Jongin coughed harshly, convincing himself that he needed to run through the routine one more time before going back to his apartment and reviewing his class notes.

He was sweating more than usual, and his legs felt shaky and weak. He barely finished the routine before falling back on to the laminate wood of the studio, burning up.

Jongin staggered back to his apartment, opening up his texts to the group message and typed and and sent a single word before he passed out from his fever.

Sorry

He woke up later, a cold towel thrown over his forehead, glasses neatly folded on his bedside table next to a glass of water and a pill in a bowl. He reached for it clumsily, nearly knocking down the glass of water but successfully swallowing down the pill as the door opened.

“Kyungsoo just left.” His vision was fuzzy without his glasses, and more so with the fever, but he recognized the voice and the cool fingers that pressed against his cheek. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Ten in the morning,” he croaked after a few seconds, needing time to remember. “Why are you here?”

She handed him a tray with soup, balancing it on his lap and making sure it wouldn’t spill after he sat up. “Well instead of telling us the full story, you texted us the word ‘Sorry’ and Kyungsoo thought you died.”

“And you?”

“I hoped you died.” She stuck out her tongue an