.”
Yunho looks at his captain for a few moments, trying to place what he’s telling him, but he decides it doesn’t matter enough. His head hurts, and he feels so groggy, he’s not sure if it’s from the illness, the injury, or the exhaustion. Wooyoung appears at bedside sometime before Yunho reopened his eyes, and he groans as the two help him sit up. They make it easy for him—the medication is in syrup form, way easier to drink down even though it tastes awful. And when he’s done and grimacing at the lingering taste, he gets a straw of apple juice, and he sips lazily at it until he nearly falls asleep with the straw.
He wakes again when he feels too hot, Wooyoung pressed against his side, blanket wrapped around him. He doesn’t mind the cuddling, but the heat makes him nauseous. He wiggles, trying to push the blanket away as carefully as possible without waking the younger member, but his movements feel sluggish and coordinated. It’s all for naught, he realizes, when he hears Wooyoung chuckle beside him.
“Too hot?” But instead of waiting on an answer, Wooyoung moves his leg away to help Yunho push the blanket down. Yunho kicks it off the rest of the way, but shudders with a chill and turns into Wooyoung’s side. Wooyoung throws his leg back over his own legs, and Yunho sighs.
“Better?”
“Mhmm.”
“Good. Go back to sleep, it’s still too early.”
Yunho closes his eyes. And he tries, but the stirring in his stomach has him wiggling a little in discomfort. The nausea hasn’t passed yet, and he’s irritated. He just wants to sleep. Wooyoung hugs him tighter, as if trying to smother him into keeping still. Usually, it’s comforting. But this time it just makes his stomach churn more.
“Woo—hold on—” Yunho tries to move back. He feels Wooyoung’s hands guide him to his side, the leg removed from his again—and he’s cold and he hates it—but soon the telltale heat of thick bile works its way up his throat, and he leans over the side of the bed, regrettably preparing to make a mess of the floor. Ah… Someone left a bucket. Yes! Yunho just leans in and lets himself be sick and mercifully avoids making any major mess, soothed by the hand rubbing circles on his back. It takes a few minutes before he finally feels done, only to have Seonghwa right in front of him with a cup of water.
“Sip,” Seonghwa encourages softly. “Rinse your mouth out, sweetheart.”
Yunho does as he says, glad Seonghwa’s still holding the glass. His hand is trembling. When he finishes rinsing his mouth, Seonghwa helps him take a few sips before Wooyoung eases him to lay back down, long nimble fingers resting on his forehead, careful not to brush against his bruise. They feel nice, and Yunho sighs softly at the sensation.
“Sorry you feel so rotten,” Wooyoung whispers. “Think you can stomach anything more to drink? You probably need more medicine.”
Yunho groans. “Don’t want any more… ‘m tired.”
“I know.” Seonghwa’s hand reaches over to rub his stomach softly. “We’ve got to keep your fever down or we have to take you back to the hospital. And I know you don’t want to go back.”
He didn’t remember most of the last trip the day prior—hell, he wasn’t even awake for most of the time he was there, according to Hongjoong—but he’s sure he doesn’t want to go back. Honestly, he doesn’t even want to leave the bed. But he lets Seonghwa help him drink another tiny cup of cough syrup, drinks almost a third of the water, and curls back into Wooyoung’s side. The younger one wraps himself around him, and the warmth settles him down easily.
“He kicked away the blanket?” Seonghwa asks softly.
“I think it got hot. I’ve got him, hyung, he’s a good cuddle buddy.”
Seonghwa laughs. Yunho can hear him give a soft kiss, presumably to Wooyoung, before feeling lips on the uninjured side of his forehead giving him one as well. He smiles at the sensation. The two talk for a moment, and Yunho soon feels an ice pack press against his bruise again. Sighing into the cool temperature, he falls asleep easily. He ends up sleeping most of the day away, waking up only to use the bathroom and that was only because Hongjoong began worrying about dehydration. They can’t get him to stay awake long enough to eat a full meal, but a few spoonfuls of broth, another set of questions and a new dose of medication, and Yunho goes back to bed, curled up this time around Mingi with Hongjoong on the edge of the bed next to him. He wakes the next day to their manager holding the ice to his bruise, and the older man smiles at him.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Ah… good morning.” The young idol smiles at him, before letting out a heavy yawn. “I slept through everything?”
“Through the night, at least. It’s good, all you need to do is rest right now.” His manager assures him that the others are just at the studio working on various schedules, and he’s not missing anything he can’t catch up later. They’re rescheduling the second day of photoshoots for when he’s cleared by his doctor, which right now is in two weeks for now, depending on how well he heals. “Breathe, Yunho… It’s okay. We’re just going to relax, and take it day by day. You’ll be okay.”
He didn’t even realize his breathing had picked up until the manager had him follow his breathing. He already felt drained, but he just woke up. The manager laughs when Yunho yawns and mumbles, “Hyung, I don’t want to be tired.”
Their thoughtful manager gets Yunho to get out of bed and they shuffle on a long, lazy walk down the apartment hallway. Yunho clings to the older man’s arm a little too hard, and they stop a few times when he begins to feel woozy, but he feels a little better once he makes it back. By the time Hongjoong returns, Yunho’s curled up in a blanket on the couch, using their manager’s leg as a pillow as he sleeps once again.
“He ate a little bit of soup,” the manager informs him, smiling. He gently rubs Yunho’s back. “We started watching a movie, he stayed up a little longer than you said yesterday.” It’s a good sign, and Hongjoong sighs in relief. Small steps forward count for progress, and he’s happy for that. Hongjoong sighs at the answer, feeling a lot better knowing that. He sits on the couch next to their manager, who pauses to check his wristwatch. “It’s almost time for his next dose, I think.”
“But he looks so peaceful,” Hongjoong murmurs. The medication’s already on the coffee table, so all they have to do is wake Yunho. Hongjoong looks at the manager with the saddest puppy-eyes he can muster, and the manager laughs; he knows Hongjoong doesn’t want to wake him, so he takes it upon himself to do it. He lifts his hand to pat Yunho’s shoulder gently, then moves his fingers up to brush hair from Yunho’s face.
“Yunho-ya… kiddo, can you wake up for me?”
Yunho grumbles, eyes scrunching as his shoulders curl in. The manager pats his back again.
“Come on… your captain wants to say hi.”
Yunho leans his head towards the sound of Hongjoong’s whispery giggle, smiling when he feels the small hands smoothing back his hair. “Good morning, Yunho-ya.”
“It’s not morning,” Yunho grumbles, as he slowly blinks open his eyes. “Welcome back. How was…” His voice trails off, but his brows furrow as he lays his head back down, as if trying to think. “Today was… practices?”
Hongjoong nods. “Right. Just practices. Today I had a vocal lesson and we did some hip-hop practice in the studio.”
Yunho smiles, his eyes closing again. “I love hip-hop practice. What song?”
“Tipsy. It’s fun, you’ll like it.” Hongjoong says with a smile. He reaches over to pat Yunho’s shoulder himself. “Come on, stay awake?”
Yunho tries to swat his hand away. He has no coordination with his movements, and his hand flapping misses Hongjoong’s by a mile. “Hyung, make him let me sleep!” he whines to the manager. Their manager just laughs, but ends up helping Yunho sit up, to the younger man’s dismay. With another whine, Yunho sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Why…”
“Medicine time,” Hongjoong answers softly. “Do you want to try and eat some more soup?”
Yunho thinks about it, but then shakes his head. “Stomach feels kind of off, actually…” He frowns a little, leaning back on the couch. Not too shocking to either of them. The manager checks his fever again before Hongjoong passes over the cup of medication. Fever holding steady, but not too high. Yunho downs the medication like a bad shot, then revels in the cool water bottle the manager hands him afterward. The manager just helps him stand up, and both of them lead him back to Hongjoong’s bed. Curling back under the blanket, Yunho falls asleep quickly.
His fever drops by the fourth day. Yunho stays awake a little longer, enough to watch a few episodes of a romance drama with Jongho, to which both complain about the protagonist for a little over some terrible decisions. Hongjoong comes back to Jongho handing Yunho a small plush, only for him to throw it back at the television screen.
“I’m going crazy if I keep watching this!” he gripes.
Hongjoong laughs. “This drama is nuts. Jjong-ie loves it.” But what Hongjoong loves is the bright smile on Yunho’s face he can see. Yunho’s looking more lively, and even with the fever-flush still living across his cheeks, his laugh when Jongho throws the stuffed animal at him is all the more worth it. Yunho ends up napping around the fourth episode in, curled up against Jongho’s side on the couch, and Jongho dutifully ices his bruise until the skin feels too cold under the touch. It’s looking better, and Yunho isn’t wincing too much upon touch. It’s small steps forward, but it’s still good.
Yunho wakes up around dinnertime, with an appetite he hasn’t had in at least a week. Mingi spoon feeds him some miso soup, and when he realizes he isn’t likely to throw it back up, he eats two salty crackers to keep them down. He’s curled up on the youngest’s side, idly staring at the comedy show on TV when he catches Jongho running his hand through his hair in a rare form of physical affection.
“You’re looking better,” Jongho says softly as Yunho nibbles on a third cracker. “Not feeling as warm, either.”
“Good,” Yunho answers. “I miss eating… I like food.”
Mingi laughs. “When you’re feeling better, we can go to barbecue, okay?”
“And Yunho can treat us all for taking care of him for so much.”
With a small snicker at the maknae’s words, Yunho leans his head down and gives them a thumbs up. He’s ready; he’s smelled meat numerous times this week and he wants some too!
Mingi and Jongho help him take another bath after he complained about feeling gross, and they help him into Mingi’s bed this time. Yunho already feels steadier on his own, brushing his teeth without holding onto the counter for balance. Mingi’s got his medication and a water bottle ready for him when he’s ready, and he leads the sleepy vocalist into bed once he’s properly dosed up. Yunho curls up to Mingi’s side, tucking his face into his shoulder.
“Warm,” Yunho mumbles, smiling at Mingi’s chuckle as he drifts to sleep. He’s so thankful for his friends; it will probably be a few more weeks before his flu leaves, or for the symptoms to go away, but he knows his seven bandmates and best friends will see him through it.
Sicktember Day 5 - Worst Possible Timing
Fandom: BTS
Sickie: Jimin, and then...
Caretaker: Jungkook, Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon exists.
Content: vomit
Happy Sicktember, y'all. I just got back from a con and a loooot of things happened so I'm off to a late start. But here goes!
“Oh no.”
Namjoon spins around from his seat on the plane to see Jungkook staring, wide-eyed, at their smallest member. Jimin, who’s clasped a hand over his mouth. He looks pale—no, really, he looks green. Namjoon doesn’t think twice—he tugs off his ball cap, about to pass it behind him to the youngest boy, but Yoongi (bless him) moves faster. He’s already got a plane sick bag open, and he holds it under Jimin’s mouth just in time for a mouthful of brown, rancid sludge to escape.
Namjoon grimaces. Beside him, he can feel Jin’s elbows poke him as he rummages through his bag for medication, tissues, something useful. Their manager to his other side is already sitting up, flagging the flight attendant.
They’re less than an hour away from LA, and they perform that night.
This is bad.
Helplessly, Namjoon watches as Jungkook rubs Jimin’s shoulders, the smaller vocalist vomiting almost nonstop. The bag in Yoongi’s hands looks like it’s getting heavy. And that is also a problem.
The manager hands Namjoon another sick bag. He opens it immediately, then stands up to hand it to Yoongi.
When Jimin takes a breath, Yoongi and Namjoon trade bags.
In hindsight, this is also a bad idea. Namjoon, their clumsiest member. Who is determined, as their fearless leader, to do something. He can close a bag, no issue.
The flight attendant comes with a cup of ice and a larger plastic bag to collect the waste.
And that’s when there’s a moment of turbulence.
Namjoon’s hand loses its grip. His quick reflexes catch the bag—
Jimin pukes again, into the new bag.
Jin shouts something that sounds like Namjoon’s name, but he’s distracted by the thick, wet, vile-smelling slime that splashes on his $200 tee, and immediately soaks through and presses against his abdomen. And it’s warm, and to Namjoon, that is the worst part.
Another flight attendant runs over with napkins, there’s shouting all over, and Namjoon?
Sicktember Day 8 - Aches and pains
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: Yunho-mostly, but really all of them
Caretaker: ATEEZ caring about each other
Content: exhaustion, overexertion
“Okay,” Yunho says, clapping his hands together. They’d just finished their umpteenth run-through of a little concert set they were roped into. It’s promotions season, an album had released a week ago, and they were invited last-minute to perform their comeback set on a musical morning program. Filming begins tomorrow, which means today was all-day rehearsals.
Well, more like all afternoon. Yunho’s been finetuning their movements for the past five hours, taking individual time with each member to help them smooth out any odd moves. But after the fifth attempt at ironing out San’s footwork, he feels his back twinge. Watching San mimic the move, he stretches his back and ignores the twitch while he nods with approval. They’re done. Or rather, Yunho is done. His body aches almost to its core, and his limbs feel heavy.
“One more run?” Seonghwa asks, a little timid. His beanie has been abandoned, hair sweat-soaked. He’s got the moves down, but Yunho knows he just wants to prove it to himself. Yunho knows it’s just for personal reassurance, but he knows it wouldn’t hurt to do it again.
But when Wooyoung pouts, shoulders drooping, Yunho shakes his head.
“We’re meeting again in the morning. We should rest,” Yunho says. “I can still do a run-through with you though, hyung.”
That’s when Wooyoung shakes his head again, wiggling his arms. “It’s okay, Yunho-ya. Let’s do one more together.”
Yunho takes an extra moment to look at all of them, at a determination burning through all of their eyes despite the soreness in their bones, the exhaustion in their muscles, and they’re ready. So he nods. Turns on the camera.
“Last run for tonight. Make it count.”
The manager in the room with them hits play. They dance, as if they’re going to win the MAMA awards from their little dance room in KQ. The mirrors are a little fogged from the heat. There’s a musk of sweat and mixed colognes and soaps in the room. And they’re singing, just to be sure. Yunho doesn’t feel anything wrong; in game mode, he’s not thinking about anything but his next steps. Checking formations. Making sure everyone’s where they need to be. And it’s flawless.
When they stop, the manager turns off the camera. San and Yeosang both drop to their knees. Wooyoung rushes to his water bottle.
And that’s when Yunho feels his side throbbing in anger. Dehydration, hunger, overworking? Nothing some ibuprofen and dinner can’t fix. He sips his water as they monitor the playback, and their manager claps his hands, impressed with their last take.
Hongjoong grins to the group. He’s tired, Yunho can tell, wiping his hair with a white towel—or it was white, now streaked with various colors of hair dye that never fully washed out. But he gathers everyone’s attention, while Yunho starts the turn-off procedures. “Okay, everyone. We’ve got twelve hours. It’s… one now. We’re leaving at one in the afternoon to film. Rest, sleep, eat. And be in the lobby by 12:45.”
Recording saved. Camera turned off. Computer shutting down. Everyone grabs their bags and water bottles and towels, and Yunho watches them all leave before he flips off the lights. The manager closes the door, and they all split to head home. Yunho barely recalls his ride home, crammed in a car with five other members as the manager takes them home, while Seonghwa drives his dorm in his own vehicle. Goodbyes in the hall, and they split to their various dorms without much conversation or fanfare. Yeosang ends up in the kitchen finding a protein drink, and he hands a shake to Yunho and encourages him to drink it. Neither of them is particularly hungry, but the shake hits the spot for the tall dancer. He fills his water bottle from the fridge, then head to their separate rooms to sleep.
Yunho’s body feels like lead. He lets his brain turn off, working on autopilot as he takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and puts on all of his good skincare. He has to be camera ready, after all. Yunho doesn’t even remember to plug his phone into the charger as he falls into bed, the ibuprofen finally kicking in and lulling him to sleep.
He awakens to darkness, with his entire body throbbing in a way that felt almost unnatural. But Yunho understands what this pain is; he’s a dancer, after all. It’s overexertion, it’s exhaustion, it’s the determination to keep going forward. But it didn’t need him going at… whatever time it was. Grumbling, Yunho grabs his phone, using the flashlight to lead his path to the bathroom. He pulls out a bottle of painkillers, knocking two into his hand. Swallowing them with some sink water, Yunho trudges back to his room and just flops back into bed.
~*~
The smiles are earnest, if not a little forced. Yunho’s cheeks are a gentle rose, as are his ears, as Wooyoung and Seonghwa share a silly story of his mismatched shoes that morning. He holds a foot up in the interview to show his shiny boots, with a grin. “The stylists helped me this morning. Error corrected!”
The interviewer laughed. They were almost done, and while Hongjoong talks about how excited he was for the song to drop, Yunho does his best to focus on his leader. His back is twinging again. He doesn’t like the chairs they’re perched in, but he’s sitting with his hands on his knees to keep him from wiggling. But sitting so steadily makes the pain all the more apparent. His legs are sore. His knees are stiff. His shoulders are tense. His headache is creeping back.
And the smile stays on, for the next fifteen minutes of the interview. Teeth glistening of gentle laughter as they shake hands and drink water and move from the chairs and stretch. San pops his shoulder, and everyone looks over in surprise. Even the vocalist looks stunned, but he rolls his arm around and ensures there’s no pain, just a noise. Wooyoung leans into a manager’s side and asks to be carried, complains he feels weak like a newborn deer. Mingi laughs, and someone pushes Jongho over—and Wooyoung runs to hide behind Yunho. The smaller one’s hands land on his shoulders, and a jolt of knifesharp pain shoots down his spine. He tenses.
But Wooyoung, ever so observant, pauses in his teasing the youngest to look at him. “Yunho-ya? Are you… are you okay?”
Yunho nods, stiffly. He doesn’t answer more than a simple “yeah”. The smile stays plastered, but he feels Wooyoung’s hands loosen their grip and rub at his shoulders instead. But even the touch feels uncomfortable, his neck starting to ache. Everything just… hurts. Yunho moves around to push Wooyoung in Jongho’s direction, and as the two begin a silly game of roughhouse, he steps away under the guise of going to the bathroom, and he takes a moment to just breathe.
In, out. In, out. The ache in his back lessens, and he takes a breather. He’s… so tired.
Someone knocks. “Yunho-ya? Are you okay?”
It’s Seonghwa.
Yunho sighs. He can’t just lie to his hyung, but… he’s gonna try.
“I’m okay,” he says. He washes his hands, to at least keep up the façade, and heads back out. “Sorry, I’m okay now.”
“You look hurt…” Seonghwa says softly. “We’ll get you some painkillers at the dorm, okay?”
At the dorm? Yunho looks up and checks the clock—it’s only 5. He figured they’d have more dance practice, or a meeting, or something. They’re usually busy. Catching his confusion, Seonghwa grins. “We convinced manager-nim to let us take a break. Wooyoung’s ankle hurts and he’s walking funny now.”
He is? That was… new. Seonghwa just laughs and shakes his head, and Yunho gets it—Wooyoung is getting them out of dance practice by being his melodramatic, acting self. With a grin of his own, Yunho nods.
“Okay, hyung, let’s go back to the dorms.”
~*~
They all split to shower, but Seonghwa comes back to Yunho’s and Yeosang’s apartment, with Wooyoung in tow. Yeosang, already out of the shower, is in the middle of making microwave ramen when Wooyoung takes over, a bag of ingredients in his hands.
“Felt like a soup day,” he explains. He still lets Yeosang eat his ramen; he knows Yeosang will still eat his cooking, too.
Seonghwa offers to rub some pain balm on Yeosang, who accepts some for his calf that’s been twinging. That’s where Yunho finds them when he gets out of his shower, Yeosang sitting on the couch with his sweats tugged up to his knees, one foot glistening with cream, his other currently getting lathered up.
“Oh! Yunho-ya! Good shower?” Yeosang asks.
Yunho smiles. He just wants to lay down, to be honest, but the heat relaxed him enough. And he can already smell the aroma from the kitchen; he sees Wooyoung in the side chair, scrolling on his phone. That means dinner… he’ll stay up for dinner.
“Mhmm. I almost didn’t want to get out. I see why Mingi goes to the saunas so much.”
Seonghwa laughs at that. “He’s not wrong. But come sit! When I finish massaging Yeosang’s calf, I’ll rub some cream on your back, okay?”
That startles the dancer. He wants to ask ‘how did you know’, but he catches Wooyoung’s eye and sighs. There’s no getting past them.
“Okay, hyung.” He drops onto the couch next to Yeosang, and tugs off his sweatshirt. Yeosang leans into him and smiles, all tired but bright. Yunho can’t help but return it, arms wrapping around the younger member’s chest. He hugs him close, and listens idly as Wooyoung and Seonghwa talk about someone they spoke with at the interview earlier. The idle chatter winds Yunho down, and he almost falls asleep where he’s sitting. Jolting when Yeosang pats his cheek, the two trade spots, with Yunho sprawled across Seonghwa’s lap with his legs resting on Yeosang’s. Seonghwa tugs up his shirt and begins slathering on the pain-relieving cream, which has Yunho sighing in relief as he rubs it in evenly. With a sigh, Yunho melts. He needed this. He ends up falling asleep right there on his band members, and if Wooyoung took a photo to share with the group chat, that was for him to discover in the morning.
Sicktember Day 7 – “There’s a frog in my throat”
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: Jongho
Caretaker: Mingi
Content: fever, sore throat, coughing
The coughing is loud and worrisome. Jongho was staying at their dorm for the week, since the group had a few weeks break, and was borrowing San’s room since Mingi’s roommates had both gone home to visit their parents, and Mingi was a professional at puppy-dog eyes. Mingi had considered going with Yunho to visit his parents and brother, since his own parents were on a well-deserved trip abroad, but listening to the vocalist seem to choke on air, he’s glad he brought him over instead.
Getting up from his own room, he heads to their kitchen to grab a bottle of water, then heads to San’s room and knocks.
“Y-yes?” Jongho croaks. Croaks. He sounds terrible.
Mingi opens the door. “Hey, maknae-ya. I brought you some water.”
“Oh… Thanks, hyung.”
The younger man sits up slowly, hair mussed and eyes half-lidded. He looks so small and young like this. It’s both nostalgic and scary, reminding Mingi that sometimes their strong-willed, independent maknae needs someone to help shoulder the burden too. Mingi turns on San’s bedside light (he’s been in this room so much he knows the layout like the back of his hand) and sits on the bed, opening the bottle for the youngest. When he looks at him, he can see a reddening of Jongho’s cheeks, and…
“You look swollen, Jongho-ya.”
Jongho just sips the water, then leans over to rest his head against Mingi’s shoulder. He really must not be feeling well.
“Feels like… there’s a frog in my throat, to be honest.”
And Mingi has to try and not laugh at the analogy, watching as Jongho moves the water bottle to the side of his neck. Mingi doesn’t have Seonghwa’s skill to tell by touch, but he can already make an educated guess. Jongho is sick, and he’s not sure what caused it, but he wants to help him feel better. Thankfully, given the break, Jongho has at least another week to heal up. Mingi wraps an arm around Jongho’s shoulders and hugs him close. He can feel the heat radiating off of the younger vocalist; that gets Mingi to jump to action.
"Wanna try some meds? I’m sure Seonghwa-hyung has a syrup form if you don’t think you can do tablets…”
Seonghwa tends to keep the cabinet stocked with whatever they need. He just lets Jongho mull over the idea before he nods gingerly, lowering the water bottle. Mingi puts the bottle on the bedside table.
“Aigooo, maknae-ya. Meds, more sleep, and we’ll see how you feel in the morning, okay?”
A plan. Jongho nods again, hand lifting to rub his eyes as he lifts up, letting Mingi go. Mingi ruffles his hair a little before he heads back out to find the medication. He finds a bottle of pancold, just what he needed. One dose administered later, and Mingi finds himself also laying in San’s bed with Jongho curled up against him, pressing a cold compress to his maknae’s neck to help him sleep.
~*~
Jongho, thankfully, is not the biggest opponent of hospitals. When he doesn’t feel marginally better, when his throat still has a raw sensation but even with the burning feeling gone, he doesn’t hesitate to let Mingi contact their manager. There’s no whining, no resisting, no complaints. Just one sad, feverish vocalist bundled in Mingi’s thick puffy coat because it’s warm and soft. Mingi keeps one arm wrapped around Jongho in the backseat of the SUV, letting his maknae nap on him for the ride.
And three hours later, they’re back with a strep diagnosis, medication, and cold snacks. Mingi leans down and helps Jongho slide his feet out of out of San’s crocs, keeping his shoulders squared so Jongho’s shaky hand could keep grip for balance. He then kicks off his own sneakers and helps him out of the jacket.
“Pajamas and bed?” he asks softly.
Jongho just nods. He’s riding on a cocktail of antibiotics and acetaminophen, and his energy is already waning. Mingi smiles, hugging him close.
“Come on, my favorite maknae,” Mingi’s voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Jongho tucks himself against Mingi’s side.
And with the biggest, softest, pleading bear eyes, Jongho croaks: “Stay?”
Nodding, Mingi hugs him closer. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
