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oreomonsterhunter · 3 years

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Sick Day

Pairing: Jackson x reader

Word count: 2270

Warnings: none

Synopsis: Jackson stays home sick (and not very willingly lol)

[ 6:00 am ]

Soft gray light seeps around the curtains as you ease into wakefulness. You stretch your arms over your head, finally registering the chime of your alarm. But when you roll over to turn it off, you stop, a mere inch between your nose and Jackson’s back.

You frown at him, not that he can tell, since he’s not supposed to be there. He should be at the gym, or practice, or wherever the hell he needs to be after his ungodly alarm goes off every morning. Baffled, you poke his shoulder. “Jackson?” He groans, and your frown deepens. You sit up, leaning over him, “Are you alright? Is your schedule cancelled?” You squeeze his arm gently to elicit a response.

Jackson cracks his eyes open to look at you, blinking rapidly. Then suddenly his eyes are comically wide and he’s not sliding but falling out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom. “Shit, I’m late,” he says hoarsely.

You sit there, still a bit shocked and not a little groggy, and try to make sense of things. Then you get your act together and go to turn on the coffee machine. When you pop your head in the bathroom, you find Jackson squinting at his phone, toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. You hip-check him out of the way as you grab your own brush. “Stop getting distracted if you’re running late,” you mumble around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Jackson starts to respond automatically, and you choke on a laugh as toothpaste dribbles down his chin. This, of all things, seems to cause a Jackson malfunction. He stops there, blinking at his minty goatee in the mirror. With a sigh, you spit and go to help him, taking the toothbrush away before he drops it. You cup his cheek while you wipe off the mess with a damp washcloth, but then you frown, placing the back of your hand on his forehead. “Holy—Jackson, you’re burning up,” you exclaim. You take his face between your hands and stare him down. “Talk to me. What’s going on, how do you feel?”

He just blinks for a moment, before shaking his head. “I just had a headache is all. Snoozed the alarm. I’m totally fine, I just need to get to the studio for practice.”

“Jackson, how do you feel?” you repeat, holding him still. You sneak a glance at his phone, still unlocked to show you his recent search for natural headache remedies.

He looks sheepish now, “Well, my head hurts.”

You raise one eyebrow at him. “You don’t say. What else?”

He groans, dropping his face in his hands. “I’m fine, I promise. Just a headache.”

“If that’s all it is, take some pain meds and get out,” you challenge him, folding your arms in what you hope is an intimidating stance. You know bullshit when you hear it.

Somehow the pose works. That, or Jackson vividly remembers how you chewed him out for lying and threatened to roast him alive if he ever tried it again.�� “My throat hurts a bit, and I’m definitely a bit congested. All I need is some tea and a mask and I’ll be fine,” he starts, but stops just as quickly when your glare intensifies.

You rummage around in the closet and find a thermometer, which confirms your suspicions: a fever. “Back in bed after you finish brushing, or I’m withholding any and all sexy activities for a month,” you threaten him into compliance. And you would absolutely uphold that threat, because you know Jackson. He’s always hounding you to stay healthy, but is a definite member of the “do as I say, not as I do” camp of idiots. If you don’t lay down the law now, he’ll continue working himself to death, and then he’ll really be in trouble. Plus he’ll end up getting the other boys sick, and Jackson is enough of a handful on his own without six other boys moaning and groaning.

In the kitchen, you gulp coffee while boiling some water for tea. Your fingers fly, tapping out a message to Jaebeom, knowing he’ll pass along the message.

Jackson’s an idiot and he’s sick, if anyone asks him to come to practice I’ll end them.

Then to Jinyoung:

Can you check on Jackson this afternoon? I have to go to work, but would love it if you could make sure he’s still breathing (and hasn’t tried to leave the apartment). I made kimchi jjigae last night, so there’s leftovers if you want some ❤️

Your phone pings with two positive responses right away, and you nod to yourself. Then you pour a good spoonful of honey in the mug, grab cold medicine, and bring both to Jackson. “Drink this, take this, and go to sleep,” you say, shoving the mug in his hands. “There’s clementines on the counter, plus leftover soup in the fridge. Call me if you need me, especially if you start to feel any worse. Jinyoung will stop by around lunch, and I’ll be back from work in time for dinner. Text me your dumb loopy fever thoughts, okay?” You finally take a breath after spouting off instructions. You’re worried, but now you’re running late. And if he takes a turn for the worse, you can call out of work for the rest of the day.

Jackson just smiles up at you, and you roll your eyes. You can’t help but smile at your precious idiot—he’s already fever loopy. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more.” You press your lips to the top of his head, then dash to the closet to change into your work clothes.

Even though it’s possibly the fastest strip show in history, Jackson wolf whistles between sips of tea. You chuckle, jiggling yourself into a pair of pants, and he grins shamelessly.

“Ok, I’m off,” you mutter, collecting various odds and ends and cursing to yourself because you’ve definitely forgotten something.

Jackson calls your name as you start to close the bedroom door, and you turn back. His smile softens, and you swear there are hearts in his eyes. “I love you most.”

This time, you really do laugh, and you blow him a kiss goodbye. He’s an idiot, but he’s your idiot.

[ 11:39 am ]

You knew he was going to text you incessantly throughout the day, despite any good intentions, if only because Jackson was not well equipped to be stuck inside an empty apartment all day. Especially when he wasn’t feeling well. At least the texts waited until around ten, when you assume he woke up again. You’d kept an eye out for any bad updates, but hadn’t seen anything to worry you.

After back-to-back meetings, you finally sign off and take a minute to scroll through the memes, YouTube videos, and more. Fortunately, your phone was on silent, because he’d sent you half the internet. The spam tells you he feels okay, all things considered.

I miss you already. I’ve gone through all of your Spotify playlists and now I’m bored

I would spam you with bad jokes, but those don’t work over text

Why don’t we have a dog? Can you bring me a dog on your way home from work?

Why won’t the guys text me back...did you THREATEN THEM? BABEEEEE

Babe

BABE

BABY COME BACK

YOU CAN BLAME IT ALL ON MEEEEE

...princess please answer me I’m dying and I have no one

You can’t stop the smile, knowing he’s doing his best to keep you from worrying, but also that he’s probably stir crazy. You quickly tap out a response:

I’m glad you’re feeling better, or at least pretending. Tell me if you feel worse. Are you drinking water?

He sends you a selfie of him guzzling the glass you left for him. And finally stops texting, which makes you chuckle. A glance at the clock tells you a special visitor should be arriving soon, so you turn back to your computer to get some more work done.

Within fifteen minutes, your phone buzzes again. Jinyoung’s update is quick and to the point: a photo of an exhausted Jackson nearly falling asleep in his soup. That’s enough to send you over the edge, and you laugh out loud, regardless of the thin office walls.

[ 5:49 pm ]

You lock the door behind and toe off your shoes, then pad into the kitchen. You’d stopped by the store on your way home, picking up cold medication and a few ingredients for dinner. Jackson gives you the scare of your life, when you round the corner and find him slumped over the counter.

“Jackson!” you gasp, nearly dropping the shopping bags.

He mumbles incoherently, lifting his head and blinking blearily at you. “Hi princess,” he says with a weak smile.

Now you do drop the bags and round the counter to reach him. You press the back of your hand to his forehead. “Still burning up,” you mutter. “Jackson, why didn’t you call me? And Jinyoung didn’t say you were this miserable.”

He shakes his head at you, hair falling limp over his forehead. “I’m just tired. Apparently I took a nap after he left,” he says sheepishly. Your frown deepens. “It’s just a cold,” he tries to reassure you.

Rolling your eyes at him, you go back to the grocery bags and retrieve the cold medication. “I’ll make dinner and you can go right back to bed, okay? Drink some more water.”

Jackson obeys your gruff instructions, sitting and sipping water while you throw ingredients together for a quick stew. He tries to offer to do the dishes, but you shoo him off for a hot shower. But he doesn’t reach your limit of irritating until he tries to convince you to sleep in the bed while he takes the couch.

“Should I move out? That’s the only way I can be sure I won’t get sick,” you tell him, hands on your hips as you stare him down. Jackson reluctantly puts his pillow back on the bed, prompting you to grab your own, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Now Jackson is the one rolling his eyes. You huff out a laugh and watch his lips twitch, trying to hold back his smile. “I just worry about you,” he says softly.

You can’t stay mad at that face. Dropping the pillow, you sit on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside you. When Jackson plops down, you bump your shoulder into his. “I wish you would worry about yourself more.”

He knows what you’re getting at. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation—in the beginning, they were pretty fierce arguments. The two of you are both stubborn, leading to stalemates more often than not. Convincing Jackson to put his health before his work was one of those standoffs.

Jackson doesn’t say anything, but he bumps your shoulder back, so you know the message was received. You smile at him, then poke his side playfully. “I already told Jaebeom you’d be taking tomorrow off.”

He groans, falling back on the bed and throwing an arm across his face. “I can’t afford to miss practice. Comeback is only a few weeks away and—”

“And nothing. You stay home until the fever is gone for twenty-four hours. Or I’m taking you to the doctor, and they’ll tell you worse.”

He simply groans like the drama king he is, and you laugh while you take a blanket and pillow to the couch.

[ 7:24 am ]

You’re dragged into wakefulness by a crick in your neck, a sore throat, and a stuffy nose. You groan, dragging one hand down your face in defeat. Jackson wasn’t going to let this one go...you were in for an earful. Rolling off the couch, you sniffle your way through your morning routine. By the time you’ve called out of work, taken some cold medication, and sat down with your coffee, Jackson is also awake.

He does a double-take when he sees you, “Wait, shouldn’t you be at work by now?”

You grumble, sure he’s figured it out but wants to drive the point home. “I’m sick.”

“I guess you should’ve moved out then,” he jokes, but his expression has never been more serious. It feels like deja-vu, only Jackson is the one checking your temperature and muttering about tea.

“It’s fine, I’ve self medicated like a grown-up,” you say with a smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. “And I have coffee, go get yourself some tea.”

Ten minutes later, you’re staring down at a horrible green concoction. “Jackson, I’m sorry, but what fresh hell is this?”

“Fruit, vegetables, and whatever else I could find in the fridge. I didn’t put chicken in there, don’t worry. I know how you feel about my shakes.”

You eye him up and down. He doesn’t look much better than yesterday. “You drink it. You need to get your strength back for practice.” Jackson pouts at you, and that’s when you figure it out. “It’s not your fault I’m sick,” you tell him.

He scoffs, “Yes it is.”

You resist the urge to throw something at him. Lovingly, of course. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree then.”

“Fine. But you’re drinking this,” he fires back.

You wince, peering into the cup again. You’re not sure you can trust his ingredient list. “Split it?” you ask, wearing your most angelic smile.

Jackson squirms away from you in fake disgust, “I can’t, there’s cooties!” Then he ducks to avoid the pillow you hurl at him.

* * * * *

Masterlist

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