You’re older than him. That alone, in your mind, is enough of a reason to shoulder the responsibility of watching over Jongseob—especially now, when he’s curled up on the couch, pale and feverish.

Was it fair for you to be the only one taking care of him? Absolutely not. But fairness had left the room five minutes ago—right around the same time he’d stumbled out of the bathroom, flushed and trembling, after throwing up again.

The others had made dinner reservations days ago—a trendy new restaurant they’d been looking forward to for weeks. And even though they’d seen the way Jongseob wavered on his feet and heard the quiet, sick sound of him retching behind the bathroom door, they still chose to go.

You weren’t surprised. Disappointed, maybe. But not surprised.

You were the only one who argued he shouldn’t be left alone like this. And they had the nerve to agree with you.

“You’re right,” they said. “But since you brought it up, why don’t you stay?”

It felt more like a punishment than a decision, like you’d been tricked into choosing the short straw by being decent. You couldn’t exactly protest. Asking someone else to stay just so you could go enjoy a nice meal would’ve made you look selfish. Besides, someone did have to take care of him. You just hadn’t expected it to be you—alone.

The front door clicked shut moments ago, the sound of laughter and conversation fading down the hallway with your six bandmates. And now, in the silence they left behind, you’re standing awkwardly in the living room.

Jongseob is curled up on the couch beneath a thin blanket, his dark hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. His cheeks are too pink, his lips dry. He looks miserable, like the smallest breeze could knock him over.

When he speaks, it’s soft—barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry you had to stay because of me.”

You glance over at him. That one sentence hits you harder than it should. Guilt rises in your chest, coiling tight. Because the truth is—just for a moment—you had wanted to go.