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1. The hospital.
“Come visit me after school, Sieun-ah.”
Sieun can’t help but smile.
He had planned on surprising Suho with dinner anyway, but hearing Suho’s genuine excitement through the phone never fails to make his heart flutter. Suho had mentioned missing his grandma’s cooking several times now, and though he never complains, Sieun thinks he must be growing tired of hospital meals.
He makes a mental note to cook for Suho once he’s out. In the meantime, ox bone soup will do.
“I’ll be there by six thirty.”
Sieun is almost sure Suho can hear him smiling, but Suho’s cheerful, “Can’t wait,” makes any embarrassment disappear.
It’s been three weeks since Suho woke up, and Sieun is still not used to the thrill of hearing Suho’s voice—or the way his bones ache at the sight of him. Having Suho back feels like coming home after a long trip away, reveling in the intimacy and the familiarity of your own bed. Sieun doesn’t cry as much anymore, at least not in front of Suho, but he still feels oversensitive, hyperaware of Suho’s every breath. Suho never tells him off, no matter how overbearing he gets.
Sieun has never slept so well, to the point that one glance at his rested face had been enough for his mother to give up on forcing him to go to hagwon after school instead of heading straight to the hospital.
But not every day is good.
Sieun still has nightmares—dreams where Suho stays in a coma forever—where he wakes up drenched in sweat, sobbing in the dark of his room when he’s not at the hospital. But Suho always answers his calls, mumbling sleepily, staying on the line until Sieun dozes off again, lulled by Suho’s soft breathing.
Suho’s physical therapy exhausts him. He never complains, pushing through it with a fervor that makes the doctors optimistic. But Sieun knows better. It only takes a glance to catch the empty look in Suho’s eyes after a hard session, the way he winces when he catches his reflection, or how he whispers doubts about ever running again at night.
The road to recovery is long—physical for Suho and mental for Sieun—and Suho waking up didn’t magically fix everything. But they have each other. Sieun wouldn’t dare ask for more.
“You wanna go out after school?” Hyuntak asks, plopping down into the chair next to him.
Sieun shakes his head silently, and puts his phone down.
“This is a Suho day, then,” Humin hums knowingly. He grins, leaning forward, hand hovering in the air. “Feels like we’ve got shared custody of you.”
Sieun deadpans, “If you touch my hair, I’ll kill you.”
“Quick! Juntae-ah, hide all the pens,” Humin gasps theatrically, throwing himself back with a hand on his forehead like he’s fainting.
Sieun sighs and hides a smile as Juntae and Hyuntak chuckle.
“I miss the time you thought I was a psycho.”
“Oh, we still think you’re a psycho,” Hyuntak shrugs. “You’re just making it difficult to take you seriously now that we know you’re all soft inside.”
“I’m not soft.”
“Sure, emo princess.”
Humin laughs, too loud for the classroom—but again, he’s rarely quiet—and Sieun sighs, sinking into his seat. He can’t remember why he ever thought having friends was a good idea. No one could get a rise out of him when he was alone, and now one mention of Suho is enough for him to bite.
He glances at Juntae, half-expecting him to defend him as he usually does when Humin and Hyuntak gang up on him, but the kid only shrugs.
“Sorry, Sieun-ah. I don’t think you’ve seen yourself when you’re talking to Suho.”
“Or looking at him,” Humin adds with a grin.
“Or even thinking about him,” Hyuntak says unhelpfully.
Sieun closes his textbook, giving up on solving his variable. They’re too distracting.
“I hate all of you.”
“Maybe,” Humin shrugs. “But you know who you don’t hate? Su—”
The teacher enters the classroom, cutting off Humin’s teasing—and Sieun’s very real plan to shove him off his chair and make it look like an accident. He hides a private smile and checks his watch. One more hour of class, and then he’ll be on his way to Suho.
He thinks about the look Suho will make when he sees the ox bone soup, and—
“Still smiling,” Juntae whispers, amused.
Sieun rolls his eyes and forces himself to focus on the lesson, even though restlessness hums under his skin. But nothing could help that—not when a warm and smiling Suho is waiting for him miles away.
When the teacher dismisses them, Sieun almost rushes out of his chair.
He doesn’t run into the halls, nor when he exits Eunjang (he’s got a reputation to uphold), but if he walks faster than normal to catch the early bus so he can go pick up the soup from the market Suho likes so much, that’s nobody’s business.
By 6.50, he’s standing in front of Suho’s hospital door, warm bag in hand, heart pounding in his chest. A soft warmth blooms inside him at the simple thought of Suho waiting just behind it.
Sieun enters the room, and Suho is here, sitting in his wheelchair. He’s in sweatpants and a grey hoodie, looking unfairly good—there’s a blinding smile on his face, and a stray curl clings stubbornly to his forehead.
“Sieun-ah,” Suho breathes.
Sieun smiles freely, kicking the door shut behind him. He sets the soup down carefully, drops his school bag on the floor, and shrugs off his hoodie, revealing a gray shirt underneath. The room is warm—Suho gets cold easily when he’s tired—and Sieun folds the piece of clothing neatly on a chair.
When he turns back, Suho is staring at him, a smile lazily tugging at his lips.
“Come here. I’ve got something to show you.”
Sieun inches closer, his knees weakening as he closes the distance between them. Suho tips his head back to meet his eyes and extends a hand, palm up, waiting.
Sieun never could refuse him anything; today isn’t any different. He slides his fingers into Suho’s, curling around the warm skin as their hands lock together.
For a heartbeat, Sieun forgets how to breathe.
Then Suho tugs, his other hand pushing off the wheelchair’s handles. Slowly, painfully, he rises to stand. His knees wobble, and he winces, but his smile his brighter than the sun, even through the pain.
Sieun reacts without thinking, grabbing Suho’s waist in a tight, anchoring grip.
“You…” Sieun swallows thickly. “You’re standing.”
“I am,” Suho laughs, breathless.
He leans against Sieun for balance, and the closeness steals the air from Sieun’s lungs. He should be used to Suho being touchy—it’s nothing new—but it never felt like this before. So necessary. So urgent—like living on borrowed time.
Sieun basks in Suho’s warmth, drinking in every detail of Suho’s face—from his crinkling eyes to the faint scar on his chin.
“I’m so proud of you,” Sieun breathes.
He means it. Every word.
Recovery is not easy, and he’s insanely proud of Suho for pushing through and not giving up. Seeing him standing feels like a miracle, easing the deep-seated fear that Suho would never get better. They’ve gotten so far already, and Sieun is forever grateful to be by Suho’s side for every step.
“I know I still have a long way to go,” Suho says, a little sheepish. “But… I’m starting to feel like the old me again. One day, maybe I’ll get him back.”
Sieun doesn’t tell Suho that he would love him even in ruins. That he deserves to be loved even in pieces.
Instead, he manages a soft, “I don’t know. This Suho’s kind of nice too.”
Suho’s answering grin is wide and dazzling, eating up his whole face. It hurts to look at him, almost. Sieun’s chest feels too tight. There’s a hunger there, a need to touch, to cling, to crawl under Suho’s ribs and never let go.
“Does—does it hurt when someone touches you?” he blurts, voice cracking.
Suho frowns in confusion, looking so endearingly puzzled that Sieun almost laughs.
“No. Only when I stand too long. Why—”
Sieun doesn’t think—he just moves.
He drops his hand from Suho’s and wraps both arms around his waist, pulling him in until their bodies collide. He can feel every line of Suho: the trembling muscles, the shaky breath, the frantic beating of his heart.
Suho lets out a soft, wrecked sound, melting into Sieun like he’s coming home.
Sieun threads one arm up, his hand settling at the nape of Suho’s neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair there.
Suho buries his face in Sieun’s neck with a shuddering breath, and the heat of it burns straight through Sieun’s skin. His nose brushes the sensitive skin under Sieun’s jaw, cold and tender, and Sieun’s arm tightens around Suho’s too-thin waist.
He can feel Suho’s ribs move with every shaky inhale, the faint tremble in his legs, and Sieun feels like he’s about to shatter—reminding all too well of how touch-starved he is.
“Is…Is this okay?” Sieun whispers, terrified of crossing the line.
Suho breathes him in, hands fisting the back of Sieun’s shirt.
“Sieun-ah,” he says, voice breaking, “if you let go, I’ll fall apart.”
Sieun closes his eyes, tugging Suho even closer.
“Because you can’t stand on your own?” he tries to joke, voice too thick to sound casual.
Suho’s laugh rumbles against his chest, low and shaky.
“You’re an idiot,” he says fondly, and it sounds like thank you, and don’t let go and please stay all at once.
Sieun’s hand slips under Suho’s collar, almost without meaning to, fingertips grazing bare skin. He feels, rather than hears, Suho’s sharp, stuttering inhale against his throat.
Sieun is a man of science before anything. For the sake of collecting data only, his fingers dip deeper, the pads of them skating over the smooth, dizzily warm skin at Suho’s back.
Suho shudders, arms tightening around Sieun until there’s no space left between them. Their hips bump together, innocent but somehow devastating, sending a bolt of electricity through Sieun’s body.
Suho’s breath stutters, like he’s about to say something, when a soft knock at the door makes them both jolt.
Sieun pulls back, missing Suho’s weight immediately. He doesn’t let go—not completely—keeping one steadying hand on Suho’s waist until Suho is settled. He’s almost sure the nurse saw them anyway.
He should be moritifed, and he is—but more than that, he feels empty now, aching for that closeness again like a man starving or drowning at sea.
The nurse glances at them with a knowing smile but says nothing, just helps Suho ease back into his wheelchair and takes his vitals.
Sieun backs off, retreating to the chair by the bed. His heart pounds so painfully loud he’s sure everyone in the room can hear it.
When he dares look up, Suho’s watching him.
Dark-eyed. Intent.
Sieun’s cheeks burn, but he holds Suho’s gaze, unable to look away. He wonders if the yearning he sees in them reflects on his own face. It must, because the nurse glances at him, her smile deepening.
“I’ll be out of your hair in a second, Suho-ssi. Then you and your… friend can enjoy dinner.”
Sieun ducks his head, mortified, but Suho just laughs under his breath. They watch her leave before Suho turns toward the bag of food, a fond smile on his lips.
“Ox bone soup,” Sieun says, waving the bag weakly.
Suho beams. “Warm-hearted,” he mutters fondly. Then, he adds, patting his stomach, “Come on, kid. I’m starving."
Sieun smiles helplessly and drifts back toward him, unable to resist the pull.
2. The school.
Sieun sighs and stares ahead, shuffling his feet as he exits the school. His friends are still behind, having plans of their own. This is a Suho day—or it was supposed to be, at least—but Sieun received a text earlier, telling him not to come.
| Raincheck, see you tomorrow? :)
His first reaction had been to worry. But Suho had been quick to assure him that he was perfectly fine.
His second reaction had been to huff and puff and sigh with annoyance. He’d realized with horror that he was moping. He’d never been one to mope before, but it seemed that Suho was really great at bringing out new emotions Sieun didn’t even know he could feel.
Sieun doesn’t like to mope. It’s distracting and frankly useless. Pouting and being dramatic won’t make Suho text Sieun to come or magically appear in front of him.
He drags his feet, unwilling to go home. His mother is away on a work trip, and he doesn’t want to go home to a cold, empty house. Not when he’d been promised Suho’s laugh and smiles instead. But he doesn’t want to hang out with his friends either. He knows he’s been a killjoy all day, and he wants them to enjoy their outing—not spend it making fruitless attempts at lightening the mood.
He reaches the underpass, and a wave of nostalgia washes over him as his gaze lands on Humin’s tag on the wall.
He remembers being willing to let Hyuntak hit him until he mentioned Suho. How they had fought before siding up against Hyoman and his fight dogs. He remembers losing and Humin saving them. The ridiculousness of Humin putting on music as a soundtrack to his fight still baffles him.
This is probably where it all started—their friendship. Then came the attempts to befriend Sieun, who slowly dropped his guard, letting them in. How it ached to see Suho in them, serving only as a painful reminder of his absence.
It’s been a month since Suho woke up, and Sieun can’t help but miss him constantly. It’s a strange sort of yearning, something that tugs at him even when Suho’s next to him. Unsatisfied hunger twists his insides constantly, and Sieun doesn’t know how to satiate it. He doesn’t let himself think about it, even though Suho makes it very hard. Now that he can stand, he always hugs Sieun hello and goodbye, lingering slightly too long when it’s just the two of them.
He misses Suho, and not for the first time since receiving his text, he sighs dramatically. He wished Suho—
Suho, who is leaning against the wall in the underpass. His arms are crossed nonchalantly, and he’s smiling.
“Why the sad face, Sieunnie?”
Sieun stops in his tracks. He looks over his shoulder, but they’re alone. No one can tell him if he’s missing Suho so viscerally, it gets him hallucinating. He rubs his eyes, but Suho’s still here, looking amused.
Sieun trots over him, closing the distance between them as he raises a hand to Suho’s chest. The heartbeat pulsates under his fingers in a familiar cadence.
Real.
“I’m here,” Suho breathes softly.
Sieun lets go, but Suho grabs his hand before it reaches his side. His cool fingers wrap around his wrist, thumb settling against Sieun’s pulse point, like he’s checking if Sieun is real too.
“How come—I thought you—” Sieun says, words mixing.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Suho smiles sheepishly. “I got discharged today.”
Affection blooms in his chest as he meets Suho’s bright eyes.
“You got discharged?” Sieun whispers, voice wavering as concern overwhelms him. “Are you okay? Should you even be on your feet? Or alone? Do—”
Suho smiles fondly, slightly tilting his head to the side. His thumb strokes the soft skin inside Sieun’s wrist.
“I’m okay, Sieun-ah. The doctors said I’m good to go. I’ll have to go back regularly for checkups, but otherwise, I can go home.”
Suho leans back against the wall, accidentally tugging at Sieun’s wrist and pulling him closer.
“I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed,” he groans.
It feels surreal, having Suho here. Both outside of the hospital and at Eunjang.
When Suho visited him, in his hospital room or in the garden, it almost felt like a daydream. Like Suho was a figment of his imagination, Sieun’s creation. Someone he’d have spent hours carving, molding clay into the soft curve of Suho’s mouth.
But now he’s here, outside, and it feels all too real. The feeling of war being over, a soldier going home. The deep certainty that Suho is going to be okay.
Sieun can’t help but scan Suho’s body, looking for any tension, any signs Suho might need to sit. He knows he’s been overbearing these past weeks. Suho is strong, and Sieun should give him more credit, but he can’t help but worry.
Worry is another emotion he learned after meeting Suho. It feels awfully strange, Suho’s well-being plaguing his mind—almost like having his heart outside his body.
“I still can’t walk for long distances. But the bus stop is a minute away,” Suho says softly, trying to meet Sieun’s eyes. “I wouldn’t risk it, Sieun-ah, I swear. Not when I’ve got you to come back to.”
Sieun inches closer without thinking, locking eyes with Suho as he breathes in the familiar aroma of vanilla. His guts twist at the honesty in Suho’s voice, at how willing he is to be vulnerable.
Sieun wonders if he’s the only one who’s afraid. If it’s easier for Suho to reach out, to show he cares. If maybe, deep down, Suho wishes Sieun were more open, less withdrawn—less himself.
Sieun looks around. They’re in the open; anyone could see them. He can’t hug Suho, no matter how badly he wants to.
Somehow, he thinks Suho knows. When Suho smiles at him, lingering on the way Sieun’s gaze softens, his eyes crinkle like he’s seeing right through him. Sometimes Sieun forgets how attuned they are to each other—how they don’t even need words at times.
Suho doesn’t seem nearly as concerned about being caught. He doesn’t go as far as hugging him, but he still inches closer, letting go of Sieun’s hand to brush against his shoulder with mock concern.
“Yah… Don’t Eunjang have any standards?” he tuts, mock-serious. “Look at your tie. All crooked.”
He reaches slowly, deliberately avoiding Sieun’s eyes. His fingers close around the tie, brushing lightly against the skin of Sieun’s neck as he straightens it.
Sieun’s breath stutters.
Then—Suho gives an experimental tug at Sieun’s tie.
Sieun’s lips part in surprise, and for a moment, Suho’s eyes flicker down to his mouth.
He tugs again, and an embarrassing sound escapes Sieun’s throat as Suho’s fingers trail up his neck, giving it a tentative squeeze. Sieun inhales sharply—a wrecked sound— and Suho smirks.
The traitor leans forward, lips brushing against Sieun’s ear.
“Interesting,” he whispers.
Then he pulls away, smooth and casual, as if nothing happened.
A second later—barely enough time for Sieun to recover—Humin appears, an arm slung over Hyuntak’s shoulders.
“Sieun-ah! Suho-ssi!” he calls out cheerfully.
Sieun coughs awkwardly, stepping back to put some distance between himself and gloating Suho. He elbows Suho in the ribs to wipe the smirk off his face—not nearly hard enough to hurt, too gentle—but Suho still complains:
“I can’t believe you just hit me. I’m recovering from a coma, you know,” he pouts, his mouth too pink for Sieun’s sanity.
“And I’ll do it again if you don’t behave,” Sieun threatens him in a whisper, forcing a smile on his face as he meets Hyuntak’s eyes.
Suho shrugs and leans in just enough to whisper:
“Whatever you want, baby.”
Right as Humin and Hyuntak arrive.
Sieun makes (another) strangled noise and stares at the ground, flustered, praying nothing shows on his face.
He forces his expression blank, watching Suho greet his friends.
“Where’s Juntae?” Sieun asks, voice a little rough.
“Doctor’s appointment. But you’d know if you’d listened to anything we said today,” Hyuntak says dryly.
“I—”
Sieun starts to scoff, but Hyuntak’s right. He can barely remember the subject of today’s lessons.
“Be nice,” Humin says, flicking him lightly on the arm. “He was busy moping. Can’t do both.”
Suho snorts, not even trying to hide his glee.
“You mope now?” he teases.
“Shut up,” Sieun mutters.
He hates them all.
“Cute,” Suho grins, ruffling Sieun’s hair.
Hyuntak and Humin stare. Sieun looks away.
He knows they expect him to call Suho out. After all, he pretty much threatens anyone who touches him.
They can’t possibly know that his no-touch policy doesn’t apply to Suho. That he’s more than welcome to—on the contrary.
Sieun almost smiles at the thought of their faces if they ever found out.
Instead, he glares at Humin for good measure, but Humin only raises an unimpressed eyebrow and turns to Suho.
“So, my dear Suho-ssi,” Humin exclaims, slapping his thighs. “You’re a free man, I see?”
Suho smiles, his lips curving in a way that’s so familiar to Sieun.
“Sieunnie said we’d get along. So I begged them to let me go, Humin-ssi,” he says sweetly.
Sieun rolls his eyes as Humin whoops loudly, declaring he likes Suho already.
As much as he wants them to get along, they’re going to be insufferable together.
“Yeah. Thought you could bond over sucking at pool,” Sieun deadpans.
Both Humin and Suho gasp at the same time, a scandalized "Yah!" that makes Hyuntak snort.
Suho pokes Sieun’s cheek, and Sieun has the childish impulse to bite him. He doesn’t, of course.
"I don’t suck at pool. I’m just letting you win, obviously," Suho says smugly.
"If that makes you sleep better at night," Sieun retorts, smiling despite himself.
Suho pouts, and Sieun’s smile only grows.
"Want to hang out with us?" Hyuntak offers. "We’re heading to the arcade."
Suho’s grin falters slightly. He glances down at his legs, and his shoulders droop.
Before he can say anything, Sieun squeezes his shoulder briefly. Ignoring the started look of his friends at Sieun initiating physical touch, he gently pries Suho’s bag off his shoulders.
“Next time,” Sieun says simply. “We’re going to his grandma.”
Suho throws him a grateful look, and Sieun hides a smile.
They head toward the bus stop, falling into a slow, steady pace so Suho doesn’t strain too hard. Sieun watches Hyuntak and Humin defensively, ready to bite their head off if they say anything, but they only match his pace.
They fall into an easy discussion—Sieun doesn’t join in much; he’s content to listen, just to watch.
Maybe he’s staring too much, but he can’t help it.
When Suho winces after a while, Sieun stops everyone without a word. He drops, pretending to tie his shoelace, glancing up discreetly at Suho to check on him.
When he’s sure Suho’s okay, he straightens up and keeps walking.
Suho leans against him from time to time, hand brushing against Sieun’s now and then, their fingers brushing lightly together.
Sieun keeps his gaze ahead, fighting a smile, warmth slowly blooming in his chest.
3. The restaurant.
Sieun doesn’t tell Suho that he chose a less frequented restaurant on purpose.
He’d passed in front of it the day before, noticing how the few families inside, the dim lighting, and the faint music wouldn’t give Suho a headache.
It’s been two months since Suho woke up. He’s doing more than great, according to the doctors. He can walk longer distances now, go on small outings he enjoys even more after spending months stuck inside. His body doesn’t hurt as much, and he’s slowly gaining back weight—both thanks to homemade meals and the strict exercise regimen he’s under to rebuild muscles.
But Suho still tires easily, especially after a hard day of physical therapy. Bright lights or loud noises give him headaches bad enough to send him curling up in bed, blinds drawn, until the pain fades.
Sometimes, when Sieun visits Suho at home, they don’t even talk—they just sit together, content to share the quiet.
Sieun wishes he could do more, shoulder the pain himself, even. He hates seeing Suho suffer.
He fight the urge to keep him hidden, safe from the outside world. It gets easier, now, not to reach for the pen he keeps in his pocket whenever they pass a group of brash high-schoolers—but the impulse is still there, pulsing hot under his ribs.
And of course, Suho always sees it. But he never tells Sieun not to worry. Instead, he gently pries Sieun’s hand away from the pen, brushing their fingers together before letting go.
They’re still in public, after all.
Said hand squeezes his knee briefly, dragging him back to reality. Sieun hadn’t realized he’d been spacing out. He blinks and meets Suho’s eyes—warm, but tinged with concern.
Juntae is still laughing, caught up in Suho’s animated retelling of something Sieun hadn’t quite caught.
It’s a Friday evening, and while Hyuntak and Humin stayed behind for a basketball match, Sieun, Suho, and Juntae went out to eat, celebrating the end of the week.
The restaurant smells vaguely of garlic and tomato. Their table, dark wood and slightly scratched, is covered with an array of plates. Sieun’s plate—still mostly full—is chipped.
Juntae’s phone vibrates against the table. One glance at the caller ID and he’s standing up.
“My mom’s calling. Be right back,” he says, around a mouthful of food.
It reminds Sieun of Suho.
He watches Juntae make his way to the restaurant’s entrance, slipping outside with a jingle of bells.
And just like that, Sieun and Suho are alone.
Suho’s hand is still resting on his knee—the restaurant dark enough that no one would notice. Heat seeps through the fabric of his uniform, both grounding and unnerving.
“What’s wrong?” Suho asks softly, holding his gaze.
Sieun sighs, tipping his head back against the wall. He doesn’t know how to talk to Suho about something he struggles to put words on. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood either.
They talked a lot after Suho woke up. About the coma. About what happened after. Before too. About Eunjang—how Sieun tried not to fight, how he had no choice. About the Union, and how they fought hard for their school.
But not about Beomseok.
Beomseok was the one thing they didn’t touch.
“Whatever this is, you can tell me,” Suho says gently. “Don’t stay trapped in your head.”
Sieun’s gaze drifts to Juntae’s figure outside, to the discarded school bag slumped next to the empty seat, to the half-eaten plates in front of him.
“Sometimes, Juntae reminds me of him,” Sieun confesses in a whisper.
Suho doesn’t answer. He pulls his hand from Sieun’s knee to pour himself a glass of water and looks almost unbothered. But Sieun knows better.
He sees the tense line of Suho’s shoulders, the way his jaw locks, the faint tremor in his hands when he sets the pitcher down.
“I know it’s not fair,” Sieun murmurs. “But I see so much of him in Juntae. The old him.”
The glasses and the bashfulness. Helping the bullies and then confessing to Sieun. The admiration in his eyes when he watches Humin and Hyuntak spar.
But there’s no violence in Juntae. No simmering anger under his skin, waiting to explode.
He’s not Beomseok.
“When we started hanging out, I was always on the lookout,” Sieun admits. “I never knew when it went wrong with him, but with Juntae… I thought that if I caught the signs early, maybe this time I could stop it.”
He swallows thickly.
He misses Suho’s hand anchoring him to the present. A tangible reminder that he’s here, real, in the present.
“I trust him now,” Sieun says quietly. “Juntae’s good. But sitting here, the three of us... it brought back memories.”
There’s a long pause.
“I’m sorry,” Suho says finally, voice low.
“Don’t be,” Sieun says. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” Suho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really think it was Beomseok’s either."
Sieun’s breath stutters at the sound of his name.
“I spent so much time being angry at him,” Suho says, voice tight with grief. “And yeah, he’s responsible for what he did, and I hope he carries it with him forever. But… I think he needed help. More than we could have given him.”
Suho looks down at the table, hands curling into fists.
“At the time, I couldn’t see it. How much he was hurting. And maybe—maybe if I’d been more patient, more kind—I don’t know.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Sieun says gently. “He was too insecure to believe we cared about him. No matter what we did, he would’ve turned on us.”
The realization that he means every word settles over him. Despite how often he wishes he could turn back time—to stop Suho from getting hurt, to run after him that day, and to stop Beomseok from calling Wooyoung—he understands now. Things were always going to unfold this way.
It eases the guilt he’s carrying. Just a little.
“Do you think he knows?” Suho quietly. “That I’m awake, I mean.”
Sieun exhales. “No. I think his father will use you as a lesson. Something to hang over him forever.”
Under the table, Suho’s hand finds his own, their fingers threading together tightly.
“I think,” Suho breathes, voice shaking slightly, “that one day… I’d like to talk about him.”
Sieun knows what he means. He hopes for it too. That one day, they’ll be able to look back without being overwhelmed by grief. To remember the good parts of Beomseok without hurting so much.
Suho squeezes his hand once, then lets go.
His shoulders relax a little, and the cheerfulness in his voice, when he speaks again, isn’t quite so forced.
“Anyway, how was your day?”
Sieun takes the bite, voice quiet. “The usual. Lunch was good. You’d have liked it.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to graduate in a few months, and I’ll be stuck in high school,” Suho jokes lightly.
“I don’t even know what I’m going to do next year,” Sieun says with a shrug. “So, who knows, I might fail my exams on purpose to be with you.”
“Liar,” Suho says affectionately, a bright laugh shaking his shoulders. “You love me, but not that much.”
Sieun smiles softly at the sound. “No, I don’t. But I’ll stay in Seoul anyway.”
With you.
The tip of Suho’s ears goes red at the hint. He doesn’t try to convince Sieun to look at other schools outside of Seoul—Sieun wouldn’t consider it anyway.
Instead, he grabs his chopsticks and picks a piece of meat from the grill at the center of the table.
“Here, you’ve barely eaten anything,” he says lightly, bringing the meat to Sieun’s mouth.
He gestures at Sieun to eat it with a tilt of the head. Sieun rolls his eyes, but he still does. The meat is warm and savory in his mouth, making him realize how hungry he was.
He chews carefully while Suho grabs another piece, a discreet smile on his face.
“Planning on feeding me the entire meal?” Sieun asks dryly.
Suho chuckles, voice fond when he says, “I might. Someone has to, since you don’t eat anything.”
“Then, give me some dumplings,” Sieun says with false urgency.
“Yes, sir,” Suho laughs, reaching for the plate.
They both chuckle when Suho misses Sieun’s mouth several times, and affection overwhelms Sieun. He stares fondly at the dimples indented in Suho’s cheek, at the way his eyes crinkle at the corner, and at the hint of teeth showing when he laughs, throwing his head back.
They fall into a comfortable silence, Suho feeding him from time to time while Sieun grills the meat.
It’s not the first time he and Suho have eaten alone. It was mostly the two of them when Sieun visited him at the hospital after all.
But it feels different somehow. They’re used to ordering takeout or eating at Suho’s place with his grandma. Now, in the dimmed lighting of the restaurant, a love song from a popular K-drama playing softly in the background, and Juntae still outside on the phone, it feels almost intimate. Domestic even, when they hand each other whatever the other needs without a word.
It makes Sieun want more. More dinners in restaurants, enjoying the privacy of a dark corner. More evenings at Sieun’s place too, just the two of them. Sieun never really did cook for Suho in the end. He wants more of what almost feels like a date.
And it would be easy to make it one. To reach out. To bring his thumb to the corner of Suho’s mouth to wipe off the sauce staining his bottom lip. To linger, turning the gesture into a caress, fingers stroking the sharp line of Suho’s jaw.
It should scare him, maybe, how easy it’d be to cross the line—one they’ve been tiptoeing around for a while now.
But Suho feels too much like home for Sieun not to realize they’ll end up here eventually. It’s a question of time, he thinks, having long passed the time when he doubted whether Suho might not reciprocate his feelings.
He doesn’t know if this is love. All he knows is that Suho makes him feel safe—a luxury Sieun thought he couldn’t afford.
It’s so easy to let his guard down with Suho. Not to calculate everything, not to pretend that he’s cold and strong because Suho doesn’t expect him to.
Sieun still thinks Suho deserves better than him. But he’s starting to realize that Suho doesn’t want better. He wants crooked smiles and imperfections.
As if sensing his thoughts, Suho’s eyes soften when he looks up at Sieun.
“We should do this more often,” Sieun breathes.
“Going out with your friends?” Suho asks, even though this group is as much his as Sieun’s now.
“No. You and me.”
The soft smile blooming on Suho’s face steals Sieun’s breath, sending his heart into a hammering beat when Suho answers, “I’d love to.”
The door opens with a jingle, but Sieun doesn’t turn.
Juntae sits in the chair, hair ruffled from the wind, and it’s only then that Sieun looks away. He moves a piece of meat on the grill and turns to him.
“Everything’s fine?” he asks Juntae.
“She needed help with something,” Juntae explains. “All good.”
“Come on, the food’s getting cold,” Suho says.
Sieun smiles.
Yes, all good.
4. Suho's bedroom.
“Eat some more, Sieun-ah.”
Suho’s grandma hands him yet another plate, and Sieun exchanges an amused look with Suho, mouth already full.
The living room smells heavenly, his grandma’s cooking as delicious as always. It’s a school night, and Sieun knows it would have been more sensible to go straight home. But he had folded under no pressure, agreeing seconds after Suho offered for him to come over.
It’s been three months since Suho woke up. The doctors said that any neurological damage would have shown by now, and, except for the sporadic headaches, Suho’s brain is perfectly healthy—a small miracle.
His body is getting stronger too, his stamina improving day by day. Being able to walk longer distances allowed Suho to start cram school in the afternoons. He’s studying for an exam at the end of the summer that’ll let him to go straight to senior year instead of wasting another year.
He and Suho see each other almost every day, and watching Suho’s progress eases the tension Sieun still hasn’t quite learned how to let go of. He sleeps well at night, no longer panics whenever he doesn’t hear from Suho for a moment, and he hasn’t had a nightmare in a long time either.
It explains, maybe, why the one he had last night hit him so hard.
He remembers waking up startled, drenched in sweat. With Suho’s name on his lips and a metallic taste in his mouth—blood—he’d scrambled out of bed, desperate to catch his breath. Heaving and leaning against the wall to avoid falling, he’d make it out to the bathroom before throwing up his dinner.
In his dream, Sieun had let his mother send him abroad to study. Suho’s condition had worsened while he was away, and since he didn’t visit anymore, the nurse never called him that night.
Suho had died during the night, alone, in a cold, sterile hospital room.
In her grief, Suho’s grandma hadn’t called. Sieun had heard about Suho’s death months later. The idea of the cold, rotting body of the most important person in his life being underground without Sieun getting to say goodbye had shattered him.
It took him half an hour before he felt steady enough to go back to bed.
Sieun doesn’t tell Suho about it. But he likes to imagine that, somehow, he knows. That he invited Sieun to come home with him because he recognized Sieun's need to keep him close.
Dinner is a quiet affair, and soon enough, Sieun finds himself in front of the sink, helping Suho wash the dishes. Suho cleans them and hands them to Sieun to dry, the faint sound of the TV in the background. And there it is again, this domesticity that Sieun craves.
Sieun doesn’t tell Suho that he wants nothing more than to do laundry and taxes with him. Instead, he checks his phone and puts down the kitchen rag.
“I should get going,” he says.
He doesn’t want to, but waking up will only be harder the longer he stays.
He dreads going back to his cold bed, in an empty house, yet again. His mother doesn’t bother coming home anymore most nights, not seeing the need to keep trying to have a relationship with Sieun now that he’s doing better.
It shouldn’t hurt—and it doesn’t, not really. It simply leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, having had a glimpse of what could’ve been. A life where his parents tried.
His mother and he barely spoke when she was home, fighting most of the time they did. But fighting is good, isn’t it? Fighting means you care enough to break the silence, to fuel your anger by taking an interest in a person instead of simple perfunctory civilities. Or at least, that’s what his parents’ relationship taught him.
Suho taught him better.
Love can be quiet and gentle. It’s Suho asking if Sieun has eaten today, always having snacks in his pocket in case he hasn’t. It’s his gentle hand against the small of his back when they hug goodbye. It’s the nights spent on the phone, falling asleep together. It’s cherishing Sieun’s imperfection, caring and kind.
Love can be loud, too. It’s Suho laughing loudly when Sieun says something that’s not that funny. It’s him ordering for Sieun when they’re out with their friends and Sieun’s gone to the bathroom. (He never gets it wrong.) It’s him shouting Sieun’s name so Sieun can look at him when he scores a basket.
Suho taught Sieun that he matters, that what he wants to say is important.
He loves Sieun like Sieun’s never been loved—but maybe, that’s because he’s never been loved at all.
“Or you could stay.”
Sieun turns to Suho in surprise, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
“I mean, it’s late already,” Suho says more bashfully, rubbing his neck nervously. “And we’d have to share a bed, but that’s fine.”
The line gets blurrier, yet another limit they cross. This won’t be the first night they spend together, Sieun has slept many times at the hospital after all, but always at a safe distance: Suho in his own bed and Sieun on the chair or the couch.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Sieun says.
Sieun doesn’t offer to go home. He knows he’ll never leave, not when sleeping here means waking up in the morning next to Suho.
“Do you want to?” Suho asks in a whisper, unconsciously inching closer to Sieun.
There’s a pause, and then Sieun says:
“No.”
Suho hums and wipes his hands with the rag, looking everywhere but at Sieun. His false nonchalance fails miserably when he meets Sieun’s eyes—his lips betray him with a smile he can’t hold back, and the tips of his ears flush red.
“I’ll go tell halmeoni that you’re staying,” he mumbles cutely, ducking his head with embarrassment.
Sieun watches him step out of the open kitchen. Suho rests a hand on his grandmother’s shoulder as he speaks to her in a low voice. She glances over at Sieun and gives him a warm, affectionate smile. Sieun offers a hesitant one in return—he’s never really known how to receive affection from adults.
Suho gestures toward his bedroom door, waiting for Sieun to follow.
It’s not the first time Sieun finds himself in his room, but it was never with the intent of spending the night. It feels like the restaurant all over again—tiptoeing on the line that, somehow, gets easier and easier to cross.
Suho’s room is small but cozy. A desk sits beneath a large window, cluttered with textbooks. Japanese movie posters cover the walls—films Sieun’s never seen—and a shelf holds several trophies. The bed is unmade, the wool blanket Sieun bought him sprawled over the sheets. On the nightstand sits a photo that never fails to sadden Sieun.
They took it on Suho’s sixteenth birthday, just before Yeongi left to meet Beomseok. Sieun remembers her excited squeals as she set the timer, the way she scrambled to get into frame in time.
In the picture, Suho has an arm thrown casually around Sieun’s shoulders, smiling warmly at him. Yeongi, holding a balloon, looks at the two of them. And Sieun—he remembers being mortified when the photo developed—is looking back at Suho with an embarrassingly soft expression.
A wave of nostalgia hits him. That moment feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was—they’ll both be eighteen by the end of the year after all.
Yeongi had vanished not long after Suho’s coma, without saying goodbye. Sieun never found out why. She’d apologized to Suho’s grandmother, packed her bags, and within hours her phone was out of service. That was the end of it.
With Beomseok and Yeongi both gone, it sometimes feels like Suho and Sieun are the last men standing.
“Here, you can take the first shower.”
Sieun turns from the photo and finds Suho holding out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He blushes faintly at the thought of wearing Suho’s clothes.
Their fingers brush as he takes them, and Sieun heads to the bathroom.
The hot water soothes him, and before long he’s nodding off. After slipping into Suho’s clothes, he stifles a yawn and uses the towel to dry his hair as best he can.
When he comes back, Suho’s room is cold compared to the steamy bathroom, and a shiver runs through him.
“Go under the covers if you’re cold, Sieunnie,” Suho calls fondly from the doorway, clearly amused by how sleepy he looks. “I’ll be back in a few.”
Sieun blinks slowly, watching him leave, then turns to the bed. It’s just big enough for two, which means they’ll probably end up touching in some way during the night. The thought sends a swarm of fluttery nerves through his stomach.
He crawls under the blanket, the warmth of the bed tugging at him instantly. The sheets smell like Suho. Glancing at the closed door, Sieun buries his face in the pillows and breathes in deeply, pathetically.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. Only the faint dip of the mattress beside him and the soft kiss Suho presses to his hair before everything fades.
Sieun wakes slowly, feeling more rested than he has in a long time. He’s wrapped in a comfortable warmth and instinctively presses closer to the source. Arms tighten around him—one resting against the small of his back, the other draped across his shoulders, holding him in place.
Sieun exhales softly against Suho’s chest. Sometime during the night, they must have sunk into each other, seeking warmth. Now, he’s nestled between Suho’s arms, face buried in his neck, their legs tangled beneath the blanket. When a warm breath fans over his hair, Sieun’s heart squeezes painfully. This is the safest he’s ever felt.
Waking up like this, unguarded in Suho’s arms, feels more intimate than anything he’d prepared himself for. It’s a silent confession: I trust you with myself. Please take care of me. And Suho’s strong embrace is an answer enough.
Without thinking, Sieun snuggles closer. Suho hums contentedly. Every rise and fall of his chest against Sieun’s own makes Sieun’s stomach flutter, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
Suho’s breathing shifts—shallower, slower—and the hand around Sieun’s shoulders slides up slightly, fingers brushing the nape of his neck.
“Sieunnie…” he murmurs, voice rough and warm from sleep.
Sieun stiffens, just a little, afraid for a moment that Suho will pull away. But instead, Suho presses his nose into Sieun’s hair and breathes him in.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
Sieun shrugs, yawning as he stretches, arms falling limp against the mattress. Then he sinks back into Suho’s chest, soaking up the warmth.
“Yah, Sieun-ah,” Suho groans playfully, “don’t be so cute or I’ll never let go.”
Sieun smiles into his shirt. Slowly—almost carefully—he leans back just enough to look at him. Up close, he can see everything: the flutter of Suho’s lashes, the way his lips part on a shaky breath when their eyes meet, the dimples that emerge when his expression softens.
Without thinking, Sieun lifts a hand to his face, brushing his fingers gently over Suho’s cheekbone.
A smile blooms across Suho’s face, full of affection.
Then he seems to realize how close they are—too close. His smile falters, eyes dropping briefly to Sieun’s lips.
And for one dizzying moment, Sieun’s breath catches in anticipation. He cups Suho’s cheek carefully, and Suho tilts his head slightly, breathing in sharply against Sieun’s mouth, his arm tightening around Sieun’s waist.
He looks into Sieun’s eyes, intent, searching.
Whatever he finds, it’s enough, and he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Sieun’s lips.
Sieun feels like he’s on fire. His heart hammers, desperately wanting more.
Suho starts to pull away, but Sieun’s hand slides to the back of his neck, tugging him closer and—
A knock at the door makes them jolt apart.
Suho sighs like leaving the bed—leaving him—is the hardest thing he’ll ever do. He leans in and kisses Sieun again, this time on the cheek, before reluctantly letting go.
He sits on the edge of the bed, still half-dazed, and takes one last look at Sieun. His expression is so openly affectionate it steals the breath from Sieun’s lungs.
Then he stands and heads for the door.
Sieun sinks back into the mattress, muffling a frustrated groan.
His mind replays it over and over: the feel of Suho’s lips at the corner of his mouth—warm, soft, real. He smiles like an idiot.
"Simp."
Sieun startles, having completely missed Suho coming back. He looks up: Suho’s shirt is wrinkled, a strand of hair falls messily across his forehead, and his grin is annoyingly smug.
Sieun grabs a pillow and throws it at him.
Suho ducks with a laugh and holds out a hand.
“Come on, halmeoni made us breakfast.”
5. The beach.
Suho has been awake for five months now—long enough to see the beginning of the summer.
Except for Suho, they’re all officially done with high school after grueling weeks preparing for their final exams. They passed, every one of them—Sieun with flying colors, to no one’s surprise—and now they’re just waiting to hear back from the colleges they applied to.
To celebrate, Suho had taken Sieun out to a popular restaurant, claiming it was to mark Sieun’s academic success. But Sieun is almost certain it had less to do with grades and more with Suho sulking for weeks about how much he missed him.
Sieun had tried—really—to study with Suho around, but one look at him was enough to leave him flustered and distracted. The memory of Suho’s lips brushing his skin had haunted him, making him wonder how they’d feel fully pressed against his own. Sieun couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when he could barely do basic math with Suho in the room.
So, he’d summoned all his hard-earned self-discipline and declared: no Suho until exams were over.
He’d regretted it almost immediately, missing him terribly despite their constant texts and video calls.
Eventually, it was Humin who suggested a two-day trip to celebrate their going to college. Juntae had mentioned wanting to go to the beach, and they finally settled on Muuido Island.
They’d taken a bus from Seoul to Incheon International Airport around noon. Suho had spent most of the hour-long trip dozing on Sieun’s shoulder, much to their friends’ delight—especially Hyuntak, who kept wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
From there, they hopped on a local bus to the Jamjinnaru Ferry Terminal for another half hour, then took a five-minute ferry ride to Muuido.
The plan was simple: spend the afternoon on the beach, then stay the night at a cheap guesthouse they’d booked near Silmi Beach.
Sieun doesn’t like the beach.
It’s sandy (which, according to Suho, is literally the point) and the sea is salty (again, also the point, apparently). He’d much rather go to a pool and avoid going home with sand everywhere and brittle hair from the salt.
But watching Suho gasp with wonder when he steps onto the ferry, hearing Juntae ramble excitedly as he drags an inflatable ring behind him, and seeing Humin and Hyuntak already bickering over the ball—well. It makes it somewhat worth it.
They walk along the shoreline, feet sinking into wet sand, until the beach curves inward and reveals the hidden cove—a quiet, tucked-away corner of the world.
Humin and Suho—who insisted on carrying all the bags—drop them temporarily, scrambling to kick off their shoes and sink their feet into the sand.
Humin stumbles over his own shoe, nearly pitching forward, and Hyuntak grabs him by the collar just in time, laughter shaking his shoulders. Juntae and Suho cackle, wheezing, and even Sieun can’t help the grin that pulls at his mouth as Humin flails dramatically in response.
Once they’ve picked a spot, they unload the bags and unroll the beach towels. Juntae’s is white with bright yellow ducks printed all over it, and he flushes red when they tease him, swatting at Suho half-heartedly.
When they finally settle in, they lay out the towels and strip to their swimming trunks. Sieun turns toward the sea, actively avoiding the golden stretch of skin to his right as Suho takes off his shirt.
Suho’s been working out again—more than before, apparently—and it shows. His shoulders are broader, his waist still lean, his chest sturdier. Meanwhile, Sieun still leans on the scrawny side, never having cared enough to put on muscle.
He tells himself—a blatant lie—that it’s only scientific curiosity that makes him glance over when Suho lifts his arms and flexes slightly. What he tried to pass off as jealousy for a grand total of three seconds is definitely something needier that makes Sieun’s stomach twist.
It’s the need to slide a hand down Suho’s chest, to memorize the curve of his ribs and the line of his hips, just in case. He wants to follow Suho’s body like a map, memorizing each curve and plane by heart.
Sometimes, Sieun thinks that if his fifteen-year-old self saw how many emotions Sieun was now experiencing—most of them linked to teen hormones—he’d have a stroke.
They stand together for a while, facing the sea. It’s the five of them against the world, and Sieun can’t help but feel a swell of quiet pride. They’ve all been through so much—more than any of them say out loud—and yet, here they are. Together.
He isn’t sure what the future will look like. Whether their friendship will survive the distance, different cities, new lives. But that’s a worry for another day. Right now, they’re here, and he still has them. That’s enough.
Sieun lowers himself onto his towel, the fabric rasping slightly against the skin of his legs. He watches Hyuntak pad toward the sea, tentative, dipping just his toes into the water before hissing and stumbling back, shaking his foot.
“It’s freezing. I think I’ll wait until—”
He doesn’t get to finish. Humin barrels toward him and scoops him up without warning, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Hyuntak yelps in protest, flailing.
“Last one in the water’s a loser!” Humin crows, turning dramatically to the group with Hyuntak still dangling.
He takes off down the beach, triumphant, with Juntae laughing and racing after them.
Sieun turns to Suho, eyebrow raised in silent question, wondering why he’s not scrambling after the others.
“I burn easily,” Suho says with a sheepish shrug, gesturing toward the bottle of sunscreen still in Sieun’s hand.
Sieun offers it wordlessly. Suho takes it and begins spreading it over his arms and legs in slow, practiced movements. Sieun watches him a beat too long, gaze tracking the path of his hands as the lotion disappears into his skin.
Eventually, maybe just to stop staring, he reaches out and taps Suho’s leg lightly—telling himself that he’s just being helpful to make it less weird.
“I can help you. With your back, I mean.”
It doesn’t sound less weird. If anything, it sounds worse now that the words are out.
Suho blinks, caught off guard. His eyes widen slightly, and the tips of his ears turn red. For once, he’s not effortlessly confident, and his gaze flits to Sieun’s face before he nods and silently hands over the bottle.
Then he shifts, settling in front of Sieun, close enough that his bare back brushes against Sieun’s legs.
Sieun’s mouth goes dry for a moment. There’s so much bare skin in front of him, golden under the sunlight, and it’s absurd how Suho’s broad shoulders make him feel small, like he could fold himself into the space between Suho’s shoulder blades and stay there.
He squirts sunscreen into his hands and rubs them together slowly, warming the lotion before placing both palms between Suho’s shoulder blades. His fingers graze the base of Suho’s neck, and Suho shivers, inhaling sharply.
Sieun starts to move his hands with deliberate slowness—gliding over the firm planes of Suho’s neck and shoulders, then down the curve of his back. His strokes are long and unhurried, smoother than necessary, spreading the sunscreen with more care than the task strictly requires.
Suho’s skin is warm and taut beneath his touch, muscles flexing and twitching slightly under his fingers.
His hands follow the dip of Suho’s spine, thumb brushing the notches of his vertebraes, and Sieun watches the way Suho’s breath subtly stutters. Then he's lower, smoothing sunscreen down the small of Suho’s back, his fingertips curving around his waist—and that’s when the world seems to still entirely.
He doesn’t hear the crash of waves or the rustle of leaves. There’s only this: the shape of Suho beneath his palms, the rise and fall of breath, the sounds of their shuddering breaths.
Heat stirs low in Sieun’s stomach as he lets his fingers trail further, barely grazing the sides of Suho’s abdomen. The muscles contract instinctively, and Suho lets out a strangled sound.
Emboldened, Sieun shifts closer, knees pressed against Suho’s back. His hands are firmer now, gliding over the solid surface under his fingers, until his arms are wrapping around Suho’s torso in a loose back hug.
He leans in, resting his head flat against Suho's back. His breath fans warmly over Suho’s skin, drawing up goosebumps in its wake.
Suho smells like citrus sunscreen and vanilla shampoo—and beneath it, something that is simply him. Familiar. Real.
With his head tilted between Suho’s shoulder blades, Sieun’s breath slows. A rush of affection wells up in his chest, warm and overwhelming, and he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the sun-warmed skin.
And there it is—that strange, pulsing feeling that’s been growing under his ribs for a while now. It’s hot and heavy, pressing against his chest, and it feels like home. It sounds an awful lot like I love you.
This is it, Sieun thinks. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of.
He could die happy like this—Suho in his arms, waves crashing softly in the distance, sunlight spreading warmth across their skin. He wishes he could bottle the moment and stay in it forever. There’s nothing better waiting beyond this, and it would be so easy to give up everything else for a quiet, slow life by the sea.
“We should go,” he says at last.
“Why? I was kind of hoping we’d stay like this forever,” Suho replies easily.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Sieun presses another kiss to the nape of Suho’s neck before slowly pulling his arms away.
They get up lazily, the sand sticking to their legs, and Suho throws him a cheeky smile.
“Race you to the water.”
He grins, already halfway turned, eyes bright and laughing.
Sieun takes off after him, sand flying around their ankles. And for once, he’s not running because someone’s hurt. He’s running because they were given a second chance. Suho’s laughter rises above the sand, and Sieun is reminded of how good it feels to be alive.
Suho still doesn’t run as fast as he used to—not yet—and Sieun deliberately slows down, drawing out their game of chase for as long as he can. Suho leads him straight into the water, and the first wave that hits his shins is colder than he expected. Then Suho is on him, catching him mid-splash with all the finesse of a menace, sending water everywhere.
And as they’re laughing, soaked and breathless and weightless in the surf, Sieun thinks again, I love you.
Their friends join in, and soon enough, they’re all running, chasing each other in chaotic circles through the surf. They stumble, trip, and fall—sometimes on purpose—but they always get back up, water glistening against their skin and laughter spilling into the sky.
Sieun’s panting, his legs heavy from running, but it feels good. Proof that he’s still here. That he’s no longer alone. He’s alive—and he’s loved. He loves, too: Suho, and Juntae, Hyuntak, and Humin.
Life doesn’t feel gray anymore. It’s bright and loud, full of color and motion and laughter. Every morning feels like something he wants to wake up for, not just something to survive.
Here, among the people who’ve held him up and dragged him forward, he realizes that it was all worth it—the pain, the fear, the waiting. He’d go through every second of it again, if it meant getting here. Getting them.
“Why are you smiling like that, you weirdo?” Hyuntak calls, pausing mid-wrestle with Juntae over the inflatable ring.
“I’m really happy to be here,” Sieun says quietly.
For a moment, everyone freezes—staring at him with wide eyes, stunned into silence by the rare, unguarded affection.
Then Suho grins, water dripping from his hair, eyes sparkling. “Yah, you’re such a weirdo, you know that?”
And this—this right here—is home.
5+1 : Horizon line.
The guesthouse is sparsely decorated, but Sieun hadn’t expected much more for the price they paid. A few seats crowd around a small dining table, and five futons are stacked neatly against the wall—bare, save for a single painting of the sea.
Through the open door, Sieun hears the waves lapping gently at the shore. The salty, tangy air drifts in and clings to the walls, filling the room with the scent of the ocean.
Dinner is loud and messy in the way only shared meals with close friends can be. When Suho offers to do the dishes, Sieun is struck by the memory of that night he slept over. He wonders if Suho is thinking about it too—if he wants to kiss Sieun as much as Sieun aches to kiss him.
Juntae is the last to take a shower. Humin and Hyuntak settle onto the floor, a messy spread of cards between them. They ask Sieun if he wants to join, but his eyes are drawn to the figure just beyond the door.
Suho is leaning against the guardrail outside, the sunset painting him in golds and soft shadows. His back is to them, wistful, quiet. Waiting, maybe.
“Go,” Humin says simply.
Sieun tears his gaze away from Suho to glance at him. Both Humin and Hyuntak are watching him with open encouragement—none of their usual teasing, just quiet support. It always catches Sieun off guard, how kind they are beneath all the noise.
Still, no matter how much he appreciates them, if anyone interrupts him this time, he will murder someone.
“Just to be clear—if you interrupt us, I’ll stab you.”
Hyuntak snickers, and Humin hums, utterly unbothered.
Sieun doesn’t wait for a reply. He crosses the threshold in two steps, sliding the door shut behind him.
Suho glances over his shoulder, a soft smile blooming when he sees Sieun.
Sieun joins him at the rail, resting his elbows on the wood and leaning in so their shoulders touch.
The sun—a molten sphere of orange—sinks slowly toward the horizon, casting ribbons of gold across the endless sea. A breeze picks up, gentle and cool against Sieun’s warm skin.
“Sieun-ah,” Suho whispers, uncertain.
Sieun turns his head, meeting glowing eyes like embers in the fading light, set against golden skin.
I love you, Sieun thinks.
“When you go to college, you—” Suho hesitates. “Don’t forget me. Please.”
The thought is absurd. Laughable, even. Does Suho really not know that Sieun’s entire world tilts on its axis for him? That he holds Sieun’s heart like it was always meant to be his? That Sieun trusts him more than he’s ever trusted himself?
That Sieun loves him?
“I won’t,” Sieun breathes. “You’re my best friend.”
His voice is low, nearly swallowed in the night.
Suho’s gaze softens. His shoulders relax as he turns back toward the horizon, where the sea and sky have melted into one another in a haze of color. There’s no line between them anymore—just light and water, blurred and beautiful.
“Gay,” Suho says, a half-hearted joke, the crack in his voice betraying him.
Sieun bursts out laughing—genuine, startled laughter that ripples through his whole body and shakes his shoulders. He can’t help it.
It’s probably the first time he’s ever laughed like this, but really—after everything they’ve been through, after everything they are, this is the line Suho draws?
Suho’s smile falters, his jaw going slack as he looks at Sieun with something like awe—completely undone by the sight of him laughing.
Sieun’s still chuckling when warm hands cradle his face and pull him in. The laughter dies in his throat as Suho leans forward and captures his mouth in a kiss that steals all the air from his lungs.
Suho’s lips are soft and warm, and a quiet sound escapes Suho’s throat when Sieun leans into him instinctively, wanting more.
It’s Sieun’s first kiss—he fumbles a little at first, trying to match Suho’s rhythm, but it doesn’t take long before he finds the pressure that makes Suho sigh into him. He learns quickly, always has. He figures out how to part Suho’s lips just enough—gentle, then bold—and Suho gasps against his mouth, the sound electrifying.
Sieun presses a hand to Suho’s back, sliding down slowly until his palm rests against the small of it. Then, he pushes, pulling him close until their hips meet, and the kiss deepens, growing messier, hungrier. They share breath between kisses, mouths open, too caught up in each other to care about anything else.
When Suho’s tongue flicks over his bottom lip, Sieun parts his lips, and—it’s like swallowing the sun.
Heat floods his chest, his knees nearly give out, and he only barely registers that Suho is walking them backward until his back meets the wooden wall of the guesthouse. Suho crowds in close, one hand still cupping Sieun’s cheek, the other braced above his hip, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt, brushing against bare skin.
Sieun’s fingers tangle in Suho’s hair, curling at the nape. He tugs gently, just enough to tilt Suho’s head back, and presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. Another follows at the base of his throat, then a teasing graze of his teeth against Suho’s pulse point.
Suho chokes on a whimper, and Sieun draws back, breathless.
He forgot the presence of the others, only a wall away. And he did threaten if they interrupted—but they don’t fear him enough anymore.
So he reins it in. Just barely.
Suho kisses him again, slower this time. Softer. A final kiss—lingering and warm, his lips a little swollen, his breathing unsteady. Then he noses gently against Sieun’s cheek and leans their foreheads together
Sieun smiles like the love-sick fool he is, completely helpless.
Eventually, Suho lets him go, and they slide down to sit side by side, backs against the wall. The sky above them is inky black now, speckled with stars.
And then Suho’s eyes widen, catching on something high above them.
“Look, a shooting star,” he says, voice betraying his awe. “Make a wish, Sieunnie! Wahh, it’s really pretty.”
Sieun doesn’t look at the sky. He looks at Suho—his hair rumpled, his lips swollen-kissed, eyes shining with joy—and smiles.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s really pretty.”