You sighed in boredom, shuffling aimlessly through random channels on the television. The other four members of your group were away with individual activities, not to return until the early morning. The soft mumbles resonating from the TV were interrupted by the loud vibrations of your cell phone. The text was from one of your boyfriend’s group members.

“Don’t let him leave. Thanks!” You began a reply, confused by the message’s vague content. Just as your fingers tapped the keys, you heard somebody knock softly at the front door of your dorm. Swinging it open, you were greeted by a tall figure wrapped tightly in a blanket and facing away from you. It was easy to recognize the back of your boyfriend’s head, and you noticed his band members driving quickly away down the road. Lowering his head, your boyfriend sighed and turned towards you.

“I can’t believe they ditched me.” His voice was hoarse and weak, cracking under every word. “Can I stay here for a little while? They won’t let me go to practice. I’m really sorry for imposing.” Gently, you raised a hand to his forehead before walking him through the doorway.

“You’re scorching! Sick?” He nodded a few times, still grumbling about his band mates. “You have a fever. I think you should lie down.” His protests proved feeble against your powerful persuasion, and he soon found himself wrapped comfortably under your sheets, the blanket he arrived in now smoothed carefully on top. Your bedroom was small but relaxing, and had the advantage of being the closest one to the bathroom. Patting his clammy cheeks lightly, you stood up and walked to the door.

“I’m getting you medicine,” you said. He nodded slightly, too drowsy to respond with words. You rummaged quietly through the multitude of cupboards lining the kitchen walls. Once you found the medicine, you began a new search to find something for him to eat after taking it. You and your group members rarely had spare time to spend cooking dinners. On the days you did, everyone was careful to make extra servings to freeze for later. On the highest shelf, you found the stew Jiyeon had made over the weekend. You found a bowl and spoon to serve it with, tossing your discovery quickly into the microwave.

As soon as the food was warm and steaming, you placed the dish on a tray and walked slowly back to your bedroom. Opening the door skillfully with your foot, you entered, smiling slightly at his dramatic helplessness. His head hung back lazily on the pillow, and he moaned quietly as he rubbed his aching temples. The miserable expression on his face brightened to a smile when you placed the steaming tray in front of him, pointing to the medicine and water nearby. Soon, he was happily eating his dinner, and you pulled the television close to the foot of the bed. You began his favorite movie after setting a tissue box on the nightstand and a trash can nearby. As you started back out the door, he broke the room’s silence with the sound of your name.

“____-ah?” You turned around, surprised by the worry tugging at his voice. It wasn’t strange for you to care for him, but he wasn’t used to being completely unable to help. He felt guilty when you fretted over his health, and reached out his arms toward you. “You should rest or you’ll get sick too!” You rolled your eyes, tucking the sheets over him once again.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the sick one, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you once and a while.” He pouted, and you laughed at his expression.

“You’re right! I’m the sick one. You should do whatever I want!” He argued with you cutely, trying obviously to convince you to stay with him.

“Fine,” you agreed dramatically, pretended to be annoyed with his pleas. “I guess I can sit down for a while.” You lay next to him, the hair from his tired face. Normally, it was he who pulled you close, he who gently touched your forehead. There was something nice about the reversal, and you took advantage of the opportunity to care for him. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and you followed soon after.