Minho groaned. Well, tried to, but his throat hurt too much and was too dry for him to get any sound out at all. His head felt like it was filled with wet cotton, pounding somewhat horribly, his nose was stuffy and even if he was laying underneath a mountain of duvet covers and blankets (Jonghyun's masterpiece), he was still shivering.

He hated being sick.

His eyelids felt like they were glued together as he tried to open them to check the time, wondering why it was taking his roommate so long to go to the store. He let out a crackling dry cough that made his throat hurt even more and almost missed the sound of the door opening accompanied by the rustling of plastic bags as his roommate and best friend returned.

“Finally,” he rasped out and managed to pry his eyes open. It didn’t matter anyway since he couldn’t move in his cocoon of blankets and ended up staring at the ceiling. “I was starting to think you had died on the curb somewhere.”

He heard the thuds of the bags being placed on the table before his fuzzy mind registered the face of Jinki swimming in his vision.

“Hey,” his boyfriend murmured, a small smile on his lips as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Jonghyun told me you were sick.”

Minho blinked at him, wondering if this was some delirious vision created by his befuddled brain. Jinki was supposed to be a two-hours bus-trip away, visiting his parents over the weekend. Not here, in his room, watching him with a worried frown.

“It’s really bad huh,” he said softly when he continued to stare at him, awestruck, and put a cool hand to Minho's forehead.

The taller closed his eyes with a content sigh, his head clearing slightly. The hand down his face to cup his cheek gently and Minho blinked his eyes open again.

“Why are you here?” he managed to wheeze out. Not that he wanted the other to leave ever. But even to his foggy brain it didn’t make any sense. Jinki hadn’t learned to teleport, had he?

“Well, Jonghyun called me and said you were really sick,” the other explained, a sheepish smile on his lips. “He sounded extremely worried and thought I could make it better.” He laughed embarrassedly. “But, uh, you know I’m not the best at cooking food and taking care of people.”

Minho managed to get out a short, hoarse laugh that turned into a coughing fit as he remembered the failed attempts his blonde boyfriend had made at cooking them dinner and ending up with singed hair and a charred pot instead. Jinki’s face immediately became worried again.

“I kn-ow,” he hacked out. “B-but I’m glad… you’re he-re.”

“Okay, but please don’t speak anymore,” Jinki said, gently brushing some hair from his forehead. “I’m scared you’ll die from lack of oxygen.”

Minho let out another raspy laugh, that thankfully didn’t turn into a coughing fit. His boyfriend smiled and his hair softly before standing up and moving out of his vision.

“My mom made some soup for you that apparently is good for your health,” Jinki laughed slightly. “She didn’t trust me enough to make it myself.”

Minho smiled at the ceiling, remembering the first time he had met his boyfriend’s parents. They had been a bit shocked and slightly cautious when Jinki had brought him home after their sixth month of dating, and it had been awkward to say the least, the dinner table painfully quiet as Jinki and Minho tried to find something interesting to say while Jinki's parents tried to get used to Minho as their son’s boyfriend. Thankfully, Minho was quite good at making people like him and soon Jinki's father was eagerly talking to him about politics (he had no idea how they got on the topic, but he knew enough to hold a conversation) and his mother was smiling at him warmly. Jinki had visibly relaxed as well and was smiling from ear to ear as they started on the dessert. And since then, he had always been welcome whenever he wanted and could.

“Tell her thanks,” Minho murmured as his boyfriend opened the microwave to heat the soup up. Jinki made a humming sound to indicate he had heard as he pressed the buttons for what he needed.

Minho blinked sleepily at the ceiling before deciding to turn onto his side for some change of scenery (to stare at his boyfriend, more likely). He started wiggling under the covers halfway to his desired position when there was a loud bang echoing through the room, making him flinch and his head pound even more.

“What happened?” he asked weakly. He was met with silence and lifted his head worriedly, barely able to see the top of his boyfriend’s blonde head. “Jinki?”

“I uh…” he let out an incredulous and exasperated sound. “Well, I might’ve…” his voice died out in a mumble and Minho frowned.

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, no,” Jinki quickly reassured. “Your microwave – uh – broke.”

Minho sighed. “As long as you’re not hurt.”

“I’m not. And I promise I’ll buy you guys a new one! I’m really sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he chuckled (more like wheezed).

“I’m so sorry,” the other sounded devastated and Minho couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s clumsiness that only made him more endearing instead of irritating. “I’ll heat it on the stove instead.”

Minho grimaced slightly as he heard metal clink together while Jinki looked for the right pot. He knew the other tried to be quiet and careful. However, when it concerned his boyfriend quiet and careful was not something that seemed to come easily, as his clumsiness steered it in the other direction. Minho was proven right as in the next second what seemed to be the entire cabinet of pots and pans fell to the floor with loud, ringing ‘clang’s and he winced, his head throbbing.

“I’m okay,” Jinki said before he even managed to ask the question. “And your pots are too.”

Minho just smiled to himself. “Please don’t kill yourself.”

His boyfriend laughed embarrassedly, but didn’t answer. He heard the other pour the soup into a pot and put it on the stove, turning it on. And before he knew it, he was starting to doze of, caught between consciousness and sleep, mixing dreams and reality together. It was not a pleasant thing to experience, but Minho couldn’t really do anything about it. He started back to the waking world when he heard a devastated groan and some muttering, worriedly trying to catch a glimpse of Jinki.

“Jinki, are you alright?”

The other’s face appeared in his vision, chewing his lip and frowning, glancing down at the bowl in his hands.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked. “You should go back to sleep if you want to.”

Minho shook his head. “I’m fine. Is the soup done?”

Jinki's expression grew even more distressed and he stared down into the bowl of what Minho assumed was soup.

“It didn’t… come out… right…” the end of his boyfriend’s sentence was said so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.

Minho tried to sit up and Jinki quickly put the bowl down on his bedside table to help him, pulling the covers around his shaking frame.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he tried to say reassuringly.

Jinki let out a small sigh and grabbed the bowl again, showing the content. Minho would have been lying if he said it looked appetizing, because it was far from it, especially when he was sick. There were black chunks of what he thought once had been some kind of meat, the vegetables seemed to be so overcooked they were on the verge of dissolving and the broth had divided into clear liquid at the top and obscure at the bottom.

“How did you even do that?” he asked, astonished. He had never seen a soup this disastrous.

“I don’t know,” Jinki sounded almost close to tears. “God, I am so bad at this! I’m sorry, Minho. I’ll go make you some tea and toast.”

Minho chuckled, smiling at his boyfriend warmly, which managed to put a small smile on his lips as well.

“That sounds really good.” Even though he was freezing, he wriggled one arm out of his confinement of blankets and grabbed Jinki's hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.”

Fortunately, Jinki was a killer on making toast and tea (since that was pretty much the only thing he ate if no one cooked for him) and Minho was soon full, sighing contentedly as the other put the dishes away. He was feeling much better already, and he was certain it wasn’t only the food. He was sure his boyfriend had a lot to do with remedying his sickness as well.

Once Jinki was done with the dishes, he stood uncertainly by the bed, seeming to be contemplating on whether to leave him alone or stay. Minho would rather it be the latter, so he stretched out a hand, beckoning him closer to sit on the bed.

“C’mere,” he murmured and Jinki smiled at him lovingly, making him feel a completely different warmth than the one the fever was causing.

To his surprise, his boyfriend wiggled under the covers to press up against him instead of sitting down at the edge as he had thought he would, humming softly.

“Mmh, you’re warm,” he murmured, pressing his face into the crook of Minho's neck.

“Hey, Jinks, won’t you get sick too?” he asked worriedly and the other chuckled.

“Idiots don’t catch colds, idiot,” Jinki mumbled and Minho smiled.

“This one did,” he murmured back and hugged his boyfriend closer.

Jinki's arm wound around his waist as well, squeezing lightly.

“This one is special.”