Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hyung.”

Minho turned to Jisung, who was staring at him with concern for what felt like the tenth time that day. “Hm?”

“Are you sure you're okay? You look like you don't feel good.”

“I'm exhausted.”

It wasn't a lie. Between moving, promotions, and all their tour preparations, the entire group was desperately in need of a break. Chan and Jeongin had invited everyone to spend the night at their apartment, partly to celebrate getting moved in and also because tomorrow was their much-needed day off. By now, everyone had finished moving into their new apartments (Chan and Jeongin were the last) and Minho was, in all honesty, happy. He was happy to have more space and happy to have his best friend as a roommate again, even if he wasn't going to admit it. He was satisfied with their new tracks and choreography, and despite how tiring everything had been lately, he was excited for the tour.

But today hadn't been one of his best. He'd woken up feeling suspiciously like he was hung over even though he wasn't. He felt like he hadn't slept even though he had – he was too tired not to – and his stomach had felt just wrong all day.

Still, he'd forced his way through breakfast and then suffered through his duty of leading dance practice. Their choreographers were out for the day, leaving him fully in charge, which he was thankful for. It meant he could keep practice light, partly for his own sake, but everyone already had the choreography down and he didn't feel the need to push them. Despite this, he'd caught Chan lagging behind, a lot, but he didn't have the energy to call him out for it more than once. Minho had struggled to keep up himself, which wasn't normal for him even on his worst days, and he'd ultimately decided to end practice early.

Then he asked Chan was what going on. It might have come off as annoyance, but he was mostly just concerned. Chan, of course, being the ever-caring leader, had flipped the question right back onto him. Minho said he was just tired. Chan said the same thing and they left it at that. Jeongin overheard and asked them if they wanted to have the sleepover, as Felix had dubbed it, a different night. It had been Jeongin's idea in the first place, but it wasn't like no one had noticed the oldest members struggling and they all knew how tired they were. Still, they agreed to keep their plans. As tempting as it would've been to just spend the rest of the day in bed, Minho didn't want to disappoint anyone and neither did Chan.

Afterward Felix and Seungmin, who'd already packed bags for the night, left with Chan and Jeongin while the remaining members went home to shower and pack up before joining them. Jisung asked Minho on the way back if he was really okay, and Minho told him what he'd told Chan – he was just tired. He wasn't going to tell him how bad his stomach felt. It had started out as a dull ache that morning, nothing concerning, but now it was worse. He'd felt like throwing up near the end of practice, but the nausea had settled down once he stopped dancing. It wasn't a big deal, he told himself, just an upset stomach. Nothing he hadn't dealt with many times before.

Jisung didn't seem completely convinced that he was “just tired”, but he dropped the subject until they were back in the car a few hours later. Even though they could've easily walked to the Jeong-Chan apartment, Jisung had offered to drive and Minho was grateful.

“I'm exhausted.”

“I know.” Jisung looked sympathetic. “It really is okay if you don't wanna go.”

Minho was leaning heavily into the passenger seat, looking totally drained and maybe a bit more pale than usual. The lights in the parking garage made it hard to tell. He'd hoped a shower and a short nap would make him feel better, or at least make him look like he felt better, but they didn't, and the antacids he'd found in the cupboard hadn't done much either. He still felt terrible.

Not that Jisung or anyone else needed to know that. He was fine, just tired.

“Innie's excited for tonight.”

“I think he'd understand if you didn't wanna come.”

“I wanna come. I am coming,” Minho insisted. His voice was soft, with none of his usual bite. “We're all tired. No one'll care if I just pass out on the couch. Isn't that the point?”

Jisung looked him over with a bit of a pout. “As long as you're sure.” He started the car, and Minho closed his eyes and made himself as comfortable as he could against the headrest.

“As long as you're driving, I'll go anywhere.”

“You said I drive like a grandma.”

“Exactly – slow and careful, good for naps.”

“You take a two-minute nap, then. Grandma'll try not to hit any bumps on the way.”

Minho smiled a little in spite of his discomfort. “Thank you, Grandma.”

As they drove up the ramp and turned out onto the road, nausea settled in Minho's stomach again and he wondered if they should've just walked instead.

***

When they arrived, Jeongin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin were already in their natural habitat – in front of the TV, gaming and yelling at varying degrees of skill and volume, with Chan and Changbin cheering them on. Minho knew immediately it was going to be a long night.

“Yo, we're here,” Jisung announced.

“Applause,” Minho added, trying to get at least one deadpan joke in so he didn't kill the mood too soon. It earned him a few distracted whoops from the younger members and Chan actually clapped.

“You can throw your bags wherever,” he said. “The food'll be here pretty soon.”

“Awesome,” Jisung replied. “I'm hungry.”

Minho wasn't looking forward to dinner, but he dropped his bag by the wall and prepared himself to act as normal as he could for the rest of the night.

The gaming session didn't last long because Jeongin wanted to give everyone a tour of the apartment before the food arrived. Minho didn't really see the point. They'd already been there a few times to help them unpack, but he went anyway because Jeongin wanted to show off the “homey touches” he'd added with some help from Hyunjin and Chan. They'd swapped out some of the art on the walls (Hyunjin's suggestion), framed some photos, changed the curtains, and added a vase of flowers to the kitchen island (also Hyunjin).

Chan mostly pointed out the more boring things before letting Jeongin take over again, and then watched with amusement while Jeongin pointed out all the random new features he liked, such as the extra large closets and multiple lighting options in the bathroom. Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung seemed to share a similar enthusiasm for these things, and even Minho felt a strange urge to lay down and take a nap in the oversized closet. He had one in his apartment, too. He just really wanted to sleep.

When dinner arrived, Minho realized just how much he didn't want to eat. At all. Even the smell of food was making his stomach roll. For appearance's sake, he forced down a few bites, mostly just picking at whatever the others put in front of him and pretending they didn't notice. They did notice. Hyunjin especially kept offering him more, telling him how good it was, but Minho just forced a smile and said he wasn't that hungry.

Eventually Hyunjin came up to him when he was in the kitchen, scooping a meager amount of noodles into a bowl. He'd decided to try some ramen, hoping the broth might settle his stomach a little.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Hyunjin asked him seriously, quietly enough so no one else would hear.

“My stomach's kind of messed up today,” he admitted. His uncomfortable smile said everything Hyunjin needed to know – he didn't want to ruin the mood by making everyone feel bad for him, and Hyunjin understood.

“Oh, okay. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. It's not that bad.”

Hyunjin left him alone after that, and Minho somehow managed two bowls of ramen. After the first one made him feel slightly better, he decided to risk another. But after a few sips of the beer Jeongin offered him, he realized that was a bad idea and dumped the rest down the sink.

After dinner and a few chaotic rounds of Uno, everyone changed into whatever clothes they'd brought to sleep in and piled into the living room to watch a movie. Minho was the first one to the couch, staring blankly at the wall while he waited for everyone to get ready, completely quiet with his knees pulled up to his chest. His T-shirt and pajama bottoms didn't feel as warm as they usually did, and he hoped no one would notice he was holding his stomach, which was beginning to cramp.

Jisung noticed everything, but said nothing. Hyunjin had already told him about his stomach, which Jisung had guessed was bothering him anyway. He brought Minho a blanket, Seungmin showed up seemingly out of nowhere with a pillow, and Minho thanked them.

The movie was just starting when Chan came up to him and handed him a bottle of water. “You doing okay?”

Minho just nodded. “Thanks.”

He thought the movie would distract him from how bad he felt. He'd seen it a dozen times, he liked it, but he couldn't enjoy it tonight. His stomach was slowly getting more and more angry, and that was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep. He was so tired.

He had his eyes shut and was trying to ignore another cramp wringing through his stomach when someone tapped his leg. Felix was sitting on the floor in front of him with a bowl of popcorn, looking up at him with concern. “You okay, hyung?” he asked quietly.

Minho forced a half-smile. “I'm just tired.”

Felix nodded in understanding, then offered him the popcorn bowl. Minho declined, and Felix turned back to the movie. He rested his head against Minho's knee and Minho started toying with his long hair. It was a good distraction.

After the movie came the discussion of who was sleeping where. The plan was to have everyone in the living room with seven on the floor and one on the couch. Minho won the right to the couch, although not by his usual luck. When Chan suggested they play rock-paper-scissors for it, he simply said that he wanted it and no one argued. Whether it was because he was so clearly exhausted or simply because of his natural way of scaring them, he didn't care. His stomach felt horrible and he could feel a headache brewing in the back of his skull, but he could deal with that. He just really didn't want to sleep on the floor tonight.

***

A few hours later, everyone except Minho was asleep. Below him, Hyunjin was half-draped over Jeongin, Jisung was sprawled out next to Seungmin, Felix was curled up against Changbin, and Chan was on his stomach, mostly free from the mess of limbs. Minho had been drifting in and out of a restless sleep, growing more and more uncomfortable as the night dragged on. His head hurt, the pain in his stomach was worse and the nausea was becoming unbearable. Now he was shaking, partly from discomfort but also because he was somehow freezing under two thick blankets.

He couldn't fool himself anymore. He was definitely sick.

The sudden urge to vomit finally made him get off the couch and rush to the bathroom. He turned on the light, which was far too bright for his midnight suffering, and shut his eyes until his fingers found the dimmer switch (he wanted to hug Jeongin for pointing that out earlier). With the light adequately dimmed so as not to blind him, he planted himself on the floor in front of the toilet, shaking miserably with his arms wrapped around his stomach. The floor was cold and he really wished he'd brought a blanket.

He waited, breathing through the waves of nausea that rolled through him, until a weak retch forced him over the toilet bowl. Nothing came up, and he waited again. Another retch produced nothing except saliva. He coughed, spit dangling from his lip as he waited for it to happen again. After a third heave that brought up nothing, panic began to settle in his chest. He needed to throw up; he needed to get whatever was in his stomach out, but it wasn't letting him.

Soon he was stuck in a tortuous cycle of nothing but dry-heaves, and the strain only made his stomach hurt more. Tears brimmed his eyes and eventually he couldn't hold them back anymore. The overwhelming urge to empty his stomach wasn't going away. It was only getting worse and he couldn't do anything about it.

His frustration eventually outweighed his better judgment and he shoved his fingers down his throat out of pure desperation, but it only made him retch harder and see stars. He didn't try it again. He simply clung to the toilet bowl and waited, crying softly. He probably looked pathetic – he certainly felt pathetic. He was dizzy, cold, and so unbelievably tired. Why was he even here? Why hadn't he just stayed home?

After a while, there was a soft knock on the door and he forced himself to stop crying.

“Minho? Are you okay?” Chan. Of course it was Chan.

Minho didn't answer. Part of him wanted to tell him to go away. Another part of him wanted to beg him to come and sit with him and just do something to make him feel better.

“Can you at least say something, Minho?”

Chan sounded worried, and Minho swallowed his pride. He needed him right now. “Hyung?” he croaked, shutting his eyes and biting his lip to try and calm himself.

Chan opened the door slightly, but didn't look in. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.” Minho barely managed a glance at him as he stepped in, but it was enough to catch the overwhelming sympathy in his eyes as he took in the pitiful sight.

“Oh, Minho.” Chan shut the door quietly behind him and knelt beside the sick boy. There was no judgment, no panic, just pure compassion as he rubbed circles into his back. “What's going on?”

“Stomach hurts.”

“Did you throw up?”

“I can't. I'm- trying, but- I can't.” Minho's voice hitched as he fought to control himself. His breathing was shallow and far too fast.

“Okay. It's okay.” Chan didn't even flinch when Minho retched again, then choked back a sob when nothing came up. “Okay, okay. Aish, why didn't you say something earlier?”

“It wasn't- that bad before.”

“Well, do you think you caught something, or was it just something you ate?”

Minho just shook his head. Talking was too hard right now. He felt Chan's cool palm press against his forehead and didn't fight him.

“You're really warm,” Chan noted, concern edging his voice. He got up and retrieved a thermometer from one of the cabinets, but Minho jerked his head away when he felt it brush his ear. “Let me do this, Minho, come on.” Chan gently steadied his head and Minho gave in. The thermometer read 38.7/101.8. “Yeah, you have a fever. It's not alarmingly high, though.”

Chan set the device aside and sat down by him again, resuming his ministrations on his back as he coughed over the toilet. “Try to relax, okay? Don't force it.”

“It hurts,” he whimpered.

“I know, I know it does.”

Minho couldn't relax. He managed to steady his breathing somewhat, but his body was still trying to rid itself of whatever was in his stomach, to no avail. Chan's hand on his back helped a little – it was something to focus on outside of his body's torture – but it wasn't enough. He was still shaking like a leaf. It felt like he'd never be able to stop.

“I'm s-so cold,” he stuttered. Chan could feel the heat from his fever radiating through his shirt and mentally added chills to his list of symptoms.

“If I bring you a hoodie, will you put it on?” He wasn't sure if the sound that came out of Minho was a reply or a groan, but he nodded clearly enough. “Okay. I'll be right back.”

Chan left and Minho immediately missed the contact, but he was back in less than a minute with a black hoodie. Minho was pretty sure it was the same one he'd given Chan for his birthday a few years ago, but he was in no mood to appreciate the irony right now. He helped him put it on. He was shivering so hard that Chan did most of the work for him. The sleeves felt itchy and wrong against his flushed skin, but the warmth was a welcome reprieve.

“Alright, there you go. Is that better?”

Minho nodded, already back over the toilet again.

“Is there anything else I can do? Do you want some water or something?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Just tell me if you want something and I'll get it for you.”

Minho went back to occasional dry-heaves and coughing, and he gave up trying not to cry in front of Chan. He'd mostly failed already and he didn't care anymore. Tears streamed freely down his face, accompanied by quiet sniffles.

Chan kept rubbing his back, his shoulders, his neck – anything that might provide the slightest bit of relief. He seemed completely calm, just like always, but inside he was worried. Minho so rarely cried that it was always jarring to see, and he'd never seen him cry from physical pain before. Logic told him this was probably nothing more than a bad stomach bug, but there was always the small chance it was something more serious.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked him. “High or low?”

“Both.”

“Where does it hurt the most? Can you show me?”

Minho slowly loosened his iron grip on his stomach and moved his hand to the center of his torso. Chan placed his hand over his, feeling him shake with pain.

“Here? In the middle?”

Minho nodded.

“Okay.” Chan retracted his hand, continuing to massage his back while he considered this. He hated watching Minho suffer and he felt helpless, but he wasn't going to drag him to a doctor just yet. “Listen, I don't know what we have, but do you wanna try some medicine? Or maybe just some tea or something?”

Minho shook his head. “I just- need to puke.”

“What about a heat pack? That might help a little.”

He shook his head again. Chan sighed quietly and settled for offering him comfort in silence. Minho was stubborn; there was no point in trying to convince him.

A few minutes later, there was another knock on the door and Minho tried to stop crying again.

“Hyung?” Hyunjin's soft, groggy voice was barely audible. “Is everything okay?”

Chan got up and opened the door, letting a sleepy but concerned Hyunjin look in. Minho turned his head away so he couldn't see his tears.

“Minho's sick,” Chan explained quietly. “Probably just a stomach bug or something.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Uh,” Chan looked back at the miserable boy, “actually, can you get a heat pack and warm it up? They should be in the drawer by the fridge.”

“Yeah, I'll get it.”

Chan returned to Minho's side while Hyunjin scurried off to the kitchen.

“You don't- have to stay,” Minho said, his voice so small and frail that it broke Chan's heart.

“I know.”

“You'll get sick.”

“Don't worry about it, okay?”

Hyunjin came back in a few minutes with a heat pack and waited at the door, resisting the urge to go comfort his hyung himself. He knew Minho wouldn't want to be crowded right now. Chan took the heat pack and thanked him.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Hyunjin asked.

“Uh, no, I don't think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You can go back to sleep. I got him.”

Hyunjin watched Minho sadly. He could hear him sniffling even if he couldn't see his face. “Okay.”

Hyunjin returned to the living room, and Chan shut the door and offered Minho the heat pack. “Alright, Minho, you wanna try this for a while?”

Again, Minho shook his head.

“It might help. Just please try it,” Chan insisted. “If it doesn't feel good, you can get rid of it.”

Reluctantly, Minho pried his hand off his stomach and pulled the hoodie up.

“You want it under the hoodie? Okay.” Chan placed the heat pack against his stomach, over his T-shirt, holding it there until Minho pulled the hoodie back down and wrapped his arm around his stomach again. It was pleasantly warm, almost too warm.

“There you go. Just try to relax.”

For a short while Minho seemed to calm down, if only a little. It wasn't long, though, before the heat pack lost its soothing warmth and he was back to trying to empty his stomach. He still wasn't throwing up and Chan knew he was getting tired. His head was dipping lower and lower as if it was just too heavy, and every heave seemed to throw him off balance.

“I don't think you're gonna get anything out right now,” Chan said gently, after another unsuccessful heave. “Why don't we go to my room and you can lay down, yeah? I'll just bring you a bowl or something.”

“I just n-need to throw- throw up.” Minho's frustration was clear even if he could barely talk, hiccups interrupting his speech. “Why can't- I throw up?”

“I don't know, but you're wearing yourself out. You need to rest for a while.”

“I can't,” he sobbed, then broke down into tears again.

“Okay, okay. It's alright.” Chan instinctively ran his fingers through his hair to try and comfort him, then rubbed at the back of his neck. “This won't last forever, I promise.”

Minho gave another unproductive retch, cursed, and then started outright sobbing.

“Aish, Minho, I'm so sorry.” Chan shushed him gently as he heaved again, working his palm between his shoulder blades. It didn't seem to be helping, but he didn't know what else to do.

“I'm so tired, hyung,” Minho whimpered.

“I know, I know you're tired. Are you sure you don't wanna go to my room?”

“There's no- no point.”

“Okay.”

Chan gave up trying to get him out of the bathroom. He did everything he could think of to try and help him, which wasn't much, and he hated that he couldn't do more. Minho was well and truly miserable now, swearing and sobbing from pain and frustration. It felt like he'd been here for hours, although it probably hadn't been nearly that long. Either way, he'd been dry-heaving for far too long and now, on top of whatever evil that had taken up residence in his stomach, the strain and fatigue were making everything worse. He shifted constantly, but no position his body allowed was comfortable, and he was struggling to keep himself upright.

Chan eventually drew a deep breath behind him. “Alright, do you wanna go to the hospital?”

“No,” Minho answered quickly.

“Are you sure? They might be able to make you feel better.”

“No hospital.”

Chan steadied him as he coughed painfully, nearly bashing his face on the toilet rim.

“I've never seen you like this before.”

Because I didn't let you, he wanted to say, but he couldn't exactly blame Chan for being concerned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this bad outside the occasional night of stupid choices and too much alcohol, which was an entirely different kind of misery even if it led to the same place. But this was just a stomach bug, and he definitely didn't need to go to the hospital, and he would keep telling himself that until his body proved otherwise.

“The- the pain isn't that bad.” It was pretty much a lie. The pain was horrible, but he might have been able tolerate it if his stomach didn't feel like it was trying to escape through his throat. “I just n-need to puke.”

“I don't know how to make that happen.”

Minho kept trying. His dry-heaves sounded painful, because they were, and he was beginning to writhe, his back arching sharply as his stomach seized up. His rapid breaths were punctuated with strained moans and Chan was pretty sure he was hyperventilating.

“Minho, hey, try to calm down a little.”

“I can't,” Minho ground out, frustration boiling over.

“I know it hurts, but you can't bring anything up when you're this tense.”

Chan shifted before slipping his hand under Minho's tops to rub his bare back. He didn't know if he'd like it, but at this point he was mostly trying to help him bring something up rather than relax. His heart broke all over again when Minho tensed hard and let out a broken sob. His skin was sticky with sweat and far too hot.

Chan worked his palm hard along his spine, the action somehow soothing and stimulating all at once. Minho gave a few more heaves, but nothing came up, and then suddenly he couldn't do it anymore. His body simply gave up, all his tension dropping against his will as it forced him to rest, if only for a moment. He slumped forward, resting his head on his arm while the room spun, drawing quick, shallow breaths that he couldn't seem to control. He felt like he was about to pass out and he wished he would, but that would probably scare Chan.

“Stop,” he breathed. Chan immediately took his hand out of his shirt, laying it uncertainly on Minho's shoulder before returning to the gentle motions from before. For a while, Minho just breathed, hiccups and weak sobs still forcing their way out. He wanted this to stop.

Eventually he straightened up a bit, trembling and dizzy. “Hyung?” he said quietly, his voice thick and hoarse.

“Yeah, what do you need?”

“Can you- get me a glass of water? A big one?”

“Yeah. Hold tight for a second, okay?”

Chan left and returned a minute later with a large glass of water, which Minho took in a shaky grip. He didn't drink it, just stared down at it with a blank expression, panting and sniffling. Chan waited beside him, ready to take it back, until Minho suddenly took a few quick breaths and started chugging the water.

“Uh, slow– Okay.” Chan started to reach out to stop him, but then he settled back and let him continue downing it. He knew what he was trying to do, and he genuinely hoped it worked because if it didn't, Minho was only going to feel worse.

He finished the water in one go, letting out a gasp and then a moan as his stomach lurched. Chan quickly took the empty glass and set it out of the way, then braced himself behind Minho as he hunched over the toilet again. “Okay, I've got you. It's okay.”

Minho was breathing rapidly, eyes blown wide and goosebumps breaking out on his skin.

“You're okay. Just let it happen.”

Chan had hardly gotten the words out before Minho retched and a good amount of water splashed into the toilet. He gasped once before another wave brought up more water and bits of undigested ramen.

“There you go, there you go.” Chan sounded almost as relieved as Minho felt. “Good job. Let it out.”

Minho coughed before throwing up again, and again and again, gasping for breath between each heave. He didn't fight it. He needed relief, but it hurt so much. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks. His muscles were shot and his stomach was furious, and he felt like he was choking. He was positive he was going to pass out now, or maybe just suffocate from his own vomit. But Chan was still there, talking to him, warm hands on his back. He wouldn't let that happen.

Water and stomach acid tapered quickly into thin streams of bile, and then into more dry-heaves, but they were weaker now. He was out of energy.

“Deep breaths, Minho, deep breaths,” Chan said, his voice soft and grounding. “I think you're empty now.”

Chapter Text

Once Minho's stomach finally stopped rebelling, he slumped against the toilet again. His breathing was heavy, but it was slow and even, only jarred by the occasional hiccup. His posture was visibly more relaxed and Chan no longer felt him shaking. “Do you feel any better now?” he asked him.

Minho nodded, eyes only half open. He still felt sick, but the nausea was tolerable now and the pain was only a fraction of what it had been. Now he was left with pure exhaustion as the adrenaline rush began to wear off.

“Good. That looked... unpleasant.” Chan tore some toilet paper off the roll and offered it to him. He took it and blew his nose, then dropped it carelessly into the mess below him. His movements were slow and shaky.

Chan went to the sink, dampened a washcloth with warm water and hovered over him. “Can I clean your face up a little?”

Minho simply leaned forward, and Chan wiped the washcloth gently over his face, starting with his forehead and working his way down to his chin. It felt amazing and Minho almost fell asleep right then and there.

Once he was free of sweat and tears and remnants of vomit, Chan tossed the washcloth in the sink. Then he refilled the glass with water from the tap and offered it to Minho. He didn't drink it, but he rinsed the acid out of his mouth and gave the glass back to Chan. Chan set it aside and rubbed at the back of his neck again. “Come on, let's go to my room and try to rest, okay?”

Minho shook his head. “I don't know... if I'm done.”

He sounded half-asleep already, but Chan wasn't going to argue with him. “Do you wanna try laying down in here for a little while? I can bring you a blanket.”

Instead of answering, Minho started to lower himself down to the floor, but the change in position made his stomach feel like it was in his throat again and he shot right back up. “Can't lay down yet.”

“Okay,” Chan sighed. “Alright.” After a moment's thought, he started nudging Minho toward the wall. “Here, come here. Let's just rest over here for a minute.”

Minho just whined in protest, refusing to move.

“You can lean on me. Just come over here and relax for a while, okay?”

Reluctantly, and very slowly, Minho let go of the toilet and crawled the few feet to the wall. Chan flushed his mess away, then sat down with his back to the wall and Minho curled up against him. After a moment of awkward shuffling, he rested his head against Chan's chest and stayed like that. The position wasn't very comfortable for either of them, but Chan was softer than the floor and Minho was too exhausted to care anyway.

“Okay, there you go.” Chan was already working his back again. “Let's just rest for a while.”

Chan was tired too, far more than he was willing to show, and he was relieved just to have something at his back to hold him up. But he knew Minho had reached his limit. There was no other reason he would accept this level of intimacy so willingly. Concern wormed its way back into his mind, but he pushed it away for the moment. For now, Minho was resting and that was all that mattered.

He was trembling slightly, his arms tucked around his middle. Chan tried to rub his stomach, but he pushed his hand away. It wasn't a matter of pride – his pride was long gone. It just felt awful to have his stomach touched right now. Chan understood and continued rubbing his back instead. “Okay. I'm sorry. Relax, okay?”

Minho could hear Chan's heartbeat. His breathing was slow and calming, and it was almost enough to lull Minho to sleep. His thoughts turned murky and incoherent as he started to drift off, but his discomfort kept him awake, just barely. He would shift every few minutes against Chan and then he would go back to whatever weird, feverish state this was. The overwhelming desire for sleep still taunted him even when he was barely awake and he hated it.

At some point in his mess of aimless thoughts, he realized he was more than just physically tired; he was mentally tired. So many hours spent at the studio, in front of the cameras, on the road. He'd been working so hard, and there was more ahead. He didn't want to be sick right now. It wasn't fair that he was sick. He just wanted a break.

He wanted to go to his parents' house, he realized. He wanted to see them, talk to them. He wanted to play with his cats and pretend he was a normal person for a while and– Why the hell was he crying again?

Chan held him tighter when he let out a quiet sob. “Does it still hurt that much?”

Minho shook his head.

“What's wrong, then? You just feel bad?”

“I'm so tired,” he said, sounding feeble and broken.

“Oh, I know.” Chan knew he wasn't just talking about tonight. He rested his head on top of Minho's, his heart completely shattering when Minho just... let him. “I know. You're completely worn out, aren't you? You shouldn't have to deal with this right now.”

He continued to cry into Chan's shirt, his body shaking with silent sobs. He didn't have any energy left to cry harder, or to try and stop himself. “It's okay,” Chan told him. “I get it.”

Minho felt silly, he felt frustrated and he felt weak. He felt guilty for keeping Chan awake when he needed to rest just like everyone else. He felt a lot of things he didn't want to feel. But he'd hit slumps before and he knew, even in his current, miserable state, that this wasn't one of them. He was just sick and far past exhausted. There was a part of him that knew he'd feel different once he was rested and recovered, but it didn't change how he felt now.

Eventually he went still again. The lingering feeling of nausea had lessened, his mind shut down, and without even realizing it, he went back to floating on the blissful edge of sleep.

Chan was fighting sleep himself, and he was beginning to wonder if Minho had finally nodded off when he shifted again. He repositioned himself a bit straighter against Chan's chest and then relaxed, letting out a deep sigh.

“How are you feeling now?” Chan asked him quietly.

“Bad,” he murmured. “Gross.”

“You wanna try taking a shower? A quick one would probably be okay.”

He shook his head.

“Do you wanna go home? It's okay if you do. I can take you.”

Annoyingly, the offer made Minho feel exactly like a sick kid at a sleepover. Except he wasn't a kid. He was an adult, and he was sitting on the floor crying in his friend's arms because he was just so tired. He knew Chan didn't care, but he felt pathetic.

And he did want to go home. He wanted to sleep in his own bed and wallow in his misery away from everyone else. But the thought of being in a car, even for the few minutes it would take to get there, made his head swim. He also didn't want Chan or anyone else playing chauffeur for him in the middle of the night just because he was too close to passing out to drive himself.

He didn't respond, but Chan seemed to understand. “Or you can just sleep in my bed for the rest of the night. That's probably easiest, yeah?”

“I can't take yours,” Minho mumbled. Honestly, he couldn't think of any reason not to, aside from getting his germs all over Chan's bed.

“Oh, yes, you can.” Chan chuckled lightly. “I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch when you're sick.”

“I can just... sleep in the bathtub.”

“Uh, I don't think that's gonna work. Come on, you need to get off the floor.”

“I live here now.”

“You can do it. Come on.” Chan stood up, gently pulling Minho to his feet. “There you go. Think you can make it?”

Minho nodded, one hand on his stomach and the other holding on to Chan. Chan's hair was a mess of wild half-curls that only seemed to appear when he slept. Minho had noticed it when he first came in, but now that he felt less like he was dying, it seemed – just a tiny bit – funny. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to his head.

It definitely was, actually.

“Okay,” Chan said. “Let's go get some sleep.”

“Your hair looks stupid.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Minho let go of him as they made their way out of the bathroom, but Chan kept an arm around him just in case. Once they'd made the short journey to his room, Chan switched on a lamp and Minho crawled into bed without hesitation, curling up on his side. Chan took the waste bin from beside his desk and set it by the bed. “Here's the bin if you need it. Don't go to sleep yet, though. I'm gonna see if we have any medicine.”

Minho was already starting to drift off when Chan came back with a water bottle, a sports drink, and a box of cold medicine. He set them all on the nightstand. “You still awake?”

“Mm...”

“We don't have anything specifically for stomachs, but this should help a little.” He took out two pills and nudged them into Minho's hand. “Here, Minho, take these. You need to drink a little too.”

Minho slowly brought the pills to his mouth, too tired to even try sitting up. Chan handed him the water and helped him drink so he didn't spill it all over the pillow. He took a few sips, then stopped. “Try to drink a little more,” Chan coaxed. “You threw up a lot.”

Minho managed a few more sips, then refused to drink any more. Chan set the water back on the nightstand. “Okay, you can sleep now. We'll get you some more medicine in the morning.” He pulled the covers up over Minho, then changed his shirt, which was still a bit damp from Minho crying on him. Then he turned off the light and got into bed himself.

“Are you staying?” Minho asked faintly.

“Yeah, I'm staying. Just wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“But I don't wanna... wake you up.”

“It's okay. I don't mind. Try to get some sleep.” Chan closed his eyes and started rubbing at the back of Minho's neck. It was pretty much a habit now.

“What if I have to puke again?”

“Just try to aim for the bin. Don't worry about anything, okay? It's all fine.”

Minho didn't have the energy to say anything else. He was asleep a minute later.

***

When Minho woke up, he didn't realize he'd slept at all. His mind was barely awake and the only thing he could process was that he was too hot. That, and he was about to vomit – right now.

An involuntary moan escaped him as he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and fumbled for the bin. There was a little light coming through the curtains now, but he grabbed it blindly as he started coughing. He gagged over the floor before he could get himself upright. His limbs felt like jelly and he was grateful when someone pulled him to sit up. His brain was slow to realize it was Chan. He knew that calming voice even if he didn't quite understand what he was saying.

“Alright, I got you. Just let it out.” Chan sat behind him, one hand holding him up and the other holding the bin in front of him. Minho clung to it weakly and retched, bringing up a mouthful of acid. “That's it,” Chan said as he coughed. “Get it out. It's okay.”

His stomach had no trouble emptying itself this time. Something in the back of his mind told him this was a good thing, but he didn't want to throw up anymore. He was so tired he could barely think, and he didn't have any control over his body now. He felt like he was just along for the ride – a horrible, disgusting ride that he was cursed to endure. He wanted Chan to make it stop. “Hyung...” he whined, hardly even aware he was speaking out loud.

“It's okay,” Chan said. “I'm right here. You're good.”

Minho threw up until there was nothing left in him, bringing up mostly bile and saliva, and then he was reduced to dry-heaves again. Suddenly he understood what a towel felt like when it was being wrung out. It was painful, but there was nothing he could do except let his body run its course. Chan's grip was the only thing keeping him upright. He didn't even try to process what he was saying. He was still speaking Korean – Minho was pretty sure about that – but his mind just couldn't keep up. The words sounded nice, whatever they were.

At some point, through the haze of his misery, he realized vaguely that Chan was talking to someone else. There was another voice in the room now and a hand started carding through his hair. He kept heaving while the new voice spoke to him softly. It was so familiar, so comforting even if its words sounded muddled. He realized the hand in his hair wasn't Chan's. The notes of anxiety mixed with sympathy suddenly registered as Jisung, and his presence snapped Minho into a bit of clarity. “Hyungie, you're empty. Just breathe, come on.”

He tried, but he still wasn't quite in control of himself. Jisung and Chan continued to soothe him until the heaves stopped. Minho panted over the bin, practically limp in Chan's hold. He blinked slowly, noticing his lap and the bin were much more visible now. Someone had apparently turned on the lamp and he wished they would turn it back off.

“You think you're done, Minho?” Chan asked gently.

When he didn't respond, Jisung leaned closer to him and rubbed his neck. “Hyung, are you done now?”

Minho nodded slightly, sniffling.

“Oh, hyung.” Jisung crouched down in front him, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his thumb. “It's okay. You must be so tired.”

Tears. Had he been crying again? He didn't even know now. All he knew was that he wanted to go back to sleep, and he was still too hot. The hoodie felt suffocating and he felt like he was melting inside it.

A tissue was suddenly held under his nose. “Here, hyung, blow.”

Minho did as he was told, blowing his nose and then letting Jisung wipe off his face.

“Just drop it in the bin,” Chan said when he was finished. “I'm gonna go clean it out if you can watch him for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I'll be right back, Minho, okay? Hannie's gonna stay with you.” Jisung steadied Minho while Chan let go of him. “I need to get the thermometer too. Can you try to get him to drink something?”

“Yeah. Which one?”

“Either one. Just get something in him.”

“Okay.”

Chan left with the bin and Jisung took the water bottle from the nightstand. “Here, hyung. You need to have some water, okay?”

Minho blinked sluggishly at it – it was so hard to keep his eyes open – but then he ignored it and started trying to take off the hoodie, without much success.

“You want the hoodie off?”

“Too hot,” he whined.

“Okay, let me help you.” Minho was like a limp doll as Jisung slipped the hoodie off of him. “There you go. Is that better?”

He looked relieved for a moment, still panting, but then his face scrunched up and he started tugging at his T-shirt.

“You want your shirt off too?” He nodded and Jisung peeled the damp shirt off him, adding it to the pile on the floor. “There. That has to feel better, huh?”

Minho didn't reply, too busy reveling in the feeling of cool air hitting his skin. Now that he was no longer melting, he tried to lay down, but Jisung stopped him.

“No, no, wait. Don't lay down yet. You need to drink something first, or you're gonna get dehydrated.”

Minho groaned faintly. He just wanted to sleep.

“I know. Just try for me and Channie-hyung, okay?” Jisung held the bottle to his lips and he sipped at it slowly. “That's it. Nice and slow.”

Once he actually tasted the water, he realized he was extremely thirsty, but he didn't get much down before he tried to stop.

“Keep going, hyung. You need more than that.”

Minho just turned his head away with a small sound of protest.

“Hyung, come on. Just a little more and you can sleep, okay?”

He reluctantly gave in and drank some more. It still wasn't much, but Jisung seemed satisfied. “Okay, good job. That should make you feel a little better.”

Minho let himself flop back down onto the pillow. His body felt so heavy, like he could sink right through the bed. He felt Jisung's hand in his hair again and he thought he heard him sigh. “Why didn't you tell me, hyung?”

Minho was too tired to respond or even feel guilty. He heard Jisung talking to Chan again, but he didn't try to understand what they were saying. He was pretty sure he felt the thermometer in his ear and then he was asleep.

Chapter Text

The next time Minho woke up, he really didn't want to. He wanted to stay in the cozy realm of fever dreams with giant cats and six-legged ferrets and be berated by a talking egg. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was probably better than whatever torment his body had in store for him.

His whole body ached. He could feel it before he even moved – he wasn't sure if he could move, actually. His limbs felt less like jelly now and more like lead weights. His eyelids felt like they were glued together, his throat felt raw, and it was annoyingly hard to breathe through his nose for some reason. Yeah, fever dreams were better than this.

“You awake, hyung?”

Minho pried his eyes open to see Jisung sitting next to him on the bed, phone in hand and no longer in pajamas. This made sense as it was apparently daytime now. “Hey,” he said quietly.

Minho just groaned and looked around, squinting against the light. The curtains were only half open, but why did the sun have to be so bright? Two new bottles of medicine now stood on the nightstand, along with his phone, the thermometer and a box of tissues. He was pretty sure none of that had been there before. He also noticed Chan was gone.

“How do you feel?” Jisung asked.

“Everything hurts,” Minho said, physically cringing at how hoarse his voice was.

“Sick hurt or just bad night hurt?”

“Both.” He tried to stretch the aches out of his body, but stopped short with a look of aggravation. “My skin hurts.”

Jisung chuckled, partly out of pity and partly from relief that Minho was coherent now. “Yeah, you're sick. And you have a high fever, by the way. How's your stomach?”

Minho paused to assess the state of his stomach. It was hard to distinguish the feeling of muscle strain from an angry organ. He was definitely feeling both, but neither was terrible. It was just felt... sore. Thankfully, the nausea was mostly gone. “It's not that bad right now.”

“Well, that's good. Do you think you can get some more medicine down? Me and Jeongin got some stuff for your stomach if you want it.”

“Give it.” Minho tried to sit up, but every muscle in his torso had apparently given up after last night's exertion, so he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

Jisung offered him the thick, pink liquid from one of the bottles, which he wasn't exactly fond of, but he took it anyway while Jisung read the label on the box of cold medicine. “This one helps with body aches,” he noted, then handed the pills to Minho along with the sports drink Chan had brought in. “You really need to drink some of this. You're probably super dehydrated right now.”

Minho didn't argue. He took the pills, then sipped at the sports drink for a while before giving it back to Jisung and laying down again. “Channie-hyung?” he asked.

“He's getting cleaned up.” Jisung sat down on the edge of the bed next to Minho and started massaging his legs through the blankets.

“Is everyone still here?”

“Yeah. It's not even noon yet. I'll take you home whenever you're ready.”

Minho groaned. “I don't wanna move.”

“We don't have to go right away,” Jisung said. “Chan said we can stay all day if we want.”

“Me too?”

“Of course you too. He's not gonna kick you out just because you got sick.”

“He should. I already contaminated his room.”

“He doesn't care. You know he likes taking care of you.”

Minho just gave a dismissive grunt, then coughed. Jisung had that sympathetic but gently chiding look that he was far too used to.

“Why didn't you tell me you felt so bad? I would've stayed home with you.”

“I wanted to come,” Minho said quietly. “I didn't know I was sick.”

Jisung looked doubtful.

“I really didn't. I thought I was just worn out from everything. I mean, until we were already here and I felt like I was dying.” Minho looked down at his bare chest, confused. “What happened to my shirt?”

“You wanted it off 'cause you were hot.”

“Ah.” He had no memory of that. How sick had he been last night?

“Do you want a shirt?”

“No.” He let out a deep sigh, trying to stretch the stiffness out of his joints again, then settled back and stared blankly at the ceiling. “Last night was like hell.”

“I know. Chan told me you wouldn't get off the floor.”

Minho paused, eyes narrowing. “What else did he tell you?”

“Pretty much everything.”

“Traitor.”

“He was just worried about you. You never get sick like that.”

He groaned again. “Stupid virus... or whatever this is.”

Jisung suddenly looked thoughtful. “Hey, can I feel your stomach real quick? I'll be gentle.”

“Why?”

“Just to make sure you're not dying or anything.” There was a humorous lilt to his voice, but Minho knew he was concerned. He'd probably spent at least part of the morning consulting Dr. Google about what might be wrong with him, which had never done much to calm anyone's nerves.

“I guess.” Minho shoved the covers out of the way and allowed him to press around on his belly. It wasn't as gentle as he expected – it felt more like Jisung was deliberately trying to squeeze his organs – but his only sign of discomfort was a heavy breath.

“Does any of this hurt?”

“It doesn't feel good.”

“But not horrible?”

“No, it's just kind of sore.”

“Well, you're probably not dying, then.”

“Yaaaay,” Minho drawled out. Jisung pulled the blankets back up with a sympathetic chuckle.

“You poor dummy. I was worried about you, too, you know. You were pretty out of it for a while. Do you remember anything?”

“A little,” Minho said. “You were there.”

“Yeah. I woke up and you and Chan were gone, then I heard you in here.”

“I threw up again, didn't I?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“'Cause you and Chan had to deal with that.”

“It's okay. We don't mind.”

“You didn't feel sick watching me like that?”

“What, you think I can't handle a sick hyung?”

Minho gave him a look. Experience had taught him the sensitive boy didn't do well around vomit.

“You were pretty much just dry-heaving when I came in,” he explained. “It didn't bother me. I just felt bad for you.”

“Well, stop that.”

“Everyone feels bad for you. It was supposed to be our fun day off and you're just... a mess.”

“I'm sorry I ruined movie night. I should've just stayed home.”

“Will you stop apologizing? You didn't ruin anything. Everyone had a good time except you.”

Minho just gave an apathetic groan.

“Do you wanna get up for a while,” Jisung suggested, “maybe try to eat?”

“Absolutely not. If no one's kicking me out, I'm staying right here. I'm exhausted.” Minho shuffled further under the blankets.

“Well, I brought your phone in. And the bin's still here if you need it. It's clean. I was just gonna hang out in here for a while if you don't mind, try to work on some lyrics.”

“You don't have to stay with me. I'm fine.”

“I know, but I really don't mind. It's nice and quiet in here.” Jisung went back to the other side of the bed and took out his phone again. “And watching you sleep is actually really relaxing.”

Minho already had his eyes closed. “That's creepy.”

“At least I don't stand over you like a vampire when you sleep,” Jisung replied.

“I'm supposed to be creepy,” Minho shot back. “It's my job.”

“Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He actually smirked a little. “Yes.”

“Go to sleep,” Jisung said. “The medicine should kick in pretty soon.” There was a pause, and then he muttered, “Maybe I will stare at you like a vampire, just to see how you like it.”

“You don't get to blame me if I punch you.”

“Deal.”

Minho tried to go back to sleep, but a few minutes later Changbin showed up at the door with a bowl of instant rice and a steaming cup of chicken broth, which he handed off to Jisung. He noticed Minho was awake, watching them through half-lidded eyes. “Good morning, hyung,” he said cheerfully, for once blessedly quiet. Minho just groaned.

“How's he doing?” Changbin asked quietly.

“Not good,” Jisung said, “but better than last night. I think it's just the stomach flu.”

“Oh, that's not good.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, just text me if he wants something else and I'll bring it.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Changbin left and Jisung brought the food over to the now-crowded nightstand. “Are you sure you don't wanna try eating a little? Or maybe just have some broth? It might make you feel better.”

As empty as his stomach felt, Minho didn't feel like eating yet, and after throwing up last night's ramen, the smell of chicken broth wasn't very appealing. “Not right now. I just wanna sleep.”

“Okay. It'll be here if you want it later.”

Once again, Minho tried to sleep. The muffled sounds of the others talking and laughing in the living room didn't bother him. It was familiar, almost comforting in a way, and he was still exhausted. He wouldn't be surprised if he slept for a week.

But as hard as he tried, he couldn't. He was so sore and his chills were back at full force. No part of him felt comfortable and no amount of blankets felt warm enough. How long did that stupid medicine take to start working?

***

After a while, Chan came in quietly, showered and dressed. Minho pried his eyes open again to see who it was, feeling a stab of guilt at how tired he looked. Chan, though, just seemed happy to see him awake. “Hey, good morning,” he said, immediately coming over to the bed.

“Hey,” Minho mumbled.

Chan looked him over, pulling the blankets up a bit when he noticed he was shivering. “How does your stomach feel?”

“Better, but everything else hurts now.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Your voice sounds rough too.”

“No singing for me.”

Chan rubbed at his shoulder through the blankets. “You got it pretty bad this time, didn't you?”

“It's probably just the stomach flu,” Jisung chimed in.

“Yeah,” Chan sighed, “that sounds about right.”

Jisung gave him a sympathetic expression, which Minho didn't notice, then looked down at the sick boy. “Well, this sucks.”

Minho had to smile a little at his brevity. “Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, it does,” Chan agreed. “I'm glad your stomach feels better, though. Hopefully you'll get over this fast.” He felt Minho's forehead, which was still hot. “Did you take some more medicine?”

“He took both kinds,” Jisung said after Minho nodded.

“Good. That should bring your fever down a little. Do you need anything?”

“A new body,” Minho said.

“Well, I can't give you that.”

“Sure you can. Try swapping with me.” He looked Chan straight in the eyes with an intense expression. “Maybe if we focus hard enough, it'll work.”

Chan sighed fondly. At least Minho's unsettling sense of humor was back. “I don't think you want this old, worn out body.”

“But... muscles.”

“You'd be shorter.”

“Never mind.”

“Well, if you don't need anything, I'm gonna go entertain the kids for a while. I just wanted to check in, make sure Han's keeping you alive.”

“Barely,” Minho joked.

“I'm the best, man,” Jisung replied.

“And you guys don't have to rush off either,” Chan added. “Take your time, sleep if you want, okay?”

He left the two of them alone, and Minho resumed his tedious attempt at napping. “I feel like he's babying me,” he said.

Jisung just nodded. “Yep.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hm.” Minho shut his eyes again. As long as he didn't have to move for a while, maybe it wasn't a bad thing. “I'm okay with that. Good night.”

“Good night, hyung.”

***

It wasn't long before the medicine finally started to work its magic and the pain in his body started to ease a little. His fever had went down slightly (Jisung insisted on taking his temperature again) and his head felt a little bit less like it was full of sludge. He stopped tossing and turning, finally able to relax, and Jisung was mindlessly running his fingers through his hair as he scrolled through his phone.

Eventually he stopped and Minho, who had almost fallen asleep from the pleasant sensation, tugged on his shirt. Jisung looked down at him. “What?”

“I didn't say you could stop,” Minho said, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Stop what?”

“Hair.”

Jisung just chuckled and continued playing with his hair. “You turn into such a needy cat when you're sick.”

Minho didn't respond. He simply returned to his peaceful half-sleep until there was a barely audible ping from Jisung's phone.

“Hyunjin wants to know if you're awake.”

“Tell him I'm not.”

“He says he's not,” Jisung muttered as he typed it out. Minho shot him a weak glare, which he didn't notice. There was another ping as Hyunjin replied. “He wants to know if everyone can come say goodbye to you now so they don't have to bother you later when they leave.”

Minho sighed. Curse those precious idiots and their thoughtful hearts. “Fine, but get me a shirt first.”

“What for, dignity?”

“No, I'm cold. And for dignity. I'm sweaty and gross right now.”

“Yeah, you are. Poor baby.” Jisung patted his head and then went to find him a clean shirt.

After he was fully clothed and sitting up (kind of), Hyunjin and Felix showed up in the doorway with a quiet “Hi, hyung” and “Good morning”, followed by Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin. Seungmin, as usual, chose to be less delicate. “You look terrible,” he said honestly.

“I'm beautiful for a zombie,” Minho replied. “Are you leaving now?”

“Pretty soon,” Felix said. “We didn't wanna bother you if you were sleeping when we left.”

“Try to have fun without me today. I know it'll be hard, but be strong. Don't mourn me for too long.”

“We'll pretend you're there with us.”

“Threatening us like usual,” Hyunjin said.

“Trying to strangle us, probably,” Seungmin added.

Minho smirked, just a little. “Yeah, do that.”

Hyunjin, Changbin, and Seungmin kept their goodbyes short and then left, but Felix and Jeongin stayed behind. Jeongin looked uneasy and Minho knew he was the reason. “Iyen, last night was fun,” he said lightly. “Sorry I got sick.”

“It's okay, hyung,” Jeongin replied, with all the kindness in the world. “You didn't have to come if you didn't want to, you know.”

“I didn't wanna miss your sleepover. I didn't think I'd be puking all night, but that's life. Are you leaving, too?”

“I'm going with Felix-hyung and Seungmin-hyung, but not for a while.”

“Have fun. And good job with the decorating. It's nice, much better than anything Chan could've come up with.”

“Uh, thanks?” Jeongin looked awkwardly down the hall at someone Minho couldn't see.

“No, no, he's right,” he heard Chan say. “It would've been a disaster if it was just me.”

Both Jeongin and Felix grinned at that, and Jisung nodded from his spot beside Minho.

“I'll see you later, hyung,” Jeongin told Minho. “Thanks for coming even though you didn't feel good. Get better fast, okay?”

“Bye, Innie.”

Jeongin wandered off and Felix was now alone in the doorway, looking a little sad. There was so much sympathy in those big, dark eyes that Minho wanted to physically attack whatever stupid virus made their sunshine worry over him. He smiled as best as he could and reached out to him. “Yongbokkie.”

Felix's face instantly brightened and he practically ran over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I'm sorry you feel so bad, hyung.”

“It's okay. It won't last very long. If it does, I'll scream.” Minho glared at nothing in particular, and Felix almost laughed. “But if I'm not better by tomorrow, don't let everyone practice too hard without me.”

Felix just smiled sadly. They both knew Minho wouldn't be dancing tomorrow, if Jisung even let him get out of bed.

“Yeah?”

“Okay.” Felix nodded. “Can I hug you before I go?”

Minho held out a welcoming arm and Felix leaned over to wrap him in a gentle hug. It was a bit hard to breathe with Felix almost laying on top of him, but he appreciated the pure, innocent affection more than he was willing to admit. “Okay, you have to go now, Bokkie. I don't want you to get sick, too.”

Felix sat up reluctantly and brushed Minho's tussled hair out of his face. “I hope you feel better really fast. Try to sleep a lot.”

“I will. Now go enjoy your day off so I can live through you vicariously.”

“Okay. Bye, hyung.”

Felix left, striding past Chan who'd been watching the exchange from the door, and Minho laid down again. Jisung asked him if he needed anything and then left as well, saying he'd be back.

Once he was gone, Chan came in, closing the door and taking Felix's spot on the edge of the bed.

“Are you leaving?” Minho asked him.

“No,” he said, sounding tired, “I'm gonna stay here today, I think.”

“I should get sick more often. I feel so loved. How much did you tell them?”

“Only that you threw up. You know they love you.”

Minho's brow furrowed with thought. “What happened last night? I'm not supposed to get sick like this.”

“Well, we've been busy, and you've really been pushing yourself with the choreo – with everything, actually. Maybe you caught something and your body just couldn't handle everything all at once.”

“My body's stupid, then.”

Chan smiled a little, then sighed. “Do you mind if I lay down for a while?”

“It's your bed, hyung.”

“Well, I still don't wanna bother you.”

“You won't. It's fine.”

Chan went around to the other side of the bed, and once again Minho felt guilty for keeping him awake all night. He looked so tired, much more so than yesterday. And his voice was a bit off, Minho realized. It sounded weaker than usual, maybe a little more nasal.

“But why am I still here?” Minho started to try and push himself up. “I don't need to be in your room all day.”

“Stay put,” Chan said. “You can stay in here as long as you want. I'm just tired.”

Minho turned onto his side, facing away from him as the older boy settled under the blankets. After a moment, he shuffled closer to Minho and wrapped his arms around him. Minho didn't miss his quiet sniffle. “You're really gonna get sick if you keep doing this,” he said.

“Mm, pretty sure I'm already sick,” Chan replied. Minho didn't say anything to that, but Chan could almost feel the guilt radiating off him, and a bit of confusion. “It's not your fault. I've been feeling off since yesterday. We probably caught the same thing.”

There was a pause, and then Chan almost smiled as a hint of Minho's usual indignant self returned. “Why didn't you say something? We could've just came over a different night and avoided this whole mess.”

“Well, I didn't know I was sick, either. I thought I was just tired.”

Minho sighed inaudibly. “I'm sorry you had to stay up with me all night.”

“I didn't have to. I never mind taking care of you when you're sick, or any other time. You just have to let me, you know?”

“Why are we still so bad at taking care of ourselves?”

“I thought we'd been doing pretty good lately.”

“Maybe you have. I felt like I got punched in the stomach and I still danced all day. Then I came over here and even tried to drink.”

Chan just hummed. “Old habits. Bad habits.”

“I could've just stayed home,” Minho went on, “and my quokka slave would serenade me and bring me tea as I barely cling to life.” Chan chuckled softly against his back, and then Minho added, “And he wouldn't take advantage of my weakness to cuddle me like a baby.”

“Yes, he would.”

Minho let out a deep sigh. “He would.”

“I know you like it.” Chan squeezed him tighter and he just groaned. “And what am I supposed to do with my arms, huh?”

“Try laying the other way.”

“With my feet in your face?”

“I meant turn over, but sure. I don't care.”

“Alright.” Chan sat up and started moving the blankets, but Minho groaned even louder.

“Lay down and stop moving the bed, or I'm gonna puke again.”

Chan laid down again, but he refrained from cuddling him. Minho shifted, coughing weakly as he struggled to get comfortable.

“You're still pretty sore, aren't you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Chan started rubbing at the back of his neck like he'd done the night before.

“What about you?” Minho asked quietly.

“I'm okay for now,” Chan said. If he was stiff nearly everywhere from sitting on the bathroom floor for so long, Minho didn't need to know that. It wasn't the bone-deep ache that came with illness, not yet at least. “Just tired and kind of stuffy, and my stomach's a little off. I might not get it as bad as you... hopefully.”

“But we can't be sick now. There's too much to do.”

“It's okay if we need to take it easy for a few days.”

“But we're so close to the tour.”

“There's plenty of time to get ready for the tour. But today is our day off, so we can just relax, even if it kind of sucks. And if we can't get things done tomorrow, that's okay too. I already got our schedules pushed back.”

Chan couldn't see Minho's look of confusion. “What happened to the old Chan,” he said, “the guy who never slept and ran himself ragged all the time?”

“He finally learned to relax a little,” Chan replied.

“So it only took six years of everyone telling you to slow down, huh?”

“You were right, everyone was right. I'm trying.”

“Now I'm turning into you,” Minho groaned. “What a nightmare.”

“Worry about the tour later, okay? We finally have time to sleep, so let's just sleep, and maybe tomorrow we won't feel like we got hit by a truck. I mean, we probably will, but... maybe you'll feel a little better, at least.”

It wasn't long before Chan's hand on his neck stilled. “Thanks for taking care of me, hyung,” he said quietly.

“You're welcome, you poor little devil bunny.”

“Poor old wolf, so close to the end.”

Chan smacked him lightly on the arm, but he was snickering. Minho just grinned to himself, already beginning to doze off.

When Jisung came back five minutes later, they were both asleep. Chan's arm was draped over Minho almost protectively and Minho looked content. Jisung snapped a quick photo and decided to let them sleep for a while before taking Minho home. In the meantime, he talked Jeongin through the delicate task of caring for a sick Chan. He knew from experience the poor maknae was going to have his hands full.