❛ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞. 𝗌𝗄𝗓 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋

❛ :: 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇?

REALISTICALLY, CHARLIE SHOULD HAVE known that something was off when he woke up drenched in sweat, three hours after he was supposed to, shivering as though he had emerged from the Atlantic Ocean. Perhaps it should've clicked when his body felt it was being pinned down by weights, aching every muscle inside of him.

But it didn't truly click that he was unwell, until he was already at the studio where he was greeted by a cluster of concerned faces, he's still not sure whether those looks came before or after his vomit seeped into the rug. It was then when Charlie seemed to awake from a daze, peering down at the rug with a 'oh', type of expression.

"How did I get here?" Charlie asked Chan, who was already on his feet, skillfully dodging the vomit stain and guiding him toward a seat. "And why is the room spinning?" Speaking sapped him of all his energy, leaving him feeling like someone had pulled the plug in a tub, draining his energy away like bathwater swirling down a drain. His words emerged breathlessly as Chan pressed a hand to his head.

"You woke up this morning asking why Han was dressed as Little Bo Peep, and shaking like you'd been electrocuted. I told you to go back to bed and you did, I'm not sure how you got here but I'm pretty worried about it."

"Did he drive here?" Charlie squinted his eyes, attempting to make out Minho's blurry figure in the doorway. "I thought you told him to go back to bed? Is that vomit?"

"I don't know, I did and yes." Chan was stressed, barking out orders while striving to maintain a polite demeanour. Although Charlie wasn't particularly the affectionate type, he usually was the one to deal with the members getting sick.

Two staff members rushed in: one with a thermometer and the other with water and a wet rag which she used to wipe the sweat off of his brow. Charlie shivered at the contact, but didn't complain. Then, the janitor entered to clean up the vomit and if Charlie had been in his right state of mind, he would have been mortified.

A bad fever, Chan presumed. Charlie didn't get sick often but when he did, he got it bad.

"Drink this," demanded someone, though Charlie couldn't quite make out who through his heavy, hazy eyes. Before he knew it, a cup was at his lips, and he was being helped to drink from it. A small part of Charlie's usual consciousness awoke momentarily as he aggressively tugged the cup away, scowling at the person beside him, possibly Changbin. "I can do it! I'm not a little boy."

Just then, he felt something dribble down his chin and soak his chest. He had missed his mouth.

"Sure you can," Changbin mumbled, taking the cup from him again, repositioning it to Charlie's lips allowing the water to rehydrate his dry throat.

"Thank you," Replied Charlie, meekly, feeling much too weak to argue. Changbin smiled. He knew he shouldn't seek joy in Charlie being sick but he was a hell of a lot sweeter. No one, however, anticipated for him to be as sweet as he was.

As Changbin moved to stand, Charlie whined out in protest, gripping onto Changbin's bicep to keep him beside him. Everyone gaped in surprise, especially Changbin, who lowered himself back down.

"Oh this is gold!" A familiar laugh screeched in the doorway, and Charlie didn't have to waste anymore energy in opening eyes to see who it was—he just knew Hyunjin was there. "Does anyone have a camera? Let's film this."

Minho was already one step ahead, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. This is a moment that would be denied by Charlie, so they needed to capture some evidence for future blackmail. 

Changbin beamed at the camera, a huge smile on his face as he settled his head on top of Charlie's, proud to be the chosen one. Meanwhile, Chan was skidding around in the back trying to gather supplies to make Charlie feel better before they could get him home. They also needed to figure out how he had gotten there in the first place.