Work Text:
Stray Kids would say they got pretty lucky this flu season.
They all got vaccinated, as per usual, and they decided as a group to get more rest and keep as regular of a sleep schedule as possible, along with generally trying to be a little more healthy when they can. Just normal Illness Avoidance Things.
Over the course of about three weeks, only Seungmin and Felix caught it. It wasn’t even that bad, just a low fever and mild cough for a few days. Minho was honestly surprised he didn’t get it, as he normally catches a cold the same way honey catches flies.
So, they consider that a win, assume flu season is pretty much over, and move on with their lives.
(Spoiler alert: Flu season is not yet over.)
When Chan wakes up about two weeks after Seungmin stops coughing, he feels a little more tired than usual, but otherwise fine. He goes about his day normally. Because, y’know, he feels fine.
The next day his head kind of hurts a bit, but that happens sometimes. So he just takes some painkillers and drinks extra water and he feels better soon enough.
The third day he wakes up and frowns at the strange fatigue he feels. He shrugs it off, and although the sore throat he gets close to dinner time causes some concern, he just decides to go to bed earlier than normal. And of course, drink more water.
Today, the fourth day, he realizes that his sore throat isn’t going away, and on top of the still-present fatigue he kind of feels like coughing, which seems… Not good.
He and Minho are the only ones home, working in the part dining room/part office. Or rather, Minho is working and Chan is there to answer any questions Minho has and to offer moral support.
Chan was hoping that after breakfast and even more water, whatever is going on with his sore throat/tiredness combo will settle a bit.
However, when breakfast has come and gone and it’s over an hour into work and he still feels the same, he’s getting a little concerned.
He decides to do what makes the most sense to him; ask for Minho’s opinion.
“Hey, Minnie, can I talk to you?” Chan asks, noticing that the tickle in his throat had gone from annoying to uncomfortable.
Minho doesn’t look up from his work just yet. “Can it wait for a few minutes? If it can’t wait that’s fine too, just lemme know.”
Chan considers for a moment. It’s just a mildly sore throat, he decides. “Yeah, it can wait.” It’s not like his moderate discomfort would get worse suddenly and without warning.
Heh. Famous last words, he thinks to himself, not realizing how ironic that has the potential to be.
So, Chan sits to the side in his spinny chair as Minho goes over song lyrics and listens to new melodies, taking notes on ideas for choreographies and movements that would flow together with what they already have.
As the minutes tick by, Chan can feel his throat begin to tighten up. Not in a suffocating way, it just serves to make it more uncomfortable than it already was. Also, is it getting hot in here? It feels like it is. Or maybe it’s cold, Chan thinks as he suppresses a violent shiver. Why would he shiver if he felt like he was going to overheat? He quietly removes his arms from the sleeves of his jacket, then immediately pulls them back through when it makes his limbs feel icy.
Something’s not right here.
He raises a hand to run through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, and notices as he pulls his hand away that it’s shaking and his fingertips are just the slightest bit damp where they had touched his forehead.
Okay, what?
He doesn’t even feel that bad, barring the feeling of being too hot and too cold at the same time, the building headache, the fatigue in his limbs that kinda makes him want to start trembling, his sore throat that is tempting him to start coughing and turn breathing into a competitive sport, the thin sheen of sweat covering his face–
…
Huh.
Never mind, he feels bad.
He’s about to bring this up when Minho, completely coincidentally, turns around with a smile.
“Done! What do you want to talk about?” he asks, before freezing as he takes in Chan’s appearance.
He stares at him for a few seconds, before asking, “Chan? Are you okay? You’ve gone all… pale and sweaty.”
Chan huffs out a laugh. “Glad to know I’m not imagining things, I was just about to say something.”
Minho looks at him incredulously before getting up and walking over to Chan. “I sure hope you were! No offense, but you look awful.”
Chan laughs again, shakier this time. If Minho notices, he doesn’t say anything as he gently presses the back of his hand across his now burning forehead.
“Yeah, you’re really hot.”
“Thanks, babe,” Chan says, trying to smile but probably falling very flat.
Minho rolls his eyes, a mix of concern and fondness. “I mean it, you’re burning up. I think you have a fever.” He smooths Chan’s bangs down, trailing his cool hand down and leaving the palm on his cheek. Chan leans into the touch for a moment before Minho lifts his hand away. (If you ask him, no, he did not whine about the loss of contact.) “Let me go get a thermometer.” Chan hears more than sees Minho walk away to their shared medicine and first-aid closet. Chan blinks slowly a few times as he waits.
Minho is suddenly standing in front of him again, looking more worried than before. Huh. He must have closed his eyes for a while.
“I thought you passed out sitting up for a second there,” Minho says, confirming his suspicions. “Can you stay awake for me to take your temperature?” Chan nods, the exhaustion in his bones making him feel like an undiscovered dinosaur fossil still buried under meters of dirt. He shakes his head to clear the fog in his brain, concentrating on his breathing instead of how bad he feels. It must work some, because now he feels like a dinosaur fossil that’s at least been excavated.
Minho tests the thermometer against himself first, swiping it across his forehead muttering “I think this is how this works.”
Chan chuckles quietly. “I trust you,” he says.
Minho snickers, checking the thermometer when it beeps. He squints at it for a moment and shrugs. “Seems about right,” he mutters to himself, then louder, “It looks like it works, get over here, Channie,” he says, gesturing for Chan to lean forward.
Minho swipes the thermometer on Chan a second later, carding a hand through his hair as he does. Beep. Minho brings the scanner up to his eyes.
“Yeesh,” Minho says, grimacing. “38.8. We’re gonna get you some medicine, and then you’re going to bed, mister.”
Chan, drained again, simply nods. Minho is now pushing his bangs back rhythmically and lightly scratching his scalp with every pass. It’s making him infinitely sleepier. He’s about to comment something vaguely delirious about how nice it feels when his headache intensifies and his limbs start to ache worse and he actually cries out in pain.
He screws his eyes shut against it, but he can still feel Minho holding his face to make sure he’s okay. He opens an eye partially to look at him, seeing him looking panicky at his sudden change in demeanor. He needs to tell him something, tell him not to worry and that it’s just some extra pain.
Except it’s not just extra. He feels like his head decided that right now is the perfect time to do construction work and is currently using jackhammers against his skull. The strange aching in his limbs – which is now spreading to the rest of his body, of course – makes it feel like someone microwaved him, overheating his outer layer while his insides are still frozen over and causing him to shiver violently…
Oh, he’s shivering now too. That’s great.
So yeah, he’s not feeling too hot and he’s literally feeling too hot and of course now nausea is kicking in, and this sucks a lot and his voice is getting stuck in his throat along with the feeling that he might have to throw up soon.
He slumps forward, groaning softly, and he vaguely registers his limbs being moved only to make an odd squeak of surprise when he’s suddenly lifted into the air. He wonders if he’s flying, then he realizes that’s a silly thought. He blinks his eyes open to find Minho carrying him, bridal style going by the way he see his beautiful face from a below… his beautiful face which is looking extremely worried…
“S-sorry,” Chan whispers hoarsely, and Minho looks down at him incredulously. He scoffs quietly, some of the worry easing and being replaced by fond disbelief.
“Seriously, only you would say ‘sorry’ for being sick…” he mumbles, and Chan would flush with embarrassment if he wasn’t already flushed from his fever.
The next thing Chan knows he’s being placed on what has to be one of their couches, and he feels Minho smoothing a hand through his hair. He exhales, softly, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over him.
He promptly falls asleep.
Chan wakes up to the view of a top bunk and a killer headache. And also, it’s hot. Really, really hot. He groans, wanting to get up before he frowns.
Wasn’t he just in one of the work rooms? With Minho…?
Oh shoot, Chan thinks. He remembers being carried off by Minho and being carefully placed on the couch in their common room. He just doesn’t remember what happened after that, though he can probably guess. He shifts his gaze to the side and tries to get up only to find that his limbs don’t want to cooperate. His bleary brain thinks about panicking over it for a few seconds before he realizes it’s because he has a blanket wrapped around him so tightly he can barely wiggle his toes.
It’s an oddly relieving feeling, even if the solution was a bit unexpected.
Upon relaxing, he’s able to take in in more of his surroundings. He seems to be in Minho’s shared room, based on the layout. Oh, and also Minho’s there.
Staring at him.
Looking tense, possibly frustrated.
…Oops.
Chan wonders what he might have done to upset him, is about to ask when he feels a cough tickling the back of his throat. He turns around as much as he can so he doesn’t cough directly on Minho; that probably would make everything worse.
Unfortunately for Chan, it’s one of those dry, rattling coughs that makes it hard to breathe even after he’s done. When he slumps against the pillows, dazed and breathless, he turns to look at Minho again. His gaze has softened considerably. Oh. Guess he was more concerned than frustrated.
Still, Chan wants him to know he’s doing… somewhat okay. And maybe apologize for making him stress out over this.
“I’m okay, I think…” he says, startling a bit at how rough his voice sounds already. He shakes his head minutely, then winces when it makes his head pound. He looks over at Minho again, not realizing he’d dropped his gaze. “Oof… And, sorry for… for all that.”
Minho blinks at him a few times, then rolls his eyes.
“You don’t need to apologize, just let your immune system know I’m kicking its ass for making you sick,” he says, more of the tension leaving his shoulders now that Chan is awake and talking to him. He gives Chan a little sideways smile.
“Glad you’re up again, I was a little concerned when you of all people fell asleep that fast.” Chan shrinks into his blankets, feeling weirdly ashamed even though it wasn’t his fault.
He feels bad for worrying Minho this much, but there’s really not much he can do other than be a feverish sad sack wrapped up like the dog bit of a corndog.
“Still, I’m sorry for worrying you,” he ends up saying. He ignores Minho’s following mutter that sounds suspiciously like, ‘I’ll always worry about you, loser’ in favor adding, “And thank you for bringing me in here, by the way,” trying for his own smile.
Minho smiles wider then, leaning forward ruffling Chan’s hair, in turn ignoring Chan’s weak protest that if Minho gets too close he might end up sick too.
“Of course.” Then he purses his lips. “You never did end up taking that medicine, you passed out too fast. I’m gonna go get it, and some herbal tea with honey.”
Chan sighs dreamily at that. Tea sounds great right now. Minho understands without him saying anything, and he leans down further to plant a smooch on his forehead before leaving.
Gods, Chan loves him.
Minho comes back after a while, Chan having dozed off slightly again and jolting awake when Minho gently places the back of his hand on Chan’s forehead.
Minho smiles. “Sorry, Channie. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Chan blinks sleepily and shrugs, doing his best to smile in return. Minho hums, brushing Chan’s hair back. “Ready for your tea and meds?”
Chan nods readily and goes to sit up before remembering that he never untangled from his corndog-like state. Minho chuckles at his sad wiggling before peeling back some of the blankets and helping him sit up.
“Here you go, babe,” Minho says as he offers him a steaming mug of tea. Then he places some painkillers and cough medicine in Chan’s free hand, gesturing for him to take them. Luckily the tea masks their bitter taste and he swallows them quickly before slowing down to properly enjoy his tea.
“How’re you feeling?” Minho asks after a while.
“Not very good,” Chan mutters back. Minho sighs and shakes his head with a fond smile.
“What are your symptoms, then? Anything specific?”
“Oh,” Chan says, thinking. “Fatigue, mostly in my limbs. Big headache and coughing, but not like the gross kind, just dry. And uhh… oh, earlier I felt hot and cold at the same time. Now I feel a bit better, definitely still out of it, and… tired.”
Minho hums again. Abruptly, he moves to sit next to Chan on the bed, feeling his forehead again.
“I hate to say it, but you might have the flu.”
Chan groans and slumps forward.
“I thought we were done with flu season,” he whines. Minho stifles a chuckle behind one hand.
“I guess not,” he says, patting Chan’s head sympathetically before switching to carefully running his hand through his curls.
After a while of petting Chan’s hair, Minho gets up and pushes Chan down into a reclining position against some propped up pillows.
“Try to get some rest, babe. I’m gonna make some more tea for later, and I’ll heat up some leftover soup for you when you wake up again,” he says, pulling the blankets around Chan once again and dropping another kiss in the middle of his forehead.
“Hm, you’re the best, Minnie,” Chan mumbles, eyes fluttering closed already.
He doesn’t have to look to know that Minho’s giving him a half-smug-half-fond smile as he says, “I know I am. Love you.”
And Chan murmurs, “Love y’too,” before falling asleep to the sound of the door closing with a soft click.
Chan wakes up sometime later, somehow feeling better and worse at the same time.
Better as in slightly less fatigued, and like he doesn’t feel the need to cough as much.
Worse as in his headache never went away and it currently feels like it’s splitting in half. And he’s pretty sure that pain is what’s making him nauseous again in way that suggests he might have to sprint to the toilet in a few minutes if it doesn’t go away.
“Minnie,” he calls out. Croaks out, actually, and he isn’t sure if Minho can even hear it. He clears his throat and tries again, then once more slightly louder, and Minho pokes his head in right as Chan’s about to give up.
“What’s up?” Minho asks, coming into the room and walking over to the bed.
“Hm?” Chan hums incoherently. It feels like a fog has taken up residence in his head.
“You were calling for me?” Minho sounds confused even as he says it. Oh, right, Chan thinks.
“Oh, right,” he also says out loud. He huffs, frustrated. He just needs to tell Minho that he should probably go to the bathroom to wait for his nausea to subside. He can do this.
“Tummy… feels bad.”
Perfect, nice execution.
Minho’s brows furrow.
“Bad how? Like, just hurts or like you might need to throw up?” he asks.
“Hm, second one,” Chan mumbles. Minho’s eyes widen slightly.
“Okay, what do you want to do? Need some medicine, a bucket, some ginger tea?” he offers. Chan hums again. Then his headache spikes. A very specific feeling rises in his stomach and the back of his throat, and he shudders in anticipation.
“Bathroom, now,” he says urgently. Minho’s eyes become saucers as he realizes what’s about to happen.
“Shit!” he exclaims, before yanking Chan’s blankets back and helping him up so they can stumble to the bathroom together.
They make it just in time.
Chan has no idea how long he’s hunched over the toilet being sick, but it feels like forever. Minho stays with him, even though it must be gross, pulling his bangs out of his face and rubbing his back.
Finally, exhausted, he slumps back into Minho, sniffling with tears prickling in his eyes. Minho strokes his hair and flushes the toilet before he leaves for a moment. He returns with a cup of water, setting it down on the counter and, when Chan confirms that he’s okay to get up, helping him rise to sit on the now closed toilet lid. He has Chan take small sips before helping him stand to brush his teeth. Then Minho sets him back down on. The whole process goes by in a haze.
Chan feels like shit. His insides feel hollow, he’s still burning hot and too cold all at once, his head still aches like it’s being stabbed, and now his throat feels like it’s been ripped up. Which, to be fair, it kind of has been.
Gods, he hates being sick. He’s so tired, he just wants to feel better already.
“Channie, you with me baby?”
Chan startles out of his stupor. “Hm?” he answers, dazed.
He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at the floor until he has to look up to see Minho placing his palm on Chan’s forehead. He looks worried, but he’s hiding it well behind soft touches and gentle gazes.
“Yeah, you’re gonna take a hot shower. And we’re gonna have you sit in the steamy air for a while before you get in just in case, for your throat. Sound good?”
Chan thinks he understands most of it, so he nods. Minho smiles, petting his hair some more.
Minho hums before speaking again.
“I know it’ll be a little cold, but do you want to undress and wrap up in a towel so you don’t have to sit in your dirty clothes anymore?”
Chan blinks a few times, then looks down at himself. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of multiple sweat stains across his shirt, and he can see a few flecks of… yeah, that’s disgusting. He looks up at Minho again and nods.
A few minutes later finds Chan sitting back down on the toilet seat, more or less swaddled in the large towel Minho had offered him.
He blinks in confusion a few seconds later when he hears the shower turn on. He turns to look and sees Minho turning the heat up and testing the water every few seconds. After a while, he pulls his hand out completely and wipes it off on a hand towel.
“Okay, baby, the water is really hot. Sit here for a while for the steam, then I’ll turn it down a bit and you can get in.” Chan hums in acknowledgement, smiling softly when Minho starts to run a hand through his hair again.
The wait goes by fairly quickly. It actually feels pretty nice to just breathe in the steam as best as he can. After a while of spacing out while he sits, Minho kisses the top of his head before moving to adjust the water temperature. He comes back and gently taps Chan’s shoulder.
“Time to get in, Channie,” he says.
After mentally hyping himself up, Chan stands up and walks over to the shower. He sticks his hand in.
And immediately withdraws it with a quiet gasp.
Minho is next to him in a second.
“What is it? Is it too hot?” he fusses, examining Chan’s fingers.
Chan just shakes his head.
“No, iss too cold,” he whines. “Isn’ warm enough.” He tries not to sound like too much of a sick little kid, but he isn’t sure he succeeds.
Minho looks at him strangely when he says that. When Chan just tilts his head tiredly, Minho smiles at him with a mixture of confusion, sympathy, and pity.
“Baby, this is the highest temperature the water will go before it does more harm than good. I tested it a few seconds ago,” he explains.
Oh, Chan thinks.
He can feel himself pouting, but can’t bring himself to school his expression. He’s too tired, and everything feels bad. But Minho says this will help him feel less terrible, so…
He sucks it up and steps under the shower head.
Instantly, he starts shivering. When he doesn’t move for several seconds Minho pokes his head in.
“Need help in here?” Chan blinks a few times before shaking his head, reaching for the soap. He misses. By a lot.
Minho grimaces slightly. “You sure?” he asks softly.
Chan just looks at him, completely out of words and shoulders slumping and sure that he’s giving Minho the Puppy Eyes, but it does the trick.
“Alright, baby, lemme help you out,” Minho murmurs as he quickly strips and steps in with Chan. He tries to avoid getting water in his hair, and maneuvers them both so that Chan is under the stream more than he is.
It makes Chan pout more, but he hums quietly in content when Minho quickly but gently shampoos and conditions his hair, then helps him wash up.
In the blink of an eye, Minho is turning the water off and reaching out of the shower stall to get Chan’s towel and wrap him up again, then doing the same for himself.
The shower definitely helped. His head still hurts, but the hot water eased it down from a splitting pain to a dull ache. And his throat feels pretty okay now. Chan is able to walk out of the bathroom with Minho’s guidance moments later, taking them back to the room to put on comfy clothes.
Soon Chan’s sitting on the bed in pajamas, and propped up against pillows again and staring dazedly off into space.
Minho gets his attention by running a hand through his damp curls.
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” he asks softly. Chan shrugs.
“A li’l better. Head feels fuzzy but hurts less, an’ now ‘m cozy,” he mumbles after a moment. “Wanna sleep again.”
“You probably should,” Minho concedes. “You can’t take any more medicine for at least two hours, anyway.” At Chan’s confused pout, he sighs before giving him a smile. “At least have some tea and crackers before you sleep again, okay? It’ll help you recharge your energy.”
Chan nods absentmindedly, then hums unhappily when he realizes Minho has to actually leave the room to go get the tea and crackers for him. Though, he does get another forehead kiss before he goes, which is nice.
After a few seconds, Chan lets himself slouch forward again while he waits. I’m so lucky to have Minho, he thinks after a while. Then he pouts again.
Minho shouldn’t have to do all this for him…
He doesn’t know how long he sits alone, completely lost in thought. He just stares at the floor, head foggy and too full of thoughts crowding each other, most of them centered around an internal argument of whether or not he should be able to take care of himself when he’s sick. The side of ‘It’s okay, you needed the help’ is, unfortunately, losing out to ‘You shouldn’t be making Minho take care of you’ in his sad, tired, and fuzzy mind.
“Hey,” he hears suddenly, and he looks up blearily. His expression pinches slightly when he sees Minho looking down at him, tea in one hand and crackers and the thermometer in the other.
Minho blinks at Chan before setting the snacks on the bedside table. Then he sits next to Chan carefully and reaches out to caress his cheeks.
“Channie, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” he asks gently. Chan frowns in confusion before Minho starts swiping his thumbs across his cheekbones – brushing off tears he hadn’t known had fallen.
He sniffles once.
“I don’t… I dunno, jus’ got upset…” he says miserably. “Sorry, jus’… sorry… takin’ up all your time,” he tries to explain, staring down at his knees.
He glances up when he hears Minho sigh softly, and he sniffles again when he sees Minho frowning. He considers apologizing again, his exhausted brain only making him feel worse.
Then Minho sighs again, before leaning in and pressing a long, sweet kiss to Chan’s forehead. Then he leans back so he can pull Chan into a gentle hug.
“I want to be here for you, okay?” he says softly. When Chan just blinks slowly at him, he continues, “Baby, I love you so much, and if I can do even the smallest things to help you feel better I always will.”
Chan hums softly before he nods. Minho hums as well, brushing a hand through Chan’s hair again.
“If I was sick, if any of the members were sick, would you want to do anything you could to help us feel better?” he asks after a moment. Chan nods, more readily this time, and Minho sighs fondly. “Will you please believe that we all feel the same about you?”
Chan hesitates, before nodding once again. “Okay.”
“Good. Because we definitely do,” Minho says matter-of-factly. Then he adds, with a slight smirk, “And also if I could, I would definitely tear apart the influenza virus with a butter knife and a rusty spoon so you’d never get the flu again.”
That makes Chan laugh, huffing softly with the tiniest of smiles on his lips.
“Love you s’much, Minnie,” he mumbles. “You’re so sweet t’me.”
“Hmm, you’re so sweet to me, Mr. Bang Chan,” Minho says gently. He gives Chan another forehead kiss before reaching over to the bedside table to pick up the snacks. The tea is still a little hot, so he helps Chan take careful sips in between every few bites of crackers.
It helps Chan feel better than he thought it would, and with half of the snacks gone he really just wants a nap.
Minho can tell based on the drooping of his eyelids and the way his head keeps falling forward, and he stifles a snicker.
“Alright, Channie, more sleep for you,” he murmurs. After taking Chan’s temperature, noting with a pleased hum that it’s gone down to 38, he carefully adjusts Chan so that he can pull the blankets over him.
“Get some rest, gorgeous,” Minho says with a smile, tucking Chan in and grinning wider when he giggles.
“Hm, you’re… gorgeous…” Chan mumbles in return. “Nigh’-night.” He easily drifts off minutes later, exhausted but comfortable. Minho sighs fondly and brushes Chan’s bangs back from his forehead, once again leaving another kiss in their place.
“You’re so cute, Channie,” he murmurs, knowing Chan can’t hear him. He’s okay with that. He’ll just tell him again when he’s awake.
Chan wakes up once again when the sun is starting to set.
His head’s still foggy, but it hurts much less than it did earlier. His cheeks feel warm, and he’s pretty sure he’s sweating under the blankets, but he doesn’t feel awfully cold in his bones anymore. His throat’s still sore, but gone is the way that it felt shredded before he fell asleep.
All in all… he feels bad, but it’s better than it was. And on the plus side, he no longer feels like absolute shit.
Just after he comes to this conclusion, there’s a soft knock on the door before it’s being pushed open to reveal Minho on the other side.
“Oh. You’re awake,” Minho says, blinking a few times before smiling. Chan smiles too, very drowsy but happy to see Minho again.
“Hi, Min,” he mumbles in response, and he’s pleased to find that his voice went from a hoarse croak to just a little rough.
Apparently, Minho’s pleased too, because he smiles even wider. Then he crosses the room quickly, water and medicine packet in hand.
“Looks like you’re feeling better. You’re just in time for the next dose, too,” he chirps as he places the water gently on the bed’s side table before unceremoniously ripping open the packet with the little (bitter) painkillers and cough relief. Chan watches, dazedly amused, as the pills fall onto the blanket and nearly get lost in its folds. He even chuckles when Minho curses and immediately snatches the pills up again, finding it even funnier when Minho glares at the medicine as if it had insulted his cats.
He sighs before handing Chan the pills.
“Here, take these bastards, allegedly they’ll help you feel better,” he says bluntly, still leering at the medicine.
Chan stifles another laugh and dutifully takes his medicine, scrunching his nose up at the bitter flavor even with the water. A moment later he realizes, with some genuine joy, that he still has leftover tea on his bedside table. He drains the last of it in seconds, washing away the grossness off his tongue.
He puts the cup down, sighing softly, before looking up to see Minho looking at him with an atrocious amount of fondness. Immediately, he feels his face heat up, and not from his fever.
“What?” he asks (squeaks). “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Minho winks at him, of course, and he looks like he’s smirking at him. Chan pouts with a huff.
“C’mon, Minnie, what did I do?” he nearly whines, and okay, he’ll admit that now he’s definitely using his puppy eyes on purpose. “You’re looking at me funny.”
Minho finally cracks at that, sighing exaggeratedly.
“You didn’t do anything, Channie, I just love you. You’re so cute all the time it’s not fucking fair, if I’m being honest.”
Internally, Minho smiles as he realizes he’s already fulfilled his earlier promise of reminding Chan that he’s adorable now that he’s awake again. Externally, he cackles at seeing Chan’s cheeks and ears flush an even darker pink than they already were from being sick.
“Miiiiiinnn,” Chan actually whines this time, drawing it out and hiding his face in his hands. “You can’t just say shit like that…”
Minho scoffs. “You mean I can’t go around declaring the truth? Seems fake to me.”
“Hmmph…” is Chan’s only response for a while. Then he pouts, mumbling, “You’re cuter, I hope you know.”
“I don’t know, because you’re cuter,” Minho replies airily. “To infinity, ha, I win.”
Chan groans, partially in embarrassment and the rest in amusement. As flustered as he gets when people, especially his members, compliment him, it does make him feel a little pleased to be on the receiving end of kind words.
“Well, you’re cuter to infinity, and then we have to call it a draw, how about that?” he proposes with a tiny grin.
“Fiiiine, I guess we can tie for the cutest people in the world,” Minho concedes with a (very fond) eyeroll.
“Guess we’ll have to,” Chan murmurs, smiling a little wider. Then his expression sobers, just a little, and he meets Minho’s gaze and holds it as steadily as he can.
“Thank you for taking care of me today,” he says softly, then rushes to continue as Minho opens his mouth in protest, “I know you always say I don’t have to thank you for things like this, but I want to. It means a lot to me that you stuck with me while I was feeling sick, even when I was, y’know, throwing up… Also, I don’t think I would have remembered, or even known how to do half of the things you did for me. I honestly feel way better right now than I normally would if I was just doing everything myself. So, thank you, so much…” He pauses, grinning now as his eyes seem to sparkle. “And I love you so much.”
There’s no response from Minho for a long moment, and Chan fidgets, nervous for some reason that he did something wrong. Then Minho blinks a few times and inhales sharply, and Chan can feel his eyes widen when Minho’s eyes look a little more moist than normal.
“Min…” he whispers softly, reaching a hand toward him, letting it hover in the air and waiting for a response.
Minho blinks rapidly before he accepts his hand, holding it gently. He looks down their hands, at how for once his palm is resting on the back of Chan’s just slightly larger hand and how his fingers are wrapped around to touch Chan’s palm, how Chan’s knuckles rest against the inside of Minho’s wrist and all of it is careful and sweet. Then he looks back up to meet Chan’s gaze.
And he grins, his super-huge one that shows off the edges of his gums and his cute teeth (Chan is in deep, confirming it to himself when he realizes he finds Minho’s teeth cute) and crinkling his eyes.
“I love you too, my Channie,” he says, grin still stretching across his face. He even giggles, and Chan wonders if his heart is melting just a little from how adorable his boyfriend is. Chan’s grinning too, he realizes – Minho’s joy infectious.
It’s not often that Minho will react to declarations of love and affection with open acceptance, and it’s even rarer that he’ll return the gesture. Chan wonders, briefly, if this is Minho’s way of accepting his thanks without having to say it. The thought vanishes quickly, because it doesn’t matter how Minho accepts it.
All that matters is that he knows how much Chan cares about him, values his not-so-hidden caring nature, wants to always see Minho looking so elated at simply telling him how much he loves him.
And as cheesy as it sounds, Chan is pretty sure he’s feeling better simply because he has his Minho next to him, giving him comfort and care and love, knowing Chan would do the same for him.
“As much as I love you, I hope you know that if I get sick from being close to you that I’ll kick your ass. And then my own immune system’s ass, just like I did to your immune system. And then your ass again, just because.”
“Wait, hold on, you wanted to be close to me! You can’t use this against me when you told me you wanted to help!”
“… Okay fine, maybe I did say that… I’ll just kick Hyunjin’s ass instead, he probably did something to earn it.”
(He doesn’t get sick, luckily. And after a couple days where there was only forehead and cheek kisses, Chan wakes up completely virus-free. And the first thing Minho does once he realizes enough time has passed is march directly into Chan’s room and wake him up and announce his intentions… and then plant a smooch right on his lips.
Chan isn’t complaining about it, losing track of time and space entirely and smiling against Minho’s lips as he snakes his arms around his waist. He loves how Minho is both firm and gentle, and he melts into the way Minho takes charge with the kisses. He loves everything about Minho, actually, and maybe he says this out loud when they finally pull apart for air.
No, he finds he can’t complain one bit.
Even if his roommates do.)