Archive of Our Own

1.

Gunil loved Jooyeon dearly. Aside from there being plenty to love about him, he felt, in some ways, like he’d raised that boy himself. They represented the age bracket of the band and, fittingly, had been the earliest members; the rest of the group had been gradually arranged between them like books between bookends. It wasn’t long ago that Jooyeon had been a child, a legal minor, scrawny frame swamped by the too-big bass he was still learning to play. It wasn’t that long ago that Gunil had been waking Jooyeon up for school—the task of the century.

Indeed, Gunil loved Jooyeon, but he didn’t love waking him up.

Nearly a year into debut, the task hadn’t gotten any easier. It had gotten harder, if anything, and at the same time, more pertinent. Their promotion schedule often necessitated punishingly early rises, and being late had very real consequences—which, as the leader, fell on Gunil first and foremost, even if he’d done everything humanly possible to get everyone out the door on time.

“Jooyeon, I swear to God, if you don’t get out of bed in the next five minutes, I will use force.”

The lump on the top bunk neither stirred nor made any sound or any indication that he’d heard Gunil—or that he was even alive.

Gunil grabbed a pillow from his own bunk and thwacked Jooyeon with it, eliciting a pathetic groan.

“Nooo,” Jooyeon whined softly, curling into a more compact lump. “S-so… cold…”

Gunil sighed. It was a brisk morning, the season having taken a sharp and sudden turn from summer into winter within seemingly only a couple of weeks. Autumn? Missing in action.

“Four minutes,” Gunil said, then marched out of the room, leaving the door wide open so that the sounds of the others bustling around the dorm getting ready might help rouse Jooyeon.

In the living room, Hyeongjun was pulling a brush through his tangle of hair while Jungsu sleepily packed a pair of headphones into his backpack. In Jiseok and Seungmin’s room, Gunil found Seungmin dabbing a generous amount of sunscreen onto his face.

“Jiseok in the bathroom?” Gunil asked.

“Jiseok right behind you,” Jiseok said from behind Gunil. He hugged himself and shivered. “It’s freezing this morning. Jooyeon up yet?”

Gunil smiled blankly. “What do you think?”

“From the vein about to pop out of your head, I’m guessing… no?”

“We can always just toss him in the car when we need to leave,” Seungmin suggested, examining his face in the mirror to make sure his sunscreen had absorbed properly.

“Let me try,” said Jiseok, scurrying off towards Gunil and Jooyeon’s room.

Gunil exchanged a hopeless look with Seungmin—the only other one to have ever shared a room with Jooyeon and thus the only one to understand Gunil’s suffering—and followed.

He reached the room in time to see Jiseok climbing up to the top bunk.

“Incoming!” he cried, bodily throwing himself onto the Jooyeon-shaped lump, which let out a long, muffled groan.

“Why?” Jooyeon moaned. “Get off…”

“Only if you agree to get up,” said Jiseok. “Come on, Hyung’s about to have a conniption. I don’t even know what a conniption is, but I don’t really want to find out—do you?”

Jooyeon whined pathetically, like a puppy locked outside. “I think I have a fever.”

Gunil felt his eyebrows draw inwards of their own accord. Jiseok’s head popped up, locking gazes with Gunil, eyes wide with earnest alarm.

“You don’t feel good?” he asked, turning back to Jooyeon.

“So cold,” Jooyeon mumbled. “Can’t get warm.”

“Check his temperature,” said Gunil.

Jiseok nodded, pulling his knees under him to sit up beside The Lump while he located Jooyeon’s forehead beyond the mess of blankets and hair—only for Jooyeon to jerk away.

“Hey!” Jiseok protested. “Stay still, you!”

“Your hand is freezing!” Jooyeon complained.

“Is he warm?” Gunil questioned.

“Um… yes?” Jiseok said uncertainly.

Gunil sighed—a heavy sigh that he felt deep in his chest. “Go finish getting ready, Jiseok. I’ll get the thermometer.”

After a trip to the kitchen to find aforementioned thermometer, Gunil returned to his and Jooyeon’s room to find that Jooyeon had resumed his position as an irregular tumour in the middle of the mattress. Feeling impatient—and a little guilty for it, because what if Jooyeon really was sick?—Gunil climbed up onto the top bunk and tapped Jooyeon’s side.

“Here.”

Jooyeon lifted his head, peering dolefully at Gunil through his hair. Was Gunil imagining it, or did Jooyeon’s cheeks really look a bit pink, his eyes a bit watery? He obligingly opened his mouth for Gunil to stick the thermometer under his tongue, then closed his eyes while the two of them waited in silence for the beep beep that signalled a finished reading.

Holding the thermometer gingerly between thumb and forefinger, Gunil held it up to see what it said.

36.7°C.

Gunil felt another sigh building all the way down from somewhere near his diaphragm. He held it back.

“Jooyeon,” he said. “You don’t have a fever. You have the most normal temperature I’ve ever seen. My temperature is probably higher than this.”

Jooyeon pouted. “Then why can’t I get warm?”

Gunil smacked his shoulder. “Because you won’t get up and get moving!”

2.

Jungsu considered himself a gentle person, but sometimes he felt like his form was at odds with his nature. Not like he was huge or anything, but nor was he small. Having grown up with a younger sister, there’d been times when he’d underestimated his own strength while playing, ending in tears from both of them—from his sister because Jungsu had accidentally hurt her, and from Jungsu because he felt terrible about it.

It wasn’t so much an issue with other boys, but even now, debuted in a band, there was the rare occasion when Jungsu would accidentally hurt one of the others. It was usually just out of clumsiness, and it was usually Jiseok or Jooyeon, because, to be fair, they kinda had a tendency to get in the way. And maybe sometimes they deserved it.

For example, Jungsu should have been perfectly clear to step back from the corner of the practice room where he was setting up a tripod and camera to monitor their rehearsal, but Jooyeon had followed him over, rambling on about the anime he was watching that he thought Jungsu would like (he was trying very hard to get Jungsu into anime, and Jungsu didn’t know how to tell him that he just wasn’t interested). So when Jungsu stepped back, unaware of how close Jooyeon was standing, he collided with him, foot landing directly on top of Jooyeon’s.

Jooyeon yelped in pain and grabbed at Jungsu as he started to topple over. With garbled apologies, Jungsu managed to twist around in time to grab him and steady him. Later, he would almost wish he’d let Jooyeon fall over.

“Fuck, that hurt! Hyung, why are you so heavy? Did you have to break my foot? Ow!” Jooyeon griped, hopping in place before sitting down on the floor and clutching the injured foot—which was clad only, of course, in socks and slides.

“I didn’t realise you were right there!” Jungsu protested. “It is not broken.”

Jooyeon looked up at Jungsu, eyebrows raised and eyes petulantly wide. “How do you know? I didn’t know you had X-ray vision, Hyung.”

Jungsu rolled his eyes. “Because I’m fairly certain it would take more than me stepping on your foot to break it.” He held out a hand. “But I am sorry.”

And he did feel bad. Even though he knew, sensibly, that Jooyeon was just being dramatic, the ever-present dramatist in the back of his own mind was running through potential scenarios in which Jooyeon’s foot really was broken and it was going to ruin tomorrow’s performance and it was all Jungsu’s fault.

“It feels like someone dropped a piano on my foot, never mind the pianist,” Jooyeon insisted, nonetheless taking Jungsu’s hand and letting him pull him to his feet. He took a careful step and hissed. “Okay, it does actually feel pretty sore, I’m not making that up.”

Jungsu’s heart sank. Just a little.

Throughout rehearsal, Jooyeon remained seated with his bass in his lap and his sore foot stretched out in front of him. He otherwise seemed unaffected, and eventually, Jungsu was able to convince himself to stop feeling bad and focus.

But then rehearsal ended, and they started to pack up. Jooyeon got up from his seat to put away his bass, walking with a very obvious limp from chair to bass stand.

“Why are you limping?” inquired Jiseok, who had barely gotten here on time and thus not witnessed the great Jungsu–Jooyeon collision in the corner.

“Jungsu-hyung crushed my foot with his massive hooves,” Jooyeon explained.

Jungsu’s jaw dropped. “Hooves?!”

“He barely stepped on your toes, I watched it happen,” Seungmin chimed in from the other side of the room. Good, reliable Seungmin. Jungsu didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“Either way, it hurts to walk,” Jooyeon said with a shrug.

Jiseok frowned. “Maybe you should get it checked at a hospital.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jooyeon sighed. “I’ll soldier through it.”

But when it came time to walk back to the dorm, Jooyeon was hissing with every hobbling step. Jiseok walked beside him, hand on his arm, genuine concern on his face—which did nothing but make Jungsu feel worse.

“So much for soldiering through it,” Hyeongjun muttered from the back of the group.

“That’s our Jooyeon,” Gunil sighed—part fond, part long-suffering.

“Oh, for God’s sake, here,” said Jungsu, crossing in front of Jooyeon, stopping, and crouching down slightly: an invitation for a piggyback.

“It’s the least you can do, really,” Jooyeon said loftily, clambering onto Jungsu’s back without missing a beat.

Although he instantly really wanted to drop him, Jungsu swallowed down his annoyance and hoisted Jooyeon into a more secure position on his back. The problem with carrying Jooyeon wasn’t that he weighed a lot—because he really, really didn’t—but that he was so absurdly bony, like carrying a human-shaped cactus with unyielding spines. Jungsu wasn’t even sure what parts of Jooyeon were digging into him, or if perhaps their bassist’s skeleton was just specifically designed to make this task as difficult as possible. Jungsu wouldn’t have been surprised.

When they finally reached the dorm, Jungsu set Jooyeon down in the entryway to take off his shoes.

“Thanks, Hyung,” Jooyeon said blithely, kicking off his slides and then sauntering down the hall. Totally unimpeded. No sign of a limp.

Jungsu stared after him, silently fuming, until he felt a small hand patting his shoulder.

“It’s not the first time,” Jiseok said sagely, “and it won’t be the last.”

3.

Of all the superlatives Jiseok wouldn’t have minded having, relative to the other members, “weakest immune system” was not on the list. But, unfortunately, he had no choice in the matter—and thus, whenever there were whispers of some rhinovirus or influenza strain or even a fresh wave of COVID haunting the halls of JYP Entertainment, the best he could do was prepare himself.

To make matters worse, the two members who tended to cling to him like leeches, regardless of whether or not he was contagious, could possibly be attributed the titles of “second-weakest immune system” and “third-weakest immune system”.

So, either Jungsu or Jooyeon or both almost always ended up catching whatever Jiseok had, which always made Jiseok feel awful. Those were their main vocalists for fuck’s sake, they kinda needed them with healthy throats and clear airways—why did they lack basic self-preservation?

Naturally, it had only gotten worse since moving dorms, because Jungsu, as the eldest in their halved household, clearly felt responsible for (and enjoyed) taking care of Jiseok and Jooyeon as if they were his pets. Thus, Jiseok being sick activated Jungsu’s mother-henning instinct, which in turn activated Jooyeon’s need to turn the weirdest things into a competition.

Jiseok didn’t mind, necessarily—or wouldn’t have, if the ordeal didn’t inevitably result in him waking up to find that one or the other of them had gotten themselves infected.

This time, it was Jooyeon. It was maybe the fourth day since Jiseok had first come down with this cold, and he woke with a horribly stuffy nose, but at least it no longer felt like there were a million tiny claws lodged in his throat. He dragged himself to the bathroom to relieve himself and blow his nose and brush his teeth and blow his nose, and it was as he was flushing his third wad of snotty toilet paper that he heard a pathetic cough from elsewhere in the apartment.

He knew that cough.

Dragging himself into the kitchen, he found Jooyeon sitting at the table in nothing but his boxers, hair resembling a chewed paintbrush, hunched over a glass of water with a pathetic pout on his face.

“Don’t tell me,” Jiseok sighed.

Jooyeon stared up at him through his hair. “I blame you,” he said hoarsely.

“Blame yourself! I warned you not to get too close!”

“Still your fault for catching the bug in the first place,” Jooyeon insisted, then coughed into the back of his hand. Of all the sounds to routinely come out of Jooyeon’s mouth, his cough was Jiseok’s least favourite, and not just because he had a horrifically ugly cough by any standards.

Chewing his lip, Jiseok crossed to the fridge and retrieved the bottle of ginger and honey tea Jungsu had picked up for him, pouring two cups and putting them in the microwave to warm them up slightly—enough to be soothing. Cold drinks only made the throat worse; Jiseok knew this well.

“Do you have a fever?” he asked over his shoulder.

Jooyeon hummed uncertainly. “It’s just my throat that feels bad.”

“That’s always how it starts,” Jiseok muttered. He set the two warm cups down on the table, then reached over to brush aside the hair covering Jooyeon’s face, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jooyeon blinked dolefully at him as he did.

Jiseok frowned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.” He took his hand away. “You don’t feel feverish to me. Take some ibuprofen.”

Jooyeon nodded. “Where is it?”

“It’s in the— Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll get it.”

After fetching the ibuprofen for Jooyeon and sending him to put some damn clothes on, Jiseok took a shower and blew his nose a few more times. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Jungsu had returned from his morning gym session and was in the kitchen fussing over Jooyeon, who had pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt that Jiseok was pretty sure had once been his and was eating some instant porridge.

“How are you feeling today?” was how Jungsu greeted Jiseok.

“Better, I guess,” Jiseok mumbled.

After calling the manager, it was decided that Jooyeon should have the day off to rest and recover his voice as quickly as possible. It was fortunate they didn’t have any important schedules, shoots, or recording sessions today—just the independent work and study they were constantly expected to carry out. Jiseok had already had a couple of days off, and since his biggest problem now was the fact that his nose resembled a leaky tap, there was no reason for him not to go to work.

Still, between his own lingering ailment and the persistent guilt over Jooyeon, Jiseok struggled through the day, having to make a trip to the convenience store to pick up a multipack of tissue packets rather than trotting down to the bathroom every time he needed to blow his nose. After their five-out-of-six ensemble practice in the afternoon, Gunil suggested that he go home early and get some more rest. Jiseok agreed. But not just because he wanted to rest.

When he got back to the dorm, he found Jooyeon lounging in bed playing on his Switch.

“Apple or peach?” Jiseok asked.

Jooyeon glanced up briefly, then shuffled over towards the wall to make room. “Apple.”

Jiseok hesitated only a second before accepting the silent invitation, crossing the room and sitting down in the space Jooyeon had created, handing him the pouch of apple konjac jelly he’d picked up on his way home. He opened the other pouch—peach—for himself.

“Sorry for getting you sick,” he said, leaning back against the pillow and watching Jooyeon’s screen as he played.

“S’alright, I guess,” Jooyeon croaked. “Got a day off out of it. All according to plan.”

All according to plan.

Jiseok understood that it was intended to be a joke, that there was no actual way that Jooyeon could have engineered this whole event. But the next morning, when Jiseok woke, still groggy and snotty and under the weather, he came into the kitchen to find Jooyeon and Jungsu in the midst of an emphatic conversation about whether orange juice was better with or without pulp while Jungsu cooked eggs. Jooyeon, notably, sounded only the slightest bit croaky and looked completely fine—a damn sight better than Jiseok had felt on day two of this cold.

“I thought you were sick,” he accused. “I didn’t dream that, did I?”

“See, I thought I was,” said Jooyeon. “But I feel pretty much normal now? I think I just fucked up my throat in practice the other day.” He grinned and leapt up from his seat at the table. “Let me clean my teeth before you get in the shower.”

He even made sure to slap Jiseok’s ass on his way past him.

Feeling somehow cheated, Jiseok locked eyes with Jungsu, who had nothing to offer but a shrug.

4.

Some might have referred to Oh Seungmin as something of a gym rat, and he had no counterargument against that, so maybe they were right. It was worth noting that he often didn’t have time to go to the gym if they had packed schedules or were in the midst of touring. Not every hotel had a gym after all, let alone a decent one.

The hotel they were staying in at the moment did have a gym—a fairly nice one, according to Gunil, who’d gone there this morning. Seungmin fully intended to take advantage of it before going to bed; he always slept better and woke up feeling better-rested when he worked out in the evening.

For the first time in a while, he was sharing a room with Jooyeon, who, in typical Jooyeon fashion, couldn’t resist a chance to be annoying.

“All that working out, and I bet you still can’t even beat me at arm wrestling,” he teased as they got back to their room after rehearsals.

“Hey, it’s been a while. I bet I could probably destroy you now.”

“Yeah, right,” Jooyeon scoffed.

Seungmin shrugged. “Why don’t we find out?”

Jooyeon grinned cockily. “Alright, but if I win, you have to buy me lunch once we get back to Korea. Samgyeopsal—the good stuff.”

“Okay,” Seungmin agreed. “And if I win… you have to come to the gym with me.”

He saw the slightest flicker of hesitation cross Jooyeon’s face before his grin widened. “Deal.”

Honestly, Seungmin didn’t really care either way—Jooyeon could have just asked him nicely to treat him to samgyeopsal and he would have done it. On the other hand, he did wish Jooyeon would make a greater effort to work out more often, if only for the sake of his health.

They positioned themselves on either side of the little table by the door, clasped hands, and arm wrestled. As ever, Jooyeon’s initial display of strength was impressive. It might have caught Seungmin off guard if he hadn’t been expecting it. All he had to do, he knew, was hold his ground and outlast Jooyeon.

And that was exactly what he did, slowly but surely pressing the back of Jooyeon’s hand against the table as his strength waned.

“Wait, fuck, hold on, can we have a rematch?” Jooyeon complained, his bravado as spent as his arm strength. “Best of three?”

“Nuh-uh, that wasn’t the deal,” said Seungmin. “Come on, then, Jooyeonie, it’s gym time!”

“I really don’t want to, I’m already exhausted,” said Jooyeon. “Will it help if I apologise for underestimating you? Gosh, Seungmin, you’re so strong and muscular and sexy, keep it up, buddy! You have fun with those bench reps or whatever, I’m gonna—”

“A deal is a deal, Jooyeon,” said Seungmin. “How about this—come to the gym with me and I’ll buy you samgyeopsal once we’re back in Korea?”

Jooyeon narrowed his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said. “Okay. Fine.”

Naturally, Seungmin wasn’t going to let Jooyeon off easy. That would be squandering a golden opportunity. He sort of enjoyed playing at personal trainer, actually, even if it did, admittedly, get in the way of his own workout a little. But torturing Jooyeon was just so much fun.

Of course, he didn’t make him do anything too difficult or dangerous, in consideration of the fact that he was not a frequent flyer, but this gym had rowing machines—he would have been remiss not to challenge Jooyeon to a “race”.

It actually seemed like Jooyeon had fun, too, and when they got back to their room, he was too thoroughly spent to even complain. He jumped into the shower without asking Seungmin if he could go first, emerged after all of five minutes, and then rolled into bed and fell dead asleep.

It was the next morning that the complaining started. Getting Jooyeon out of bed was a task and a half on a normal day, and Seungmin supposed that maybe he should have accounted for this, but getting Jooyeon out of bed when he was sore and achy from having gone to the gym for the first time in who even knew how long was… something else. Seungmin had washed and dried his hair, dressed, and made sure he had everything he needed for the day, and Jooyeon was only just dragging himself out of bed, groaning with every movement.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he moaned.

“What doesn’t smear you across the pavement makes you stronger,” Seungmin said sagely. “Take another shower, the heat will loosen up your muscles.”

He did as Seungmin said, but he was still moaning and groaning all the way down to the dining hall ten minutes later, where they found Jiseok and Hyeongjun having breakfast.

Jooyeon groaned loudly as he dropped into the seat beside Jiseok.

“What the hell is wrong with you this morning?” Jiseok greeted.

“Seungmin dragged me to the gym,” Jooyeon grumbled.

“The gym?” Hyeongjun repeated, shocked. “You?” He turned to Seungmin beside him. “How much did you pay him?”

“He lost a bet, didn’t he?” Jiseok guessed.

“Don’t tell them,” Jooyeon said, glaring at Seungmin.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby about it, you baby,” said Seungmin. “Mr. Arm Wrestling Champion here has lost his title.”

Jiseok’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “No!”

“It was a fluke,” Jooyeon muttered through a mouthful of toast.

“It was strategy,” Seungmin corrected. “You have strength but no stamina. You really need to go to the gym more often.”

Jooyeon huffed. “I’m never going again. It’s masochistic.”

“The aches lessen over time,” said Jiseok, massaging Jooyeon’s shoulder with one hand. Jooyeon leaned into the touch like a puppy receiving a good petting. “Or so they tell me—I just go for the treadmill. PT does suck the day after, though, I’ll give you that.”

“You don’t know pain until you’ve tried pilates,” said Hyeongjun.

“Oh, I think I know pain,” Jooyeon said darkly. “It’s what I’m in right now.”

Jiseok let out a lighthearted chuckle. “Just keep moving and it won’t be so bad.”

Seungmin exchanged a glance with Hyeongjun.

“You’ve created a monster,” Hyeongjun said.

“I know,” said Seungmin, grimacing. “My bad.”

5.

As a rookie, there’d been a certain thrill to promoting at music shows. The hustle and bustle in the halls; the glimpses of much more famous, more popular idols; the sense of gravity that came from standing on the studio stage—first for rehearsal, then for the prerecording. The lights, the cameras, the fans. It was thrilling, terrifying, in many ways overwhelming, but overall exciting.

But with every comeback, the whole thing rather started to lose its magic. For one thing, there were the absurdly early call times, followed by hours and hours of waiting with fractional time actually spent on stage—marched on and off again as quickly as possible to make way for the next group. Then there was the fact that their instruments were reduced to little more than props, effectively assigning prop status to Hyeongjun along with them.

The waiting, in fact, was the part that Hyeongjun minded the least, even if the others seemed to mind it the most. He did have the uncanny ability to sleep practically anywhere (well, he’d been told it was uncanny; it felt quite normal to him to simply close his eyes and recede into his mind), which not only helped pass the time but kept him marginally better-rested than the others.

Today, it was particularly noisy backstage. This music show always was, thanks to the fact that, rather than separate green rooms, they were all crammed into the same hall divvied up with movable dividers, which provided nothing in the way of soundproofing.

“Ugh, it’s so loud.”

Hyeongjun looked up from his guitar, fingers still idly skittering up and down the fretboard. It was just him, Jooyeon, and some staff in their designated portion of the green room, the other four having left to eat lunch elsewhere in the building. In the midst of fiddling with his guitar, Hyeongjun had struck on something promising and wanted to follow the trail before he lost it, so he’d stayed behind. Jooyeon had stayed behind to take a nap, but after fifteen minutes of lying on the sleeping mat spread out on the floor, head pillowed on his bent arm, Jooyeon had sat up with a groan, pressing his palms over his ears.

“Put headphones on or something,” Hyeongjun suggested, not moving to remove his own, which were, of course, plugged into his guitar.

“I forgot to bring any,” Jooyeon said. He glanced up at Hyeongjun, pouting. “Can I borrow yours? Just for an hour or so. I have a really bad headache.”

“No,” Hyeongjun said. “How do you forget headphones? That’s like forgetting shoes.”

“I don’t know, I just did!”

“I’m sure one of the others has some. Why not look in Jiseok’s bag or something?”

“Jiseok only ever brings AirPods, they’re not the same.” Jooyeon’s pout intensified as he rubbed his temples in circular motions. “Hyeongjun, please,” he whined. “My head is killing me. It’ll just be for a bit.”

Hyeongjun sighed. Now he couldn’t say no without looking—and feeling—like a terrible person. “Fine.” He unplugged the headphones, slipped them off his head, and handed them to Jooyeon, who took them with both hands and a grateful smile.

“Thankie, Hyeongjunie,” he said in an exaggerated baby voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hyeongjun muttered.

As Jooyeon connected the headphones to his phone, played whatever music helped him sleep, and lay down with a hoodie arranged over him like a blanket, Hyeongjun turned his attention back to his guitar. He could still hash out this riff—the sound just wouldn’t be as clear. And there would be more distractions. The sounds of hairdryers and aerosol hairspray, people talking and laughing, other idols warming up their vocals, music playing tinnily from phone speakers as they filmed dance challenges for social media.

Hyeongjun lasted all of ten minutes before admitting to himself that this was officially a hopeless endeavour. He glanced over at Jooyeon, whose face had smoothed out, his chest rising and falling slowly and evenly.

He felt a twinge of… something. Not quite guilt, not quite worry. But he hoped Jooyeon’s nap would take care of his headache.

Carefully setting aside his guitar, Hyeongjun got up to go have his lunch.

He wondered if he might run into the others, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure where they’d gone for lunch—he could have messaged to ask, but he didn’t want them to feel like they had to wait for him if they were nearly done already, so he found a quiet spot by himself to eat the boxed lunch their manager had bought him from the convenience store.

When he returned to the dressing room and drew closer to their designated area, he could hear the familiar hum of the others’ voices. Slipping between dividers, he found Seungmin talking to one of the stylists about something, Gunil in the corner peering at his phone, and Jungsu and Jiseok sitting cross-legged on the sleeping mat, talking animatedly with Jooyeon, who was sitting up, looking quite perky, with Hyeongjun’s headphones around his neck.

“I thought you had a headache?” Hyeongjun asked.

“Headache?” Jiseok repeated, turning to Jooyeon with a frown.

Jooyeon glanced up with a grin. “I did,” he said, moving to take the headphones off. “So I took a nap and now it’s gone.” He handed him the headphones.

Hyeongjun took them, blinking. “It hasn’t even been an hour.”

“Well, I took some ibuprofen before,” said Jooyeon. “So I guess that had something to do with it.”

“So long as it’s gone now,” said Jiseok. He tapped Jooyeon’s knee. “Just make sure to drink enough water.”

“Have you had lunch? If you took ibuprofen, you need to make sure to eat,” Jungsu added.

Hyeongjun sat down by his guitar as he watched the other two fuss over their youngest, mourning the riff that could have been.

+1.

Before debuting, Jooyeon had never been on a plane before, so he didn’t have a clear idea of what a normal airport experience looked like. Even for their first overseas schedule, there’d been press and a modest gathering of fans when they arrived at the airport. There’d been something thrilling about it, that there were people who cared enough about them and their music to see them off, wishing them a safe flight and a swift return. It had been easier to ignore the phones in their hands.

Some three years after that first foray, things had changed. They weren’t massively popular by any means, but their hard work had borne sizeable fruit, earning them enough of a following to consistently sell out venues, to upsize and then upsize again. Enough of a following to more than double—hell, even triple—the crowd that came to greet them at the airport.

Maybe Jooyeon was starting to get jaded, but “greet” felt like a looser and looser term. He saw fewer faces than camera lenses and heard less “Have a safe flight!” and more “Jooyeon, over here!” and more people meant less room, meant more crowding, meant less air.

At least, that was how it felt.

Jooyeon had never said any of this to the others. To anyone at all. Even if the urge to commiserate was immense sometimes, he had a feeling he knew what they’d tell him: that he shouldn’t complain, that these were their fans, that they did this because they loved them, that he should be grateful to be so adored.

And he was, really, he was! But it just didn’t feel so much like love anymore. He couldn’t say what it did feel like, but when he looked up and saw nothing but faces obscured by phones and cameras vying for a better view, pressing in closer despite the staff’s best attempt to keep them at bay, it wasn’t love that he felt.

Maybe it was just because the flight they’d just gotten off had been particularly long, there’d been too much turbulence to let him sleep, his throat was aching with what he hoped was just fatigue, and his back was killing him, but the mob that fell upon them today as they emerged from the gate felt particularly large. Particularly dense. Particularly loud, and overly enthusiastic, the flash of light off their camera lenses like the fangs of hungry hyenas.

“Jooyeon, look here!” “Jooyeon! Over here!” “Jooyeon! Welcome home!” “Jooyeon! I love you!” “Jooyeon!” “Jooyeon!” “Jooyeon!”

Jungsu was beside him, holding onto his arm. He could see Seungmin’s head in front of him, and Gunil’s, too. He thought maybe Hyeongjun was behind him. He didn’t know where Jiseok was, and it made him irrationally anxious—he’d been right next to him before the crowd had pushed in. Why hadn’t Jooyeon grabbed Jiseok, the way Jungsu had grabbed Jooyeon? Had Jungsu grabbed Jiseok, as well? He couldn’t turn to look, to see. His head was fixed forward, fixed in place by the basilisk glare of a hundred lenses.

It all seemed to press in on him, crushing him. His legs moved automatically, pushed along by the tide. Jungsu’s hand disappeared from his arm. He tried to turn to see where he’d gone, but there was a security guard there, ushering him along. And there was the car, door wide open to receive him.

He clambered in, feeling light-headed and unbalanced. He climbed through into the back seat. Quiet. Finally. Well, quieter, at least. He waited for the tension to leave him, for the feeling of suffocation to drain away, but it didn’t. His hands felt weird—like they were vibrating.

He looked to the door, where Hyeongjun was climbing into the car behind him, followed by Jiseok, whose eyes were wide and frazzled.

“That was crazy,” Jiseok commented as the door slid shut behind him, finally drawing a definitive line between them and the probing of cameras and the calling of voices. “Not to sound smug about it or anything, but since when were we this popular?”

“Seatbelts,” instructed the manager as he got into the front passenger seat.

Right. Seatbelt. Jooyeon reached for his seatbelt with shaking hands.

Why were his hands shaking so much?

“I think it’s just because it’s a Saturday afternoon,” Hyeongjun commented, pulling out and plugging in his own seatbelt much more smoothly. “Not as many people are able to come on a weekday, or at six in the morning.”

“True,” said Jiseok, snapping his seatbelt into place. He craned around the seat to look at Jooyeon. “You’re quiet.”

Jooyeon opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a sharp gasp. He’d put his seatbelt on, but already he wanted to tear it off, because it was squeezing him, too tight, not letting him breathe.

Jiseok’s brow collapsed into a concerned furrow. “Jooyeon?”

He shook his head, fumbling for the seatbelt release, leaning forward over his knees, clutching his chest, breath coming in short, sharp puffs that scraped at his throat and made it hurt worse and made him feel sick and everything was spinning and he had pins and needles in his arms for no reason and he needed them to stop the car but he needed them to get him out of here.

“Is he okay?”

“I think—I think he’s having a panic attack? Hold on.”

Somewhere beyond his own gasping breaths in his ears, Jooyeon heard the click of a seatbelt, saw a shadow move in his peripheral, heard a faint grunt as a weight thudded down into the seat beside him. Then he felt a pair of small, cool hands on him—one on his arm, the other smoothing across his back.

“Hey, hey,” Jiseok said softly. “Jooyeonie? I need you to look at me.”

Jooyeon’s eyes wouldn’t focus, all of him too freaked out by the too-fast push–pull of his lungs, but he tried his best to straighten, to turn, to find Jiseok’s face leaning close to his, eyes full of care and concern.

“Breathe with me,” Jiseok said, taking one of Jooyeon’s shaking hands in his own. “In”—he squeezed Jooyeon’s hand—“and out”—he loosened his grip.

In all honesty, Jooyeon wasn’t sure if Jiseok’s instruction helped all that much. But there was a reason Jooyeon thought of him as his human vitamin, a reason he always sought him out with his eyes. When he felt nervous. When he felt sick. When he felt sad.

Soon, Jooyeon’s breath evened out and the world stopped spinning, and though he was still trembling like a mouse cornered by a cat, he felt a lot more lucid.

Jiseok let out a long breath and smiled. “I’m glad that worked.” He squeezed Jooyeon’s hand again. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Jooyeon looked forward, finding both Hyeongjun and the manager peering back at him with concern.

He cleared his throat. “I guess now might be the time to tell you that I don’t do well in crowds.”

“No kidding,” said Hyeongjun. “How did you know how to handle that?” he asked Jiseok.

“I didn’t, I was completely winging it,” Jiseok admitted. “I don’t know—I’ve seen something like it in a movie, I think?”

“Well,” the manager sighed. “If that’s all sorted, can you please put your seatbelts back on?”

“Oh—yeah, good call.”

Before Jiseok could move back to his own seat, Jooyeon grabbed his wrist, giving him a meaningful look.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Jiseok said with a soft laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thus, he buckled himself in as close to Jooyeon as possible.

And it was just too easy for Jooyeon to drop his head onto Jiseok’s thin shoulder and, overtaken by a sudden sheepish exhaustion, drift off to sleep.

The rest of the day proceeded as it was always meant to, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Jooyeon was actually glad for it, because he was kinda embarrassed. He would have been more than happy to pretend nothing had happened, so long as everyone else in the car—Jiseok, Hyeongjun, the manager, the driver—was able to catch the strong you will forget you ever saw that vibes he was trying to send off.

It seemed to be working. Jooyeon woke when they arrived at the dorms, and, still groggy, helped to unload his own luggage and haul it up to their floor. The other car had arrived first; Jungsu had helpfully left the door open for Jooyeon and Jiseok and was already in the process of unpacking.

Rolling his suitcase into his room, Jooyeon found he didn’t have much motivation to do the same. Not right now. Maybe he’d unpack later, or maybe he wouldn’t bother, because they’d be flying out again before long, so what was really the point? Instead, he flopped backwards onto his bed and sighed up at the ceiling.

He waited for the relief to kick in, the sense of home at last that always reached out its arms to embrace him whenever they returned from overseas. It didn’t. He still felt strange, like his head wasn’t properly connected to his body. Like a wire had come loose somewhere between his consciousness and the rest of him and he was at danger of becoming completely unmoored. His limbs felt heavy. His chest felt compressed. His head felt fuzzy.

Tired. Just tired, he told himself.

He heard a soft knock on the still-open door and looked up to see Jungsu leaning on the door frame, phone in hand.

“I hope you’re not thinking of going to sleep yet, that’s how you let jet lag win,” he said.

“The way you let jet lag win is by not getting enough rest,” said Jooyeon. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up on the edge of the bed. “What’s up?”

“I’m ordering food. Tteokbokki sound good?”

Jooyeon scoffed. “Is Jiseok short?”

Jungsu made a face that told Jooyeon he wanted to laugh but felt bad about it.

“I heard that!” Jiseok called from elsewhere in the dorm.

“Love you,” Jooyeon called back, feeling a smile creep onto his face.

Jooyeon didn’t realise that by “I’m ordering food” Jungsu meant “I’m ordering food for the whole group and inviting everyone to eat together in our kitchen.” Not that Jooyeon minded, necessarily, he just felt a bit…

“Jooyeon, what’s up? You haven’t eaten much.”

He looked up from his serving of tteokbokki, which he was pushing around with his chopsticks, lining up the tteok like the keys of a piano. Gunil was watching him, cheeks working in their hamster-like way as he chewed.

“Too tired to eat,” Jooyeon said. He hesitated, taking stock of his cloudy head, his funny throat, his heavy limbs. “I think I’m getting sick.”

Seungmin laughed through a mouthful of tteok. “You say that every time we get back from overseas.”

“I do not!”

“Oh, you do,” said Jungsu. “If making mountains out of molehills were an Olympic sport, you’d be a gold-medallist.”

“It’s true,” Hyeongjun said, although he at least had the decency to frown apologetically in light of what he may or may not have witnessed earlier. Jooyeon wondered if his this never happened vibes had been a little too strong, enough to wipe out Hyeongjun’s memory, or maybe it really hadn’t happened and it was a false memory that had somehow gotten into Jooyeon’s head. He wasn’t sure which option was more probable. Or preferable.

“I have to agree, too,” Gunil said good-naturedly. “Sorry, Jooyeon. If you get a good night’s rest, I’m sure you’ll feel fine in the morning.”

Jooyeon scowled. “Why are you all ganging up on me?” He turned to the only person who’d kept quiet through these modern Ides of March, who was watching him with his brow appropriately creased. “Jiseok?”

“Oh, here we go,” Seungmin muttered.

“At least you don’t have to live with them anymore,” Jungsu replied.

“I have no idea what you could possibly be implying,” Jiseok said haughtily. “If Jooyeon says he feels sick, he feels sick. Even if he wakes up fine tomorrow morning.”

Jooyeon could have kissed him just then, but he wasn’t sure that was strictly the appropriate thing to do when he was complaining of potential illness.

“Thank you,” was what he settled on, grasping Jiseok’s wrist. “This is why you’re the only one I trust.”

Jiseok grinned somewhat bashfully, and Jooyeon pretended not to see the glance that passed between Seungmin and Jungsu.

Jooyeon did not wake feeling fine in the morning, but he tried not to feel too vindictive about that fact. At the very least, his head felt a little more firmly screwed onto his body, but he wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing, given the weary ache in his limbs and the razor-like scratchiness in his throat. A pressure in his temples foreboded a headache.

Actually, far from feeling vindictive, he felt something else entirely.

Guilt.

He supposed, in a way, he could see the point the others were suggesting yesterday—about him making mountains out of molehills. He wasn’t totally ignorant; he knew he could be a bit dramatic, and he knew things often didn’t turn out to be as bad as he thought. What he was sure was a fever just turned out to be the morning chill. A sore throat that he was certain portended a cold turned out to just be vocal strain. What he thought was a migraine dissipated like smoke with some ibuprofen and a twenty-minute nap.

He knew he could be a bit dramatic. Whatever had happened yesterday, in the car—wasn’t that further proof of that? Who had a panic attack after briefly getting caught in a crowd of overzealous fans? Jooyeon had never had a panic attack over anything before. In fact, he couldn’t say for sure that it really was a panic attack simply on the basis of Jiseok saying so. It was just that Jooyeon didn’t like crowds, and along with his exhaustion and his poorliness, it had all compounded to overwhelm him, pressing in on his chest and making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t felt panicked, necessarily. Just… suffocated.

So, what if he went ahead and made a fuss over this and it turned out the same as it always did—gone within a day, never a problem in the first place, making him look like the boy who cried wolf regardless of how certain he was that he’d seen that wolf with his own eyes?

How did he know that his eyes weren’t deceiving him?

He dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen for a tall glass of water. A sore throat was just a sore throat—not uncommon for a singer—and fatigue was just fatigue. They were all fatigued.

On his way to the bathroom to clean his teeth, he nearly ran straight into Jiseok, in nothing but a towel clutched around his waist, hair soaking wet, drops of water still speckling his pale shoulders like stars across the sky. His cheeks immediately flushed pink, even if he was the one choosing to walk around the dorm practically naked; even if they’d been living together long enough to have seen each other in various states of undress.

Jooyeon did try not to stare, though.

“Morning,” Jiseok greeted with an awkward laugh. “Feeling alright today?”

“Oh… yeah, fine,” Jooyeon said. He cleared his throat. “Just tired.”

Jiseok sighed. “Same here.” He smiled and made to squeeze past. Jooyeon obligingly stepped aside, catching the scent of his own hair treatment in Jiseok’s wake.

There was no rest for the wicked—the wicked being Korea’s Gen Z Representative Band Xdinary Heroes—so their day, while not busy, was distressingly un-free of scheduled activities, considering they’d just returned from another country.

They had the morning free, but thanks to sleeping in, it disappeared in the blink of an eye. In the afternoon, they had a meeting with company higher-ups, presenting some tracks they wanted to put on their next album in hopes of earning a green light. It wasn’t strenuous, but it was stressful, and sometimes downright demoralising, laying their precious creations out in front of stuffy old men in suits to judge their commercial potential. As they developed as songwriters and started getting things right more often, these meetings got easier—but this one still had Jooyeon’s chest feeling tight, worsening the lingering ache in his throat. He coughed into his elbow several times throughout the meeting and apologised with a modest smile, blaming it on vocal strain.

After that, they had a quick lunch break before ensemble practice. Jooyeon still didn’t feel quite right, the tightness in his chest only having gotten worse even if the meeting had gone well. His head felt weird too, sort of stuffy and heavy and light and spinny all at once. And maybe it was just because all he’d had to eat today was a serving of rice, but he felt sort of shivery and cold.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Jiseok asked him as they were setting up. “You look terrible.”

Jooyeon hesitated. It was just them in the room, the others not having arrived yet—which was a change from normal. Usually, if anyone was going to be late, it was one of them. Today, Jooyeon had considered the idea of getting something to eat before practice, felt his stomach shy away in defiance of its own emptiness, and come straight here to get a head start on setting up. Jiseok had followed like a shadow.

“Well,” Jooyeon began reluctantly, sinking into his chair with his bass, “at what point does ‘just tired’ stop being ‘just tired’, do you think?”

Jiseok looked bewildered. “I mean… tired is tired. Something else is… something else.”

“Thanks, that really clears things up.”

“Ask a dumb question, get a dumb answer.” He set his guitar down with a sigh. “Listen, I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened yesterday, but… I am worried about you. Hyeongjun too. And so is Manager-hyung—did you see the way he kept looking at you throughout that meeting?”

Jooyeon had not. He hugged his bass close, taking comfort in its familiar shape. “I don’t think what happened yesterday was a… a panic attack or anything like that,” he said, eyes avoiding Jiseok’s face. “I wasn’t panicking, I just couldn’t breathe, and I felt… off. And I’ve had a sore throat since we got off the plane.” He coughed into his shoulder. “Still do.”

“Hyperventilating, then. That’s still concerning. I know it’s embarrassing, but you said yourself that you don’t do well in crowds, and that won’t be the last time we get caught in one, so… it’d be worth thinking about coping strategies. Noise-cancelling headphones or something.” Jiseok stepped closer, gently brushing Jooyeon’s hair off his forehead and placing his hand palm-flat across his brow.

Jooyeon finally looked up at him, at the tiny frown that curved his lips, the unhappy incline of his eyebrows, the reassuring firmness of his gaze.

“I guess that would probably help,” he mumbled.

“And I’m pretty sure you have a fever,” Jiseok said softly, “which probably doesn’t help.” He removed his hand from Jooyeon’s forehead, instead stroking his hair from the crown as if he were petting a dog.

Jooyeon leaned into the touch, feeling an odd and painful lump in his throat.

“It’s probably just a one-day thing,” he rasped.

Jiseok shook his head. “Sick is sick, Jooyeonie,” he said. “Even if you feel fine by tomorrow, it doesn’t change how you feel right now.”

At that, the door opened, making them both jump. The others filed in, mid-conversation about something, unmoved at finding their bassist and rhythm guitarist in the midst of what was clearly supposed to be a private moment.

“You two already set up? Good,” Gunil said with a smile as he made his way past.

Settling his hand on Jooyeon’s shoulder, Jiseok cleared his throat. “Jooyeonie’s sick,” he said, loud enough for his voice to fill the room. “I think he should go home and rest.”

Jooyeon half expected the others to scoff and start teasing him for being whiny and dramatic. Instead, he got four more concerned looks directed his way. Stricken, Jungsu dropped his bag next to his piano and stalked over in three strides, pressing a hand to Jooyeon’s forehead.

“Oh, yeah, definitely warm,” he said. “Why didn’t you say something? It’s not like you to stay quiet about these things, Jooyeon.”

Ah: a little flicker of indignation in Jooyeon’s chest. “I did say something!”

“When?”

“Last night! You said I was making mountains out of molehills!”

Jungsu exchanged looks with the others.

“Oh,” he said.

“To be fair,” said Jiseok, patting Jooyeon’s shoulder, “you said you were okay this morning.”

Jooyeon sighed. “Well,” he said. “I guess I just didn’t want to be the wolf who cried boy again.”

One of Seungmin’s eyebrows shot up. “I think it’s supposed to be ‘the boy who cried wolf’.”

“Isn’t that… what I said?”

“Can probably thank the fever for that one,” said Hyeongjun.

“Regardless,” said Gunil, placing a fatherly hand on Jooyeon’s back. “We’re sorry if we made you feel like you had to power through without saying anything. It’s a good thing that you’re not afraid to speak up if you think something’s wrong. Even if it does make you a bit whiny sometimes.”

“Thanks, Hyung,” said Jooyeon.

“Right, then,” said Jiseok, squeezing Jooyeon’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home and to bed, buddy.”

The others still had to practice, so it was the manager who had the honour of driving Jooyeon back to the dorm and leaving him with some ibuprofen, ginger tea, and the promise of ginseng chicken soup delivered by the other two Js when they got home later. And Jooyeon had the dubious pleasure of crawling back into bed, bundling himself up in his blankets, and falling asleep within the span of a few breaths.

It wasn’t the most comfortable sleep in the world. He had weird, anxious dreams—of being at the airport surrounded by people with camera lenses for faces, of performing on stage for a crowd of faceless mannequins, of being a Pokémon trainer training for a championship match, except that his Pokémon had the faces of his members. That one was definitely the weirdest.

He woke several times feeling uncomfortable and achy, his head pounding and his throat clawing itself apart, but he didn’t have the energy to get up to drink more water or take more painkillers, so he simply shoved his head further into his pillow until he fell asleep again.

Jungsu gently roused him when he and Jiseok got home—with the soup, as promised—and, since Jooyeon hated eating in bed, he dragged himself to the kitchen to eat at the table. He felt so spaced out that he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t still dreaming and that Jiseok wasn’t about to sprout wings and start chirping his own name. But after a few bites, he started to feel a little more human, his appetite kicked in, and to his surprise, he finished the whole bowl.

After eating and taking more ibuprofen, he became acutely aware of how gross he felt, so he brushed his teeth, dragged himself through a shower that consisted solely of standing under the hot spray coughing and feeling miserable for several minutes, then sloped back to his room in his towel.

He found Jiseok there, sitting on the bed. He’d known Jooyeon was in the shower, but for some reason, he looked surprised to see him half-naked, blinking rapidly as his eyes flicked over Jooyeon’s bare torso and up to his face. Jooyeon tried not to feel self-conscious about it. He wasn’t really a self-conscious guy.

“I need to get dressed,” he croaked as he opened his underwear drawer, giving Jiseok half a second to cover his eyes before dropping the towel.

Once he had his pyjamas on, he turned to see that Jiseok still had his hands over his eyes, kicking his feet over the edge of the bed like a child playing hide and seek. Despite how wretched he felt, Jooyeon had to take a moment to appreciate how adorable that was.

“Coast is clear,” he said.

Jiseok lowered his hands slowly, as if not quite trusting Jooyeon not to flash him. “Are you gonna dry your hair?” he asked.

“Can’t be bothered,” Jooyeon groaned. “Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Jiseok said. “I didn’t bring this for nothing.” He reached behind him to produce a hair dryer, plugged in and ready to go. Jooyeon hadn’t even noticed. Jiseok scooted backwards on the bed, folding his legs and patting the space in front of him. “Come here.”

He really just wanted to sleep, wet hair or not, but Jooyeon obediently sat in front of Jiseok and let him comb and dry his hair. He was more careful than Jooyeon was when he did it himself, more methodical in how he worked section by section, his fingers deft and gentle as they brushed over Jooyeon’s scalp and combed through his lengths.

“I feel like being a pet groomer would be fun,” Jiseok commented after he turned off the dryer and set it aside, giving Jooyeon’s hair one last comb-through.

“You’re allergic to both cats and dogs,” Jooyeon reminded him.

“Oh… right. Guess I’m stuck with just you, then.”

Jooyeon couldn’t help but smirk. “You like it.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

From Jiseok, that was as good as a yes.

Hair thus dry, Jooyeon was finally allowed to climb into bed. Preemptively, he scooched over towards the wall—and sure enough, Jiseok slipped under the covers beside him without so much as a “May I come in?”

Jooyeon didn’t bother warning him that he’d get sick. He knew it wouldn’t work—it didn’t work on Jooyeon when the situation was reversed, and he was no hypocrite.

Propped up on one elbow, Jiseok reached over and pressed the backs of his fingers against Jooyeon’s forehead. Jooyeon blinked sleepily at him.

“You still feel warm, but I guess that could just be from the shower… or the hair dryer…”

“Please never be a doctor,” said Jooyeon.

Jiseok laughed. “Well, a doctor would use a thermometer, but I can’t be bothered going to the kitchen to get ours.” He shrugged, then lay down, placing his head on the pillow across from Jooyeon. “I can go if me being here doesn’t help.”

“Stay,” Jooyeon replied. “It does help. I…” Under the covers, he reached out until his fingertips brushed Jiseok’s side. It was just the faintest contact, but, at least to Jooyeon, there’d always been something almost supernatural about touch, about physical affection. A warmth he couldn’t explain, one that came from within. He also couldn’t explain why it was Jiseok, most of all, who made him feel this way.

“I know,” Jiseok said gently.

“Turn over,” said Jooyeon, “so I don’t get you sick.”

“I’m gonna get sick anyway.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I’m pretty certain of it,” Jiseok said. “Because…” After a second’s pause, he leaned forward just enough to lightly brush his lips against Jooyeon’s. A kiss, cautious and light as a summer breeze. Just like earlier when Jiseok had petted his hair, Jooyeon couldn’t help but lean into it, feeling Jiseok’s lips softly give way beneath his own. The tightness in his chest lessened for the first time all day, soothed by the pleasantly breathless warmth that gushed forth from his heart.

Too soon, Jiseok pulled back, cheeks flushed as if he had the fever, expression almost apologetic.

“What was that for?” Jooyeon asked quietly. “Is it my birthday?”

A smile flickered onto Jiseok’s face, all air of apology fading away. “It’s your medicine,” he said coyly, moving to turn over in the bed. “You better get well quickly.”

“And you better not actually get sick,” Jooyeon said, shuffling closer and draping an arm over Jiseok’s waist from behind. He snuggled into the back of his shoulder. “But I’ll take good care of you if you do.”

“I know you will,” Jiseok said, finding Jooyeon’s hand with his own and twining their fingers together. “Sleep well, boy who cried wolf.”

“It’s wolf who cried boy,” Jooyeon insisted. “I’m the wolf, and you’re the boy.”

Jiseok didn’t answer for a moment. And if he did eventually answer, Jooyeon didn’t hear it.

He was already counting sheep in his dreams.