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Shin hated being sick. He hated the heat crawling under his skin, the dull ache behind his eyes, the way his limbs felt too heavy to move. But most of all, he hated looking weak. Vulnerable. Breakable.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t care about pride.
He was curled on the couch, hoodie pulled up to his chin, cheeks flushed and nose red, when Saint walked in. The moment their eyes met, Saint dropped his keys and crossed the room with that quiet kind of urgency only he had controlled but absolutely unstoppable.
“Oh my god, Shin…” Saint crouched in front of him, one hand already on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” Shin croaked, voice shredded. He tried to sit up, failed and flopped back with a soft grunt.
Saint didn’t even dignify that with a reply. He stood, grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch, and tucked it around Shin with practiced ease. “You’re not fine. You look like a microwaved corpse.”
“Thanks,” Shin muttered, but his eyes were already fluttering shut. It was too warm now. His body hummed with fatigue, and the blanket smelled like Saint. He hated how much he liked that.
Saint smoothed Shin’s hair back gently. “You sleep. I’ll be right back.”
Shin wanted to protest, tell him not to fuss, not to baby him but he didn’t. Because Saint’s hand was cool and soft on his forehead, and the last thing Shin heard before drifting off was the sound of water boiling and cupboards opening.
He woke up to the clink of a spoon and the smell of soup. Real soup, not instant ramen, not cup noodles but actual, homemade soup.
“What the..” Shin sat up groggily. “Did you rob someone’s grandmother?”
Saint, who was holding a steaming bowl with oven mitts like it was a sacred object, raised an eyebrow. “It’s my mom’s recipe. Chicken and ginger.”
“Of course it is,” Shin mumbled, watching him set the bowl down on the coffee table. “You’re so domestic it’s terrifying.”
Saint only smiled and crouched down again, one knee on the floor as he held out a spoonful. “Open.”
“No,” Shin said immediately, recoiling. “I can feed myself.”
“You have the energy of a dying worm.”
“I still have dignity.”
“You’re sick,” Saint said, tilting his head. “You’re not tough right now, baby. Let someone take care of you.”
Shin stared at him, the word “baby” echoing somewhere in the empty, overheated chamber of his heart.
Saint didn’t blink. Didn’t tease. Just waited patiently, spoon in hand, like this was normal. Like it was okay to be soft. To be taken care of.
And for some reason, maybe because he was dizzy, maybe because Saint was looking at him like that, Shin leaned forward and let him feed him.
The soup was perfect. Warm, fragrant and somehow exactly what he didn’t know he needed.
“You made this just now?” he asked between sips.
“Skipped my shift,” Saint said simply. “You were burning up and stubborn, so I stayed.”
Shin blinked. “You what?”
“I’m not letting you lie here and die of fever because you refuse to rest.”
“I wasn’t gonna die,” Shin muttered.
“You took your hoodie off in your sleep and said and I quote, ‘I’m dying and Saint is too pretty to mourn me properly.’”
“… I uh didn’t.”
“You did,” Saint said, biting back a smile. “It was kind of poetic.”
Shin groaned and pulled the blanket over his face. “Kill me now.”
Saint chuckled, tugged the blanket back down and kissed Shin’s forehead lightly. “Too late. I’m keeping you alive.”
That kiss. Shin froze. Not because he didn’t like it, he did. Too much, actually. It was just so… casual. Intimate. Saint treating him like he was precious even in the worst state possible.
“Why’re you like this?” Shin whispered.
“Like what?”
“So nice. So… good to me.”
Saint shrugged and reached for his hand under the blanket. Their fingers slid together easily. “Because you’re mine.”
Shin looked at their hands. Saint’s thumb was stroking the back of his, slow and soothing.
“I’m not good at this,” Shin admitted quietly. “Being taken care of.”
Saint leaned in, resting their foreheads together. “That’s okay. I’m good enough for both of us.”
And somehow, Shin believed him.
By evening, Shin was drowsy but clearer. His fever had dipped. He was still wrapped in the blanket, lying with his head in Saint’s lap while the TV played some soft drama in the background.
Saint was carding his fingers through Shin’s hair, slow and gentle like he had all the time in the world.
“Saint?”
“Yeah?”
“…This is nice.”
Saint smiled, even though Shin wasn’t looking at him. “It is.”
“Like… really nice.”
Saint leaned down and brushed a kiss against Shin’s temple. “You deserve it.”
Shin turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek into Saint’s thigh. “Even when I’m gross and sniffly?”
“Especially then,” Saint said, amused. “You’re cuter when you’re helpless.”
Shin groaned. “I knew you were evil.”
Saint laughed softly. “And yet, here you are. Spoiled, tucked in and completely at my mercy.”
“Yeah,” Shin whispered. “And I kinda don’t wanna leave.”
“You don’t have to.”
Shin didn’t reply but the way he shifted closer said everything.
Saint didn’t push. He just kept stroking his hair, kept humming softly, kept loving him in the quiet, unshakeable way he always did.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. Inside, it was warm. So safe.
Shin let his eyes fall shut, heart full in a way he couldn’t explain.
Maybe he wasn’t used to being taken care of.
But he could get used to Saint.
Minutes passed like that.
Saint shifted just enough to grab the water bottle on the table and held it out. “You should drink something.”
Shin cracked one eye open. “If I drink any more, I’ll definitely drown.”
Saint smiled. “Fine fine but if you dry out like a raisin, that’s on you.”
“Raisins are cool,” Shin murmured. “Underrated.”
Saint rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through Shin’s bangs again, tucking a few strands behind his ear. “You’re delirious.”
“I’m in love,” Shin corrected softly, barely audible.
Saint’s fingers froze for a second. Then moved again, even gentler.
“…I know,” he whispered. “Me too.”
Shin smiled sleepily and whispered, “Don’t stop petting my hair.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Saint said with a fond huff. “I’m literally obsessed with you.”
“Good,” Shin mumbled. “I’ll be your spoiled sick baby forever.”
Saint leaned down and kissed the crown of his head.
“Deal.”