It had been raining all afternoon, the kind of gentle drizzle that made the apartment feel smaller and cozier. Toys were scattered across the living room floor, a half-finished puzzle forgotten on the coffee table. Normally, Rowan would be toddling around with endless energy, but today the house was unusually quiet.

Rowan was curled up against Chan’s chest, his little body too warm with fever. His usual bubbly giggles had faded into quiet whimpers as he clung to his papa’s shirt.

Chan rubbed his son’s back in slow circles, humming softly even though his own throat was starting to ache. He pressed his cheek to Rowan’s hair, whispering, “It’s alright, mate. Papa’s got you.”

Minho crouched beside them, worry written all over his face. “You’re burning up too, hyung. You shouldn’t be holding him like that.”

Chan gave a tired smile. “He needs the comfort. I’ll be fine.”

But Minho could see the flush on Chan’s skin and the exhaustion in his eyes. He carefully lifted Rowan into his own arms, the toddler whimpering before settling against his appa. “You’re not fine. You’re starting to get sick just like him.”

Chan reached out, brushing his knuckles along Minho’s arm. “I’ll manage. You both come first.”

Minho’s chest tightened at the quiet determination in his voice. “Then let me take care of you too. I don’t want to see you pushing yourself until you collapse.”

Rowan sneezed and nuzzled into Minho’s shoulder, his little hands gripping at Minho’s hoodie. Chan leaned forward, tucking the blanket more securely around both of them.

“Alright,” Chan finally murmured, his voice softer than usual. “I’ll let you take care of me. Just don’t let go of him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Minho promised. He shifted Rowan slightly so Chan could rest against him too.