Seung Hyun had been quiet all day, which was unusual enough to make you worry. Normally, even when he was exhausted, he would tease you, make a sarcastic remark, or at least give a faint smile. But today, he was curled on the couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around him, his skin pale, lips pressed together like he was trying to keep himself steady.

“Hyun…” you knelt by the couch, brushing his hair off his damp forehead. “You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice hoarse. But even as he said it, his stomach tightened and a soft groan escaped. His hand pressed weakly against his middle.

You knew what was coming before he did. You hurried to grab the waste bin, dragging it close just in time as his body lurched forward. He gripped the edge of the couch desperately while you steadied him, one hand braced against the back of his neck, the other keeping the bin in place.

“It’s alright,” you whispered quickly, your own chest tightening as he gagged. “Just breathe through it… I’ve got you, Hyun.”

The sound was harsh, his body trembling as he retched, and you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, grounding him through it. Each time he paused, you tilted the bin away slightly and wiped the corner of his mouth with tissues, whispering reassurance before he was hit again.

When he finally sagged back against the cushions, drained and shaky, he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Don’t… don’t look at me like this,” he rasped, embarrassed.

You shook your head firmly, cupping his flushed cheek. “Seung Hyun, stop. You’re sick, not weak. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes flickered with something vulnerable, but he didn’t argue when you guided him to lie back. You tucked the blanket tighter around him, then fetched a cool towel from the bathroom, pressing it gently to his forehead. He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes at the relief.

You stayed by his side, crouched on the floor even though your knees ached, just so you could keep your hand on his arm. Every so often, he stirred, his stomach rebelling again, and you were there each time—holding the bin, whispering soft encouragement, cleaning him up with quiet care.

At one point, he leaned against your shoulder, voice barely audible. “Why are you… so kind to me, even when I’m like this?”

You kissed the top of his damp hair, whispering, “Because you’re mine, Hyun. And I’ll take care of you—no matter what.”

He let out a shaky breath, too tired to respond, but the way his hand weakly slipped into yours said enough. Eventually, as his body calmed, he drifted into sleep against your side, his breathing uneven but finally a little more at peace. You stayed there long after, stroking his hair, determined not to leave him alone for even a second.