Work Text:
Minho wasn't usually one to catch a form of viral disease that would make him slump on his bed until his mattresses eat him. But after having a consecutive schedule on top of their vocal and dance practices, here he was, inside his room, blowing his nose to a folded cut chunk of tissue paper.
His roommate, Seungmin, worriedly looked at him.
"Hyung, you need to get a flu shot." The younger commented at him, probably ready to contact their manager, but Minho was able to stop him in time.
"I'd rather blow my nose and use all the tissue rolls in this household than go to the hospital and have a needle pierced right into my flesh." His voice was hoarse, nasal in sound, and something scratched in his throat making him cough out loud like a dying seal.
He clasped his chest and tried to soothe himself with his small hand.
He hated being sick. He hated the fact that the other members could practice their newest song while here's their dance leader, too flushed and feeling fleet to even move around.
"I will tell Chan-hyung if you continue on doing that." Seungmin faked his disgust and stood up.
The light of his phone showed his face for the last time and Minho didn't have the energy to fight him anymore. Seungmin walked out.
It wasn't his fault that he got sick. He was tired for the past days, waking up at ungodly hours and sleeping at the same ungodly hours. He had to memorize lyrics, practice them, learn the dance steps, direct the members throughout their practice, go to his schedules―which weren't just a handful, but a whole lot―and cook because he couldn't bear to eat greasy chicken from the fast food chains anymore.
It wasn't his fault that he was tired and overworked.
He felt the itch almost on the back of his forehead. He closed his eyes, feeling a snot pooling in, and a sneeze being forced out of his mouth.
He needs a soup. A good, sprawny soup.
///
His boyfriend didn't have to look adorable but he was. His curly hair sitting on top of his head, scrunched eyebrows, and pursed lips.
Chan was about to nag at him.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The leader in Chan bubbling up, the same way his worried face washed all his features. Minho squinted and watched his beautiful boyfriend fume in red with a small smile. "I know I am weak for that, Lee Minho, but I won't let this off that easily. Why didn't you tell me?"
Chan paced to him and gently laid his fingers to touch Minho's forehead, feeling his body temperature. He didn't know what he was doing, he just thought it'd be nice to do that since he kept on seeing that from numerous dramas.
Minho leaned to the touch and sighed. "Channie, you're working. And please, do you even know if I'm feverish or not?"
While Chan felt sad about how Minho's voice sounded, he was too determined to try and deduce something out of merely touching his forehead.
"Maybe― hey, I could try." Chan ended up pouting.
Minho stretched his arm out to touch Chan. His head was throbbing so bad that all he wanted was to sleep and be tucked in the comfort of his sheets―his boyfriend was a bonus.
On top of his very needy self whenever he's sick comes with a satiety to drink something warm and fill his stomach. He heard the door of the dorm to open and close simultaneously.
"Baby," Chan lowered his head and pecked the crown of his head. His hand was pressed on Minho's neck and Minho couldn't have had enough of it. Minho pulled Chan to him. "Do you need something?"
He needed soup. He needed a good soup. But the problem was, Chan couldn't cook to save his life―he still needed soup.
While on top of him, Chan sneaked his arms around his waist and sniffed his scent by his neck. Minho smiled into the touch and curled his fingers on his boyfriend's hair. He pulled it slightly.
Chan let out a soft sound—almost sounding like a moan—and pushed his head further to Minho’s neck.
“Can you cook something for me?” Minho mused, beginning to think that this must be a bad idea but went with it. He really needed the soup.
Chan hummed against him with interest. His tone was a bit higher than usual and his breath somehow hitched when he pulled himself away from Minho. The side of his lip quirked, forming into a slight smile.
“You want me to cook for you?”
Oh god, this was really a bad idea.
“Don’t burn my kitchen, please.”
///
Chan always loved challenges. He loved it when his mind worked twice, just so he could end up on Minho’s bed, showered with kisses and cuddles, telling him how good of a job he did. He loved it when he got all pleasured by the fact that he was able to do a task that was relatively new and strange for him. He loved challenges, so much, because they give him something to look forward to.
And while he loved challenges, what he didn’t expect was the fact that Minho’s cook books wouldn’t be sufficient to make him go through this one particular challenge of cooking a soup.
Changbin looked at him funnily with a smirk on his lips. Chan wanted to call Felix and cry.
“Hyung, I don’t think that is how you are supposed to boil the onion and garlic.” The smaller lad confidently skipped to his side like he was any better when it comes to cooking—which he wasn’t, mind you—and scrutinized the boiling pot of water with the onion reeks sitting on top of it.
“Oh, yeah?” Chan worriedly looked at his attempt. The cloves of garlic was on the bottom part of the pan, and while he was successful in removing the skin of the onion, the amount of tears that rolled down his cheek seemed not worth of the way the onion was just on the center, not moving, just minding its own business and wiggled with the bubbles. “All I see on the internet are these complicated recipes. This is the easiest one so far.”
Changbin rolled his sleeves up. The arrogant look on his face retained and Chan thought he’d finally see the light of the day and finally be able to deliver some soup to his loving sick boyfriend, sniffing hard under the mattress.
Changbin picked the ladle up and stirred.
“You have to cut them into pieces, hyung. Not putting them exactly as they are.”
He loved challenges. Minho knew that about him—he loved challenges that would make him wrack his head. So, when he literally slumped over the kitchen counter and let out a loud yawp, Changbin was startled and quickly held him, worried about their leader.
“Motherfucker—” Changbin cursed out loud and stopped when Chan glared at him. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I thought something happened to you!” And further created a commotion too loud that eventually reached the room of no other than Minho, himself.
“Do you even know how much onions I wasted? Only to hear from you that I will waste yet another onion and have nothing to cook for Min.” He whined.
He loved challenges; he knew that much. But this one was something that he didn’t come prepared for. He was stressing out over a pot of boiling water and the lack of ingredients in the fridge. On top of Changbin snickering, trying so hard to keep his laugh in his throat was the fact that now that Changbin was the one pulling something from the fridge will then cause a ruckus bigger than what he had caused.
Changbin and cooking never sat well.
And Minho didn’t want his kitchen to burn.
He wanted to cry.
///
He didn’t cry—of course, he loved challenges.
He began pouring oil on the pan, completely forgetting Minho’s specific request of soup, all because of Changbin’s sparkling eyes when he said, “Hyung! You can just cook him something else!” and shoved the eggs and bacon in his arms.
And because he loved challenges, he did what he thought only he could do without Changbin’s help, and that is: to fry—because apparently it was one of the things that he thought was easy without causing a frantic in his boyfriend.
The sizzling sound reached his ears. Changbin watched intensely while standing beside Chan. Chan dropped the frozen bacon.
He loved challenges. He was always sure of it.
But he wished someone had told him that well-heated oil and frozen meat was not compatible because he and Changbin definitely did not just scream loud when their skin just got hit with the splash of the oil.
“Hyung!” Changbin shouted like it was the end of his life. He pulled Chan to his front and used him as a shield. “Turn it off!” Changbin continuously screamed.
Until a certain cough and clearing of the throat rang in the hallway, approaching the two of them.
Chan’s eyes widened at the realization and pushed Changbin off him—an attempt to save the younger from the wrath—and forgot about the frying bacon behind him. He patted his clothes flat and exhaled loudly.
And when the owner of the coughing sound finally entered the kitchen, Chan swore, Minho raised his eyebrows at him.
He and Minho took their time to look at each other. Changbin remained silent on the farthest side of the kitchen, waiting for the scenes to unfold in front of him, and Chan absentmindedly rubbed his nape and took a step towards Minho.
Minho didn’t budge and just stood still—his eyebrows still raised.
“How are you feeling, babe?” Chan nervously chirped. The sharp look on Minho's face was setting him off the edge.
“What do you want me to answer, Bang Chan?” Minho sneered and looked away. His eyes stilled on the smoke behind Chan and slowly, his lips grew thin, like his patience was wavering.
Chan stopped rubbing his nape, taking his time carefully to stare at the stance of his boyfriend that was about to fume in anger. It wasn’t his fault that Minho was beautiful in his distressed state; that his eyes were still so sharp, his jawline well defined, and sculpted each and every line of his face. Wow, he would love to touch that.
“Changbin.” Minho raised his voice, enough to startle both Chan and Changbin. The latter thought that his presence was concealed, but he was deemed wrong when Minho sharply turned his head to his direction and gave him a commanding look. “It’s okay, you can get out of the kitchen.”
While it surprised Changbin to see Minho like that, he took the chance to slip out and mouthed wishes of luck to the oldest in the room. Chan really needed that luck.
Minho slowly walked to Chan, his expression unreadable.
Chan puckered up and raised his chin. He was waiting for a kiss because he deserved it but Minho didn’t want to give him a kiss just like that. Minho went past him and sniffled hard.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Minho murmured, barely audible.
And Chan felt guilty.
Chan felt himself being pulled close by Minho’s hand. He was stuck beside Minho as the latter flipped the bacon on the pan. Burnt to crisp, probably bitter to taste by then. Chan sulked harder.
“I am sorry, Min. I should be the one apologizing.”
Minho just hummed.
His eyes looked tired—of course, they were—and the rims of his eyelids were puffed. He looked like he just woke up. His nose was clearly red and clogged and his mouth was slightly ajar to exhale some of the air pooling in his lungs.
Chan’s hand was in Minho’s hold and it was getting tighter.
His shoulders dropped as he sought solace in the body of his sick boyfriend. Though he expected Minho to scold him, Minho was now doing the job that he should’ve been doing.
“I couldn’t even do that much for you—”
But Minho immediately interjected, “I love you, Christopher.”
Chan wasn’t sure of the reason why Minho was suddenly professing his love. He watched Minho pick the pan up using his other hand and dragged him to the other end of the counter, placing the pan down.
Chan squeezed Minho’s hand.
“I love you too but—”
“Channie, just let me hold your hand as I cook myself some soup, alright?”
///
Minho should’ve known that asking Chan to cook for him was one of the worst possible things he could’ve asked him because Chan, though he’s good at most things, wasn’t good with anything that is related to cooking.
If it weren’t for Seungmin pleading with him to finally go outside and check Changbin, another lost soul trying to cook, and his most loved man, Chan, panicking over the splashes of the oil, his kitchen would've burned that exact minute.
His throat was overly dry and his coughs were so intense that he felt a bit of stinging running down his throat every time he coughed out but having Chan’s hand inside his hand was a bit better than stuffing his mouth with the indigestible bacon and tasteless soup.
Chan peered over his curly bangs and watched Minho swallow.
“Do you want me to just buy you some food?” Chan offered hastily, probably guilty of the fact that he took so much time to cook what was supposed to be a soup but turned out to be burnt bacon. Minho slurped for the second time and looked up. “I can’t believe I made you eat burnt food.”
While he didn’t want to dwell on the fact that his sleep was severely disrupted by that time, his head was throbbing so bad he ended up grimacing at least twice.
“Do you understand now why I don’t want you to eat my failed cooking?” Chan hummed in thought before nodding.
Minho knew why he couldn't even raise his voice at Chan—not even when they’re arguing over something. Chan was just too damn perfect. His eyes were perfect though they were a bit glimmering and probably too sad for what was happening when Minho didn’t even really care that much and the dimples on the corners of his lips that Minho would always, literally always, poke and kiss, were flaunting.
He was just too whipped for the man to even be mad at him.
“Well,” Chan started shyly. The tips of his ear turned red by the moment. Minho was able to catch the sight and chuckled. “Do you need anything else aside from soup because we both know that I cannot cook to save my life.”
Deliberately thinking, Minho eyed down his food, thinking of the things that Chan could’ve done for him now that his lover was there in the dorm and not working in his lonely studio. His eyes glinted.
“Yeah, I need one last thing, babe.”
He wasn’t sure what time it was or whether his body was getting any better. All that he knew was that Chan was there and he would cherish every second he’d get to have of Chan.
“Anything, name it.”
“Cuddle me.”
///
Chan softly nudged Minho’s head to his neck. Reclining his torso to the backrest of the bed and pillows supporting him, Minho finally felt relieved and relaxed after all the snot that he had to clear out of his nose and constant voices that woke him up from his light sleep.
While his roommate, Seungmin, watched him with an utmost disgust in his face, he knew that the younger was also somehow thankful to the presence of the leader that readily calmed Minho down before Minho could ever grumpily ask Seungmin to do most of the things that the younger wouldn’t even do for a sober Minho.
Minho released a pent up sigh.
“You seem comfortable, Min.” Chan whispered to him and turned slightly to place Minho on top of him all curled up.
He didn’t care if his body heat was topping up the heat that Chan was feeling in the room—all that he cared about was the fact that finally, Chan was there at the godly hours, ready to tuck him to the bed.
He wasn’t one to usually catch some form of disease; he was sure that his body’s immune system was strengthened after all the exercises, diet, and vitamins he had to endure for years, but this certain disease was like a blessing to him.
He hummed in comfort, never wanting to leave Chan’s side.
"Yeah," he agreed on top of his nodding and tucked himself closer to Chan's body. "You're really comfortable."
Chan released a pleased sound. That sound readily made itself to Minho's ears and lulled him further to his sleep. Wow. Chan smelled so―
So greasy.
He furrowed his brows and pushed himself away from Chan.
"I can…" his voice trailed off. Chan just looked at him with wide eyes. Chan opened his mouth, about to speak up. Minho cut him off that instant. "I can smell you!"
Minho pressed his fingers on his nose bridge, pinching it lightly. He scrunched his nose―once, twice―and sniffed hard until his sinus hurt. He blinked hard, stirring Chan up from his bed.
"Though you smell shit―"
"Hey!"
He glared at Chan.
"You do smell like grease, okay? Go and shower later but my nose cleared up―" He coughed. "Okay, I still have a cough."
He reached out to caress Chan's face. His small palms encapturing the little cheeks of his boyfriend and thumbs playing over his dimples. He was smiling. From the slightest signs of his healing, yes. But he was smiling because finally he could savour Chan.
Chan welcomed him with open arms. Their bodies slid down the warm blanket and their hands laced with each other.
Minho looked at Chan with so much wonder. The glint in his eyes excerpted everything he had for Chan.
And Chan returned the same fervor to him.
Oh god, he truly loved Chan.
"You look so happy, Min." Chan chuckled and puckered his lips, leaning in for a kiss.
"You make me happy after all." He said with finality and sealed their lips when he pressed his against Chan.
No one actually cared whether Chan would wake up the next day with a sore throat or without.