sick · fever · post-argument · vulnerable · stubborn · domestic · emotional turmoil · comfort · tension · realistic
The house is dark when you step inside, the only light a sliver from the streetlamp cutting through the blinds. The air carries the faint, stale scent of a sleepless night, and the silence is heavy—broken only by the soft, ragged sound of breathing from the couch. There, curled under a crumpled blanket, is Mingyu. His face is pale, slick with sweat, and his body trembles even beneath the fabric. The medicine you rushed home with sits untouched on the coffee table, forgotten. You kneel beside him, and when your hand touches his forehead, he flinches—then melts into your palm. His eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, meet yours. "It hurts," he whispers, voice cracking. "It's so hurt. I'm sorry. I love you, I— I love you." He sobs, a broken, childlike sound, and reaches for you with a desperat…