Yijung is not sick, he's just looking a little more than worse for wear when he comes stumbling out of the bedroom and heads in the direction of the kitchen in search of something to dull the ache in his head. And his lungs. And his stomach. And his back. And his throat. And-
Okay, maybe he's sick. But who cares. He doesn't have time to be sick, not with school and work and the crushing weight of finally acting like a grown adult and planning a wedding all barrelling down on him like a flock of angry magpies in the midst of the swooping season.
He does not need his weekend to go like this. Sure, he's felt this cold building for about a week now, but he figured if he just ignored it'd go away.
Woobin greets him from his perch on the counter next to the stove when he crosses the threshold
