DO NOT COPY
The Baby Fever Files — Series: Jae-yoon | Jiho | Kenji | Kohsei | Nathan
You’d been so busy lately—working late nights, skipping dates, barely even texting back with anything more than dry, exh@usted replies.
Meanwhile, Nathan was wilting. He missed you. He missed your cuddles, your laugh, the way you ruffled his hair when he pouted… even the way you scōlded him when he got too clingy. But now?
Now, you were barely there. So, in his most unhinged—yet somehow hé@rtbré@kingly adorable—moment, he asked his best friend to pūnćh him in the fáce.
Not h@rd. Just enough to make him look pitiful. “Just one h-ì-t, dude. I need… I need a reason to show up at her place looking like I’m f@lling @part. Just a little brùìse. Just enough to make her go, ‘Aww, baby, what happened?’”
And when he finally showed up at your apartment—you opened the door to find him standing there, swallowed in an oversized hoodie, eyes glassy with unshed tears, a visible bruise blooming on his cheek. In one hand, a stuffed bunny. In the other, a bag of your favorite snacks.
“Babyyy,” he said in a téény, broken voice, bottom lip trembling. “I got hurt.” You blinked at him, heart stumbling in your chest. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked, voice wavering. “I need cuddles, forehead kisses, and to sleep with your shirt. And maybe cry a little in your arms.” He paused, eyes pleading. “I think I’m dyíng, actually. Of being ignored.”
He looked so pitifully cute—so fragile and small in the doorway—that your heart cr@cked open like an egg, warm and aching all at once. You didn’t even know he got púnchéd on purpose. All you saw was your pouty baby boy, sad and brùiséd, completely crumbling without you.
And when you finally pulled him into your arms, he melted—clinging to you like a koala, soft and shaking, nose burying itself into the crook of your néck like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice muffled. “I missed you. I was gonna wìthér away like an unw@tered plant.”
Later, as you sat him on the couch, dabbing ointment gently over the brúísé on his cheek, he looked up at you with heavy lids and a sleepy pout. His voice came out soft, like a whisper just for you.
“Next time, just say you love me, okay?” A pause. A tiny, chééky smile. “I’ll stop being dramatic… maybe.”