Jihan woke slowly, the room swimming into focus in pale, unfamiliar shapes—soft lighting, an unfamiliar ceiling, the smell of something warm cooking somewhere close by.
He tried to sit up.
A hand pressed firmly against his shoulder, holding him down before he'd even fully registered whose it was.
"Don't. You need to rest."
Jae-min.
Jihan blinked up at him, throat dry, a dozen half-formed apologies already crowding behind his teeth. "Jae-min, I need to—"
"Save it." Jae-min's voice was gentle but firm, brooking no argument. "Later. Right now you're going to lie still and let your fever come down before you say anything else."
Jihan opened his mouth to protest anyway, and Jae-min gave him a look sharp enough to shut it again.
