Jungkook hadn’t left the bed all day.

You noticed it in the little things — the quiet apartment, his phone untouched, the way he barely responded when you called his name.

“Why haven’t you gotten up?” you asked, standing in the doorway.

He shifted under the covers, eyes flicking away. “I’m just… resting.”

“You hate resting.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Jay.”

He sighed, defeated, voice smaller than usual. “I feel sick. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Of course you did.

You returned a few minutes later with a mug of warm tea, steam curling in the air. Before you could say a word, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist.

“Come here,” he murmured.

“Drink this first—”

He tugged you closer, pulling you down onto the bed with surprising strength for someone who claimed he was fine. He curled around you immediately, forehead pressing into your shoulder.

“I feel better like this,” he muttered, voice muffled. “Just… stay.”