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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

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One Year ❣︎ Seven: Never Ask Friends for Help

Chapter Summary: As San expected, he caught a cold after your little prance through the storm in Hallim Park the previous day. Luckily, you're fine, which gives you the wonderful opportunity to look after him and the even more wonderful opportunity to let your chaotic nature shine.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, (this chapter is pure fluff and crack) Word count: 3.2k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Six For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Silence filled your room when you woke up the next morning. It was strange, since San had said he would be waking you up, and there you were, still lying in bed by the time noon rolled around.

It wasn’t as if you were waiting for him to come and get you, but you just wanted to take advantage of the time in such a warm blanket. Yeosang often joked about how you became a cold-blooded reptile whenever you felt sleepy, body temperature dropping and your tongue sharp like that of a snake.

Basically, it was his long-winded way of calling you a cranky, heat-stealing bitch.

Not that you minded at all, since Yeosang was a cranky bitch himself when sleepy.

But then half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of San. Throwing the blanket off your form, you slipped on a pair of slippers and got ready for the day, finding him becoming the very next thing on your agenda.

And the state you found him in was certainly laughable--to you anyway.

“Did you seriously get sick after a little storm?” you chuckled, eyes taking in San wrapped in the covers as if he was a baby, sniffling every few seconds.

“Oh, shut it,” he glared at you, speaking with a nasally voice.

You took a step into his room, one looking fairly similar to yours, with little pictures or much personalisation in general. Must not have stayed here often then, or had many memories he wanted to keep.

That thought... it made you feel a little sad.

Once you reached the edge of his bed, you sat down beside him, noticing just how sickly-looking he was. Skin paler, hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, flush cheeks and nose, uneven breathing, soft whimpering.

Your smile faded slightly. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since last night,” he coughed, brushing away your hand as you reached out to check his temperature. “Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Clicked your tongue at his response and did so anyway. “Holy shit, you’re burning up. More than you should be. Has anyone seen to you yet?” Instantly, you brushed the hair from his eyes, simultaneously wiping away the sweat. Was pretty gross, but you didn’t mind at all.

San relaxed under your gentle touch, finding it cool and soothing against his muddled senses. “N-No. I texted Hongjoong to tell everyone to leave me alone. Clearly didn’t do a good enough job if you’re here.”

Lightly hitting his chest over the blanket, you scoffed. “You’re happy I’m here, don’t lie.”

Grinning, he sighed. “Can’t hide anything from you, now can I, Hun?”

“Nope,” you huffed as you got up. “Now, I’m going to prepare something for you to eat since you probably haven’t had anything since yesterday.” On cue, his stomach grumbled painfully loudly, making the man visibly cringe as he was about to decline your offer so you would stay with him for a little bit longer. “Looks like Mister Tummy’s already answered for you.”

“Mister Tummy doesn’t know shit.”

“Mister Tummy knows more shit than you do. In fact, it processes all of your shit for you.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Mister Tummy’s gross. But full of wisdom.”

“You know what, just go. Leave me be for a bit.”

Evil chuckling reached his ears. “Now that you’ve said it, I’ll just be here to annoy you as much as I can. But before we do that, keep yourself bundled up and make sure you’re sweating buckets. It’s the most effective way to break a nasty fever like that.” You began wrapping him up in the thick blanket like he was a burrito.

With that, you left for the kitchen, calling Seonghwa’s number. As the ringing continued, you looked around, noticing how there were few guards and servants around the place. Not even Wooyoung, Jongho, or Hongjoong could be seen in your trek to make food.

“What do you want, troll?”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that. Whatever happened to ‘hello’? Too mainstream for you?”

“...Hello, troll. What do you want?”

Narrowing your eyes ahead of you, smirk pressing against your lips, you tried to look around for the chef. Not there either. “Much better. Now, can you give me a recipe for that soup with ‘magical healing properties’ you used to give me?”

“Bone broth?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m on adventure to nurse a sociopathic cuddle-demon back to health, now are you going to give me the recipe or am I going to get Yunho to drag it out of you? Because I know very well that he will.”

Seonghwa’s sigh was loud enough to be audible through the phone.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Just text me the recipe, thank you, love you, byeeeeee.” Immediately ended the call, looking in all the cupboards, the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer. This place was stocked to the brim.

Shortly after, your phone began buzzing, Seonghwa requesting to video call you. Swiping the green button, you were met with a (slightly laggy) picture of Seonghwa’s chin, hearing him yell off screen. “--UNHO. MINGI. I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE I SHOVE IT UP BOTH YOUR ASSES.”

You could make out the response, “Hehe, kinky.” Most likely Mingi from the very nature of the comment.

“What do you want, troll?” you echoed his words back to him, catching his attention--the other boys most likely long gone into the depth of the house.

“Well, well, well, how the tables have turned,” he smirked, moving the camera so you could see him better.

“It’s ‘how the turntables’.”

He looked at you with an unimpressed expression, not pleased with your Office reference, and carried on to ignore it. “So there is no way in hell I’m sending you the recipe through text, since people can easily hack that--”

“And by people, you mean--”

“Yeosang, yes, who else? Little rat bastard keeps trying to steal my recipes.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“As if he hasn’t heard it already about a million times.”

You chuckled in response, knowing how true it was. “Fair enough. Now spill your secrets and bless me with the ability to cook.”

One word to describe the last hour of your life would be... Well, you couldn’t really think of a word. It was purely of Seonghwa screaming over the phone and you screaming back. And panicking. Both of you definitely panicked.

But all in all, the bone broth was made and tasted fairly decent--a worry you had after fucking up so many times in making a simple recipe.

With a pale and dreary look upon his face, Seonghwa looked at you through the phone, narrowing his eyes on you pouring some of the hot mixture in to a bowl. “You’re actually gonna feed him that? Sure you’re trying to nurse him, or was this a master plan to kill him after that ordeal? Because if it’s the latter, then there were much easier ways of doing so.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, whispering prayers in your head that it would actually help San’s fever. “And goodbye.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Is that it? You’re gonna use me and then lea--”

You hand pulled away from the phone screen, after having pressed the red button. Chuckled to yourself with your comedic timing, completely forgetting the earful you’d get of the elder the next time you call him.

Gathering a tray, you placed the bowl of bone broth on top of it, as well as a packet of painkillers, a glass of water, and some turmeric tea; why San has it, you have no idea, since he seems to be a hot coffee-kind of person.

Would’ve added a flower, because you felt like being extra, but that would seem more like a romantic thing than a... well, whatever the hell you two were right now.

This situation wasn’t exactly common enough for it to be given a name.

Wafting away the thought, you grabbed the tray and walked quickly to the mobster’s bedroom. Didn’t need to worry about any spillage since you’ve had years of practice being quick and precise with movement.

Holding one hand beneath the tray (feeling a little heavy, but again, you’ve had practice), you used the other to open the door, finding San still swaddled in his blanket, sweating like a pig.

“Y/N...” he whimpered, an eye opening at the sound of you entering. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state was different to how he usually was--and you weren’t sure if you liked it.

“I’m right here, San,” you replied in a soft tone, brushing back his hair once more as soon as you placed the tray on the bedside-table beside you. “Brought you some food too. Can you sit up for me?”

Letting out soft whines, he tried to lift his body up, but was too weak and too caged in to get his back even a centimetre off the mattress. You saw the issue, and pulled the covers apart slightly so he could move a little more, both hands pulling gently at his shoulders so he could sit up properly.

Never had you seen someone this unwell from a simple fever. Sure, you’ve felt like shit before, but San’s condition was a little worrying. “Is there some private doctor I can call?”

“What,” he huffed, a smile etching onto his face as he looked into your eyes, “makes you think I have a private doctor?”

“Oh, I dunno, you’re a rich asshole?”

Chuckling, he let his head flop to the side, neck suddenly too weak to hold it up properly. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Annoying, but funny, but sarcastic, but beautiful.”

“Okay, do you wanna continue with that word vomit or are you gonna eat?” You cocked your brow, head tilting to match his posture. “Also, you’re not gonna flatter me by calling me beautiful. That shit doesn’t work on me anymore.”

It had slightly upset San knowing that you had said ‘anymore’--upset him knowing that there were others complimenting what his. But he couldn’t blame them. You really were beautiful in his eyes, even if he hadn’t thought so when he initially laid eyes on you.

“Don’t wanna eat.”

Sighing, you fixed yourself and picked up the bowl, mixing it as you blew to cool it down a little. “You’re not well, you gotta.”

He looked at you with big wide eyes and a small pout--and you couldn’t help but think it was a little cute. “Don’t wanna... unless you feed me?”

Okay, maybe it was a little less cute.

You exhaled, still stirring. “If I do, then you’ll have it all?” He put his hand over his heart, nodding with a sincere look on his face. “Fine then.” You lifted a spoon full of the bone broth to his lips, which he look into his mouth promptly--eyes glued to yours as he did so.

San hummed earnestly. “It’s...actually pretty good.”

Eye twitching, you lightly pushed him. “Why? Did you expect it to be shit?”

“I mean, I heard faint screaming and what I assume was swearing, which could have only come from you because I let everyone have a day off for today. So, yes, forgive my assumption that it would murder me,” he chuckled, opening his mouth once more, in which you carefully put more broth in.

“Be happy that I’m doing this much for you.”

“Because you feel guilty for getting me ill?”

“No, it was your fault for not taking a hot shower when we came back, like I told you to--and your immune system for being so shit.”

“Okay, first of all, I can’t help it if my immune system wants to act out. I usually don’t get this ill.” You sent him a ludicrous look, continuing to feed him. “What? I really don’t!”

“Tell that to the rain.”

“I-- nevermind. But the second thing is that I offered to take a shower, but you said no!”

“That’s because you wanted to shower with me. No way in hell I was gonna let that happen!”

“You have the shower room for it!”

″Yeah, and I've already passed on my grievances to you yesterday about that hell-room!”

“Well, at least with me with you, you don’t have to worry about--what did you call it? Oh yeah--’Casper the fuckin’ Perverted Ghost’.”

“I’d take a ghost over you any day.”

“You won’t be saying that in a year.”

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t be choosing Casper over you. After all, I’ll be spending time with him as well.”

San scoffed, slightly amused but annoyed at the same time. “Are you actually trying to get me jealous of something that doesn’t exist?”

“Who said Casper doesn’t exist?”

“‘Cause ghosts don’t exist.”

“Tell that to Casper. You’ll find him in my shower room.”

Amidst the conversation, neither of you had noticed how the bowl and cup was now empty, their contents now residing in San’s stomach. But when you did, you got up--ready to walk to the kitchen and put everything away--until his very warm hands wrapped around your elbow gently.

“Please don’t go. You can put all that stuff away later. Just... stay with me.”

Sighing, you decided to listen to him for once an put the tray down before tightening the covers around him again--making him whine. “Noooooo, I wanna hold you.”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?”

“I’m ill, stop taking my muddled brain so seriously.”

Your brow cocked up, amused while you looked over his flushed face. “So you’d be willing get me sick too?”

Another pout formed on his face. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “You know what, you’re right. You can go.”

He avoided looking at you, instead fixing his saddened gaze at the window. Your natural scepticism told you that he was just faking it, only putting on an act to get your attention and affection. Yet, for the first time in a while, doubt began to seep in.

Maybe... maybe you could give in. Just this once.

Sighing, you slipped off your slippers and lay down beside him, an arm and leg wrapping around his body to bring him closer to you. A stronger tint of red covered his face as he looked at you, flabbergasted, as he tried to wriggle out of your touch. “What are you doing, you’ll get sick--”

“My immune system is much stronger than yours, I’ll live. Besides, you look cosy,” you muttered, nestling your face into the soft blanket. Even his blanket smelled like a garden in the rain, despite the amount of sweat that’s probably seeped into it.

Truly, he did, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to hug the human burrito.

San had, instead, found you cute, cheek squished against the fabric surrounding him. Let his mind wonder to the image of you pressed against him--without the covers coming between you two.

Again.

Would you look this peaceful, sleeping on his chest, on a regular day--he thought.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you gonna get some rest?” San could feel your voice vibrating through the covers despite the thickness of it.

“Hard not to stare at you, ya know?” he relaxed himself, despite feeling like he was baking beneath the blanket, and let his head rest on the pillow, cheek pressed against your forehead.

“Goddamn, you’re hot. Did you take any medicine while I was cooking?”

“Oh, Hun, there’s no cure for sexiness,” he coughed, a smirk pulling at his lips from the joke he made.

Another sigh was pulled from your throat as you got up to look for any painkillers he could take. Sane began to whine once more, rolling over since he could barely had enough energy to move with his arms when he was this tired--a full belly of warm broth and tea not helping what so ever.

“No--wait. Come back...”

“You need painkillers.”

With a straight face, he stared deep into your eyes, slightly glossy and sparkling under the dim sunlight coming into the room. “But you’re my painkiller.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get you some meds,” you deadpanned, scooping up the tray to leave the grown-ass mafia boss whining and rolling around, throwing a tantrum.

After some hard thinking and remembering that Wooyoung had given you his number, you called him up as you stood in the doorway, looking at San’s calm state of sleeping.

“My dear sister,” you heard a voice finally say over the phone, “what requires my assistance?”

“...Wooyoung?”

“Yes, dear sister?”

“What in the world has possessed you call me your ‘dear sister’?”

“Because you’re gonna be my friend’s wife some day, so I need to get used to seeing you as my sister-from-another-mister.”

Rubbing the bridge of your nose, you decided to not comment on his outlandish claims. “San’s not feeling well.”

“Is that why he sent us all away?” he laughed, somehow finding this situation amusing--since this is what his best friend tends to do; finds his weakened state as vulnerability, and if there was one thing San hated, it was feeling vulnerable.

But if he truly hated that, then why pursue this why you--when he know that it would force him to bring his guard down?

“I think so. No one was here when I came out of my room. Not the cooks or the maids or even the guards,” you said, taking another gander as if there might be someone roaming the halls to disprove your statement.

There wasn’t.

“Okay then. You want me to give you our private doctor’s number?”

Chuckling to yourself because you knew you were right (immediately confusing Wooyoung), you hummed, “yeah, that would be great.”

“O-Okay. Lemme text it to you. But do you need anything else? I know from experience San can get a little clingy when he’s not in his right mind,” he said, a boisterous giggle passing his lips.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You let your gaze brush over your captor’s figure. “Just send me the number and I’ll take it from there.”

“Okie dokie then, dear sister. I’ll leave you to deal with that enigma.”

“Alright, Wooyoung. See you tomorrow?”

“Call me ‘dear brother’, then maybe I’ll hang u--”

You shoved your phone into your back pocket after ending the call, thinking that it would take him a few minutes. Proving you wrong, the phone buzzes to life within the next ten seconds, Wooyoung sending you a couple of messages.

Wooyoung: Well that was a rude Wooyoung: No matter, I still love ya, dear sister Wooyoung: Probs should clarify that it’s platonic in case San sees it and gets all jelly Wooyoung: Anyway, here’s the number Wooyoung: XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N: Thanks, bro

Wooyoung: 🥺🥺 You called me ‘bro’

Smiling a little, you called the number--which had indeed taken you to a doctor’s clinic. After hearing of his exact temperature and other symptoms, the woman over the phone had concluded that it was as you first suspected--the common cold.

She told you to keep giving him painkillers and he should be fine within the week. Ending the call with a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you left to get San more broth and medication, and hopefully you’d lay down with him again.

Which is exactly what you did for the rest of the day, opting to stay with him for the night too in order to make sure he really was okay. Thankfully, the worst of his fever had passed by the time morning came around and he was feeling much better.

You, however, were exhausted after looking after him, deep in your slumber as you shifted closer to San, who had broken free of his blanket prison and wrapped it around the two of you. The sunlight peeking through the window paled in comparison to the faint smile of glee San had adorned when he saw you.

Cheeked pressed up against his shoulder, and arm and a leg draped over his body like a koala clinging to a tree.

Just like he had thought the day before.

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