You were dying.

Okay—maybe not medically, but with a fever hovering around 39°C, a throat that felt like it’d been sandpapered by karma, and a headache pounding like a nightclub bassline, it felt close enough. You were bundled into a sad, sleepy burrito on the couch, glaring at a bowl of porridge like it had personally offended you.

Seung Hyun sat beside you, balancing the bowl like it was radioactive.

“Come on. Just a few bites.”

You shook your head weakly. “I want watermelon.”

“You have a fever. Watermelon is cold.”

“Then I want to die.”

He exhaled slowly, like a man hanging by a single thread. “Okay. But you’re not dying on an empty stomach.”

Just as he reached for the spoon again, the front door flung open like someone was filming an idol drama.

“EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAM HAS ARRIVED!” Daesung yelled, arms full of junk food and no medical training whatsoever.

Seung Hyun didn’t even look. “Turn around and walk out.”

Too late. Taeyang entered holding a humidifier like it was a sacred artifact. And then, dramatically—almost in slow motion—Ji Yong stepped in.

Still wearing sunglasses indoors.

He said nothing. Just walked straight to the couch and plopped down beside you with all the exaggerated concern of a soap opera character.

He lowered his glasses just a little.

“You look like a microwaved rag,” he said.

“Oppa,” you groaned.

“That’s me being nice.”

Seung Hyun crossed his arms. “She needs sleep, not heckling.”

“She married you. Clearly her judgment’s already broken.”

Taeyang gasped. “Hyung—”

“Let it happen,” Daesung said. “This is therapy for him.”

You coughed. “Aren’t you guys supposed to make me feel better?”

“Oh, this is better,” Ji Yong grinned. “You should’ve seen your face back in high school when this guy got detention and had to do push-ups outside the council room.”

“Don’t—” you warned.

“Too late,” Ji Yong said, smirking. “You were full-on student president mode, arms crossed, glaring at him like ‘discipline must be upheld.’ Meanwhile, this guy was doing push-ups and showing off like he was in a gym ad.”

“I was not—” Seung Hyun started.

“You were totally flexing,” Taeyang cut in. “You looked up every three seconds like ‘is she watching?’”

Ji Yong pointed at you. “And she was. With her face all red. I walked by and asked if you were hot and you said it was just... ‘sunlight reflecting off justice.’”

You hid your face in the blanket. “I hate all of you.”

“You loved it,” Seung Hyun teased, leaning closer. “You were obsessed with me.”

“I was obsessed with getting you expelled,” you grumbled.

“Same thing.”

Daesung smiled quietly from the corner. “And now look at you. Same house. Same girl. No push-ups.”

“I’ll start doing them again if she gives me that look,” Seung Hyun said, suddenly lowering into a dramatic push-up right there in the living room.

“STOP—” you wheezed mid-laugh. “You’re gonna break something!”

“He’s gonna break my floor,” Ji Yong muttered. “Hyung, if you dent my sister’s carpet, I swear—”

“My carpet now,” Seung Hyun smirked, still mid-push-up.

“Divorce,” Ji Yong declared. “Immediately.”

The room exploded in laughter again as you clutched your stomach, sore from laughing through your cold.