taking care | c.sc
this is a repost of my taehyun fic from a couple months ago. it is incredibly fitting that I post this again because I’ve been sick off my head for several weeks now. please pray for me and mc </3
Pairing: Seungcheol x gender neutral!reader
Genre: fluff, slice of life!au, sick fic, editor!seungcheol, writer!reader
Triggers: cursing, mentions of medication (prescribed), panic attacks are mentioned once but no one actually has one
Word Count: 12.6k
When Seungcheol goes missing from work, you hunt him down to his apartment where you find him sick. Attempts to take care of him ensue. It doesn’t all go as expected.
Taehyun (TXT) Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist
It is two am on a Friday morning when you finally emerge from your little den of sadness and misery to actually attempt to be somewhat of a functional human being.
(The little voice in the back of your head that sounds annoyingly like Soonyoung reminds you that no one is ever able to actually function at two am like a normal human being, and the fact that you are only able to attempt functionality at this hour speaks to something deeply, deeply wrong with your sleep schedule and mental psyche. You swat it away.)
Switching on a light, you blink into the brightness. For a moment it feels like your eyes are burning. Sometime over the past five days, you became a vampire, probably. Minus the bites and fangs and sexy undead creatures.
Wait.
Five days?
You pat your pockets for your phone, which does not seem to be on you. Ah. Yes. You often shove it away when you're in gremlin writer mode so that the bright light won't distract you from your empty word documents. Shuffling back into your study, you flip on the light there too and start throwing things around.
“Beautiful,” you mutter, finally dragging the device out from under a pile of scribbled-on papers. “Please turn on, please turn on—”
It turns on. Bless, so it isn't dead. Squinting at the tiny screen, you check the date and time. Two oh seven in the morning on Friday, November seventeenth.
(The tiny rational voice in your brain that sometimes sounds like Jeonghan and sometimes sounds like Seungcheol reminds you that you could have easily checked your still open laptop for the date and time instead of rooting around for your own. You swat it away, too.)
Hm. So it has been five days. That's... interesting. And mildly concerning. Not because of your fucked up sleep schedule which isn't even a sleep schedule at this point, but because this means Seungcheol is off schedule. And by that you mean he didn't show up on the third day of your writer gremlin-induced madness to bring you coffee.
It happens like clockwork. You get sucked in by a deadline, ergo you go MIA. You ignore all texts and messages for two days, ergo Seungcheol deduces you have spiraled into deadline induced writer gremlin madness. Coffee is the only thing that sustains you on a day to day basis, ergo Seungcheol shows up at your apartment on day three, your favorite coffee in hand and not the bitter unsweetened shit you make yourself at home, and forces you to take a nap while he cooks.
It's a neat little syllogism. Or something. You don't quite remember the names of all the literary devices your writing teachers tried to shove into your head in high school. It all became irrelevant anyway in college when you could have arguments with your professors over the merits of the Oxford comma (it has many merits, but sometimes you just like to be contrary and your professors grew to know this very well). But now the syllogism has been broken because it's been five days since you sank into your little black hole of word documents and black coffee and Seungcheol has not shown up once.
Ergo, concerning.
Your fingers have pulled up Seungcheol's contact before you realize what you're doing at this time of the night—well, morning. You cannot call Seungcheol right now. He's most definitely asleep because he's an actual functioning human being who goes to the gym, eats semi healthy food, and has a sleep schedule. And also happens to be ridiculously good at editing every anxiety-infused chapter you send him of your in progress novel. Therefore you cannot bother him before six in the morning, which is when he actually wakes up. It would be unholy. An even greater transgression upon the gods, assuming they exist.
You close your laptop, making sure to double and then triple save your work because accidents happen and you don't need any of them at two am on Friday when something's already wrong with Seungcheol, then shut off the light before shuffling back into the room where you're actually supposed to sleep. The bed looks extremely inviting all of a sudden, what with all the nice little blankets and pillows that you haven't seen in days because you've just been taking cat naps in your office, and it's all you can do to force yourself to brush your teeth first and attempt to wash your face before plugging your phone into its charger and falling onto the bed.
In minutes, you're fast asleep.
. . . . .
When you wake up twelve hours later, at first you don't really remember why there's anxiety buzzing in your chest.
Your eyes feel crusty. So does your mouth. It feels like something died on your tongue. And your entire body feels grimy, probably because you haven't showered in a couple of days, so you ignore the little flutter of anxiety for now, just for now, and head to the bathroom.
One shower and a set of fully brushed teeth later, you stand in front of the bathroom mirror and attempt coherent thought.
Fact 1: You feel somewhat anxious.
Fact 2: It is true that you can sometimes feel anxious for no reason. It's called anxiety and it's the reason you see a therapist.
Fact 3: You're finally on track to meet your deadline in several days thanks to the past five days of gremlin behavior.
Conjecture 1: The deadline is not the source of your anxiety.
Conjecture 2: Something else is the source of your anxiety.
You blink. Wait. How many days has it been since you went into writer gremlin mode?
Five. It has been five days.
Your final thoughts from two in the morning come rushing back. Right. Seungcheol didn't come by on the three day mark to bring you coffee, make you food, and force you to nap.
Somehow in the light of day, this realization seems more concerning than ever.
You head back into your room to check your phone, which is now happily and fully charged at your bedside. Several new text messages, but none of them from Seungcheol.
Concerning has now become worrying.
You flick through the other texts. One from Soonyoung that's just a weird meme, one from Chaewon reminding you to take a break at some point. Nothing from Seungcheol at all.
You call the office.
“Hello?”
“Is Seungcheol there?”
A pause. “... Y/N?”
“Yes, it's me, I'm incredibly offended that you don't remember my voice,” you rattle off. “Is Seungcheol there?”
Jeonghan pauses again on the other end. The sound of shuffling papers fills the phone. “Greetings to you too,” he snarks, and you really want to hit him. So much. But he's several miles away in an office building and your only connection is through like... electrical wires. Or waves. Or something. Science wasn't your strongest suit in school. Point is, you can't hit him. “Glad to see you've dragged yourself out of your writer gremlin induced stupor. And no, before you ask again, I don't think he came in today.”
This is more worrying than you thought it would be. Seungcheol doesn't miss work. He's always on time, if not early—the one time he came in late and you were on time, you thought the world was going to end.
“Cute, thanks. Have a good—” you check the time— “four more hours of work!” You hang up before you can hear his reply.
So not only has Seungcheol not texted you or called you at all in the past few days, but he isn't at work either. These levels of worrying are starting to get dizzying. Which means only one thing:
You need to find him.
Luckily, you've been to Seungcheol's place several times for both work and social purposes, like when Joshua and Soonyoung convinced him to host a little Christmas party that ended with almost everyone tipsy or drunk and passed out in his living room by morning. You were on your meds so you couldn't drink, so you got saddled with the fun responsibility of bullying everyone into drinking hangover cures when they woke up.
It was actually kind of fun getting to record them doing and saying stupid shit, though. You were able to stock up on at least a year's worth of blackmail material in just one night. Efficient.
Not the point. You know where Seungcheol lives. Now you need to go there and ascertain whether or not he's alive. And if he isn't alive, see if his cat is doing okay before you go have a mental breakdown because Seungcheol can't die. It's like, impossible. He's pretty much invincible. Anyone who goes to the gym every day like it's his religion can't die.
You throw several things into your beaten up bag, then on second thought shove your laptop into its case to bring it too. Another voice that sounds ridiculously like Joshua chirps something like you bring that everywhere.
“It's called separation anxiety,” you say out loud.
No one replies. Which is good, because if someone did, you’d have a whole new problem on your hands.
With that, you grab your laptop charger, shove it in the bag, and head out the front door. You only almost forget to lock it on your way out.
. . . . .
It only hits you that you might be overreacting when you're right outside Seungcheol's apartment. When you've literally raised your fist to knock on the door.
Because maybe he's... fine. Maybe he's perfectly fine and he's just tired of coddling you like a child. It would be valid. He shouldn't need to bring you coffee every third day of your gremlin life. He shouldn't need to learn to cook for you just so you can actually eat a fresh vegetable every so often. He shouldn't need to make you take naps like a toddler because you forget to take care of yourself a little too often to be acceptable as a full grown adult.
Maybe you should have called him beforehand and seen if he actually needed you before coming here.
Okay, no. A voice that sounds suspiciously like your therapist cuts through your spiral of negativity. Seungcheol is your editor. He is also your friend. Friends check on each other and make sure they're doing okay.
Yes, but friends don't usually do... all of that. Seungcheol's cooking has actually improved in the process of attempting to make you eat. That's dedication you aren't sure you deserve.
That's the effort he's putting into your friendship, your mind therapist says. And you put your own effort into the friendship. It's not like he's doing this all alone.
Right. You look at the door. You've shown up to his apartment unannounced because you were worried about him. That has to count for something, right?
Yes! your mind therapist cheers.
No, says the bitch ass part of your brain.
This hurts, says the arm that is still raised in the air, ready to knock on the door but unable to because anxiety.
Whatever. You sigh. You've already made the entire subway ride and walk to his apartment and are standing outside his door. Might as well check on him while you're here.
You knock.
No one answers.
You frown. Maybe he's not home, in which case finding him will be considerably more difficult. Or maybe he just didn't hear you. That would be the better option. Maybe you should knock again.
You knock again.
This time, to your relief, something does sound behind the door. To your concern, however, it sounds like a groan mixed with a crash, which is not something you ever thought you'd hear from Choi Seungcheol's apartment. You did not prepare yourself for a possible horror story on this bright Friday afternoon.
“... Seungcheol?” you call through the door.
Another sound follows, more like a thump this time. There's also a meow that sounds like Hobak, which is reassuring. “Coming,” you make out very faintly.
Well, it sounds... vaguely like Seungcheol. You frown. You could kind of hear the undercurrents of his tone in the garbled mess that you made out as coming. Maybe it's not a horror movie monster in his apartment, then.
Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other as you wait for what is presumably Seungcheol or some sort of Seungcheol-esque form to open the door. Someone is staring at you out of the corner of your eye at the end of the hall and you really don't want to be out here for longer than is necessary.
Finally, you hear something click in the door. You have about one second to prepare yourself for something ghastly and horror movie-like before it swings open.
You blink. So does Seungcheol.
“... Y/N?”
Okay, so not a horror movie monster. At least not one that's possessed him. But honestly, if Seungcheol had told you such a monster had ransacked his apartment and left him to die, you'd have believed him because this is the worst you've ever seen him.
His eyes are red. So is his nose. He's got this huge fluffy blanket wrapped around him and—is he shivering? You have to look again. The Seungcheol you know would never look like this. He always looks so put together, even when he's just come from the gym—which is ungodly because you always look like shit after you've gotten off the treadmill—and even when he's wading through your little writer gremlin cave he never looks out of place, but right now...
“You aren't, like...” You gesture vaguely. “You are Seungcheol, right?”
Seungcheol blinks. That's how you know he’s really in bad shape—it's taking him a full one, two, three seconds to actually buffer and process the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth when it normally takes him less than one. “Yes, I'm Seungcheol,” he mumbles, all congested and muffled, and if you weren't so shocked you might actually laugh because it's kind of cute.
“Oh. Okay.” You blink again. “You're sick.”
Seungcheol's face flushes redder, which you thought would’ve been impossible. “I'm not that sick.”
“Seungcheol, you are very, very sick.” You push your way into the apartment and shut the door. “As in I've never seen anyone this sick before, even myself. Which is weird because I thought you could never get sick, given that you're actually a healthy human being with a functional eating and sleeping and exercising schedule that you actually keep to on the regular.” You dump your bag on a nearby chair—how is he still so neat even when he's probably a mess on the inside? “Where were you before I came? On the couch?”
He nods feebly.
“Go back to the couch and sleep.” You steer him toward it and push him lightly onto the cushions. He does it without much protest, which is highly worrying considering Seungcheol is made of many pounds of pure muscle and you shouldn't be able to maneuver him this easily. “I'm going to make you soup. Or something.”
“You shouldn't be here,” he mumbles, though his eyes are already closing. You might coo if you weren't half worried he'd spring up and kill you for it. “You'll get sick.”
“Lucky for you, I have an immune system of steel.” Which is kind of a lie, but you'll take your chances while Seungcheol is too conked out by his own shit immune system to counter you with facts. “And I can make a mean fucking bowl of soup. Do you have masks?”
“By the door,” he mumbles, even softer than before. “Thanks.”
“You're very welcome.” You pat his head. “Now go to bed. There'll be soup and meds for you when you wake up.”
He's knocked out before you finish your sentence. Which is just as well, you think as you locate the masks and pull one over your nose. He shouldn't be exerting himself at the moment, and you need to concentrate on making some soup.
. . . . .
An hour later, you have made one trip to the grocery store and convenience store and returned with a variety of things with which to make soup and some pills that you think Seungcheol might need. You're not a doctor—the universe should thank you for that—so you're not sure what exactly he's come down with, but you checked his forehead and it was hot, so fever pills are probably a safe bet. Hopefully. As for the soup, you've made this so many times you could do it in your sleep. Mostly because when your mom made it the first time you were sick, you liked it so much that you kept bugging her to make it again and eventually she taught you to make it on your own so you'd stop bothering her.
Good memories.
It takes a while to locate everything you need in Seungcheol's kitchen because he's not an organized mess like you are, he's just organized, therefore because there's no chaos in the kitchen you can't really find anything at first. This is not made better by Hobak attempting to climb up your leg every five minutes, but eventually he goes to his refilled food bowl, which gives you time to get together all the things you need and can start cooking. Seungcheol doesn’t make a sound in the background, which worries you several times, but each time you check on him to change the wet cloth you've draped across his forehead, he's just sleeping. Very, very soundly.
According to Google, that's a good thing. Because he needs rest. So you leave him be.
Soon, the soup is done, and you can smell its wonderful aroma even through your mask. Probably because you're standing right in front of it. But the point is, it smells wonderful, and Hobak clearly likes the smell too since he keeps sniffing your fingers, so hopefully Seungcheol will also be able to smell it being wonderful if his nose isn't too congested. Maybe then he will also be able to appreciate its taste. Something in an intro psych class you took in college said smell and taste are very much related. You also didn't need an intro psych class to tell you that because you have experienced the connection several times in real life firsthand.
Like when you were sick.
Luckily for you, Seungcheol's eyes are beginning to flutter open when you check on him after ladling half the soup into a bowl. He kind of blinks when he sees you like he doesn't really believe you're there, so you wave a hand in front of his face. “Hi.”
“... Hi,” he says. “You're actually here.”
“What, did you think I was just a dream?”
He nods, then winces. “Yeah.”
“Fortunately for you, I'm not a dream. And to prove it, I made soup.” You point to the kitchen. “Can you smell it?”
Seungcheol blinks blearily. “Vaguely.”
“Oh, great.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “Your nose isn't completely shot then. Do you think you can eat it?”
“... Maybe?”
“All right, I'll go get it for you.” Bustling back into the kitchen, you return with a hot bowl of soup and a glass of water. “You should take some of these meds before you eat, probably,” you say, indicating the bottles you dumped on the table before.
Obediently, Seungcheol swallows the pills you give him and drinks the full glass of water. When you hold up the soup bowl, however, he grimaces.
“What's wrong?” You put it down. “Does it smell bad? I promise even if your sense of smell has been completely corrupted by whatever illness you have, it tastes good.”
“No, no, it smells good.” He coughs. “I just... don't know if I can hold it. The bowl.”
“Ah.” You look at the soup, then at him. That might be something of a problem. Hm.
Oh, simple solution. You pick up the spoon yourself. “I'll feed you, then.”
For some reason, Seungcheol seems to balk at this. For the entire world you can't understand why. “Do you want the soup?” you ask. “If you can't eat it, I can just store it away for later.”
“I want it,” he mumbles, looking very put out and very childish in a way you never thought you'd see on the one and only sturdy, steady, reliable, healthy Choi Seungcheol. “You just shouldn't have to feed me.”
“Well, I don't see why not.” You wave the spoon in the air. “You're sick. You want soup. You can't hold the bowl without dropping it and I am here. Ergo, I will help you drink the soup. By feeding you.”
Bam. That's a good syllogism. If that's even what a syllogism is. You still haven't checked the definition.
Seungcheol finally relents, nodding slightly. “Okay.”
You pat his head. “Good boy,” you smile before dipping the spoon in the soup. Blowing on it softly, you extend your hand. “Open wide.”
“I'm not a child,” he mutters, but he follows your instructions anyway. You feed him the soup. “Good, isn't it?”
“I think so,” he says, swallowing.
You blink. “You think so?”
“I can't fully taste anything,” Seungcheol complains. “My nose is stuffed.”
“I can't believe you're missing out on my mom's famous soup,” you say, shaking your head. “You know the first time she made it, I bothered her into making it so many times after that she just taught me how to make it myself at some point so I wouldn't keep asking her.”
Seungcheol swallows the second spoonful. He coughs and you hand him a second glass of water. “You kept asking her, didn't you.”
You grin beatifically. “Well, when I'm at home with a mother who's willing to cook, I'm going to try and take advantage of that. Otherwise, I will go into my messy kitchen and cook it for myself.” You poke another spoonful into his face. “Drink.”
Sip by sip, Seungcheol empties half the bowl before he decides he's had enough. You carefully push the rest of the soup away so that you won't accidentally spill it before handing him the glass of water. “Drink the rest of that,” you say, “and then you should probably sleep some more.”
He grumbles, but he finishes the glass. You pat his head again. “Go to sleep, now.”
“Don't wanna sleep,” he mumbles. “I slept so much earlier.”
“I'm pretty sure you slept like—” you check the microwave clock, which now reads five in the afternoon. “Two hours since I got here. At most.”
“I slept a lot before you came,” he mutters. “Why did you come, anyway?”
Oh. You blink. That's a question you weren't exactly expecting to have to answer. “Uh. Well. I kind of, uh, emerged from my den yesterday. Well, this morning. At like, two am.”
Seungcheol makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. Out of the kindness of your own heart and mercy for his sick little body, you ignore it.
“And I realized five days had passed since I spiraled into my deadline anxiety, and then I realized you hadn't come by on the third day to bully me into halfway taking care of myself, and then I checked my phone and saw that you hadn't texted or called me at all, and then I kind of passed out because I was going to call you but then I saw the time and thought no reasonable person should actually ever call anyone at this time of the morning and especially not you, so I passed out for like twelve hours and then I woke up and called Jeonghan and he said you weren't in the office. Which is extremely worrying because you always go to work on time. So I kind of panicked and decided to find you and then I showed up at your front door.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. “I realize I probably should have called before coming, but I only came to that conclusion when I was like... right outside.”
Seungcheol blinks about five times before he actually says anything in response. “I got like... half of that.”
“Oh.” You shrug. “Sorry.”
“It was enough,” he reassures you, and you feel kind of bad because even sick he's still having to reassure you about dumb things like talking too fast for his sick brain to keep up with, but then he coughs again and you have to go fill up the glass a third time and the thought flies away. “Anyway, if you'd called, I probably wouldn't have answered,” he admits after drinking more water. “I was kind of dead to the world for a while.”
“Why didn't you call anyone?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “I'd have thought of all people, you'd be the reasonable type to actually call someone for help, you know. Like Jun. Or Joshua. Or Soonyoung or Jeonghan. They would've brought you meds.”
“None of them can cook,” Seungcheol says.
You pause. “Joshua can cook.”
“He has the ability to put things in a pan and not burn them,” Seungcheol corrects, and you have to admit that he's right. “That's not exactly cooking.”
“It's cooking. Just not cooking well,” you say, and Seungcheol grumbles a little but nods in the end. “And anyway, they could've brought you convenience store soup or something. Doesn't need to be home cooked.”
“Home cooked is best,” he says.
“Seungcheol, you could barely taste what I made for you.”
“Still.” He pouts, and this time you actually coo. “What?”
“You're cute when you're pouting.” You pat his cheek, which is still worryingly warm. “Hang on, I'm going to change the cloth on your head.”
You half expect Seungcheol to have gone to sleep in the time it takes to wet a new cloth with cold water, but when you come back, his eyes are still open. “You really aren't sleepy, are you,” you say, draping the new cloth over his forehead.
“No, I'm not,” he says, like a petulant child.
“Sleeping will help the sickness pass faster,” you point out. “I don't really know what you were thinking, keeping this from everyone for what—five days? Were you sick this entire time?”
“I wasn't. I started feeling kind of off on... Tuesday, I think.” Seungcheol screws his eyes shut, as though trying to remember, which is ridiculously cute but you manage to keep yourself from cooing this time. “On Wednesday I still went in to work but then I was coughing by the end of the day so I didn't go in on Thursday and just slept like the whole day and now it's apparently Friday, I guess.”
“Aw, look at you. You're the one figuring out the days of the week this time, not me.” You giggle at Seungcheol's death glare expression as you pat his head again. “Seriously, though, why didn't you call anyone? All of the people I mentioned before would've helped if you'd just said something.”
“Why didn't you mention yourself?”
Okay, another weird question you weren't expecting to get asked. It actually takes a moment to formulate your answer because you don't even know it. It doesn't rely on undebatable facts the way your previous answer did. Just stupid personal opinions.
“Uh, probably because I'm a mess?” you finally say, raising an eyebrow. “Like a certified, grade A mess, Seungcheol. I'm like one of those grade A eggs at the supermarket that are expensive, but a mess. Not an egg.”
“Yeah, I figured you weren't an egg.” Seungcheol goes into another coughing fit and you pat his hair through it—which he seems to like, at least unconsciously, by the way that he keeps sort of leaning into your hand. “That's what snark will do to you,” you say seriously as he drinks the rest of the glass of water. “It'll throw you into a coughing fit. Better watch your mouth, Seungcheol.”
He puts down the glass of water with a withering glare that gives you hope he might fully recover, because that's a normal Seungcheol expression. Not the weird, sick one he's been sporting for most of the past few hours. “Be quiet,” he mutters. “Anyway, you're not—that much of a mess.”
You laugh, loud and sharp in the silence. “I'm very much a mess, Seungcheol. There's no need to sugarcoat it for me. I've accepted it.”
“Y/N—” he starts, but you cut him off. “I go into like... hibernation, but more messed up because I'm not a bear for like. A week in a row. Sometimes. Because I have spiraling anxiety about deadlines and stuff and like, yeah, I'm going to therapy, but it still happens so you have to bring me coffee and cook for me and make me nap and shower because I can't really take care of myself like a normal human being sometimes, Seungcheol. I'm like... a certified mess. By anyone's standards.”
Seungcheol stays quiet for a moment. You realize then how much you dumped on him and how you really didn't mean to do that at all.
“That sounded kinda like trauma dumping, right?” You try to laugh. “Sorry. Didn't mean to. Just ignore everything—��
“I don't do any of that because I have to,” Seungcheol says quietly. “I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.”
You blink once. Twice. How do you respond to that?
“And like, you kind of are a mess,” he continues, “but it's not like the most destructive mess in the world. You realize what's up and you get help for the things you need help with. I think that's pretty commendable.”
Your heart is beating a little faster. This is not what you needed. Or expected. But for some reason you're getting it anyway.
“You're the one who came to me when you thought something was up,” he says. “The others didn't. They probably will, at some point, but you're the one who came first.”
Now you really don't know how to respond. Like even saying supercalifragilisticexpialidocious wouldn't cut it. Or whatever the fuck that word is.
“Y/N?” Seungcheol's looking up at you now with a very strange expression on his face—not the sick one, not really, but very... earnest. And honest. It's how you know he wasn't lying with his words, not the way the fucked up part of your brain would try to have you believe.
“Huh? Yeah, I'm still here.” You smile. “I just—thanks, Seungcheol.” Your voice drops a little. “I appreciate it. Really.”
“I appreciate you a lot,” Seungcheol murmurs. “A lot of people appreciate you too. You just don't see it, sometimes.”
That's probably true, if you operate under the assumption that Seungcheol's second statement is true. His first statement too. Which is a logical loophole because the veracity of the third statement relies on the truthfulness of the first two but your brain is a little fried from Seungcheol's compliments so you decide to just take them at face value. He's probably right about all three things, as hard as it is for your little fucked up brain to believe. If people do appreciate you as much as he says, you have a hard time noticing it. But hey, that's what therapy's for.
“Maybe,” is what you eventually settle on as an answer. Ambiguous enough to not fully agree, but also to not fully disagree. Seungcheol will understand. He always does. “Are you sleepy now?”
He frowns. “No.”
“Well, uh.” You check the time. Wow, you've been talking a while—it's almost six. “Do you want to try drinking the rest of your soup? I can heat it up again.”
Seungcheol blinks. Coughs. Eyes the bowl of soup at the end of the table where you can't accidentally knock it over. Hobak might have a chance at it if he weren't asleep in the corner by now. “I can try,” he says warily. “I don't know if I'll be able to finish it, though.”
“Don't force yourself,” you say. “If you don't want to drink it, we can save it for like, tomorrow.”
Seungcheol looks up at you with a strangely hopeful expression. “Are you going to stay until tomorrow?”
You pause. Well, it's more like you were planning to go home, fuck around with your word documents for several hours, pass out, and then come back. But with the way Seungcheol is looking at you... “Do you want me to stay?” you ask.
He burrows into his blankets even more, like he's shy. If you weren't sure that Seungcheol would find some terrible blackmail on you and leak it to all your good for nothing friends, you'd take a picture. “Kinda,” he mumbles.
“I mean, uh...” You think. You have your laptop with you and there's another bowl of soup for yourself waiting on the stove. “I'd probably have to go home and get a few things. But if you really want, I could stay the night...?”
“Please,” he mumbles into the blankets. “I don't really want to be alone.”
“You're so cute when you're sick,” you coo, patting his head. The look on his face would be more menacing if he wasn't curled up in a blanket burrito with a very red nose sticking out. You tell him as much.
“Stop being mean to me when I'm sick,” he mutters.
“I'm not being mean. I'm telling the truth.” You point at the half empty bowl of soup. “Now do you want to try and drink the rest of it, or no?”
He does end up finishing about a third of the remaining soup before he decides his stomach can't handle more. You get another glass of water into him before pulling your own soup out from its spot on the stove, and then you put on some random white noise Netflix drama on Seungcheol's laptop as you eat your own dinner. Seungcheol makes interesting commentary on the characters and you shit on the plot. At some point, Hobak wanders into your lap, and Seungcheol complains about his cat liking you more than him. It's like things are back to normal, except for his sniffling and coughing and you periodically helping him sip water from his glass.
Eventually he does doze off and only then does Hobak decide it's time to snuggle with his owner, so you take the opportunity to clean up the living room table a little, sweeping a few tissues into the trash can and wiping down the table itself. His place is still annoyingly clean even though he's sick—if you were in his position in your apartment, it'd be even more of a shiftiest than it is now—and when you're done washing the dishes and throwing things away, you finally check your phone.
More memes from Soonyoung, a cat picture from Jun, a missed call from Jeonghan and a following text. You open that up first.
did u find cheol? is he ok?
You rattle off a quick message in reply.
he's sick at his apartmnt. dw I made him soup and he's sleeping now
sorry didn't se ur call earlir
Immediately your phone buzzes with some sort of response, but your brain is already headed in a different direction. Namely trying to decide whether or not you should change the towel on Seungcheol's head again. You end up changing it because he still feels pretty warm, but his nose is dotted with sweat. Maybe his fever will break soon.
Settling back down on the floor, you scroll through your phone for a bit and answer Jeonghan's ensuing text as well as the other meme messages before remembering that you're staying the night, which means you need to head back home and get a few things.
Seungcheol's still asleep, though. And you feel kind of bad leaving him here without any notice, even if you know you'll be coming back within an hour. You debate between waking him up and just leaving a note, but in the end you decide to shake him awake a little. He wouldn't want to wake up to just a note, you know that much.
“Seungcheol.” You nudge his shoulder lightly. “Seungcheol.”
He mumbles a little, eyes blinking open slowly. “Wha…”
“Don't move, you'll disturb Hobak.” You hold him in place. “I'm going to go back to my place to get a few things,” you whisper. “I'll be back within an hour.”
You turn to leave, but something's tugging you back. You look behind you to see one of Seungcheol's hands gripping your sleeve.
“... Seungcheol?”
“Don't go,” he murmurs adorably, and your heart nearly breaks at the sight. “I have stuff. Spare toothbrush under sink. Sleep on my bed.”
“Seungcheol, as much as I appreciate it, I need clothes,” you say. “Not just a toothbrush. Probably a towel too, I'd like to shower. Remember?” You wiggle your fingers. “You're all germy and gross and I've been here for several hours.”
“I have extra towels,” he protests, his eyes blinking awake further. Damn it, this is ruining all your plans to just shake him awake and be on your way in a minute. “And you can wear my clothes. I have stuff that'll fit.”
You have to buffer for a minute to make sure you're hearing this correctly. “Me. Wear your clothes.”
Seungcheol nods.
So you weren't hallucinating sounds. You shake your head. “Seungcheol, seriously.”
“I'm being serious,” he whines. And he looks so very heartbroken at the thought of you leaving, even if it's just for an hour, that you actually find yourself reconsidering. Choi Seungcheol, a full grown man with muscles and a sleep schedule, is acting like a child and melting your heart in the process. “You can use my shampoo and soap too.”
Oh, God. He's being so ridiculously convincing. What is his problem. You sigh. “I'm going to make a mess, probably.”
“I don't care.” Seungcheol pouts and it's even more ridiculously convincing. “Everything's already messy.”
You look around. That's a blatant fucking lie. Everything is still in very much spotless condition. But when you look back at him with a raised eyebrow, Seungcheol's eyes are already fluttering shut like a cute little baby and you find your heart melting again. “You can't deny me my dying request,” he mumbles.
“I never thought you'd be this dramatic when you were sick,” you mutter. “All right, all right, I'll stay. On one condition.” You point at him. “Go back to sleep.”
His eyes narrow. “Promise you won't leave?”
You sigh again. “I promise.”
He goes quiet, then, his eyes fluttering shut. You turn toward the bathroom, ready to take stock of whatever he's got in his unnecessarily neat cabinets, but a little noise makes you look back once more. “Hm?”
“Can you pat my hair,” Seungcheol mumbles, so quietly you can barely hear. He looks half asleep—his eyes aren't even open as he speaks. “'s soothing.”
That's it. Sick Seungcheol is actually going to kill you because of cuteness overload. You settle on the edge of the table like you did when you were feeding him, not even bothering to hide the smile on your face anymore. “Sure, Seungcheol,” you say, stroking through his messy hair. “Feel better?”
“Mm.” He snuggles deeper into the blankets. Your heart is melting more than you thought it could. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” you murmur. “Sleep now, okay?”
“Mm,” he mumbles. He's already half gone.
You smile wider as his breath evens into sleep.
. . . . .
One shower and requisite cleanup later, you've settled on the small armchair by the couch and set up your laptop to write. No longer does a blank word document stare back at you menacingly when you open the application, which is encouraging, and for some reason, the soft sound of Seungcheol's sleeping breaths is good background noise as you try to get into this final chapter.
Once you've lost yourself in the writing, it can take anywhere from a few hours to like, a day, or maybe three or five days, for you to pull yourself out of the daze. When you look up from your laptop, eyes burning with the need to look at something that isn't a screen and throat parched for water, the clock says it's a few minutes past midnight.
Time for a break, then. You sneak a glance at Seungcheol, who's still fast asleep. If he were awake he'd be forcing you to drink water right about now, anyway.
You down a glass of water in the kitchen, then bring another back into the living room only to see that Seungcheol has since shifted in his sleep and is about to kick off all his blankets. Probably half due to Hobak, who has made a nest right on top of him and clawed off several sheets.
That can't be a good thing. You go to pull them back up around him but he shifts again, this time actually kicking half the blanket burrito off of him. Hobak does not help matters by waking up and skittering his way off the couch, taking the other half of the burrito with him. In the process, he also manages to drag Seungcheol's shirt... up.
Oh. Okay. This is—totally fine. So, super, totally fine. You put down your glass of water before you can do something like drop it and shatter it and make a huge mess that you're unqualified to clean. Like, logically, you know that Seungcheol goes to the gym every day he can, but somehow you did... not make the connection between gym every day and abs.
Because Seungcheol has abs. Very nice ones, in fact. The intrusive thoughts are telling you to touch them but you have just enough sense at ten minutes past midnight to abstain, which is something you should earn an award for. Instead, you avert your gaze and pull the blankets back over him as much as possible, swatting away the image of abs abs abs abs abs whenever it comes up. Which is too many times for a single minute.
You sigh, looking back at your abandoned laptop. Part of you wants to go back to writing but another part of you still wants a break (aka time to think about abs abs abs abs—shut the fuck up), so you pull out your phone and settle on the ground. If it's past midnight, that means the new day's wordle is up.
Sure enough, a blank puzzle greets you when you pull up the site. You try a random first guess—grief, it's got two vowels so it can't be too bad—and come up with some decent clues. Hm...
Your second guess goes without much luck. So does your third, though at least all the letters that are confirmed to be in the word are in the correct place. You scan the rest of the keyboard that isn't completely blacked out. What makes sense? Is there even a word that makes sense? What if it's something stupid and contrived, or even worse, a word with a repeating letter—
“Merit.”
You shriek.
Seungcheol blinks owlishly from above on his perch on the couch, staring at you heaving on the floor. “Y/N?”
“Jesus Christ,” you gasp. “Seungcheol, don't scare me like that—I thought you were asleep—”
“I was. Then I woke up.” He blinks. “I feel better, I think.”
“Let me check your fever.” You place a hand to his head. Even under the lingering coolness coming from the mostly warmed over cloth, you can tell he's come down a few degrees. “Oh, good. It looks like you aren't lying.”
Seungcheol scowls. It almost looks like a normal expression for him. “Of course I wasn't lying.”
“Uh uh.” You shake your head. “I'm ninety nine percent sure you'd probably lie to me so that you could end up going to work tomorrow. Don't try to refute me.”
He grumbles, but in the end says nothing. You take that as a win. “Give me a second, I'm going to change the towel.”
With a new towel on his forehead and the sweat wiped away from the rest of his face, Seungcheol actually looks somewhat better than the death warmed over look you saw on him when you first arrived earlier today. Or yesterday, since it's past midnight. Wow, your schedule is seriously fucked.
You sit back on your heels. “Okay, what were you saying before? Something about merit?”
Seungcheol blinks. “Your wordle. Try merit.”
You look down at your phone where it's lying on the floor, your incorrect wordle guesses staring back up at you, taunting you like you're a fucking imbecile who can't guess the correct word in three tries or less. You blink, picking up your phone. Merit might actually work... You tap it in.
“Shut the fuck up,” you whisper, staring at the screen in horror.
It's the correct answer. It's the correct fucking answer. You glare at Seungcheol, who glances back at you innocently from his little burrito on the couch. “Was it correct?”
“Yes, it was, you—argh.” You put your phone down before you can do something stupid like throw it across the room. “Why the fuck are you being my editor when you're sick as a dog?”
Seungcheol blinks. “I'm not being your editor.”
“STOP EDITING MY GUESSES!” you screech.
“I didn't edit anything,” he replies in a matter of fact tone that makes you want to scream even louder. “I just found the correct answer.”
You groan, flopping to the floor. “I hate you.”
“If you hated me, you wouldn't still be here.”
You glare at him. “Bet. I'll leave right now.”
“You wouldn't.” Seungcheol stares back at you, steady, resolute, but...
Aw. There was a little tremble of uncertainty in his voice.
Instantly your heart melts, but you have too much pride (you shouldn't, your dignity was flushed down the drain at birth) to give in completely. “Yeah, I won't leave,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I'm staying until you get better, doofus. Now go back to sleep. I don't know why you woke up.”
Seungcheol pouts. “Can I get some water?”
“Anything for you, Your Majesty.”
He successfully drinks half of the glass you bring back to him, and then you have to help him shuffle to the bathroom. When he comes out, you shuffle him back to the couch, where he collapses into a blanket burrito once more. “Sleepy,” he mumbles. “Pat my head.”
“What a demanding little child you are.” You start patting his head anyway. “Go to bed, Seungcheol. You'll feel better in the morning.”
“Mm.” He snuggles closer to your hand, and you have to fight back a coo for the umpteenth time today. Or in the past twenty four hours, because it's Saturday. Allegedly. “Goodnight.”
You laugh a little, stroking his hair. “Goodnight, Seungcheol.”
. . . . .
In the morning, Seungcheol's fever has mostly broken, and by midafternoon, he's able to get up and walk around. Jeonghan and Joshua show up at lunch with some convenience store soup that he can actually taste, and then for dinner, when Soonyoung and Jun come around, you make your mom's famous soup and all of them say it tastes better than convenience store anything. You beam with pride.
All this is to say that when evening comes, you're mostly convinced that Seungcheol is actively getting better (he hasn't had a coughing fit in five hours, you were counting) and he probably won't die if you don't spend the night. Seungcheol doesn't seem as convinced, but when you show him the reading on the thermometer that Soonyoung brought along, he kind of acquiesces. At least that's what you think he does when he sinks back into the couch.
“Look, your nose isn't even that red anymore.” You show him a picture you took when he was sleeping, then snap another picture right now before he can protest. “See the difference? Before and after. It's evidence.” Seungcheol likes evidence.
So eventually, after washing your clothes from yesterday and changing from the t-shirt and sweatpants Seungcheol lent you, you head back to your apartment. It's dark and Seungcheol-less and Hobak-less and for a moment, standing in the doorway, you feel a little lonely, but then you remember you have a deadline to meet in three days and half a chapter left to write and your mind decides to latch onto that.
Which is to say when Seungcheol calls two days later, demanding you open your door, you're mostly a mess. Not entirely, because it's only half a chapter and you have probably just a few paragraphs left, but you've written the ending three different times and each time it just sucked more. You'd probably start biting things if it weren't for Seungcheol's call.
Stumbling out of your little writer cave, you throw open your apartment door. “Hi. Why did you ask if I had a mask.”
“I forgot one from home and I thought you might possibly be sick. Also, I might have leftover germs.” Seungcheol pushes into the door, vaguely reminiscent of when you shoved yourself into his apartment the day you found out he was sick. “Have you eaten? And do you have one?”
You blink. He looks... mostly normal. There's a little sparkle back in his eyes, and even though you can't see his nose under the mask to tell how red it is, he doesn't sound nearly as congested anymore as he used to be. He actually came all the way to your apartment so he can't be feeling too bad.
But there's still something kind of... off. You're not sure what it is. Maybe it's the remnants of sickness still clinging to his body, but while the conjecture makes sense, it doesn't feel right.
He looks at you. “Are you listening to me?”
“… No.”
Seungcheol sighs. “I asked if you've eaten. And if you have a mask.”
“I ran out of masks like two weeks ago and forgot to restock.” Ignoring Seungcheol’s groan, you purse your lips. “I... think I ate a cup of ramen last night.” A memory returns of you dumping an empty ramen cup into the wastebasket by your desk. “Yeah, I definitely ate ramen last night.”
“So maybe you aren't sick.” Seungcheol sighs, and it sounds kind of relieved. “What were you thinking, coming over and staying the night when I was sick?”
“I—what?” You poke his forehead. “You were the one insisting that I stay over! Do you remember yourself? You were literally begging me to stay, you wouldn’t let me leave to even get clothes—”
“You shouldn't have agreed!” Seungcheol snaps, and that's when you see the anxiety buzzing around his figure. Ah. That's what was off about him. He looks a little jumpy. “You should have gone home and not worried, Y/N, I would've been fine.”
“No, you wouldn't have.” You wish you hadn’t left your phone in the office, you could show him pictures—evidence—that he was sick as a fucking dog for the day you were there. “You were dead and dying on your couch. Who was going to take care of you? Hobak?”
Seungcheol looks at you for a very long moment, almost tensed to spring. Then, all of a sudden, he deflates. “I didn't want you to get sick too,” he mumbles. “You already overwork yourself.”
“Says you.” You snort. “And you’re forgetting, I have an immune system made of steel.”
All Seungcheol does is raise an eyebrow.
Damn, you forgot that he's mostly back to normal, which means you can't get away with speaking outrageous untruths because he'll catch you in them immediately. “Well, that means you're better,” you mutter.
“Huh?”
“You're judging me with that raised eyebrow.” You point. “It took you a whole three or five seconds or something to process my bullshit when I came over. Now you're back to dealing with it in one.”
“I feel like your standards for determining whether or not I'm sick are kind of concerning,” Seungcheol replies. “Whether or not I'm able to judge you.”
“Well, it's that, and also you look considerably better than when you were burritoed on the couch with Hobak sitting on you like a fluffy hat. In addition to the fact that you were able to get on the subway and walk here like a normal human being.” You blink. “Anyway, why are you here? I have a deadline. I feel like I probably mentioned this to you. Actually wait, you're my editor. Don't you have my deadlines memorized better than I do?”
Suddenly, Seungcheol looks very... embarrassed. Which is interesting and concerning because he rarely looks embarrassed. You've seen shy Seungcheol, giggly Seungcheol, cute Seungcheol, but never really embarrassed Seungcheol.
“Just...” He shrugs slightly, then doesn't say anything else.
You put your hand to his forehead and he jumps. It's not feverish, but you still narrow your eyes. “Are you still sick? You're weirdly jumpy today.”
“I'm not sick,” he mumbles. “I just... thanks.” He swallows very visibly. “For taking care of me.”
You blink once. Twice. It's like when he complimented you when he was ill—how the fuck do you respond to that?
“It's fine,” you eventually say, feeling like something is definitely not fine because there's still tension in the air except you don't know how to resolve it. “I mean, you're always taking care of me. It was the least I could do for you.”
For some reason, that seems to upset Seungcheol more. His eyebrows knit together like he's worried and you have no idea why anything you said could have made him more jumpy or nervous or upset. “... Seungcheol? Are you mad?”
“It's not a negotiation,” he says, and now you're more confused than ever. Negotiation?
“It's not like... a tradeoff.” He blinks and this time you can't look away from his big eyes looking at you like the saddest, most worried puppy in the world. “I take care of you because I like taking care of you.”
Vaguely, a memory starts to re-form from when Seungcheol was sick and you were sitting by him on the couch and you were probably patting his head while talking. Or maybe not. You're not entirely sure. But you do very much remember talking about how he shouldn't need to make you take care of yourself because you should be able to do it on your own, but your brain has made it clear that one some days you can't, and then he said something very akin to what he just said...
I don't do any of that because I have to. I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.
You didn't know how to respond then. You still don't know how to respond now.
“Uh.” You blink. “Is this about, like. What I said when you were conked out on the couch.”
Seungcheol sighs. “Kind of, yeah.”
“Okay, we can probably move past that.” You try to smile. “I mean, like. I'm getting help. I'm figuring things out. At some point I'll actually be able to deal with my own shit, hopefully.”
“That's the point,” Seungcheol snaps, looking even more upset. “I don't take care of you because it's an obligation, Y/N.”
You're starting to get a little annoyed now, too. “Okay, you've said that several times. It's not as if I don't believe it at all, Seungcheol. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”
“God.” He puts his face into his hands and stays there for one very awkward, charged moment. When he lifts his head again, though, he looks a little calmer. “You just... act, sometimes, like me taking care of you is this huge burden on me. It isn't.” He takes a deep breath. “I like taking care of you, Y/N. Seriously.”
He's said that twice now. That means, logically, that it's probably true. Logically. But mentally, your brain has decided not to compute it properly. “Uh.” You try your best to hold his very intense gaze. “I gotta ask—why would you ever enjoy taking care of my bitch ass?”
Seungcheol almost laughs. You can see it. You can fucking see it and it's more of a relief than anything else, honestly, to see him able to laugh.
“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asks, now smiling slightly.
You blink. “Spell what out?”
“Y/N.” He steps closer, and suddenly you become much more aware of the very short distance between the two of you. You were already cutting it kind of close before in this little entryway, and now you're even closer. “I like taking care of you because I like you.”
I like you.
Oh. Oh wow. Okay. That's certainly—a statement. A very strange one. One that could be taken—in a myriad of ways, certainly. Probably he meant it in a friendly way. Like, as in he likes you as a good friend and likes taking care of you that way.
But even the idiot part of your brain knows you'd be stupid to think that with the way he's looking at you right now.
“Uh.” Your voice is a lot squeakier than you'd like it to be. “You don't, uh, mean it, like, in, um, a friend way. Right?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, I don't.”
Holy shit. Holy shit. You're probably going to have an aneurysm. Okay, he confirmed it which means your brain can stop being a fucking stupid idiot now, he confirmed it and there is literally no reason for him to lie.
Okay, but what if—
“You're not lying to me, right?”
Seungcheol blinks. “Why would I lie to you about this?”
Exactly. Shut up, brain. You smile. It probably looks somewhat insane. “Sorry. Brain being stupid. But. Uh. Let me get this straight.” You take a deep breath that feels a little too shaky when it comes out. “You like me.”
Seungcheol doesn't even bat an eye. “Yes.”
Oh. Okay. Wow. You close your eyes for a long moment. Maybe this is a dream. But when you open them, Seungcheol is still there.
Probably not a dream, then.
You take a deep breath. “Okay, so—you, Choi Seungcheol of the gym bros—”
“I'm not a gym bro.”
“—You go to the gym every day, you're definitely a gym bro—of the men who own cats, of perfect abs and bringing me coffee when I haven't seen the light of day for a week, like me, Y/N, writer gremlin extraordinaire and stupid bitch supreme.” You pause. “Did I get that right?”
“You're not stupid.” Seungcheol frowns. “Also, when did you see my abs?”
Your mind chooses then to very conveniently place the memory of Hobak dragging several sheets to the floor while clawing Seungcheol's shirt up at the forefront of your memory. Horrible. Terrible. You're going to have to have your therapist order you a brain transplant sometime soon.
“You kinda rolled over in your sleep at one point and dropped half the blankets to the floor.” It's kind of funny watching Seungcheol's face redden with embarrassment. Or at least it would be if you weren't internally screaming as much as you currently are. “And then Hobak was sleeping on top of you but woke up so he dragged the rest of them with him and in the process he kinda rolled your shirt up and you flashed me.”
Seungcheol is very red. Redder than you've ever seen him. And you've seen him drunk. Also very sick.
Before your brain can tell you to shut the fuck up, your mouth decides to speak again. “I covered you with the blanket. Promise.”
“Oh God.” Seungcheol puts his face back in his hands. “This is…”
“Look, you just said that you liked me,” you protest. “I feel like this is a fair trade. Or something.”
He looks up at you, deadpan. “A confession for... what exactly? The reveal of an ab reveal?”
“Oh come on, you go to the gym every day and anyone can see the results. You having abs would probably be the least surprising thing ever.” You scoff, very blatantly ignoring the fact that you were extremely surprised for zero reason about him having ridiculously sculpted abdominal muscles.
Seungcheol groans. “This is a terrible conversation.”
“As I'm pretty sure most conversations with me are.” You smile widely. It definitely looks insane because you don't know what else to do and when that happens all you end up able to do is smile like a serial killer. “Are you rethinking your past words?”
“No!”
You jump. Seungcheol also seems to realize the volume of his words because he kind of cringes into himself. “Sorry. But no, I'm not.”
This is terrible. Not even a ridiculously horrible conversation with you and your over caffeinated, sleep deprived brain is deterring him. You ignore the therapist voice part of your brain that asks why you want to deter him and look him straight in the eye. “Why?”
Seungcheol blinks. “What?”
“Why.” You gesture vaguely to the air. “Why do you like me, even now?”
“What do you mean, even now?” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow and oooh, this is terrible, he's taking another step closer and there's probably like two feet of distance at most separating your bodies. Vaguely you remember that you haven't even stepped out of the entryway, that you're both still standing right in front of the door. “Your conversations are a very physical manifestation of you, and I like you. So why would talking with you change my mind?”
“Okay, when you put it like that, it makes sense.” You huff. “But also, my brain can't exactly wrap its mind around the fact that someone with their life so put together at almost all times likes me, a...” A meme gif that Soonyoung once sent you pops into mind. It was a blue dumpster set on fire floating down what you presumed was a flooded street. It seems to fit the situation. “A certified dumpster fire that’s floating down a flooded street.”
Seungcheol laughs. He actually laughs and you don't know what to do with it. He looks ridiculously cute and it's doing unhealthy things to your heart—like making it skip beats or some shit. “Where do you keep getting these things?”
“Soonyoung.”
“Figures.” He shakes his head. “You may be a certified dumpster fire, but you're also very much... Y/N. A kind, wonderful, amazing person who writes extremely well and has a way with words that makes me cry, who always tries their best in everything they set out to do, who makes a really amazing sick person soup that I would eat even if I wasn't sick.”
He's smiling now and it's doing even worse things to your heart. You never liked the metaphor of someone's heart beating out of their chest because it reminded you a little too much of panic attacks, but now you kind of feel like you need to use it because there's nothing else to explain this feeling. At least it's being used in a situation where you are very much not about to have a panic attack.
Seungcheol's continuing. He's continuing with no regard for your sanity and you can't even stop him because your throat is refusing to allow you to speak. “I like that you're self-aware, Y/N, and I like that you're honest. But I also think that you never really understand that you're capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.” His smile softens.
That’s it. You're going to need him to pay your hospital bills. And therapy bills. Actually, your therapist might need to bill him because he's all you’re going to be able to talk about for several sessions straight, just your really hot editor and his really cute smile.
“You're brilliant, you're smart, and you're funny and kind, and really, I don't see how anyone couldn't like you.” Seungcheol looks a little nervous now but he keeps going. “Honestly.”
You open your mouth. And then close it, mostly because you think if you try to say anything you're going to make some noise that is extremely reminiscent of a dying whale. It takes you a second to compose yourself and get rid of the stupid lump growing in your throat but finally, you've convinced your brain that you are sane enough to speak—
“My therapist is going to hear about you.”
Oh God. Oh fucking God. You really just said that. And you've scared Seungcheol, look at his big eyes, what the fuck is wrong with you why are you such a monster—
“Uh.” He blinks. “Why?”
You blink too and it surprises you to realize that there are tears beginning to form behind your eyes. This is worse than you thought it would be.
“Because you're hot and sweet and kind and you always take care of me even though technically you're just my editor and like I've talked to my therapist about the hot gym bro editor in the office before but that was mostly because we were like, friends or something, and I was worried that you were doing too much for me and I wasn't doing enough for you so then she told me about friendships being a two way street and that I'm definitely not the one forcing you into taking care of me so you're probably doing it of your own volition. And we worked on enforcing that for my brain for a while but that was in a friend context and I never told her that I had a kind of dumb stupid kid crush on you but now you're telling me you actually like me as something that is not a friend and you are complimenting me and holy shit I have so much to unpack.” You take a deep, shaky breath. “My therapist is going to hear about this for the next twenty sessions and she's going to get sick of hearing me talk about you and your smile so she's going to have to bill you because you’re the one who did this to me.”
Great, you're really crying now. Shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes in a botched attempt to stop the tears, you try to breathe. “Pay my fucking hospital bills, dipshit, you're going to send me into cardiac arrest.”
“How about I try something else instead of paying your hospital bills?” Seungcheol's voice sounds above you, light, amused, entirely too sweet for your brain to handle. And then—as if that wasn't fucking enough—two warm arms begin to encircle your body, slow, slow, and you know this is Seungcheol's way of reminding you that you could back away at any point and he won't take offense, but it feels really fucking good to be hugged right now so you let him wrap you up tight against his chest, your head knocking against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
“... I'm going to cry into your shirt.”
Seungcheol laughs. His chest kind of rumbles with the sound and it feels ridiculously soothing to your still rapidly beating heart. “That's fine,” he says. “I think I coughed on your clothes a lot more when you were taking care of me.”
“Yeah. About that.” You swallow, choking back another round of tears. “Why were you so pissed about me taking care of you? You'd do the exact same thing for me. You already do the exact same thing for me.”
“... I don't think I've ever taken care of you when you were sick to oblivion, Y/N.”
“You bring me coffee like clockwork every three days when I descend into writer gremlin oblivion and force me to eat, sleep, and shower.” You gulp. “That's how I knew something was wrong with you. Five days passed and you didn't come.” You blink. “Oh, also Jeonghan said you didn't come in to work that day.”
“Yeah, I know. You told me, remember?” And vaguely you do remember, which should probably make you feel embarrassed at having repeated knowledge to Seungcheol who apparently still retains information even when his brain is working at twenty five percent capacity, but now he's patting the back of your head and you kind of just want to space out into the void. “And... I just, I know how you are sometimes. I know how you try to take care of yourself, but even then, I know your immune system can be kind of shit.” Seungcheol sighs. “I got worried that you got sick because of me, and I really hated that, and then you weren’t answering my texts for a while...”
“I had a deadline.” You blink. “I still have it.”
“I know. But I also wasn't thinking properly.” He pulls you a bit closer and it makes you want to cry harder. This is too sweet. Too nice. Too comfortable. Too much Seungcheol, you’re drowning in him. “It's kind of hard to think properly around you, you know.”
“I live in my own brain, Seungcheol.” You let out a very wet laugh. “I don't think properly around me. Ever.”
“Touché.” He joins your laugh. “But in my case, it's because you're sometimes a little too brilliant.”
“Or because I talk a little too fast,” you reply in an effort to deflect because if you let yourself process how sweet that was you’re going to probably die right here and now.
“That too.” He pats your back. “But mostly the first reason.”
His admission forces you to process it, which brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes and now you're getting snot on his shirt instead of just saltwater. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now.”
“I can tell.” You can't bring yourself to look up at him just yet, but you're certain you hear a smile in Seungcheol's voice. “It's okay. I'm feeling a lot of emotions too.”
“You're not crying, though.”
“Just because I'm crying doesn't mean I'm not feeling anything.” He pulls back just enough that you look up again to whine about why, but then you lock eyes with him and every word in your throat dies. “Remember? You're the one who said crying was an overused tool to make characters show emotion.”
Fuck. You did say that. You said that on like your second time meeting him when you went off on a rant about cliches and tropes and ended with the caveat that while they can be done well, some people just overuse them for the heck of it and you hate it. “I can't believe you remember that fucking rant,” you mutter.
“I remember a lot of things about you.” Seungcheol smiles. Your heart is on its way to beating out of your chest again. “Sorry, was that too cheesy?”
“Yes,” you snap, but Seungcheol's smile only widens. “Stop it. You're going to send me into cardiac arrest for the second time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Second time?”
“Yeah, the first was when I saw your abs.”
That was a terrible thing to say. Horrible. For you and for Seungcheol. You because you can't get the image out of your brain for the nth time, and Seungcheol because his ears are turning red again.
“… Sorry.”
“It's... fine.” Seungcheol coughs a little, but it doesn't sound like a sick cough. More like a clearing his throat cough. It sounds kind of shy, which is very cute. “Sorry. I'm just kind of... shy about it.”
You blink. “Why are you shy about your fucking abs?”
“I just am.” Seungcheol pouts and you kind of want to slap it off. Or kiss it. Or both. None of those choices are probably a good idea at the moment.
Silence kind of falls for a moment. It's not that uncomfortable. The tension from before is gone, at least. But then Seungcheol has to ruin it with his sweet little voice and sweet little smile. Bastard.
“I don't think you ever responded to my confession,” he says, once again trapping you with his dark eyes that you can't seem to look away from in times like these.
You make a very intelligent noise. It sounds something like 'uh.'
“I said I like you.” Seungcheol is taking no prisoners now. Actually, he'll have your heart soon if he keeps looking at you like this. “Do you have anything to say to that?”
“... I told you already that I had a dumb kid crush on you.”
Seungcheol shrugs. “Does that dumb kid crush mean you still like me too?”
You stare at him for a moment. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
He grins. “Yeah.”
“You're a terrible human being, Choi Seungcheol.” You jab a finger into his chest, which was absolutely the wrong thing to do because it is hard and muscled and now you're having bad thoughts again. About abs. “I feel like a fucking middle schooler,” you mutter. “I like you.”
“Could you say it again?” Your jaw drops as Seungcheol looks at you, all doe-eyed and innocent with so much evil brimming behind that sweet expression. A true demon in disguise. “I didn't really hear you.”
You stare at him for one second. Two. Three.
It's like it happens in slow motion. You watch your arm shoot out, fingers grabbing a fistful of the front of Seungcheol's shirt. You watch yourself jerk the arm back, see Seungcheol's eyes widen for a just a moment before—
You're kissing him. You're kissing Choi Seungcheol, your editor, your good friend, the boy you just nursed back to health like three days ago, the guy you've had a dumb idiot crush on for longer than is probably healthy and who apparently has a dumb idiot crush on you too.
Seungcheol makes this small noise into your mouth and your brain promptly goes blank.
When you come to, you've both pulled away, somehow, and you're trying to breathe properly. Which is an ordeal, considering you just kissed Seungcheol—you just kissed Seungcheol—and remembering that in and of itself is taking all of your brainpower. There's none left for air.
“I like you, Seungcheol,” you say too loudly and too clearly, but it's worth it for the sparkly doe-eyed look that burst full force into Seungcheol's expression. Yeah. The imminent cardiac arrest is totally worth it.
Wait. Cardiac arrest. Your mind whirls. Hospital. Sick.
Seungcheol was sick two days ago.
“Oh, shit.”
Seungcheol blinks like he's just come back to Earth. “What?”
You try for a sheepish smile. “So, uh. What are the chances of me getting sick, now that I've kissed you?”
(You succumb to chills, snot, and a light fever exactly one day after your deadline has passed. Seungcheol arrives with an overnight bag, plenty of disinfecting wipes, and several surgical masks that he wears the entire time he's here. Which is nice because he shouldn't get sick a second time, but also terrible because you can't kiss him.
It's okay, though. Because when you're finally feeling well once more, the two of you go to meet your publisher at the office, and Seungcheol doesn't let go of your hand the whole way there. And when you leave, in full view of the entire lobby and all of your friends parked at various angles around it—
He kisses you. Once, soft, light, gentle.
Someone gasps. Someone else screams.
Grinning widely, you pull him in for a second one immediately after.)
If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3
(1 reblog = 1 prayer for me. I need help. I write for too many groups my head is spinning. also I am still coughing. I hate it here)
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