He wakes up in the morning to his alarm going off and San groaning. And to San lying half on top of him. At some point in the night Wooyoung must have turned over, and San had taken advantage of that by crawling onto him, apparently. He's heavy, his limbs weighing Wooyoung down, and he smells like alcohol in the worst way.
"Wha-" San lifts his head, looks down at Wooyoung, and groans again. "Oh, God, I'm going to have to do the walk of shame to my own side of the bedroom," he says as he rolls over, legs falling off the bed. He stands, runs a hand through his messy hair, and looks back down at Wooyoung. "Why was I in your bed, anyway?" Wooyoung is red and he knows it. It's a good question, really, but he doesn't know how to answer it. "You, uh, came in drunk," he starts, while San makes an impatient sound. "I don't know, okay?! You crawled into my fucking bed and I was too tired to kick you out." San gives him an unreadable look at that. "So we didn't, you know." "No, we didn't," Wooyoung says.
He pushes himself up, eyes narrowed. He's in a bad mood. He's so fucking tired. And San's pissing him off without even doing anything today. Maybe it's just leftover anger from yesterday, bleeding into his mood for today. "Are we going to ever talk about the times that we did?" San wonders. Wooyoung freezes, hand halfway to his drawer. He sucks in a breath and opens it, pulling out clean clothes, and then he slams it shut. His back is still to San when he says lowly, "No." He doesn't want to talk about it ever. In fact, he'd love to act like it never happened. That it never happened twice, technically. "It's just going to happen again," San says to his back. Wooyoung turns to him, eyes narrowed. He scoffs. "Don't count on it." San smirks. "You might hate me," he says, "but that doesn't mean you don't want me." Fuck the shower. Fuck changing. Wooyoung grabs his backpack and heads for the door. "That's exactly what it means!" he shouts before slamming it.
He's early to his first class, but he's distracted. It's a boring class, admittedly, and he has to force himself to pay attention every day, especially given the time that the class starts. Today he just doesn't have it in him to do that. But it's not like he can skip, miss out on anything, because he doesn't know anyone in this class and has no one he could borrow notes from if he decided to bail. And he refuses to let this thing with San complicate his academic life.
As he's walking to his second class of the day, bag slipping down his shoulders because they're so slumped with exhaustion, he passes a bulletin board and stops. The lime green of the flyer is what caught his eye, a startling bright contrast to the rest of the black and white ads. Charity Art Class, reads the bold headline. His eyes scan over the rest of the words quickly. Apparently it's a six-week art class held at the school between the middle of November to just before Christmas holidays, where the students are taught amateur painting, sculpting and drawing twice a week, at the end of which they'll hold an auction where a final piece by each student will be sold, all proceeds going to charity. There isn't a number left to call, but it simply states that anyone interested is welcome at the free first day orientation on Monday in Art Room 2 in the west wing at seven. He really doesn't have the time for something like this. There's no room on his plate for an art club, on top of everything else. But he finds himself pulling out a phone and taking a picture of the ad anyway, that way he won't forget the details. It'd be nice to do something just for himself. Something that he doesn't have to stress over. Something for fun.
He's still not sure, all through his classes, but when he heads to his room afterwards, he finds himself deterring, heading for Yunho and Mingi's room instead. This time the whiteboard reads Yunho is out, Mingi is in, and Wooyoung knocks quickly before pushing open the door. Mingi looks up at him from behind his laptop, which he has on his chest while he lies down against the pillows. "Hey," he says, and then he sneezes and makes a pitiful sound. "Come sit." Wooyoung shuts the door and eyes him warily. "Are you sick?" "A bit," Mingi admits. He sneezes again and reaches for a tissue on the desk beside him. "Okay, a lot. I think I have the flu." "I'm going to stay over here, then," Wooyoung says, sinking onto Yunho's bed. "Do you, like, need anything? I could go and get you a drink or something, or-" "Nah, it's fine," Mingi assures him. "Yunho's getting me soup and Advil. I'll be okay."
Wooyoung nods and drums his fingers on his knees. Mingi pushes the laptop off him and rolls onto his side to face Wooyoung, and Wooyoung says, "So there's this, like, art class or whatever, starting on Monday, and I thought, I mean, I don't really have the money, and I'd have to eat in the dining hall for weeks instead of- whatever. But it sounds kinda cool." "The Christmas one, right?" Mingi asks. "With the auction at the end." Wooyoung nods. "I'll go with you, if that's what you're asking. Sounds cool." "Really?" "Yeah," Mingi croaks. "As long as I'm feeling better. It's like I got hit by a train. I was fine last night, but I woke up this morning feeling dead. It's like a hangover and a cold and it really, really sucks."
Wooyoung gives in, moving across the room to sit beside Mingi, germs be damned. He brushes Mingi's slightly damp hair off his face, and Mingi closes his eyes. He feels hot, like he's burning up. It worries Wooyoung, just a bit, but he knows that Yunho would never let anything bad happen to Mingi. Not that he can really fight illnesses, but he's pretty sure Yunho would try damn hard anyway. "I'm glad we're friends," Mingi whispers. "You're a good person, Wooyoung. I'm glad. And I think it's dumb that you're having sex with your roommate." Wooyoung snorts a laugh. "Is this the fever talking?" "Maybe," Mingi admits. "It's still dumb, though." He yawns and blinks up at Wooyoung with dark brown eyes. "The friends with benefits thing never works out." "Good thing San and I were never friends," Wooyoung says. Not that he and San have any relationship with any sort of benefits. They're just two people who share a living space, who hate each other and sort of hooked up twice in the heat of the moment. That's all it was. An accident that happened twice, but won't happen again, no matter what San says. "Okay, Wooyoung," Mingi mumbles. "Okay."
Yunho comes into the room before Wooyoung can argue it. He's got a wet cloth hanging off his arm, two bottles of water, a thing of Advil, a Styrofoam container with a lid, a spoon balanced precariously on top of it, and a chocolate bar hanging out of his mouth, wrapper still on. He makes an annoyed sound through the chocolate bar, and Wooyoung gets up to pull it out of his mouth and take the soup from him. "Thank you," Yunho says. "And Mingi, they had no chicken noodle, but I got you cream of broccoli instead. Is that okay?" "Better than okay," Mingi says weakly, holding out his hand with his eyes closed. "That sounds perfect."
It's a lie. Wooyoung's only known Mingi for months, but they spend a lot of time eating together. Mingi hates cream of broccoli soup, and Wooyoung knows this for a fact because he wrinkles his nose every time Wooyoung eats it and refuses to touch a bite himself, even if it's the only option. But when Yunho pops off the lid and holds the bowl for him while he spoons it up, he clears half the bowl in about a minute. Wooyoung thinks that probably has more to do with not wanting to hurt Yunho's feelings than it does with how sick he is.
"I'm gonna go," Wooyoung says. "I think Yunho's got you covered." "Later, Wooyoung," Mingi calls after him. Yunho is too busy cooing at Mingi to say goodbye. "Love you!" "Yeah, same," Wooyoung says back.
Despite the fact that his best friend is sick, Wooyoung is in a great mood when he makes it back to his room, and even San's presence inside doesn't irritate him. Probably because San's asleep, and while the snoring is annoying, it's much easier to deal with than the sounds he makes when he's conscious. He grabs a book from his shelf and spreads out on his bed. It's been a while since he's done a bit of casual reading, nothing for class, just for his enjoyment. Maybe some people don't like reading the same book over, but he's read this one eight times, and it's just as good every time. He loves rereading books, honestly. Likes picking up on important details he'd missed the last time. Likes revisiting old characters like old friends.
He's about one hundred pages in when someone knocks at the door. San, in his bed, turns over and grunts, "Get it, Wooyoung," before throwing an arm over his eyes. Wooyoung makes a face at him but bookmarks his page and heads for the door. Yunho is standing on the other side, a sheepish look on his face. "Mingi wanted to know if we could borrow one of your books. He says he's too exhausted to watch a movie, and it's sort of a thing we do whenever he's sick. Tread to him, he pretends to listen, until he passes out. But I don't have anything in my room but my chemistry textbook, and I think I'd pass out before him if I read that." Wooyoung pushes the door open wider. "Sure," he says. "Take anything on the shelf." Yunho nods and stands on Wooyoung's bed to reach it. He doesn't even look at the title or read the blurb on the back. He just grabs the first book he touches and tugs it down.
"By the way," he adds on his way back out the door, "Mingi mentioned an art club thing you two were going to do. Is there, like, a set number of people that can sign up? Or can I join too?" "The ad didn't say," Wooyoung admits. "But you should come. The orientation's free, so even if it's a bust all we're wasting is like an hour or something." "Cool," Yunho says happily. "Where and when?" "Monday in Art Room 2 at seven." "Perfect. Thanks." Yunho pats Wooyoung on the shoulder before heading down the hall.
Wooyoung shuts and locks the door behind him, going back to his book. He gets about five pages more read before San grunts and flips over. Six and San rolls back over to the other side of his bed. Nine and San's making a low, keening sound in the back of his throat. Fifteen and San's whimpering, so Wooyoung slams his book shut and sits up. "Are you jerking off over there?" he demands. San gasps out, "No. I think I'm dying."
Wooyoung takes a good look at him; Puffy eyes, sweating profusely. He's got the blankets kicked off himself, and he's curled up into a pathetic-looking ball. "Shit," Wooyoung says. "You're sick, too?" San whimpers again, but he has the energy to snap, "No, I feel fucking fantastic." Wooyoung bites his lip. He looks pretty pitiful, San. So much so that even Wooyoung feels sort of bad for him. Only San's not his friend; San's not someone he even remotely likes; San is so, so not his problem. "That really sucks, San," he says apathetically, before going back to his book. "Fuck I hate you," San moans. "I hate you more than I think I've ever hated someone in my entire life." Wooyoung would glare at him, but that would take effort, so instead he hums his agreement and turns the page.
Ten minutes later and San's back asleep, and Wooyoung stands up to stretch. San rolls over, but he doesn't seem to be awake, and Wooyoung locks the guilt inside him in a tiny box and throws away the key, refusing to let it get to him. He leaves the room, if only to get away from the ridiculous moans of pain San lets out every few minutes, like clockwork. He can't go down the hall to visit Yunho and Mingi, though, because he figures Mingi will be trying to sleep right now. And the common room is packed with people when he gets there, so he heads down the stairs and out into the cool air.
By the time he's done with his cigarette he goes straight into the coffee shop and orders himself a drink, and then he asks for a bowl of whatever soup they have before he realizes he's doing it. He doesn't really have the money to, either. His budget is pretty tight, but... "For here or to go?" the woman behind the counter asks. "To go." Wooyoung juggles the scalding hot container of soup and coffee all the way back to his room. San is still asleep, so Wooyoung puts them both down and shakes him awake. "San," he coaxes. "San, wake up." Slowly San's eyes blink open. They're bloodshot and exhausted, and concern bubbles up inside Wooyoung before he can stop it. He puts a hand to San's forehead and winces at how hot it is, and San's fingers circle his wrist, holding him there for a beat before letting it drop. "Kill me," he whines. "Know you've thought about it. Just do it. I'm begging you." Wooyoung rolls his eyes at the dramatics. "I got you soup," he says. "If you want it, it's on the desk." San doesn't move, and Wooyoung goes back to his book, no longer guilty. He did his part, that's that. San is once again not his problem, deathly sick or not.
Eventually San sits up, and he grunts out a gruff, "Thanks," before eating the soup. It smells good, and Wooyoung's kicking himself for giving it away instead of keeping it. And for giving it to San specifically, because he slurps and makes annoying sounds the whole time he eats; Wooyoung just wants to read his damn book.
Fifteen minutes later and San's asking, "Do you think you could- I mean, you don't have to, but..." Wooyoung groans and slams his book shut. "What do you want?" "There's change on my dresser," San explains. "Do you think you could, um, get me a drink from the machine?" Wooyoung hesitates, but he gets up anyway, crossing the room to gather a dollar from the coins on the dresser. "What do you want?" "Mountain Dew," San answers. "You can take some money to get yourself something, too." Wooyoung does. He'd paid for that soup out of his own pocket, and he doesn't feel guilty about the two bucks he snags to get himself something from the vending machine. Plus, the vending machines are on the bottom floor. That's three flights of stairs; Wooyoung deserves it. He gets San his drink, and himself a bag of chips, before returning to the room. San's huddled under his blankets now, like he'd gone from burning hot to freezing cold. He holds out a shaking hand for the drink, and Wooyoung passes it to him. "Thanks." "Whatever," Wooyoung says.
Just when he thinks that's it, that San's fallen back asleep, finally allowing him some peace and quiet, he hears, "Do you think you could..." Wooyoung sits up. "What is it this time?" he snaps. San doesn't even look sheepish. His blankets are pulled up to his chin and tucked around his neck now, and he's curled up in a ball again. "My- my sweater," he says through chattering teeth. "It's freezing in here." Wooyoung crosses the room and opens the first drawer, then the second of the dresser. "Which one?" he asks. "You've got, like, ten of them." "Any," San answers weakly. "I'm so cold." Wooyoung grabs the thickest one he can find and tosses it in San's direction. "Now go to fucking sleep," he says. "Unless you want to go down to the school clinic-" "No," San moans. "They'll just tell me to sleep and drink fluids. I can do that here, without having to walk fifteen minutes." "Suit yourself," Wooyoung says.
He goes to sit back on his bed, but at the last second he offers, just because he hopes that if San feels better he'll be less irritating, "I can go get you some Advil from Yunho, if you want." "Really?" San sounds so grateful that it makes Wooyoung feel like a dick. "You don't have to."
Wooyoung is out the door before he can respond. He heads down the hall, knocks lightly on the door because it's locked and the whiteboard now reads Mingi's sick :(. Yunho opens the door seconds later, already shushing Wooyoung before Wooyoung's said anything. "He's asleep," Yunho whispers. "What do you want?" "Advil," Wooyoung says. "San's sick, too." Yunho's soft expression morphs into a smirk. "You taking care of your boyfriend, then?" "Just give me two, Yunho," Wooyoung says flatly. "Oh, alright." Yunho shuts the door and disappears for a second. When he comes back he holds out the bottle, lid open, and Wooyoung puts out his hand so Yunho can shake a few into it. When Wooyoung's fingers curl over the pills, Yunho adds, "Mel in 209 says her roommate had the same thing two days ago. She said it'll pass by tomorrow. Let San know, if you want." Wooyoung nods and thanks him before returning to the room.
San is sitting up, waiting for him, and Wooyoung hands the pills off, not watching as he tosses them back and swallows them with a sip of his drink. "You should be better by tomorrow," Wooyoung says. "You and Mingi aren't the only ones who've had this thing, apparently. But if you got me sick, you're going to wish this thing killed you." "Okay," San mumbles. Then, quieter, "Thank you, Wooyoung. Really." "Whatever," Wooyoung says again. This time San doesn't bother him, and Wooyoung gets to finish his book before it's late and he's tired. Before he turns off the light, he leans over San and checks his forehead again. He's still asleep, and he's still sweating, but he doesn't feel as hot. Wooyoung shuts off the light and gets into bed.