Work Text:
Fuma was the kind of person who didn’t need to be asked. He showed up, quietly, without complaint. No matter what time it was, no matter how ridiculous the situation, if a member of &TEAM was in trouble, he was already there — like he had a sixth sense for chaos or whatever else awaited him.
He had this uncanny ability to stay calm. He never got sick, never got injured, never even seemed tired. Some of the younger members whispered, only half-joking, that he might actually be a superhero.
Fuma just smiled whenever they said that. He never denied it.
Emergency Log, Year 2 of &TEAM Dorm Life:
Euijoo: “Hyung… I forgot my wallet again.”
It was the third time that week. Fuma had already memorized which train line Euijoo had likely taken and what convenience store he’d inevitably stop at to wait for rescue. Fuma just sighed, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.
.
K: “It’s not an emergency. I’m just... stuck. Emotionally.”
He didn’t even need to explain. Fuma came by with hot tea and silence, the kind that didn’t need words but still felt like safety. K eventually opened up about the weight of unseen leadership, how the others looked up to him — but he, too, needed someone to lean on. He had his own bit of leadership to handle, more than met the eye but Fuma didn’t flinch. “I’ve got you,” he said, and meant it.
.
Nicholas: “Bro. They stopped me for ID. I didn’t bring it. And my phone’s dead.”
Fuma appeared 27 minutes later with Nicholas’s passport, charger, and an energy drink. “You could’ve just Googled your name, you know,” Fuma muttered, handing everything over. “Your fancams come up before your ID does.”
Nicholas grinned, sheepish. “But where’s the fun in that?” To that Fuma didn’t have an answer, he just smiled at Nicholas shaking his head.
.
Yuma: “Hyung… I locked myself out. Again.”
Fuma didn’t ask why or how Yuma kept doing this. Instead, he made a copy of the key the next day and hid it under a rock beside the dorm’s potted plants. “Emergency backup,” he told him. “For next time. And the time after that.”
.
Jo: “I just wanted to cook something special…”
The fire alarm hadn’t even stopped screeching when Fuma barged into the smoky kitchen, towel over his head. The rice had boiled over into the burner, and Jo stood there, eyes wide, ladle in hand.
Fuma took over. “Let’s order food. You can ‘cook’ next week.” Jo looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. “It was nice of you to want to do something nice for us, let’s make something together next time okay?”, Fuma looked at him encouragingly and Jo flashed a small but genuine smile.
.
Harua: “Hospital. Food poisoning. Not dramatic, just… bad.”
Fuma brought three types of soup, a stuffed cat pillow, and a charger for Harua’s phone. “You’re not missing practice. That’s the only upside,” he joked, brushing Harua’s hair gently off his forehead. “You scared us.”
“Sorry, Papa”, Harua said ruefully, knowing full well, that Fuma had to step away from his precious day off to come visit him at the clinic. Fuma just ruffeled his hair again and told him not to worry, as always.
.
Taki: “Don’t tell K-hyung… but I think I accidentally joined a cult.”
The moment Taki said the words “essential oils” and “life-changing opportunity,” Fuma was already on his way. They spent the next hour getting Taki’s name off a very shady group chat and explaining to an overly friendly stranger on Zoom that “Taki would not be investing further.”
.
Maki: “I didn’t know who else to call.”
He was standing on a rooftop. Not dangerously close to the edge, just… needing space. Needing silence.
Fuma didn’t ask questions. He sat beside him, brought an extra hoodie, and waited. Maki eventually whispered, “I feel like I don’t belong sometimes.”
Fuma’s answer was steady: “You do. We all do. Because you’re here.”
.
Fuma was everyone's emergency contact — not because they expected him to be, but because he was. Quietly dependable. Unshakable.
Until one day… he wasn’t.
The first sign was when he didn’t show up to morning practice. No text. No explanation.
The second was when Jo tried to call — no answer. Group chat: read, but no reply.
By noon, everyone was panicking. K was already putting on his shoes when the door creaked open.
Fuma stood there, pale, leaning against the doorframe.
“I think I’m sick,” he croaked.
A beat of stunned silence.
Then chaos.
Blankets. Thermometers. Soup. A very aggressive Harua insisting Fuma lay down. Taki nearly crying. K pacing. Nicholas Googling symptoms. Euijoo and Yuma fighting over who got to fluff the pillow. Jo already burning rice again in a panic.
And Maki, sitting quietly beside Fuma’s bed, whispered, “Now we can finally be your emergency contact.”
Fuma smiled weakly, eyes fluttering shut.
For once, it was okay to let go.