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“Please stop wasting what’s left of your voice on complaints about soup you can’t even taste,” Hoseok sighs, handing his boyfriend yet another blanket.
“Not my fault you’re a ‘thitty soup chef. No one thould hire you as their soup chef,” Yoongi rasps, taking the blanket.
Hoseok sits on the edge of Yoongi’s bed. “I don’t think that’s an actual profession, babe,” he says, removing the wet towel from Yoongi’s forehead and replacing it with a fresh one.
“Sure i’ is,” Yoongi says, and promptly goes into a fit of coughs. When he’s finally caught his breath, he continues. “Haven’ you ever seen Ra’athouille? The evil shor’ guy? He’s a soup chef, righ’?”
“I think that’s a sous-chef, Yoongi.”
“Bullshit! He wath a soup chef. He made tha’ Linguini fucker make soup, remember?” he argues, trying to sit up.
“Alright, alright, he was a soup chef,” Hoseok says quickly, gently pushing him back into bed. “Please don’t try to get up. I’ll order you better soup.”
“Nonsense. This is the only soup I will ever have ever again,” Yoongi says and grabs the bowl, drinking what’s left in one gulp.
Hoseok stares at him. “I thought you hated my soup?”
He just smiles. “I can’ even taste it. But I lobe you, so I lobe your soup. I just decided.”
“That’s romantic as fuck, but you’re delirious.”
“I’m the mos’ un-deliriouth person I’ve ever met. You’re deliriouth,” he responds.
“That’s not a word. How do your teeth feel?” Hoseok asks. Yoongi got his wisdom teeth removed, and one of the side effects of the medication was a fever. Another side effect was… this delirious, hazy Yoongi.
“Ith’s a word becauth I made i’ up, so now i’ exthists,” Yoongi says stubbornly. “An’ my teef feel like someone replaced them with jello.”
Hoseok shrugs. He wasn’t expecting a different response. He wants to argue that a word cannot be a word simply because one made it up, but Yoongi could bullshit his way through the entire argument and somehow win. He’ll have to bring it up another time when he isn’t sick.
Yoongi yawns. “I think… I think I’ll take a nap.”
“You do that, Yoongi. Let me know if you need anything,” Hoseok says, taking the bowl and setting it down on the nightstand. He stands up.
“Good night, Hoseok,” he says, even though it’s four in the afternoon.
“Sleep well, Yoongi.” And there’s silence for a while, and Hoseok watches Yoongi’s eyes slowly droop as they fall closed.
“Hoseok?” He says through his nasally sick voice.
“Yeah?”
“Don’ leave, okay?” He says, his eyes still closed, and he grabs Hoseok’s hand.
Hoseok smiles. “Okay, Yoongi. I’ll be right here.”
But Yoongi is already snoring.