It felt like the walls of the room were slowly closing in.

Yeonjun sat in his room at 2am, lying curled up on his bed. He hugged a long pillow to his chest, staring at the wall of his dark room.

His head hurt like hell.
Every sound from within the house felt like a bullet to the skull, even at the slightest pin drop.

"Mom," Yeonjun called out, hoping to god that his mother was somewhere close enough in the house to hear him.
"Come hereee," he whined.

The sound of his door swinging open made him wince when she arrived a minute or so later, bearing the most confused expression on her face.

"What...?" she questioned, not used to seeing her son like this.

"Close the door," Yeonjun demanded, squinting as the bright light nearly blinded him.

The mother, although hesitantly, stepped back and shut the door.
"Are you okay? What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

"Do we have any chamomile tea?" he replied instead, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the pillow.

"Yeah, I think so. You feel sick?"

Yeonjun immediately shook his head.
"No. Just a headache. I'll survive," he answered, although the pained tone to his voice didn't work in his favor.

The woman stood for a second, arms crossed.
"You ought to take some ibuprofen then. That will get rid of it quicker."

"I already did," Yeonjun replied, monotone.
"It didn't work."

"Maybe you didn't take enough?" she suggested helpfully.

"I took like eight of them."

"Yeonjun!" the mom scolded, rather shocked at the number. "Don't do that! Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he defended. "Just... please, tea?"

"Let me take your temperature at least," the mom said, slipping out the door and into the hallway as to fetch a thermometer.

Yeonjun only sighed at this. He definitely didn't feel sick, but if it would appease her, then who was he to argue?

He watched a moth outside fly against his window, repeatedly tapping against the glass.
In all honesty, he was quite bored, but using his phone was far too painful due to the screen's brightness.

The mother wandered back into the room after a short while, carrying a digital thermometer in her hands.

"You know what to do," she said, walking over to the bed and handing the thermometer over to Yeonjun. "Don't take it out until it makes a beep."

The boy nodded, taking it and placing it in his mouth like he'd done a million times before.

Now they played the waiting game.
The mother took a seat on the side of the bed, tapping her fingers lightly as she waited.
Yeonjun, on the other hand, stared down at the thermometer, feeling like it was spending an agonizingly long time to do its job.

Finally, the soft beep came from the device, telling the pair that it was done.

Yeonjun's mother practically snatched it away before he could even take it out of his mouth.

"Let's see..." she said, holding it up to read the number.

"A hundred and two...?" she furrowed her eyebrows, as if wondering whether she'd read it right. "Does that really say 102?"

Yeonjun stared at it.
"Yeah... it does say that."

"I... I think I should call your father," she said, a worried look on her face as she began to pull out her phone.

"No!" Yeonjun interrupted her, sitting straight up.
"It probably doesn't mean anything. I'm normally like 100 degrees anyway, right?"

"Yeonjun," she urged him. "I know how you feel about all this, and I've tried to help you, but there's some things you just can't change!"

"Please, mom," he begged.
"We can call him if it gets worse. Not now, okay? I'm fine."

She only exhaled, her face suggesting that she was in deep thought over the matter.

"Fine. I'll bring you some tea, and if it isn't better by tomorrow, I'm telling your dad," she stated, her tone suggesting those words were final.

"Okay. Whatever," Yeonjun agreed. "I'll probably be fine by morning."

The mom only shook her head. "You'd better hope you're right," she said, standing up slowly from his bedside.

Yeonjun simply watched her pad over to the doorway, once again to be left alone with his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep. A nap, at least, would spare him from being awake through the pain.