Taehyung is curled up on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. His cheeks are flushed, his nose itches, there's a constant wave of nausea, and a headache that's muffling his thoughts. He glances at the thermometer clenched between his fingers and sighs. He's been running a fever of 101.3°F for a full day, and no antipyretic seems to bring it down.

Jungkook is busy in the kitchen. The argument they left unresolved seems to be on hold—for now, at least. Taehyung hears the sound of a knife hitting the wooden cutting board as Jungkook finely slices a carrot to throw into the broth he's making. In a bowl, already washed and waiting, sit broccoli, potatoes, scallions, garlic, and who knows how many other vegetables Taehyung can't see from where he's lying.

“God, I feel like I got hit by a truck…” Taehyung mutters, slumping further into the couch and half-closing his eyes. Jungkook has never said it outright, but every word out of his mouth carries a tone that seems to imply the word “karma,” as if Taehyung somehow deserved this—though for what, no one really knows.

“You probably caught a chill. Maybe at the party the other night,” Jungkook says, then drops the chopped vegetables into the broth and adds a generous spoonful of gochujang, a spoonful of tahini, and one of miso.

“Mmh…” Taehyung murmurs, too tired to string together a full sentence. His eyes wander over the messages Sunwoo sent him. The way he keeps checking in so sweetly makes his heart feel a bit ticklish.

Once all the ingredients are in the broth, Jungkook rinses his hands and walks over to the couch, plopping down next to Taehyung with his legs spread and a vaguely annoyed look on his face. Taehyung glances at him, curling even closer to the armrest, and says, “If you stay near me, you might catch it.”

“My immune system isn’t that weak,” Jungkook replies with a cocky tone.

“Oh, really? You been training it at the gym or something?”

Jungkook shoots him a sharp look. “I never get sick. I doubt your bargain-bin fever could lay a finger on me.”

“I swear, if I give it to you, I’ll laugh my ass off,” Taehyung mutters before sneezing.

“Forget it. Not gonna happen.”

Taehyung gets a message. He reads it and then just sits there, thumbs hovering over the screen for a few moments. Jungkook eyes him from the corner of his eye before turning his head and asking, “What is it?”

“Uhm,” Taehyung quickly types a short reply and sends it. “Sunwoo’s coming by later.”

The silence that follows is brief—but unbearably heavy.

“Forget it. I don’t want him in my house.”

“He won’t even come in,” Taehyung promises. “He’s just dropping something off.”

Jungkook starts picking at the skin around his thumb, clearly agitated, one leg bouncing with nervous energy, bent against his knee. Then, without a word, he gets up—furious. Taehyung watches his back as he walks away from the couch and wonders what the hell is going through his mind. If Jungkook hadn’t rejected him a million and a half times, he’d think he was jealous. Maybe it just annoys him that Taehyung’s found someone, while whatever half-baked thing he had with Yuta has fallen apart—they haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the party. Taehyung would be curious to know what happened, but doubts it’s something Jungkook would ever let slip easily…

Jungkook gives the broth a stir, then turns the heat down. Taehyung keeps watching him, as if expecting something to happen—Jungkook launching into a monologue and spilling his thoughts, for example. But nothing happens. The room, aside from the gentle bubbling of the pot, remains silent.

Time slips from Taehyung’s grasp—the fever pulls him into a haze that slowly dissolves into restless sleep. The sickness has pushed him to his limits. If his stomach weren’t empty, he’d probably be throwing up. His whole body aches, and his thoughts are so sluggish it’s hard to string them together. He stays in that state for what feels like mere moments, but when he opens his eyes again, it’s already dark outside. He realizes it was the doorbell that woke him.

Jungkook blows on the bowl of broth he’s holding and glares toward the door, irritated. Then he looks at Taehyung, who’s clearly in no condition to get up and answer it himself. “Am I supposed to get that?” he grumbles, annoyed. Taehyung doesn’t even have time to respond before Jungkook sets the bowl down on the low table and walks across the apartment to the front door. He throws it open with no attempt at subtlety.

He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at him like he’s something deeply irritating—like a piece of chewing gum stuck to the sole of a brand-new shoe. Sunwoo, on the other hand, doesn’t offer his usual friendly smile. If this were a comic book, sparks would be flying from their eyes. He lifts a paper bag from the pharmacy and holds it out to Jungkook. “I picked up a few things for Taehyung,” he says.

“We don’t need them,” Jungkook snaps back, already starting to close the door. But Sunwoo presses his hand against it before it can shut.

“I want to see him.”

“He’s sleeping,” Jungkook replies tersely, then glances back toward the living room, almost as if checking whether Taehyung can hear them. At that, he steps toward Sunwoo, forcing him to back up, and slips out of the apartment himself, shutting the door behind him.

“Let me make this clear,” Jungkook starts. “I don’t like you. I don’t like that smug, fake-nice face of yours, and I don’t like this bargain-bin prince act you’ve got going on—Taehyung’s been through enough shit already, so you’d better back off.”

Sunwoo doesn’t flinch. His gaze sharpens. “It’s exactly because of all the shit Taehyung’s been through that I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Taehyung deserves at least one person in his life who treats him with respect, not like something to be used.”

Jungkook lets out a sharp tsk, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re just a fucking hypocrite. What makes you think you’re better than everyone else…? You think that front you’re putting on is real? You can play saint all you want, but you’re an alpha. You can dress it up with all the poetic justifications you want, but deep down, your attraction to Taehyung is the same as every other alpha’s. Instinct.”

Sunwoo doesn’t respond. He simply pushes the pharmacy bag against Jungkook’s chest and lets go. Reflexively, Jungkook catches it.

“I feel sorry for you. I really do. It must be a sad life—one dictated entirely by sex. I think I’m lucky, honestly. I can actually prioritize my feelings over my biological urges, but I don’t expect you to understand. Clearly, your body is more governed by your dick than by your brain. Give these to Taehyung and make sure he gets better, please. That should be the priority, don’t you think? Acting like a tough guy isn’t going to make him feel any better,” Sunwoo says, with a smile so polite it could kill, before turning away. He presses the elevator button and steps inside, leaving Jungkook staring after him in disbelief.

Jungkook is, unsurprisingly, livid. Sunwoo had confronted him on so many levels that he couldn’t even pinpoint what pissed him off the most—his condescending tone? Or the way he spoke about him like he actually knew him? Jungkook had never thought of himself as someone incapable of feeling emotions, but he’d also never denied his own nature. A man. An alpha man, at that. He hated how that guy had tried to guilt-trip him for doing nothing more than following what he was.

He tosses the little pharmacy bag onto the couch next to Taehyung. “From your boyfriend,” he says, dripping with venom and sarcasm, then heads to the fridge to grab himself a beer. Every movement barely conceals the anger brimming inside him.

Taehyung would blush—if his face weren’t already burning up. He digs into the pharmacy bag and, besides the usual fever meds, finds a small box of fruit-flavored gummy bear vitamins. He smiles. He opens the jar and places one on his tongue. He can’t really taste much, but the fact that Sunwoo thought of something like this makes his heart skip just a bit faster.

“Want some broth?”

Taehyung nearly chokes on the gummy at that question. He chews it quickly and swallows. Vegetable broth right after a gummy isn’t exactly ideal, but he can’t even imagine how badly Jungkook would take it if he said no after all the effort he put in. “Sure,” he replies.

Jungkook grabs a bowl and ladles some broth into it. Then he comes back and hands it to him. The bowl radiates warmth into Taehyung’s hands, but he feels a little lost in the face of Jungkook’s kindness. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him—this gentleness, this quiet care. He looks up at him. “Thanks,” he says. Jungkook just shrugs and sits beside him again. Clearly, he wants to swat that pharmacy bag off the couch, but instead, he sets it gently on the floor. Taehyung notices—and appreciates it. He hides a smile behind a sip of broth and closes his eyes. It would be nice if life were this simple, made up of nothing but peaceful moments like this. How nice would it be if Jungkook always treated him this way?

Taehyung finishes his broth and reaches out to set the bowl down on the table. For the first time in who knows how many hours, he relaxes a little, stretching his legs out. “I already feel better,” he says, and the surprising thing is—he’s not lying. That awful sense of malaise that had him tied up in knots seems to be slowly loosening its grip.

“My broth works miracles,” Jungkook says. Then he leans in and places a hand on Taehyung’s forehead. “You’re still warm. Check your temperature.”

Taehyung feels like he’s looking into a mirror when he meets Jungkook’s dark eyes. He hesitates for a second, then nods and grabs the thermometer. When it finishes reading, he glances at the display in surprise. “99.5°F,” he says.

“Maybe the meds are finally kicking in,” Jungkook replies.

“Uhm…” Taehyung nods, then sets the thermometer down on the table and stretches. “Thanks for the broth.”

Jungkook looks a bit thrown off. For a moment (just a moment), he even seems almost embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I was gonna make it for myself anyway,” he says—but it’s clearly a lie. Taehyung smiles, but hides it beneath a fold of his blanket.

“That guy…” Jungkook says, standing up from the couch. He doesn’t look him in the eye as he speaks—he has his back turned. “I don’t like him. But I won’t get in your way, if you want to see him. I’m not here to sabotage anything or lecture you. Do what you want.”

That strange, unexpected blessing catches Taehyung off guard. “Oh? Hm… okay,” he says, blinking. Jungkook lets out an annoyed huff and walks off toward his room. Left in the silence, Taehyung wonders what those words were supposed to mean. Maybe he’ll never fully understand Jungkook—not completely.

He picks up his phone and sends Sunwoo a thank-you message for the medicine. Then he lets his gaze wander out the window, where the city lights sparkle like stars.